#Few brain cells to be found in Spirale these days

[perledelalune]

"I was literally disemboweled just before arriving here. Now here you all are putting your digestive tracts through arguably worse trauma. More evidence to my running theory that this island is Hell- it's behavior like that which caused you all to wind up here."

[larsnicklas]

hockey writing appreciation club part ii (part i here) hi team. let's support good sportswriting, whether with clicks or subscriptions! here are some more of my favorite articles i've read in the past little bit! i'll keep sharing articles every few weeks or so, and i always welcome recommendations if you have them as well!!

A mysterious illness halted his promising NHL career. Eight years later, hope and a comeback 🔒 Hodgson didn’t think about the mysterious illness that caused him to walk away from the game. Or the tests for lung cancer, brain cancer and liver cancer that he’d endured in a fruitless quest to figure out what was making him sick. He wasn’t thinking about the months of on-ice work and yoga and a grueling weight-loss regimen that led him to this point. He wasn’t even feeling the blunt soreness of the broken rib he had sustained in his first professional game after his long layoff. All he was thinking about was the gimme pass he’d just received. “If I hadn’t scored on that one,” Hodgson joked, “I might’ve had to shut it down.”

How the NHL rookie class has handled life on and off the ice Confidence becomes more than just a buzzword: It's a mantra. The rookies, after all, have to believe they belong -- even among the future Hall of Famers. "It's not like the guys you're playing against are not human, you know what I mean?" Carlsson said. "You realize you can be a good player here too, and you don't have to be worried that you're not going to make it. If you have confidence out there, you're going to be fine."

For players on the roster fringe, every day in the NHL is a treasure — and a challenge 🔒 Confidence is a funny thing. Even superstars routinely lose theirs during a stretch of what qualifies as mediocrity by their impossible standards. Hang around the game long enough and you’ll lose track of how many times you hear a player talk about just needing to “see the puck in the back of the net” to get himself going again. Never mind that he’s been the best player on the ice at every level. Never mind that he’s scored hundreds of goals in the NHL. Never mind that he’s been so good for so long that he’s paid massive sums of money and showered with love and affection every night. Even the toughest players can spiral mentally. Hockey’s hard, and the pressure’s high.

Nils Hoglander on growing up in a tiny village, why he stays on the ice after practice and his 'hidden talent' Is it harder to shoot a moose or stay in the NHL? A hint is a never-satisfied 5-foot-9, 185 pounds of bowling ball persistence and last player off the practice ice on Tuesday. “I guess I have to say hockey is the hardest,” said Hoglander. “But if you’ve never been out in the forest or anything, it’s kind of hard to know what to do. If you bring Petey (Elias Pettersson) he would have no idea what to do, he’s a city boy.”

'Open people's eyes': How the NHL's evolved in the decade of data The chemist's cell phone rings. He finds a quiet area of the lab to take the call. Hockey Hall of Fame forward Ron Francis is on the line. It's the 2014-15 season, Francis' first as general manager of the small-market Carolina Hurricanes. Francis asks the chemist - who's assumed a part-time consultant role with the NHL team - about a few players. How would you rank them? The call is short. The chemist slides his phone into his pocket, slips his gloves on, and walks to his work station. Back to the day job for Eric Tulsky.

After 1,400 games and counting, Alex Ovechkin still doesn’t break 🔒 When Alex Ovechkin was a rookie, his teammates were concerned he might have a heart attack. The Washington Capitals forward, who was 20 when he played his first NHL game in 2005, has always done things his own way. Back then, that meant a pregame routine of three Red Bulls. When the rest of his teammates were drinking Gatorade or water between periods, Ovechkin was downing soda.

Why a first-round pick walked away from the NHL — and found peace doing odd jobs 🔒 Over the course of his 10-year career, Koekkoek admits he paid far too much attention to external noise. He read negative articles about his play. He paid attention to critics on social media. And he put too much stock into various coaches who didn’t believe in him. “I lost that self-value that someone believed in me to take me in the first round,” he said. “I wish I could have kept my swagger.”

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s01ep05 "Swing Low Sweet Chariot Race [AKA Roman Holiday]"

Previous episodes linked HERE

In this episode: Shenanigans abound in ancient Rome, Marty once again demonstrates why he shouldn't be taken anywhere, and Real Doc continues to spiral deeper into. Somethin'. I don't even know.

We begin our episode in 36 A.D. "Rome", where Doc is eating a big ol' plate of spaghetti and talking about how the ancient Romans didn't even know about the dish at that point and wouldn't until 1295.

"What we think of as Italian cuisine is completely unknown in this era. Marty found that out on our previous trip to ancient Italy," he says, all the while twirling the spaghetti around with his fork until it looks like this.

You know how in BTTF II, Old Biff warns his younger self about a "wild-eyed scientist"? That phrase continuously pops into my mind whenever I see Real Doc in these segments. He—he doesn't blink. He always seems like he's 2 seconds away from snapping. Look at all that spaghetti. Something is wrong with this man.

Onto the cartoon!

Marty is once again riding his hoverboard out in the open for all the town to see as he heads to Doc's house. As he approaches, Jules and Verne (who are hiding in their treehouse) use a holographic projector to project an image of Doc standing in Marty's path.

This causes chaos, as Marty swerves to avoid him and then runs into the real Doc. They crash and land in a large pile of junk in Doc's yard. Doc is not happy that his children have stolen and misused the device to pull a prank. He tells them to be on their best behavior as he takes a trip to ancient Rome to return some scrolls he'd borrowed. He mentions wanting to check out the "Roman arcades," which Verne thinks refers to video game arcades rather than an architectural feature. Doc grounds the boys and forbids them from accompanying him, and Jules swipes the holograph projector while his father isn't looking.

Marty wants to go, though, because he can use the trip to write an extra credit report for his history class. "Caesar! The man, the myth, the...salad," he says. Marty is an airhead.

Using the holographic projector, Jules and Verne project their images to make it look like they're still at home and sneak into the DeLorean. The gang takes off for Rome, where the boys promptly sneak off to check out the arcades. Marty, meanwhile, is hungry and wants pizza. He approaches a woman to ask if she knows of any places, and when she replies angrily in Latin, he goes, "Oh. Do they deliver?" *sigh* Marty. Dear, sweet Marty. What have they done to you? The cartoonists opened up your head and shook out your brain cells, didn't they? Poor boy.

Doc provides Marty with a universal language translator device he can wear in his ear that will allow him to understand and speak back to the locals. Honestly, I don't even think that will help him, Doc. Just take the kid back home, buy him some pizza, and call it a day.

A mere 10 seconds later, as Doc is making his way through some crowds of people, he notices that Marty isn't following him and has wandered off. Of course he has. At this point, idk how Doc hasn't decided to put a tracking device on Marty. This would solve like half of their problems.

Doc only has a few moments to worry about Marty's whereabouts because he's then approached by Jules, who needs help rescuing Verne (who has gotten into trouble and is being chased).

Can I point out how much of a trooper Doc is? All of his children are constantly wandering off or getting into mischief and he still manages to hold it together. Although this stress could account for the crazed look in his eyes we see in the live segments. Hmm...

As Doc deals with his sons, we return to Marty, who is still on a quest for food. This guy is hungry. Perhaps that's why he seems so empty-headed thus far; his blood sugar is low and his brain is being starved of glucose. In his disoriented state, he's wandered off in ancient Rome. That's the theory I'm going with for now because the other option is to simply accept that they have made Marty a total doofus in this series.

Anyway, in an attempt to stave off his immense hunger, Marty buys himself "headless fish wrapped in stale bread." Yum.

Here he is debating whether to eat it or succumb to hypoglycemia.

Marty ends up spilling his food on Bifficus Antanneny, who does not take kindly to the embarrassment and challenges Marty to a chariot race. When Marty tries to talk his way out of it, Bifficus calls him a chicken, at which point we get the classic, "Nobody calls me chicken!" line.

Did we not deal with this fully in part III? Didn't Marty learn his lesson about not losing control when people call him names? Why has he taken a tumble backward character-development-wise?

Right. They needed it for ~drama~.

Also, just a little side note: Bifficus's eye color changes randomly over the course of this scene, from black, then to blue for like 5 seconds, then black again.

I have to imagine this is the result of Marty having blue eyes, and whoever was in charge of this scene just automatically made Bifficus's blue for a little bit before realizing and switching back. And then they just shrugged and went, "Whatever. Who cares?" because this cartoon is bonkers as it is, so who's going to notice a character's eyes changing color for a few seconds?

Meanwhile, while Marty is busy making terrible life decisions, Doc is explaining the reality of slavery in ancient Rome to Verne (who had gotten in trouble with some guards for standing up for a slave he'd met). As he speaks, he mentions, "—societal injustice is frequently succeeded by rebellion." Unfortunately, a couple of nearby guards hear this comment and accuse Doc of planning a slave rebellion. He is taken into custody by two massive dudes who could crush him like a bug.

Thankfully, Judah, the slave Verne had helped earlier, witnesses all of this and takes the boys through the catacombs and to a secret tunnel that leads to the cell where Doc is being held. They're able to break him out, which is good considering Doc is supposed to be fed to the lions soon.

We go to the chariot races then, where Marty is informed that Bifficus is going to allow him to sit and watch the "opening act" (the lions being released) before the race. Let's see how Marty is faring, shall we?

There are tumbleweeds rolling around in that boy's head.

Marty does, however, freak out when he sees Doc step out into the arena. (Except, shhhh, it's not actually Doc; it's just a hologram of him! Remember the projector Jules stole before they left?) So, everything turns out peachy-keen. But, uhh, we still gotta deal with the whole chariot race thing. Is this episode over yet? It feels like I've been watching it for a hundred hours.

Doc has made some modifications on Marty's chariot, but they're to help him lose, not win. He explains that Bifficus remaining popular is vital to Caligula becoming Emperor of Rome and leading to the eventual downfall of the Roman Empire. If Marty wins, it would be devastating to the timeline. Doc explains all of this while writing notes and calculations on the wall, and I must share it because it looks so nonsensical.

I very much enjoy the note toward the top that just says, "PASTA."

Marty ends up successfully losing the race, he gives his Chariot to Judah (then revealed to be Judah Ben-Hur), and they go back to the future. We return to Real Doc, who is lounging in a hammock after napping off his big pasta lunch from the earlier segment. He's wearing 2 different socks and still has on like 6 or 7 watches.

Bill Nye shows us an experiment involving air resistance. (I realize I haven't actually included any screencaps or info on the experiment portion of these segments, but that's because they're just not all that interesting? I mean, they're cute little do-at-home science projects; I just haven't felt inclined to detail them here) But here is proof that Bill Nye is, in fact, in this show.

Doc then returns to bid us the usual farewell, ("See you in the future!") but right after he says it, there's this moment where his camera cuts out for a moment, and then he does this bizarre blinking thing and— I had to gif it. Animated series Real Doc is on such a different level of weird than Trilogy Doc. Something happened. Something has happened to him. The additional time traveling post part III and the stresses of family life has taken its toll.

He is not well.

That's the end of the episode. Clara was nowhere to be seen yet again. :(

Join me next week to see Verne single-handedly prevent the discovery of electricity.

[sealingstorm]

My first (public) patreon post https://www.patreon.com/posts/first-post-78813622 I lost the file for the first image which probably led to delaying this for a while, but I just advanced my work and put a lot of new elements into the stories anyway

The first story contains GID and the second involves multiple DID abductions, also lots of stuff like hypnosis, tech, longterm imprisonment, etc.

B203

B203 had been there a while. Her tape warned not to ungag her, no one was sure why, records weren't kept. They just knew to keep tape on her mouth and nose at all times. Sometime ago fluid had filled her closet-shaped cell, solidifying to appear like glass.

Maintenance came by and were uninterested. One time a dude had to stop right in front for a while to do some work and her eyes slowly moved to focus on him. It was creepy. But for the most part she was just ignored as one of the living displays.

Another time a maintenance man came by her and heard her start to make noise. It was the most awful shrill sound, and like it wasn't made by vocal cords but that could be from the internal gag. No wonder her mouth was permanently taped shut, it must be even worse at full strength.

Years passed and it was time to do maintenance on her cell. The door was opened and everything was checked and cleaned first with a few fixes. Then the glass door of her cell was opened with the glassy interior. He checked her life support tubes and used a small machine to pull out the rectangular block containing her.

Then the vocal noise started, louder than ever. The young worker stumbled backwards and hit the back wall. The glassy substance began to pour down on him, light shimmering over the surface. It poured over his face from over his hair and he barely crawled, reaching forth but freezing. He groaned, yelling urgently. He started to hear her normal-sounding voice in his head. His cheeks puffed out, but were glassily glued shut and froze.

The glass filled the whole room containing the cell. She didn't get free but did have one mind to play with, struggling as he was molded to fit her desires. Eventually he could only "Mmmmmmmph" mentally, and she thought all his thoughts for him. She made him a new self which was soft but cool too, the lips set in his soft cheeks glued. When she was done playing with him she locked him in his room bound and gagged, having made a playhouse of his mute mind. She designed new outfits every day and made him wear them, cooing at the nice looks as he desperately mumbled and his own sounds grew quieter. Then she made him mumble the way she liked too.

The maintenance men continued their rounds, thinking that the glassy goo dispenser broke and filled the room by itself, pushing out her block prison, so they never discovered him inside.

A783

She read and listened to hypnosis content, clicking through them and looking at spirals. It consumed much of her day, and she got another monitor to use. Eventually a memory arose that she never used to do this. She remembered clicking on a link in an email which led her to one of these sites. But as the information flooded into her brain such thoughts went away.

She stopped using her Mouse but the pages kept changing at a steady pace. It turned out that the email must have infected some kind of program too. Her hands twisted at her sides, almost shaking. Cold gooey slime crept up her arm and into her mouth, spreading across her lips and teeth, gagging her after her thoughts were gone.

She thrashed on the seat and blew holes in the silky gunk, groaning. A small device monitoring her controlled the metal slime and it expanded rigid in her mouth. "MMMMFFF, MMMMM" she sounded through the shiny hard gag, but she found it difficult to even form thoughts with all the hypnosis information flooding her brain. More slime slipped onto her hands, sending tendrils to bring them together, hardening, forming thin loops down her arms to restrain them which connected to her chest.

The Agent came into the room who was assigned to her capture. His assignment was physically and mentally trained, so he used the package of strong hypnosis with technological restraints. He came beside her squirming. "Shhh, shut up." She mumbled a reply "mmff mmmph," her cheeks puffing as an internal muzzle was being assembled. He put a rubbery strip of high quality black tape on her mouth to lock it shut with a second skin. Her legs thrashed as loops formed around them. He caressed her body as the legs squirmed. "Much more pleasant like this instead of as an Enemy" "mmff" His robotic device alerted him to the discovery of a small device hidden just below her palm. "So you did have an escape I prevented, a good win." He said, studying information about the danger alert Beacon to her organization. "MMmmmhhhhnn" she sounded, not only having forgotten how to unlock the skincolor cover, she struggled to think anything. She stiffly kicked out and grunted as he rubbed her legs. "Such smooth skin, better to focus on."

After he felt her more she was in his van on the way to a Depot of the agency. After being unloaded into the waiting arms of an assistant she became known as A783. Moving past storage containers, she was brought to a processing room.

The assistant was masked, hobbled, and in a stiff rubber uniform like a nurse's outfit. She unlocked the captured operative's loops and her leg immediately went into the assistant's face. Her fighting instincts were very active, and her opponent stood no chance especially with her outfit handicapping her. She was laid out on the steel table unconscious, the operative having freed her arms with the unlocker. Then she moved on to using her key card on the room's Locker, but with her mental silencing it was difficult. By the time the door was opened the assistant was coming to. Her hand shot onto the mouth and pinched the nose, squeezing her beautiful face which seemed to have makeup tattooed. She put an expanding ball in her mouth and glued her lips, wrapping tape over the mouth as the cheeks swelled. She used a knife to cut the stiff uniform into pieces, placing them one by one on the mouth and under the chin and wrapping them with the yellow tape, forming a large muzzle. A piece went between her hands, they were glued together and the same happened to her feet, knees and elbows. The assistant was dragged up to a storage container, A783 struggled with the lock and brought her inside. In addition to compartments of supplies there was a modular room for Facility buildings. She unlocked it, opened the left living cell and put the assistant inside, hooking her up. She came to as the operative was leaving the small room, waving her stiffly bundled hands and grunting almost inaudibly. She put a finger to her own taped mouth to shush the assistant. She shut the door and broke the electronic lock, its screen going out.

She looked out of the storage container and saw a black haired girl walking down the pathway between them as wide as a road, sneaking into the depot which was already understaffed. The operative quickly but silently got down to the ground level. 

The girl walked through the pathway having gathered tools for breaking into the storage containers for anything valuable. Suddenly a mask was pulled over her face and it expanded into her mouth. She grunted as her hands were taped together above her face and she was dragged into the shadows. When she appeared again her ankles, elbows and knees were tightly taped up, her mouth was held, and she was being brought to the open storage container. Her stiff arms waved upwards.

The girl was placed in the right cell. Her masked face puffed up but she was ignored and the lock was broken too. She went back to the processing room.

Her Rush driven by instincts wore off and she realized she couldn't think. When she tried her own thoughts sounded like "Mmmmmmmph". She tried to pull off the black rubber tape but it didn't come off. She cried into the mirror.

The director device of the goo finished coordinating the internal gagging and detected that the operative was free. It sent out a signal and alerted one of the storage boxes. More goo seeped out of various colors. Soon after it dragged her out of the processing room with blobs on her hands and feet.

She was brought to their storage box and into a containing room with blinding white light, the room overloading organic and digital senses besides that of the goo devices.

They gradually constructed themselves around her figure guided by various devices. Her arms merged to her chest and her legs merged together, temporarily reshaping her body to make it particularly impossible to get out. Her mute mind was now covered with new messages serving as her new thoughts as her useless struggling continued and became even less intelligent. She thought messages like "I will become sexy and useful, I will be bound, gagged, and obedient to the Facility, I will become an assistant". Her bindings grew and strengthened and her mind became totally overcome with hypnosis, the struggling ending. By the time she left the room she would no longer be A783.

– 

The imprisoned assistant slowly thrashed around on the ground. The room was impossible to escape and it would take a while to get out of the restraints. She looked into her mirror, and as her assistant programming broke up in the adverse conditions for brief moments she weeped to see herself like this. 

Weeks later, she was kicking on the connecting wall of the cells with her legs still taped, which was much weaker. The blackhair girl looked through the hole made with the faint lights glittering in her eyes. The assistant couldn't escape, but she still had someone to bind and train. A week later, she wrapped tape on the mask and put her on the table.

[freakinfriends]

music taste headcanons for each member of spiral?

@spreadeaglebeag1e/

Hey there! Maybe one day I'll attempt to make a playlist even though I'm sure it won't be thorough enough but I'm too lazy.

So other than what's already been established in canon on the long gone Daria site. Which is that Jesse and Trent got their start doing angst-driven power pop and Weird Al covers. (Which is totally never something I'd have thought they'd be into myself tbh but I kind of love it.) And that their musical influences are: "Jane's Addiction, Morrissey, The Doors (the band, not the movie, which sucked), Cocteau Twins, Zappa, NIN, Nirvana, Gregorian Chants, thunder, the Banana Splits." (Again. Weird choices but I'm into it.)

Trent: Anything alternative. Doesn't matter what kind of alternative. Mostly 80s/90s bands. Punk, industrial, grunge, rock. Other than the above bands some other examples include: Alice In Chains, The Prodigy, Korn, Soundgarden, Sex Pistols, The Ramones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Primus, The Stooges

Jesse: Jesse and Trent have a lot of overlap. They basically share one brain cell. Jesse is more likely to include classic rock and sappy 80s hair ballads like 'More Than Words' by Extreme. (Also the Banana Splits on that list was 10000% Jesse and nobody convince me otherwise. He also wants to know how they found singing chipmunks for Alvin and the Chipmunks and how many they had to audition. It takes them a really long time to try and convince him that they didn't actually record singing chipmunks.) Also he really likes bands that have cool music videos.

Band Examples: Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Slaughter, Sisters of Mercy, The Cure, Prince, Pearl Jam, Van Halen, Whitesnake, The Misfits (Both the actual band and the Jem version.), early No Doubt

Max: Max tends to listen to the really loud and aggressive stuff. Thrash metal, punk, industrial, nu metal. Some examples include: Alien Ant Farm, Anthrax, Linkin Park, Ministry, Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, NOFX, KMFDM, Rage Against the Machine, Def Leppard, Guns N Roses, AC/DC

Nick: Nick is said to have a side gig as a DJ. So he is the one member of the group who has to stay up to date on a lot of Top 100 radio hits and the kind of music the rest of the band probably would refer to as sellout music. He pretends he doesn't like it but actually doesn't think it's all bad. Max catches him humming Mmmbop a few times and gets pretty mad about it. (It doesn't fit the era but I feel like if there was a Spiral in modern times, the rest of the guys would still have the same music taste even though it's outdated and Nick would be a Swiftie on the down low especially given his ex was also big on writing folksy breakup songs.)

[elendiliel]

Here For You

A bit of not-really-nonsense that managed to overtake another story idea that inspired it (I’ll write that one soon). I may have spent too long with @itsstrangelypermanent‘s fics (if that’s possible)...

Warning for implied/referenced suicide, by the way.

---

“Is this seat taken?” Helli nearly jumped out of her skin as Master Kenobi addressed her, then berated herself internally for her lack of awareness. Yes, this was the Temple refectory and territory didn’t get much friendlier than that, but still… She shook her head, her mouth full of lunch, as she worked out why he’d chosen that particular table in the half-empty room. Given the events of a few days previously, that didn’t take long.

Her deduction was proved correct when he asked, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “How are you doing?” She knew to what he referred. The loss of one of her tight-knit strike team, who had been re-seconded to Master Kenobi and his former padawan Anakin Skywalker for a high-risk, high-casualty rescue mission to the notorious Citadel and never returned.

“Surviving,” she admitted. Kenobi, she was sure, was all too well aware of all the things she wasn’t prepared to say. Echo’s absence was still a dagger lodged in her heart, sending another bolt of pain through her at the slightest provocation. The smallest, most random things – the battered dejarik table in the 501st’s rec room; the sabacc game where she’d absent-mindedly dealt an extra hand; the stock of flimsi over which they’d had a long-running friendly feud; every bad joke he didn’t immediately try to outdo – could still bring tears to her eyes. She knew it would get better, though. This wasn’t the first loss she’d suffered. Yes, it might have been easier if she’d had some warning, as she had before, but it was what it was. And it would be the height of arrogance to demand that the Force conform to her expectations.

“And how’s Fives taking it?”

“Not well.” She couldn’t lie to Master Kenobi, or muster the brain cells required to bend the truth. Fives was Echo’s twin and now the last of their batch, and he’d also been on the Citadel mission. However much her brother’s death was hurting Helli, Fives was at least an order of magnitude worse off. “But he’ll live. We all will.” Fives, compassionate and affectionate though he might be, was also tough. Nobody would be listing him as died of wounds any time soon, if he or Helli had any say in the matter.

Died of wounds. The phrase didn’t just refer to physical injuries. Sometimes, it was the medics’ way of ensuring that their brothers who found it impossible to live without a twin, a batcher, or a close friend, or just had seen too much and suffered too much, were given the posthumous honour they deserved. Such incidents were far less common than they used to be (not that they had ever been exactly routine), Helli knew, though she’d only been sent to the front lines several months after the beginning of the war. Safety measures had been put in place very quickly, and unofficial support networks set up, often starting with the medics – the ones who saw all the worst injuries, waited with dying vode for the end, signed the death certificates for those who slipped through the cracks – and spiralling out to cover the whole army and every kind of issue. The clones always had each other’s backs, in or out of combat.

So did the Jedi, who did the best they could for the men in their care – which was generally plenty. Nothing was ever made official, lest the Kaminoans realise the scale of the “problem” and try to condition it out – never mind that it was partly their fault that the clones clung quite so fiercely to one another, having so little else in an often hostile environment – but every front-line jetii Helli knew willingly accepted the extra duty of looking out for their verde – ade would be a better word in some cases – between battles. Kenobi had surely done at least his fair share of that work; even Helli, whose five-person – four, now – team was effectively a floating unit, took her turn among the others when she could. It wasn’t a new idea. There had always been an unspoken agreement among the Jedi that no brother or sister should have to suffer alone; the Order was in many ways a family, one of the largest in the galaxy, and a family looks out for its members.

As Kenobi was looking out for her, she realised. He knew how close she and Echo had been, and that all her close friends were on assignment, so he’d taken it upon himself to check in with her. Someone always did when a Jedi lost a loved one, mostly out of simple compassion, though partly for practical reasons. It was so fatally easy for a Jedi’s warm, open, powerful, vulnerable heart to become cold and closed, with potentially devastating results for all concerned.

She caught herself wondering who had checked in with him when his master had been taken from him so suddenly twelve years before. Somebody would have done so, would have been there for him in his grief, as her best friend Nahdar had been for her in the same position. As Nahdar’s teacher Master Fisto and she had been for each other after Nahdar’s death. As someone would be for everyone who had lost someone on the Citadel mission. For all Master Piell’s many friends. For Rex, mourning one of his most trusted brothers. For Cody, who had seen so many of his men fall, there and elsewhere. For the batchmates, squadmates and other vod’ikase of the other casualties, Charger, Longshot and all the rest. For the survivors, perhaps even the natural-born officers, little though Helli liked some of them. (How, for instance, was Captain Tarkin still in the navy after the disaster on Murkhana? He must have powerful allies…) And, of course, for everyone whose hearts Echo had touched in his too-short life, Helli and her team among them.

As Master Kenobi adroitly changed the subject, asking her about the mission that had taken her away from Echo and Fives at just the wrong time – escorting his old friend, and probable cyare (not that Helli thought they’d ever been anything but friends), Duchess Satine Kryze back to Mandalore – she could still read the message behind his words. You’re not facing this alone. I’m here for you. Just as she was there for her grief-stricken brothers, and always would be.

---

Mando’a glossary (context-dependent):

Jetii: Jedi (singular).

Verde: soldiers.

Ade: sons.

Vod’ikase: dear brothers.

Cyare: beloved.

[ray-ray-writings]

Could I totally request a small angst of a reader who is dating Technoblade suddenly going missing only for everyone to find her weeks later in Dreams collection room, similar to how Dream has a cage for Skeppy? Cause it’s the one thing the blood god cares about? Like all the angst and grief Techno goes through trying to find her and how he just becomes more unhinged or maybe Dream taunting him once they all found out like “do you want to know exactly how long it took her to stop calling for you? Do you want to know the exact moment she gave up ever seeing you again? Do you want to know the exact second she became mine to control instead of yours to love?”

Ever with love - 🌻

🌻, your brain is so big. I love your ideas so much, they’re always so flipping good.

A Part of the Collection-Technoblade x gn!reader

Techno was going crazy.

No one had heard or seen you for two weeks. You told him you were going to visit the nearby village and that you’d be back in a few days. For the first few days, Techno and you chatted consistently through your communicators. But then you stopped responding to his messages.

After two days with no response, Techno himself made his way to the village to search for you. You’re not there. The villagers tell him that you had got what you went there for but that you had left a few days prior. With this information, Techno calculates that your messages stopped when you got about halfway back home.

He thanks the villagers before heading back out. He heads to the main area of the SMP and asks around. He literally questions everyone as to whether or not they’ve seen you.

It’s no’s at every turn.

It takes everything Techno has to hold himself back. To not storm into each and everyone’s home and property and tear it apart in search of you. He does force his way inside everyone’s home to “talk” to them. Most people just let him in and do what he needs, well aware of the situation and the worries at hand.

Especially with the upcoming plan.

Techno forgot about the plan. Forgot about the help that his younger brother was soon going to need as he and Tubbo came to face Dream in what was being referred to as ‘the final showdown.’ He has to be there to help take down Dream. He’s the best PVPer on the SMP, he knows that, everyone knows that. He’s the Blood God after all. He takes care of those he loves, would go to the ends of the earth to protect them, and Tommy needed protecting.

The choice for him was hard. Techno knew that while everyone was busy with Dream, he could do a more thorough search through everything to try and find you. But he also knew he needed to be there to protect his brother. His baby brother that was on his last cannon life that Techno knew Dream would do anything to take.

It tore him up inside ,which in turn caused him to tear things up. The house looked like a tornado went through it. Techno had been spiraling the night before the final battle. He was angry. Angry at you for not coming home or answering his messages, angry at himself for not being able to find you and make sure you were safe. Angry at not being able to protect you and take care of you. Angry that he let you go by yourself even though you very clearly wanted him to come with you. Angry that he can’t find you and that no one knew where you were. Angry that he had made a promise to his little brother and that he had to be at the final battle instead of out searching for you.

All of that anger built up inside of him and burst. The outcome was his knocking chests over, spilling their contents onto the ground. The paintings on the walls were slightly crooked and torn due to his rampage. The furniture was misplaced and books were strewn about the room.

Heavy breaths racked his chest as his ruby eyes scanned the destroyed rooms. A heavy weight sat in his heart and his stomach. Guilt quickly replaced the anger inside him as he collapsed to his knees. His hands reach out and connect with the ground in order to steady himself. His fingers clutch at a fabric spilled from one of the chests.

It’s your old cape. The one you wore before you stole his cape. It looked better on you anyway. Techno brings the cape up to him and nuzzles his face into the fabric, trying to find a slight bit of comfort in it. It still smells like you. Being tucked away for so long hadn’t let it lose the piece of you that usually clings to the fabrics you wear.

Your scent calmed him, only slightly though. He still felt guilty, but with this small piece of fabric, he could pretend you were here, tucked into him, safe.

It was cold.

Being underground, surrounded by obsidian, trapped in a hole by iron bars made things cold. You were exhausted. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there. Been in Dream’s collection room. Dream had explained it to you when you woke up. You were the most important thing to Techno, the only thing he was attached to.

You tried to call out for him. You first thought you were somewhere near the SMP, hoping either he would hear you or someone else would hear you and tell him… then Dream told you where you were. It didn’t stop you calling out for him though. You called for him until your throat was raw and sore. But even after, you were stubborn in your resolve. Telling Dream that he would never get away with this.

“That’s the thing my dear… I already have. No one has seen you since you left the village. No one knows what happened to you and no one knows where you are. You simply… have disappeared.”

His words hurt you. They worried you. He was right. He had kidnapped you while you were on your way back from the village. He had your communicator. You were gone. No one knew where you were. Did they even care you were gone? You tried to hold up your resolve, but Dream’s words hit your head hard, and he knew it. The blond simply smirked after watching you for a moment before walking away and leaving you to your spiraling thoughts.

You were exhausted. Your mind was tired, your emotions depleted, your body sore. Everything hurt. You missed Techno more than anything. Your heart ached more and more with each passing day. Did they even care or notice you were gone? Did Techno miss you too? Was he looking for you?

A voice broke you out of your thoughts. For a moment you thought it to be Dream, coming back to taunt you more… But it wasn’t. It was a familiar voice, one you hadn’t heard in a while. But you would be able to tell who that voice belonged to anywhere.

It was Tommy.

Why is Tommy here?

You manage to make it to your feet and stumble forward, catching yourself on the iron bars. You pressed your cheek against them and looked out as far as you could. You could make out three bodies there. Tommy, Dream… and… Tubbo. The third seemed to be Tubbo.

Why? Why were they here? What is going on?

The three then turned and began walking toward you. As they drew closer, you could hear Dream giving the boys the same spiel he had given you about the server’s attachments. The things people cared about more than anything.

“Tommy! Tubbo!” You couldn’t help but croak out, your hand reaching out of the cell.

“Y/N!” The boys both scream in unison, racing toward you. Tommy’s hand grabs yours and you almost cry at the warm contact. You’ve been in here for what felt like forever. You hadn’t had any friendly touch, let alone any warmth. It felt nice to be seen as a friend again and to see a friend.

Before any of you can say anything, Dream’s hands clamp on the shoulders of the two boys and rip them away from you. A dry sob escapes your throat at the loss of contact. “No touching.” Dream barks, forcing them back down the hall and away from you.

“Please,” you beg, wanting just a bit longer to be with them. But Dream ignores you and continues to walk away. Tommy and Tubbo try to fight, to turn around and come back to you, but they can’t. Dream’s grip is too tight and too strong.

You’re left all alone yet again. Small tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you back up again, your back hitting the wall, and sliding down to a sitting position. You can vaguely hear what’s going on in the other room, but not very well. Everything seems so far away. To get a glimpse of the outside world through another person only to have it ripped away from you just as you get a taste takes a toll on a person, especially one as exhausted as you.

You’re zoned out for the most part, just hoping Tommy and Tubbo would be okay. You’re suddenly brought back to reality though when a lot of footsteps and voices joined you in the underground. It was hard, but once again you manage to stand up and brace yourself against the iron bars. Pressing your cheek to the cool metal, you let out a gasp as you can see everyone. It’s everyone. Everyone in the SMP was there.

Your eyes scanned the crowd and caught on the familiar pink hair of your boyfriend. You could sob. If you weren’t so exhausted you would be already. He had come for you. He was there. Techno was there.

You couldn’t exactly tell what was going on, but you didn’t care. Your heart soared as mostly everyone turned around to face the collections hall and begin making their way down it.

Puffy led the pack and was the first to see you. A gasp ripped from her throat as her eyes met yours. Heads turn to look toward her and more gasps sounded in the room. “Y/N,” the Captain breathes out just above a whisper.

You’re about to respond when another voice interrupts you. “Y/N?” Techno shoves his way to the front, pushing people out of the way, not caring enough to ask them to move. He comes to a full stop in front of you and stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you croak out.

Techno takes a step back and you’re hurt. Why is he moving away from you? Does he not want you anymore? Why would he--

Your thoughts are cut off by the sound of iron breaking. Something that would typically take four or five swings, is broken in just one by your boyfriend Techno. The bars are gone. You’re free. Techno tosses the pickaxe back into his inventory and stalks forward. Before you can do or say anything, you’re being pressed into Techno’s chest.

The warmth from him immediately seeps into your skin and floods through your whole body. Techno always tends to run hot, being part piglin does that, but you’ve never been more thankful for it than right now. You nuzzle your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly.

He holds you the same way. Techno is scared that if you were to pull away, you would disappear again. That he would be alone again. He doesn’t want to be without you. Techno presses you close to his chest, and presses his face into the top of your head. His lips give your head sweet kisses as he revels in the fact that you’re safe now. You’re safe with him.

You two are hugging like that for a while, but all too soon it’s time to go. You want to get home, change clothes, get something to eat, and fall asleep next to your lover. Techno lets go of the hug, but immediately grabs your hand and leads you out of the cell. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you tightly to his side. The two of you walk out into the main room together… Just in time to see Dream being led away by Sam.

Dream smirks at the sight of you. “You know… of all of the attachments I gathered, I’ve got to say, collecting them was my favorite. The others didn't know what was happening. Being inanimate or an animal… A pet. But they were your pet. They could talk. And oh boy did they talk.”

Techno’s jaw clenched as Dream spoke. He just wanted the green clad bastard to shut up and go to prison, but he just kept talking. “They called for you. Their screams echoed off of the obsidian, begging for you to come save them but you never showed… Do you want to know?”

Techno knew he shouldn’t get involved, shouldn’t respond and give him what he wanted, but he couldn’t help himself. “Know what?”

“Do you want to know exactly how long it took for them to stop calling for you? Do you want to know the exact moment they gave up ever seeing you again? Do you want to know the exact second they became mine to control instead of yours to love?”

Techno’s jaw clenched even harder. He saw red. Without realizing it, he left your side. His arm unwrapped from around you, causing you to protest and try to hold on to him, but he was too far gone. Techno marched forward, drew his fist back, and punched Dream square in the face. The smirk from Dream’s lips fell as Techno’s punches began rolling in faster and harder.

Techno was livid. Livid that Dream could even think that for a moment that he had any say over you and what you did. That you were anything other than the one he loves and the one that loves him. You were his. No one else’s. His.

Sam was the one to pull Techno off, but he fought it. Dream just lost two cannon lives, Techno wanted to take the third. Techno fought against Sam tooth and nail, trying desperately to continue. It’s not until he feels a gentle hand on his arm does he stop. The touch is familiar, one he’s been missing for weeks now.

It’s yours.

He stops fighting the creeper hybrid and turns to you. Your big, watery eyes meet his and he immediately feels all the anger leave his body. The voices that were screaming to kill a moment ago suddenly switch their tune, telling him to protect you, take care of you, wrap you in his arms and not let go until you got home.

That’s just what he does.

Without another word, Techno scoops you into his arms bridal style. He then walks to the portal and with a small nod to the rest of the group, disappears into the nether. You’re in his arms the entire journey through the nether and the nether portal near your guys’ shared home. The warmth of the hug paired with the warmth of Techno’s body fills your whole body and causes your toes to curl.

The tundra is freezing and immediately depletes a lot of the warmth you had just gained, but Techno is quick to wrap his cape around you and make haste to get you inside. The house is still a mess, you’re about to ask why when you catch sight of the paintings that were torn by his hand, and you immediately understand. So you choose to say nothing and just enjoy when Techno carries you into your room.

He sets you down and helps you change into clean and warm clothes before helping you crawl into bed. Techno wraps the two of you up in the blankets before pulling you close to him. Your head and hands rest on his chest while his arms wrap around you and rest on your back. Soft patterns are traced on your back, lulling you to sleep.

“I love you. I love you so much. You’re not going anywhere without me ever again.”

You know that that’s physically impossible and that there would be times he wouldn’t be able to go with you, but right now that didn’t matter. You nod against his chest. “I love you too. Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t, my love. I’m right here.”

You let out a small sigh and sink into him even more at the comforting words. The past couple of weeks exhaustion wash over you and you fall asleep before you know it.

Techno stays awake for longer though. He stays awake and just watches you. His eyes study your face and his arms tighten around you. You’re here. You’re in his arms. You’re safe. He repeats that mantra to himself over and over again as he looks you over.

Finally he decides he’s too tired to stay awake, the past two weeks also having taken a huge toll on his mental and physical health. Techno’s arms wrap around you a bit tighter and hold you a bit closer. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then your head before settling in for the night. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath in through his nose, inhaling your scent which makes him relax even more.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you… You’re mine. I’ve got you.”

Ending sucked, but the idea was amazing so praise 🌻 because she deserves it. I hope that I did this justice! Thank you so much for letting me write it!!

[kittydemon9000]

So I had a thought and it spiraled into a shipping AU so now yall have to deal with these thoughts too.

I call it AmberNecklaceShipping. aka, Zane x Pixal x Kai x Skylor

And because I can. I came up with a whole story for it, so buckle up.

Basically it starts with Chen deciding to send Skylor to Ninjago to spy and keep them up to date with all the news and technology to help with their invasion. Skylor mostly goes along with it and is just happy to be out in the real world for once.

But yeah, some way or another, she meets the ninja, specifically Kai and when she tells her father about the ninja and how they seem to be elemental masters he gets super giddy and tells her to get close to them so it’ll be easier to get them to come to the tournament.

Easy, she thinks

H a h

No

Surprising nobody reading this, she ends up getting really attached and by the time the Great Devourer is killed she’s dating Kai. It started as just getting close but then she found herself falling for him for real which gives her a bit of a crisis when she realizes she doesn’t want the help her dad take their powers.

Meanwhile the others just think she has a really shitty family life and….. well they aren’t wrong

Now, because canon is mean and dumb I’m changing it. Come the S2/3 timeskip Zane ends up visiting Borg tower much earlier, meaning he meets Pix earlier as well. But Zane never meets Mr.Borg one on one since either he’s busy or Zane and Pix are on a date outside the tower

ANYWAY ONTO THE OT4

At first it was just a double date, you know, like you do. But then Skylor saw these two beautiful nindroids side by side and internally went “oh dang they’re kinda hot” only to immediately go “where the heck did that thought come from???”

But for a while it’s pretty okay, the four go on more double dates and life is good.

Until one day, idk maybe some idiots try and rob a bank and she’s caught in the middle of a hostage situation or smth.

And Pix and Zane are in the area so they take care of it and are super badass and stuff and Skylor realizes “holy crap I like like them.” Only she feels pretty guilty because she’s dating Kai and she isn’t supposed to like someone else.

(yeah Chen and Clouse instilled some not great things into her, but they suck so it makes sense)

She a bit awkward around all three of them, especially Kai for a few days before Kai eventually pulls her off to the side and asks if she’s okay. She tries to brush it off but eventually explains how she really feels and what her dad told her

Kai’s ready to throw hands with her dad, Skylor mistakes it for him being mad at her and she runs off. And because angst, she berates herself for letting something as stupid as feelings make her like this.

But Kai feels super horrible about what just happened, quickly explains the situation to Zane and Pix and all three run after her. When they find her, Kai explains how he wasn’t mad at her, especially not because she liked Zane and Pix. I also have a lil dialogue bit for it so

Kai: I could never be mad at you for that…. *chuckle* if I did I’d be a hypocrite

Skylor: ….what?

Kai: I agree with you. Zane and Pixal are amazing, brilliant, beautiful people.

Skylor, very confused: But….but we’re in a relationship….and they…

Zane: We are in a relationship, yes. But that does not mean we do not share the sentiment.

Pixal: Skylor, you are an amazing individual. You are incredibly skilled, incredibly smart, and have become an important part of our lives

Zane: So we were wondering…..would you and Kai like to be in a relationship with us?

Skylor, very confused but very happy: ???????

They end up explaining to Skylor about poly relationships, which takes a bit but she’s very happy to have learned

Of the four of them, Skylor and Zane possess the brain cells most of the time and dedicate much time to making sure Kai and Pixal don't make any weapons too dangerous or crazy. The three also spend a lot of time caring for Skylor and helping her clear up what was genuine care from her father(almost nonexistent) and what was manipulation.

All in all, the four of them are very happy together

For all of 2 months :DDDDDD

[todourouki]

IT’S YOU.

♡ dabi todoroki

SUMMARY he hates to express himself but it’s now or never.

WORD COUNT 2.9K

WARNINGS angst, someone d*es sorry lol, fluff, sorry i miss dabi & i had to, also a suggestive joke cause it’s dabi

AUTHORS NOTE this is kinda trash cause i’m just warming up again lol <3 also it’s unedited lol sorry ly guys

** italics signify a flashback

Everything went to shit.

Nothing could be heard through your ears other than the large explosions and cries for help, flames of red and blue illuminating your face through the porcelain glass.

You should be out there. You should be fighting with everyone, trying to save the planet from the complete destruction and cataclysmic hurricanes of utter civil war.

Instead, you found yourself trapped within the walls of the practical prison cell, encaged within nothing but glass on the highest building in your current prefecture. You couldn’t remember when it happened, how it happened, how you get there, where it started— nothing.

All you could remember though, was yesterday morning. And as the flames began to grow closer in proximity to you, all you could do was think about him.

“Dabi, if you keep touching me with your cold ass feet I promise I’ll call the police and turn you in.” He could hear the irritation in your voice, doing nothing but chuckling and pulling you closer into his bare chest.

“You wouldn’t dare, you know that.”

His voice was soft for the first ever time, the sign of sleepiness still lingering behind his tongue as he lingered the ends of his words. The warmth of the winter sun hit your bodies through your shades, and you found yourself opening your eyes and doing something you rarely got the chance to do— admire Dabi.

He usually expressed his hatred for his appearance. It usually ranged from the two-toned colors loitering his body, the staples holding him together, to even the simplest of things such as his hands being too weak or his weight not being strong enough.

Everything he ever complained about though, were things you found yourself falling deeper and deeper inlove with as the days progressed. The sunlight hit his skin softly, the white duvet perched across his shoulders showing that he at least got cold even though he felt like a human radiator.

“You’re so pretty.” Your simple words silently slipped, his ears perching up in his sleep but his scowl remaining against his monotonous face.

You knew he liked it though, from the way his fingers heated up just a tad bit and caused you to blush for him. He wasn’t a friend of admitting the way he felt, giving out compliments whether they be true or not, or doing anything remotely close to giving you any kind of affection that wasn’t physical. You knew this tough, from the moment you got yourself involved with someone like him.

You knew that getting into Dabi’s life and lingering around meant that your life would permanently be in danger, would never be the same, and would never be safe. You knew all of this, yet you never batted an eye on whether or not you wanted to deal with it for as long as you lived— you knew you would die for him if he’d ask you to.

Sometimes you thought of saying those three words you knew scared him. They almost slipped more than a few times, and it was Dabi that prevented you from doing so by doing things such as changing the conversation topic and reaverting your attention towards anything, absolutely anything else.

To tell the truth, you were scared of admitting it to him as well. Dabi was a criminal, and not just any criminal, but thee criminal of the hour. He was plastered all over Tokyo with nothing but a mugshot taken when he was about two years younger and a life sentence he refused to give in to. You knew what would happen if news got out that you had invested your time with someone like him.

You would potentially lose your family, everything you’ve ever worked for, your job, you’d lose it all. It never bothered you though, because you’d do anything for him. Anything.

And as you felt the words begin to form from the bottom of your throat, you realized those cerulean eyes were now staring back at you. It was almost as if the world didn’t exist when you were with him, and you would give anything to be able to say those words. Anything just to show him your devotion for him, and how you would kill or be killed for him.

Like clockwork, the opportunity fell from your hands and onto the ground like shattered glass when you felt him peck your cheek with something hidden in his irises. “Let’s get out of bed, yeah?”

Tears fell from your eyes, silent whimpers growing louder as you realized what was happening. Your feet began to ache, body spiraling down in pain with nothing but heartbreak racing through your veins.

You hadn’t seen Dabi since that morning, the chaos only growing the minute he slipped through your apartment door and not bothering to call, text, or even see you.

The world was ending, and you never got the chance to tell Dabi you were in love with him.

You knew everything was coming to an end. He had warned you things were only growing worse, heroes and villains alike reaching a point so desperate in finishing the war, they’d both resort to anything. And that anything, was currently demolishing the streets in front of your own eyes.

The blue flames only grew in damage, covering towers of glass and growing closer in proximity into the glass bubble you were stuck behind. You were the only person up there, being led to safety by a hero much too young to be in such a situation and bringing you to even more tears.

You wanted to scream— cry for anything or anyone to help you so you could just get out and look for him. It’s all you wanted, to just hold him once more and feel his snide remarks slap you hot against your skin one last time.

“Hey dollface.”

The voice you heard forced your breath to cave in, voice being numb from the tears falling earlier enough to where all you could do was turn and feel your heart break even more.

He was missing a few staples, a bullet wound pressed against his white shirt near his torso and his body seeming weaker than you’d ever seen it. His hair was disheveled more than usual, coat missing, and skin beginning to detach itself from his thin frame. His face was tired, voice wavering from pain and exhaustion and you felt your body freeze.

“Dabi?” Your voice was sweet to him, music to his ears finally being played at a lesser pressure to where if tears could fall down his eyes, they would.

He had searched everywhere for you, ignited the streets in flames looking for anyone that knew of your whereabouts no matter who or what they were. He saw your weak frame run towards the end of the glass he stood on the opposite side of and his body limped closer to you.

If only you could see how much it hurt him to not be able to hold you, looking at you cry and mourn through glass hurting him more than he thought anything ever had. He knew it was his fault for getting so attached as for involving you in this mess. It was his to clean up but he let you help him and manage to self destruct your future quicker than he could stop you.

“Missed me?” His smirk was lazy as usual, but weak enough to falter as his head knocked across the glass and held its eyesight on you.

You were crying, not being able to stop yourself from leaning against the glass right with him and he couldn’t say it hurt him any less than it did. It fucking killed him to see you like this. He knew he couldn’t break through the glass without killing you, and he knew you couldn’t break the glass unless the hero who surrounded you in it was there. And he had never wanted to kill someone more than he wanted to kill that guy— not even his own father.

“Please tell me you’re okay.” You whimpered, hands flat across the glass as your chest heaved up and down in nothing but pain.

Dabi heard them getting closer from a distance, the sound of screams beginning to crowd his ears and preventing him from hearing to your voice so clearly. He knew he had to say something- he had to do something if he wanted to have time to do it before the end.

“Don’t worry about me, just do me a favor and listen alright?” His voice held the usual attitude it did when you’d speak to him, the pain growing more and more noticeable as he started to wince after each growing syllable.

You always listened to him, and as much as you wanted to scream at him to get you out of there so you could just feel your skin on his, you knew it wasn’t the time yet. His hands slowly raised towards yours on the glass, something he would have never done under any other circumstance other than this one and you knew. You knew what he was doing.

“I love you,” the words fell flatly, echoing through your brain as you sucked in air and watched as blood began to drip from the hand falsely holding yours across the glass, “I fucking love you.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not waking up next to ya’, or what to do if I’m not laying with ya’, but I know what I’m gonna have to do now if it means you get to get out of here okay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your posture straightening and beginning to panic. “Dabi, what the fuck are you talking about?”

You saw him squeeze his eyes shut, blood growing against his eyelids and starting to trickle down his burned cheeks. The air you once knew how to breathe without thinking started to slip through your lungs faster than you could catch up, and you knew you were living out your worst nightmare.

The screams Dabi had been waiting for grew, footsteps flying up the stairs behind him growing in sound and he knew time was limited. He knew he needed to do this now or he’d never get a second chance.

“I’m doing this to save you, so don’t think I’m doing this to find an excuse to get your annoying ass out of my life.” His words caused you to sob, air leaving your lungs as your dainty hands slammed across the unbreakable glass.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t you fucking DARE!” Your words hit him hard, nothing but a small smirk lifting against his lips and staring back at you with blood streaming eyes.

“You know I have to, even if I don’t wanna. So listen good. In about three seconds, those guys are gonna slam through the door and kill me and I’m gonna let them.”

“I’m gonna let them do to me what they should’ve done a long time ago if it meant I got to give ya’ a better chance at life so it’s what I’m doing, okay? I’m giving you a chance to do some shit you couldn’t do with me sticking around.”

Dabi’s words burned through your ears and you knew nothing hurt you more than this. The pain of smacking against the glass only caused bruises to form against your knuckles. You wanted to keep hitting, to keep fighting, and to keep doing whatever you possibly could’ve done if it meant you’d get to hold him and stop him from being so fucking stupid. But this was a fight that was already won, and it’s what hurt you the most.

“You’re the most beatiful shit I’ve ever seen in my life. You make the best fucking French toast I’ve ever had, and your lips are better to me than any fucking weed I’ve ever smoked in my life.” The footsteps grew louder, and he knew this was all he could say before it was over.

“I never told you cause I was a fucking pussy but right now I’m facing death and nothing could be worse than this. I fucking love you, Y/N. I love you and you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Maybe if I wasn’t a criminal about to die I woulda married ya’ with a ring I stole from Shig but I am.”

You watched something glimmer from his fingertips, the sight causing your breath to get stuck between your throat and hold itself longer than you could handle. He was going to propose to you.

Within seconds, the door slammed open and there stood police officers with guns and weapons piling through. They were yelling, and you knew you should’ve been listening to their words but all you could do was stare at the ring Dabi dropped underneath his foot and hid beneath his shoe.

“They’re gonna kill me and I’ll never be able to feel you against me again, but know that nobody in this world will ever make me feel the way I do or did with you. Do something with your life while I’m gone, dollface.”

That’s all he could say before turning his body around, giving you one last view of his arrogant smirk before trying to shoot his arm out to give himself one last method of defense. The only problem was that he didn’t stand a chance. You couldn’t watch, knowing that if you did you’d lose your mind more than you were going to eventually anyway so you blinked.

You blinked for a really long fucking time, long enough to slip down the glass with your hands following the trail of blood Dabi’s hands left as his lifeless body rested against the cage holding you in.

You couldn’t hold him, you couldn’t smell him, you couldn’t even tell him you loved him back. He never gave you the chance to say it, and when he finally admits it to you, his body loses every inch of life it was granted before you were even given the chance.

You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t find it within yourself to do anything other than weep and sob Dabi’s name like a mantra. Because this was it. You were there when he took his last breath to finally admit he loved you and you couldn’t even say it back, without the chance of ever saying it again.

You’d lost him, and couldn’t even try to save him from his own self.

Dabi’s body rested on top of yours, head nuzzled between the crevice of your breasts and breath pattering against your exposed nipples as you both lay there speaking of nothing but nonsense. That was, at least until he cleared his throat and began to rub his warm hands against your waist.

“You wanna know something, Y/N?” He muttered, causing you to giggle softly and run a hand through his raven hair.

“What, Dabi?” The snow falling outside was louder than it had ever been before, the silence after you replied consuming you so strongly and so loudly you would’ve been concerned if it wasn’t for him opening his mouth yet again.

“When all this shit ends,” his staples clicking and deep voice was the only thing circling against the room, taking a second to think and finally finding his voice once again, “I think I’m gonna take you out on a date.”

The laugh that left your lips was one that made Dabi smile, playfully glaring up at you with an eye and joining you in a slight chuckle. Dabi usually said stupid flirtatious remarks like this, but hearing him offer to take you out on a date was beyond anything you’d ever heard.

“Oh really? Where are we gonna go, lover boy?” Your hands continued to run itself through his hair, words tickling at his scalps and making him relax even more into your body’s sanctuary,

“Anywhere else. As long as I got your dumbass with me.”

The words rang deep, your hand stopping slightly and cheeks burning more as the words echoed through your head. He wasn’t one for romantics or for sappy comments but this one hit a bit deeper than it probably should have for you. You knew it took a lot for him to say, being well aware of his faux emotional aloofness to really just cover up the fact that he’s an undercover softy.

“Simp.” Translated in Y/N’s language: I love you.

“Don’t be such a bitch about it.” Translated in Dabi’s language: I love you, more.

Silence covered your ears once more, nothing but flashing Tokyo lights illuminating through to it window with snowflake shadows dancing across your white walls. Moments of peace like this were rare, especially with Dabi being in your bed with you for as long as he pleased.

You appreciated moments like these the most, his body weight fitting like a puzzle on top of yours. You both continued to crack a few jokes, talking about nothing and everything at the same time until someone (most likely you, honestly) fell asleep with a small smile imprinted on the two of you.

You know moments like these were only the beginning of your relationship, and you knew you’d do anything for Dabi to make sure you got to show him how much you appreciated them until the day you died.

You knew it wouldn’t be for a while though, since your love was too strong to get any of you killed.

—

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pierre Teillard de Chardin

* * * *

I'll never forget this story told by Jean Houston at a conference I attended as an MIU student. Very beautiful and moving, worth a read, especially if you're familiar with Teilhard de Chardin and his writings that got him in trouble with the church because he was way too cosmic for them.

"Mr. Tayer," by Jean Houston

When I was about fourteen I was seized by enormous waves of grief over my parents’ breakup. I had read somewhere that running would help dispel anguish, so I began to run to school every day down Park Avenue in New York City. I was a great big overgrown girl (5 feet eleven by the age of eleven) and one day I ran into a rather frail old gentleman in his seventies and knocked the wind out of him. He laughed as I helped him to his feet and asked me in French- accented speech, “Are you planning to run like that for the rest of your life?”

“Yes, sir" I replied. “It looks that way."

“Well, Bon Voyage!” he said.

“Bon Voyage!” I answered and sped on my way.

About a week later I was walking down Park Avenue with my fox terrier, Champ, and again I met the old gentleman.

“Ah." he greeted me, “my friend the runner, and with a fox terrier. I knew one like that years ago in France. Where are you going?"

“Well, sir." I replied, “I’m taking Champ to Central Park."

“I will go with you." he informed me. “I will take my constitutional."

And thereafter, for about a year or so, the old gentleman and I would meet and walk together often several times a week in Central Park. He had a long French name but asked me to call him by the first part of it, which was “Mr. Tayer" as far as I could make out.

The walks were magical and full of delight. Not only did Mr. Tayer seem to have absolutely no self-consciousness, but he was always being seized by wonder and astonishment over the simplest things. He was constantly and literally falling into love. I remember one time when he suddenly fell on his knees, his long Gallic nose raking the ground, and exclaimed to me, “Jeanne, look at the caterpillar. Ahhhh!” I joined him on the ground to see what had evoked so profound a response that he was seized by the essence of caterpillar. “How beautiful it is", he remarked, “this little green being with its wonderful funny little feet. Exquisite! Little furry body, little green feet on the road to metamorphosis." He then regarded me with equal delight. “Jeanne, can you feel yourself to be a caterpillar?”

“Oh yes." I replied with the baleful knowing of a gangly, pimply faced teenager.

“Then think of your own metamorphosis." he suggested. “What will you be when you become a butterfly, une papillon, eh? What is the butterfly of Jeanne?” (What a great question for a fourteen-year-old girl!) His long, gothic, comic-tragic face would nod with wonder. “Eh, Jeanne, look at the clouds! God’s calligraphy in the sky! All that transforming. moving, changing, dissolving, becoming. Jeanne, become a cloud and become all the forms that ever were."

Or there was the time that Mr. Tayer and I leaned into the strong wind that suddenly whipped through Central Park, and he told me, “Jeanne, sniff the wind." I joined him in taking great snorts of wind. “The same wind may once have been sniffed by Jesus Christ (sniff). by Alexander the Great (sniff), by Napoleon (sniff), by Voltaire (sniff), by Marie Antoinette (sniff)!” (There seemed to be a lot of French people in that wind.) “Now sniff this next gust of wind in very deeply for it contains.. . Jeanne d’Arc! Sniff the wind once sniffed by Jeanne dArc. Be filled with the winds of history."

It was wonderful. People of all ages followed us around, laughing—not at us but with us. Old Mr. Tayer was truly diaphanous to every moment and being with him was like being in attendance at God’s own party, a continuous celebration of life and its mysteries. But mostly Mr. Tayer was so full of vital sap and juice that he seemed to flow with everything. Always he saw the interconnections between things—the way that everything in the universe, from fox terriers to tree bark to somebody’s red hat to the mind of God, was related to everything else and was very, very good.

He wasn’t merely a great appreciator, engaged by all his senses. He was truly penetrated by the reality that was yearning for him as much as he was yearning for it. He talked to the trees, to the wind, to the rocks as dear friends, as beloved even. ‘Ah, my friend, the mica schist layer, do you remember when...?” And I would swear that the mica schist would begin to glitter back. I mean, mica schist will do that, but on a cloudy day?! Everything was treated as personal, as sentient, as “thou." And everything that was thou was ensouled with being. and it thou-ed back to him. So when I walked with him, I felt as though a spotlight was following us, bringing radiance and light everywhere. And I was constantly seized by astonishment in the presence of this infinitely beautiful man, who radiated such sweetness, such kindness.

I remember one occasion when he was quietly watching a very old woman watching a young boy play a game. “Madame", he suddenly addressed her. She looked up, surprised that a stranger in Central Park would speak to her. “Madame,” he repeated, “why are you so fascinated by what that little boy is doing?” The old woman was startled by the question, but the kindly face of Mr. Tayer seemed to allay her fears and evoke her memories. “Well, sir,” she replied in an ancient but pensive voice, “the game that boy is playing is like one I played in this park around 1880, only it’s a mite different." We noticed that the boy was listening, so Mr. Tayer promptly included him in the conversation. “Young fellow, would you like to learn the game as it was played so many years ago?”

“Well. . .yeah. sure, why not?” the boy replied. And soon the young boy and the old woman were making friends and sharing old and new variations on the game—as unlikely an incident to occur in Central Park as could be imagined.

But perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Mr. Tayer was the way that he would suddenly look at you. He looked at you with wonder and astonishment joined to unconditional love joined to a whimsical regarding of you as the cluttered house that hides the holy one. I felt myself primed to the depths by such seeing. I felt evolutionary forces wake up in me by such seeing, every cell and thought and potential palpably changed. I was yeasted, greened, awakened by such seeing, and the defeats and denigrations of adolescence redeemed. I would go home and tell my mother, who was a little skeptical about my walking with an old man in the park so often, “Mother, I was with my old man again, and when I am with him, I leave my littleness behind." That deeply moved her. You could not be stuck in littleness and be in the radiant field of Mr. Tayer.

The last time that I ever saw him was the Thursday before Easter Sunday, 1955. I brought him the shell of a snail. “Ah. Escargot." he exclaimed and then proceeded to wax ecstatic for the better part of an hour. Snail shells, and galaxies, and the convolutions in the brain, the whorl of flowers and the meanderings of rivers were taken up into a great hymn to the spiralling evolution of spirit and matter. When he had finished, his voice dropped, and he whispered almost in prayer, “Omega ...omega. . .omega.." Finally he looked up and said to me quietly, "Au revoir, Jeanne”.

“Au revoir, Mr. Tayer,” I replied, “I’ll meet you at the same time next Tuesday."

For some reason. Champ, my fox terrier didn’t want to budge, and when I pulled him along, he whimpered, looking back at Mr.Tayer, his tail between his legs. The following Tuesday I was there waiting where we always met at the corner of Park Avenue and 83rd Street. He didn’t come. The following Thursday I waited again. Still he didn’t come. The dog looked up at me sadly. For the next eight weeks I continued to wait, but he never came again. It turned out that he had suddenly died that Easter Sunday but I didn’t find that out for years.

Some years later, someone handed me a book without a cover which was titled The Phenomenon of Man. As I read the book I found it strangely familiar in its concepts. Occasional words and expressions loomed up as echoes from my past. When, later in the book, I came across the concept of the “Omega point." I was certain. I asked to see the jacket of the book, looked at the author’s picture, and, of course, recognized him immediately. There was no forgetting or mistaking that face. Mr. Tayer was Teilhard de Chardin, the great priest-scientist, poet and mystic, and during that lovely and luminous year I had been meeting him out side the Jesuit rectory of St. Ignatius where he was living most of the time.

I have often wondered if it was my simplicity and innocence that allowed the fullness of Teilhard’s being to be revealed. To me he was never the great priest-paleontologist Pere Teilhard. He was old Mr. Tayer. Why did he always come and walk with me every Tuesday and Thursday, even though I’m sure he had better things to do? Was it that in seeing me so completely, he himself could be completely seen at a time when his writings, his work, were proscribed by the Church, when he was not permitted to teach, or even to talk about his ideas? As I later found out, he was undergoing at that time the most excruciating agony that there is—the agony of utter disempowerment and psychological crucifixion. And yet to me he was always so present—whimsical, engaging, empowering. How could that be?

I think it was because Teilhard had what few Church officials did—the power and grace of the Love that passes all understanding. He could write about love being the evolutionary force, the Omega point, that lures the world and ourselves into becoming, because he experienced that love in a piece of rock, in the wag of a dog’s tail, in the eyes of a child. He was so in love with everything that he talked in great particularity, even to me as an adolescent, about the desire atoms have for each other, the yearning of molecules, of organisms, of bodies, of planets, of galaxies, all of creation longing for that radiant bonding, for joining, for the deepening of their condition, for becoming more by virtue of yearning for and finding the other. He knew about the search for the Beloved. His model was Christ. For Teilhard de Chardin, Christ was the Beloved of the soul.

Years later, while addressing some Jesuits, a very old Jesuit came up to me. He was a friend of Teilhard’s—and he told me how Teilhard used to talk of his encounters in the Park with a girl called Jeanne.

Jean Houston

Pomona, New York

March, 1988

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal story - part 4

Look, the story has a name (hopefully I’ll come up with a better one later)! And the characters do too!

Anyways, if someone hasn’t seen the picrews (it’s here if you want to), Whumpee is now Liam Beaumont, Caretaker is Chase Raymond and Whumper is Jonah Sharpe. If you have trouble remembering: Caretaker still starts with a C no I totally didn’t give him a name that starts with a C on purpose what are you talking about and I think you’ll get very different vibes from Liam and Jonah haha

CW: electric torture, forced to watch, whumpee held hostage, hurt no comfort (for now), restraints

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince

Part one here, continued from here

-

Twelve messages wait for Chase when he picks up his phone. All from Jonah, all demanding him to work quicker, to give in new information faster. He purses his lips and takes a deep breath, clutching the new drive he was given to fill. 

After so many betrayals, he should be used to the sting that comes along with lying and deceiving. He’s done it before, felt that guilt, drowned in it – and yet he can’t help but hesitate. Liam’s pale lips, creased brows, shallow breaths, sparkle to life in his mind, a painful reminder of what is at stake if he annoys Jonah too much. Right beside Liam’s face, though, are the ones of Chase’s team, his friends, his family, all trusting smiles and loving gazes he cannot ignore. It’s enough for him to type a message and turn off the phone.

Working on it, Chase sends and hopes it is enough to keep the man quiet for at least another day as he turns his computer on and starts erasing from the drive the most meaningful information he’s stolen.

-

When Jonah bursts into his room, Liam is almost happy to see him. Five days have passed since he’s woken up in a room instead of the cell, and all he’s had since then is loneliness and echoing silence. With the only human interaction he was given being the occasional visit from a nurse who gave him a clinical once-over and refused to so much as look him in the eye, it was no real surprise when his thoughts spiraled out of control, swirling around and sinking down between Chase’s inevitable and yet somehow unexpected betrayal, and his new status as a hostage. 

“Doing better?” Jonah asks, leaning against the doorframe. Liam’s heart pounds both in relief and terror at the sound of a voice that isn’t his own.

“Do you care?”

“Getting some rest got your tongue loose, I see.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” That’s the question that’s been eating him alive, disrupting his sleep, watering his fear into a blossoming flower of dread that grows and suffocates any hope that tries to bloom beside it. Each answer Liam’s imagined sounds worst than the last, but if there is truth in any of them, he has to know. To prepare. 

“We talked about this already, didn’t we?”

Jonah’s eyes are as cold as he remembers from their few encounters, but this time something lurking there whispers stories of anger and pain to come, and that alone is enough to raise goosebumps along his entire body. 

“What do you want to let me go?” What could he have to give a man who is already filthy rich, when Liam has nothing to offer but a cramped apartment and a lot of resentment?

“Nothing you can offer, lovely,” Jonah chuckles. “Fair try, though.”

But nothing about this is fair, in any possible way. “So you are just going to keep me here because you don’t like Chase? I have nothing to do with him, please just let me the fuck go and I won’t even tell anyone, you–“

“Liam, honey, let us clear something up. There is nothing you can do to convince me to let you go. All you can do is comply, and maybe I’ll be merciful if you do, but you are mine for the time being, and there is no one here to help you but me.”

Liam’s reply dies on his tongue, killed by the unrestricted horror the words wash him over with. It doesn’t sound real. Sounds like something he’d watch in a movie, read in a book, hear about on the news. To hear them directed at him and feel the pulsating response from the healing stab wound in his gut, makes him hold his breath and pray to just wake up from this nightmare. When did his life turn into this? Was it when he met Chase? Was it before? 

“Now that that’s out of the way, come on, we have somewhere to go today.”

Liam’s stomach drops to the ground, farther, falling and falling to the center of the Earth as he clenches the sheets in his fists and hisses, “Last time you said that, you locked me up until I got an infection.”

“Ha, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Jonah says, raising a brow. Liam doesn’t even blink at the grin playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, love, I don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re having a different kind of fun today. Up now, or I’ll call my men to do it for you.”

Gritting his teeth, Liam pushes the sheets away and slowly stands up, holding his side and fighting a groan, but on his feet without help.

They walk in silence, and neither Jonah nor the guards say anything about how slow he is, or how terribly pitiful he looks stumbling through the hallways. A thousand words speed through his brain, pleading to be heard, but he doesn’t voice any of his questions. Doesn’t think he’d get an answer if he did, anyway.

He is led into a nearly barren room, with only a camera over a tripod standing in front of a wooden chair. A wooden chair surrounded by restraints.

He takes a step back before his brain catches up with the movement, straight against a guards’ chest. Jonah giggles and tuts softly. 

Two men grab his arms and drag him to the chair, and the panic suddenly becomes so deep, so all-encompassing, it swallows down his fight. He is pushed down on the chair, the restraints are buckled around him until all Liam can move is his head, and all the while he just sits there, hyperventilating and near to tears, as still as a statue. Watching but never moving, terrified but frozen in place, petrified, and he hates himself for it, even if he knows the feeling should be directed at Jonah and Jonah alone.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be so pliable, sweetheart,” Jonah mocks, setting the camera up. “I would’ve played with you sooner had I known.”

He parts his lips, but the words refuse to form. Fear envelops each of them before Liam can push them through gritted teeth, and all he does is stare at the guards surrounding him, at the cold stickers being placed on his arms, his shoulders, his hands. Liam shivers, but there’s no air current here.

“Why, why, why are you doing this?” he chokes out. He knows what’s about to happen, has seen it on television enough times to recognize the electrodes, the box placed next to the chair. 

“Because Chase pissed me off today,” he shrugs, and a red light blinks to life in front of the camera. Jonah walks toward him, stops in front of the chair, and smiles. Liam’s eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the man. “Has Chase ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

The weight on his stomach is so huge that Liam can’t even find energy enough to feel outraged.

Jonah pulls out a linen scarf from his pocket as the guards plug wires to each sticker and wiggles it in front of Liam’s face. “Here, I’d bite down on this if I were you.” When he fails to open his mouth, the man rolls his eyes and grabs his cheeks, squeezing so suddenly and cruelly his mouth opens without command and the scarf is shoved inside, making him gag. “Not that well behaved, huh. No problem, we have time to get you obeying.”

When the guards take a step away, Liam finds himself wishing they didn’t. 

“Smile at the camera, love,” Jonah says, stepping to the side so Liam is the only one being recorded. He stares straight at the lens and tries to draw in a deep breath.

He knows it is coming. He prepares for it. And then Jonah flips a switch, and there’s no preparing for pain so big, for agony so deep.

The world shatters around him as electricity lights up his body, turns him inside out, upside down, and no breath could’ve ever made this any better. There’s no air to breathe, no room to writhe, no place to escape. There is only pain, boundless and searing, here and now, splitting him into thousands of shards he can never hope to piece back together.

And then it stops, and his throat is raw but he doesn’t remember screaming and his chest heaves as he fights for air and tears fall from his eyes to his chin to his chest but he doesn’t remember crying either.

“Beautiful,” Jonah sighs somewhere close. Liam coughs and chokes on his own tears, trying to beg or maybe cry out, but whatever his mouth forms gets caught on the gag before it reaches anyone’s ears.

Please please please stop, it hurts, hurts so much, so, so much, please, please–

“Let’s go again.”

Liam doesn’t have time to even be scared before his world dissolves into burning agony once more. All he can do is scream and silently plead for help he knows isn’t coming.

-

When Chase turns on the phone, his heart nearly stops at the video awaiting him.

Two hours have passed. After five days of trying to convince that despicable man to let him see Liam and failing miserably, barely sleeping, worry and guilt eating at his insides, he fell asleep. He forgot. For one hundred and twenty minutes he allowed himself to rest, and now he is paid with Liam’s frozen image staring at him, waiting on Jonah’s chat, along with one single line of text that chills him to the bone.

This is for turning off the phone.

He clicks and feels a chasm opening in his gut when Liam fills the screen, strapped to a chair, scared eyes darting around a room Chase can’t see through the video, searching for an escape that is nowhere to be found, stopping on each electrode that is stuck to his body. The fear is clear as crystal on his face. It makes Chase’s heart squeeze until his chest is so tight he places a hand there, afraid to find it as hollow as he feels. Liam doesn’t talk, doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg. He simply blinks at the men towering over him and doesn’t ask for help, and that might be what truly undoes Chase.

And then Jonah turns on the switch, and Liam’s head snaps back, body contorting against restraints so tight there’s no room for him the thrash. Even through the gag, he screams, and Chase would scream as well if he wasn’t too busy gripping the phone as if his life depended on it, trying to steady his trembling hands.

When the shock stops, Liam’s face is tear-stained and exhausted, sobs wracking his body and ripping apart Chase’s soul. 

His fault.

It is his fault. After everything, after betraying Liam into not trusting anyone, after losing the boy who might’ve been the love of his life, after being responsible for his stabbing, his kidnapping, after everything–

The switch is turned on again, and this time when Liam screams, Chase’s eyes well up with tears he has no right to cry. A kind of rotten helplessness takes over his body, its clawed fingers wrapping around his arms, his legs, his heart and squeezing, whispering and shouting his failure, his guilt, his powerlessness. His eyes plead to close, but he needs to see this. It is his fault, his burden, and if Liam was forced through it, he has to at least watch it to the end. If anything, to know he’s still alive.

It lasts longer the second time. A life. His useless life. Liam convulses and cries and howls, and if Chase could only take the pain to himself, he would. He would switch places with Liam in the blink of an eye. He is the one who deserves that pain. He is the one who betrays and hurts and destroys anything he touches, and it should be him, not the boy who smiles at the sunrise and cries over books and dreams about changing the world. 

He stares unblinking at the screen and watches in silence as electricity courses again and again through that body he had once held and thought about spending a life beside, fogging those eyes that used to engulf him in love, twisting that face he once kissed and touched and loved into one of raw despair. Each time it stops, neither of them has time to catch their breath before it starts again. After the third time, Liam doesn’t cry out anymore. His voice breaks in a ragged wail until it dies down and all that’s left are silent sobs.

When the video ends, Chase is nearly numb. The last image shows Liam’s head hanging forward as he struggles to breathe, Jonah’s fingers casually carding through his sweaty hair.

Chase is out of his house before his brain even processes what he’s doing, inside his car, driving to Jonah’s building in a blur of hatred and desperation. When he parks in front of the tower, the phone buzzes and he doesn’t hesitate to read it. Not anymore. Never again.

You lost visit privileges. Leave the drive with the guard at the door and keep in touch. 

With Liam’s screams still ringing inside his mind, forever trapped there, he doesn’t dare do anything other than what he is told. He gives the guard the flash drive, and for the first time in years, he prays. Because if anyone notices the most important files missing… he can’t bear the thought of what could be done to Liam in retribution. 

(next)

[mr-walkingrainbow]

battle for abimel? i want a power showdown.

BATTLE FIGHT WITH POWER SHUT DOWN HERE WE GO!!

Basically OverWitch + I guess the rest of the charmed ones, face the new demon of the day, the Cancellor, which nullifies any power thrown at them.

They have to really think hard to figure this one out.

But like, mainly gay OverWitch.

“Ugh,” Macy groaned audibly for the fourth time in the past two minutes, “What’s taking her so long!”

“Ok could you tone down the whine today?” Mel replied exasperatingly, “It’s not like Abby lives next door. And she can’t orb like Harry. It takes time to get here.”

“Yeah and by the time she does the DotD will be long gone!” She stated in annoyance.

Maggie rolled her eyes, “I think the demon of the day can wait for a few minutes. I doubt their in a rush for a Appointment at the nail salon.”

The eldest huffed, “Yeah but Abbys just taking forever!”

“You rang?”

Everyone turned to the source of the voice, which oddly, seemed to be nix.

But more understandingly, smoke started to swirl, practically a mini tornado, until it took the form of Mels beloved.

“Abby!” The Latina cheered, running over and giving her girlfriend a hug.

“Hello lovely,” Abigael grinned, before smirking in Macy’s direction, “Now what’s this about me being slow? Shall I remind you how long it took you and Witchbanger to actually bang?”

Macy made a squawk of protest, while Harry looked on in mute surprise.

“Witchbangers new.” He commented, although Mel couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or curious.

Abby gestured towards him with a flourish, then nodded towards Macy, “Well, this pile of nerves is Whitebanger, only fitting we have the other half.”

Harry seemed to nod in numb acceptance, before turning back to the gadget in his hands.

“Now that we’re all here, I introduce, the Cancellor !” He waved his arms dramatically for the reveal, the gadget projecting a hologram of a dark woman in a white suit.

Maggie stared blankly, “the counselor?”

Harry looked a bit miffed, “No, the Cancellor.”

Macy tilted her head, “The chancellor?”

“NO, lovely, the CANCELLOR.”

Mel narrowed her eyes, “Cancer?”

Harry gasped for breath, “-wha- how?? It’s the CAN-CELL-OR.”

Abigael smirked, snickering lightly, “Oh Harold, why didn’t you just say so?”

Everyone offered nods of agreement while Harry sputtered for words.

Macy graciously took this time to step forward.

“As my dear was beginning to, ahem, say?” She broke off to give the sputtering whitelighter a concerned look, “This is apparently, in fact, the Cancellor. They have the power to nullify or ‘Cancel’ any powers used against it.”

“Oh but who needs powers when your in the middle of fighting a bloodthirsty demon!” Abby snarked typically.

Mel would normally scold her for such a comment, but found herself cracking a smile at the humor of it.

Macy looked annoyed, but shrugged it off, “As I was saying, something good to note, the Cancellor takes the form of whatever it nullified last, so it might not look like this. That’s just the last recorded form.”

She gestured to the regal woman in white. To which Abby purred delightfully.

“At least it’s last participant knew how to dress well.”

Mel shot her a glare, giving her a slap to the arm.

“What?!” The Britt squeaked. She just rolled her eyes in response.

“Aww,” Abby cooed, wrapping her arms around Mels smaller frame, “Is someone jealous of a power taking, identity stealing demon of the day?”

The Latina grumbled a bit, embarrassed of the blush that had indeed made its way across her face.

“No.”

“Oh I think you are.” The later whispered, “But don’t worry my love, no matter how amazingly dressed someone is, they cant even manage to come close to your overall beauty.”

Mel blushed again, this time for an entirely different reason. And a bit bashfully, she turned and gave Abby a chaste kiss.

“I hate you.” She stated grumpily.

“Love you too grumpy.”

“Ladies,” everyone turned to harry, who had finally recuperated, holding an Orb, “Will you generously accompany me to fight a fashionable identity stealer?”

“Oh Harold,” Abby sashayed forward dramatically, “I thought you’d never ask!”

Macy growled jealously while Mel shared a secret laugh with Maggie. The two of them had slowly found Abbys wit more humorous then insulting.

Harry threw the orb, the Group proceeding to jump through it into a wide circular stone covered room.

“Where are we?” Maggie questioned, peering around, their seemingly was only one entrance, a small archway carved into the surrounding rock. Leading into another room.

“We’re in the Cancellors Lair, that ark leads to the cancellor.” Harry answered informatively.

Mel was confused, however, “If so, how do people get in?”

“I think I have the answer to that.”

Everyone turned to Macy, who was staring at the ceiling. They followed pursuit, only to find their room was not really a room, but the bottom of a very deep pit.

“What a treacherous trap.” Abby seethed respectively, if possible, “Some loner demon falls down the pit. And if they survive. The Cancellor can steal their powers and harvest their body.”

“No… no that can’t be?” The youngest stated sadly, ever the empath, “Some have to escape. What about the innocent humans who fall?”

“I guess some could escape,” Abigael reasoned blatantly. If they realized where they were before the Cancellor found them. They would have to have some type of powers that could propel them upwards, like smoke phasing. Because no lucky Jim could climb these walls. Their smooth as stone.”

She wasn’t wrong, Mel found herself absentmindedly feeling the slick walls with her hand.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned to see her girlfriend smiling at her bashully, and hand held out.

“Head in the Clouds my love?”

“Yeah,” the Latina grinned, taking the britts hand, “Thanks for always finding me.”

“Oh why of course!” The hybrid proclaimed, “What else is a loving girlfriend supposed to do?”

“Oh you know, fight demons, slay monsters, make out from time to time.” She monologued coyly.

-“while I’d love to hear this agonizing conversation,” Macy interrupted, “We have a demon destroy.”

Both of them rolled their eyes, but gladly shared secret smiles.

The ragtag group of magical beings entered the room. Nearly immersed in pitch darkness.

Mel felt Abby take her hand, and she tried to send soothing vibes, squeezing it to show she understood.

Abigael wasn’t a fan of the dark, it wasn’t cause she was afraid of it specifically, moreover, it reminded her of being locked in the crate. And mentioned it made her feel quite claustrophobic.

A lot of her fears spiraled from the singular subject of her childhood. It didn’t make them any less valid, however.

“Macy.” Mel whispered in the dark, “A light please?”

“Since when are you afraid of- oh.”

Her sister caught on, a tad second too late. But thankfully, mentioned nothing when the room was engulfed in flames. Just sending Mel a understanding nod.

Abby may get on Macy’s nerves, but she truly did care about her overall well-being.

“Oh thank you Lovely, now we can see where the Cancellors coming from.” Harry commented, subtly driving attention away from Abigael.

The Latina still could see the flush on her girlfriends face. And squeezed her hand again. Trying to say it was ok through touch.

Annoyingly, even with Macy’s flame, the room was not very bright. And from what Mel could see, it was another circular room, but with a domed ceiling, and vine-snaked walls.

Everyone sorta teetered around, peering closely at the cylinder wall, some parts holding ritualistic type carvings underneath the vines.

“How interesting.” Abby mused lightly, tracing a line finger in the indentions.

Mel winced slightly, as the light behind her got abruptly brighter.

“Hey Mace, good job with the light! Didn’t know you were practicing.”

“Mel…” Macy’s voice sounded nervous and halted, “Mel that isn’t me.”

“What do you mean who else would it-“

She cut off, as everyone turned to the center of the room.

Somehow, submerged in the darkness, a middle platform was completely unseen.

But now, from a spotlight coming from nowhere, it was illuminated in a ghostly, nearly theatrical glow.

And on top of that platform, posing dramatically, was the Cancellor.

Maggie scrunched her nose, “Wait… is that-“

-“LIL NAS X?!?” Mel exclaimed abnormally loud.

Her brain was completely shot. How could this be possible. This shouldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

But yet, it was, no one else rocked Red dreads, tiny black & white boxers, and thigh high leather boots then the number 1 black gay pop artist.

Macy looked thoroughly confused, “Who..? And are you sure that’s him?”

“I thought he looked familiar.” Maggie mumbled to herself.

Harry’s eyes were bugging out of his head, caught between staring and trying to give the Cancellor some privacy. The bulge in his CK boxers leaving nothing to imagination.

“No that’s definitely him,” Abby purred, practically hypnotized, “No one wears those raunchy underwear but him.”

Mel blushed jealously, “He’s gay Abby. As in into penis.”

Abigael jerked her head, trance broken as she gazed at her pouting girlfriend.

“Aww,” she cooed once again, leaning in close, “Is someone jealous of a LilNausex clone?”

The lesbian flushed, hating how adorable Abbys mispronunciation of his name sounded in her accent.

“It’s Lil Nas X.” She stated huffily.

Abby frowned, just a tad, “Oh come on Lovely.”

“Don’t lovely me!” Mel denied stubbornly.

It was a bit childish, yes, but right now the Demon straddling a chair from literally nowhere was undeniably hot for the Men lovers in the room. And she was green with envy.

“Oh you should know by now,” Abby whispered, her tone seductive and lovely, “Your the only one I want to see in those flamboyant boxers.”

Mel hated how much she was turned on right now.

“Also,” her girlfriends voice was now soft, “No matter how much I may ogle or tease, you really are my one and only love.”

Ok, now she could love her again.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

“Not to break up this repetitive conversation,” Macy once again interrupted, “But how is ‘Lil Nas X’ in the room?”

“Yeah,” Harry piped up finally, “He’s human. And it’s not like he’s killed and stolen the crown, and powers of some random leader.”

“OH MY GOD.” Mel screeched, going straight back to mortified.

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST IN THE VIDEO!?”

Everyone turned to her for an explanation, while she blushed from the heavy gaze, and sexual nature of the rationale.

“I-In his recent music video,” she whispered meekly, “he kills satan and steals his power.”

Her blushed increased dramatically at the implication.

“Not that I’ve watched it or something.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Abby whispered with a devilish attitude, “I’ve watched it plenty enough for the both of us.”

“Basically he stripper poles his way down to hell, does a Lap dance for Satan himself, and then proceeds to kill him in the middle of the throws of it. Ergo stealing his crown. And then his powers. We avid fans all assumed it was apart of gay pride and acceptance and sticking it to the homophobes. Turns out it’s that, and becoming all powerful.”

True to their personality. Mel loves what Abby says, Maggie nods appreciatively and nonchalantly, while Macy and Harry look seconds away from dying of pure awkwardness.

“Um, why isn’t he saying anything?” Maggie points out. The sexy demon staring at them all unblinkingly, thoroughly creeping them out.

“Maybe the voices doesn’t carry when he takes the form?” Macy suggests, “So he tries to hide it by not talking? False sense of security?”

Lil N’as Cloné then opened his mouth, revealing a large jagged set of teeth, jaw unhinging slightly.

“Or!” Maggie says with a state of panic, “He was just waiting to eat us alive!”

The demon crouches low, nearly spider like. Swaying from side to side.

“Ladies! Backs to the wall!” Harry announces, “And make sure to show some type of power, we don’t know how long the transformation takes, so we need to keep track on who still possesses them.”

Mel needs no second affirmation, grabbing Abbys wrist and yanking her back.

“Mel?” She looks outraged, “We need to fight it!”

“Yeah we’ll I can’t fight it if your powers are stolen and need someone to protect you!”

Abigael huffs, “I can take care of myself Melanie. See?”

She holds her hand up as if to summon a flame.

Head jerking when none appears.

Her expression changes to one filled with fear and confusion, “Bloody hell??”

Abby continued to unsuccessfully summon a flame, hand whirring to a blur.

“Mel!” She exclaimed in a frenzy, “Mel, it’s not working, why isn’t it working? To hell with this!”

“Hey! Hey,” the Latina soothed, rushing to place a hand on her arm in a calming motion, “Carino it’s ok. Don’t panic. The lil n’as dude just took your powers assumingly.”

“Are you sure?!?”

It seemed kinda like a controversial question to ask; considering she couldn’t activate her fire powers, but Mel understood it was from fear rather then logic.

“Well, try to smoke phase.”

Abby nodded tentatively. Raising her hands once again.

The very tips of her fingers produced ashy whisps, but aside from that, their was nothing.

“Your smoking.” Maggie unhelpfully stated, as she edged towards them.

“Why thank you Captain obvious!” Abby snarked bitterly.

The brunette looked concerned, glancing at the Latina instead, “Mel, what’s wrong?”

Abby was outraged, “Mel?! I am RIGHT HERE y’a know, if your just gonna stand their like a blathering idiot you might as well-“

-“She’s been cancelled,” Mel interrupted blatantly, witch just a tad of irritation at her raving girlfriend, “Her powers aren’t working and she’s lashing out.”

Maggie shrugged, “Naturally.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN NATURALLY?! I have a RIGHT to be upset I-“

-“So you sure their fully gone?” Her sister continued, “I never saw the Cancellor do anything? And he still looks like Lil N’as!”

Mel turned back to the center, brows furrowing at the now empty stage.

“Where’d he go?”

The dead silence, and lack of demon, filled the room with an eerie unsettling vibe.

“Mel, I don’t like this.” The empath warned.

She didn’t either.

“MACY!” The Latina called out, “WHERED HE GO?”

Macy looked just as panicked, probably even more, “I DONT KNOW! HE WAS JUST HERE?!”

“Oh for gods sake! We should rejoice for all I care! I’m the one with my powers gone and if you would STOP bloody ignoring me id-“

Mel whirled around, placing one finger in front of Abbys lips, the other hand firmly around her waist.

“Abby. I love you. I know your freaking out right now. But please, can you refrain from ranting till we leave?”

Abbys eyes were both murderous and loving, and softly, Mel kissed her until it changed to a lightly irritated.

“Better?” She puffed quietly.

The Britt nodded silently, blushing lightly at the affection showed.

Mel scrunched her eyebrows, briefly seeing the abrupt look of horror sweep it’s way across her girlfriends face.

“What’s wr-“

-“MEL LOOK OUT!”

Abby had shoved her aside roughly, the witch groaning as she hit the ground, but enough adrenaline rushing through to allow her to roll to her elbows.

She glanced up, Just in time to see a dark shadow drag Abigail to the the darkest parts of the room.

“ABBY!” She screamed, arm outreached and terror in her eyes.

“MACY!” Mel barked, “MORE LIGHT.”

Her sister didn’t have to be told twice, “ON IT!”

Immediately, the softly glow from Macy’s flame turned into a raging fire, illuminating all that it could without burning something.

Dead silence followed.

Maggie gasped, “Oh no.”

Standing before them, with the shadows gone and dust settled, was two identical Abigael Jameson-Caines. Each with matching clothes and injuries.

“By all things science.” Macy blanched.

“The Cancellor has taken Abbys form!” Harry informed quickly, “Ready yourself for an attack from either one.”

Mel rose to her feet on shaky limbs, reading an icicle from the air particles around her.

“Alright,” her voice was steady, although she wasn’t calm in the slightest, “One of you is the hot pain in my ass who I love dearly. And the other is a cannibalistic identity stealer. So. Who’s who.”

Immediately both of them rushed to ensure her trust, voices perfectly identical.

“I’m the real Abby!” The one on the right said.

“No!” Lefty said, “Don’t listen to them I’m the real Abby!”

[Authors note - Right side Abby will be in bold.

Left side Abby is in Italics.]

“Their perfectly identical,” Macy stressed, “How are we gonna tell them apart?!”

“Their must be a logical way to solve this.” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Come on guys, really?” Maggie shot them a glare, Mel seemed to catch on, “It’s easy really.”

“We quiz them.”

After a quick group huddle, and their bearings regain, they were ready to give a life or death quiz.

“Alright Abby clones,” Maggie narrated, “We’ve each prepared a question, something only the real Abby should know. Based on your answers, we will decide if your truthful or not.”

“Great just don’t dose me with truth serum while your at it.” Both Abbys snarked in complete unison, before shooting matching scowls at the other.

Maggie looked drastically discouraged but the display, voice wavering.

“U-uh, um, y-yes. Questions. H-Harry your up.”

The man walked up a few feet, nervously wiping his palms against his button up.

“Alright, ladies,” he gave his habitual gentlemen nod to the two of them, “When one of you invited me over for dinner, what was the main course?”

“Duck!” Righty said immediately. Grinning proudly.

“Hey! That one was too easy!” Lefty argued, “Duck is the best meat for a date! Everyone knows that! Not to mention I gave Harold a massage beforehand.”

“Of course it’s the best! What else would you eat, bloody chicken like an uncultured heathen?!”

Righty paused to glance at Harry, “Uh, I get the point for that one right?”

Harry looked overwhelmed, panic evident on his face.

“Uh, um. Undecided!” He then quickly scampered to the back of the pack, face flushed while doing so.

“Completely identical.” The Whitelighter whispered to no one.

Macy shrugged, “Guess I’m up.”

She approached the twins glancing at either with an impassive face.

“Let’s see, what’s Abbys favorite nickname for me?”

“Whitebanger.” The two answer in synchronized perfection. Shooting yet another glare at each other.

Macy looked tired, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Of course that one was too easy. Any Abby could apparently answer that in her sleep. Let me think of a harder question.”

It wasn’t long before her poker face soon returned. Leveling them up once again.

“When You fake poisoned yourself, what was that one question that was actually subserviently a dig on me?”

“To spoon!” Left jolted, “I asked you to spoon!”

“Actually! I asked her if she was the big spoon or little spoon.”

“Well excuse me for messing up one tiny detail! At least I got the spoon part before you!” Left rolled her eyesz

“Well mine was actually accurate, so yours doesn’t count!”

“Yeah it does!”

“Does not!” Right argued.

“ENOUGH!”

Macy had both hands out, face strained, “You two need to stop arguing so I can think!”

The clones shut up, as she stormed back towards the group, shaking her head.

“They share a freaking mind.” The eldest stated bitterly.

A few minutes passed as they waited for Maggie to step up. Who looked severely intimidated by the task at hand.

Mel coughed, “Maggie it’s-“

“I KNOW!” The Latina shrieked, “GIVE ME A SECOND!”

“Okayyy!”

The youngest took a couple very hesitant feet forward.

“Hello!” She waved awkwardly, “I’m Maggie -wait ugh, Abby already knows that of course! Gosh stop talking to yourself and think of a damn question!”

She bit her lip nervously, looking at them with a fearful expression.

“Ok, um. Let’s see. What’s some things Abby likes to do?”

“Oh that’s easy, Alcohol, Mel, making Macymorts life miserable!” Righty laughed to herself.

Mel ignored the fierce blush that rose to her face at the implication.

“But that’s easy,” Lefty sneered meanly, “I like to do many things, all which someone could easily guess.”

“Pray tell, tell me how you could ‘guess’ I like those things?”

“Well I-“

-“Ok!” Maggie squeaked, “Another question then!”

She then proceeded to flounder for a few moments. Hands waving rapidly in anxiety.

“Um, ok then. Who’d you save my life from?”

“My brother.”

“My half-brother, Parker.”

The answers seemed to be the same, yet lefty seemed to be happy with how specific she was.

Maggie, however, had paused. Eyes narrowed at the two, caught in a thought.

“Maggie?” Mel whispered, “What did you see?”

The Brunette jolted, plastering a fake smile on her face, “Oh nothing! Just a trick of the light!”

Mel grabbed her arm once she returned closer to the group, “Pfft, trick of the light my ass, you saw something? What was it?”

“I honestly don’t know,” her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, “It was something about how they said it. They said the some thing, yet one sounded right, and the other wrong?”

“But how is that possible?” Macy interject lowly, ever the logical person.

“I don’t know!” Maggie whined, arms flailing, “It just was!”

“We’ll don’t stress,” Mel soothed, “We definitely have something by now from other questions.”

“We definitely, do not, have something from any of these questions.” Harry muttered a few minutes later in a group huddle.

“Maggie,” he glanced at the youngest, “Were you able to get anything, you know, empath wise?”

Her gaze snapped to his, a bit of fire in her pupils, “Don’t you think I would have said something if I did?! It’s hard enough that their identical, but their emotions are too! The Cancellor apparently has the ability to copy someone completely! They know everything about the other, because they know it themselves!”

Mel gasped, realization hitting her in a flash, “Oh my god Mags, that’s it!”

Maggie looked confused, as did the rest of them, “What’s it? What did I say?”

“I can’t be something Abby already knows,” she explained carefully, in a deep whisper, “If it’s something she already knows, the Cancellor can immediately pick up on it. He has a copy of all her memories! It’s gotta be something she doesn’t know, or, Moreover, something we know that can get a honest reaction she doesn’t know she makes.”

“But that’s practically impossible!”

“Don’t say that Macy, it’s not impossible if your the girlfriend of Abigael Jameson-Caine!”

Mel pulled from the group, walking up to the two with a confident swagger.

Both, of course, seemed a bit taken aback by her bold demeanor.

“Ok Siamese freak from hell,” she grinned, cracking her knuckles, “Your in my court now, It’s my turn to ask the questions.”

“One of you is the woman I love, and the fact she’s currently having to take a quiz for her life is sickening, so that stokes the fire of hate I have for whoever is causing this. And once I find out who is it, I promise you will regret ever messing with us, and mi Cariño!”

Mel let her monologue be a distraction, gradually advancing forward as she spoke. Until she was directly in front of them.

“Now, it’s time for your final question.”

She stared them in their chocolate orbs, lingering over the right one. Mel couldn’t understand it, but she felt as if the righty was the true Abby. Even with no proof. Their was just something in her eyes.

“Can you kindly hold you hands like this?”

The Latina then proceeded to hold one hand up, baring the wrist, the other slightly bellow, pressing on a very specific patch of skin.

The two were confused, both tilting their heads to the side slightly, in a way Abby would commonly do when she was thinking.

Mel let her hands drop to her sides, watching like a hawk as the complied. She could feel the groups eyes on her, and was desperately praying that this worked.

A few seconds passed. Nothing happened. Perfectly identical.

Then, it happened. The Abby on the right legs swiftly crumpled.

Mel rushed in, and in one move, caught Abby with one arm. The other, which had been hidden from sight, stabbing the duplicate with a quickly formed air icicle.

The demon gave a feral screech from the weapon embedded in its chest, clawing at it weakly.

The group watched in awe as it switched between numerous forms, one which of was lil n’as, the others it’s countless victims.

“How?” It gasped hoarsely, “I’m completely identical.”

“That’s where your wrong!” Mel smiled proudly, “You see, in a way, you were identical. You knew everything Abby did because you could copy her mind! But what about something she didn’t even know of? Like the fact that from years of being put in shock cuffs consequently damaged the nerve in her right wrist? That when pressed, would cause her to pass out?”

“But how?” It wailed, “She would have known!”

“Except she didn’t!” The Latina cradled the unconscious body gently, kissing Abbys crown lightly, “I only found out by accident. And she didn’t remember a thing about it when waking up. I didn’t want to worry her, so I just stayed quiet. I soon understood why it happened due to her trial. But as a demon who can only copy what the person knows, you wouldn’t have.”

The creature let out a few more pitiful whines before crumpling to ash and dust.

“MEL!” Maggie shrieked in happiness, giving her a gigantic hug, “That was AMAZING! How did you figure it out?!”

“Just by what you said,” she answered honestly,” Their emotions were the same, and physically they were too. But the body is an amazing thing, and it does many things were not even aware of!”

“That is factually correct!” Macy complimented with a smile.

“I suppose this calls for a celebration when we get home, err, when do you think she’ll wake up?” Harry gestured to the peacefully resting girl.

The lesbian grinned softly, “Oh, any moment now. It only knocks her out for a minute or two.”

“Oh!” Maggie perked up, “I just remembered what I noticed about her response!”

Everyone stared with great interest.

The youngest smiled, “Abby called Parker ‘Brother’. Even though he’s only half related, she always adressed him as her brother. I guess the clone thought we wanted more specific.”

“She truly is just that amazing.” Mel noted warmly, lips parting when she felt Abby starting to stir.

The group took this as their key to leave, telling Mel to meet them back in the other room.

She nodded, expression soft when Abigaels eyes fluttered open.

“W-what happened? D-id we do it? Is it gone?”

“Gone Cariño,” Mel cooed, smoothing the stray hairs off her face and stroking her forehead just the way she liked, “All thanks to you my love.”

“Me?” Abigael questioned, “What did I do? All I remember is, ugh, I have a killer headache, I just remember doing some weird hand signs and then darkness?”

“Oh my love, you were yourself! Undeniably, and amazingly yourself. And no Lil N’as, fancy identity stealer could ever imitate you perfectly. For theirs only one of you. And for that, I am greatful.”

“Why?” Abby arched an eyebrow, smiling erotically, “Because I’m too hot to handle?”

Mel scoffed, chuckling despite herself, nearly dropping her girlfriend in the process.

“More like because i can barely tolerate one of your personality!”

The Britt pouted slightly, “Your mean.”

“Oh am I?” She leaned in and kissed her pouty lips, “No but actually? It’s because I’m reminded to never take you for granted. I only get one of you. And it be the worst mistake of my life to waste it.”

Abbys lips turned to a fond smile, “And their you go again, making me feel things and generally be a better happier person.”

“Oh the audacity of myself!” The witch smirked.

“Ugh, I hate you!”

She grinned, “Love you too.”

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Disclaimer tho, all my knowledge of the fandom is strictly from fanfic and google. I don't read the comic or watch the anime. I only have some vague knowledge of what's canon or not and making this fanfic has been somewhat of a fever dream.

Tags: Fluff and angst. Attempt at humor. Crying. Probably ooc. No smut, just holding hands and some hugging and some kissing. Shouto smokes, and probably incorrect depictions of smoking. Implied child abuse (you know who). Lowkey Fuyumi bashing.

Warning: In character cussing from explodo boy. 

Summary:

They found each other in coinciding vulnerability. Shouto was smoking, Katsuki was crying. Miraculously, no one died. It seems that vulnerability is exactly what they need to get through their respective problems, because vulnerability makes them do the one thing the two boys are allergic to do, opening up.

Or, Shouto and Katsuki cope with each other. It miraculously didn't end in explosions, just a lot of physical affections and crying.

Words: 10.9 k

 You don’t have to take life so seriously Shouto! It can be whatever you want to be, it’s yours!

Shouto knocks his head back and parts his lips. White ribbons bleed to the orange sky. The clouds are pretty pink instead of white. The smoke doesn’t blend in with the white clouds anymore like a few hours ago. He taps the amber ash on the portable coffin-shaped ashtray. More than a dozen filter buds crammed there.

He should go back to his room. Any darker then it would be noticeable when goes back to his room. But there’s always that small whisper at the back of his head: Maybe after one more. This spot has been his salvation from overstimulation. It’s the highest building in UA, the rooftop of the dorm. He’s been here for two years and has always been alone.

The door slammed open.

High on nicotine, Shouto passes through shock to immediate acceptance that he’s busted.

Only, he’s not busted. The next sound that came is sobbing. The first thing he sees is awry blond hair and a tear-streaked red face. Soon came the already red blood-shot eyes, staring at him with a sadness that not even in Shouto’s wildest imagination can imagine on Bakugou’s face. It takes a few seconds too long for the default glare and anger to return.

“The fuck are you doing here!” He yells, his voice croaks in a not angry way. Wet and breaking at the pitch.

Shouto, still a bit floaty and relaxed from the nicotine in his system, nor is he yet to register the shock from seeing Bakugou’s tears, just points down towards his fingers.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” his voice is scratchy, a tad bit deeper. He never smoked so many that that happened. Then again, today is a special day.

Seemingly just as shocked, Bakugou seems to still. Shouto expects crackling hands, bared teeth, or maybe a ‘TELL ANYONE AND DIE’, but never that he strides his way and sits on the floor beside Shouto.

“Still have one of those?” Bakugou leans back.

Wordlessly, Shouto digs the last pack from his pocket. There are six left. Bakugou takes one, and Shouto lit a fire on the tip of his thumb towards Bakugou.

“How do you do this?” Bakugou says, eyeing the fire.

“You’ve never done this before?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I have Icyhot! Now fucking tell me already.”

“You put it between your lips, and inhales a bit as you put this corner on the fire.” Shouto crowds him cupping the end of the smoke with his palm and keep the fire controllably small. It feels like Deja Vu, but this time, Shouto is showing someone how to smoke instead.

Bakugou tries, and before Shouto can say to take it slow, Bakugou already choked and doubled over coughing. Shouto pats his back.

“What the fuck was that!” Bakugou roars and grimaces when he sees the stacks of cigarette buds on his ashtray. “How the fuck do you smoke that many!”

Shouto shrugged, “I’m used to it.” He puts out his bud on top of the pile and picks up the mostly one-piece cigarette that Bakugou chucked to the floor and lights it up. He feels eyes on him as he put the filter on his lips and lit it up in one smooth move.

With the cigarette properly lit, he offered, “Wanna try again?”

“No! That shit’s nasty.” Bakugou snarled at the hand holding the smoking cig.

“Suit yourself,” Shouto takes a deep drag and sighs. Surprisingly, Bakugou doesn’t up and leave, and more so that Shouto doesn’t mind the silence.

Alas, it only lasted exactly 33 seconds.

“How the fuck did you get in here!” Bakugou grumbles, “The door was locked.”

“I made ice stairs from my balcony.”

“Like how Elsa did?”

“Exactly like Elsa did, she was my inspiration.”

Bakugou snorts. No sadness left, just a condescending smile, which is better than the ghostly tears in his eyes.

“How did you get in through the locked door?”

“How else would you think?” Bakugou lifts his hand, cradling a small cluster of explosions.

Shouto face palmed, dragging it down.

“What?” Bakugou barks.

“Well when they figured out the door broke then they gonna figure out that someone’s been here, don’t they?”

“That nicotine is already killing your fucking brain cells.”

“That’s not how it’s-”

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before anyone finds us you loon.”

“But I-”

“You’ve burned through enough death sticks, let’s go!” Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him up.

“Fine fine, let me tidy up.” Shouto could barely close his ashtray with all the buds in it, and he dusted the ashes that drops to the floor.

Shouto already makes the stairs down to his room before looking back at Bakugou, “Want me to drop you to your balcony?”

“I don’t know,” Bakugou narrows his eyes dangerously, “Will it suddenly melts away as I walk on it?”

Shouto huffs, “You have no faith in your favorite sparring partner?”

“The only thing I learned these past couple of years with you being shoved at my face as my sparring partner is that you’re a little shithead.”

Shouto makes the stairs towards Bakugou’s room first, reveling in how badly Bakugou tried to cover his amazement at the stairs.

“Just like Elsa’s, right?”

“You want me to give you Elsa’s number 1 simp trophy?”

Shouto melts Bakugou’s step and lets him fall blond head first into his balcony.

“YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT, COCA-COLA SHITHEAD!”

Bakugou roars, and Shouto giggles as he jumps upstairs to his room with explosions fading behind him.

Not until he’s laying in bed that night that he thinks about Bakugou’s tears again. Rest assured, his imagination spiraled to ‘what could it be’ until 4 am.

  ++++

 I don’t understand why your dad wants you to be number one when he should’ve want you to just be happy. Nothing in life really matters unless you’re happy.

Shouto loves everything about living in the dorm, but it has one and only one weakness. He can’t smoke as freely.

His dad knows and just rant about how it’ll affect his performance.

Now, Aizawa knows, and he’s at the principal’s office.

Shouto instantly knows how. Bakugou broke the rooftop door. Iida must’ve found it, reported it to Aizawa-sensei. Maybe his homeroom teacher has magnifying vision too because Shouto could’ve sworn he left no trace.

Yet Shouto can’t find it in him to blame anyone. He knows as an aspiring hero he shouldn’t smoke, those reasons never matter at those desperate times he needed to smoke.

“Tea?” Nezu raises his pot of pink teapot, Shouto narrows his eyes at the paw (how did that paw hold the teacup?)

“Yes, thank you.” The cup is equally pink, with two cheerful yellow flowers on each side. This looks like a tea set Eri had.

Shouto sips the possibly herbal tea, trying to ignore the glare Aizawa-sensei is sending his way from beside Nezu.

“Todoroki, how long have you been smoking?” His sensei’s voice gravels, like he just woke up from bed, his bed hair supports the theory.

Apparently  a little mental, Shouto said, “Overall or in school?”

“Both.”

“Started when I was in first-grade junior high school.” As soon as he has any time away from home. “In UA, as soon as I stayed at the dorm.”

“Now, Todoroki,” Nezu put his paws together, “You know someone as young as you shouldn’t smoke. You’re underage, and an aspiring hero on top of that...”

Nezu then continues his PSA on smoking. Nothing Shouto hasn’t heard. Every word goes in the left ear and came out the right. He also isn’t surprised that Aizawa will be taking his stash of cigarettes. It doesn’t suck as much because Shouto doesn’t have a lot left anyway, nor is he been regularly smoking. He smokes when he’s stressed and nothing else could calm him down. He never reached out to the cigs first. The coffin-shaped portable ashtray reminded him that.

As soon as he’s back at the dorm, he’s greeted with a cheerful environment. Half his classmates are hanging in the living room. There’s a group playing Mario Party, a group that’s putting on nail art, and a group that seems to cook something ambitious. Shouto usually joins the group, but not today.

“Todoroki!” Iida comes from the hall, “Aizawa-Sensei came earlier and ran through your room! He seems to confiscate a pack of cigarettes. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s all a misunderstanding-”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Todoroki! At our young age as aspiring heroes we sho-”

“Nope, sorry not today Iida. Good night.”

Todoroki feels a few eyes on his back, but he walks on. With him naturally keeping things to himself, his friends tend to worry but they trust him to reach out to them in his own time. When it gets too long they usually check up on him. Shouto wished they never will.

 +++++ 

 You have the power to be whatever you want, but why are you following the wishes of someone you hate? I know he’s your dad, but your life is yours, Shouto.

Shouto’s wish didn’t come true when Bakugou bugs him on the rooftop again two days after he was raided.

It’s Deja Vu, but fewer tears from Bakugou and Shouto isn't a pack and a half deep in cigarettes.

“I fucking know you’d be at my spot again!” Bakugou spat scathingly.

“Excuse you,” Shouto scowls, “I’ve been smoking at this spot since the dorm opens. This is my spot.”

“Well, I’ve been- I’ve been-” Shouto should’ve known that Bakugou would turn red and explodes instead of admitting he’d been caught emoting, “What the fuck are you doing here anyway! You’re doing nothing!”

“No thanks to someone.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, confused at the implication, but his exploding friend is smart, so he figured it out, and isn’t happy with what he figures out. “The fuck, get your accusing eyes away from me discount Sans, I don’t tattle.”

“No, but you exploded the door which leads to Iida reporting it, which leads to Aizawa inspecting the premises, and him figuring it out that smoked here.”

“That’s just your fucking fault for not covering your trace clean!”

Shouto inhaled indignantly, but then too tired to justify himself. There’s no ending of arguing with Bakugou, and Shouto had learned to choose his battles.

“How about you? How did you get in here?”

“Stole a key from Iida.”

“Are you here to cry again?”

Bakugou’s palms explode, his face an embarrassed flush and teeth bared in anger, “WHOS FUCKING CRYING!!?”

“I have eyes.”

“You’ve been sucking on those death sticks way too much.”

“I wasn’t smoking that type of substance.”

“Whatever, I’m not dealing with this,” Bakugou turns to step away.

“I don’t get it, it’s not a big deal!” Shouto raises his voice a bit, for some reason his heart rate picks up when Bakugou starts leaving. “So what if you sweat through your eyes? Midoriya does it almost every day, sometimes twice a day...”

“Don’t fucking compare me to fucking Deku you fucking fried ice cream!”

“...And Midoriya beat you at this year’s Sports Festival,” Shouto dismissed.

Bakugou grits his teeth, but his eyes watch over Shouto. “Stop stalling and tell me what you want from me,” Bakugou growls.

Shouto’s eyes widen at the sudden honesty, he nibbles on his bottom lips, “Stay here?”

For a second, Bakugou glares at him, but after two years of being his classmate, Shouto can confidently say that they’re friends. He knows Bakugou isn’t angry at him. As to prove his point, Bakugou sits beside him, a bit closer than Shouto expects him to, though still with that permanent scowl. Shouto moves his palms from his pocket, letting go of the aluminum ashtray. Shouto tests the waters and moves closer so their shoulder bumps. No explosions, no snarl, success.

Instantly, Shouto relaxes. Focusing on the pressure of their shoulders, the light shifts Bakugou does (because he can never fully stay still), and the clouds moving. No thought, just being alive.

Alas, no quiet ever lasted long with Bakugou, he expected it though.

“No wonder Aizawa figured it out, this place still stinks of tobacco.”

“It does?” Shouto takes a deep sniff, all he smells is Bakugou’s sweat that always smells sweet because of his quirk. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Yeah no shit scar head, your nose is probably numb at this point.”

“I don’t smoke that much.”

“Said someone who smoked more than a dozen in one sitting,” Bakugou’s nags turns to worry, “Damn, was it really in one sitting?”

“Is that worry I detected?” Shouto deflects.

Bakugou grits his teeth, “I’m not worried! Go die off lung cancer I don’t fucking care!”

“Good, then, because yes it was, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Fucking hell it’s not! What the actual fuck are your lungs made of? I barely suck it past my throat and I almost coughed out my insides.”

“I missed your dramatics,” Shouto says genuinely, and he waits for an explosion to come. Bakugou doesn’t do well with praises thinly veiled with snark.

It never came, Bakugou watches him closely instead, “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”

Shouto dared to glare back, but it didn’t last long, he knows the answer. Shouto had come out of his shell nicely, as Momo had put it. He’s still awkward, can’t really quite grasp ‘pop culture’ and how to correctly implied it, but he regularly hangs out with his friends. As of late, he’s noticeably withdrawn. Going straight to his room after class, and opting out of game nights, nail nights, and even soba nights.

They had been giving him space, which he finds endearing. Of course, Bakugou isn’t one to give anything liberally.

“Mine...” Shouto admits, and Bakugou looks surprised.

The fun part of befriending Bakugou is that Shouto could be a bit of a bitch and Bakugou would be a bitch back, and it wouldn’t matter. No one’s feelings were hurt, and Shouto can let go of steam without guilt. Shouto could’ve been in denial, said that Bakugou should step off his dick and no feelings would be hurt.

But he had enough of space, though admittedly, he should’ve confessed that with someone that wants to be in his space.

“Finally, you’re done moping around, everyone’s been on my ass worrying about you.”

“Why would they be on your ass?”

“Hell would I know.”

“Was that the reason you cried?” Shouto is just teasing, but the grim in Bakugou’s face isn’t a familiar one.

“I told you that didn’t happen!” he growls lowly.

Shouto considers, clueless yet curious. “I’ll tell you about me if you told me about you.”

“Just because you’re vomiting your crisis that I didn’t ask for, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same!”

“Okay, that’s fine too.”

“No, shut-”

“My mom and dad are getting back together.”

Bakugou’s expression mellows to confusion, “That sounds convoluted as hell. Didn’t they just got a divorce or something?”

“They never got a divorce. She’s just sent to a mental hospital and never came home, doesn’t mean the marriage is legally broken.”

The fact seems to sink slow with his explosive friend, “What the fuck.”

Shouto sighs, looking down his jittery hands, his mouth dries. “Last year when I visited my mom, we were talking about the future. She said she’d filed for a divorce, and I’d live with her.” Shouto feels oddly numb, but there’s this dull ache deep in his chest that’s constant. “I should’ve known. She said that before he ‘tried to change’... she said that when everything was still bad, she thought it still happened.”

“What still happened?” Bakugou sounds angry, but he always does.

“I got hurt a lot when I was a kid, because of training. She thought he still hurts me.”

He felt the shoulder beside him tensed. Beside Shouto’s jittery hands is Bakugou’s clenched shaking fist. Shouto looks up from their laps and finds that Bakugou’s face... an eerie stoic.

“Hmmm,” Bakugou hums, and a chill runs down his spine. “When did you start training by the way?” not even a curse in that sentence.

Shouto realizes then, this is Bakugou truly angry, even though Shouto can’t figure out why on earth would he be.

“The day after my quirk manifested.”

His childhood is unforgettable. The day his training starts with fear and pain, then ends with exhaustion and anger. The day Touya never came back, the day his mom left, the longing stare towards the backyard wanting to play with his brother and sister. He remembers it all, like a tattoo in his memory.

“We been knew that Endeavor was an ass but I didn’t know he’s a fucking child abuser.”

The words snap him away from his musing. This time, Bakugou looks angry angry. Teeth-gritting, scowling, boiling anger.

Oh, that’s why he’s angry.

“It was training.”

“Not at five fucking years old you e-boy himbo!” Bakugou barks.

“That’s new, what’s a himbo?”

“Not the fucking point!” Bakugou takes his shoulder away, and suddenly Shouto feels cold. Then he’s held by his shoulders, pinned by sharp maroon eyes, and the lack of warmth turns cold when a growl says, “You’re telling me that your dad’s been abusing you, and no one stopped him? And he’s fucking getting away with it??”

There are so many things wrong with that question and implied statement. One is that it was not abuse. Two is that no one could’ve stopped the then number two hero. Three is that Shouto didn’t tell him any of that but Bakugou assumed anyway.

Shouto doesn’t get to say all of it as Bakugou lets go of him and takes deep breaths. Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly displeased at what he’s thinking.

“Why did you think your mom wants to get back together with your dad?”

Shouto feels relieved now they’re back on topic, “I don’t know. It feels like one moment she’s afraid of him, and now she wants to be with him again. I guess... he did ‘try to be better’. Everyone else seems to forgive him, but I can’t.”

Then Bakugou does something that he didn’t expect, he defends them, “I mean... He’s not that much of a dick now, right? He’s a dick but he was pretty alright when we have a work-study at his agency. And your mom’s better, so maybe they could make it work?”

Shouto knows it’s technically true, but displeasure clawed him still, his blood boiling.

“I don’t care whether it works! I hated that she forgives him so easily!” Shouto shouts.

“Well, that’s selfish of you, isn’t it! It’s her decision, not yours!” Bakugou barks back.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Shouto spats, he stands up, “They’re going to destroy each other, and what then? Do they want me to just look at their trainwreck while they insist everything is okay? No! I’m not going through that again!”

“You’re just not trusting your mom! Things changed!” Bakugou stands up too, he looks exceptionally angrier than ever.

“No, I don’t. Especially after she said she wanted to get a divorce with him then changing her mind only a year later. Of course, I don’t trust her!”

“But isn’t it better to have both your parents together?”

“No, it doesn’t especially when she’s not happy!”

Bakugou doesn’t bark back, and Shouto only realized how Bakugou’s question was laced with a cracked voice. Shouto looks, only partially surprised that the eyes that look back thinly veiled with tears. The heat in his bloodstream wanes out, more worried/horrified that Bakugou is now openly crying.

This is the worst. Both of them are socially awkward lone wolves that have no idea how and what to do with emotions. So, Shouto does his #best.

“You can tell me.”

Bakugouu glares. Okay, so maybe Shouto’s #best isn’t what he needs.

“Only if you want, if you don’t then it’s okay too.”

“Shut the fuck up, thermostat.”

What else do you do when someone cried? Shouto racks his memories of times when he was crying a lot when he was little, trying to find examples he could follow. He remembers his mom.

“Come here.”

“The fuck are you trying to-”

Shouto cuts him off with a hug. It’s as awkward as it comes. Shouto has his arms around the broad shoulders, his chin hooked on the right side. Shouto doesn’t know how tight he should hug, but it’s enough to press their chest together. Then one of his arms, the left one, rubs Bakugou’s back, emitting a slight warmth. In two languid swipes, Bakugou’s tenseness bleeds slowly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Shouto says, mimicking what his mom had said once upon a time when he’s upset. “But it’ll be okay. Maybe it’ll take a long time, or it’ll be really hard, but you...” have me, you don’t have to deal with everything alone, was what his mom finished with. He doesn’t know if Bakugou would see him as reliable, but Fuyumi had said that intentions are the most important. “You have your friends, and you have me. I don’t know what will help, but I’ll do it if you asked.”

Shouto surprised himself that he means it. When he encounters an emotionally fragile situation, he usually gets Midoriya, or Urakara, or Momo to handle the situation. With Bakugou however...seeing that his usually prickly friend tipping at the edge like this, Shouto felt like he wants to help. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the S.S. Emotional Constipation that makes him reach out his personal hand towards Bakugou.

Shouto found another surprise when Bakugou hugs him back, his spiky blond head tucked at the crook of his neck. Shouto also didn’t expect the reflex tears pooling in his eyes at the feeling of tightening arms around his torso. He’s being held, tight and needy. When was the last time he’s held like this? Tears pours without his will when he realized the last time someone hugged him was Touya as Dabi when he was about to burn himself along with Shouto.

They stay there on the rooftop just holding each other as if they’ll fall apart if they don't. When Bakugou lets go, his eyes are even redder than it already is. When those red eyes look up, he noticed the tear streak down Shouto’s face and doesn’t comment about it.

Instead, Bakugou says, “My parents are splitting up.”

Shouto says nothing, only to pull him in his arms again.

They say nothing else as they sit at the same spot on the concrete floor leaning on each other, hand in hand. Shouto instinctually teared up again when he remembered the last time someone holds his hand was his mom as she walked him to a park, all those years ago. Other than that, it was for survival and fighting.

Bakugou leans his head on Shouto’s shoulder first, Shouto says nothing about it. He then leans his face on top of Bakugou’s hair, it feels like a bed of grass, Bakugou says nothing about it too. Shouto realizes that Bakugou can be vulnerable as long as no one points it out. Being untalkative, Shouto can do just that.

The future is scary, especially when their supposed foundation is changing. Bakugou’s foundations are breaking apart, while Shouto had grown accustomed to the torn apart pieces now move together crossing fingers that they fit.

But the future is for tomorrow. The changes are not theirs to make. All they can do now is hold themselves together as everything changes, hoping they don’t break in the process.

Eventually, nightfalls, but none of them moved. Shouto suspects that Bakugou might be sleeping on him.

It’s a suspicion no more when Aizawa found them there, and Bakugou doesn’t stir from being found. Those tired eyes already look exasperated as he finds Shouto’s tear-streaked eyes looking back.

Aizawa sighs, “Is it life-threatening ?”

Shouto knows that the teacher is prone to worries despite his appearance. Their stumble at first year seems to scar him and made him extra vigilant with his students ever since.

“There’s nothing we could do about it,” Shouto says, which is true, but seemingly a wrong thing to say.

“That doesn’t answer my question, trouble child.” Aizawa scowls, which means his worry cranked up to max. “Are the both of you facing a problem that harms you, or threatening your life?”

“It’s nothing like that,” says the bundle of blond in his shoulder. Bakugou sits up and stretches, yawning so big his jaw seems to unhinge a bit. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. “It’s family drama, you know how it is.”

“Is it really just drama?” Aizawa squints at Bakugou, too knowing for someone without a mind-reading quirk.

Bakugou looks at Shouto, searching and prodding. Shouto doesn’t understand what he could be looking for, or what he wants. Bakugou just sighs, “Yeah, just drama.”

Aizawa looks at Shouto too and softens. “If you two need to cuddle you can just do it in your respective room.”

“Nah, too many nosy people.” Bakugou starts to leave.

Shouto follows with a “Good night Sensei.”

Aizawa grunts.

“We can use my Elsa stairs,” Shouto pipes in as he walks alongside him.

Bakugou looks at him and huffs, “Turns out you’re not a himbo after all.”

Since Bakugou won't tell him, Shouto looks up ‘himbo’ himself. This raises a lot of questions about how Bakugou has been seeing him, but Shouto decides that he’d be offended by it.

  ++++++

 You could still be lonely even though you have tons of sibling, or even when they really love you. I guess they just don’t know how to show us they love us.

He really should’ve known. He really should’ve fucking known.

The thought spins in his head as he smoked the last cigarette on his freshly bought pack. No one to catch him this time. It’s the weekend and he’s supposed to be at home, but it’s unbearable to be in the same room with his family. Usually, he could just slurp his soba in feigning ignorance but not now.

He’s sitting by the bench of a lonely park. He’s been sitting here since sun down. He has no idea what time it is. His phone in his pocket is on silent, he hasn’t checked on it since he walked out.

He should’ve stayed at the dorms, fuck the family dinner.

It’s not that Shouto wants things to end up badly. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be home, especially since his mom finally comes home after so many years. Everyone is happy that she’s back, even Natsuo, even his dad. Everyone except her. It looks so hard for her to be there. Shouto can see in her face that some places still hold strong bad memories for her.

His mother is strong because she pulls through. She holds herself through it all even though it seems only barely.

Yet why is he still so angry at her? Maybe not angry, frustrated. Shouto wants to ask her clarity. Why is she doing this? Why did she change her mind? Why come back here? Why not grasp the independence she had been telling Shouto she strived for? Was she coaxed to be here? Was she feeling some kind of responsibility to go back here? To salvage that sham of a marriage she had with Endeavor?

Shouto wants to ask, wants to understand. He crowded her with questions that moment when they said they’d be getting back together, only for his mom to wince, eyes widen, and quickened breath. For the second time in his life, his mom had looked at him with fear. Today, Shouto could barely meet her eyes again.

Is he really such a monster in her eyes just because he’s half his father? Then why go back to his father at all?

Shouto bought half a dozen packs as per tradition. Also because of his self implied tradition, he puts all the ashes in the coffin-shaped ashtray, even though there’s a park ashtray right beside him.

“You carry that everywhere,” Says a groveling voice that Shouto would notice anywhere.

Bakugou is in casuals. Black jeans and a grey hoodie seem like he’s out in a hurry. Just like Shouto.

“You’ve got to stop stalking me,” Shouto inhales deep, watching red amber burns till the filter and sighs.

“Who fucking stalking you Zuko.”

“Zuko doesn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Bakugou plop his ass beside Shouto, sitting waaay too close. He snatched the coffin tin, inspecting it. “Even when you didn’t smoke you carried this.”

“How did you know?”

“It shows your pocket, not big enough for a phone.”

Shouto knows he can’t get away once Bakugou began prying. “My first friend gave it to me.”

“That fucking Deku???”

“No,” Shouto chuckles at the image of Midoriya taking the role of what his first friend did. “It’s someone I met first-year junior high. She gave me this after introducing me to cigarettes.”

“That’s so fucking passive-aggressive I would’ve punched her in her teeth,” Bakugou grumbles, putting the ashtray to Shouto’s lap. “And why the fuck would anyone smoke at thirteen anyway!”

“Exactly because we’re thirteen, Katsuki, just because,” Shouto chuckles again at the memory. Seemingly too carefree from the nicotine, Bakugou had become Katsuki in his tongue. Katsuki bristles at his given name, but says nothing about it. It mysteriously made Shouto very happy.

“Among everything though, she was my first best friend, she teaches me a lot of things that make me who I am. She made me realize that I didn’t have to follow my dad’s wishes. That I can be what I want to be instead of what I was born for. That it’s valid to be lonely even though I technically have a big family. That it’s okay to not strive to be the best and just to be... happy.”

Shouto closes his eyes, remembering her lessons always fell bitter-sweet. But he’ll hold it in his heart forever.

“What you’re born for?” Katsuki says scathingly.

“Yeah, you know about this.” Shouto was told that Katsuki had eavesdropped on his conversation with Midoriya. Shouto was born to fulfill another man’s vendetta. A purpose first, and a son last.

“Seem like a wise person for a thirteen-year-old,” Katsuki sneers.

“She was, I loved her,” Shouto’s confession brings Katsuki’s face to a red grimace.

“Shit, I didn’t ask you to tell me your fucking secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Oh, really?” Katsuki spat bitterly, “Then why are you hiding your girlfriend from us?”

So many things wrong with that question. Shouto raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m not hiding her. She’s dead.”

The grimace fell like a hot potato, it would’ve been fun watching how Katsuki splutters if he didn’t look like he’s legit choking. “Holy fuck, that's... fuck, then why the shit you’re so stoic talking about it,” Katsuki seems appalled.

“It happens a long time ago. She seems accepting of her death that I... well I want to respect her decision.” Shouto knows it’s weird to not feel mournful of the departure of your closest friend. He still misses her, but she had been so positive until the very moment she left. Shouto was sure that she’s happy, so Shouto wants to be happy for her.

Katsuki paled, horrified, seemingly to misunderstand again.

“She had a terminal illness. Very likely no chance of survival. She chose to live her remaining time normally instead of undergoing treatment.”

“There’s... There’s no way her parents let her do that.”

“They’re economically challenged. They tried though, just too late in the end.”

“Fuck...” Katsuki cursed, running through his hair roughly. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to have life-changing moments like that.”

“A lot of people have proven to me that everyone has potential to be unexpected, and that’s just how it is.” Shouto looks pointedly at Katsuki, who glares at him in retaliation. “There’s a reason why we’re both here instead of home.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki mumbles, clearly not wanting to talk.

Shouto doesn’t too, to be honest, and yet keeping it in feels more exhausting, “My mom’s home.”

“No shit?” Katsuki was mildly surprised, “So it’s really happening huh.”

“It’s like walking on eggshells with her. I wanted to ask, but last time I did she flinched at me. I couldn’t look at her today.”

Katsuki sighs. This time, Katsuki is the one that scoots over till their shoulders touched all the way to their thighs. The contact makes Shouto breathes easier, he’s drawn to it like moths to a flame. His body goes limp as if it’s been too tense too long from holding itself together, and he drapes himself on top of Katsuki. Shoulder pressed together, his head heavily falls on Katsuki’s shoulder. Instinctually, his hand looks for another hand. Katsuki snakes around his hand and clasps it with his. It’s uncharacteristic, but Shouto finds himself grateful for it.

It’s warm, it’s damp, it’s grounding. Like lying on even earth after running away for so long.

“I don’t want her to be with him under the obligation that parents are supposed to be together for the kids. She’s been through so much, I would’ve understood, but I didn’t know how to say it without triggering her.” Silence follows, and Shouto realized what he said. “Sorry, uh, I’m not insinuating-”

“Shut up candy cane, I know.” Katsuki leans closer, his head on top of Shouto’s.

It’s warm, just what he needs in the middle of an emotional crisis at the beginning of November. It’s a bit out of character for Katsuki to do this, nor Shouto, neither of them are known for physical contact or talking about their personal lives. Yet here they are.

And Katsuki speaks anyway, “They’re fighting.”

Shouto, contrary to what Katsuki called him, isn’t a himbo. He knows who they are and he knows what a fight could entail.

“Did they hurt each other when they fight?” Shouto asks, then mused even if they did, could Katsuki do anything about it? Shouto couldn’t back then.

“No!” Katsuki says, indignant, “Of course not, they’re just bitching at each other about... about... I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid.”

“Hm, that’s good.”

“Fucking hell it’s good, they’re being idiotic!”

“They’re not hurting each other.”

Katsuki paused, his hands clenched tighter, “Did he hurt your mom when they fight?”

Shouto takes a deep inhale at the surge of memory. The fear that settles is old, he knows. Just leftover trauma that never went away, still, it bubbled to the surface, makes his skin cold.

Not trusting his voice, Shouto nods.

“They were fighting about me,” Katsuki says after a while, his voice a bit shaky, and Shouto knows better than to point it out. He keeps his head on the shaking shoulder and listens. “They didn’t know I was listening, they never did. They never... Turn-Turns out they didn’t even plan on having me.”

Katsuki holds his hand tighter and trembling.

“I’m a fucking accident,” Katsuki spat, venom dripping in every word. “Then they had a shotgun wedding, they didn’t even love each other at all.”

Shouto hears one escape of a sniff and lets himself relax, feigning clueless that Katsuki must’ve been crying. He lets the silence stretches until the hand holding his relaxed and the shaking subsides. Shouto had the same breakdown before. It downs to him that they’re not so different after all, children of a loveless relationship. Though he wonders if that instantly means he’s unloved. It had felt that way, but now... now it feels so much complicated than yes or no.

“Does it matter why we’re born?” Shouto hears a deep inhale of an incoming rant but he cuts it off with, “We’re our own person, with our own lives, and our own dreams. No one can tell us otherwise. Not even the one who makes us.” Shouto pauses and listens, what came to his ears is soft breathing, so he continues. “So what you’re not planned? That doesn’t mean you’re unwanted,” Shouto rubs his thumb over the damp knuckles, “You’re not unloved.”

Because Shouto had been to the Bakugo residence. Bakugou Mitsuki is as explosive as he is, but he can see her adoring stare at her son even when she’s scolding him. Bakugou Masaru is softer, always trying to calm both of them and giving small smiles when Shouto tells him stories about his son at school.

“What the fuck do you know, water dispenser?” Katsuki lowly growls, but it doesn’t have that biting hate, he doesn’t move away from Shouto.

So Shouto only hums and lets the silence stretch. He grabs the ashtray with his other hand, rubbing the plain surface with his thumb, remembering her, thanking her.

“What’s her name?” Katsuki says after minutes of silence, his voice with less snarl.

“Arisu.”

“... I’m sorry you lost her.”

And that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shouto may be able to let her go, but she’s still lost to him. Still hurts, Shouto still mises her. “Thank you.”

They didn’t let go of each other until Shouto’s phone rings. It’s Natsuo. His brother is just as unhappy about their parents' reunion, though for him it’s more about hating their dad and less about questioning their mother as Shouto did. Natsuo called to offer to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. Shouto immediately agrees, then he remembers Katsuki.

“Is it okay if I bring one of my friends?”

Katsuki instantly glowers at him.

“Who?”

“Katsuki.”

“Who??”

“Bakugou.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Buy some dinner on the way, I didn’t get to eat much.”

“Okay, me too.”

As soon as they hang up, Katsuki bares his teeth.

“Who says I’ll go with you, Pokeball?” His voice raised a bit, his arms crossing defensively.

“I’m not, I said if. You don’t have to, but if you want, you can.”

“No one fucking asked you for shelter,” Katsuki scoffs, facing away.

“I know...” Shouto knows Katsuki would rather leave than accept help. The only way he accepts it is that if no one acknowledges it. He knows Katsuki can take care of himself, but Shouto is the one that doesn’t want him to leave just yet. Shouto knows he’ll go back to Natsuo’s place only to hear him bitch about Endeavor when the real problem is with their mom and her odd decision.

“Can’t you just stay for dinner?” The desperation in his voice is real, Katsuki seems to notice it and is bewildered by it. “Please?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the magic word because no, Shouto doesn’t say it often, much less towards Katsuki, he had enough ego already.

Nose flared and fist clenched, Katsuki finally barks, “Fine! But we’re cooking instead of ordering take-out, I fucking know what you’re gonna get you soba simp. Your brother better has a kitchen.”

“He does,” Shouto replies, the upbeat tone in his voice is rare. Can you blame him? He’s excited that he’s not coming home, and Katsuki goes with him with his admittedly superior cooking.

At Natsuo’s apartment, Shouto helped Katsuki cook, nothing more than chopping stuff. Natsuo gave him a brief summary of what happened at home after Shouto left, but thankfully, he’s not saying too much because Katsuki is there. Once Natsuo finished talking and left to get beers, Shouto gives Katsuki an arm squeeze of thanks. Katsuki only grunts.

Dinner is ‘simple’ in Katsuki’s opinion. Stir-fried vegetables, miso soup, and hamburg steak. As always, it’s delicious, and Natsuo who’s none the wiser to Katsuki’s God-like cooking skill is blown away.

They’re in the living area on the sofa watching TV when Shouto scoots closer again. Natsuo is in his room studying.

“You can stay here for the rest of the weekend if you want,” Shouto says, bumping shoulders.

Katsuki frowns, eyes on the screen. “I don’t have my change of clothes with me.”

“You can borrow mine, I have some here.”

“Ran away a lot don’t you?” Katsuki sneers.

“You have no idea,” Shouto admits.

The sneer falls, “Why?”

“Just because I finally can.”

“You couldn’t before?”

Shouto shakes his head, finding his head heavy, so he lays his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again. “Before he was number one, he insists on using all my free time on training. If I didn’t, he’d take my phone, or the internet, or my manga, even burned them on some occasion. He even flushed my pet fish, rest in peace Kiya. Then he’s number one, and the dorms are established... so...”

Shout shrugs. He doesn’t reach for Katsuki’s hand this time, just pressed against him, afraid if he pushed then Katsuki would retract. Shouto doesn’t want to stop his newfound comfort just yet.

Then his hand is grasped by a firm clammy hand. Shouto keeps thinking of how Katsuki’s sweaty hands must be because of the nitroglycerin of his quirk. If he’s not thinking about Katsuki’s quirk then he’d think about how it makes his heart skipped a beat that Katsuki initiates the touch again. So yeah, clammy hands that hold him tight.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Katsuki says, weaker than he’s accustomed to. It makes Shouto wary.

“I don’t know what is there to tell.”

A groan stretches, “What do I do with you?”

“Hey...” Shouto mock complains “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does he still train you like that?”

Shouto feels a bit of whiplash with all these questions. Katsuki has been asking personal questions left and right, and Shouto doesn’t understand why answering it doesn’t feel as hard as usual.

“No, not since he became number 1.”

Katsuki scoffs, “Got what he wanted didn’t he?”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the case. When he got it, he didn’t seem happy, just angry. Then he started wanting the family he broke to get that number one spot.”

That renders Katsuki to another bout of silence. He knows Katsuki strives to be number one too, and at first, Shouto had ridiculed him about it. Why does a superficial title mean so much anyway? Katsuki changed over the years though, with Midoriya being the main cause of it.

Heart on his throat, Shouto dare asks, “Hey, Katsuki? Why do you want to be a hero?”

Katsuki tensed, but Shouto holds him tighter, “Why are you getting nosy all of the sudden?”

Shouto knows he’s not getting things easy, “I just wanna know.”

“Yeah, that’s nosy.”

“No, I just want to get to know you.” Shouto bites his lips as soon as the words left, was that too forward?

They’re not looking at each other, but Shouto can feel the glare directed at him. “Why?”

“We’ve been friends for a while...”

“We’re not fucking friends-!”

“...But I feel like I’m taking you for granted. I didn’t even know you’re going through something so big.” Some friend I am, Shouto broods.

It takes a few seconds, but Katsuki defeatedly sighs, and Shouto smiles in victory, “At first, I just want to be the best.”

“Best at what?”

“Everything...” Katsuki muses, his head knocked back, “Then I realized that it was an impossible goal... Did a lot of thinking, did a lot of uh, self-reflecting. Started talking to Ito-san too. I realized that I just want to be needed.”

It makes sense why Katsuki is here then. Shouto wished he could outright say that he needs him so Katsuki would stay longer, but just imagining him doing so already makes him pink in embarrassment.

Ito-san is the school counselor, her doors are open for every UA student. Shouto had half the mind to go to her, but there’s always this weight of silence from being a son of a high-profile hero. Endeavor always drilled him about secrecy and how he shouldn’t say anything about his family to anyone or it’ll ruin everything. It’s the reason why Arisu was his only friend, she was dying, and she did take his secret to her grave. Shouto still feels guilty about that.

“Have you ever talked to Ito-san?” Katsuki asked as if reading his mind.

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Everything that comes out of my mouth is tabloid-worthy. Endeavor had drilled me from way young that I can’t run my mouth about our lives. He’s right about that at least, I didn’t want paparazzi swarming us demanding half-assed rumors if I can help it. It had happened before, someone even sneaked into my mom’s hospital to reach her. I guess... that’s also why I never told anyone at all about anything.”

“You told Arisu didn’t you?”

Shouto bites his lip, guilt gnaws at him, “Because I know she won't carry my secrets long enough.” Please don’t hate me. Shouto’s grip on Katsuki tighten.

“But you told Deku, you told me.”

“Well, I trust you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “You sure you don’t want to stay over?”

Katsuki leans away, and the cold strikes immediately. Shouto leans back, pointedly not looking at red irises.

“Fine.”

Shouto quickly looks up, then he finds Katsuki’s face odd. There’s something familiar with it. He’s... smiling, only slightly, but it’s a smile, and his eyes aren’t furrowed or angry or glaring. His eyebrows relaxed and he looks.... soft. Maybe Shouto fell asleep and currently dreaming.

“I’ll need to call my parents first,” Katsuki says after clearing his throat, looking away a bit flushed.

“Sure, I’ll get you settled.”

Shouto is half excited half worried. He told Natsuo that Katsuki will be borrowing the couch, which only replied with a hum while his eyes doesn’t leave the book. His brother is not unfamiliar with runaways. Shouto isn’t the only one seeking shelter at his place.

Shouto passes the balcony where Katsuki is screaming at his phone. Shouto can only hear muffles, but he gives Katsuki some privacy and gets some spare clothes. When Shouto sees that Katsuki is still on the phone even after ten minutes have passed, he takes the liberty of taking a shower first.

When Shouto walks out, he finds Katsuki sitting by the sofa, his hands suspiciously inflamed. He faces the screen but looking particularly nowhere. Shouto had seen those empty looks before.

“Katsuki?”

He jerks slightly as his name is called. Katsuki schooled his expression to a careful stoic, walls up. No matter, Shouto thinks, sometimes you don’t need to tear down walls to help a person, just hold their hand through the gate.

“Go take a shower, bath’s warm.”

Katsuki nods, taking the towel Shouto offered and the spare clothes. Shouto makes tea, for him, his brother, and Katsuki. Shouto delivers the cup of tea to Natsuo’s room, seems like the books are multiplying around his brother.

“Tea,” Shouto says before putting it on a coaster.

“Thanks.” Natsuo finally looks away from the book and takes a sip. “That Bakugou, how is he?” Natsuo asks, knowing that Shouto only brings his friend here in a dire situation.

The only other person he brought was Kaminari, believe it or not. Kaminari had said he didn’t want to come home for the weekend because he was scared of facing his parents after he came out via text. From the replies, it hadn’t been good. Kaminari spent the rest of the stay switching between sobbing and full-on crying. Only God knows why Kaminari asked him instead of any of the Baku-squad, but Kaminari is still his friend too, so Shouto provides.

But today with Katsuki is different though. Shouto had to beg him to stay, whether it’s for the benefit of him or Shouto the line had blurred.

“Hopefully he will be,” Is all Shouto can offer. Natsuo nods before going back to his book.

Shouto lays out his futon in the living room adjacent to the sofa. He’s laying down, scrolling at his phone. Putting his dad on read and ignoring Fuyumi’s and mom’s chatbox. He opted to look at cat videos instead. Soon, Katsuki came out of the bathroom, drank the offered tea, and laid down on the sofa.

They spent probably an hour separately looking at their phones when Shouto finally calls it a night. He turned off the lights, and tuck himself in. Before he said goodnight, Shouto thinks and his desires take.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

Blood red eyes look at him from the screen, “Where?”

Shouto shrugs, “I don’t know, just around, get my mind off things. There’s a cat cafe I’ve been wanting to see, then we’ll go from there.”

Katsuki stares, seemingly thinking it over, “Have you ever been to a rock climbing gym?”

“A what?”

Katsuki smirks, sharp-teethed and evil, “Oh you’re in for a fucking experience, red velvet oreo.”

Shouto is a bit suspicious, even so, he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow.

  +++++

 I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but you shouldn’t think that way. Of course you’ll have more friends. You’re more lovable than you think, Shouto.

Something changed between them after that weekend. Comfort grows between them. Comfort that they don’t want to let go just yet, perhaps not anytime soon.

The bad thing about it is that everyone notices. Everyone.

To their friend's credit though, they came to school together, walking very close to each other. It was fully initiated by Shouto, but Katsuki didn’t snap or push him away, so he assumed everything is okay.

Everything is absolutely not okay because the moment he walks to class everyone has eyes on them. Shouto thought it won’t matter to him, but Katsuki tends to be defensive. When Katsuki is defensive, he pushes people away. Shouto tried not to watch Katsuki for the whole class.

Momo noticed, of course, but she notices more than superficial things.

“Shouto,” Momo whispers, “Everything alright?”

Shouto gives her a smile and nods.

It’s not until they’re getting up for lunch that Shouto is tested in a form of Kirishima.

“Bakubro! How long have you been dating Todobro?”

The world screech halt, and Kirishima tensed at the sudden chill he’s feeling. When Kirishima found the source of burning in his back, he sees Shouto, glaring hard and terrifyingly at him. Face darkens, pupils small, ready to kill.

Kirishima squeaks, “He-hey, uh-”

“Back off Kiri, it’s none of your business,” is all Katsuki says. Not even a scream, just a conversational tone as if he’s bored. No defensiveness, no snarling at Shouto in retaliation. “The fuck are yall extras staring at? Move outta my way, I’m hungry!” Then he left.

No one is barging Shouto with questions instead. It’s out of character of his classmates to not poke their nose in something juicy, but as he drops his butt at his chair, he finds himself alone in class.

Shouto is left in class with a big wave of relief, so much that he couldn’t stand. Why is it that the thought of Katsuki pushing him away scares him this much?

A hand landed on his desk, he looks up to find Momo’s honest stare, “Something is not alright.”

Shouto sighs, “No.”

Unlike Katsuki, Momo never pries, only assuring that she’s there for him. Unlike Momo, Katsuki understands that some things can’t be fixed, wherein if he opens up to Momo and some others, they tried to help by fixing. The number of times his friends told him, again and again, to go to Ito-san when they found out about Dabi being his brother is an exhausting amount. Maybe that’s why Shouto has been more comfortable with laying his problems to Katsuki.

So he eats lunch with Momo in the silence of comfortable company, and there’s just that.

  +++++

 Thank you for being there for me. You’re the bestest best friend I could ever wish for. And you won’t be lonely for long, you’ll see.

Shouto has peaceful days following that first Monday. His comfort with Katsuki doesn’t change. Though they don't get together on the rooftop anymore (Iida never let go of his key since Katsuki managed to steal it), they still gravitate towards each other whenever they don’t feel particularly great.

Katsuki would approach and say things like, “They want me home this weekend.”

“You wanna stay at the dorms or my place?”

“Can’t. I know they wanted to talk to me about who I wanna stay with.”

“We can make up an excuse if you want.”

“Hm.”

Then they spent the rest of the day together, just sitting at the school’s lawn, looking at particularly nothing. And if they sit too close together and their clasped hands only partially hidden by their legs, no one pointed it out.

Shouto would approach and say things like, “Fuyumi wants to call me, I know she’s just gonna talk about how I’m tearing the family apart.”

Katsuki snaps from his bed towards the window where Shouto is stepping down from his Elsa stairs.

Katsuki’s shock then turns to fury, “Your sister, Fuyumi, THAT Fuyumi said that to you?”

“She wanted the family together. I think she’s frustrated that I keep making my parents' union difficult.”

“You know what, her spicy mapo tofu isn’t that delicious anyway!” Katsuki barks his hands clenched down mini-explosions. It’s one of Katsuki’s outbursts that Shouto doesn’t understand, nor does he understand why her mapo tofu is related in any way, so he doesn’t comment.

“I’m gonna head up to the roof, wanna come?”

“No, you’ll just smoke and you’d give me fucking cancer.”

Shouto feels cold, Katsuki had never said no from hanging out before, “Fine.”

“Who said you can leave? Come here!” Katsuki held his ankle from the balcony, gripping tight.

Shouto blinks, remembering what Aizawa-sensei had said some days ago. “Oh, are we gonna cuddle?”

Katsuki’s face set aflame, “Just fucking come in here Katy Perry, before I yank you by your stupid Poland flag hair.”

Shouto finds himself obeying at the thought of cuddling, but then confused, “Why Katy Perry?”

“Hot and cold.”

“I guess that’ll make sense if I know who Katy Perry is but.”

Katsuki spat a curse, “Alright, time for a session of pop culture.”

“But I already had them with Mina and Sero”

“And they’re doing a shit job about it if you didn’t know the person that shapes a whole ass generation.”

It started with a music video of Hot and Cold by Katy Perry and ends with a retelling biography of Lady Gaga. Who knew Katsuki is so knowledgeable about female pop stars.

“TELL ANYONE AND DIE,” He said after Shouto pointed it out.

Most important of all, they did cuddle. They were sitting on the bedside then suddenly they’re laying down side by side. They’re watching a gameplay video of a Swedish man playing a horror game, another important role in pop culture as Katsuki said. It’s an old video, and Katsuki said that the man owns some part of Antarctica, which Shouto knows it’s some kind of an inside joke.

The nights getting late, and Shouto is reminded of the text on his phone, how it vibrates occasionally. Shouto has been in Katsuki’s room for four hours, but he doesn’t want to go back to his room.

Katsuki notices him lingering, “You wanna stay here for the night?”

Shouto looks up from Katsuki’s phone with big sparkling eyes, “You sure?”

“Tch, I wouldn’t have offered if I don’t.” Katsuki looks away, exposing his neck that seems red to the tip of his ears, “It’ll be a little cramp though with my single bed.”

“I don’t mind it. Just don’t kick me out of bed.”

“No promises.”

Katsuki didn’t. He curled away from Shouto as soon as the blankets tucked.  Their backs pressed against each other because of the small space. Shouto finds it hard to fall asleep, could be the new environment or the gnawing anxiety.

He’ll admit that Fuyumi is his favorite sibling. She’s there for him when he was condemned in that lonely manor only to train and study. Fuyumi stays back for him, tend to his wounds, cook for him, keep him company. Natsuo had left and rarely come back, even though he’s there for Shouto in the end.

Then his dad had a bootleg redemption arc and Fuyumi dropped him like hot potato and shoved both of them together despite what Shouto feels about his dad. When his parents are getting back together, Fuyumi stopped consoling Shouto and started to support them blindly. So desperate to have their family together. Doesn’t she know that there’s nothing to salvage? Doesn’t she remember what he did?

“I can hear you from here, air conditioner,” Katsuki grumbles, his back vibrates, “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

Shouto can’t stop thinking, can’t stop getting angry and getting hurt. It hurts when his sister is pointing the blame at Shouto, it hurts even more when it’s kind of true. It hurts that despite his fear of facing her, he still owes her a call at least. He’ll never be ready for what she’s about to say, never be ready to be hurt by her. Shouto turns around and buries his face at Katsuki’s back, ducking under the cover.

“What is it?’ Katsuki asks, not demanding, but Shouto’s floodgates are opened.

“I don’t understand how they could forgive him. He hurts mom, he hurts Touya to a point that he left and hates us, and he... he hurts me. It’s just training but-but- fine, okay, it hurt and I was scared most of the time that he’s not gonna pull his punches. Fuyumi forgives him so easily, and mom just went back in there even though they were never in love in the first place. It’s like they’ve forgotten what he had done, how deeply he scars all of us. Like what- like what happened didn’t matter.” Shouto’s voice breaks the whole time, a sob escaped in between the jumbled words and he’s trying so hard, so hard not to cry.

Katsuki turns around, his arms wrapped around Shouto’s hunched shoulders. A burnt sweet scent hits his nostrils, his face pressed against a defined neck and collarbones. All tenseness bleeds away when Katsuki starts rubbing his back, and tears break from his eyes without his will. Shouto wraps his arms around his friend’s torso, feeling his chest constrict when Katsuki mercifully says nothing about the silent tears landing on his chest.

He shuts his lips, pressing tightly because he’s not sobbing to Katsuki’s chest. They’re comfortable with each other but not that comfortable... right? Shouto’s tolerance to breakdown cries is thanks to exposure to crying most of his childhood, the same can’t be said for Katsuki. The hug is enough, it’s everything. Shouto never realized how much he craved being touched until that day Katsuki sits way too close to him.

His lips pressed tight keeping from sobbing, but his hands tremble on Katsuki’s back instead.

“Damn, you’re touch starved aren’t you,” Katsuki sighs to his hair, his face buried there.

“I didn’t know,” Shouto’s voice shaking pathetically, breaking at the edge and Shouto is too torn to care about it.

“Me too.”

Shouto doesn’t know which one Katsuki meant, but neither let go until they sleep.

  ++++++

 I love you too, Shouto. Don’t be scared of letting people in, okay? Not all of them are gonna leave you, I promise.

Things get rough, but their comfort pushes each other through.

Katsuki chooses to stay with his dad, but he’s co-parenting with his mom. Katsuki spends his weekends at both their house, switching every weekend. There’s still tenseness between his parents, and Katsuki explodes whenever his dad or mom asks Katsuki about the other. ‘Stop fucking asking me! If you wanna know so much then you shouldn’t have gotten the divorce!’ Katsuki doesn’t want to hear their reasoning, feeling better to just accept the change and move on, but Shouto thinks he’s just not ready to hear it. Sometimes Katsuki stays at the dorms with Shouto or the Todoroki estate when he gets overwhelmed.

Shouto finally talks to his mom. At first, it didn’t go anywhere. She’s as unsure as Shouto, but her willingness to try and salvage the marriage is as honest as it comes, even though her feelings might not be there yet. It feels like hearing Fuyumi talk, hearing the same desperation and blindness in putting things together. It’s hard to understand her foolishness, but Shouto tried to trust her. Shouto’s opinion might have been persuaded a little when his father announced that they’ll be moving houses due to mom’s tense reaction to the place. It’s a plus that his dad is willing to do that for his wife, but Shouto is still keeping an eye on them.

Then things get better, but their comfort doesn’t stop. Shouto is comfortable in following his desires without questioning them, but he quizically finds that Katsuki seeks him too even though he no longer approach Shouto with that near tears scowl, and situation bomb.

“How’s your mom?” Katsuki asked out of the blue under the summer blue sky. They’re sitting by the school lawn, their backs to a tree trunk, their friends strangely been leaving them alone.

“She’s fine.”

“Then why did you want to meet here?” Katsuki murmurs, looking down at the comic book Shouto lends him but not reading it. The tips of his ears are red.

Oh, Katsuki is testing the waters, “I just want to be with you.”

Katsuki flushes, “Ew, where the fuck did you even get that cheesy line.”

Shouto pays the snark no mind. “We haven't had any excuses for being together lately, do we?”

Katsuki hums.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Say... If I ask you to go to a cat cafe this Saturday, will you go?”

“Satan in hell, cat cafe again? I still have fucking fur on my black jacket from the previous visit! I felt like we’ve been to all the cat cafes in the country!”

Shouto pouts, “That’s not possible.”

“Let’s go hiking instead.”

“Okay.”

Katsuki twist his head towards him, “You would?”

“Just us two right?”

“Obviously, there’s no way I’m taking those extras. Those nature documentaries made them wimps.”

Shouto only listened to the first word he uttered, “I’ll go with you.”

Then Katsuki looks him that way again. Soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows, fond stares, and the most devastating of all, a small genuine smile.

“Cool. Come to my place, we have to wake up early. I miss seeing the sunset there, it’s awesome.” There’s light in his maroon eyes, excited to go, and he’s taking Shouto with him to his hobby, his precious place.

Shouto feels warmth radiating from his chest all the way down to his toes, a smile blooms on his face. He’s been feeling this mysterious warmth pretty often lately, only now has he realized that Shouto is happy and that he hasn’t been lonely despite his current family strain.

Katsuki’s rambling about his favorite hiking spot is cut short when Shouto leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. The smile is exchanged with shocked parted lips. Shouto feels himself shrink by the silence of Katsuki’s loud mouth and the pinning stare of his sharp eyes. Blood rushed to Shouto’s cheeks, knowing that he’s blushing up a storm, suddenly nervous.

“Is that okay?” Shout asks, too cowardly to say that he wants more, closer, to continue being together for no reason at all other than just because.

“No.”

He’s grabbed by the face, and a pair of lips pressed against his. Shouto expected to be bitten, his head clawed, and his lips bruised. But the weeks he spent with Katsuki should’ve made him know better. Because the gentle hands cradling his face, the complete capture of his lips, and the soft nips are all unsurprising. Shouto melts away, leaning his whole weight so they’re chest to chest. He grabs Katsuki by the hips, pulling closer, kissing back.

Katsuki hums, and the vibration echoes on Shouto’s body deliciously. Katsuki’s lips taste sweet and hot as it moves to nibble Shouto’s bottom lip. The hands cupping his face moves past his neck. One is clutching his back and the other plays with the hair at the back of his head. Fingers card gently around his nape and Shouto has a whole body shiver.

Then the lips go missing, and Shouto goes limp in Katsuki’s arms, gasping for breath on his chest.

“And that’s how you kiss, Strawberry Shortcake,” Katsuki says smugly, patting Shouto’s back condescendingly.

Shouto scoffs and leans back. Katsuki still has that fond eyes as he looks at him, but now paired with a cheeky smirk. Shouto wants to kiss that too, and Shouto does.

From then on, it’s expected that he sometimes steps down his icy stairs just to cuddle with Katsuki, and it’s perfectly acceptable that Katsuki barges into his room and starts pulling his hand towards wherever he wants.

They’d still bicker sometimes, and sometimes Shouto unintentionally steps on some lines that set Katsuki to explode. Sometimes Katsuki is frustrated with him. Those days they fight makes him nervous.

But they always say their apologies eventually. Katsuki always comes back and tries again with him. Even when the fights are between them, they eventually get over it and get better while they’re still leaning onto each other for comfort.

Eventually, Shouto keeps the coffin ashtray in his keepsake instead of his pocket.

He’d like to think that he can finally let her go now that she’s proven right.

Shouto finds someone that loves him, someone that makes him happy, and someone that doesn’t leave.

 ++++

nicknames that didn't make it: Colgate toothpaste, hot pocket, tide pod, dry ice. nicknames that I magically forgot: Half and half.

Tag yourself as Shouto’s nickname, I’m water dispenser.

[addercharmer]

Aizawa Shōta blinked slowly at Tsukauchi Naomasa, the detective was standing on his door holding the hand of a small child, looking somewhere between having a full nervous breakdown, crying, and worryingly serious. 

“Tsukauchi, what can I do for you?” Shōta asked, his voice rough with having been forced out of a nap. 

“Aizawa.” The detective started, paused, took a deep breath and tried again. “Aizawa, could we please come in and speak to you and Yamada?” The hand that was being held by the small child jerked a little to show who ‘we’ were. 

Opening the door further, Shōta turned his back on the detective as a way of granting them entry. He turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen. He felt like he was going to need several pots of coffee to deal with whatever the slightly older man was going to dump on him. 

The quiet thump of shoes and click of the door shutting were the only indication of the two following his silent invitation. The light steps that he could hear coming closer then further away told him that Tsukauchi was headed to the living room of his home was enough of a warning to have Shōta calling his husband instead of texting like he had been planning. 

It took all of six rings for the other man to answer. "Shō! What's up?" Yamada Hizashi sounded a little breathless as he answered. 

"Tsukauchi is here, with a kid." Shōta grunted into the mic of his cell. "Come home." He ordered the blonde, and hung up before even giving the blond a chance to say anything. 

Shuffling his way into the living room without his coffee, and eyeing Tsukauchi with wry dark eyes, Shōta stiffly sat in his favorite spot on the loveseat that was kiddy-corner to the couch that was being occupied. 

"Yamada is out. I called him to come home, if this can't wait for him then we can get it over with." Shōta told Tsukauchi after he had made himself comfortable. 

He watched closely as Tsukauchi eyes the kid sitting next to him, still gripping his hand tightly. The detective looked closer to having that breakdown the longer he looked at the kid, it was honestly starting to worry the underground hero a little. 

The silence felt like it dragged on far longer than the forty-seven seconds Shōta counted. 

"Probably best to wait, you both will need some support." The last part was muttered under Tsukauchi's breath, and Shōta figured that he wasn't supposed to hear it. 

The next twenty minutes were spent with idle chatter, both adults in the room getting tencer as each minute passed. At twenty-two minutes the front door opened and shut, the sound of heavy boots clunking on the floor as they were taken off and dropped pushed the expression on Tsukauchi's face closer to resigned and sad. 

"Ah, hello Tsukauchi. You needed me home?" Hizashi's voice called from just outside of Shōta's peripherals. 

"Yamada, Aizawa." Tsukauchi's tone was a forced flat, Shōta recognized it as the one that was used for grieving families. 

"I offer my condolences Aizawa. Your sister Midoriya Inko was found dead yesterday morning, the investigation is still open and I cannot share much more." Shōta froze, he hadn't spoken to his sister since his wedding, not that they had much contact before that even. It had caused all kinds of issues when Inko had shown up and recognized Hizashi as someone she had had a one night stand with when they had met at a college party when Shōta and Hizashi had been sixteen. 

"That being said, Midoriya Inko's will stated that her daughter Izumi would go to you and or her biological father first, in the event that she was not welcome there she was to be put in foster care." Many things in Tsukauchi's tone were sending off very loud warning signals that Shōta wasn't sure he even wanted to hear much else. 

Hizashi had grabbed his hand from where he had seated himself next to Shōta when the news of his sister's passing was delivered, he squeezed tighter when the kid was brought up. 

"Yamada, your daughter was dropped off in front of the police station six days ago where officer Sansa and myself have been taking care of her, until her paternity test came back." At this Shōta felt Hizashi stiffen next to him. 

"I would like to introduce you to Midoriya Izumi. She is your niece Aizawa, and your daughter Yamada." The strain in Tsukauchi's voice was very clear, and Shōta idly wondered how his sister had hidden a full on child from him for four years. 

"What?" The question was quiet, but full of hysteria. "No...I...what?" Hizashi tried again before Shōta felt his body just collapse in on itself. 

The words Tsukauchi had said were making their way through Shōta's brain but they weren't fully being processed. 

The sniffle caught his attention finally, it was the first sound he had heard from the kid. Giving his head a firm shake Shōta finally took a look at the kid. 

The kid's hair was a wild mess of waves and curls, it was black but it looked to have lime green highlights naturally sprinkled through it, her eyes were the same toxic green as Hizashis' they even had darker green that spiraled out from the pupil. 

The freckles that were dusted across pale skin reminded him of his own mother, she had been of mixed nationality, holding citizenship in both Japan and Canada. His own freckles would show up when he had been in the sun, which made him avoid the giant ball of burning gas even more no matter how much he missed and tried to remember his mother. 

The kid's ears were starting to turn red much like his own do when he is overly emotional. That observation finally kicked his numb body into moving. 

Still holding his husband's hand in a death grip he dropped off the loveseat and onto his knees in front of the kid who was holding onto Tsukauchi so tightly that her knuckles were white. 

"Hey kid, did Inko ever talk to you about me?" Shōta asked, trying to distract the kid from the coming tears.

The kid 'Izumi' he forced himself to recall shook her head and nibbled on her lip like she wanted to say something. 

"Do you know who I am?" He tried, it was highly unlikely that the kid knew him, but the nod shocked him into staring at toxic green eyes longer. 

"How?" Was out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

"Pictures. Inko had pictures with names and days on the back." Okay there were a lot of things in that sentence and tone that needed to be analyzed later, but Shōta pushed it aside to get some other questions answered. 

Nodding, Shōta asked his next pressing question. "Do you know who he is?" He jerked his head towards the silent blond that was in a still unresponsive heap next to him. 

Izumi nodded again, her ears taking on a deeper red color. "Pictures?" Shōta asked, getting another nod in return. 

Squeezing his eyes closed tightly and shaking the hand that Hizashi was still holding roughly, Shōta was in no way prepared for the next words that were spoken. 

"It's okay if you don't want me, Inko and Hisashi didn't want me, that's why they left me at the police." It was so quiet that Shōta wanted to convince himself that he had imagined it. 

Shōta stilled, he wasn't sure what to say, and he was pretty close to either a panic attack or disassociating much like he husband was doing. 

Tsukauchi cleared his throat, it jerked Shōta out of his thoughts long enough for the detective to say. 

"We came for introductions and to share the information, Izumi will be staying with either myself or Sansa until you two have made your decision. I know it's not protocol...just give me a call later." 

That said Tsukauchi scooped the kid 'Izumi' into his arms and quickly left the two pro-heros alone. 

The click of the door shutting sounded like an explosion to Shōta, it jolted him again just enough to turn to Hizashi and work on bringing the man back to the real world. 

Yanking hard on the hand still gripping his own he unbalanced Hizashi enough to get a stutter in his breathing. 

"Zashi. He's gone, you gotta come back." Shōta demanded quietly. 

Wrapping his free arm around Hizashis' chest Shōta started to tap out the rhythm of an English song that Hizashi had used to randomly belt out in highschool. Giving himself and Hizashi something to focus on would be the only way to keep them grounded, usually it was Hizashi bringing him back but it worked both ways. 

Shōta was just starting the song over for the third time when Hizashi shifted against him and groaned. 

"I'm so sorry Shō. I didn't know. I swear." We're the first words that spilled from Hizashi's mouth. 

"Oh shut up you overgrown cockatoo." Shōta gently in his own way told his husband. 

"You have a daughter that was hidden from you, I have a niece that was hidden from me. My sister is dead, Tsukauchi said nothing of Inko's husband." Saying it wasn't helping it sink in, but he needed to say it. 

"She, Izumi, knows who we are in relation to her. She should be around four?" That question seems to jolt Hizashi a little, and a look between concentration and befuddlement is plastered across his face. 

"Un, three going on four at the youngest." Is the very quiet reply to the question about Izumi's age. 

Shōta pulled in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out in a rush. 

"Tsukauchi and Sansa are taking care of her, and Tsukauchi asked us to call him later." Shōta told Hizashi the last piece of information.

Feeling the nod against his chest, Shōta just kept tapping the song out. 

"I'm sorry about your sister Shō." Hizashi whispered into the fabric of Shōta's sweater. "I know you weren't close, but, still." 

Shōta shrugged, "Honestly, part of me forgot I even had a sister." He told Hizashi bluntly. "So her death isn't going to bother me too much." It was harsh, but Shōta was being honest. 

"Okay, next thing." Hizashi pulled himself away a little but still kept close enough in Shōta's personal bubble that they could comfort each other. 

"Izumi?" Hizashi asked, Shōta nodded when he realized that it was a question of her name. "Izumi was dropped off six days ago, she had a paternity test done to find her father. I am her father." Hizashi's breathing picked up again. 

"Okay, just stop, let's look at this differently." Shōta spoke quickly. "My sister is dead, she had a daughter, her custody was given to us in the will. I know we have only been married a year…" Shōta paused to take in a deep breath and release it again. "Do you want to take in the kid?"

Hizashi stayed quiet for what felt like forever. "Can we talk to her first?" Was the tentative question. 

Shōta let out another sigh, this one partly relieved and nodded.

[rubysunnday]

Sarcasm

A/N: this is called ‘how many Stiles Stilinski quotes can I fit in one fic?’ Turns out quite a few

Y/N sighed as the phone rang for the fifth time that day.

“Tom!” She yelled, hoping he would answer it so that she didn’t have to get up. “Tommy !”

“I’m busy!” He yelled back.

Y/N groaned, unfolding herself from underneath the blanket and got up for the sofa. She all but stomped over to the phone, making sure her brother was aware of how annoyed she was at having to move.

“Hello?” She said as she picked up the phone.

“Oh, thank god it’s you.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Finn? What do you want?”

“I need your help,” Finn replied, panting slightly.

“Why are you out of breath?” She asked, frowning.

“Because I’ve just run a marathon,” Finn said, sarcasm dripping off every word. “I’ve just been chased down the street by some random Italians!”

Y/N turned her back to the betting shop. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, not what I meant. Why do you need me?”

“Well, I don’t really know what to do.”

Y/N groaned. “Alright, fine. Where are you?”

“Phone box near the station.”

“I’ll be ten minutes,” she muttered, already regretting answering the phone. She put it back on the receiver and grabbed her coat. “I’m going out!”

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Arthur yelled at her as she left.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “No promises,” she muttered, shutting the door behind her.

Finn hadn’t moved from the phone box.

Y/N sighed at her brother as he all but burst from inside and ran towards her. “What did you do?”

Finn hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it several times before answering. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

He grabbed her hand and began dragging her down the road. Y/N sighed but allowed her brother to keep dragging her. They walked past rows of house, turned down several suspicious looking alleyways and definitely walked in a circle several times.

“Finn, love, where are you taking me?” Y/N asked as they walked past the butchers for the sixth time.

“Here,” Finn said, pulling her in front of him and pushing Y/N into the entrance of a dead-end alley.

Y/N and stumbled to a halt and stared at the body of a rather large Italian at the end of the alley. “Finn, what did you do?”

“It was self-defence!” Finn exclaimed loudly.

“Alright, alright, shut up,” Y/N said, slowly walking forward towards the body.

“I’ve already called the police.”

Y/N turned to look at her brother, eyebrow raised. “You called the police before you called me?”

Finn frowned. “I’m supposed to call you when I find a dead body?”

“YES!” Y/N said loudly, throwing her hands up. “Bloody hell, Finn, do you have any brain cells or do I have all of them?” Y/N sighed. “Alright, if you’ve already called the police then we need to leave.”

“They didn’t seem overly concerned,” Finn replied. “Maybe we should phone them again.”

“No,” Y/N said, shaking her head.

“No, what do you mean no?”

“I mean no, you want to hear it in Spanish: Noh,” Y/N replied, staring at her brother. “I swear to god this family has two brain cells and that Polly and I are the only ones who ever have them.”

Y/N grabbed her brother’s arm and dragged him away from the alley.

“What about the body?” Finn asked, pointing at it as he was led away.

Y/N shrugged. “They’ll sort it, come on,” she said, pulling him in front of her and pushing him.

“But, shouldn’t we tell someone?” Finn asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Yes, let’s tell the entirety of Small Heath that Finn Shelby murdered an Italian with his brother’s gun.”

Finn stopped and glared at her. “The sarcasm is not appreciated, Y/N.”

“I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, sarcasm is my only defence,” Y/N shot back. “Not to mention I just saved your ass.”

“Where are we going?” Finn asked as Y/N pushed him into walking again.

“A dead body?” John asked, staring at them, eyebrows raised.

“No, a body water,” Y/N snapped. “Yes, a dead body!”

John sighed. “Alright, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Well, it was your gun Finn murdered him with.”

“It was self-defence.”

“Still murder, Finn,” Y/N replied. “John, I just need you to move the body and burn it and no one will be any the wiser.”

John shook his head in despair. “Fucking hell, fine, where is it?”

“Why have I just had a phone call from Moss about a dead Italian near the butchers?”

Y/N winced at Tommy’s yell as he marched into the room.

“Ah, fuck,” John muttered. He stood up and walked into the betting shop flanked by Y/N and Finn. 

“What Italian?” Arthur asked, frowning.

“No idea, Moss got a phone call about a dead body and found it in an alley,” Tommy replied, leaning on the back of a chair and looking at the room. “I’m only going to ask this once, did anyone here murder him?”

“Not me,” Arthur said, shaking his head.

Michael shook his head as well. “Weren’t me either, Tom.”

Tommy turned to look at John. “John?”

“I’ve been here all afternoon, Tommy,” John replied. “Finn and Y/N have been upstairs.”

“Yup, I’ve been reading,” Y/N said, following John’s train of thought.

“I’ve been sewing my cap,” Finn added, nodding.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Ahuh, then why did Moss say it sounded like Finn on the other end of the phone?”

Y/N sighed. “Fuck’s sake, Finn.”

“What was I meant to do!” Finn yelled.

“So, you lied to me?” Tommy asked, frowning.

Y/N shrugged. “That depends how you define lying, Tom.”

“Well, I define it as not telling the truth,” Tommy replied, walking closer to them. “How do you define it?”

Y/N paused, thinking. “Reclining your body in a… horizontal position,” she said, mimicking horizontal with her hands.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Tommy ordered.

Y/N nodded. “Absolutely.”  

“What exactly were you two going to do about this problem?” Tommy asked, staring at them both.

“Well, personally, I’m a huge fan of ignoring the problem until, eventually, it goes away,” Y/N replied, standing in the doorway.

“Y/N,” Tommy said, turning to face her. “What did I say?”

“Well you told me to leave but then started talking to me so I just… sort of… hovered,” Y/N replied, swinging her arms. “Besides, it’s not like the Italian was a good person or anything, probably had Finn shooting him in the head coming.”

Michael turned to stare at his cousin. “You’re a horrible person.”

Y/N sighed, nodding. “I know, it keeps me awake at night.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him!” Finn suddenly yelled. “It was self-defence.”

“What the fuck is happening in here?” Polly asked walking in and glaring at them all.

“Finn killed an Italian, Tommy’s pissed off at us – nothing new there - and apparently I’m a horrible person,” Y/N replied.

“Not to mention you won’t answer any questions,” Michael added, twirling his pen between his fingers.

Y/N clicked her fingers and pointed at him. “That too.”

Polly sighed. “I’ve been gone three hours.”

“What happens if they find out I killed him?” Finn asked.

“Who?” Y/N turned to look at him, frowning.

“The mafia!” Finn exclaimed. “I killed one of their own, they’re going to hunt me down and kill me,” Finn muttered, spiralling. “Oh god.”

“Alright, sit down,” Arthur said, shoving Finn into a chair and handing him a glass of whiskey. “I’m not gonna let you die, alright.”

Y/ N groaned. “God, can’t you at least think about it?” She asked, looking at Arthur lovingly. “For me?”

“I refer to my earlier statement,” Michael muttered.

“Oh, cry me a river, Michael,” Y/N snapped.

“Oi!” Tommy yelled. “We’re getting off topic. Y/N, since we all know you are a fucking terrible influence on Finn, you’re coming with me to dispose of the body.”

“Oh, no, thank you, it’s rather gory, disposing,” Y/N replied, shaking her head. “I might faint.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows, staring at her incredulously. “You faint at the sight of blood?”

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!” She exclaimed.

“Y/N, stay here and keep quiet for once,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head as John laughed.

“If I could give you a grade on how profoundly you disturb me,” Michael said, looking at Y/N, “You’d be an A+ student.”

Y/N smiled gratefully at her cousin. “Aw, thanks Michael.”

John laughed again as Polly shook her head, slightly amused. Tommy groaned, hanging his head in despair.

“Right, Arthur and I will deal with Moss,” Tommy said, rubbing his face. “Y/N, stay here and try not cause any more chaos.”

“I wasn’t even the one to shoot him, Tommy!” Y/N exclaimed. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah, alright,” Tommy said, waving a hand at her. “Stay here and let Michael teach you something useful, ok?”

“Yeah sure, we’ll do the alphabet, shall we Michael? Start with F end with U,” Y/N snapped, glaring at her brother.

Tommy glared back at his sister. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t end up shooting you at this rate.”

Arthur stepped forward, grabbing his sister by the shoulder. “Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?”

“If you ask them without the usual level of stupid, Arthur.”

Polly chuckled quietly. “Y/N,” she said warningly, her eyes betraying her amusement at her niece.

“So, you’re asking me to tell you what I wouldn’t not tell you,” Y/N asked, looking at her older brothers.

Arthur blinked. “First of, I have no fucking clue what you just said.”

“Secondly,” Tommy said, cutting in, “how about you just let us help you?”

“Well, it wasn’t me who killed him.”

“Y/N.”

“Well, I don’t know how to help you help me tell you something that would help if I don’t know it,” Y/N replied.

Tommy groaned. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Y/N smirked, crossing her arms. “Possibly.”