#I feel like we got hints at some big ideas especially near the beginning of the season

[cookinguptales]

Related to the meta I wrote last time...

So there was this abandoned plot line from the episode with all the wives where one of Nandor's guy wives kept asking Guillermo questions about himself and that made Nandor uncomfortable so he had the Djinn poof him and like -- god, there's a lot to unpack there. Like, when I tell you that I've thought about that for months.

Now... there are a lot of different things I could say about this. And frankly speaking, I still might. But for now, what I really want to get into is this odd tendency I've noticed in Nandor to view his wives almost as extensions of himself. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that this might be how he conceptualizes the difference between husbands and wives -- it's not a gender thing; it's a situation of ownership.

I'm not saying that Nandor is fully awful about this. He doesn't seem to believe that his wives literally belong to him or that he can tell them all what to do, like marriages of that time often would have been. But he does seem to see them as extensions of himself. They may not physically belong to him, but they are still his.

Like, he still expects these wives to be fully loyal to him. He still expects them to dote on him and guess what he wants and be pretty much exactly what he needs them to be. Their actions (and what people think of them) seem to be things that he believes reflect on him. Their actions are his actions, their beliefs are his beliefs, their wants are his wants -- and vice-versa.

We see this very literally becoming an issue with Marwa. He so fully transformed her into an extension of himself and his desires that she fully lost herself as a human being -- and that's even before he straight-up turned her into someone else.

So one of his wives being very interested in Guillermo does seem like something that would be very disturbing to him on a number of levels. First and foremost, there's the obvious annoyance that one of his wives would be interested in anyone but him. (We see him get upset with his others wives for this.) But then, you know, there's the fact that it's Guillermo specifically.

There's this discomfort with someone treating Guillermo as desirable and important, obviously, as it makes Nandor face the fact that Guillermo is desirable and important -- and that he hasn't treated him that way. There's also the discomfort with the fact that anyone else would get to know more about Guillermo's personal life than he does. But more than that, I think Nandor feels discomfort even acknowledging that Guillermo has a personal life outside of Nandor for people to ask questions about.

Nandor is very weird and possessive about Guillermo's personal life.

On top of all that, though, we have the fact that it is an extension of Nandor who is asking these questions. There's the inherent betrayal of part of him going to someone else, but more importantly -- I mean, it's very similar to what happened with Marwa at the wedding. A piece of him is very interested in Guillermo, and maybe that's going to make him confront the fact that he is very interested in Guillermo if he doesn't put it down immediately.

Because the thing is -- he does this to Guillermo, too. He very explicitly says that someone insulting Guillermo's honor is insulting his honor. He very explicitly claims Guillermo as his own and very purposefully monopolizes all his time and effort. He claims Guillermo's abilities, too, and uses them as he sees fit. He even physically manhandles Guillermo's body for his own needs. (See: using Guillermo's wrist, not just his watch, as his own in 4.09.) He has clearly always seen Guillermo as an extension of himself the same way he does his wives, and some of the shock of s3-s4 for him is realizing that Guillermo is his own person.

I think that's why we see him prodding at Guillermo and asking questions and watching him and testing him in s3. I think that's why he sounds bitter about not knowing anything about Guillermo's family or any of the things that he does in s4. I think it's why, when he is confronted with this person that Guillermo loves, this last small part of Guillermo that Nandor has not managed to possess, it makes him want to claim it for his own.

Nandor is wildly possessive over Guillermo in the same way he is his wives, but Guillermo is no longer happy simply with being possessed. There are parts of Guillermo (like his family, like the vampire hunting, like Freddie) that Nandor is slowly realizing he does not have access to, and he doesn't like that. Guillermo is really coming into himself, is becoming strong and recalcitrant and independent and uncontrollable, and Nandor isn't really sure how he feels about that.

Because here's the kicker: Nandor is totally fucking horny for people he can't control.

When you look at his love interests we've seen that he's been most into, it's always people that he cannot control. Gail, who he can never manage to rein in, who he can never quite manage to claim. She uses him casually and then she leaves, and she always has control in the relationship. Meg is a lesbian, totally uninterested in him, and he has no control over her, either. Jan is a complete power reversal, and one that Nandor seemed particularly thrilled with. She owns him and he likes it.

The point I am coming to here is that Guillermo is really starting to resemble these women that Nandor has run after -- and I think Nandor is starting to come to the realization that Guillermo is not an extension of himself, like his wives were. Guillermo is his own person. And maybe what Nandor really wants is to be the subservient one in this situation. He doesn't want Guillermo to become one of his wives; he wants Guillermo to become his husband.

Nandor wants to be Guillermo's guy wife.

We see him start to lean into this role reversal in s3-s4. Submitting to Guillermo's physical strength and leadership when they go after the Sire. Caring for him after an injury in 4.01. Going full role reversal and literally serving Guillermo in 4.05. Having Guillermo try on his groom's clothing in 4.06. Like... the man's not being subtle here.

He's still struggling with these ideas, clearly, but they're for sure there. And I think it's part of why Freddie ended up becoming such a clusterfuck. Nandor was still sort of seeing Guillermo as an extension of himself and wanted to claim all parts of him, especially the parts that Guillermo had thus far kept hidden from him. I don't think it's a coincidence that Nandor mostly just wanted to eat Freddie until the moment he realized he was there for Guillermo. Then he followed them around like a weirdo until Guillermo admitted Freddie was his boyfriend -- and then Nandor wanted him.

But as much as he was seeing Guillermo as an extension of himself, he was also seeing Freddie as an extension of Guillermo. And like Nandor's guy wife and Marwa showing interest in Guillermo and that being a direct representation of Nandor showing interest in Guillermo, Nandor going sappy over Guillermo's extension is another way that Nandor is indirectly showing his true feelings for Guillermo.

And so much of 4.09 was Nandor realizing that Guillermo wasn't his. He is not an extension of Nandor. Nandor can't have access to every part of him. He has to let Guillermo have some things that are just his. He has to relinquish control over him.

Put bluntly, 4.09 was really about Nandor having to decide whether he cared more about Guillermo being 100% his or Guillermo being happy. And I guess we know which one he chose.

I think even Guillermo understood on some level that Nandor was mostly just upset that Guillermo had a single goddamn thing that Nandor didn't have access to. That's essentially what he accused Nandor of, wasn't it? Not letting him have this one fucking thing for himself. Even he seemed to understand that Nandor's new crush was more about Guillermo than it was about Freddie -- even if I'm not sure he quite made the jump to understanding why.

So... by the end of s4, Nandor has gotten rid of his wife. She had become so much of a very literal extension of him that he was sickened by it, so he destroyed her. (RIP Marwa, you were a real one.) He had also gotten rid of the extension of Guillermo that he had claimed. And, this might be the most important part, he'd gotten rid of some of that internal idea that Guillermo was an extension of him. In letting Freddie 2 go, he was in some ways letting Guillermo go as well.

Now if only Guillermo actually wanted to be let go... :')

Up until this point, I think Guillermo also thought of himself as an extension of Nandor -- and it wasn't until their planned trip went up in flames that he was able to start conceiving of himself as his own person. He started trying to create this life outside of Nandor. And while that life was short-lived (and I don't think could ever last forever), it did give him enough independence that by the end of s4, as Nandor has given up on Guillermo being his extension, so has Guillermo.

And he decides to take the life that he now owns himself into his own two hands.

Do I think the two of them are going to be less codependent going forward? I don't think so, and honestly I certainly hope not. But I do think the shape of their relationship is definitely going to change.

Hopefully for the better...

[etincelleart]

i would like to know...

what exactly in v9 change your opinion about penny?

*cracks my fingers*

So, basically so far the message that I understood from RWBY was kinda always the same, always coming back in different ways but still : the balance of life and death, like in our world. The thing is that in RWBY it always has been THE rule, especially after The Lost Fable in Volume 6 where we saw the "Gods" ideas about it, it was their main rule. The spirits of the Relics also work according to the same rule, just like Ambrosius who can't bring people back from the dead (I think he could do it, but the rule doesn't allow him to do so).

But even at that moment I was a bit conflicted because the "Gods" didn't seem to be on the same page about this rule. The God of Darkness decided to revive Ozma even if he probably knew about the rule, but he still decided to ignore it because his ego was flattered because Salem went to him. Then the God of Light comes, they fight like child, and they break their own rule multiple times while arguing. They acted like children, made Ozma and Salem suffer and then went like "oh you have to understand the balance of life and death", this seems pretty horrible and completely selfish to me aha, but that's another topic-

So we knew the Gods weren't perfect, but they were still the "Gods". I say "Gods" because in Volume 9 we learn they aren't the real Gods of the RWBY universe, but simply Afterans who had more powers than others, who evolved and decided to experiment and create. But they are still Afterans. They aren't perfect and they aren't allowed to talk about balance when they fought each other from the very beginning after creating the Cat and the Jabberwalker.

In fact, the real RWBY God is a Tree represented in a human form as the Blacksmith, who's a sort of avatar I imagine. But even she/they said that her being the Tree was a simplistic view of what is the Tree and what it does. This avatar is gentle, and most importantly, they're from a world where death doesn't exist.

This still seems pretty wild to me to discover in the RWBY universe a place where people just don't die. They change, they evolve, they are reborn but they don't die. Their soul isn't lost like in Remnant. They go back to the very original place, where everything started, and come back different. It can be understood as some form of death, but it's still a different process than on Remnant.

So, about Penny, I'm not saying she'll definitely have a revival but a lot of things start to make me believe this could be the case, maybe in the near future, OR at the end of the series, because I imagine the Brothers/"Gods" will return to Remnant and the Tree might play its part too.

Knowing all of this BIG part of RWBY's lore now just makes me think that we just discovered such a big thing. The Brothers are so stricts about the life and death rule (that they don't even respect), and I never thought what we learned in V9 would truly be a thing. So RWBY's universe is so much more now, it's not just about it, it's about other worlds and about the Ever After that is this origin, the center of everything. It feels almost like if I had blinkers and suddenly woah, a whole new part of the story we didn't know or expected is here, and now I have like a million questions aha.

For Penny specifically, before Volume 9 I was kinda okay with the fact that she died, and was expecting her death to be announced and to be a big thing for Ruby. But we really got SO MUCH hints and references, almost every chapter except 4, 9 and 10. In a world where death doesn't exist, I think it's kinda odd we have so much references (even if it's mostly for Ruby's pain). Like, when you take a step back and look at the overall arcs and story : Penny' always been in terrible situations that ended by death. Even in V8 her "choice" in the finale doesn't really feel like one to me. Penny's never been near any of her goal and she never had the time or opportunity to do so. She was always too busy to fight for people she cared about, or just fighting to survive, to have her chance, but never truly succeeded. It just feel like her arc isn't done, and again when you watch it with an overall view, we see V7-9 being a big arc for her that only led to tragedies (got framed at the election, got the powers she didn't want, got hacked, and then got stabbed and killed).

After seeing Little being killed and come back as Somewhat, even without their memories but still remembering deep down, I have more faith about the fact that character's death don't undo any suffering or trauma the characters went through, or don't change anything for the viewer. We got some weird parts in V9 (I talked about it more in details in another post) that are a bit unclear, and I think deliberately open to the viewer for interpretation. At least this is how it feels to me. I'm thinking about the Blacksmith saying to Ruby about Penny's sword : "nothing, no one, is ever truly lost". This could mean so much things omg. And knowing how much CRWBY loves details and foreshadowing, maybe it means something for later.

Anyway, there's also the fact that at the end of Volume 9, we see Vacuo and Amity Collosseum is there. Which means that Pietro and Maria probably made it to Vacuo. But Pietro without Penny, it feels weird and so sad to me. I talked about it in other posts as well but he's already the kind of man to sacrifice parts of himself to create Penny, and remake her a second time after losing her. Would he really be able to resist to try to remake her a 3rd time ? Would he really not do that ? Pietro is also important in the series because of his connexion and bond to Penny. And I really don't think he wouldn't at least try to remake her, even if that would mean sacrificing himself...

In general, this is the RWBY lore expension and all the hints that we got that kinda made me change my mind. We had V8 that ended in a tragic way with Penny's death, and we go back with a whole volume about rebirth ? This is kinda odd to me aha

Also, I thought again about some lines from Volume 8, and again knowing how much CRWBY like to foreshadow things and add little details here and there, I'm thinking that Pietro might meet Ambrosius some day at some point. Ambrosius said that he'd love to meet him, so idk maybe, that would be really great-

There's also the fact that Ruby said to Ambrosius "We kinda want to keep her longer than that", and we saw in the finale how much Ambrosius took everything that is said to him literally. Who knows if he didn't do something with Penny to help her to remain resistant ? And this line as well, "we go to Vacuo, all of us", and it's again odd that Penny can't go in the end. Idk maybe I'm biased but I just would love that aha.

Ruby and Penny's journey together are also very important in both of their arc, and as much as I think Nuts and Dolts is endgame, both being together despite everything would be a really beautiful message, a light of hope, and they would both have a really great influence on each other.

I could continue for a long time aha but I'm tired, there are just so much things in V9 that helped me to think this might not be just over yet for her. Hope you enjoyed the reading !

[foibles-fables]

I watched Warrior Nun a bit ago for the first time and absolutely loved it!!! Then when I read your fics, especially Because The Light is Close, legit it’s literally canon for me- like the yearning and tenderness was all so perfect fr!

However, when in comes to the actual show, a part of me struggles to see how Ava actually reciprocates because while Beatrice is OBVIOUSLY down bad (and the writers/Simon would be doing her a disservice to NOT acknowledge her feelings for Ava in S2) how does Ava show that?

First of all, WELCOME to the fandom!!! Couldn't be more thrilled to hear you enjoyed this silly show. Second of all, omg thank you so much for the kind compliment, I'm so soft. BTLIC is really really close to my heart and it makes me so happy to hear that folks are still enjoying it to this day.

Third--you have NO idea how much I love your question here. Seriously, it's s a compelling one!! And I think it's something that'll come more into focus in season two. Because you're totally right: we don't really have a ton of definitive signs of romantic attraction between them, outside of episode 8. And most of that, I'd argue, does come from Beatrice. It's aaaalll (purposeful) subtext and wild amounts of chemistry.

And while that's enough to launch a thousand ships of yearning, it's true--as much as I like an angsty fastburn, I'd also love to see them put some real legwork in the writing to get both of them to a place where a feelings admission/potential relationship could take place. Because consider Ava--still very much coming out of sheltered isolation, traumatized to the bone. A lot like Aloy in this regard...hmm my favorite character/ship dynamics are showing. She's definitely got more growing to do on her own--in her friendships and in her confidence and in her training and in her personal feelings of safety--and I hope she gets to do that in a big way in season two. I think any romantic feelings she may or may not have for Bea will crop up out of these other forms of growth in an organic way.

Onto your question, more specifically! My answer stems from my point above: Ava's gotta grow in a big way, especially from the beginning of season one. And that's why I love JC as a character--he was a safe person for her to do her first real reckless things with, and a great person to help her learn more about herself. And I think it speaks volumes that Ava trusts Beatrice from the jump, too--the dinner scene, anyone? Even in her voiceover, she determines that Beatrice is a safe spot when she's feeling unmoored.

Also consider: an overwhelming amount of Beatrice's trauma centers around her sexuality. It's something that must be on her mind near-constantly unless she represses it--and she's very aware of it when she's experiencing an attraction to women. Hence--we get the more palpable hints of it from her during season 1, with Ava. Meanwhile, Ava is probably not as preoccupied with her own sexuality whatsoever. Pretty strong textual vibes that she's bi, and given her mindset, I don't think that's something she would struggle with. Not as preoccupying as Beatrice's feelings.

In any case, I do trust Simon and the team to give us some super satisfying character arcs for both of them before they explore any kind of romance--I'm pretty sure they recently put out an article that said exactly that. Which I love. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers, so let's get them to an even more solid place of trust and cooperation and shared experience. Then let the feelings bloom.

[wildcatofgreen]

Apparently Sonar played music during the break? Must have had a little show, showing off his iconography. And like, he's a big time rockstar, so says Surge, so it makes sense. Good for him--she only wishes she got to listen to it.

Frankly she didn't get hurt much during that last one--she didn't even need the healing potion she took. That panda girl never really stood a chance against her, did she?

The hell were they doing sending in a rookie like that? Did they really think a little deception trick would be enough to take her down? Seriously?

Well, whatever. Didn't matter much now.

The wildcat hopped right back into the arena, waving to all of her adoring fans cheering for her, shouting her name, waving those same banners and flags.

A mic lowered from above, the wildcat grabbing it and, without another warning, yelled,

"ARE YOU READY FOR SOME MORE WILDCAT ACTION????"

Actually, she and the announcer yelled that at the same time. That seemed to get the crowd really riled up.

For how shitty Zao is, she has to admit, the amount of sync that she and her... coworkers? had was unreal. No doubt people thought it was all scripted--she wouldn't blame them. Even Carol would guess the same, if she were the one watching.

The announcer piped up again.

"THEN THERE WON'T BE ANY DELAYS!!! OUR NEXT OF THE TRIO IS SOMEONE WHO'S SO FEROCIOUS, WHO'S SO VICIOUS, WHO'S SO DOWN RIGHT TERRIFYINGTHAT WE HAD TO BAN HIM FROM THE BATTLESPHERE THREE TIMES BEFORE!!!!"

Wait, ban him?

Who the hell could get banned from the Battlesphere? Did she even know anyone like that...?

Well, besides Askal. But that wasn't really banning, so says him, it was moreso... racism?

"HERE HE IS IN THE FLESH AND BLOOD, OUR FIRST EVER EARTH DRAGON CHALLENGER..."

Wait wha--

"ASKAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!!!!!!!"

From the other side of the arena, the doors opened again, fog showering the next fighter in obscurity.

But this time, despite this, she could make out his silhouette clear as day.

Same hair. Same height. Same long ass tail, same goofy ass wrist bracers.

Hell, how did she not guess it before? It feels like a no-brainer!

As the fog settled away the man's face, Askal's face, was shown.

He quickly raised a hand to the sky, grabbing the microphone that lowered down to him and spoke into it.

"Carol. I don't want to get into a fight, so I'll make my request short and simple. "Forfeit. Now. I don't want to make any of your friends or family cry when you end up in the hospital."

Sonar played a really sour note. She almost wanted to laugh.

Though, there wasn't a hint of cockiness or snark in his voice. In fact, it was mostly... stoic? Like, he was being serious...?

She scoffed. Either way, telling her that she should just quit? Especially now?

The word wasn't in her dictionary.

She put her own mic to her mouth again, that same smug face she always wore being on full display here, "Well sierra foxtrot, my dude! If ya ain't wanna fight, ya shouldn't'a signed up 'ta begin with. 'Cause I'mma tell ya one thing, buddy."

She pointed the microphone at the bleachers full of people. In unison, most of them screamed, "CAROL THE WILDCAT DOESN'T LOSE!!!!" A couple of other lose screams were heard here and there, including one proclaiming their love to the cat. And she just ignored it!

Guess at this kind of fame, anyone will fall for you.

The wildcat smirked, giving a half shrug as she spoke into the mic again, "I think ya heard 'em, right?"

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

He lets go of the microphone and gets into a combat stance, bouncing slightly with both his fists near his face. A position a boxer would typically get into.

"I think I know plenty, Dragon boy!" The wildcat lets go of her mic in turn, getting into a fighting stance as well--a hand near her face and the other near her waist.

"ARE BOTH OUR COMBATANTS READY?"

The two fighters nod.

"THREE."

"TWO."

"ONE."

"GO!!!!!!"

And in an instant, the two dashed at each other, clashing into each other with a loud FWOOM!!! They each threw a fist at the other--Askal with his right, Carol with her left--and each combatant caught the punch with their free hand. Though, it looked like Carol was in the disadvantage due to her height, she and the hybrid both knew she could easily hold her own.

"So," she grunted, trying to push against the earth dragon, "Tell me, buddy, why the hell are ya here? Thought ya said Zao ain't like Earth Dragons in the 'Sphere?"

"I had a personal offer from the little brat. I get to beat up a kid and get a lot of money. What's there to lose?" He had a nasty smirk on his face.

"Ain't think ya had a sense'a humor, bro. Gotta remember, though--I ain't jus' some fuckin' kid!!!" She squats down to the floor, springing back up into a jump to get some height on this big bastard.

Yet, despite the cat's impressive strength for a girl of her stature, she still had something to measure up to when facing Askal. He tightened his grip against her fist, using her momentum to SLAM her into the ground behind him.

"I was serious. Well, at first I was."

The cat, now dazed from that, was picked up by the dragon by her arm. As if she were a weightless toy.

"After I saw what that panda boy was capable of, I didn't want you getting hurt more than necessary.

"Whatever the hell he has, it ain't natural. None of it is.

"So, I'm willing to cut a deal. You forfeit, you keep the money. If Zao ever does something like this again, I take the fall and you get your job back. I get my five minutes of fame, you don't get put in the hospital."

She shook her head, her brows furrowed at the dragon and her eyes glaring daggers.

"Bro--cut a deal? Ya understand what you're askin' here, right?"

"I'm doing it for your sake. Fighting against whatever the hell that is is an automatic loss. I couldn't stand a chance, there's no way you will--"

She puts her other hand on the arm the dragon was using to hold her up, digging her claws into him. "This comin' from the guy I beat twice? What--jus' 'cause you ain't blowin' up the planet anymore, ya think you're hotshit? Think you're better than a world savior, huh???"

He winced, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth. Anger coursed through his veins. "That is NOT what I'm saying--"

"Then what?!?!" She dug her claws deeper, she was starting to stain them with blood, "Because all I see here is another fuckin' manipulation thing like the gal before ya!!!!"

"IT'S NOT THE SAME--"

"THEN WHAT IS IT, YA BIG BRICK??? 'CAUSE MAKIN' ME LOSE MY JOB, MAKIN' ME GIVE IN 'TA ZAO'S STUPID FUCKIN' PLAN," she swings herself backwards, "AIN'T MY IDEA OF A FUCKIN' DEAL!!!!!" She swings herself forwards, using her momentum to give the dragon an upwards kick to his jaw!!!

The dragon roars as his maw is knocked upwards, loud enough for the microphones to hear, "ENOUGH!!!!!!"

He tosses the wildcat across the entire arena, the feline slamming into the doors he first entered from.

"IF YOU WON'T SEE TO REASON, THEN I'LL MAKE YOU SEE!!!!" With his left arm--the non bleeding one--he punches into the floor, making several rocks lift up from the arena's ground. Holes litter the floor, a fall through one of them would certainly be enough for an instant loss.

Or, a trip to the hospital. Either or.

The wildcat groaned, grunted, grit her teeth. She was able to stand again, so she wasn't in any danger of losing yet... but seeing the dragon enter such a rage state...

Fuck. This one wasn't gonna be easy, was it?

She stretched her arms over her head, the cracking of her bones echoing in her own ears.

The dragon pointed at the wildcat.

Three of the rocks are immediately sent hurdling towards her, barely giving her any time to react. She gasps in shock, putting her arms in an X formation to block the incoming rocks. They each break and crumble apart when making contact, the impact of them bruising her arms.

The wildcat took out her jump disc from her back pocket, dashing forward towards the dragon. The holes make this tough, of course, but nothing she can't handle. A jump over one here, a weave around another there--

The dragon practically flew at her, a swoosh of air following his movement as he did. His left fist raised into the air, he threw everything he had at the wildcat.

She raised her hands up to block the punch again, it striking right in the middle of that same X.

A resounding pound echoed through the arena, followed by the cat's scream in pain.

It was silent, for a moment.

Then, a snicker came from the dragon.

He whispered, loud enough for the feline to hear.

"One hundred hook punch."

Eyes widened, fear instilled, the wildcat--

The dragon roared again as suddenly, a massive barrage of punches exploded from the hybrid--both arms moved quicker than anyone could possibly follow, striking everywhere they could on the feline's body. Head, arms, chest, legs, he'd hit it all, he'd strike with the fury of a thousand suns onto every inch he could. Did he have a million hands? Or did he have two? Nobody could be sure, it was a blur, it was a spectacle, it was a terrifying technique to get hit by.

And the wildcat felt every bit of it's pain.

She screamed through it all, loud enough for the microphones, loud enough for the entire stadium itself to hear.

The punches themselves ended, but the pain lingered on.

Yet, somehow, she still held on to that jump disc, even as her arms limped downwards. Her grip on it was like super glue, a bond that wouldn't be broken just yet.

She still stood, at the end of it all. Battered and beaten, but resilient.

She wasn't losing to this.

The dragon raised his bloodied arm, SLAMMING it forward against what he thought would be the wildcat's chest. But mid-motion, she twisted her shoulder--her arm still carrying that jump disc--towards him. Her limp arms swung into the air, another scream rung out as she was struck, the shock sending waves of pain through her already battered body. Her grip on the disc finally gave way, the momentum of her arm being swung causing a weak fling.

But it was a fling either way. And it went right behind that bastard.

"GO!!!!!" She managed to yell during her torrent of pain. She'd begin a warp towards the disc, but not before absolutely shredding into the dragon's chest. It was as if she shared the disc's properties, just in the moments before she reached it--like a metallic chainsaw digging into the smooth earth below. The dragon didn't block it--couldn't possibly block it. He was left open from that punch, the punch he thought would have ended this stupid fight, quick and easy.

He screamed out from the pain in his chest, enduring it for a while before eventually bending backwards to let the feline continue her path.

She caught the damn thing with her teeth, her feet skidding across the ground, stopping just before another hole in the ground.

The dragon turned to face her, panting from the amount of energy expended and the massive blows to his health.

His right arm was useless now--there was blood all over it. Turns out using the hundred hook punch with a minor wound in it would turn it into a major one. Not his smartest plan, but he didn't think it'd matter. She wasn't supposed to be standing right now.

Their previous fights were never one sided--damn it, he should've expected this.

The wildcat was panting, hard, trying to ignore the pain coursing through her entire body. Did that stupid move of his get stronger? She doesn't remember it hurting this badly, causing this much pain. Fucking hell--she couldn't use her arms anymore, for beat's sake!!! Never in a million years did she think she'd be so handicapped like this.

She's got her jump disc, still. Can't use her bike though, that needs her arms to drive the damn thing. She's also got her legs, but how well can she really kick this guy down?

She squints at him as he clutches his chest and winces in pain.

That's her target, right? Keep causing damage there and he'll give up eventually.

...Fuck, she kind of wishes she had Surge's metal boots right about now.

She shook her head, hopping high towards the dragon.

He readies his working arm, aiming to hit her out the sky.

She nods her head aggressively downwards, spitting the disc out of her mouth as she does so.

"GO!!!!!!"

A warp straight to his feet, a catch of the disc with her mouth again. She lands on her feet and rams her head straight into the dragon's stomach.

He coughs, losing all sense of action he had previously.

Another jump into the sky, this time aiming her two feet to slam directly into the other's chest!

The dragon can only look up as she starts to fall back down, her feet crashing onto him, erupting a yell from him again.

She stomps on his chest! As if she were tap dancing! Trying to put as much pressure on those open wounds as she can. Make him fall, make him fall, make him FALL!!!!

His hand starts to make his slow approach to the feline.

As a foot raised into the air, he'd make a grab for her ankle, lifting the wildcat off his chest.

SLAM!!!!!!!

Back into the ground with her. He commanded the remaining rocks to pelt her, each one smashing against the feline's head.

She minimized the damage, luckily thanks to her jump disc softening some of the blows, but most were down right dangerous. Her consciousness was starting to fade, she might actually lose this.

He raised her back up, holding her upside down from the ankle.

"We're finished."

The earth dragon begun to spin the wildcat and himself around in a circle, as if this were a wheel, the dragon stationed directly in it's center. His speed became faster and faster, so fast that it stopped being anything but a blur of green and brown.

No.. No no no no no no no no no NO NO!!! SHE'S NOT LOSING. NOT LIKE THIS, NOT TO HIM, NOT TO ANYONE IN THIS SPIRITS FORSAKEN BATTLESPHERE!!!!

But the spinning, the constant spinning, it made her dizzy, it made her want to barf, it made her wish she was already knocked out cold. Anything would be better than this right now--anything.

But she's not giving up--she can't give up. Not like this.

Her head could barely move, but she still had the jump disc in her maw.

She had a gambit, an idea, a hope that this would fucking work.

She flicked her head towards the dragon, letting go of the disc as she did.

"GO!!!!!!!"

She started to spin in a ball herself, burning the hand that held her. But that wasn't it--the jump disc was spinning around his, creating several gashes and cuts into his face. Nothing vital was hit, but each cut made him scream even louder.

Eventually, he had to let go of the cat--the double onslaught of pain was too much to handle.

The disc was right behind his head.

Like a baseball, she SMASHED right into his head, the dragon and the feline screaming out in unision.

Down went Askal. Past his body did the wildcat end up, right into one of those plexiglass walls.

The dragon laid there. He showed no signs of getting back up.

The wildcat's body was only being held up by the wall, her feet still firmly planted on the ground. But hoo boy, if she had a choice in the matter, she'd be right with the dragon.

The announcer started his count.

The feline's eyes started to flutter. Everything felt like it caught up to her at once.

Just a couple more seconds, Carol...

.

.

.

"ONE!!!!! ISN'T THAT AMAZING FOLKS? THIS WILD WILDCAT BEAT HER SECOND CHALLENGER!!!!!"

A chuckle left her maw.

Fuck, thank the stones.

Her eyes shut tight, a smile on her face. She just... needed a quick rest. That's all.

[beels-burger-babe]

Of Jealousy and Friendship - Epilogue

*** Back due to popular demand, here is a little epilogue for what happened at school the next day after pt. 2 Enjoy! - B***

Summary: MC makes a lower demon friend who may secretly be hoping for something more than friendship. The Demon Bros are not about to let this happen.

TW: Discussions about scenting and non-consensual physical contact. PART ONE, PART TWO

The next day of school was...interesting to say the least. For starters, the brothers refused to leave your side. There was one of them lingering near you at all times. Some of them had the decency to try and be subtle. Satan would just happen to be studying in the same room as you, or Belphie was napping and was wondering if you could keep an eye on his things while he did. But then there were the others who were more than obvious. Mammon and Asmodeus both had to pried off of your arms by Lucifer to get them to actually go to their own classes. Leviathan, despite usually doing his classes at home in his room, actually attended school that day and insisted that he needed your help finding a few rooms here and there. The normally sweet and friendly Beel was glaring at any lower demon that so much as looked in your direction. And boy did they look. The moment you took a step into a classroom, you could see a number of lower demons flinch back at the combined strong sent of seven of the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Everywhere you went, whispers seemed to follow you. There were undoubtedly rumours about what you might have done in order to trick the brothers into favouring you; though you never heard any of them since no one dared to come within a ten-foot radius of you.

This bothered you a little at first. Being the center of attention, especially this kind of attention, was never fun to anybody. But by the end of the day, rather than being disheartened by it, you were just exhausted. Finally, the last class of the day had arrived; the one you had been dreading since the moment your alarm went off that morning - Magical Potions.

Beel shifted from foot to foot as the two of you lingered in the entrance. "Do you really have to go to this class? You could just skip and come get some snacks with me instead." You smiled sympathetically at Beel and patted his shoulder. "Sorry, Beel. Diavolo expects good things from his exchange students. I need to keep my grades high, or who knows what Lucifer will do as punishment." The redhead pouted. "Lucifer would understand, I think. All things considered." You snorted and began to walk into the classroom. "Go to your own class, Beel. You can come to get me afterwards, and walk me home with Mammon if you really want."

Beelzebub mumbled to himself, before turning and finally walking off. You entered the class, ignoring the few gasps and gaping stares that you got as you walked through the room, and took your seat. You had been setting up for another class of note-taking when the door opened once more. Standing in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes, was Cane. The moment your eyes met, the shocked expression on his face instantly dissipated and he flashed you a charming smile. You could feel a bubble of annoyance and anger begin to rise within you. The cocky demon swaggered over and plopped down into his seat beside you. "Hey, there Dare Devil. You didn't get in too much trouble last night with the big bad Avatars did you?" as he spoke he draped an arm on the back of your chair.

You eyed his exposed wrist and pushed his arm off of your chair. It seemed not even the obvious scenting that was supposed to tell him to back off would get him to take a hint. "No, I didn't. Though they did tell me a few interesting things last night." Cane chuckled and leaned into his palm as he smirked at you. "I'm assuming it has something to do with the reason why you smell like hell-incarnate?"

You scoffed and narrowed your eyes at him. "I'm sure you'd rather I smell like you. Considering you apparently did your best to make that happen yesterday." Cane tensed for a moment, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. Eventually, his expression fell into one of confusion as he frowned at you. "Are you talking about how I scented you? MC, do you really think I would do something like that without a good reason?" The frustration in you began to grow and grow inside you; somewhere across the school grounds, Satan sneezed. You weren't in the mood to have this talk now, and very much wished that your professor would hurry up and start the god damn class already. "I don't know you Cane. How am I supposed to know whether or not that's something you would do?" That stupid smug look on his face returned once more and you had to resist the urge to slap it off of him. "You seemed to know me well enough to go out with me yesterday. You didn't seem worried about whether or not I was too much of a stranger when we were dancing at the club and walking downtown late at night, where anything could've happened to a small little human like you," he chuckled as your face scrunched up in annoyance and leaned back into his chair. "I didn't scent you for any perverted reasons. I did it to keep you safe while we were out. I knew if you had my scent on you, you'd be less likely to get attacked, and I was right," he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Admittedly, I should've asked first, and that's on me. But I really just wanted to make sure that my new friend didn't get hurt." He was lying. He had to be. If that asshole seriously thought you were stupid enough to buy that lame excuse, he was extremely wrong. You opened your mouth to tell him as much but were interrupted by a familiar deep voice clearing their throat behind you. "That is the worse excuse I've ever heard, and I live with Mammon." Cane stiffened in front of you before he looked up to meet the glaring eyes of Lucifer, and smiled. "Lord Lucifer, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I would never lie, especially not to a friend like MC." The classroom seemed to be on the edge of their seats as everyone quickly picked up on the showdown that was happening right in front of them. One lower demon of gluttony even pulled out a bag of popcorn. Lucifer tsked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do not insult mine and MC's intelligence like that. Sure scenting can be helpful to ward off other demons, but only if the scent is associated with a more powerful demon. Nobody would blink an eye at anything coated in your weak, disgusting scent." Cane scoffed and tilted his head. "Evidently you did last night. Don't think I didn't notice you and your brother's reactions." This gained a few gasps from your classmates. No one could believe that someone, that wasn't his brothers, was actually trying to stand up against Lucifer. The idea itself was insane. Even seeing it in front of their own eyes, most could hardly believe it, yourself included. Lucifer maintained his indifferent expression and raised an eyebrow at Cane. "You mistook our irritation and disbelief that someone would be so stupid as to even attempt scenting our charge for being even the slightest bit phased by you," he took a step closer to Cane, bending down to be eye level with him. "You should consider yourself lucky it was Asmodeus and myself that got to the two of you first. Should it have been one of my more reckless brothers, you would've been nothing but a pile of ribbons in our driveway," Lucifer's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Cane gulped and took a step back. The Morningstar grinned dangerously. "MC is our charge. They are our family and our responsibility. Unlike you, we actually got their permission to be scented and bonded to them last night; meaning my brothers are more protective than ever. I would never stoop so low as to waste my energy on a pitiful excuse for a demon-like yourself. But I know for a fact, that Beelzebub eats demons like you as a snack on

days when he is particularly famished. Satan occasionally brings one home for his latest experiments. Belphegor has torn through an entire percentage of them when he hasn't gotten enough sleep. Asmodeus is surprisingly prone to temper tantrums and fits of jealousy. Leviathan drowns anyone that disrespects the things that he loves. And Mammon doesn't take too kindly to people touching things that he considers his." Cane's hands balled into fists, but even then, the tremble in them was still glaringly obvious. Lucifer remained unphased and unmoved by the reactions he was pulling from his victim; though anyone could sense the air of utter glee that was exuding off of him. "If I were you, Cane, I would sleep with one eye open." The teacher finally walked in and raised an eyebrow at the scene in front of them. "Lord Lucifer, is there a reason you are harassing my student?" Cane whimpered as Lucifer smirked at him before standing straight and turning to the teacher. "Not at all, professor. I am actually here to inform you that MC will no longer be enrolled in this class." You whipped your head up to look at him as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "The student council has realized it would be a much better decision to have the exchange students more knowledgable to the ways and customs of demons during their visit here, so MC will be enrolled in Devildom Culture Studies instead. We wouldn't want someone to take advantage of them just because they were taught our ways, now would we?" The last line was spoken coldly and pointedly as though to drive in his threats to Cane. The teacher sighed but seemed to know that there was no point arguing and instructed you to gather your things. You did so happily and quickly. As you left the classroom and walked through your halls with Lucifer, you bumped him gently with your hip. "Thanks, Lucifer. You really are the best." His chest puffed up the slightest bit in pride as he continued walking forward with his hand still on your shoulder. "There is nothing to thank me for MC. I was just doing my duty as Vice-President of the student council to ensure that the exchange students are happy and safe." But even as he said the words, you knew that wasn't the case. You were MC. The human that wormed their way into the hearts of the seven strongest demons in the Devildom. For that reason alone, you were untouchable to all others, and Lucifer and his brothers would ensure that for as long as they breathed. And whoever disagreed would have to be ready to face the consequences.

TAGLIST: @henry-and-the-seven-lords

@hopefulann

@vampwiire

@bunna-does-stuff

@obey-mes-treasure

@obeythebutler

[vicious-vixxxen]

Hi, first of all ur work is amazing and awesome, especially the Kiri fics they make me feel so warm inside :)) ANYWAYS I have a drabble idea: Katsuki with a flirty male reader from 1-B that likes to tease him and make him flustered and fired up as much as possible (kinda like Monoma but not as aggressive) and finally Katsuki decides that it’s reader’s turn to get all flustered and blushing and all that hehe :)

AH I absolutely LOVE this idea! Sorry it took me so long to get to it babes, but I hope you enjoy it :3 <3 Bakugou Katsuki X Flirty Male!Reader

“You think /you’re/ tired? I heard class A had to go through ten times the beasts we did yesterday, /and/ they didn’t get to camp until five.” TetsuTetsu huffed, rolling his eyes as he continued to rub at his sore biceps- falling behind as the class walked to their first official day of training. “They’re probably still struggling to work as an actual unit, how disappointing,” Monoma drawled, flinching as Kendo raised a hand at him in warning- her gaze cutting back to you with an apologetic smile, but you shrugged her off. “I’m just saying, if they were half as good as everyone assumes they are, then we wouldn’t have had to make dinner for everyone /alone/ yesterday. A bunch of unimpressive slackers, the fame is definitely getting to them.” “Oh give it a rest, Monoma! I swear if I have to keep listening to your incessant whining i’m going to roundhouse you so hard you slip into an alternate dimension,” You teased, though the sharpness of your tone, and the look you fixed the other boy with managed to reduce him to nothing more than some bitter grumbling, as you jogged ahead to follow directly behind Vlad-Sensei.

“Young Y/N is right! No use in comparing yourself to a separately tiered class, what you all should be doing is preparing yourselves for a day full of grueling training!” Vlad called out to the class behind him, as they came to their final stop. Looking out across the vast fields of the camp, where class 1A was already deep in training. All of them spread out to various areas of the site, some farther out than others, you assumed due to the volatile nature of their quirks. Some out of site all together, given the specificity needed to train their quirks. “The Wild Wild Pussycats have strict regimens for you all to follow, and I as well have critiques for you all regarding your fighting style, and quirk application. Check in with them across the field first, and regroup back to me so we can begin!” “Yes Sensei!” You all chanted back, before hurrying off across the field to do as you were told. Though once you caught sight of- and really, it was more his blood curdling death screams that you noticed first, music to your ears honestly- unruly blonde spikes off in the distance, you reasoned you had at least a few minutes to spare. Giving your classmates time to get their schedules and regimes before you could swoop in for yours last minute. The heat from Bakugou’s blasts was intense- your hair blowing back each time the other boy extended his palms to the sky, screamed, and released an explosion. The air felt thick, the scent of sweaty flesh, and deep, rich caramel wafting against your face, heady, and thick, with each blast. It was intoxicating. The closer you got, the more your cheeks flushed- though it had nothing to do with the heat anymore. Up close, or as close as you could get without being blown back entirely, that is- the more handsome Bakugou became. Pinched, angry expression and all. His front fringe of hair hanging low on his forehead, dripping sweat down onto his cheeks, and then onto the exposed upper half of his chest, bared due to his low rising tank top. When was Bakugou not absolutely breathtaking, you wondered idly, as you reached into your backpack for a bottle of water, and whistled loudly between blasts to catch the blonde's attention. Though the glare he fixed you with as your eyes met almost, almost deterred you from closing the distance between you both, it didn’t quite reach the innermost parts of your brain, meant for rational thought. “What the hell do you want!? Can’t you see i’m busy? Take your ass back to your class, extra!” Bakugou shouted, gaze falling to the bottle of water in your hand, before he focused back in on his task, baring his teeth in pain as the boiling water engulfed his hands. But you were too close now, it was too risky, and before you could think to back away on your own, Bakugou was crowding up against you. Spinning around on his heels and blasting in the opposite direction, back to you now. Shoving you backwards so hard with his own body you fell to the ground. Hissing as you landed on a particularly sharp rock. “See what you did?! I could’ve accidentally taken someone else out because of you! Fucking...gimme that,” Bakugou growled, shaking his hands of the smoke from his blast, before bending down to snatch the chilled bottle of water from your hand with one of his- his other reaching down to take hold of the front of your shirt, and tug you back up to stand next to him. “Always in my way!” Bakugou hissed, before throwing his head back and chugging down the entire bottle in a matter of seconds. Wiping at his mouth roughly, he turned to you slightly, noting the mischievous smile on your face, and the dirt on your shorts. “Tch...what?” He asked, knowing he was walking himself right into a trap. “Just admiring the view,” You sing-songed, skirting around his sudden extended fist easily, and dancing around the boy to get a good look at his training clothes. “It’s not everyday I get to see UA’s own Bakugou Katsuki in the midst of an intense training session. All sweaty, and bulking- muscles just….grr,” You laughed, holding your hands up in front of your face as you growled and made pawing motions at the other boy- bursting into a fit of laughter ass he reeled back, blush high on his cheeks, fingers twitching with the urge to blas your fucking face off. “You’re an insufferable piece of!-” “What I can’t seem to wrap my head around, is how you have such a big chest, such defined shoulders, and such a teeny, tiny waist,” You sighed, cutting Bakugou off with your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side curiously as you scanned him up and down. “Your tits are bigger than most of the girls in your class, ya know,” You added, as if an afterthought, waving a hand passively at the thought, though you couldn’t help but grin as Bakugou charged you- dragging you up by the front of your shirt again, and pinning you to the barrel of boiling water. One hand holding your head down near the bubbling surface, and one right next to your ear, sparking with unlit nitroglycerin. “I. Don’t. Have. Tits. You. Shitty. Extra.” Each word was laced with venom, husky and full of rage right next to your ear, and god. Was it fucked up you were kind of turned on? Probably. About as fucked up as it was to be genuinely attracted to Bakugou in the first place, you supposed. Oh well. Not much to be done about it now. “Say that to the mounds pressing up against my back right now, babe,” You teased, turning your head to face Bakugou, your noses barely brushing as you leaned in as best you could, given the hand in your hair- mouth curling into a knowing smirk as Bakugou’s face twisted back and forth- confusion, rage, annoyance, misunderstanding...want. “I’m sure your teacher would be thrilled to see you over here keeping one of my students from his training, instead of focusing on your own abilities,” Someone sighed from your right, and both you and Bakugou’s head whipped up to see Aizawa leaning against a tree, staring at the both of you with the most bored expression you could imagine someone having. “Tried to get the loser away from me, but he’s as persistent as the rest of his annoying class,” Bakugou huffed, letting you go, but not before pushing you in the direction of his teacher roughly- crackling his knuckles out in front of himself, and shaking his hands out. Prepared to continue his training. Though thoughts of your stupid face, so close to his- scent of your shampoo, and minty breath still searing his nose made him a trillion times more annoyed then he’d already been. The color of your eyes stuck with him the most though. So clear. So shiny. Full of authority, of mirth, and something so...gut wrenchingly /cute/, he couldn’t stand it. “Sorry, EraserHead. Didn’t mean to disturb your student. Was just being friendly is all,” You assured the older Hero, hands up in surrender as you walked alongside side him, and back to regroup with your class- smiling smugly to yourself when you noticed the barest hint of a smirk on Eraserheads face, just before he turned away and skulked off to whatever dark, cozy corner he had been observing his students from.

Training felt like it had lasted forever, and then some. The following days were no easier. Your bodies were pushed to their limits, and then thrown off the metaphorical cliff afterwards. Every day, class A and B were sore, tired, irritable. But even then, once lunch, and dinner came around, it offered you all a chance to get to know one another more intimately. You talked, and mingled with class 1A- flirting with Todoroki for fun, and picking Midoriya’s brain about his hero notebook- unaware of the red eyes following your every move amongst the classmates. Your flirting with Bakugou was at an all time high- given you could usually spare a handful of minutes each day teasing the young man, whether it be with words during training, lingering touches, or brushes of hands, and legs during dinner, or with outright winks, and kisses blown to the blonde as you all departed to your cabins for the night. It infuriated Bakugou to no end. Your presence. The way he acted out against you...his mother would suggest he needed an attitude adjustment, and that he should allow the fun part of camp to take precedent over his ultimate number one hero goal. As if he’d ever. But still, her frustrated words of encouragement never ceased to ease up as the days went by, and you became bolder with your flirting. Bakugou felt on edge constantly, like someone was going to crack a whip at him at any moment. Say something about it, say something about /him/, but no one ever did. Probably because they were scared. His only saving grace, he supposed. Being intimidating. Though he didn’t intimidate /you/, which was the part he hated the most. ...He’d just have to switch up his tactics, then. His mother would be proud. God, he hated that. After a particularly grueling day of training, everyone was running on fumes, more or less, as they shuffled around the outdoor kitchen, prepping dinner lazily. Monoma picking stupid fights with whoever he came across first, as though he were too tired to even do that. You’d been chatting quietly to Mina and Jirou about some of your favorite albums, when a whistle from across the counters had all three of you lifting your heads. Curiosity piqued to the fullest extent, as your gaze landed on Bakugou- pointing at you with a hard expression, before gesturing to the spot next to him at the cutting board station. His eyes downcast again before you could even register what was going on, before hurrying to head over before whatever demon that had possessed Bakugou, decided to get the fuck out of such a toxic human host. Beaming, you came to stand at Bakugou’s side, arms brushing against each other as you glanced down at the finely minced veggies the boy was working on. “You rang?” Brows raised in question, you ducked your head to try and catch the boy’s eyes again- stopping dead in your tracks as he grabbed a hold of your wrist tightly, and slid a knife between your fingers. Tugging you impossibly closer to his side, and reaching an arm around you to grab a stray carrot. Boxing you into the bench, and maneuvering your fingers carefully as he began to force you to chop the carrot below. His front was flush with your back, and suddenly you couldn’t breath. Breath hitched in your throat, flush high on your cheeks, as Bakugou bent down, face right next to yours, as he forced you to chop, knife always skirting a little /too/ close to your fingertips, but fuck it all if you weren’t willing to lose them for this encounter to continue. “All this time and you haven’t even learned to chop properly. Make yourself more useful, you shitty extra,” He grunted, right into your ear. A sharp shock of arousal shooting down your spine as he spoke, looking away suddenly as Bakugou turned to try and meet your gaze. “Eh? What’s the problem, extra? Cat got your fucking tongue?’ He teased, harshly, though his grasp on your hands lessened, and fuck you were gonna pass out if you didn’t start breathing soon. “Oh,” He huffed suddenly, snickering under his breath, as he crowded you in up against the bench entirely, completely flush with your back, before his lips ghosted the shelf of your ear, and he whispered “-probably because of my big tits, huh? Tch.” And then he was gone. Gone from your back, gone from the shell of your ear, gone from giving you a religious fucking experience, and thankfully gone from nearly making you jizz your jeans in front of the entireety of class A and B. Your hands shook where they now held the knife solo, and you glanced over your shoulder- watching Bakugou stuff his hands in his pockets, arch his shoulders, and stalk off to the cabins. Though not before you also caught the sharp, devilish smirk that twisted up on his face. What a fucking DICK. But a dick who was handsome as fuck, and knew exactly what he was doing. “Alright, Bakugou, you wanna play, big boy?” You whispered to yourself, voice shaky as you continued chopping vegetables. “I’ll bite. Show you how it’s done...right after I pass out, Jesus fucking Chri-” 

[starlightsearches]

can we perhaps get a lil fic where the reader used to be a first order medic who crushed on Hux and used to treat Hux’s injuries when he was thrown around, but has now defected to the resistance. Hux survives TROS with injuries from, well, everything that happened, and is rescued by the resistance and taken to the reader (now the resistance medic) to be cared for. Cue them remembering eachother, and perhaps lots of touch starved hux who isn’t used to being looked after, and the two finally admit their feelings for eachother?? Sorry if this is so long and confusing, you can change or shorten any bits you don’t like or understand 😅💕

Hello friend! Thanks for the request. I’m sorry it took me a thousand years to write it; I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hope you like it!!

Requests are open ✨

Armitage Hux x Resistance Medic! Reader (GN)

Warnings: Language, an injury, angst and some medical care! (and non-canon compliance if anyone cares about that)

It’s the middle of the night cycle when Poe’s voice crackles through the speaker on your comm link, calling for you. Lurching from your doze, you search for it with both hands, brushing through the piles of records and empty caff cups before you spot the little cylinder.

“I’m here,” you hold the comm close to your mouth, using your other hand to gather up needed supplies, shoving them in your medkit haphazardly. Poe never commed you before a landing—not unless things were bad. You push the panic away, steeling yourself for the worst case scenario. It wouldn’t be the first time you had held a friend’s life in your hands, but it never got easier; you just got stronger. You could be stronger now. “What do you need?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing too bad this time,” he clarifies, and you let out a shaky breath, offering your thanks to the universe, “we picked up a, uh, new recruit. He’s pretty banged up, having some trouble walking. I know you can get him feeling better; can you meet us at the landing pad?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you shove the comm in your pocket, brushing a hand over your hair. There’s a soft hint of disquiet resting on your shoulders, a crawling over your skin. Poe wasn’t usually this cryptic. Something big must have happened.

You decide to leave your medkit—since the mystery patient’s injuries don’t sound too serious — walking swiftly through the sleeping base. Your footsteps echo quietly against the stone walls until the sound is swallowed by the night melody of Ajan Kloss. The warm humidity kisses your cheeks when you step out into the open, a gentle breeze pushing it away before it can linger.

The landing pad is dormant, rows and rows of sleeping x-wings keeping you company as you watch for any sign of the Falcon, and soon enough you spot it, tracing its path through the night sky.

You spy Poe's boots at the mouth of the hatch as soon as it opens—Rey must have been piloting, which meant Finn would be in the cockpit with her. Strange. Poe doesn’t usually give up control of the pilot’s seat so easily. A shiver travels up your spine despite the warm night air.

"Hey, sweetheart, can you give us a hand?" he calls out to you, and you're about to tear into him for being so fucking cryptic, stomping up the loading dock. That's when you notice the shiny pair of boots near Poe's, blacker than the night around you.

You can't move anymore, frozen mid-step half-way up the ramp, heartbeat pounding like a warning siren as your eyes trace up the boots, the battered, black uniform and you don’t need to see his face to know that you're not dreaming this time. It’s him.

You keep your eyes on Poe—only on Poe—and your distress must show in your features because the look he gives you in return is full of concern.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?"

You glare at him. "What the hell is this?"

It has to be a joke. Poe is trying to be funny, calling him a recruit instead of a prisoner—but the general isn't handcuffed. He has an arm slung over Poe's shoulder, leaning heavily against the pilot. There’s a tear in his pant leg, white skin stained red with dripping blood, the wound sore and angry. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the purpling bruises along his cheeks. It’s sad how familiar he seems when he’s broken, more recognizable to you now than he ever was in any holovid.

“See, Hugs, I told you,” Poe clears his throat, voice light with humor but he watches you carefully, a warning in his eyes. You can see enough of the general to know he’s not looking at you, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his jaw set.

You cross your arms over your chest, letting your expression settle into a scowl. “Told him what?”

“That you hadn’t forgotten him.”

Damn him. He had asked about you? Your heart softens in spite of yourself, and you turn automatically to Hux, the last shreds of your anger falling from your chest. He still won’t meet your eyes, shoulders slumped, his breathing a little labored and you’re sure it’s not just from the pain.

How many times had you been with him, just like this? Hidden together in forgotten corridors or tucked away in his quarters, the threat of his father looming over you while bandaging wounds and feeling for breaks and ignoring the way his chest heaved underneath your fingers. There was no word for that kind of despair, seeing someone you loved so quietly and so desperately wrecked so completely. It snakes under your skin again, finding it’s old favorite cracks left unhealed; if you’re not careful, it will swallow you whole.

There’s only one thing to do in a situation like this: fix what you can.

You shift your weight from foot to foot before heaving a sigh, “fine, let’s go.”

“Yes! You’re the best; I owe you one, sweetheart, really—” he’s already moving out of the general’s grip, waiting for you to take his place and you look at him in alarm, stepping back.

“Wait,” your adrenaline spikes, and you have to force yourself to take a breath, “you’re not coming with us?“

He shakes his head, “Rey, Finn and I have some, uh, unfinished business. We only stopped by to drop him off.”

Well shit—you take a few steadying breaths, hoping your anxiety doesn’t show too plainly on your face. You hadn’t thought you’d be alone with him so soon. You don’t want to think about why that makes a difference to you.

“Oh, okay.” You nod, force an unconvincing smile to save face. Poe wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important. He furrows his brow—not yet convinced.

“You’re gonna be alright?”

“Yeah . . . yeah. I’ll—we’ll—be fine.” Your smile tightens at the corners but still doesn’t reach your eyes, and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before walking past you to the cock pit.

And now you’re left alone.

“Let’s go,” you slide into place under his arm where he’s propped himself up against the wall, gripping him tightly around his waist, fingers holding him steady at the ribs.

He flinches, pulling away slightly, and you loosen your grip.

“Did I hurt you?”

He shakes his head, eyes examining his reflection in his boots, and you place your hand with a little more care, hoping he can’t feel the way your heartbeat echoes through your body.

It’s been too long since you’ve last touched him; it still makes your heart race.

The trip back to the medbay is slow and arduous. It’s not just the gash in his leg that’s impairing his movement—his ankle is very clearly broken, based on the way he winces whenever it makes even the slightest contact with the ground.

He’s certainly not heavy, by any means, but supporting his weight gets more difficult with each step, and you’d rather not see him sustain any more injuries if your grip on him doesn’t hold.

“We can rest here for a moment.” You stop near a pile of rocks by the entrance to the base, lowering him down into a sitting position before finally taking the chance to catch your breath.

It's a dead night, a still one. Any breeze you'd felt earlier had faded long ago, and the air sits heavy on your skin and heavier in your lungs.

The general doesn't seem to mind, taking long deep breaths. If it weren't for his furrowed brow, you might believe he was asleep.

“How did you know I’d be here,” you whisper, and when he looks at you, there's hurt in his eyes.

“The Order always keeps track of their defectors—especially when they run away to join the Resistance.” His tone is bitter and biting, and it hurts you more than you like.

“I didn’t run away to join the Resistance," you respond, trying to tamp down a sneer, angry at yourself. For letting him get to you so easily, for caring so much about what he thinks.

For missing him every day since the last.

Still, it was true, what you said. When you left, you only wanted to get away from the Order—it didn’t matter where.

The Resistance was the only place you were welcomed.

You had wanted it to feel like home, and parts of it did—eating late dinners with Poe in his quarters, watching over your patients, celebrating with the rest of them after every success, the same belief that they had for the cause beginning to burn in your chest.

But something was missing, in every one of those moments. And now that he's here, you wonder if the space you'd left empty for him is too large to be filled.

"Did you—" he shifts, groans, and your veins flood with anticipation, hanging on to some foolish idea of what he might say next, "did you ever . . . think of me?"

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, surprisingly earnest; the pain must have gone to his head.

"We should get you to the medbay," you move again, no longer comfortable with staying still, "I'll go find you something to lean on while you walk, I'll be right back—"

His fingers wrap firmly around your wrist, pulling you back with surprising determination.

"I thought of you," he says, and you're looking in his eyes, so dark they're almost black in the low light, "every cycle since the last, and every cycle before that."

Your breathing grows shallow as he fits his hand against your waist, without pulling you closer or pushing you away.

"If you want me to leave, after . . . when it's all over, I'll do it. But I—"

He jumps when you press your lips to his, shaking like he's scared, but he leans into you as best he can.

"Neither of us are leaving again," you demand, and you think you might feel the ghost of a smile against your jaw, feel the slight grip of his fingers at your waist, "not if I can help it."

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[ruby-whistler]

(Just for time- any name I refer in here is all character unless specified!)

Nah, cause I'm convinced that the vault was 100% a set up and there's so much that is just left unexplained that proves that:

The Elevator

The Polished Blackstone room

The Gold/highly lit stand for the discs

The enderportal

The attachments

The Avenger's Endgame bullshit at the end

Ranboo

(1) - I don't know why, but this was one of the bigger ones to annoy the hell out of me as to why it looked so complicated. Dream- as far as I remember- hasn't had that many creations with such complex machinery/redstone engineering. Even more so to the extent of making an elevator that can function going up and down with a platform big enough to fit multiple people on.

(1) - Not only that, but we never even got to see the inner workings of the redstone itself- it may seem like an unnecessary detail, but as far as I'm aware, not many people are able to make redstone this complex in order to properly function as an elevator (in Minecraft terms). Dream just doesn't seem to fit within that category because- again, as far as I'm aware- the most complicated redstone device he's made has been the doomsday one, and even then, it wasn't even that complicated- nowhere near the level enough to make an entire elevator by himself.

(2) - Maybe it's because of the amount of times I've seen Dream login to the server and how infrequent it had been in the past, but I don't see how Dream could mine up so much Polished Blackstone, especially to use in this specific purpose. Dream doesn't even have many structures to his name, even his own base doesn't even have any materials that could suggest he would need extra Blackstone for. If it had been made out of obsidian, I could believe it considering all that material had been used for walls around L'Manburg. (Plus, it's been confirmed by the CCs that creative mode is barely used as is, so this makes mining this much Blackstone/Polished Backstone make even less sense.)

(2) - I feel like this is strongly indicated with how much Ranboo had been supposedly mining at the time and had a ridiculously low durability on his tool set so often, sure he could be mining for something totally unrelated, but if that were the case- why would he be so "unaware" of why his tools are so low to begin with?

(3) - Now this is where the bullshit meter starts kicking higher. Why would Dream display the real discs so proudly and in such a gaudy manner, especially when it functionally served no purpose? Not even the walls he had around L'Manburg or the obsidian grid were as flashy. Gold floors, bright lights, the portraits of the discs side to side by the very clear escape portal™, hell, they were even positioned to be directly in front of the elevator so that Tommy and Tubbo would first notice them and would try to run for them. AND THERE WERE TWO ENDERCHESTS RIGHT NEXT TO THE PORTALS AND THE DISCS.

(3) - What kind of Saturday cartoon evil villain™ leaves such an obvious flaw, even when taking into account that Dream is supposedly a strategist? What kind of strategic mastermind would leave an interdimentional chest that could potentially have back up gear and various other items to assist his enemies out in the open like that especially next to a portal where they could easily escape? Not even Jack Manifold would make such an oversight like that.

(4) - The placements of the portal and where Dream, Tommy, and Tubbo all stopped off at the end of Dream's grandiose speech were all much to convenient/coincidental. It was like it was choreographed so that when Dream was specifically away for the duo, Punz and whoever else would be able to step in and "separate/rescue" the two from the big bad Dream despite the fact that Dream could've easily killed the two if he really wanted to by being near and crit'ing them out.

(4) - Plus, the portal was already lit. Which leads directly to where they would've been. Again, from a strategic standpoint that makes no god damn sense. Why leave an obvious portal out in the open like this so that your enemies could try and come and find the people you're trying to supposedly kill?

(5) - Oh yeah, but the bullshit alarm is blaring. Albeit with a bit of wavering doubt, I thought that the attachments room was the most solid part of the plan, at least, if we're going with the mindset that Dream's ultimate goal was to take control of attachments, force everyone to be friends/unified again, and achieve his ultimate goal of peace and unity on the server. But as I thought more on it, some of the attachments... Don't make sense for Dream to know.

(5) - How did Dream know about someone having an attachment that was bedrock? How did Dream know about Punz's shulker box? (I know Drista gave it to him and cc!Dream was there for that, but canonically it makes no sense.) Why did Dream specifically think that Enderchest was Ranboo's only primary attachment? How did Dream know about Dogchamp despite Purpled and him never properly meeting in canon?

(5) - Sure Dream could've gone snooping around and managed to find out, but some of these attachments he doesn't even properly know of unless he had to walk up to someone and be like: So hey, what are you emotionally attached to that would make you utterly destroyed when it's gone? :D

(6) - How in the ever loving fuck did everyone manage to get there?

(6) - This one is clear that Punz lead the charge on this one, but why did everyone flat out believe him? Beforehand, everyone was deadset on staying back, regardless if it was on Tommy and Tubbo's word. But Punz? Alone? He managed to convince everyone? Even if they had a neutral opinion on Dream, to go with him to the vault to rescue the two? Nobody questioned how he even knew about where the portal to the vault is, or that it even had a portal? Nobody? Not a single soul? Or how nobody even questioned how Punz knew that Dream had taken the two down there and didn't just send them off into their own exile?

(7) - Ranboo rarely ever metas about the lore. Unlike most CCs in the DSMP, cc!Ranboo has a particular way of making sure that chat doesn't spoil him on plot points going on, so I highly doubt he would "accidentally" recite Dream's speech, word for word, bar for bar in a room he hadn't even been in yet. Nor even was there for (it's heavily hinted that Enderwalk was present during the confrontation instead). Plus, although it was confirmed unintentional by the CCs later on, Ranboo and Dream were both staring at each other, and I don't think it was to keep him in place- considering Enderwalk went to go visit Dream as often as he could before his ban and Enderwalk seemed to be on good terms with Dream even before the whole Doomsday Era.

Nah, the whole confrontation makes no sense, even down to the cherrypicking examples of it all. If it somehow gets confirmed that the confrontation wasn't staged and that Dream was somehow this cocky, I won't make a fuss, but I'm not gonna be entirely too thrilled at the idea.

But contrary to popular belief, I don't think Dream did this with only Punz or Enderwalk, I think those three were the main ones to set up this whole thing, but considering the redstone and the attachments that Dream wasn't supposed to know of. I don't know, but something about that screams like there was one other involved, the question is- who would also help Dream like Punz or Enderwalk too?

This one is an old one, but I absolutely agree. The Disc War finale is, with all due respect, either egregious writing with no character continuity in the slightest, or c!Dream faked the whole thing. It's way too suspicious not to be obvious. That's a banger analysis.

[parvulous-writings]

Slightly Unexpected // McCree x reader

Request:  Can I make a request were McCree meets a new member of the team who happens to be a field medic with a big St. Bernard named Bosco. Everyone didn’t know that Bosco could speak except for Winston and soldier 76. And I mean he has the same intelligence as a human type. Like McCree finds out that his S/Os dog can speak during a mission when she hast to save him and drag him to a safe spot to be patched up.  i’ve been obsessing over the creek for the past week and a half and this seems like a very funny idea that’s been playing in my mind for the past few days lol

Requested by: @wolvesbrigade

Summary: The request

Warnings: Violence, mention of injuries and blood

Words: 1.2K

Notes:Did I make Bosco sassy? Maybe. My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

Initially, the assignment for the small team you supported was going incredibly well. Almost too well. There were four of you in all- a very small team indeed, but you didn’t need to go for overkill for this. It was merely defense, and of a small area to boot. It should’ve been fairly simple.  Key words; Should have. As the battle wore on and on, you got a sinking feeling in your gut that you had severely underestimated the adversaries you were facing. How could you tell this? Well, in part because of how much you’re having to heal your teammates, but also because of how the more experienced in the team were starting to show signs of struggle. Jack Morrison- Soldier 76 to the masses- was one of the ones starting to struggle, having to slowly fall back to be able to deal with the enemy personnel safely. 

The more tank-like colleague of yours had also started to draw close to the rest of the group, raising his shield to defend both the old soldier and yourself, as one last member on your team strayed out into the field, all by himself. This rugged vigilante was the gunslinger Jesse McCree- known by most to be an outlaw, and known to you specifically to be a man who makes almost nothing but reckless decisions. You were doing your best to help the two closest to you, with the aid of your loyal companion Bosco. The St Bernard was the one who held the majority of your healing capsules- modeled partially after Ana’s which served largely the same purpose. He’d ferry them back and forth between the two allies defending the point, whilst you helped Morrison dispatch your foes with your small firearm.

You had just about managed to get your feet stuck in the ground where you were supposed to be defending, when you heard a raspy voice through your earpiece: “I need.. I need some help over here!”  It was Jesse, sounding out of breath, and in a reasonable amount of pain. You give a gentle sigh- it came as no surprise to your that it was McCree that was the first to essentially get downed. You looked to your companion, giving a low whistle to get his attention away from Reinhardt. “Bosco! Let’s get moving!” And with that, the pair of you dove into fire, taking out the lackeys that stood between you and the teammate who needed your assistance. For those you didn’t take down yourself, Bosco tackled and tore at them as they tried to take aim towards you- trying to take you out and weaken your team. 

It took you a few minutes to find Jesse, who had managed to drag himself into a small corner, where he was able to stake out and defend himself with his peacekeeper. He had a rather nasty looking wound on his leg- a large, bloody patch around a bullet hole in his trouser leg. Bosco was the first of you two to approach him, looking him over for any other sign of any other, more life threatening injuries. The hound glanced over to you, his collar- designed especially for Bosco by Winston himself, based on similar technology used for Hammond the hamster- allowed him to inform you of what was McCree’s injury as you caught up and approached them.  “Thankfully I think the bullet has missed the femoral artery.” You weren’t caught off-guard by the friendly yet oddly monotonous voice of your dog, but McCree certainly was. His jaw was almost in his lap- he had never actually been out in the field with you and Bosco, and Morrison had clearly failed to warn him of the collar and unique intelligence of your companion. 

“The- the- he can-” McCree stuttered, and had Bosco been able to, he would have rolled his eyes. “Talk, yes. Thank you for the observation, Agent McCree, I hadn’t yet noticed.” Bosco replied sarcastically. Whilst they were conversing, you pulled two bandages from the pack around your waist- one to tie at least a fairly secure tourniquet, the other to dress his wound. Bosco took a small capsule from the bag draped over his back, breaking it carefully in his jaw over the wound and letting the golden liquid drip over the bloody hole in Jesse’s thigh. McCree winced, as the wound started to heal- but it would take a few minutes to heal properly, so you still fastened a makeshift tourniquet after dressing his wound. Bosco then nuzzled himself under Jesse’s arm, trying to pull him to his feet. You started to help, taking both of the cowboy’s hands in your own. 

“You never told me the old dog could talk!” Jesse exclaimed through heavy breaths as you started to help him back towards the rest of your team.  “Not that old,” Bosco pointed out, along with a computer generated sigh.  “Ah... Sorry, Bosco.” The gunslinger replied, awkwardly.  “Didn’t really have the need to mention it... Sorry, Jesse.” You chuckled as the two beings you held dearest fully interacted for the first time. You actually thought Jesse was taking it fairly well- you had expected a much more... Dramatic display.  “Well, uh, thank you, both of you, for comin’ to fetch me...” Jesse chuckled as you finally rejoined the other half of your team. You sat the Southerner down near a piece of debris- where he could still shoot the odd enemy, but also rest his leg until a dropship arrived for you all. Bosco went and sat beside him, ready to move him should the barrier finally break and the group of you be overrun by those fighting against you. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long before you heard the familiar whir of an  engine as the dropship started to approach from overhead. You had defended your point for long enough, now Overwatch’s own metallic forces were able to fight back instead of their valuable living soldiers. Bosco now started to help the injured gunslinger to his feet, and you soon joined to assist him onto the dropship. The man gave you a thankful look- a rarity from someone like Jesse.  “You know... I’d like to take some tips from ya about satyin’ alive during combat... You seem to do it pretty darn well, so you seem like one of the best people to ask. Maybe we could discuss it over dinner?” He suggested, a smirk-like grin spreading over his lips.  “Are you asking me out, McCree?” You ask him with a chuckle. He shrugs and nods slightly.  “I might be... Is there any harm in that?” He asked you, a hint of sheepishness in his tone.  “Only if you try anything funny.” Bosco jumped in, which caused both you and McCree to laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try anything... Jus’ want to be a gentleman...” He looked to you, “If you’ll let me, o’ course...” He chuckled, and you smiled softly, beginning to nod at his words.  “Alright... But only if neither of us are cooking.” You gestured between you and him, laughing gently as he nodded in agreement.  “I was gonna suggest the same thing, darlin’.” He told you, “So, you got a date in mind?”  “Saturday? Maybe... Half eight?” You suggested, and he nods eagerly.  “Sounds brilliant, sugar.” 

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McCree taglist: @rey-is-not-a-skywalker​

[chroma-ki]

What Happens When Society Fails Those Who Could Succeed - A Bakugo Katsuki Analysis

I started this a while ago, but I’ve seen others delve into this topic and I wanted to share as well. This delves into to hero society’s affects on Bakugo Katsuki’s upbringing, his worldview, his self-view, and Izuku’s involvement in breaking down the ideas society has drilled into his head. 

A lot of people like to ignore the fact that Katsuki is a 14-year-old kid at the start of the series and that much of his life, attitude and disposition of the world have been completely shaped by the adults and society around him. 

What do you expect a kid with potential to turn into when they are warped in such a way by a society that dictates that they need to be strong, or nothing at all? What about when your only value is based around a sliding scale of strength and weakness? What happens when that kid’s only source of help comes in the form of a reckless, selfless child who defies all sense of logic and reason (Izuku)?

Growing up, Bakugo was constantly praised for being strong, having a powerful quirk and being generally the smartest person in the room at any given time. He could arguably be considered a prodigy, and much of what he sees and learns feels beneath him -- because it's already on his mind. He is a kid with natural god-given talent that everyone around him immediately recognizes as above average. 

Even as a toddler, he was constantly a step ahead of everyone else. Due to this, people developed a lot of high expectations for him at a young age -- and it doesn't help that he has a naturally competitive streak that makes him constantly want to prove himself and live up to these expectations; even surpass them.

Always being at the top of his class and being ahead of the curve mentally fuel the idea in Katsuki's mind that, in the game of life, he is 'winning'. Yet, at the same time, none of it is ever enough. Other's high expectations of him cause him to build extremely high expectations of himself; expectations that border on unrealistic. They also inflate his ego exponentially when this praise gets reaffirmed time and time again.

Certainly, in a situation where you're raised on other people's praise and validation, it is completely understandable that you would put a lot of emotional emphasis on other people's opinions of you. On top of that, he gives off such a natural and convincing air of confidence that people can't help but feel that he is reliable, despite his attitude. People are awed by him, and all of it feeds into the mental image he has constructed of himself, and the world as a whole. It's the whole reason for a lot of how he acts. He builds an image of himself based on the praise of those around him -- and even Izuku also feeds into this mentality by worshipping the literal ground Katsuki walks on as a kid.

This mentality seems to be working fine for him until Izuku's very presence starts to throw a wrench into everything Katsuki has been raised to believe. 

Izuku completely defies logic to Katsuki. Izuku does not fit the societal norm and, beyond what others have taught him, Izuku is Katsuki’s only real hint that the world might not be quite what he thinks it is, and that his idea of what it means to be strong may not be a ‘one-size fits all’ defenition.

Izuku is a quirkless kid; weak and generally mild-mannered. He doesn't have any self-confidence and is a big crybaby. Yet, Izuku still believes that he can be strong and become a hero -- when Katsuki has always been told the opposite. Katsuki recognizes that this may be some version of strength he is unaware of, and it raises BIG RED FLAGS in his mind.

Where many of Katsuki's other childhood friends were barely more than acquaintances who he forgot over time, Izuku immediately caught Katsuki's interest and spiked his curiosity. Like everyone else in his life, Izuku praised Katsuki and told him all the things he wanted to hear -- but Izuku was also unique and intelligent. Izuku was the first person who actually seemed like they could stand near Katsuki's level; like they might be actual competition. 

Then, Bakugo got his quirk and Izuku is diagnosed as quirkless. The reactions of everyone around him to this news, including Izuku’s own reaction, only go back to telling him what society has told him all along. Strength is everything, and quirks are a part of that desired strength. This is another moment that reaffirms Katsuki's world view. "I won, you lose. I really am the best."

Though Bakugo is super aggressive on the outside, he is a very self-critical character and often means the opposite of whatever he is saying. Especially when it comes to his self-confidence and bravado. 

People often complain when watching the series about him telling people to 'die' and "got to hell", or calling other people "extras", and I don't think enough people understand -- that is just how he speaks. Those are things he says out of reflexive anger. None of those words ever have any real meaning. 

It's more important to pay more attention to the moments in which he is more reserved/quiet. He suffers from both a superiority complex and inferiority complex, as well as paranoia (much of which revolves around his warped idea of how Deku, and other people he values, perceive him). Much of what he says is just empty words or him trying to project an image of self-confidence.

He wears his pride like a suit of armor to hide all the things he doesn't want to admit about himself. He attempts to make up for his own insecurities by getting angry. And he learned this at home from his mother, who is much the same as him.

From the little that we have seen of his parents throughout the series so far, his parents love him and provide him with everything he could possibly need -- but his mother often insults him and throws harsh truths in his face to counteract his cocky nature. One of the most notable instances of this is when All Might and Aizawa are talking to his parents about moving the kids to the dorms and his mom says "If you hadn't have gotten yourself caught by the villains in the first place, none of this would have happened".

That comment feeds directly into his mental breakdown in front of Izuku where he blames himself for All Might's downfall, flat out saying that "If I hadn't been kidnapped by villains, then it never would have happened".

It gets me every time if you go back to the 8th episode of the series, near the VERY BEGINNING -- right after he's defeated by Deku for the first time in combat training -- and the episode literally starts with him having a full on panic attack. 

He's trembling, hands shaking, hyperventilating, the whole deal. And that particular incident was triggered not only by Deku defeating him and standing up to him (which completely contradicts the Izuku that Bakugo has grown up with all his life and feeds into Bakugo's own fear that he is weak), but is also brought on by the fact that he notices how severely Deku allowed himself to be injured JUST TO WIN THE EXCERSIZE. Again, this idea that even the weak can be strong. It also doesn’t help that he cares about Izuku and doesn’t want to see him get hurt.

And I'm sorry -- but below does not look like the face of someone who's pissed off to me. He looks PETRIFIED.

Izuku doesn't just piss Bakugo off -- Izuku TERRIFIES him.

There are actually multiple instances of him reacting like this to Izuku injuring himself throughout the series: sludge villain, sports festival fight against Todoroki and the training camp where Bakugo was kidnapped being the major ones I can think of beyond current managa events. Bakugo may claim to ‘hate’ Deku, but he DOES NOT like to see Deku hurt himself to win, or to save. 

Bakugo saw this 'self-sacrificing' trait in Izuku even as a young kid, and it freaked him out. It made him feel weak. It made him question himself and the world around him.

This fear starts with the incident where Bakugo fell off the log as a kid. 

It wasn't a life threatening situation, but it was the first situation where Izuku rushed to Bakugo's aid with complete disregard to himself AND when everyone else refused to help. 

Bakugo's friends, teachers and parents all held him to such high expectations of intelligence, power and strength -- so of course those would be the values that he grows up idolizing. No one ever really offered him help, because they assumed he didn't need it -- and then Izuku comes rushing in offering it to him, risking his life to do so, and Katsuki's only thought is "Why?! Why do you feel like you have to save me when you can't even protect yourself? Needing to be saved means that I'm weak! Do you think that I'm weak?" I have recently watched another show that had a similar scenario and that character explained what I believe Katsuki felt in this situation BEAUTIFULLY.  ------ “It felt like [he] was trying to say I was weak or something. [He] was intruding on feelings [he] didn’t have any right to – and I hated it. Then that got me thinking about everyone else in my life. They never treated me like I was a weakling; someone who needed his hand held. They had faith that I would continue to grow and they let me do it; helping me without ever making me feel weak.” 

Izuku continues to do this again and again throughout the series when it comes to Bakugo: the slime villain incident, the training camp, etc -- all without fully comprehending how his actions affect Bakugo. Each time this happens, Bakugo feels weak and utterly helpless to save himself OR to stop Izuku. It's all his worst fears realized.

It's like living his worst nightmare over and over without end in sight.

Going back to the concept of him being offered 'help', very few people have offered him this throughout his life -- and they all saw it as something he never really needed. It's like Katsuki's personality and mental state is a huge sign screaming 'I DON'T UNDERSTAND! NOTHING MAKES SENSE! IT MAKES ME MAD AND UPSET! SOMEONE, HELP ME.' and everyone just ignores it.

--- During the log incident - all his friends say 'Oh well, he's fine. He'll pick himself back up.' and Izuku is the only one who offers to help. 

--- The sludge villain incident - all the pro heroes say "We can't help right now! You'll just have to hold on, kid!" and again Izuku is the only one who offers help.

--- After his and Deku’s first fight at Ground Beta, which utterly breaks him, all the other students just let him leave alone and only Izuku rushes to help. All Might sees him upset and crying after this and says, “Oh, I guess he’s already over it” -- when that obviously wasn’t the case. 

--- And then -- to top it all off -- after he was kidnapped by the LOV and held captive for 3 days without help he wasn't even given time to process! He was taken away by police, ridiculed by his mother, forced to go back to school where his teachers acted like nothing happened, jumped into the provisional hero licensing exam with all those helpless feelings rolling around inside of him and on top of it found out that Izuku received All Might's power -- a power that he had spent his whole life putting on a pedestal. And he goes to Izuku for help.

The fact that everyone just brushed him off like he was someone who didn't need help is just disgusting. The only instance where an adult in his life acknowledged that he needed it was AFTER he already had a full on mental breakdown in front of Izuku, blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong and thinking that he had somehow been living his life wrong all this time. Only then did All Might and Aizawa think, ‘Yeah, maybe we failed this kid.’ 

Keep in mind during all of this that he is 15-16-years-old! He's trying to figure out how to deal with this shit all on his own, with the only person he feels comfortable opening up to being Izuku - someone who he has so much trouble understanding.

At the heart of Katsuki is a place of fear. Fear of being weak, fear of being helpless, fear of failure, fear of losing his friends, fear of himself, most certainly fear of Izuku -- and fear FOR IZUKU. He is a boy who lives in a constant state of panic, worry and paranoia. He is lonely and beats down on himself a lot.

The series deals a lot with how hero society has completely failed it's future generations, but Katsuki is a case where they should have succeeded -- yet ultimately they failed him too. He has all the makings of what could be one of the greatest heroes of all time, yet those around him only focused on the parts of him that could make him great and chose to ignore all the parts that would ruin him from the inside out. 

They put him high up on a pedestal only to knock him down and refuse to help him back up. They made him feel like even asking for help was something that made him 'lesser', and it caused him to see other people that way too.

Izuku is the heart of Katsuki's growth, because in every way that Izuku succeeds, Katsuki fails. 

I would actually argue that out of anyone in the series since coming to UA, Katsuki has experienced the highest amount of personal failure. He has been knocked down time and time again but ultimately wants to pick himself back up to prove that he deserves to be there. He fights for his friends and tries his best at everything he does. He doesn't always get it right, and he says things that might offend others, but other than Izuku, he's the most driven person there and would utterly destroy himself to reach his goals.

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea. 

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors. 

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know. 

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work. 

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen. 

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came. 

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well. 

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile. 

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours. 

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past. 

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.” 

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” 

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is. 

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…” 

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.” 

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

***

You didn’t see him again for a month. 

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat. 

Okay, maybe you did. 

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again. 

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself. 

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore. 

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone. 

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.” 

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.” 

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead. 

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls. 

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible. 

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest. 

You don’t remember much about the explosion. 

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors. 

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing. 

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a  stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled. 

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight. 

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning. 

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious. 

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.” 

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all. 

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte. 

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you. 

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight. 

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off. 

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall. 

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while. 

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed. 

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months. 

Hope, you realized. 

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.” 

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you. 

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx​

[kumogiri]

Silence (Needs Filling)

Hey it’s @spacey-png​ birth and I wrote a lil emic confession as a gift!!! I hope you enjoy it and have a great birthday!! 🎉🎉

---

Hizashi has been planning this over and over in his head. Repeated every word, every pause, every cadence and quirk, every hand gesture and overdramatic explanation of his affections to make it absolutely, positively, impossibly clear just how much he loves Aizawa Shōta and how very, very sincerely he would like to be the one for him.

He has for a year known that on his birthday, his gift to himself will be looking Shōta right in the face (but not the eyes, that makes Shōta uncomfortable, that’s one of those things he’s learned and practised) and telling him in the biggest, best words he can that he is head over heels in love.

Kayama is in on it, of course. She’s been gathering vital intelligence, cheering him on- and it’s her counsel he seeks first this morning after staring at himself in the mirror long enough to be sure he isn’t dreaming, that the day has finally come and this is what it’s greeted him with.

[Midnight] he texts, Hero name and all because it’s saving he needs right now.

She replies quickly, [Are you all set?]

Hizashi stares at his reflection again, gurgles his misery in time with the tapping of his thumbs.

[I lost my voice.]

[You lost your voice???] [Is it a sore throat?? I can bring you something!!]

[No] He is dying inside. [I think it's the Villain from yesterday. It's not a sore throat, I can feel the sounds resonating up just fine, but if I try and say anything- Bam! It's like they just disappear.]

[Does that mean today's plans are cancelled?]

Hizashi gazes at himself, lips pursed, brows low. Every overwrought script he’s come up with, flawless as they might’ve been, is swept aside under one big, undeniable truth.

He wants Shōta to know how he feels.

It has to be today. He can feel it.

[I'll figure something out!!! I'm going to make sure he knows how I feel!!!]

[I'll be cheering for you!] She’s always got his back, he knows that, but it’s always nice to remember she’s standing at his side encouraging him too. [I expect to hear all about it later!]

[When I can talk to do it, I promise you're getting the exclusive reveal!]

As Hizashi requests, Shōta is already briefed on his unfortunate situation by the time Hizashi appears at his door. Kayama spared the specifics of why it matters so much, but she got across the main thing: Mic no talk, enjoy the relief on your ears.

Shōta inclines his head as Hizashi takes his shoes off, considering him in the rare silence.

“I told you to consider learning signs before your hearing gets worse. It would have been useful in the present situation too.”

Hizashi makes the biggest show he can of rolling his eyes, squeezing past Shōta’s folded arms to jog out into the lounge and drape himself all over Shōta’s couch. He puts his legs up on one of the arms even, grinning while Shōta sighs and trudges over to sweep them right back off to the ground.

Drinks are provided, Shōta finds something to put on the TV, the normal day together Hizashi had asked for so he could make his move that’s now turning into an agonising attempt to figure out a new, even better move, with one hundred percent less speech.

They sit together, quiet. Obviously.

“Um.” Shōta shifts in place, rubbing his palm up and down the side of his mug. “This is… strange.”

Of course it’s strange! Hizashi can’t breathe a word despite the backlog of frankly incredible lines he’s building up in response to the decor, the TV, Shōta’s awkward little wriggles. He has some killer jokes about Shōta’s cat-paw socks just begging to get out!

He puffs up his cheeks, waving his hands in an approximation of duh! When's the last time you weren't being serenaded by my beautiful words every moment we spent together?

Shōta watches his interpretive dance and glances away. “…I have no idea what that means. You could type on your phone.”

You didn’t read it when I did, his hands wiggle emphatically.

“…Are you complaining I didn’t look, before.”

YES???

“You had the font set to the smallest size. And the note background was magenta.”

Hizashi’s hands freeze, and then he’s sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He has tastes! And a lot to say, more than his screen could handle any bigger than that. Shōta didn’t go for the emojis, either! Probably because decoding them would’ve taken a codebreaker a good chunk of the day…

“Sorry. I… am not that good with screens to begin with. And I’m worse with charades.” Shōta clears his throat, lips curving down in a frown. “I should try to be more allowing. Especially today.”

Hizashi gives him a flapped it’s fine, it’s fine, sinking back heavier into the couch. So no text on a screen, no charades. Damn. Maybe he can piece together songs? Make a quick playlist, as if making a playlist is ever quick?

“Ah, it’s frustrating.”

That tone of voice has Hizashi looking back to him, unused to Shōta speaking so softly. Shōta’s hands have slipped up to steeple against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back arched down and thumb fidgeting back and forth near the tip of his nose, gaze focused unseeing beyond it.

Hizashi wants to ask what’s wrong, is this bad, should I have thought of something else?

He just lifts a hand, loosely touching Shōta’s shoulder to try and remind him that he’s here for whatever Shōta wants to say.

Shōta’s eyes flick sidelong towards him, hastily back away, and it’s surely a trick of the light but his cheeks look a little pink.

“Usually you talk so much I can’t get a word in. But I never wish you were quiet.” His hands slide slow down his nose, fingers parting to the shape of it and joining again over his lips as he laces them across his mouth instead. “I don’t know what to do in a silence like this. It makes me want to- fill it, but I doubt I have anything worth saying, even less than you do. At least you make nonsense sound appealing.”

Best Radio Show four years and counting, he wants to remind him, to lighten the mood. His fingers just gather in his lap, gaze still on the hint of red that’s taken root in Shōta’s ears now too.

Shōta’s gaze sweeps to the ceiling, like he’s looking for answers in the paint.

“I like your voice.”

Hizashi feels his spine straighten, eyes wide and alert as the jolt slips his glasses down his nose. Oh. Oho. What? What?

“It’s not the best voice, even. You blast out my eardrums every other day, you squawk when you’re excited, speak a mile a minute even when you’re not…” Shōta laughs, all soft and fond and Hizashi is ascending. “But it’s calming. I feel- at ease, when you’re talking. Maybe that’s why I feel so wound up right now.”

He drops his hands, tipping his head down and sighing low. “You said you had something to tell me, today. I… want to hear it, in your words, in your voice. I’m bad at dealing with a lot of things, but they’re- a little easier, if it’s you saying them.”

Hizashi is staring and Shōta keeps his face pointedly away, bringing a hand up to scratch awkward through his hair as the seconds tick by.

“…I think I know what you want to say to me,” he announces, finally. “You’re worse at hiding things than you think.”

Hizashi isn’t sure if he wants to squawk offendedly or babble apologies, but neither make it out. He just stares, his own face starting to feel hot, his glasses continuing their trajectory right off of his nose.

“I think I already know what I’m going to say to you, about it. And I know why you don’t want to wait, and I know it’s your birthday. But-“ Shōta peeks up, pausing to stretch a hand out, to press a single finger to the bridge of Hizashi’s glasses so he can carefully ease them back up into place. It’s achingly intimate. “I’m going to be selfish and ask you to hold back until you can tell me properly. And when you do, I’ll give you a proper answer.”

Even if he were able to speak, Hizashi thinks he might be dazzled speechless.

“When you can’t talk you can’t talk me out of bad decisions, or say something so embarrassing I regret them, so.” Shōta lifts his head a fraction higher. “I’m going to talk myself into something ridiculous so you have the power to be patient, and so I get whatever is possessing me out of my system. No, you are not allowed to do an interpretive dance about it. No, I will not be reading whatever you type. This is just- a thing that I am doing, that will happen because I want it too, and then it will be over and we will order takeout.”

Hizashi is aware of the space between them inching smaller, of the hand that was on his glasses touching his cheek instead and klaxons in his head so loud they might come out of the shocked ring his lips are forming if that ring wasn’t being stoppered up by another mouth covering his with a kiss that lives up to its giver’s name and erases every thought straight out of his head.

Shōta pulls away, whole face dark red, eyes darting over Hizashi’s dreamy expression before he’s on his feet, back turned, shoulders up around his ears.

“Takeout,” he repeats.

Hizashi doesn’t try to answer. He gives a thumbs up to everything, all of this, and listens to Shōta’s flustered ramble all the way out of the room.

[gdcee]

Road to Nowhere

Pairing: Loki/Sigyn - mild, might have to squint to see it.

Summary: Loki and Sigyn talk while she escorts him to Kid Loki's Kingdom.

Warnings: Panic attack.

=================

"You know I'm only going to keep pestering you until I have the answer."

"I wish you luck in your endeavour," Sigyn returned coolly, stepping lightly as she began to climb the massive pile of garbage blocking their path. "Nevertheless, my lips remain sealed."

Loki huffed, a slight quirk at the corner of his lips which was not quite a smirk. He set off after her, determined to be the first to the summit of Rubbish Peak.

He had to admit he was quite intrigued by that tantalising crumb of information this Sigyn (so very like and yet not quite like his own) had dangled before him. Of course he was curious about the identity of the lucky bastard who had won her fidelity.

All he had was a preferred pronoun. That at least eliminated half of his (admittedly rather short to begin with) list of possible lucky bastards.

After he had gone through the list (which did not take long because as stated earlier, it was really quite short), he started throwing out random names to see if any of them got a reaction.

No such luck.

His attempts to tease and fluster the information out of her had been just as ineffective.

Her reaction to his puppy dog eyes routine had been...perplexing. He'd gotten one soft, achingly tender smile before a heavy melancholy had descended upon her. Like the dark shadow of a mourning veil stealing the brightness from her eyes and the colour from her cheeks.

She had not reprimanded him, but he made a note not to pull that trick again anyway. Besides the practical reasons for keeping her goodwill (survival, information, mental stimulation), the simple fact was that she was Sigyn.

He didn't want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Not anymore.

Being a harmless annoyance and pest was still perfectly acceptable though.

He stood atop the great mound of refuse, his hands and face smeared with oil and other liquids of questionable origin, grinning triumphantly down at Sigyn. He vanished the grime he'd accumulated before gallantly holding out his hand to her.

Sigyn huffed a soft little laugh, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she reached out and allowed him to pull her up.

Loki glanced down to where they had started and noted that it was a long drop. Not nearly enough to kill an Asgardian or a Frost Giant, but enough to hurt.

Trust.

It made him feel as giddy as the first time he'd tasted the enchanted, heady liquid gold that was the mead brewed from honey harvested from the hives of the talking bees that resided near Iðunn's famous apple orchards.

"Ahem."

Loki realised with no small degree of embarrassment that he was still holding Sigyn's hand. He hurriedly worked a spell to remove the dirt under her fingernails and let go. Then to cover up his embarrassment, he resumed pestering.

"I don't understand why the identity of your beau necessitates such secrecy," he sighed with the lightest touch of a pleading whine, "Do you think I would object to your taste? He can't possibly be worse than Theoric."

"I think my life choices are none of your business."

"Exactly! You should forget about my opinion. Shout his name to the world and damn the naysayers and killjoys."

"I would but sadly, Alioth has a sense of hearing."

With that, she picked up a flat sheet of metal lying loose and proceeded to slide down Rubbish Peak on the improvised board. Despite being only at most a quarter Ljósálfar on her mother's side, she moved with their characteristic effortless grace.

Loki peered down, did a couple of quick mental calculations and snapped his fingers. He disappeared from the summit with a flare of green light and reappeared at the bottom no more than a second later in similar fashion.

"Good to see your teleport still works," Sigyn tossed her wind-mussed hair out of her face, "Why didn't you use it earlier to get to the top?"

"Too much debris and no decent eyeline. I didn't want to risk getting stuck under a foot of garbage." He frowned, pondering. "Still works?"

"Not a reference to you personally," she moved forward without looking behind to see if he followed, "Just something I noticed about some of the other Lokis around here."

"Power loss? Nothing to do with you and that coven of other Sigyns whose domain I and the other Lokis are forbidden from entering, I presume?"

"No, I've seen it even in Lokis on their first trepass - if something is limiting their power it's not us. In any case, we would never do anything to permanently disable a Loki's magic. There's just some things you don't do to a fellow mage, you know?"

"You just rough them up a little and kick them off the property?"

"More or less. Except for the kid and alligator."

"Do I want to know how one instance of me ended up as a semi-aquatic Midgardian reptile?"

"You can ask him yourself when we get to the Kid's Kingdom," she paused for a moment, as if she'd just remembered something, "Or maybe not, I think only the old man you knows how to talk to him."

Loki blinked.

"There's an old me?" He asked, disbelieving, "As in a wizened, wrinkled, looks like your grandmother me?"

"Eh, not quite as old as Grandma Hretha. Maybe about 4,000? 5,000?" She shrugged, "Either way, your vanity may rest easy; you look perfectly fine as an old man."

"Thank you for that milquetoast endorsement of my future self's good looks," Loki said dryly, "I was more perturbed about...something else."

Curiouser and curiouser.

How had the aged variant escaped their destined end? How had he managed to grow old before the TVA arrived to arrest him for cheating his final death?

He thought about the tape featuring all the TVA approved highlights of his life.

He thought about that other Loki, the Loki who had played out the role assigned to him and how very young (the same face as his own) and terrified (the same fear as his own) he had looked with the Mad Titan's monstrous hand around his throat.

Loki swallowed thickly and pulled at the collar of his TVA issued office shirt which suddenly seemed far too tight. The tie impeded his work and as he struggled to loosen it he could feel his terror rising up to choke him.

there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you

inevitable

you think you know pain?

Inevitable

HE WILL MAKE YOU LONG FOR SOMETHING AS SWEET AS PAIN

He felt his legs buckle and his knees hit the ground as if it were happening to someone else.

"Loki!" Sigyn's voice was close but he heard it as if a great distance separated them, "Loki, breathe."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He wheezed.

"I am going to remove the tie and unfasten your collar," Sigyn continued as if she had not even noticed his rudeness, "I will need to touch you to do this. Alright?"

Needing help for such a pitifully simple task was galling. But he didn't want Sigyn to leave him. Loki managed a shaky nod. He let her ease his trembling, sweaty hands from his shirt collar. With quick, brisk movements she pulled the tie loose and tossed it somewhere to join the rest of the garbage.

"Follow my breathing now." Her voice was clearer to him now, more present. She was kneeling next to him, so close and warm and oh, her hair did still smell like apple blossoms. He watched the regular rise and fall of her chest and tried to match it. "That's it. Very good. Nice and slow."

Her fingers were at his throat for a mercifully short time. Just long enough to pop the top button loose and push the starched fabric away from his neck.

"Stay with me. You're doing very well. Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out."

Without really thinking he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against the centre of his chest. Perhaps he was possessed by some irrational notion that the pressure against his breastbone could keep his thundering heart from beating right out of his chest.

She didn't try to pull away. Her hand was warm, even through the shirt fabric. She moved a little, and one of her dainty fingers slipped into the open gap of his unbuttoned collar and brushed against the dip between his clavicles. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before Sigyn's gentle prompting had him matching her rhythm once more.

"Feel better?" She asked after what seemed an eternity.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, much." His chest still felt a little tight but the worst of that dreadful episode was over.

"Good." She lifted her hand from his chest and patted his shoulder firmly - a gesture that he had seen Týr bestow upon struggling Einherjar recruits after they'd passed the final leg of their training. "You did very well."

He didn't feel like he'd done anything worth praising. He'd collapsed like a pack of cards. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced terror but every time before now he had been able to push past it - stamp it down through sheer force of will and that primitive, animal part of his brain that knew that danger was never far away.

Why had he folded now? Now - when he was probably the most at ease he'd been in ages (months? Years? How long had it been since New York?) and the threat of Thanos was no longer an issue-

...a terrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Just out of curiosity," Loki tried to sound nonchalant, "Have you ever come across a fellow by the name of Thanos here?"

"Thanos?" Sigyn's brows drew together in a frankly rather adorable expression of pure befuddlement.

Ah. Well, at least he could place whatever nexus event had led to her pruning as occurring before Ragnarok and Thanos's massacre of half the Asgardian survivors.

"Big purple fellow," he explained, "Quite ugly, enormous chin, has rather disturbing ideas about resource management."

"Uh, no, I can't say that I've ever met anyone like that here."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I can swear on my magic if that would reassure you."

Sigyn had always been very leery about oaths, especially ones bound with magic. Most mages worth their salt were.

And yet...he couldn't really explain why, but he'd always felt like her issues with them were less about best practices and more about some personal grievance.

That she would offer him such a thing...

Loki felt completely undeserving.

"No," he said hurriedly, "No, no, it's fine. I...I trust you."

Sigyn smiled. It was the first real smile he'd seen so far and it was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud. He didn't know if it would last - if that melancholy from before would snatch away the sweetness of this moment.

So Loki ruined the moment before it could be stolen from him.

"...even though you refuse to tell me about your paramour."

Sigyn scoffed, all exasperation but it was better than seeing her sad.

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you, I do try."

She snorted and shook her head. "Alright, come on, you goose," she helped him up, and even though his legs were slightly shaky, he stood and did not fall. "Our first rest stop is about 20 feet...thereaboutish-" she waved vaguely in the direction of a mostly empty grassy knoll upon which a gaggle of the oddest creatures scurried. They resembled iridescent headless chickens with little purple spheres hovering over their severed necks.

"I still think we should have taken the car."

"Ugh," Sigyn wrinkled her nose, "Cahrs. Nasty, noisy, smelly things. I swear, Midgard really went downhill after those monstrosities were invented. "

[kanohivolitakk]

Since its 3Hs anniversary some really cool things I like about the game that aren’t talked about enough because the fandom is too busy arguing who is right and who is wrong

The worldbuilding just. 3H has honestly one of my favorite fictional settings. Its just both expansive but also genuinely interesting. I have spent HOURS thinking about the world and made so many ocs its not even funny. I love thinking about the setting of the game so much.

I LOVE the puzzle like way the game explains its world and story. Like I know some people don’t like it because it makes the game a bit too convoluted but personally? I LOVE 3Hs way of not telling everything but rather giving hints and clues the player has to piece themselves. It makes the games world feel more interactive and feels so satisfying. Then again I enjoy that kind of approach to worldbuilding

In general I love 3hs fragmented story and the way how the story is placed in many different fragments. It is geniunely rewarding to replay the game from another storypath and notice the foreshadowing Would’ve the story been probably better had it been just one storypath? Honestly yes. But 3h is ambitious and one of the ways it is is with its fragmented story structure.

The structure of White Clouds is criminally underrated honestly and gets way more hate than it deserves. I love how the first few chapters set up the world of Fodlan and show injustices/conflicts of the world with chapters like the chapter where you face off Lonato for instance. Then the next few chapters are spend in deepening the mysteries such as the conspiracy against the church and the mystery regarding TWSITD. Then Jeralt dies and the last few chapters are spent as “beginning of the End” so to speak, as things clears to the intense climax.

On related note I LOVE how the game handles perspective and how the lords are the respective ways we view the story. I know so many people say “WHite Clouds is same on all paths” but I do feel that’s kinda the point. The story is the same but there are differences that come from the way each of the lords is strongly characterized and has different values, worldviews. The subtle changes on what are focused on in each route also foreshadow what will be focused on each route, which I think is super cool.

Even beyond the lords and routes the game does explore the idea of perspective well. I do think 3h has this very “everyone is the hero of their own story” type of approach to perspective and it shows it well. Each character believes they’re in the right and you can get this view that they view themselves as right. Even Agarthans who are the designated villains have this sense they think they’re in right and that the Nabateans were evil.

The way how games routes being divided into having a different focus is very cool. I love how AM is a smaller scale personal tragedy, how CF is a battle of ideals and how VW explores the world and reveals deeper mysteries. I also love how all of these are related to the lords ideals and worldviews: Dimitri is the most conflicted of the lords so he gets the most characterfocused story focused on . Edelgard is the most ideologically driven so her path focuses on her ideals and battle of wills against Rhea. Claude is the one who is the most freespirited and wants to know the truth so his route focuses on revealing the mysteries.

Also the way the houses characters reflect their respective routes storyline and central themes: Black Eagles are nobles that have conflicting relationships with nobility reflecting Edelgards goal, Blue Lions are all united with the trauma of Tragedy of Duscur, and Golden Deer are a house of misfits who give this “ragtag group who will save the universe with POWER OF FRIENDSHIP and this cool gun I found” vibes which fit the route PERFECTLY

I LOVE how the game plays with and subverts a lot of Fire Emblem tropes. While it does play some tropes straight (dad death and evil cult manipulating behind the scenes) it does do a lot to break from series conventions and playing with ideas to make a more ambitious story. The way it either subverts expectations (The evil emperor being female well intended extremist, Rhea being the Gharnef/Medeus instead of the Nyna archetype she’s presented as), twists familiar tropes to their natural extreme (Dimitris arc is basically the natural extreme end of stereotypical FE lord) and other similar things make the game feeling so planned out, like the writers understood FE stories and wanted to make something that challenges FE while still feeling like it.

The way how every major player acts as foil/pararell to another player is so GOOD. Every faction leader can be compared to the other somehow and that just makes the game SOOOO fun to analyze, trying to find all the similarities and differences and pararells is so rewarding.

A more specific example on this is how i love how the game plays with the idea of holy/sacred weapons. While normally these weapons are artifacts from goddess that defeat dragons, here the holy weapons are bones made from dragons and just???? HOW METAL IS THAT????????? It’s just such a neat way to subvert the idea of sacred weapons. Rather than being blessed creations of the goddess, they are weapons of destruction made by the villains.

I ADORE THE GAMES science fiction elements. I know people say they feel out of place but personally, they make the game memorable for me. I still remember the first time I saw that scene with nukes. I especially love the heavy implication that Sothis isn’t a goddess but rather a powerful alien. It makes her character much more interesting

I know a lot of people don’t like Agarthans but can I just say their backstory being “forced to hide after their land got conquered and desiring it back” making them a dark mirror not just 3h lords/Rhea but FE lords as whole is SO FUCKING METAL. This is what I mean with 3H writers knowing their tropes like back of their hand.

I love how in Part 1 sometimes you’d talk to two characters in Monastery at once instead of just one. It’s something I miss in part 2 honestly.

I love the small sidequests such as the fishing tourney and White Heron cup and wish Part 1 had more of them, it would’ve made the school part feel more alive.

I LOVE how some missions (esp paralogues) have subgoals that you can clear to get better rewards. I wish the game had been more clear with them or even made them main goals of maps sometimes.

I LOVE THE WAY Paralogues act as small gaiden stories that show more of the games world and characters. Its a neat way to let the sidecharacters shine and reveal some neat secrets of the games world and story.

The gameplay loop is honetly fun and satisfying. It is rewarding and while it gets tiring towards the end overall its a good gameplay loop.

I ADORE the aesthetic of Shambhala. Its just so sleek and sinister. The cyrillic letters spelling different words is so cool. Shambhala is my favorite map in the game and the aesthetic is a big reason why.

The games soundtrack is so good!!!!!!!!!!  But not only that I LOVE the way its electro elements subtly hint of Agarthans being in control behind the scenes. This is especially cool in Road to Dominion where the electro parts are barely noticeable yet present. but other tracks have subtle electro vibes as well.  The other way the games music tells the story (such as use of leitmotifs or how the monastery music changes once Jeralt dies) is great as well.

I love how 3h can be read as an allegory for reformation era and reneissance. Its such an interesting way to read the games events and compare it to a real historical periods there’s quite a bit of f

In general I ADORE the cultural references of the game. There’s surprisingly lot of way the games world is based on real life and the details are just *chefs kiss*

THE GAME IS DENSE WITH THEMATIC IDEAS. Besides the perspective the game tackles ideas of how trauma can affect a persons psyche and worldview  (as well how a persons trauma affects the way they interact with the world which in turn can affect the world as well), grief, societal values, historical revisiniosm and so much more. The game tackles SO MANY topics in an interesting manner, it is thematically just as dense as it is storywise as well.

I also love how the games thematic parts work in harmony with the story rather than one overshadowing with the other. Its super refreshing honestly where a games themes and story are both rich and I don’t have to pick one over the other.

Lastly I ADORE the games central message (or at least what I see as the central message anyway): The world’s fucked up and most people want to fix it, but what they deem fixing differs and because of that they go into conflict or outright war rather than trying to find a common ground. Everyone wants a better world but no one can agree what a better world truly means  so they fight over it. It was a theme that not only resonates with my personal values but also hit me REALLY hard when I first played it as it’s a theme that I found incredibly relevant and reflective of our own world during the time I played the game for the first time.

So yeah. I made this post since there’s SO MUCH neat things about the game, its gameplay and story that sadly get swept under the rug in favor of either arguing  which lord was right/wrong or complaining how the game is an unfinished, rushed and overambitious mess. Is 3h perfect? Hell no. But it’s a game that I hold near and dear to my heart and does genuinely SO MANY THINGS RIGHT, I’m sad no one talks about the genuine strengths the game has anymore, instead just complaining.

I’m not even joking when I say that 3h should be up there as heralded as one of the best, most ambitious and complex JRPGs alongside Xenogears, the first Xenoblade game, Suikoden and Trails series as whole along other such games. Its a shame the games reputation is less like those games and more like Persona 5s where everyone focuses more on its flaws and the fans being annoying than the fact the game does geniunely A LOT right. It’s just that good, ambitious game I love so much.

[breakyeol]

Give Him a Show

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Genre: college au, friends to lovers au, suggestive, tiny pinch of angst

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: strong language, fuckboy!chanyeol being an complete asshole, !!! themes of harassment (not with malicious intent but it’s still not okay) !!! , mentions of drinking and marijuana use, mild groping, heavy making out

A/N ; hey guys. I feel like there is a slightly more serious topic addressed in this one shot. never let a man or woman or anyone treat you the way Chanyeol treats reader in this. don’t be afraid to put your foot down and tell them to fuck off. and if you don’t feel comfortable doing it then ask a friend or family member or anyone you trust for help. please be safe and don’t be afraid to say no ♡ also! this one shot in NO WAY portrays Chanyeol’s true character!! we all know that he is a respectful gentleman in real life thank you and goodnight

It was too often that you found yourself in places like this, surrounded by people like them.

Places like this being an entirely too crowded apartment, the scent of weed and sweat intertwining in the air, the deep bass of a song pulsing from unseen speakers causing the floor to vibrate beneath your sneaker clad feet.

People like them being your so called ‘friends’ who partied every weekend and got shit faced or cross faded every time an opportunity presented itself.

Don’t get it wrong, you knew how to get down and dirty with the worst of them. But tonight had been one of those nights— one of those nights that all you wanted was to sprawl yourself out in your bed and binge watch Scream for the gazillionth time while stuffing your face full of all your favorite snack foods. It hadn’t been the best day in the world, and just being able to sit back and unwind seemed like the most ideal use of your free time.

Unfortunately, that plan was abruptly negated when your friends got the brilliant idea of partying until their legs gave out. They found it of the utmost importance to drag you along as well, claiming dramatically it had been forever since you last hung out with them.

Since the beginning of the night, you had been tucked into the corner of the room on one of the unoccupied couches, pretending to nurse the cup of god knows what kind of alcohol, and wearing your best resting bitch face in hopes that everyone would just stay the fuck away. Thus far, the strategy had been successful. If someone started coming in your direction, all you had to do was shoot them an icy glare and they’d immediately spin around and walk in the opposite direction.

Though, there was one particular person that seemed to be completely oblivious to your blatant disinterest in being here.

“Y/n!”

You grimaced at the familiar booming voice, reluctantly tearing your eyes off of the window where you’d been counting the lights of passing cars on the street bellow. The one and only Park Chanyeol stood before you, signature lopsided smirk plastered across his face.

You’d known Chanyeol since high school, but you really only knew each other because of your mutual friends. In all honesty, you didn’t consider him much more than a good acquaintance. He was a sweet guy, funny and bright and very outgoing.

But, he was also one of the biggest fuck boys you’d ever met. And he was not shy in displaying the fact that he had wanted to hook up with you, to the point where you couldn’t even pretend that it was just your ego. Not-so-subtly eye fucking you whenever you walked into the room, constantly pressing you about your ideal man or what kind of guy you were interested in, finding any and every excuse to be near you or touch you in one way or another. It was all a bit excessive, especially considering that you just weren’t interested in him like that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to get the hint— or, he just didn’t care.

All his indirect advances made it a bit uncomfortable for you to be around him. That was another reason you’d been subtly avoiding hanging out with the big group of friends, because he was always there. And every time you weren’t, he’d text or call you about it and you’d have to make up an excuse as to why you didn’t show.

It wasn’t even like he actually liked you, either. All that he wanted was to snag a quick fuck.

You’d told him straight up on several occasions that you just were not interested, when his advances got too much for you to put up with. He’d lay off for the rest of the night, and if you were lucky the rest of the next day. But by the next, he’d be right back to his flirting and excessive touching. The dude was relentless.

And it was honestly getting a bit exhausting.

But for tonight, you smile politely and just deal.

“Hey, Chanyeol.”

“I’m surprised you came!” He said, voice louder than usual, falling onto the couch beside you like it was where he belonged. You tensed at the feeling of his thigh pressing firmly against yours, and attempted to scoot away from him, only to be stopped by the arm rest digging into your side.

Shit. Did he not know about personal space? More than likely he did, but just didn’t give a fuck.

You only offered a mild nod of your head in response, lips tight, body rigid. He should have been able to feel it with how tightly he’d pressed himself up against you, should’ve felt the tension in your muscles, the uneasiness rolling off of you thick, heavy waves. But he didn’t even flinch, tossing a nonchalant arm over the back of the couch behind your head. You curled in on yourself as his fingers feathered over your shoulder, the corner of your lip lifting in an uncontainable grimace.

“Yeah, me too.”

For whatever reason, the stiff, grumbled response coaxed a round of guffawing belly laughter from the boy squeezed against you. Personally, you didn’t think it was all that funny.

“Well, I, for one, am very glad you came. But why are you over here all by yourself?”

You shrugged, sinking your teeth into the inside of your lip and turning away from him, opting to give your attention to the lack of stars visible in the light polluted night sky. “Just... not in the mood for all this, I guess.” The empty reply was intended to cut this one sided conversation short as soon as possible.

“Then... do you wanna get out of here?” He whispered the question against the shell of your ear, and you couldn’t help the way you lurched away from him. His breath reeked of vodka, the scent so strong that you couldn’t help the way your nose wrinkled in disgust. One thorough look at him was all it took to confirm your suspicions. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, his hooded eyes unfocused and bloodshot.

“You’re wasted, Chanyeol.” You deadpanned, arms folding over your chest.

“What?! N– no I’m not!” You could clearly hear the faint slur of his words now, only solidifying your point further. He was thoroughly shit faced. And if you weren’t too off base, you thought you caught a whiff of weed clinging to his plaid button up. “I’m fine, y/n!” He insisted, apparently lucid enough to catch the look of disbelief that flashed across your face. A sober Chanyeol was one thing, but dealing with him while he was cross faded? That was above your qualifications as an acquaintance.

“Listen, let’s just go somewhere, yeah?” He hiccuped and you almost hissed as one of his hands fell on your knee, and quickly pushed it away. A faint downward twitch of his lips was the only indication he even noticed it had happened, before he was covering it up with a wide grin and leaning in closer. “I know this great pancake place, open 24/7, most delicious milkshakes you’ve ever had in your life. Then maybe afterward we could... chill at my place. What do you say?”

You knew damn well that just ‘chilling’ was nowhere near being on this man’s mind.

“I say you’re drunk and need to lay down and drink some water.”

“Come on, y/n~” He whined at your blunt reply, and your brows furrowed in distaste as he tugged you closer, only to leap into your hairline when you caught his hazy gaze slip down to your mouth. He bit his lip, eyes fluttering. Fuck. Fuck. Was he going to kiss you? Shit. You couldn’t let this happen. But as you pulled away, he pushed further, and all at once you found yourself trapped against the wall. Fuck!

“I—!”

“Chanyeol.” Both yours and Chanyeol’s head turned, surprised by the sudden interruption. A soft breath of relief escaped your lips, though you also felt the familiar tug of embarrassment in the pit of your stomach.

“Sehun?” He mumbled, blinking in confusion.

“You’re fucked up, Chanyeol. Go drink some water.” The younger boy huffed, rolling his eyes.

“But I—”

“Seriously go, Chanyeol. Before you do something you regret when you sober up.” The exasperation in his voice brought a faint glower across Chanyeol’s face, but, to your relief, he pulled away. You watched with pursed lips as he stood on shaky legs and stumbled past his younger friend, roughly bumping his shoulder as he went.

“Fuck.” You cursed once he was out of ear shot, rubbing your palms over your face, frustration peeking.

When you looked up, Sehun was still standing there in his stupid leather jacket and ripped back jeans with his stupid black hair that fell perfectly over his annoyingly handsome face, pretty eyes narrowed into slits and focused sharply on you. You hated it when he looked like you like that. Hated the way your skin burned and your heart sped up in your chest. Hated the way your stomach stirred with butterflies. You hated it. But at the same time…

“What?” You sighed, grimacing at the faint quiver in your voice.

Sehun folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to put up with it, you know.”

“What?”

“It’s so obvious that you’re uncomfortable. Why don’t you just tell him to fuck off?” He asked, shifting his weight onto one hip.

“I have.” You groaned. “I’ve told him I’m not interested. He lets up for a bit but then he goes right back to pulling his usual shit.” You tried to explain, face twisting in irritation.

“Have you told him to go fuck himself?”

“Not in those words, exactly.” You admitted, rubbing at the back of your neck.

“Why not?”

“Isn’t it a bit mean? He’s an asshole but I don’t want to hurt his feelings or something...”

“Why the fuck should you care about his feelings when he refuses to consider yours?”

He wasn’t wrong.

Then again, Sehun is rarely wrong when it came down to things like that.

Even though he was the youngest, he always seemed to carry this strange sort of wisdom. He saw and understood things in ways your other friends, in ways most people just didn’t. He took the time to try and see deeper than most cared to look. You had always respected that about him.

While your other friends egged Chanyeol on, pushing you to get with him, Sehun saw past the fake smiles and forced laughter. He saw just how uncomfortable you really were. And he spoke up about it when he saw it going a bit too far. When Chanyeol got too touchy or too bold, he was usually the one to smack him upside the head and tell him to back off or pull you away. He was good like that. And it was nice to know that someone knew and was actually on your side.

Sehun had been a fixture in your friend group since high school. You hadn’t been very close to him at first because he was more on the quiet side and didn’t go out of his way to talk to you. Not to mention, the kid was intimidating as hell with all his leather jackets and ripped jeans and sharp, penetrating eyes.

Put bluntly, he scared the shit out of you the first time you met him. But then you saw him smile for the first time, saw the sweet blush that coated his cheeks when the older boys teased him, heard that goofy, high pitched laugh that rang like the loveliest bells in your ears, felt that unfamiliar fluttering in your chest. And you knew that you were done for.

The two of you hung out a lot in your freshman year of college, going on late night drives and blasting music and just living. For a while you thought that maybe— just maybe there was something there. A spark. A chance.

But he never made a move, and neither did you. Then there was Chanyeol and his flirting and annoyingly persistent determination to fuck you. Things got complicated and nothing ever ended up happening between the two of you. You thought you’d at least keep up the same momentum in your relationship, but Sehun started pulling away from you. His late night visits became less frequent, his texts dwindling to almost nonexistent, and his presence in your life becoming less and less every day. It hurt. But what the hell were you going to do about it? It was frustrating at first, but you got over it.

... kind of.

... not really.

That’s besides the point.

When you didn’t answer, Sehun sighed, taking a few tentative steps before dropping onto the couch beside you. You weren’t too sure how to feel about the space he left between you. It almost felt representative of the distance that had grown between the two of you in the past year. You didn’t like it.

“It’s not cool what he’s doing to you, you know that, right?” He asked, tilting his head at you. Concern shone through his gentle eyes, uncertainty. You couldn’t ignore the way your chest warmed at the thought that he cared. He cared about you, about your feelings. He cared, and you couldn’t begin to describe the immense joy that ignited inside of you. But you bit your lip to keep from smiling, to keep from sighing blissfully and melting into the familiar comfort of his presence brought you. The seriousness in his gaze kept you upright and alert, the topic at hand pulling you down from the brief high and you nodded gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Sehun pursed his lips, a thoughtful candescence falling over his handsome features. “I’ve known Chanyeol for a long time. He’s not a bad guy, but he is a fucking idiot and doesn’t always realize when he’s being a fucking idiot so sometimes you just gotta slap him in the face and tell him straight up to get his shit together. And he will.”

Just then, you spotted Chanyeol sauntering out of the kitchen, a water bottle gripped in his hand, a hazy kind of smirk on his face. You watched him toss an arm around Minseok’s shoulder and whisper something in his ear, tipping his head in your direction.

“You want him to back off?” You flinched at the unexpected closeness of Sehun’s voice, and made the mistake of turning to face him. He was close. So close. Close enough to count his eyelashes if you wanted. Close enough to see the faded pink of the scar on his cheek. Close enough to smell the subtle wisp of his earthy cologne. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. Your heart began thundering violently in your chest, a blazing heat blossoming beneath your skin.

“Yeah.” The word came out as less than a breathless whisper. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed down to your lips, before quickly snapping back up to your eyes, searching them with a tenderness that made your heart throb.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There wasn’t a moment of hesitation, not the faintest hint of uncertainty. It was the truth. You trusted him.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and you followed his gaze to find Chanyeol standing across the room staring intently in your direction with brows furrowed. Gentle fingers pressing into the curve of your jaw drew your attention back to the man sitting in front of you. Ever so slightly, he tipped his face closer, his nose nudging against yours. Shallow, insufficient inhales swirled in your lungs as your eyes fluttered, utterly overwhelmed by the mere closeness of him.

“Then follow my lead.”

His lips met yours with a gentleness you weren’t entirely prepared for. They were light and cautious, waiting to see whether you’d push him off or pull him in. He let out a soft breath of relief at the feeling of your hand curling around the back of his neck, urging him closer. In an instant, he relinquished his restrains, melting into the warm pressure of your lips as you simultaneously melted into his.

You’ve experienced your fair share of kisses in the past. But something about this one — whether it was the slow, deep pace of it, or the lingering presence of ring clad fingers tracing the length of your throat, or the mere fact that it was with Oh Sehun, the boy that could set your heart ablaze with a single smile — there was just something about this kiss.

When he pulled away, you could still feel the phantom warmth, tingling on your skin. You refused to open your eyes, trying to keep the sensation alive as long as possible.

“Is that alright?”

Finally, you looked at him. And god, had you ever seen a man so beautiful? His cheeks were flushed a soft, endearing pink, deep chocolate eyes hooded and melting, lips just a touch darker in shade then they had been before. You were so awestruck by him that it took you an extra moment to realize that he’d asked you a question.

You nodded, tightening your hold around his neck in order to pull him closer and breathe the word into his open mouth before closing the distance completely, “Yes.”

Immediately following your consent, any and all of Sehun’s lingering reservations vanished. His hands dropped away from your neck, one coiling tightly around the curve of your waist and flattening against the small of your back, the other gripping your jean clad thigh and tugging it gentle over his lap. The new position ignited a dangerously familiar heat in the pit of your stomach, that quickly began to swell into something large and uncontainable, spurred by the delicious pressure of his fingers and skilled movements of his lips.

He groaned deeply as you tugged at his hair, silky tendrils clenched in a tight fist. The sound resonated through your body, vibrating in your chest and shooting straight down to your growing arousal.

“Fuck that was sexy.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat and you realized with an embarrassed flush that you’d said that out loud. But the buzz of nerve was quickly soothed when he mumbled breathlessly, “right back atcha.”

He emphasized his point by sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your lower lip and tugging, eliciting a low, drawn out moan from the depths of your chest. Smooth flicks of his tongue soothed the afflicted skin, before he asked for permission to enter, not waiting a single moment to dive in when it was granted.

Feeling the burn of someone’s stare, your eyes flicked open for a moment, sliding lazily over to where Chanyeol still stood, seemingly rooted into the spot. His eyes were wide, lips gaping, cheeks flushed, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcoholic something else entirely. The grip he had on his water bottle had tightened substantial, and you couldn’t help the mild smugness that washed over you.

Without breaking to kiss, you kept your gaze on Chanyeol, making sure he was watching as you slid a hand around the front of Sehun’s throat, and captured his tongue between your lips, sucking gently. If possible, his mouth fell open even wider, eyes looking ready to pop out of his damn skull. Smirking to yourself, you cocked a brow at the gaping man. He visibly swallowed, before his eyes suddenly snapped down. You followed his gaze curiously and nearly scoffed in disbelief.

Of course he’d get a hard on from watching something like this. Nasty fucker.

“He still watching?” Sehun mumbled, detaching his mouth from yours only long enough to get the words out. You hummed softly in confirmation, shivering when you felt the slow upward curl of his lips. “Good. Let’s give him a show.”

In an instant, Sehun pulled you over to straddle his lap. Warm hands roamed over your body, though careful to keep a respectful distance from anything he thought you might not want him touching. You appreciated the sentiment, but with Sehun? You didn’t need respectful.

The younger boy faltered beneath you, chest swelling with a deep inhale when you reached around to grab hold of his wrists and slowly lowered them to the swells of your ass. He groaned roughly, fingers digging greedily into the jean clad flesh and pulling you flush against him.

You gasped when you felt him beneath you, hot and hard right between your hips. The rough friction made you clench and shudder, wetness spilling from your core and soaking through your panties. You probably should have been concerned about the heavy arousal seeping through the thick material of your jeans, but your mind was too far gone in the intoxicating warmth of his kiss that you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Fuck, Sehun.” You hissed, hips rolling hungrily over his.

“Baby.” He purred in response, and you swear you nearly had a fucking aneurism on the spot. Baby. Baby. Oh Sehun just called you baby. How long had you waited to hear him call you that? Too fucking long.

A desperate whimper pulsed from your throat, so entirely unlike you that it took even you by surprise. He didn’t seem to mind, pulling you so tightly against him that your ribs ached. But the pain was welcome, melting into a delicious cocktail with the fierce pleasure pulsing through your every cell.

“I don’t think he’s watching anymore.” Sehun breathed, glancing over your shoulder.

“I don’t care.”

You weren’t concerned about Chanyeol any more, far more focused on how Sehun’s lips tasted like mint and honey, and not like alcohol. The fact that he hadn’t drank made you feel even better, if that were possible.

Honest to god you probably would have fucked him right then and there on that couch in front of everyone (and felt damn good about it too) if not for the gentle pressure of Sehun’s fingers digging into your rolling hips, forcing their slow grinding to come to an abrupt halt. You pulled away from him then, completely out of breath and more turned on than you’d been in your entire life. Sehun was in a similar state, panting and flushed, damn near throbbing in the tight confines of his sexy ripped jeans.

“What is it?” You asked, still panting.

He shot you a lopsided grin. “As much as I would love to fuck your brains out in front of all these self centered assholes...” a hand drifted up the line of your body, delicate fingers following the cut of your jaw to trace over the seam of your bottom lip. “I think I’d prefer our first time together to be somewhere a bit more… private? Intimate? Somewhere I can treat you how you deserve to be treated.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, warmth spreading through your body in thick, invigorating waves.

“What’d you have in mind?” You asked softly, feathering your lips over his. He smiled.

“I know this great pancake place that’s open 24/7, best milkshakes you’ve ever had. Then maybe afterward we could... chill at my place. What do you say?” Laughter bubbled at your lips as he mimicked the same line Chanyeol had used on you earlier with a cheesy grin.

And yet, the feeling was entirely different.

Sucking your lips into your mouth, you nodded shyly, arms going slack over his broad shoulders.

“Only if you’re paying.” You hummed playfully.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “I’ll make an exception to my ‘seniors always pay rule’ just this once. Only for you.”

Only for you.

You could definitely get used to that.

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 04

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe… Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

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“Alright, Jack, I’m going to show you something really important, something you can’t tell anyone about. Not even Dean. Alright?”

The blonde before you hastily nods, eyes wide as he gives you his whole attention. It’s almost childlike, the way he puts everything he has into every activity he does—even nodding to show you he’s listening to what you’re saying.

You know that he is being truthful, and that if you ask him he won’t tell a soul, but for effect you keep your eyes trapping his own, just for a few moments longer. When you’ve ‘deemed’ him trustworthy enough, you let your expression drop into a smile and you smack your hand affectionately against his bicep.

“Great! I knew I could trust you. To be honest, you can maybe tell the others, but definitely not Dean. If Dean finds out…” you make a solemn face. “This whole operation will go down in flames. Got it?”

“Yes, I understand.” Jack says, fidgeting on the spot—he’s curious about what you’re going to show him, you can tell from the way every so often his eyes will flit about, searching the room behind you for something that might give away what you’re talking about. He gives you a bright grin, as though to show that he is ready.

“Excellent,” you say, clasping your hands together. “Follow me.”

You turn and begin moving over to the corner of the room, knowing without even having to check that Jack is following you—like a little duckling, if memory serves you right. You’ve only known him a few days but you know for sure that if anything happened to him you would be killing everyone in this bunker and then yourself. Rosa Diaz has it right.

“Alright, pass me that chair.” As soon as you come to a stop in the corner of the room, you instruct the young Nephilim following you. Without question, he does as you say and retrieves the chair sitting against the wall by a shelf loaded with obscure occult ‘weapons’. The armory is always something that amazes and confuses you with its contents.

The chair drags with a light squeak across concrete floor as you position it where you need it, wasting no time in hiking a leg up and climbing onto the seat. You know what you’re doing, but Jack doesn’t and your sudden movement must startle him a little because you feel him grip your legs by your knees and exclaim loudly.

“Ah, y/n! Be careful!”

You look down at him, unable to help the trickle of fondness that curls into your smile.

“Thanks for spotting me, Jack—don’t worry though, I’m a professional. I do this often.” You lean down to pat his hand and after giving you a slightly concerned look, he slowly releases his supporting grip.

“It’s up here,” you continue, before he gets too distracted. Your hands reach for the grate of the vent that sits high on the wall, almost touching the corner and the ceiling. It’s only around medium size, big enough for you to fit most body parts in but definitely not your body as a whole. It’s only really tacked in, the screws barely securing the metal to the wall. It takes almost no effort to remove it and pass it down to Jack to hold.

“Behold, sweet boy,” you say with a certain air of grandeur and flair, “My personal stash of sweets and goodies.”

Whatever was left of Jack’s concerned look from earlier is quickly wiped clean off his face to make room for the excitement that rises at your words. His brows unfurrow, shooting high as he attempts to peer into the vent.

“You have a stash of sweets?” He asks, almost in awe. “How did you build it so quickly? Haven’t you only been here a little over a week?”

“I’ve had this here for years,” you say, pretending that your words don’t make you cringe a little. Some of the stuff in there… might be a little out-of-date. “Say, you ever tried a kinder surprise? Or a Bueno bar? Or Tim Tams?”

Jack shakes his head, still clutching the grate in his hands. “Are they very good?”

“Very good?!” you echo, letting out a noise that even to your ears sounds a little crazy. “Dude, they’re amazing. Delicious. Fantastic. They’ll change your life.”

With each word that escapes your mouth, you sell Jack a little more on the idea. He’s almost vibrating on the spot by the time you’re done, hands fidgeting as he bounces on the balls of his feet every few seconds. “Do you have some, y/n? May… may I try some?”

“Of course, Jack— mi casa es su casa. Except, this is more of a top-secret stash than a house. Gimme a sec, I’ll fish some out for you.”

You turn then, careful not to wobble the chair, and go on your tippy-toes to reach your arm into the vent, the other bracing you against the wall. A part of you was worried after hearing Sam’s account of what happened to his own stash of sweets, but to your complete and utter relief there is still a hefty pile sitting half a foot back from the opening of the vent. You dig around a bit, searching for an egg shape or even a bar. The chocolates you mentioned to him should be safe, since you’d only added them somewhat recently. No risk of poisoning the half-angel today!

“Damn it, where are those stupid eggs,” you mutter to yourself as you search the pile, almost grasping something you think might be what you’re looking for only for it to slip away from your fingertips. You let out a huff, but freeze a moment later in delight as you grab a handful of something familiar. Your arm retracts before you can lose it again in your pile.

“Alright, here we a—woAH JESUS! Oh my god!”

As you’d turned around, expecting to see Jack standing in anticipation by the side of the chair, your eyes caught on something that most definitely wasn’t there before. In the split-second it takes for you to recognise the figure leaning against the shelf of weapons, you get so badly startled that before you know it your balance is compromised and you’re teetering on the verge of falling off the chair.

“y/n!” Jack exclaims in worry, lurching forward to grab your legs and stabilise you again. “Are you okay?”

“G-Gabriel,” you manage to choke out around the heart that leapt into your throat from the fright of nearly falling, looking over the nephilim’s shoulder. “Hello, didn’t—didn’t see you there. Holy shit.”

His face is somewhat blank, but if you look closer you swear you can see a hint of amusement cross his features. He is still in the rags and still somewhat dirty, since he won’t let anyone come near him and he still hasn’t got enough juice to clean himself. It makes something in your chest twinge but you refuse to give it the mental screentime it demands.

“Oh, Uncle Gabriel,” Jack turns and greets, pleasantly surprised to see his uncle out and about. Nowhere near as surprised as you, however, who honestly didn’t think Gabriel would be leaving his room for a few weeks at least. “I am glad to see you are well enough to walk about. What brings you here?”

As expected, Gabriel says nothing—his eyes do, however, betray him when they flit in a squirrely manner from Jack to the overflowing handful of chocolates you have in your hand.

“You came for the sweets?” you query, brows drawing together in confusion. “But how did you—”

You stop yourself mid-sentence, realisation washing over you. “Ah… the vents. You probably heard us.”

Not a word, but the archangel does shrug slightly, gaze flitting away, and you know you must be correct. Jack turns his head back to you, expression confused but mixed in with something else—does he want you to do something? You catch on quickly to the imploring glint in his eyes.

“Here, there’s more than enough—Jack, take one of each and then pass the rest to Gabriel. And if either of you hear Dean, tell me or else this hiding spot will be compromised. If Dean finds out I have a stash of chocolate, it’s game over.”

Jack, as he had done before, nods seriously and carefully takes the handful of chocolates from you. He picks out one of each and places it on the chair by your feet, before tentatively passing the rest to Gabriel.

You hadn’t been sure whether he was actually going to take the sweets or not, but to your surprise he does. With hands that shake ever so slightly, he moves the wrapped goodies from his nephew’s hands to his own, offering the briefest smile to the two of you. And then he is bringing his hands to his chest and turning, making his exit from the room at a pace that is somewhere between hasty and cautious. By the time of your next blink, he is gone and you’re left reeling at the experience.

“I’m not going crazy, right?” you turn your gaze down to Jack, continuing when he meets your eyes. “Gabriel was just here?”

“He was,” Jack confirms, simultaneously relieving and confusing you. “He wanted some sweets, I think.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else. After a moment, you blink yourself out of your thoughts and return to the original reason you’d brought the young man here.

“Anyway, go ahead and try those! Tell me which one you like most, and I’ll get more out for you.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s diving for the sweets he’d stored on the chair and tearing into the first one he can get his hands on before you’re even finished talking. Within split-seconds he has it in his mouth and he’s giving you a wide-eyed look.

“y/n, this is so good!”

He is definitely not wrong. Smiling, you reach up and attempt to retrieve more of the one in his hand to restock him.

“I know right?! Just wait until you try the other ones.”

x     x

You’d thought it earlier, but it becomes more apparent now that just as you’d figured, something had changed in Gabriel the other day.

Now, don’t get it wrong—he is still quiet and refuses to speak most of the time, and most of his day is spent within the confines of his room, but lately… he’s begun to sneak out a bit more.

Well, sneak maybe has a little bit of a negative connotation. He’s allowed to be out of his room, of course. It’s just that he’s so quiet and quick that sneaking is the only fitting term you can think of for the way he slinks silently through the bunker.

The idle thought crossed your mind at some point that maybe he just wants to be a part of it all, even for a brief moment, and even if it just means he hovers on the outskirts of the room instead of actually joining in.

Sometimes you’ll come out in the morning and find him curled on one of the plush chairs in the library, hidden behind one of the bookshelves. Other times he might wander into a room when the occupants are in the middle of something, whether that be researching, playing a game, watching something, or even arguing. Actually, he probably shows up most often for the latter. Stirring the pot was his specialty back when, and it seems a pot ready to bubble over is something he is naturally drawn back to as he starts to feel a little more like himself.

Most of the times you've spotted him at the periphery of the room, it's been bickering that has, admittedly, more often than not started at your hands. It’s not your fault! For two brother’s who have literally survived several almost-apocalypses, the Winchesters are awfully easy to tease. Sometimes you give Jack or Mary a few proverbial pokes, but you don’t really have the heart to follow through for very long. The guilt you feel when you rile up Sam and Dean is minimal, but when you start to stir up anyone else in the bunker you feel guilty after about five seconds of it.

Today’s victim is, as often happens to be the case, Dean. Sometimes you seek him out if you’re in a particularly bastardous mood, but today he happened to walk in front of your crosshairs of his own accord. Wrong place, wrong time.

“I’m just saying,” you struggle to keep a straight face as you speak. You can see the red beginning to colour the tips of Dean’s ears and know that you’re getting to him, as much as he is trying not to let it show. “The bacon that you used for that burger… I think it was the one that was out of date.”

“No way,” Dean denies immediately. “I checked the dates, this was from the good packet.”

“Where was it?” you ask him, raising a brow and crossing your arms. He stills for a moment as he attempts to recall which portion of the fridge the bacon was residing in.

“Left side, towards the front.” He finally informs you, looking proud of himself. You lean back in your chair, wincing at him.

“Dude… that was the out-of-date one.” You shake your head, giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re gonna be super sick later.”

Now, the thing about this argument is that there was no out-of-date bacon that he could have used. You threw it out the other day. But, he doesn’t know that. And if you can convince him that the burger he is more than halfway through was made with funky meat, then you bet his reaction is gonna be really funny.

Dean throws an accusing finger in your direction, scowling. His ears tinge a little more red. “Stop gaslighting me, twinkletoes! I know which bacon I used!”

“Yeah,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “The out-of-date one.”

Dean doesn’t believe you, of course, but you do catch him giving the burger in his hold a cursory glance. He huffs a breath out of his nose.

“If it’s out of date, then why does it still taste so good?” Dean says, with all the gusto of someone who’d just said something worthy of a mic drop. His free hand even moves to his hip, and one of his brows raises at you while his lips purse.

You shrug, resting your legs on the corner of the table and crossing one over the other. The corner stabs into you when you slip slightly and prompts a readjustment. “I don’t know, man. You eat a lot of shit so it could just be that you’re accustomed to funky-tasting food.”

For a moment he appears like he wants to refute what you said, but he seems to think better of it as he, presumably, recalls the meals he’d had as of late. His lips are still pursed as he stares at you for a second with narrowed eyes, the cogs visibly turning in his head.

“You know what,” he begins, sounding a little testy. You pause for a moment, though, as you detect something else in his tone. “Why don’t we bet on it if you’re so sure? Loser has to do the other’s chores for a week.”

“Deal,” you say immediately, without even entertaining the possibility of losing. You presume that he’s just going to judge this on whether or not he gets food poisoning later (which you can easily interfere with; there are a number of things in the bunker that are good for upsetting a stomach), and aren’t too worried. That changes in the next second when you see him turn and make his way to the bin where the bacon packaging no doubt resides. You scramble into a sitting position, dread already creeping into your bones as you realise you’re about to be found out. Damn it, you already hate the chores you have when you’re here, you don’t want to do Dean’s as well!

You make a face as he finally reaches the bin, reaching in to procure the packaging from the top.

“HAH, see! Best by—”

You blink as he halts suddenly in his reading, the red fading from his ears and making way for a green hue to wash over his face.

“Oh. Oh god.” He says, much softer than his earlier proclamation. He drops the packaging back in the bin, and the remains of his burger follow suit in the next heartbeat. He straightens, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

One of his hands comes to place over his stomach, his features twisting. “I’ll… be right back.”

And then he is using his long legs to his advantage and striding out of the room faster than you can comment. You’re left there reeling, alone in the kitchen.

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, confused beyond belief. By all means, he should have read a date that was still safe. Unless you threw out the wrong bacon. But you’d been sure to check which you were throwing out when you did it, so there’s no way—

Your frantic inner monologue is cut off by the soft sound of shuffling on the outskirts of the room. You turn to investigate, and to your surprise catch sight of Gabriel quietly slinking to the door from the corner of the kitchen. He pauses like he feels the weight of your gaze on him, and turns to face you just slightly.

You’re too surprised to even say anything in greeting, and that proves to be the case especially in the next moment when the archangel offers you a brief wink and then turns back the way he is facing, disappearing from the kitchen and leaving you truly alone this time.

It takes a second for the dots to connect in your head, but when they do you can’t help the surprised laugh that leaps from you.

Gabriel had just saved your ass from doing extra chores for a week.

You’d have to slip him some of your stash as a thanks.

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