#Use the free month to see some classes and then fight against the worst rated bots that

[righteousdelusions]

this is your signal to download the chess app

[yandere-sins]

Circumstances

I’ve worked on this for the last two days because I really wanted to get it out of the system! I wanted to showcase a bit better how it is to be the lovely Miya Twins Darling and I hope I was able to show it! Still heavily relies on the original idea of @shorkbrian  of how the two would be as a yandere! Hopefully I’ll get to write them even more because I love them so much ♥

Characters: Yandere!Atsumu Miya x Darling x Yandere Osamu Miya Rating/Warning: Mature, Yandere Words: 3791

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

It wasn’t like you could speak about ‘relief’ as Osamu used his free arm to help you out of his brother’s clutches, but you were thankful nonetheless. You had been struggling for the better part of the night already, but only now your tiny trashes had woken the more reasonable twin up, making him come to your aid. You met his gaze for a second, whispering a quiet, “Toilet,” into his direction, to which he nodded understandingly. 

Usually, you had to wait it out until the morning, Atsumu’s grip just too tight on you. But some entity seemed to have been merciful on you, making Osamu wake up from your struggles and help you out. Clearly, he was still tired, barely awake himself. Even so, he pushed his brother off of you roughly, without any regard to Atsumu’s sleep, and allowed you to climb over him so you could use the adjoining bathroom. 

Not without a touch to your thigh, mind you. Subtle yet urging.

It was Osamu’s way of telling you to hurry up and get back into bed, while - and that’s what you presumed - showing some tenderness. Usually, he wouldn’t go out of his way to show his affection, but he was tired, it was early in the morning, and his mind was foggy. Hurrying you was just a side-effect of him not wanting to deal with a whiny Atsumu in case he woke up, and you were gone. 

Nights were always Atsumu’s. He’d be the one to keep you close, suffocate you against his chest, and never let go, even if you whined and struggled in his embrace. And he snored. Terribly. It wasn’t a loud snore, and not constantly, but every time you finally managed to drift off to sleep, he tore you out of it with a snort or loud buzz in your ear. Oftentimes, it helped to imagine how nice it would be if you could just stuff his mouth, but how would you, with your arms crushed in his hold?

Undoubtedly, sleeping next to Osamu was better. He just… slept. Yes, he was the ominous wall between the edge of the bed and you, someone who’d wake up if you dared to step over him, but at least he didn’t do anything to endanger your airways or bladder. The most he ever did was twirl a strand of hair between his fingers while Atsumu loudly told you a bedtime story. It wasn’t a touch you liked, but at least it wasn’t harmful or with underlying intentions. 

All of those thoughts aside, you were glad to finally feel the cold floor under your feet, making quiet steps towards the bathroom, knowing exactly where you had to step. You’d walked this way a million times already; after all, you had nothing better to do. More importantly, it was the path to your little oasis, your sanctuary - the only thing the twins hadn’t taken from you entirely with their presence.

Shutting the door behind you carefully, you made sure to turn the lock before switching the light on. Funny, how such a small, gloomy room, stuffed with a bathtub, toilet, and sink, could become the only place you were truly at peace. It was the only room you could lock yourself in and have some peace. In a way, it was all yours.

The boys had a separate bathroom available, one you rarely got to even see. It always depended on how ‘well’ you ‘behaved’ and how relaxed Osamu was. Yes, Osamu, since Atsumu would let you roam the house as much as you wanted if it was just for him to decide. But Osamu had different views on that. Mainly that the kitchen was so close to the other bathroom and bedroom in that small apartment, you’d be able to easily get hurt from his sharp, expensive knife-collection if you were to roam freely. 

There were, of course, also your countless tries of escaping which spread doubt in him.

Thus, only on good days were you allowed to savor the freedom of being able to explore, sleep in a different bed than the crowded queen-sized one you shared with the two, or even eat at a proper dinner table. Most of the time, however, you only had this bathroom to yourself, so you had to treasure every minute in it. Inside of here, they wouldn’t enter if you locked the door, Osamu holding back Atsumu from dominating even your toilet-runs with his presence. You’d not put it past him to watch you pee if he could, and that thought was one of the scariest of them all.

With your eyes slowly adjusting to the light, you turned around to face the mirror above the sink. Seeing yourself in that awful, almost muddy light, you had to get close to your reflection for you to see properly. The bags under your eyes indicated what you felt - tiredness and exhaustion, your cheeks still a little puffy from the afternoon cry. You turned the faucet on, letting the cold water run over your hands and dapping it onto your face. Not like you wanted to wake up, but you still wanted to savor the time you had in your little sanctuary. Refreshing yourself was the closest to self-care you had.

Finishing your actual bath business and flushing the toilet afterwards, you were almost unwilling to go back to bed. Sleep wasn’t something that awaited you there, and when you sideglanced the bathtub, you imagined having it more comfortable in it than next to the brothers. Your situation was still so surreal to you, despite it being months now. Months that had worn you down to the worst version of yourself. A version that was frustrated, angry, hopeless, and most importantly: Scared.

“[Name]!” someone called out as you reached for the doorknob, followed by a loud thud as something - or someone - walked against the door. It was impossible to not recognize Atsumu’s voice since it was like a constant noise ringing in your brain, but you kept quiet, hesitating. Dealing with Atsumu was downright exhausting, but you knew how fussy he became the longer he was away from you. As if you were the magnet that pulled him towards you, despite this never being your intention ever.

Even though you three went to the same school, even the same class, the twins had always been too extreme for your taste. Especially Atsumu, who became a volleyball star in his time there. You were surprised as they approached you after graduation, exchanging numbers with you and wanting to stay in contact. It was even weirder that they actually made an effort to stay connected, despite not being friends all these years you studied together. 

But even though it made no sense, you ended up in this weird situation with them. Something akin to a relationship, yet, you were sure that kidnapping, threatening, and hurting your significant other couldn’t possibly be counted as having a healthy love life. 

“Shut up.” A growl of a command followed Atsumu’s whine, as well as another thud and an irritated huff. You had no idea what was going on behind that door, but you were glad to avoid having to watch it with your own two eyes. The twins’ bickering was never a good sign for you, and you preferred staying out of their range when they did. Lowering the toilet lid, you sat down on the top, wringing your hands as you contemplated what to do. For now, your only options were to sit and listen to what was going on or get in between them and have them fight it out over you.

“They’re using the toilet. Stop bothering them, Dumbass.” Osamu’s voice was much closer now, and you assumed he had gotten up hearing his brother call out to you.

“They’re already done, didn’t ya hear the flush?!”

“No use hurrying them then, ‘Tsumu.” The more erratic twin let out a disgruntled moan, obviously tired yet restless by your disappearance. You could only speak of divine help that Osamu was actually up and using his appearance to keep Atsumu in check while he bothered you.

The next few words were nothing but whispers between them. Hushed tones and secret exchanges that you were not supposed to hear. Footsteps walked away, and you could only assume, but you wanted it to be Atsumu letting off to have his brother deal with you while he roamed the room aimlessly. Sometimes you wondered if your purpose was to fill something amiss in his life, making him so attached to you, as he always seemed to be on the search for something you didn’t know about. What followed were a few tender knocks on the door. Knocks done with hands that you anxiously remembered how they felt on your body. “[Name], are you done? We are worried.” 

Opening your mouth, you were almost inclined to answer, but if you did, a timer would be set in Osamu’s mind, reminding you to get out every minute from then on. But you didn’t actually want to leave yet. You didn’t want to go back into Atsumu’s clutches or play punchbag if the two got irritated over each other from the situation. Being silent wasn’t a good solution, but you bit your lip and turned open the faucet again, letting the sound of water wash away what you didn’t want to hear.

“They out?” Atsumu yawned from behind the door, still too loud to escape your hearing. “What do you think?” Osamu countered, snapping at his brother’s oblivious question.

“Told you. We should have removed that lock.”

“It’s a bathroom.”

“There’s nothing we haven’t seen, ‘Samu. It would be better”

Silence, as Osamu contemplated his words. You couldn’t help but feel cold sweat run down your spine as you listened to their conversation. Despite knowing Osamu probably would still reject the idea of taking out the lock, you couldn’t help but fear his silence on the matter. Fear that he might come to agree with Atsumu after all. It wouldn’t be the first time he actually did break the door into the bathroom after you hid in there too long for his taste.

Attention shifted, and as you got caught in your thoughts, inevitable, you jumped as a loud, thundering hammering resounded in the bathroom. “[Name] come out.” More hammering. “Out, now.”

This was your cue, the moment you should have complied. Save yourself from more terror and the yapping of the fox twins, but it was like you were frozen in place, unable to go. Even when you managed to pull yourself up on the sink, a short glance at your exposed neck made you fold into yourself again. As if it was of any use, you pulled up the hoodie you were wearing - Atsumu’s hoodie - tighter around your neck, covering the countless hickies and blemishes covering your skin. None of this was what you wanted, and none of them had a meaning to you; besides pain, that was. 

You just wanted to stay where you were, cowering between toilet and sink, covering your ears, as their knocks got louder and more demanding with every punch. Eyes darting to the doorknob, you watched it shake and turn as one of the twins tried to open it vehemently. Even if you trusted the door with your life, to keep you safe and sound, with every creak, you anticipated it to break again. The sounds got louder, their voices merged as they called out to you, demanded you, pleaded to be let in!

And suddenly, there was silence. 

Complete, utter silence. You hadn’t noticed how you had held your breath while the noise was going on, but now, you couldn’t help but let it escape timidly from your lungs through clenched teeth. The walls weren’t thick, but by how little you could hear now, you figured they had taken some steps away from the bathroom.

“‘Tsumu.”

“--away!”

A loud bang shook you to the core, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared. 

“Fuck.”

“--unhappy--”

“I--”

It was so incredibly hard to hear anything, and their pieces of sentences didn’t make any sense to you. One moment, they sounded farther away, then another they were close again as if they were chasing each other out of the room and getting back into it restlessly. 

You couldn’t tell the time that passed, but at some point, your exhaustion must have allowed you a few minutes of slipping out of conscience for a while. Perhaps for the following thirty minutes, you switched in and out of your non-existent dreams, ever so often woken up by a voice or noise that scared you awake. 

There was no dream to comfort you. No familiar person or scent that enveloped you, helping you through these troubles you were facing. How much longer would you have to endure these nights? How much longer would you be held like a glorified yet beloved pet between the brothers? You never knew them well, but every day, you felt like instead of understanding them better, it only got worse. 

Atsumu was so damn needy. He always wanted your attention and eyes on him, praise from your lips, and gentle touches of your fingers. If you were in his lap, you could count on him not letting you go anytime soon. That’s why the thought of you being unavailable to reach was almost punishment for him. He considered it the gravest of crimes when you refused to spend time with him, or when Osamu told him to stay away for a while, and you could barely endure his loud tantrums and how violent he was in his pursues of you. 

But Osamu wasn’t really better. Even if you pleaded and begged, he never admitted to understanding how you truly felt about your situation. Maybe he didn’t want to see, or perhaps, he really could not understand how grave their actions were. While he treated you reasonably well, he was just as quick to get upset as his brother over every little thing. When you didn’t like the clothes he wanted you to wear, he’d let you freeze for days before giving you something to put on - most of the time, the clothes you were so reluctant to put on before. He cooked, cleaned, and made sure the bills were paid, but not if you were misbehaving. Then, suddenly, he ‘didn’t want to’ do these things anymore. Leaving you to Atsumu’s mercy for your basic need. 

And they always - always - watched you. There was no moment you couldn’t look over your shoulder to see either or both of them stare at you. They had those moments that simply scared you, where they wouldn’t talk or react at all, lost in some weird observation of you. At most, you’d suddenly feel the tips of their hands run down your leg or back when you passed them, a quiet, “Pretty,” rolling off their lips. None of their behavior ever made sense to you, and it was driving you insane to not know what you really were to them.

Perhaps, it was just your exhaustion showing as you felt some tears roll down your eyes. You’d been up for a few minutes already, thinking about your family and friends who you missed dearly. If you could, you just wanted to get out and forget about all that happened with those two weirdos who invited you to their home one day and never let you go again.

Then again, at least it was calm now. In fact, it was peaceful quiet, and you pinched yourself as the thought of the twins settling down and going to bed crossed your mind. If that was the case, you considered yourself lucky, noticing that this would be the first time they simply gave up. They wouldn’t… would they?

Under the pain of your body being crouched in such an unsuitable position for so long, you pulled yourself into a stand, taking a short break by sitting on the toilet. The water in the sink was still running. Such a waste of resources, you admitted. Turning it off, you were surprised by the world still seeming calm around you. You had expected the brothers to blow up the moment they noticed you letting go of the comforting babbling, but nothing happened.

Even though you knew that the moment you stepped outside again, the world wouldn’t be as harmless as you imagined it to be right now, you felt a little better confronting this fact. Sure, you might get starved for a few days again or cuddled to death, but at least for now, the war seemed over.  

You weren’t aware that this was the calm before the storm.

The lock of the door clicked back as you opened it up, turning the knob slowly and carefully. If they really were sleeping, you were the last person who wanted to wake them. Turning off the light, you were cast in darkness, eyes clenched shut since you couldn’t see well. It was pleasant to hear the birds chirp outside the window, signaling that the morning was slowly but surely coming. But being able to listen to them at all was special to you, something you never usually noticed over the noise and your thoughts.

One hand lunched at your arm the moment you stepped out of the doorframe. Another one reached for your hair. In a matter of seconds, you felt yourself enveloped by a broad chest, pulled towards it by a third arm fastening around your waist. Ironically, the first thought you had in mind was about a monster reaching for you, planning on tearing you apart. 

It didn’t cross you that it was the two brothers closing in on you. Lips startled you as they fell on top of yours, wet and thoughtless, a tongue pressing through and into your mouth as a hand slipped into the gap between the chest and your neck, forcing you to stretch and comply. Hot breath against your face, paired with soft whines, as if you had left a puppy alone for too long and it was welcoming you home, vibrated against your lips, while the confusion didn’t help you understand the situation. Forming a helpful thought was impossible for you, too surprised and taken aback by the sudden attack. 

But at the same time, you felt another nose press against the back of your head, taking a deep breath. It was impossible to determine who’s hand belonged to who, but it didn’t matter as they always acted like the perfect team when the situation required it. Your hair was pulled back while another chest rubbed in close from behind, sandwiching you between the bodies. 

Choking on the mixture of spit in your mouth, you coughed as the kiss finally stopped, one of them mewling, “We missed you so much!” before his lips crashed back onto yours. Their hands became grabbier and rougher to your body, nails scratching along the sensitive parts of your neck, and fingerprints being left around your sides as cold hands got shoved beneath your hoodie. 

You wanted to lift your hand, push at least one of them away, but before you could, one hand unstuck from touching you and instead tugged your arm down right away. This was a clear Osamu-move, and as if in response, you heard it growl from behind you while his face buried into your shoulder. “Don’t ever stay so long in the bathroom again, understood?”

“Yes, never!” Atsumu yapped right after, forcing a few more long, breathtaking kissed from your mouth. Lips wandering, he scattered them all over your face, slobby and urgent, as if he was soaking in your life essence through his kiss. It slowly but surely became more clear who’s arm was who’s, as the one around your waist shifted to under your butt, muscles tensing before suddenly, you were relieved of the ones on your neck and arm. Atsumu lifted you from the ground while you tried to stand on your tiptoes as long as you could, not wanting to give yourself to him just like. Iat.

“I’m so tired~” Atsumu complained loudly, whining. “We stood in front of this door forever, [Name]!”

Osamu merely sighed behind you as you were brought back to bed. He let you fall ungently onto the mattress and onto his limbs, but when you tried to adjust, you were merely pulled closer towards him again, leaving you uncomfortable in his hold. He didn’t bother with pulling up a blanket to keep you warm, and goosebumps quickly spread all over your body from how icy the bed was. It made you instinctively shuffle closer to the warm body next to you, and you felt stupidly excited when the second body linked itself with yours shortly after. 

“‘Samu, get your shitty leg off of me!” Atsumu’s voice was too loud for your poor ear that he screamed it into, but you only felt Osamu’s leg pushing down tighter on yours, restricting where you could go even though it hurt to have his bones crush yours under his. “Shut up, Stupid. It’s cold, I want in on the warmth.”

How uncharacteristic, you thought. Then again, what did you really know about them? Either Osamu was too tired to deal with finding the lost blanket too, or it was actually him wanting to make you as helpless as a piece of meat in between their burger bun-bodies. “It’s not like you could separate us,” he teased his brother, and Atsumu let out an annoyed groan before his demeanor changed rapidly, calming down with his head falling on top of yours with a huff, nuzzling his face into your hair. 

“He’s right, though,” he mumbled, and you weren’t sure if Osamu heard that. If he did, he enjoyed it quietly, feeling good about his brother admitting it without letting you know. “Nothing can separate us.”

“No door and no brother,” Osamu finished his sentence. Apparently, he did listen. 

“Exactly,” Atsumu chuckled, arms tightening around you. 

Now, you were back at the beginning, perhaps feeling more miserable than before as Osamu joined in with keeping you locked between them. Soon, the morning sun would rise again. Another morning you would only be able to see through the gaps in the boards covering the windows. 

Again you’d wake up in this horror scenario that you never wished for. Where had you gone wrong in your life to deserve this? What had you ever done to them? Why did they do the things they were doing to someone they didn’t actually know either?

And most importantly: When would it stop?

[oikawaplssteponme]

PROLOGUE | masterlist

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem! reader

rating/warnings: swearing...a lot, some violence

synopsis: When UA’s hot heads, Katsuki Bakugou and you, are forced to put your hatred for each other aside and plan the third year Prom, things end up getting a little heated...

a/n: hi hi!! here’s the prologue:)) this is just setting up the story and gives insight into your quirk ;) im super excited to share this new story with you all [a little nervous too but that’s okay] ! the taglist is open so just lmk if you’d like to be added❤️ enjoy xx

———

prologue: party planers

“YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME DUMBASS!”

“YOU HEARD ME, OR IS THAT QURIK OF YOURS CAUSING YOU TO LOSE YOUR HEARING ALREADY!?”

“WE HAVE PRACTICALLY THE SAME QUIRK YOU MORON!”

“HA YOU WISH YOU HAD MY QUIRK KATSUKI!”

“YOU LITTLE-!”

Kirishima was using all of his strength to hold Bakugou back from ripping your head off. On the other hand, Deku was dragging you away from Bakugou as you continued to yell.

“Y/N cut it out!” begged Izuku. You continued to struggle to break free from Izuku’s grip on you. He wasn’t using all his strength as to not hurt you.

“Just let me wipe that stupid smile off of his dumb face!” You yelled.

You kicked your leg back, colliding with Deku’s stomach, forcing him on the floor. Bakugou flipped Kirishima over his shoulder to shake him off as well. The two of you stood far apart, facing each other.

“One blow and you’ll be dust Katsuki,” you smirked. Bakugou licked his lips.

“Not if I get your first!”

“You wish!”

You adjusted your stance. You brought your hands up, one expelling out your body’s heat and the other starting to expel out atoms of hydrogen. Bakugou’s palms began to spark with his explosive sweat.

“Guys stop it please!” pouted Uraraka.

“Not until Katsuki here is d-”

Before you could finish, you were tied up and so was Bakugou. Mr. Aizawa pulled the both of you towards him, still tied up in his scarf.

“Office. Now.”

~

Now, not many people would ever be bold enough to stand up against Katsuki Bakugou, but not you. Ever since your first year at UA, you and Bakugou never got along. You had an attitude and an ego, and so did he. You both thought you were the best. And with such similar quirks, you had more reason to compete with each other.

Your quirk involved taking heat from your body and outside sources (such as the sun) to create an explosive result from fusing atoms together. Depending on how much power you wanted to use, you could choose between any explosive element on the Periodic Table to create this chain reaction. Your quirk was known as ‘atomic’. It did have its own setbacks though. Since you had to use your own body heat and cells, you tended to get sick pretty easily after a fight. Still, you worked hard to get your quirk where you wanted it. In a quirk test, no one stood a chance against you...well maybe except that Bakugou guy.

You were a lethal weapon to say the least. Bakugou’s own quirk used his sweat to create explosions. While yes your quirks worked differently, you both felt threatened by each other.

Having you and Katsuki in the same classes never went well. As you were both in the Hero Course, you tended to interact much more than you wanted. On days where there was open training, like today, it usually ended in a fight. And more often than not, you started it.

Unlike Bakugou, you were let in on recommendations, another thing you held over him. In your middle school, you were an exemplary student to any teacher who saw you. But the second you got in the battle field, all hell broke loose. You were a master in combat, even without your quirk. At your middle school, you were the top dog, so it was easy for you to show your dominance over your classmates. It wasn’t until meeting Katsuki Bakugou that you had your ruthless side always on display. So that sweet girl that you used to be known for, well, she took a hike.

~

Mr. Aizawa dragged you and Bakugou to Principal Nezu’s office, for the 4th time this week. You couldn’t break free from his forceful scarf, no matter how hard you tried. You could physically see the smoke coming from Bakugou’s ears.

“What seems to be the problem this time?” asked Principal Nezu. Mr. Aizawa gave you a nudge.

“Tell him.” You glanced over at Bakugou and then back at Principal Nezu.

“Well you see Principle Nezu...Bakugou is a little bitch.”

“YOU HAG!”

“QUIET!” ordered Aizawa. You both shut your mouths.

“Look Y/N, Bakugou, this has to stop. If you two keep disrupting class and training, I’ll have no choice but to expel you,” said Principal Nezu.

He says this every year.

“But because I believe in your potential as Pro Hero’s I won’t.” You and Bakugou let out a sigh of relief.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t go without some sort of punishment,” he added. You weren’t surprised. You had already cleaned the dorms a million times before as a form of punishment.

“This time, Mr. Aizawa will be in charge of you two,” said Principal Nezu. Yours and Bakugou’s eyes widened. Mr. Aizawa moved to stand in front of you two.

“As you know, third years get the opportunity to attend the UA Prom. Usually students in general studies help plan it but since you two clearly need some organization and discipline, you’ll plan it this year for your classmates,” Aizawa explained. Your jaw dropped.

“You want us to plan a dance? By ourselves?” You protested.

“No way I’m doing that!” huffed Bakugou.

“Would you rather be expelled?” asked Aizawa. You both went silent.

“That’s what I thought. You’ll have a few months for planning and preparation. I would work hard on this, I’d hate for you to disappoint your classmates. If this dance goes poorly, it will be you two who will pay for it.”

You couldn’t believe it. You were no party planner, and certainly not with someone like Bakugou.

“Also, no more fighting unless during supervised pair training. If I even hear about either of you using your quirks against each other, you’ll be out of here before you can say ‘Plus Ultra’. Got it?” said Aizawa.

You both nodded, though you were beyond pissed off. Aizawa unwrapped you and Bakugo from his scarf.

“Either learn to work with each other or you can kiss your third year goodbye. Now get to your dorms.”

You and Bakugou got up and quickly left Nezu’s office. Once the door shut, you pinned Bakugou against the wall, your hand on his neck.

“What the hell-“

“Listen, if you ruin my chances at becoming a Pro Hero, I won't hesitate to blow your brains out. So we are gonna plan this stupid dance, but don’t think that means we will become all buddy-buddy. I’m still gonna be a better hero than you and show you that I have the better explosion quirk. Got it?”

Bakugou pushed you off of him, and pinned you in the same position.

“If you even think you’ll be a better Hero than me, you’re wrong. Get over yourself princess. And then go fuck yourself,” he growled. Bakugou let go of you and walked away.

In the past, you would’ve talked back, but not today. You knew Aizawa and Nezu were being serious this time. And you weren’t gonna mess up your chances of graduating. So if planning a stupid dance with your worst nightmare was what you had to do, then so be it.

•

[taglist OPEN: @vangoghpoets @vangoghmusings @bokutory @complimentaryhugsgirl ]

[savagenutella46]

boy was my face red (2/2)

Part 1! DICKINETTE

Marinette sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

Dick had sent a text message, and while the gesture wasn't uncommon, it was the context inside. The vague, two-worded message that settled unprecedented worry deep in her bones.

Dickie: It's Barbara.

She hadn't responded. Of course she hadn't, because, why would she? How would she respond to something like that other than dropping everything at her part time job as a barista and come barreling home?

Especially when it's about Barbara Gordon.

Barbara Gordon was everything she wasn't and more. Barbara was tall, red-headed, and beautiful, while Marinette continuously fell on the literal short end of the scale compared to her.

Barbara Gordon was exactly Dick's type. Smart, cunning, and played an important role in society.

And Marinette liked to make dresses.

—But, they had been having relationship problems, hadn't they? She'd witnessed the dismayed look on Dick's face he'd often had after hanging out with the red-haired woman. The slam of the door that so often abruptly broke the comfortable silence of their dorm when he'd come home after a fight.

"Don't think like that." She whispered to herself. Marinette was standing idly outside the heavy door that led to their dorm, stalling.

Do it. Go inside. He's waiting.

Marinette placed a shaky hand on the brass doorknob and waited for a sign. A text, or a tell-tale noise from inside the dorm.

Nothing.

She swung the door open and immediately, muffled sniffles from Dick's room filtered through her haze of disappointment, shaking the undertone of guilt-ridden excitement as she stalks down the hallway to his bedroom.

"Dickie?" No answer, just sniffles that continued to float through the air and thoroughly continue to crush her heart into tiny pieces. Her throat squeezed in anticipation, and her face crunched up.

Marinette knocked on his bedroom door hesitantly. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Dick's voice cracked pitifully in the middle of the word, and Marinette tightened her grip on his doorknob and swung the door open, quickly rushing to his side.

Dick looked like a mess. His long hair that was usually swept in place stuck out all over the place, some of it looked a little wet, as well. Dick was laying in his bed under rumpled sheets, clutching a blue striped pillow to his chest tightly, his face buried into the top of the tear-stained covering.

Marinette sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair as his body shook with muffled sobs. "Dick, I'm so sorry." Dick let out a slightly more audible sob when she started to rub his back.

He looked up, and, shit. Marinette's heart lodged itself in her already constricting throat.

There were dark circles the size of California resting under Dick's eyes. He peered up at her through red-rimmed eyes, and tears that quickly spilled over his eyelids when he blinked fast enough to rid them.

Worst of all, there was no spark of joy she always saw on his face, nor his eyes, nor his body language. There was not a single trace of warmth or recognition in his eyes, and it chilled her to the bone to see her best friend so affected by Barbara Gordon.

She wanted to strangle the red-haired woman in that very moment. Her throat squeezed with both hatred and guilt for letting such a woman break her best friend's heart.

"She—she broke up with me, Marinette-" Ouch, what did she do to deserve her full name? "—she left me." Dick squeezed his eyes shut again, and crumpled into himself, his body rattling and shaking like a leaf from unrestrained sobs.

Marinette bit her lip and wrapped herself around Dick, squeezing her arms hard around his middle and burying her head into the crook of his neck. "She's a fool. You're amazing, Dick." Marinette whispered, almost inaudible.

—but he heard, she was sure, because he froze, and for a moment, she felt almost felt it was the wrong thing to say. Marinette had nothing else to say, so she tightened her arms around him, but, he turned around in her grip, loosening it slightly.

Dick stared at her, almost too intensely, and Marinette felt a flush rise to her neck, his sobs minutely subsiding, but not completely, tears starting to absently roll down his face, and hiccups fighting their way up Dick's throat.

"You—" Dick swallowed a hiccup, "You really mean that?" He stared at Marinette, with such a newfound intensity that almost made her choke, and it would have if it wasn't for the hurt lingering in his expression and the fat tears still racing down his pale cheeks.

Marinette floundered for a response, cornered by his hopeful, yet hurt expression. "Of course, Dickie. You—someone like that isn't worth your tears. You—" She smiled awkwardly, and reached for his limp hands, and squeezing. "Dick, someone like you...you deserve someone who knows your worth."

Because Dick was worth everything. Barbara was truly a fool to break up with him.

Dick audibly swallowed. He looked down at their hands, conjoined tightly, soft against one another, sans the permanent calluses on Dick's palm from acrobatics as a child.

Marinette rubbed his palm absently, humming to awkwardly break the stretching silence that seemed to envelope them at her words. Her stupid, stupid words; a sentence that surely made him internally scoff at her obvious pining.

But, suddenly, Dick was hugging her again. Her best friend's arms were wrapping tightly around her middle and squeezing just about the life out of her, murmuring to himself incoherently.

"—ank you, thank you, thank you, you don't know how much that means to me." He was muttering to her.

Marinette's eyes widened at the warmth soaking into her shirt and realized he was crying again. "Oh, you're welcome, Dick."

"I love you."

Words so silent she'd forgotten to actually understand them instead of just hearing them, continuing to stroke his back softly.

The worst part about when your best friend gets their heartbroken, is the sudden extra person constantly clinging onto your arm and using all your hair appliances; and with the passing months, Dick had become her other half, quite literally.

"You're going to fry your hair at this rate." Dick grinned and shook his head, his alarmingly stubborn soft hair swinging around with the sudden motion and settling behind his neck, a tad overgrown so that it sat under the nape of his neck, but it was nice to run her hands through.

They were sitting on the couch, almost like conjoined twins with how their legs and shoulders seemed to plaster themselves together. Empty ice cream pints and various fast food takeout littered the coffee table and couch around them as the television blared Hell's Kitchen in the background.

"If that means my hair looks good, then so be it." It really did, but she's hate to see the notion of his luscious locks last less than a millennia. Especially with how the moonlight currently reflected off of it, making him look almost angelic.

Yes, her bestfriend was beautiful, and, yes, she was jealous. And what about it?

Marinette chose to remain silent instead of quipping back; the bastard was not going to laugh at her again.

No, because when Dick laughed, angels sang, and when he laughed, she was reminded of her big fat crush on Dick Grayson.

She reached for his hand, and squeezed it tightly, stubbornly training her eyes on Gordon Ramsay yelling at a blue team chef for undercooking scallops instead of looking for a reaction in Dick. Marinette felt as if she would actually combust if she even looked in his general direction, her face flushing a deep red from the sheer silence to her left.

A few minutes passed, each one with a growing intensity in silence that lodged a heavy lump in her throat and squeezed the air out of her. Hell's Kitchen continued to drone on in the background, each scene providing a different tinted glow to their faces in the dark of the night.

Marinette was sure Dick could feel the damp sweat soaking her palms, the heat soaking through her hand to his. She was so sure he would pull away out of disgust—then his hands went slack in her hold.

Marinette stopped breathing. She turned her head to the side, slowly. It was hard to make out the details of his face underneath the absence of light, but his expression was calm, naturally relaxed.

Dick was sleeping.

She swallowed harshly, the heavy ball of saliva easing its way down her throat and a symphony of relief flooding her nerves, flushing the red-hot embarrassment out of her system.

It would be so easy to tell him right now. To lift the heavy weight off her chest so she could breathe properly for the first time in two years. Marinette could tell him anything she wanted to and he wouldn't know. She ran her free hand through his hair slowly, relishing in the silky smooth glide of her hand in Dick's locks.

"Love you." She opted for, instead. It could be seen as painfully platonic, though her tone was thick and wavered at the end, the meaning of her words breaking through the seems of her poorly placed disguise.

She's in class, picking out a few fabrics on the rack for a shirt she so meticulously designed when he called.

Or, called out to her. In the middle of class.

Dick sprinted into the room, narrowly missing a full on concussion to a heavy clothing rack on his way in, bracing his hands on red knees to catch his breath once he had caught up to her.

Marinette cleared her throat, taking a sweep of the room with her eyes, and, yep, they were all looking at her and Dick; some with a knowing look on their face—damn you, Steph—and ones with utter curiosity.

"Uh," Marinette turned her attention back to the man crouching before her with wide eyes. "Dickie? You okay?" Dick wheezed in response, clutching his knees even harder.

"I," Dick gasped. "I ran...three miles—" Another wheeze. "To get to your class." He rushed out, straightening up with one last deep grasp for breath before fully opening his eyes at her, and, woah.

An unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes told a whole different story. Staring intensely, deeply into her own, they conveyed a message so strong it almost had her gasping for air.

(Not that she'd ever do that. What an overplayed cliché.)

An undertone of apology, although underwhelmed by the sheer amount of excitement and happiness that stretched his mouth from ear to ear in the perfect grin, she hadn’t seen this since—

(“Nettie!” The dorm door slammed with Dick’s arrival, the noticeable octave change in his voice giving away his rattling happiness.

Marinette smiled from her lazy perch on their brown, holed up couch, spurred on by her best friend’s good mood to wash over her, too. “What happened, Dickie?” Dick bounded over to her, bright blue eyes shining even more with an unprecedented gleam, his shiny hair bouncing as he plopped down in front of her, bracing his hands on her shoulders.

“You’ll never believe it!” Dick grinned toothily, squeezing her shoulders periodically as he stopped to laugh boisterously with his head hung low, hiding his expression.

Marinette could feel his excitement seep into her, and grinned. “Tell me, Dickie.”

“I asked Barbara out, and she said yes!”

A static noise filled her ears. Marinette stopped breathing as Dick’s words hit her full on, momentarily stopping on their way past to slap and laugh at her face before continuing on their journey. She could feel the aggression climbing up her shoulders where Dick’s hands rested, beckoning to rip them off and tear him a new one.

She couldn’t. He was so—)

Happy. Dick looked so happy, and for a moment, Marinette had almost forgotten how to speak.

“...Dick?” Had he found someone new, again? Did he come over all the way to design class Three miles away from their dorm to come and break her heart for the second time in the past two years? She’d waited to tell him, damnit, and it was slipping away again.

Just like last time. A shadow started to creep up on Marinette again, looming over her with words of doubt and uncertainty, clawing at her carefully sewn seams, tearing holes in her polyester resolve.

“Marinette, I—“ This was it. He’d tell her he was moving on again, and again would begin the vicious cycle of her forlorn feelings never being able to see the light of day.

“I love you.”

She’d never—

“What?” Marinette gaped dumbly.

Dick straightened up even more, if that was possible, and gripped both of her hands in his own, staring at her intensely, and repeated himself.

“I’m so in love with you.” And just like that, a cacophony of emotions flooding through the gate, beckoning the dark shadow that looked over her, and, instead, a glimmer of hope, happiness.

She was aware her face must look somewhat similar to that of a fish, because Dick carried on, somehow gripping her hands even harder.

“I can’t believe I never realized, I—I’m so dumb!” Dick laughed, and it was the drop of a hat to unload an avalanche.

“You...love me?” Somewhat of an avalanche. Marinette couldn’t convey emotions as well as Dick could.

“After last night, I felt this—this type of way. I was thinking so hard this morning about you and, and—“

“I love you, too.” Marinette let herself grin with him, picking up onto his sheer stellar grip on her hands and squeezing back equally as hard.

And, yes, it felt amazing to openly admire his hair while Dick stared at her with the force of a million suns. She’d earned this, damnit. Isn’t it nice to bury your hands in your new boyfriend’s hair while he kisses you with the force of a thousand suns?

permanent taglist (open): @tbehartoo @nathleigh @officiallydarkgeek @stainedglassm

[ourloveisforthelovely]

This or That 6

Harry Potter Marauder AU 

Link to chapter 5 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader. Sirius Black x Reader 

Rating: M- smut

______

The next morning, James and Sirius were still angry over the whole Ambrosia kissing Regulus incident. Both boys waited for you to come down into the common room for breakfast. When you didn’t show, they shrugged and went down to the great hall alone.

“We have to do something.”

Sirius said, angrily. James gave his best friend a look before reaching out and grabbing Sirius’ arm.

“Can you not hit on her? She is having a hard enough time already.”

Sirius sighed.

“Look, Prongs. I get it. She wants Regulus. Y/n doesn’t want me...like that. I was going to apologize to her for being a massive dick to her too. She deserves that.”

James was clearly pleased.

“There’s my best friend! Why don’t you offer to go with her to Slughorn’s Christmas party tonight...as friends. Something tells me that she won’t be going with Reg.”

Sirius shook his head.

“I am not going to Slughorn's merry get together. I have a better idea. We’ll have a party. Just our circle. That will bring Y/n some joy. It's the people who care for her the most.”

James considered Sirius’ plan as they walked into the great hall.

“Great idea. Hey, Regulus is looking rough this morning. Let’s go spread joy.”

Sirius smirked at where his little brother sat with his group of idiot friends. Regulus definitely didn’t look happy. His face was sour as he kept glancing to the Gryffindor table for any sign of you.

“I like to spread joy.”

“You two aren’t spreading joy without me.”

Both Sirius and James turned as Remus ran up. Both boys were clearly pleased to see Remus running up to defend your honor.

“Moony, I was wondering where you were.”

Sirius said, happily. Remus nodded.

“I didn’t want Y/n dating him in the first place. I knew that this would be nothing short of a disaster.”

James elbowed Sirius.

“So about that spreading joy thing?”

The three boys wore matching smirks as they walked past the Slytherin table. Sirius was the first to stop. Regulus, Evan, and Ambrosia (who Sirius noted looked pretty depressed herself) all looked up at him.

“Bitch, jerk, and fruit salad. Hope you all are having a lovely day.”

It took all that James had not to break down with laughter over Sirius using Lily’s “special” nickname for Ambrosia. Regulus was on his feet with his wand out in less than three seconds. He was ready to hex his brother for even speaking to him that morning.

Evan reached up and tugged Regulus back down.

“He isn’t worth it.”

Evan said, sounding almost bored.

“You all are some mean little twats, you know that?”

James snapped. Remus quickly came in.

“I told my sister not to date you. I knew that you would just break her heart. It only took you two months. I was holding out for 5. Sirius disagreed. He said you wouldn’t make it 3.”

Regulus’ eyes had darkened as he glared at Remus.

“Go suck on a loafer, Lupin.”

Regulus didn’t curse much. That was another way that he and Sirius differed. Every other word out of Sirius’ mouth was a curse word. Regulus, on the other hand, didn’t curse. He considered it “beneath him.”

“Do you kiss my sister with that mouth? Oh wait, she just dumped you.”

James was about to make another joke at Regulus’ expense but before he could you walked up.

“That’s enough, boys.”

You said, calmly. As much as you didn’t want to, you met Regulus’ gaze. His face was screaming “I’m sorry” as he stood.

“We were just having some fun with these twat waffles.”

James said with a grin. He put an arm around you and smirked how instantly jealous Regulus appeared.

“Let’s go. They aren’t worth it.”

You said. Regulus finally remembered how to talk. You guessed he was struggling with words or trying to keep his raging temper in check.

“What about Slughorn’s party? You already have a dress.”

Regulus ignored the way Evan was smirking at him. Evan knew exactly what Regulus meant. Your mother and father spent a lot of money on that dress. It was money that your family didn’t have. This was yet another reason that Evan didn’t see you as a proper girlfriend for his best friend. Poor families didn’t have any business mingling with the upper class.

“I’m not going and definitely not with you.”

Your response was cruel and you knew it. However, you wanted to hurt Regulus as badly as he hurt you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he actually cared about you at all? You were hurt and irrational...misery truly loves company.

Boyfriends don't’ kiss other girls in front of their girlfriends…

Your mind supplied as Sirius grinned.

“I’ll go with you. I don’t really know any of those nerds except Evans and yourself but I’m free tonight.”

You internally smacked yourself in the head. Regulus was seething now! He pointed his wand right at Sirius and muttered a curse. Thankfully, Sirius was quick enough to repel the curse with an amused laugh.

“I’m not going to the party, thank you. Now let's go. This is getting out of hand.”

You grabbed a hold of Remus and Sirius’ arms before tugging them away with you. James smiled as if he had won some grand prize before following you to the Gryffindor table.

Lily and Marlene had been watching the spat from their places.

“We were waiting for someone to start hexing the other. Regulus lasted longer than expected.”

Marlene commented. You sat down in a huff. This was the last way that you wanted to spend your morning. You had all intentions of going to Regulus and ending things properly. If he wanted to kiss Ambrosia, he could have at it. So what if you were devastated? Clearly, your feelings didn’t matter to Regulus in the slightest. He couldn’t defend you against his stupid friends so why even bother with a relationship?

“The little git thought that she would still go to that party with him.”

James commented. Lily frowned.

“So, you’re not going now? Who will James and I talk to?”

You smiled at the offended expression on James' face.

“Each other, maybe?”

Sirius had kept his eye on his little brother who looked close to frustrated tears. This totally shocked Sirius. The last time that he had seen Regulus cry was when Orion was using the cruciatus curse on Sirius for breaking a window. Regulus was 8 years old at the time and sobbing in the doorway. Orion had yelled at Regulus telling him to suck it up. After that Regulus didn’t cry anymore. He just looked indifferent toward everything.

Maybe he actually does care about her?

Sirius thought, feeling a bit guilty about the earlier scene. He pulled himself from his thoughts and turned back to his friends.

“Better idea, instead of Slughorn's boring ass party, why don’t we all have one of our own. You know our inner circle?”

Lily shook her head.

“We have to go. These parties are a big deal. Slughorn will be devastated. Y/n just come with James and I. Yeah, it may be a little unorthodox but it can be fun.”

James nodded.

“I can dance with you both.”

You shook your head, giving them both a frown.

“Way to make me a third wheel.”

Sirius put his fork down and turned to you.

“Go with me.”

Sirius wasn’t surprised when you scooted away.

“Sirius, that is a horrible idea.”

He held his hands up defensively.

“We can go as friends. Y/n, I’m sorry. I know that I have been a real git myself to you. I know that you want Regulus and I’m okay with that. What I am not okay with is how he is treating you and how our friendship is going. We’ve been friends too damn long to let it go out like this.”

Sirius was relieved when you smiled.

“You’re right. We have been.”

You didn’t care about admitting that you missed your friendship with Sirius.

“That would be really nice. I would like that.”

It was cruel what you were doing. You knew that you turning up with Sirius would break Regulus’ heart. This would be Regulus having to face his worst fear...losing you to Sirius.

It really isn’t like that but it will appear that way.

Maybe Regulus would then see how you felt seeing Ambrosia kiss him. It was devastating!

That evening you sat as Marlene put the finishing touches on your makeup. She clasped her hands together before putting her makeup away.

“Y/n, you are so beautiful! It's no wonder that you have Sirius and Regulus fighting over you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“It isn’t as glamorous as it seems. Trust me.”

Lily walked in with a small box in her hands. She smiled before putting the box in your lap.

“This is from Regulus.”

Your mouth dropped as you quickly undid the cute little bow. What was Regulus thinking? Did he think that sending you some cheesy letter in a box was going to win you back?

“I wonder why he is sending me something?

You commented before reading the name on the box.

“Tiffanys?”

Marlene shrugged.

“Must be some kind of muggle brand? Seems kind of odd that Regulus went with a muggle brand seeing how he is.”

Lily’s mouth dropped as she scooted closer.

“Tiffanys if super expensive.”

Marlene nodded as it all began to click. Of course, Regulus would send you some over the top expensive gift. His family was good for it.

Your mouth dropped as you looked at the most beautiful pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace that you had ever seen! This was the first piece of truly nice jewelry that you ever owned.

“Wow, these are beautiful. I can’t keep them though.”

Marlene jumped up.

“What are you talking about? Regulus wouldn’t have given them to you if he didn’t want you to have them?”

You sighed and closed the little box.

“He probably got them before yesterday and they just turned up. I can’t keep anything that expensive. Lily, tell Sirius that I am not going to the party. I have to get out of here.”

You ignored your friends pleading for you to come back as you dashed out of the common room.

Marlene sighed.

“Well, what do we do now.”

Lily silently thought for a moment before speaking.

“I’m going to get Regulus.”

(1 hour later)

You sat huddled in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. Typically you would just sit by the window and look outside. Tonight, however, you didn’t even want Myrtle to talk to you. You went into one of the stalls and closed the door. Sinking down, you wanted nothing more than to spend the evening in tears.

The sound of the door opening and close made you stop. You couldn’t help but wonder who in the right mind was coming in here? Most people were scared to death of even crossing Myrtle so coming into her bathroom was insane.

You listened to the footsteps as they inched closer.

“Y/n?”

Your heart began to pound hearing Regulus’ voice. Putting a hand to your mouth, you choked back a sob that was still trying to go through you.

“Y/n, I know that you are in here. Lily told me so. I can also smell your perfume.”

You watched, from your place on the floor, as his feet stepped closer and closer. When the door tried to open and wouldn’t budge, he sighed. Regulus could see the outline of your body in the poorly lit room.

Regulus slowly sank to the floor on his knees.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I never meant to hurt you. Darling, I know that you probably don’t believe me but I had nothing to do with Ambrosia kissing me. I wouldn’t have done it to hurt you.”

When you didn’t reply, Regulus slowly sat down and leaned back against the door. This was not how he envisioned spending your last night together before the Christmas holiday. Regulus didn’t know what else to say. He had warned you that he was clueless when it came to being a boyfriend.

“I love you, Y/n. Ambrosia is jealous. I never cared for her as I do you.”

“You’re better off with her.”

You finally replied. Regulus frowned.

“Why would you say something like that?”

“Your friends won’t treat her like crap or a second class citizen. I’m always going to be that person and you won’t do anything about it. I want to be alone.”

Regulus could see your hand within inches of his. He slowly reached out and covered your hand with his.

“I was wrong to let them talk to you like that. It will not happen again. You make me happy...she doesn’t. She doesn’t make me feel loved as you do. Please come out. I don’t want to be alone again. I’ve felt alone my whole life. Sirius left me. I don’t want to lose you too.”

You turned your hand enough to feel Regulus’ palm against yours. Pressing your lips together, you fought back another urge to cry. This was the most that Regulus had opened up to you since that first day of being a couple. He was clearly trying. Putting his reserved closed-off nature to the side and letting you know what he was feeling said a lot.

Regulus, meanwhile, almost cried himself when your hand pulled away from his. The moment that he heard the door unlocking he jumped up. Maybe you were giving him a second chance?

The moment that you opened the door, it took all that he had not to pull you against him. Your pretty green eyes were puffy from crying and your make up was ruined but Regulus didn’t care. You were beyond lovely in the silver dress that you were wearing.

“Come here.”

Regulus said holding his arms out. You didn’t need to be told twice before throwing your arms around Regulus’ shoulders as he held you back. Snuggling your face into his shoulder, you didn’t want to let him go.

“I’m sorry, love. Please don’t hate me.”

Regulus’ voice was gentle as he did whatever he could to comfort you. After a few moments, you slowly looked up at him. Regulus appeared as devastated as you were. Now he reminded you of the sad boy that you had also noticed walking through the hallways. The boy whose parents never said that they loved him...the boy that you needed and who needed you.

“I don’t hate you.”

You said before pulling him down into a kiss. Regulus’ eyes instantly snapped closed as he deepened the kiss.

“I could kiss your lips forever.”

He said as his eyes fluttered open. The two of you stood nuzzling your noses against each other while simply enjoying the moment.

“Would you like to go to the room of requirement?”

You asked. Regulus’ opened his eyes.

“Are you sure you want to give up your virginity to me now? I figured that I would be grounded.”

You shook your head.

“Now is a perfect time.”

Regulus wrapped his hand around yours and quickly tugged you toward the bathroom door.

The two of you snuck through the hallways avoiding teachers and prefects. Regulus held the door to the room of requirement open before rushing in after you and casting a locking charm. The last thing that he wanted was for anyone to disturb the two of you.

Meanwhile, you were looking around the room with a smile. A bed was already waiting for the two of you. Regulus’ arms wrapped around you from behind.

“We don’t have to rush.”

He whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I’m ready.”

You said, hoping that you sounded as confident as you felt. Regulus reached up for the zipper on your dress and slowly pulled downward.

“You’re beautiful. Y/n, you’re the only girl that I want in my bed.”

Where his sudden surge of bravery came from...Regulus wasn’t sure. He had been dying to get his hands on you for ages. From the first kiss, he wanted you desperately but he couldn't ruin your first time due to him being a horny mess.

You stepped out of your dress as Regulus turned you in his arms. His eyes slowly rolled down your body. Suddenly, you felt very timid in front of him. You quickly pulled your hands in front of your bra-covered breasts. Regulus gently pulled you toward the bed and sat you on his lap.

“Don’t hide.”

He reached behind you and tugged on the bra’s clasp until it was undone. You let Regulus remove the lace fabric and toss it to the ground. He smiled the moment that your bare breasts were visible to him.

“May I touch you?”

You nodded frantically as Regulus rubbed his thumb over your nipple before reaching out, taking the sensitive bud into his mouth.

“Reggie.”

You sighed his name, stroking his curls. Regulus groaned and lifted his hips enough to press himself against your core. You had quickly become aware of how hard he was with each thrust.

“Let’s get the rest of these clothes off.”

Regulus said as he began tugging at his tie and the buttons of his shirt. You, reluctantly, climbed off of his lap so he could finish undressing.

“Go ahead and lay back.”

He said softly. That overwhelming sense of nervousness returned. You swallowed as you gazed at Regulus’ body.

How is that going to fit inside of me?

You thought, nervously. At the moment, you were thankful that Lily and Marlene had told you what to expect the first time.

It won’t feel great at first. Burns like hell...but it will start feeling nice quickly if Regulus knows what he’s doing.

Regulus grabbed his wand and pointed it to your stomach to mutter a quick contraceptive charm. His eyes were all over your body before biting his bottom lip.

“I want to take my sweet precious time and have you begging for it. Put your legs up and spread them a bit.”

You quickly did as you were told as Regulus took his place between your spread legs. He leaned down for a quick kiss then kissed his way down your body. You sighed with each kiss but froze as he reached your belly button.

“Regulus, what are you doing?”

His eyes rolled up with a wicked little grin. He stroked his finger over your folds sending you into a wiggling moan.

“I want to kiss you here.”

His right hand stroked over your thigh.

“And here...I want to put love bites all over those pretty thighs.”

Where this Regulus came from you weren’t sure. This Regulus was more than sure of himself. Maybe you owed Ambrosia a thank you after all?

Regulus’ lips were on your thighs as he flipped his shaggy hair over his shoulder. In the candlelight of the room, his eyes seemed two shades darker. You fought back little moans as he peppered your thighs with butterfly kisses before finally biting down.

“Oh, Merlin!”

You squeaked as he sucked harshly at the tender skin of your thighs. Regulus smirked as he leaned back admiring his work. As far as he was concerned, you were about to be marked up for the rest of forever.

His eyes drifted to your core. From where Regulus sat, he could see that you were already glistening wet.

“Can I kiss you here?”

He asked, this time he pressed on your clit firmly with his thumb. Your hips involuntarily bucked as you nodded. Regulus slowly lay down on his stomach to continue his game of butterfly kisses on your mound. When you sighed in frustration his tongue finally made contact. You could have come apart but what he was going alone.

“Don’t come.”

Regulus ordered. You spent the next few moments hyper-focused on the ball of tension that was building with each swipe of his tongue.

“Reggie, please.”

You gasped.

“Regulus.”

He snapped. You smiled at the bossy tone of his voice and reached for his hair. Twirling your fingers in the silky strands, you couldn't help it. You came. Regulus quickly put his mouth back to you and helped you through your orgasm.

“That was beautiful.”

Regulus said with a happy smirk of approval before rising up.

“I’m pushing in now...just the tip at first. This may sting.”

Regulus’ voice was strained as he adjusted himself to your opening and slowly pushed inside. The moment that your body clenched around him; Regulus froze. He leaned down to feverishly kiss you.

“I’m sorry.”

He cooed. You shook your head.

“Just do it, please.”

You said through gritted teeth as each inch of his body pushed further inside. The full feeling didn’t ease up for a good moment either.

“Regulus, please.”

You cried. Regulus’ eyes were clenched shut.

“I’m about to come. Give me a moment.”

The two of you remained in the same position for a moment before Regulus nodded and shoved all the way in. You cried out from underneath him. Regulus quickly leaned down to kiss you gently.

“It's over, sweetheart. Tell me when you want me to move.”

You waited a moment longer as your body adjusted before raising your hips.

“Now, please move.”

Regulus quickly pulled out and eased back in. With each snap of his hips, you were again falling further and further over the edge.

“Coming.”

Regulus groaned through gritted teeth before sending both of you over the edge. Neither Regulus nor yourself wanted to move for a few moments. You lay lazily twirling your fingers in his sweat-drenched hair.

“Just so you know I can last longer than five minutes.”

Regulus said with a lazy smile. You giggled.

“I don’t doubt you.”

Regulus was the first to pull away. He reached for his wand and quickly cleaned up the mess that he left inside of you.

“This was a lot better than Slughorn’s Christmas party.”

You nodded, yawning as Regulus curled up beside you.

“Totally.”

____

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[candyshua]

To Live a Life of Happiness {Choi Seungcheol x Reader}

genre: heavy angst, some fluff, drama

synopsis: you move to daegu from seoul, in search of some form of independence before your inevitable fate plays out. there, you meet choi seungcheol, a confused and lonely boy who didn’t know how to deal with the love you gave him.

pairing: seungcheol x female reader

warnings: emotional and physical abuse, trauma, death during childbirth, cancer, & one makeout scene (non descriptive)

word count: 6,461

a/n: i’m not too proud of this, seeing as i wrote a lot of it while high. but i just need to post something!! 

If there was one thing Seungcheol knew about his life, it was that he was painfully and utterly alone.

As a child, he would play by himself. The other kids looked at him with fear, since false rumors surrounded his name. Whenever the word “Seungcheol” was uttered, an untrue tale would soon be told about the poor boy.

He would go home to a quaint apartment every afternoon. When Seungcheol would first walk through the door, his father could be heard releasing a sigh of frustration. After a while, the sharp pain of never being enough turned into a dull ache. He just learned to live with it.

Barely.

He wouldn’t dare to ask his dad what was for dinner. Truth be told, the boy usually made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every night. His father would never make food for him.

Seungcheol didn’t deserve his father’s love, he knew that. He knew that there was something wrong with the people that cared for him.

“You know, Seungcheol,” His dad would say, “you shouldn’t trust anyone that says they love you. They’re lying, you know that, right? No one could ever love you.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol meekly whispered, “it’s just not possible.”

The days would drag on like that. Empty, mind-numbing days where he would feel nothing but pure self-hatred and guilt. The days turned into weeks, which turned into months, then years. Those hurtful emotions just became a part of Seungcheol’s daily life. He got better at providing for himself, as his father seemed to wither away. 

He had to feel the pain. If he were feeling anything remotely close to pleasure, he would just know that he didn’t deserve it.

He had survived all the way up until the age of seventeen that way. At that rate, he would die just the same way he lived—quietly and slowly.

But then, of course, you happened.

You were the new kid. You came in the middle of November, having missed a lot of the school year. It was typical of you, to arrive at the worst time.

You attracted everybody’s eyes the moment you stepped foot into the classroom. Even Seungcheol found himself staring at you. You elicited a pure kind of beauty, one that was enticing and tranquil.

“Ah, yes, Y/N! Please introduce yourself.” The teacher, Mr. Kim, suggested. You nodded, radiating with nothing but pure confidence.

Seungcheol didn’t know what that felt like, but he could recognize it. The way your dewy skin glowed, the way your smile was so damn charming, and the way you stood so proudly. It was truly admirable.

“Hey everyone! I’m Y/L/N Y/F/N, I’m from Seoul, and I really like to draw!” 

Seungcheol couldn’t help but crack a small grin at your enthusiasm. But, that grin soon morphed into a frown of terror when you sat down next to him. With wide eyes, Seungcheol stared straight ahead, looking at anything else but you. You and your beautiful smile, one that immediately grasped the attention of everyone else around you. Soon, you were being swarmed by the other students, them asking you questions you had no trouble answering. You were mesmerizing—how did you just answer them? Like it was nothing? How did you not freeze up with pure terror?

The day continued on like that. People were fascinated with you, the girl from the big city of Seoul. Seungcheol thought he could feel your gaze on him every so often, but he was much too timid to see if his intuition were true. Instead, he decided to continue reading his Korean History textbook, secretly praying that he could fast-forward to the end of that day.

At lunch, you managed to become even more of a confusing person to Seungcheol. The large cafeteria left room for many tables, and Seungcheol naturally chose the one that was most isolated. Every afternoon, he would stick his earbuds in and shuffle Radiohead on his phone, sitting all by himself.

And, for whatever reason, you decided to sit next to him on that day. Seungcheol wouldn’t render the fact that you would forever change his life from that point on for a long time after that. In fact, all Seungcheol felt in that pivotal moment was fear. Why were you sitting next to him? Were you going to torment him? Did he do something wrong?

Contrary to Seungcheol’s fears, you did quite the opposite.

“Hey,” You began with a genuine smile on your face, “you’re Seungcheol, right?”

He froze up. He had no other choice! How could he not? 

“H-how do you know my name?” Seungcheol managed to say. What a great first impression.

“Mr. Kim told me to sit next to you, and he mentioned your name when he told me. Sorry if that scared you!” You explained. There was something off in your explanation, though. It was the apology—it seemed too authentic. Like you were actually sorry. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Oh.” 

You giggled. And, for a moment, everything seemed right in the world. It was as if your melodic laugh ripped the weight off of Seungcheol’s shoulders, even for a brief amount of time. Your laugh was strange, but it made him feel oddly free and unburdened. It almost felt like everything was going to be okay.

Seungcheol’s eyes blinked in your direction. Even if he wholeheartedly adored your laugh, he was wondering what caused you to do so.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

He shook his head, his voluminous black hair shaking along with it. To you, Seungcheol was quite handsome. His doe-like brown eyes were quite refreshing, for some reason.

“So, you like Radiohead?”

“What?” Seungcheol gasped. You knew about Radiohead?

“I love Radiohead. They’re an amazing band!” You continued, rendering the poor boy speechless. Cool—you were so damn cool. Like the coolest person alive. You were confident, pretty, outgoing, and you fucking listened to Radiohead!

“Am I really playing it that loud?” Seungcheol laughed nervously. You nodded, but your expression was nonchalant. Unbothered. In fact, you seemed to welcome it.

“I’m not complaining!”

“Um,” Seungcheol began with his heart in his throat, “do you wanna listen? With me?”

The two seconds you took to “contemplate” his request felt like two hours. But, even though it was only two seconds, Seungcheol took in your entire appearance. You were undeniably beautiful, your eyes sparkly and your lips pursed with a playful kind of curiosity.

“I’d love to.”

So, he gave you one of the wires of his earbuds, and you gladly started listening along with him. You hummed along to the current song, which was Ripcord. Seungcheol stared at you, you who seemed so tranquil yet content in that simple moment. Your eyes were bright, and they looked at the world with such passion. Your smile was undeniably contagious, even if Seungcheol wanted to fight his own grin. Your posture was relaxed yet not hunched. 

Everything about you was so...free.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You scared Seungcheol in the best way possible. A week after the two of you listened to Radiohead together, you still continued to sit next to him during lunch every day. You even gathered the courage to ask him for his number, to which he eagerly obliged to give you.

Yet, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel the fear of uncertainty clutch at his heart every

time you talked to him. Were you just messing with him? Why were you being so damn kind? He didn’t deserve it—any of it. He didn’t deserve your unprecedented kindness or your cheesy jokes.

When were you going to leave, just like everyone else? Or turn on him? Seungcheol wanted you to do it as soon as possible, so he wouldn’t get too attached. It would make everything easier if you just hated him, like the rest.

But that’s the thing—you only seemed to like him more every day. And it scared the shit out of him. He had been told his entire life that he couldn’t trust anyone who told him that they loved him.

So why did he so willingly open his heart to you?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been about a month since you’d come to Daegu, all the way from Seoul. December finally rolled around, making the weather drop dramatically. You loved the cold, for some reason. You flourished in the cold, in fact. The feeling of the frosty air against your skin just made everything better.

So, why were you so damn hot? It was December, and there you were, with Choi Seungcheol, in the art room at your current school. Your last class had already ended about an hour ago, but you asked Seungcheol to help you out with something in the art room. He happily helped, even if he tried to mask his joy with indifference. You couldn’t quite figure him out, but it’s not like he was some puzzle. He was a human being, but he was unlike any other person you had ever met. And you loved that.

Seungcheol was a breath of fresh air. Amid the chaos of your life, being able to talk to someone so tranquil and laid back was lovely. Even if you knew how things would end for you, and he did not, you still wanted to enjoy your adolescence. It was all you were ever going to have, anyway.

“So, what did you need my help with?” He nervously asked, coaxing a giggle out of you. He was so damn cute.

You walked over to a set of shelves, filled with various types of drawings and sculptures. Of course, the one you wanted to show him was on the top shelf. You jumped up and flailed your arms and tried to grab it, but it was no use.

Seungcheol snuck up on you like a cheetah to its prey, yet with no malicious intent. That boy was just so damn quiet. You froze when you felt his breath fan against your neck. He effortlessly reached up from behind you and grabbed the single drawing you were aiming for with ease. And, during that brief moment, your body temperature felt like it was raised by ten degrees. He handed you the paper, not even looking at what you drew. He just gave it to you, while wearing that stupid yet adorable smile of his. He didn’t even register the fact that he made you nervous on his radar. You didn’t know if you were grateful for that or not.

You finally managed to sputter a shy “thank you” and turned away, your cheeks reddened beyond belief. Then came the hard part, even if what you had just gone through nearly gave you a heart attack.

Seungcheol noticed your change in aura the moment you gave him the drawing you made. You, who was usually so damn confident and sure of herself, looked absolutely and utterly uncertain. And, before Seungcheol could even register that you had made that drawing for him, he came to a pivotal realization.

You were a human, just like him. You weren’t an angel, nor any other non-worldly being. You were mortal, and you got nervous just like him and everybody else on the planet. And, somehow, that made him feel ten times better. You weren’t perfect—good. That was good. He still liked you anyway.

Finally, Seungcheol looked down at the drawing. His eyes widened immediately. Shock rippled through his entire being, all the way to his core. But it wasn’t the type of shock that made him feel miserable, it was a type of shock that made him change the way he thought. Because, you had drawn him so wonderfully. It was simply him, sitting down on a lunch table, with his earbuds in. You had captured everything about Seungcheol so accurately, to the point where it made him feel like someone had taken a picture. The feeling was...lovely. Someone drew him. You drew him. And it was extraordinary.

You, who was so beautiful and passionate, you had put effort into making something for him. And he felt like the first time he heard you laugh—unburdened. Joyous. Like he could do anything. Like the world wasn’t so bad after all. 

Seungcheol didn’t realize he was crying until you had cupped his face and wiped his tears away. 

“Thank you,” He whispered, “from the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”

You smiled, feeling all of your nerves start to float away. He loved it, and you could tell from the moment he first laid eyes on the piece. 

That was why you liked to draw. Because it could bring some love into the world, even if the amount was small and seemingly insignificant. But, you still managed to make someone smile that day. You made someone feel important and loved. It didn’t matter if it was only one person, because that was all you wanted anyway. If you could just make one person’s life a little bit brighter, then you had fulfilled your purpose.

In spite of his tears, Seungcheol looked the happiest you had ever seen him. And it made your heart swell with an intense kind of affection, one that made you feel warm despite the freezing temperature outside.

“Come on,” You laughed, “let’s go get hot chocolate or something.” 

Seungcheol nodded, and he chuckled nervously. His voice was a bit cracked due to his crying, but you could tell that he was being genuine.

“That sounds wonderful.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Life was so damn unfair.

The doctor’s words rang through your ears unforgivingly, and you wanted nothing else but to scream at him. And everyone else in the world. You wanted to scream at whatever made you have to succumb to such a terrible fate. 

“I’m afraid to say you don’t have much time left.” 

You scoffed at those earth-shattering words.

“Fuck you.��� You whispered to no one in particular. You were walking down the sidewalks of Daegu, passing through the crowd with anger in your heart. No one knew you. People could merely walk by you, look you in the eye, and then move on with their lives. Fuck them. They get to move on! They get to go and live their fucking lives!

And you? You get to die in six months. Maybe a few more if you’re lucky.

Tears are silently cascading down your face at that point, and there was no sign of them stopping. Your pace quickened, and your eyes were glued to the ground. Maybe, if you ignored everything for long enough, you could escape to a different reality. One where you weren’t destined to die as a teenager.

Alas, nothing like that happened. In fact, your day took a surprising turn. What was supposed to be a lonely Wednesday during winter break turned into one you would spend with Seungcheol, seeing as you had bumped into him on the pavement. Your brisk pace and inattentive eyes were your downfall. Seungcheol’s head was in the clouds, and the moment he registered the fact that you were going to crash into him, it was already much too late.

Afterwards, you backed up and wiped your tears. Your eyes met Seungcheol’s chocolate brown ones, and for a moment, you forgot the previous events of the day. You couldn’t help but smile, even if it was just for a bit.

“Y/N?” He croaked, fear thick in his tone. He was worried, since it was quite evident that you had been crying.

“Hey…” You sighed, scratching the back of your neck nervously. Reality had come back with an overpowering force, and you couldn’t contain the embarrassment you felt.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” His response was immediate.

Woah. Did Seungcheol just call you out? When did he become assertive?

Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol was equally surprised with himself. What had compelled him to be so aggressive? Maybe it’s because of you. If it had been anybody else, he wouldn’t have pushed so hard. But he cared about you. So much. And, he didn’t want you to pretend to be okay. Hell—he was being a hypocrite. He pretended to be okay around you, too. But maybe that could change.

It was the afternoon before Christmas Eve. Usually, you would spend Christmas with your parents, but you had left them behind in Seoul. Once you found out your impending doom, your first wish was to leave Seoul and live independently for a while, since you never experienced something so monumental.

You wouldn’t ever experience a lot of things, would you?

The tears came back in an even stronger wave. Before you could stop him, Seungcheol had grabbed your wrist and pulled you to where he came from, which was his apartment complex. The two of you were previously standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and it had started to overwhelm the both of you.

And, with your wrist in his hand, the two of you ran to Seungcheol’s apartment. You could smell the frost in the air, and you felt alive. Because you were—you were alive. And you wouldn’t be for long.

So stop wallowing in your own self-pity! Make the most of it!

Your eyes flitted to Seungcheol’s face. His entire expression screamed “worried”. He seemed to pick up pace the closer the two of you got, which made it much harder for you to keep up with. But you did.

And you couldn’t help but realize how damn handsome he was. From the first day you had met him, he had enticed you. He was adorable, yet loving and kind. And you liked him. A lot.

So, you stopped dead in your tracks. Seungcheol, confused, looked at you with concerned eyes. Before he could say anything, you grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled him close to you. And then you were kissing—and it felt just like you thought it would. Right. It felt right.

It had taken Seungcheol a few seconds to realize what was happening. Then, he had kissed you back with just as much passion. God, why didn’t you do this sooner? 

His large hands cupped your face, and soon the two of you were full-on making out in front of his apartment complex. It got heated. Fast. And, suddenly, the deadly-cold air wasn’t cold enough to cool you off.

Finally, Seungcheol pulled away with a dazed expression. You gave him a shy yet snide smile.

“Well, um, that was...yeah.” He sputtered.

“You’ve got such a way with words.”

“Yeah, well, you fucking scared me, alright? Like, what the hell? You just—you just kissed me! Me! You kissed me!”

“I know.” You had to fight back your laughter.

“Well...um, why?”

“Because I like you, why else?”

Seungcheol’s frustration was oddly endearing to you. You couldn’t help the large smile that played at your swollen lips.

“But, you were crying! Why?”

You sighed. Suddenly, the smile on your face disappeared into a troubled frown. Seungcheol noticed your entire change in demeanor. He stepped closer, his confused nature being overshadowed by his concern.

“What’s wrong?” He continued. Tears started to fall from your eyes again. It was all so real—too real. You were dying. You were going to die, and there was nothing anybody in the world could do about it.

You jumped into Seungcheol’s arms, violently sobbing into the crook of his neck.

“Six months,” You began through cries, “I only have six months left to live. I thought I had more...I was doing so good.”

Shock. That’s all Seungcheol could feel when those words of poison fell from your mouth. This type of shock was unwelcomed. It wasn’t like what he felt when you showed him your drawing. No, this type of shock was suffocating. He wanted to break this shock, or wake up from it. Because what you said just couldn’t be real! It couldn’t be…

But it was.

“What?” Seungcheol croaked. You had pulled away from his frigid embrace, and you stared into his eyes. They were blown out with fear. It seemed as if he had not even considered denial. No, he knew that it was real. That’s why he looked so damn broken. Like a little kid.

And, selfishly, Seungcheol thought, of course. Of course you’re going to die.

Because the people who cared for him never stayed. He should have known—he should have fucking known!

But then, he felt utterly disgusted with himself. How dare he try to spin your fate into a problem of his own? The urge to vomit intensified.

“I have an inoperable brain tumor.” You confessed, your voice raw and broken. 

Seungcheol began to cry, even more than you did. Because, oh god, he loved you. He loved you. And you had not known each other for long, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t fight the unbreakable feelings he had for you. So, after a little while, he swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.

“Okay.” He stated plainly.

“What? ‘Okay’?”

“Yeah. Okay. I just have to accept it.”

Your look of confusion only got more intense.

“So, Y/N, what are you doing for Christmas?”

You scoffed. You knew exactly where he was going with that, but you couldn’t help but grin.

“Spending it with you?” You asked. A sad smile played at your lips.

“Spending it with me.” He answered.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Christmas rolled around rather quickly. You had been already planning on getting Seungcheol a present, which was another drawing. However, it was of the both of you that time. It was based off of a selfie you took during the middle of lunch. He was simply reading a book in the picture, the wires of his earbuds connecting the two of you. And, there you were, making a peace sign and smiling boldly. You had perfected the drawing down to every last detail; wanting to impress Seungcheol was something you desired greatly. 

Finally, Seungcheol arrived at your apartment, a wrapped gift in hand. When your eyes met his, which were full of apprehension and anxiety, a smile melted across your face. And you felt it—that intense feeling of affection. One that you had never experienced before. It surged through you, from the bottom of your body up to your throat, taking your breath away. 

“Come in.” You grinned.

He awkwardly stepped in, sliding his shoes off and on a pair of slippers. 

And that’s when you noticed it—his black eye. It was swollen and made you grit your teeth upon first sight. A gasp fell from your lips, and you instinctively reached out for it, grazing your fingers on his skin slightly.

He stood frozen still. 

“What happened?” You croaked. Seungcheol tensed up even more. Then the tears just fell, and they kept coming. Soon, the two of you were on your couch, Seungcheol sobbing into the crook of your neck.

You stroked his hair, silently comforting him. After a while, he finally managed to speak up.

“My f-father...did this to me.”

Your eyes went dark with anger. And soon the rage from the initial shock amplified immensely. But so did the pain in your aching heart.

“Has he done this before?”

Seungcheol shook his head. It dawned on you—Seungcheol knew so much about you, but you couldn’t say the same for him. His life had remained a mystery to you, and you couldn’t help but feel as if his silence was intentional. 

“Why?” You exasperated, your voice going raw. Then, tears cascaded down your face just like Seungcheol.

“He...he thought I was leaving him and my mom behind for Christmas.”

“What did your mom say?”

“Nothing,” Seungcheol began, “she’s dead.”

Oh. Your crying intensified. 

“My dad...is not well. But he refuses to go to the hospital. I think...I think he just doesn’t like Christmas. My mom died around this time a year. I don’t remember her, though.”

You swallowed the next onslaught of sobs. You finally detached yourself from Seungcheol’s grasp, and soon your expression became livid, yet worried.

“You don’t have to tell me more…”

His eyes lightened, even if just for a bit.

“I want to…” He shyly confessed, breaking eye contact. Your silence invited him to continue.

“My mom died giving birth to me. She had preeclampsia, and when she was giving birth, she had to choose whether to save herself or me. She chose me.”

Seungcheol’s eyes watered with tears again.

“It’s all my fault, Y/N,” He cried, “he hates me so much. Everyone does.”

Anger had overtaken you. How could he not see? He was such an amazing person! You couldn’t hold in the words anymore, you just had to tell him.

“I love you!” You screamed.

Time froze for a second. Almost as if the expression of shock on his face made everything cease to exist.. Seungcheol tensed up and incessantly shook his head.

“No, you don’t. You can’t…”

“Your father...he’s just looking for someone to blame. Just like I am. Just like my parents will and just like you will after I’m gone. But we all need to realize that there is just simply no one to blame!”

“You’re wrong! It’s my fault, it’s all my fucking f—”

“Your father is wrong. He’s wrong because I love you. He’s wrong because you made me look forward to the rest of the time I have left!”

Seungcheol’s tears stopped. He stood eerily still after your impactful worlds, concerningly so.

He finally looked up to you, his brown eyes painfully staring into yours.

“What?” He mustered.

“Seungcheol, I’m dying. I have no time to hate myself or the world around me. I have no time to blame anyone. My life just happened to turn out like this. I’m going to die young...and I’m so fucking scared. But you know what?”

“Y/N, I—”

“You fuckin’ know what, Seungcheol? I’m not dead yet. I’m breathing, I’m thinking, I’m moving, I’m existing! And I don’t want to live the rest of the short amount of time I have left in fear. So I choose to be with you. To live with you.”

A long silence followed.

Then, he took a deep breath, held it in for ten seconds, and let it out. He got out his present for you.

“Open it.” 

Your eyes scanned the disorderly wrapping, which made you scoff lightly. Finally, you started to tear at the paper, anxiety building with each rip.

Then you smiled.

He got you a CD player, along with the disk of “Pablo Honey” by Radiohead. That album had “Ripcord” on it, the song that played the first time you both talked.

“I love it,” You grinned, “thank you.”

Soon, he had opened your present, and he smiled like a complete idiot. And you relished in that fact. 

Later on, after the tension had disappeared from the air, the two of you sat on your couch watching TV. Your phone, which was in the kitchen, had started to ring.

You ran to it as Seungcheol had paused the television. And he couldn’t help but hear your voice and just how it slightly changed when you picked up the phone.

“Hey Mom and Dad, Merry Christmas!” You greeted. Your face fell after a few more seconds, but your false cheery tone didn’t fade away.

“Yeah, I’m doing great right now. I actually have a friend over! His name is Seungcheol.” And then some incoherent rambling was heard on the other line, something he couldn’t quite make out.

“Alright, bye! Talk to you tomorrow. Love you guys!”

You set your phone down on the counter, and Seungcheol couldn’t help but train his eyes onto you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“It sucks,” You began with a sad smile, “having to pretend to be okay. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he defeatedly replied, “it sucks.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A mutual understanding was developed between you two. One that acknowledged both of your feelings and situations.

You both loved each other. But neither of you knew exactly what to do with that fact.

Finally, winter started to end. The New Year came and went, and you went home to Seoul, celebrating it with your parents. During his time alone with his father, Seungcheol finally took him to the doctors. He had been prescribed many different medications, ones that Seungcheol had to monitor.

One March evening, where the breeze was lovely and not too cold, Seungcheol walked through the streets of Daegu. And he was just thinking. 

With his hands in his pockets, his mind uncontrollably wandered to you. Your smile, your laugh, and your inevitable fate. A suffocating ache soon took a hold of his heart, encasing it mercilessly. How much time did he have until you left him?

When would he be alone again?

When would the days continue to be meaningless endeavors, that dragged on purposelessly?

When would his world come crashing down?

Just when he was about to fall apart, to overflow, your voice was heard among the night.

“Cheol?” You called out. He didn’t realize he was walking past your apartment complex until then. Coincidentally, you had been taking out the trash. He took long strides to you, his gaze intense.

“I’m so scared.” The sincerity in his voice and the look in his eyes said everything you needed to know.

“Me too.” You morosely grin, a faraway look in your eyes.

“I wanna be with you.”

“I wanna be with you, too.” The intensity in your eyes matched Seungcheol’s. 

“We should stop wasting our time, right?” You sheepishly question. He nods solemnly. A few moments of silence pass.

“This means you’re my girlfriend now, right?” He asks. You cannot contain the initial reaction to giggle.

“Yes, that’s what it means.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You start getting visibly worse around the beginning of April. You missed school a lot, due to painful migraines and overall weakness. Seungcheol, at first, pretended not to notice. But it got to a point where beating around the bush got neither of you anywhere.

He started to miss school too. Just so he could spend the day by your side, listening to Radiohead and fooling around.

Although you were physically deteriorating, the spark of confidence in your eyes never disappeared. It didn’t even flicker with doubt. You were a fighter, that’s for sure.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol began on a day the both of you skipped school, “I have a question.”

You, who was snuggled up against him underneath a blanket, watching reruns of “The Office”, adjusted your body a bit.

“Shoot.”

“How are you so confident?”

A helpless smile spread across your lips. 

“I’m not, I just want others to think I am.” You confessed

“Oh.” Seungcheol muttered. And then it hit him—wow—you were damn good at pretending. 

“Cheol, you think everyone else except you has their shit together, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Well, they don’t. Nobody knows what the hell they’re doing, alright? We’re all pretending that we do, though. So that no one will ever know the truth.”

His eyes, which only seemingly got deeper and easier to lose yourself in by the second, bored into yours.

“You’re so cool, Y/N.”

You lean in and give him a brief kiss, smiling into it.

“I know.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Who’s that one girl you’re always hanging out with?” Seungcheol’s father interrogated. He was making dinner for himself, his dad sitting on the couch flipping through television channels.

Oh, Seungcheol thought, he noticed?

“My girlfriend.” He responded, not finding any use in lying. 

His father turned the TV off.

“What?”

“She’s my girlfriend, Dad.”

“You sure she’s not using you? You know, you’re not exactly the most lovable—”

“Dad?” Seungcheol interrupted.

“Yes?” He responded, his tone gruff and short.

“Do you still feel the need to blame me?” Seungcheol blurted, his eyes squeezed shut out of fear. He felt like bile was going to pour out of his mouth in an instant. Anxiety surrounded him like he was the eye of a hurricane.

“What did you say?” 

Despite feeling nothing but pure, unfiltered fear, Seungcheol persisted.

“Do you still need to blame me? For what happened to Mom? It’s been seventeen years, Dad. It’s no one’s fault—”

“You shut your mouth—”

“Please, Dad. She’s dead! She’s not gonna come back…”

Seungcheol soon found himself crying, images of you prominent in his head.

“She’s not gonna come back.” He repeated, that time to himself. 

His eyes flitted toward the digital clock under the TV. It read 10:38 PM, on a Thursday night during early May. Your time together was running out.

 “And there’s no one to blame, even if I want there to be someone, there just isn’t. I’m...I’m gonna miss her so much.”

“What?”

Seungcheol shook himself out of it, refocusing his attention back onto his father. 

“Do you think Mom wanted you to treat me like this? Is this what she died for?”

He doesn’t give his dad the time to answer, for Seungcheol grabbed his keys and phone, and stormed out of the apartment.

He wanted to see you, so badly.

He dialed your number into his phone, the lovely breeze of the May evening kissing his skin. But there’s no answer.

So he called again. And again.

Soon, he was running to where your apartment complex was, his lungs burning. And the anxiety he felt was quite prominent, achingly so. No. He wanted to see you.

He needed to see you.

Seungcheol finally arrived at the apartment complex, and he used the keys you gave him to get in. He tried to wait for an elevator to come and get him, but he deemed it as “too slow” and sprinted up the stairs instead.

Please be okay.

The nervous boy fumbled with the key while trying to unlock your door. Finally, he weaseled his way into your apartment, tears uncontrollably cascading down his cheeks. 

“Y/N!” He screamed. Soon, he was able to hear running water.

You were just taking a shower.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah, it’s me…” He panted, hunched over. You quickly got dressed and ran out.

“Are you okay?” You worriedly asked when your eyes met his.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine. Just got a bit worried, that’s all.” He scratched the back of his neck, almost like he was ashamed.

You knew why he was with you. 

Tears started to well up in your eyes, guilt washing over you so much you could drown in it.

“I’m sorry…” You croaked.

“What?” Seungcheol questioned, surprised at your sudden change in demeanor.

“I...I won’t be by your side for much longer. I’m...so sorry!”

You began to wail uncontrollably. Seungcheol just simply held you in his arms, reassuring you every few minutes. But it was to no use—what you said was true. Your body was starting to wilt away.

“Don’t apologize,” he began with a sad glint in his brown eyes, “this is no one’s fault.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

June was in full bloom. The excruciating heat was prominent in the air just about every day. 

One night, you were overcome with fatigue. Plus, the pain in your head wasn’t subsiding, no matter how much Advil you took.

Your vision began to blur. It went in and out of focus, and you weren’t really looking at anything. Your eyelids grew heavier, and soon you just couldn’t keep them open anymore.

You knew what was happening.

For some reason, your mind replayed the first time you spoke to Seungcheol in your head. You could hear “Ripcord” so clearly, almost like it was being played at that exact moment. 

You watched his smile of shyness and uncertainty bloom into one of confidence and authenticity.

Seungcheol was...so nice.

Your arm extended out to the air in front of you, reaching for his face. It felt like he was right there, next to you. 

He wasn’t.

I guess this is it, you thought.

I hope...someone else can take care of Cheol.

The selfie you had taken of the both of you flashed in your mind. You hoped he still had the drawing of it—the one that you made.

“I love you, Cheol…”

His smile replayed in your mind.

“Thank you…”

His warm gaze comforted you.

“I hope...you let yourself be happy, Cheol.”

Your vision turned bright, and soon life left your body like a bird flying away, never to return.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been about four months since you died. Seungcheol graduated high school, and his plan was to study abroad in America.

He didn’t think he was going to return.

Nothing kept him rooted to Korea. In fact, he wanted to leave. His father was a shell of a human, and Seungcheol was afraid he was going to turn out just like him.

He continued to pack everything he needed, his mind elsewhere. But then the picture you drew of him was suddenly in his hands. It brought Seungcheol back to reality.

Like a closet door shut tight, Seungcheol kept everything he felt locked away. But he just broke at the sight of your lovely drawing of him.

He started to sob. His throat grew painfully dry, and his cries turned into silent gasps. 

“Where are you?” He screamed. He longed to see you more than anything else. But you were six feet under, and he was not. He was alive and breathing. Without you.

You’re not going to come back.

He was alone.

Seungcheol was alone.

Why had the world moved on? Your parents went back to work, and your classmates graduated and were going off to college.

Why was everyone else okay except him?

Seungcheol then remembered something you taught him.

Everyone’s just faking it. No one really knows what they’re doing.

He smiled forlornly. 

You loved him, and because of that, he wasn’t alone. If he carried your love with him everywhere he went, he would never truly be alone.

If there was one thing that Seungcheol knew about his life, it was that he knew nothing at all. And, for some reason, that felt okay.

All you wanted for Seungcheol was for him to live a life of happiness. He knew that.

So, that’s exactly what he would do. And, as the years passed by, happiness wasn’t such a foreign concept anymore.

Seungcheol didn’t have to deal with the ache of isolation, for that’s not how life is meant to be lived. 

Your melodic laugh reverberated throughout his mind. He smiled.

Everything would be okay.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 10

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 1856

Author’s Note: Had some extra time today, so I figured I’d go ahead and post. We’ve reached the end, folks. Thank you to everyone for reading, reblogging, liking, and especially all the lovely comments. A million thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​ , and @cracksinthewalls​ for helping my story shine. @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , thank you for the lovely image for the story. I hope everyone enjoyed it all as much as I do. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 10

“Sam looks really irritated,” Kimber whispers to Dean. The younger Winchester brother has just excused himself to the restroom, but the diner is pretty quiet, and she doesn’t want to risk Sam overhearing.

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, raising his coffee to take a deep, life-affirming slurp. He doesn’t bother to lower his tone or modulate his pitch in the slightest, and Kimber shoots him an exasperated look. “I stuck him with clean-up duty last night so I could get lucky. Not to mention, our room was the only free one at the motel, remember, so he either slept there or in his car. He’s not irritated, he’s pissed as hell and probably a little jealous.”

“But you didn’t get lucky last night,” Kimber says. 

“Went home with my high school sweetheart, got to see her unmentionables, and spent the whole night in bed with her after eating semi-homemade apple pie. I’d say I got pretty damned lucky.”

She sends an elbow his way, but he’s expecting it and leans back so she overshoots and lands across his lap. She splutters indignantly as she rights herself while he takes another calm drink of his coffee. 

“Seriously, though, he’s not pissed at you. The first few months after we left, the kid wouldn’t shut up about you. He practically worshipped you: hot, nerdy as hell, the whole package. And,” he adds, his teasing expression mellowing to one of genuine appreciation, “you really helped him out with that AP stuff. He got into Stanford because of you.”

“Shut up,” she says, her face heating. “He got into Stanford? That was him, and you know it. I just gave him some resources he didn’t know about, that’s all.”

“And I was able to keep up with all my AP classes no matter where we moved, which was a huge deal to me,” Sam says as he slides into the booth across from them. “You guys talking about me behind my back?”

 “Always,” Dean smirks. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Does the name ‘Jim Weeks’ mean anything to you, Kimber?” 

She frowns, setting her fork down on the edge of her plate. “It does. I helped him out, god, what...eight, nine years ago? He hadn’t been hunting very long, maybe a year or two, and he was investigating some...Let me think, hang on.” She closes her eyes, mentally shifting through years of research, both hers and others’.

“Human sacrifices. There was a symbol carved into all the victims. I helped him find the source, the deity it stood for. It was one of my closed cases; that’s why I didn’t bring it up. He called me a few weeks later, said he’d taken care of everything.”

“Well, he was wrong,” Sam says, his face grave. “I found his journal in the witch’s car. Jim documented you helping him, what you found, where you worked, and then how the case wrapped up. You actually helped him take down en entire coven of witches, guess he didn’t mention that part. Then he went on hunting for another seven and a half years, but a few months ago, he started to write about feeling like someone was watching him, tailing him from case to case.”

Sam pauses, giving her a moment to take in this new information, then he continues.

“Said he was starting to have periods of time where he didn’t remember stuff, would wake up in the middle of the road, in the middle of the woods. He wrote about finding a doll in his car one morning; it, uh..looked like him. Throat was slit, red paint, all of it.” 

Sam clears his throat, flexing his fingers on the table top as he watches her carefully. Dean’s hand closes over hers under the table, and she realizes her fingers are shaking.

“Go on,” she says. She doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next, she really already knows, but she needs to hear it.

“The entries in his journal stop after that. The cover was soaked in dried blood. So...yeah. I did some checking, and Jim died a few months back. The scene was...nasty.”

“So, who was our nutbag?” Dean asks. His tone is rough as he squeezes Kimber’s fingers. 

“I looked into the county records where Jim took down the coven. I don’t think he did too much research into the actual witches themselves; the coven included a family, a mom and dad and a teenager. Jim thought he got the whole coven, but maybe the teenager wasn’t at that meeting? At any rate, the papers from around then talked about the murdered couple’s missing child, and then the kid just dropped out of mention.”

“Okay, Jim was sloppy, and the kid survived, and what...swore revenge? How’d he find Jim again?”

“I found these folded up in the front of the journal,” Sam says, smoothing a couple of newspaper articles out on the table. The edges are frayed and ragged, torn rather than cut. There are dark smears on both, smudges and stains from who knows what, and Kimber’s gorge rises higher the longer she stares down at them.

The first article dates back to the first investigation, showing a grainy photograph of police and federal officers milling around behind crime scene tape. Kimber points to a figure off to the side, suited and facing the camera almost straight on.

“That’s Jim,” she says, her voice quiet. He looks painfully young in the photograph, and her chest twinges. The caption labels him as “FBI Special Agent Gaiman.” 

She looks at the second article, which is much more recent. She notices immediately that the location is the same, the premise almost identical. “Town’s Dark Past Resurfaces After Nearly a Decade” reads the headline. She looks for Jim’s face, spotting it in the crowd once more, despite him aging considerably in the years since she met him.

“He used the same name again,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I mean, he didn’t have much choice, since it was probably the same cops on the case, but still. Probably how the witch found him. Might’ve started up the sacrifices again just to draw Jim out. Anything else in the car, Sam?”

Sam shakes his head, his mouth working as if he’s got a bad taste in his mouth. “More or less standard witch paraphernalia, a couple more knives. I didn’t see anything indicating we have anyone else to watch out for.”

Dean purses his lips, then looks to Kimber. “You doin’ okay?”

Kimber takes the question seriously, doing a quick bit of mental introspection. “Yeah, I think...I mean...Okay, so I’m still queasy, but I don’t feel like someone’s breathing down my neck anymore. I’m going to be jumpy for a while, and I am definitely not going to stop going to my Thursday night classes anytime soon. But, yeah. If I’m not completely okay at the moment, I know I’m going to be.”

“That’s my girl.” Dean leans over, pressing a kiss to Kimber’s cheek. Sam looks away, but not before Kimber catches the embarrassed smile on his face. Dean slides from the booth, strolling casually over to the register and grinning at the elderly waitress, who blushes and giggles as she takes the check from him.

“Dad wouldn’t let him call you,” Sam says quietly. Kimber’s eyes flash to Sam, startled.

“When we left. Dean wanted to. He tried to, but Dad said he couldn’t. Said you were a distraction we couldn’t afford. He absolutely forbade it. They got in a fight, the worst one I ever saw between them when we were kids, and Dad...he...well, he, uh...He put his foot down. And later, after Dad died...I think Dean was ashamed. Maybe. I dunno, but I think he didn’t feel like he could call you after all that time, felt like he’d let you down.”

Sam glances over his shoulder, and they both watch Dean lean down to whisper conspiratorially with the blushing waitress as he hands her his credit card. Dean turns back to Kimber, winking, and her last little bit of heartache flakes off and fades away.

“Maybe don’t hold it against him too much?” Sam says, his best puppy-dog face in place. Kimber has never seen such an earnest expression from a guy asking on behalf of another man before.

“So, what do we have on the docket, Sam?” Dean asks as he rejoins them. Kimber throws her arms around his neck, ignoring the twinge twinge of pain on the side of her throat, and kisses him soundly. He looks startled but pleased as she pulls away, eyes wide and cheeks ruddy. 

“What was that for? I’m just askin’ so I can do it again.”

She clears her throat against an unexpected lump. Behind Sam, the waitress at the register gives her a double thumbs up. “I was just jealous of the attention you were giving the wait staff. Figured you thought I wasn’t paying you enough attention.”

Sam coughs discreetly, his mouth twitching from the effort of smothering his smile. “I actually don’t have any cases for us. I was thinking about going back to the bunker and reorganizing some of those files I‘ve been going through. You know, I could really use your help, Dean. Our inventories could use some alphabetizing, and-”

“Hard pass,” Dean says, flashing his brother a quick, mirthless smile. 

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Kimber offers, then hesitates when Dean turns his focus to her. “Well, I mean...fall break is next week. There’s a harvest festival in town; we have a crafts fair and a big farmers market and a lot of baking competitions. It’s pretty fun. If...if you wanted to stay a little while, Dean.”

...

In the end, Dean stays nearly two weeks. They go to every single day of the festival, during which time, they pick out a new quilt for her bed and Dean makes himself actually sick at the pie tasting event. When he does finally leave, it’s with a promise to visit soon, and their phone numbers saved in each of their cells.

“I will say, I’m not overly fond of watching this car drive off,” Kimber says, hugging herself through the inadequate material of her sweater. The weather has turned genuinely cold, and she wishes she’d grabbed something heavier, but she hadn’t planned on staying outside for so long. 

For some reason, though, she just can’t let go of him long enough for him to get into the car.

Dean rubs his hands briskly up and down her arms, his eyes sad and fond as they roam over her face. Before she can stop him, he pulls off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders and kissing her forehead.

“You look damned cute in my jacket,” he says gruffly. “One more for the road?”

And if her lips are still swollen and throbbing when he puts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb, if his hair looks like he came straight from bed, neither of them minds in the least.

…

The end.

[colorsicantsee]

Seblaine- Present Day (June/Year1)

Para: All's Well That Ends Well To End Up With You

Rating: PG-13..

Pairing: Seblaine.

Sebastian: @colorsicantsee

Blaine: @twoblueheartslocked

Time: Year One: Present Day- June. About a month after- I Don’t Wanna End It When We’re Only Just Beginning; Part ONE and Part TWO.

Location: Brooklyn, New York

Info:  Sebastian knows how lonely Blaine can get when he’s gone so he surprises him with a trip to the Animal Shelter. Blaine makes a new friend and starts to think he might not be giving enough of himself to his wonderful person.

Warnings: This particular para includes- Brief mentions of sexual situations and mentions of past abuse. This rp as a whole mentions past abuse(Physical, mental and sexual), possible unwanted sexual situations, anxiety, depression, negative body image, drug use, alcohol use, cussing, death(parents).

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Title taken from-Taylor Swift- Lover

NOTES: Some canon events remain in place while others have been changed. Some things may even be out of order. You can consider this sort of canon divergent AU. A few changes are that Blaine’s parents are different from the show (His mother is Filipina), he didn’t cheat on Kurt or date Dave and Sebastian is younger than Blaine. Feel free to send a message if you have any questions!

Under Cut for length.  As usual the para’s are mostly unedited.

 Sebastian’s POV:

Things had been okay. Sebastian was getting his school work done and hadn’t touched alcohol in months. Blaine was going to work and therapy sessions regularly. The two of them had been comfortable and open with each other and things were just...calm. Calm was a feeling that Seb hadn’t known for a long time. Even when he was a teenager and spent his days hanging off of Blaine’s words and soft touches, his emotions  felt so dizzy and intense. Calm was nice, it was welcome and not something he had known he craved for years. 

Though Seb felt some sort of small slice of peace, he wondered if B felt the same way. Of course he knew that his boyfriend was happy and satisfied with their relationship and the way things were going. He knew that Blaine was, to be cliché, fighting an uphill battle mentally. The other man had been through a lot in his young life and Sebastian accepted that. He understood that some things took time to fix and it wasn’t his sole responsibility to stitch up B’s sadness. That didn’t mean he couldn’t help, couldn’t hand the other man the tools. 

Sebastian wasn’t sure where the idea had come from. Maybe he had heard Sarah McLachlan croon from an elevator speaker, maybe it was the grey, grumpy cat that hung around the chip aisle at his local bodega. But, it had popped in Seb’s head that maybe Blaine might benefit from a pet. He had personally never had one, but he had always wanted a dog. He didn’t think he could ever take care of anything but he knew that B would be a natural. 

Seb picked up the phone and shot the other man a quick text. He had made an appointment at the animal shelter nearest Blaine’s place; This Saturday I have a surprise for you. 

The day arrived and Sebastian wouldn’t give in to any of Blaine’s questions or distracting bribery techniques. 

“You’ll see when we get there.” 

They had arrived at the large brick building and he watched his boyfriend’s face as he figured out where they were. 

“Before you say anything, I’m paying all of the fees. I’ll take care of the pet rent, too. I also wanna get everything else you need for you new pet”

 Blaine’s POV:

Blaine felt good. If someone had told him a month ago that he’d feel this good after having one of his worst, irrational panic attacks he’d have mirthlessly laughed in their face. Yet here he was, feeling the best he’d felt in a long time. It was almost alarming. A big part of him was so scared that it was all going to go to shit at any second now, that he’d fall apart and panic over nothing once more and he’d have to beg Seb to help him calm down with reassurances that he already had to begin with. He hated those thoughts, hated that a big part of him still couldn't grasp that he deserved this happiness and that nothing was going to take it away. 

On the other hand there was another part of him that knew he deserved it, knew that things were finally falling into place for him and that he was finally living the kind of life he thought he’d be living when he was a teen. Sure, he still hadn’t ventured out to Sebastian’s apartment in Manhattan yet and a few of his classes were still online, and he was still overworking himself to make up for his guilt over taking Cooper’s money afraid that his big brother might think he was slacking off or didn’t appreciate the loan- even though once he turned twenty-five his parents trust would come through and he’d be okay. Still, he was happy and he wanted to cling to the good feelings and hold them close to his chest in case he ever forgot or to remind him when he had bad days.

He’d been taking his medicine as he should. And even though there was nothing wrong with it he had stopped drinking wine with his meals. He wanted to encourage Sebastian and he’d noticed a difference in how he felt when he woke up in the morning. No more dull headaches or shame over what he might have said while tipsy. He’d been meeting up with his friends more- Sam and David were both surprised when he’d reach out to them to invite them to lunch or even just video games in his apartment. He hadn’t realized how much he was actually neglecting them and it took feeling better to see his errors.

He’d even been trying to call Cooper regularly though his brother was always suspicious when he did so. And of course he’d been spending time with Sebastian. It was like the two of them had just fallen into place with each other, like they just fit and should have always been this way. And as cheesy as it sounded, Blaine was no stranger to cheesy, they just felt meant to be. And that made Blaine feel all the more happy. 

His happiness was edged with nerves and excitement as he sat in Sebastian’s passenger seat and his boyfriend drove them to his surprise. Seb rarely drove, but he had picked him up and had been mum about what they might be doing. Blaine had even pressed a playful kiss to Seb’s favorite spot in his neck to try and get an answer, but all that did was get a wicked grin and a promise for maybe later.  Blaine settled for holding Seb’s hand and trying not to let his brain overwork itself with what it might be. As they pulled up to a big red bricked building with the worlds Animal Rescue in big white letters across the side, Blaine’s heart did a flip as well as his stomach. He turned to look at Seb who had prepared an argument.

“Seb, that’s too much money! I can’t take that!” But once Seb had his mind made up there really was no changing it. He took a deep breath and let his boyfriend lead him into the building, the sounds of dogs barking echoing off the walls and into his ears. Blaine had always wanted a pet growing up, he’d had a puppy when he was very young, but his father proved to be allergic and he was such a busy kid he found it hard to be there for his canine friend. He still remembered his sniffles as his mom and him dove away after dropping him off at his new home. Sure, Blaine was still just as busy, but he had his own space now, and the thought of having something to come home to instead of an empty, lonely apartment sounded wonderful. Sebastian couldn’t just live there.

He was nervous as the person whose name tag read Matthew showed them around and explained how adoption worked. And when they asked Blaine if he’d like to see the dogs or cats first Blaine surprised himself by asking for the cats.

“I’d like to see the cats, if that’s alright?” Matthew smiled and led the two of them into a room where about a dozen cats were free to roam. It was a playroom of sorts, set up to look like trees and leaves. He’d never really seen a place like this before, most of the cats were sad looking and locked up in cages. He found out soon enough that all of the cats in here were kittens and it was better to let them roam and play together. Blaine sat down in one of the chairs so as not to scare them away but  was a little overwhelmed by all the darting fluff and every time he’d settle on one, they’d run away in a blur of white or grey or orange and flip themselves onto one of their playmates. He was just about to ask to see the adult cats when he felt tiny paws on cheek. He looked up and was met with a pair of too large orange eyes in the tiniest black furred body. The little thing was batting at his cheek as if saying- hey, hey I’m here, look at me! It was so small and tucked into one of the little fake leaves that stuck out from the wall, that Blaine had completely missed it at first glance.

“Hey there little one.” Blaine said softly, and reached out to gently pull it into his arms. The kitten instantly stuck his face into Blaine’s and nuzzled against him before batting at one of his curls. Matthew spoke up- “That’s Soot, she’s about six months old, yes, I know she looks so much younger. But, she was born here.  She’s been adopted twice and both times she was brought back. It’s a shame. The first person said it was because her child had accidentally stepped on her because she was too small, and the second one said that his girlfriend didn’t want a black cat because they were “bad luck” and feared if she got out she’d be sacrificed or something. She’s naturally tiny and no one seems to want her. If you ask me they just weren't the right fit for her, and their loss because Soot is the sweetest kitten here. And I think she likes you.”

No one wants her? Blaine’s heart squeezed at the thought of someone hurting this sweet little thing and he had to blink back a swell of emotion as she lifted her head and stuck her nose against his lips as if to kiss him! Her head bobbing like she was drunk. She was probably just smelling him but it almost broke his heart in two and he knew that he wouldn't be leaving without her. She had already snuggled into the crook of his arm and was purring so softly, the vibrations tickling Blaine’s arm. The sensation instantly calmed him. He was half in love already. And even though he was worried about taking Seb’s money he looked up at his boyfriend pleadingly, the words getting stuck in his throat, his eyes bright. His voice was shaky and his emotional display would have embarrassed him  if he were really thinking about it, but all he could think about was her cold little paws pressed against his arm, her tiny claws kneading him slightly.

“I-I do. I mean, I want her. Please, Seb?”

Sebastian’s POV:

Seb had had a feeling that Blaine was going to visit the room where the cats and kittens were kept. From what he understood, cats were pretty low maintenance and despite what people might say, could form loyal bonds with their owners. Plus, B wouldn’t have to take a cat down the many flights of stairs to go outside at random hours of the day. A cat could watch itself while he worked and went to school and even if he ever spent the night at Sebastian’s. 

Blaine’s eyes lit up when they walked into the room covered in acrobatic leaves and man made branches for the cats to climb and lounge on. Sebastian crouched on the floor next to where his boyfriend sat and observed the tiny creatures wrestle and bathe themselves. The older cats that were awake in the cages meowed and pressed their wet noses against the bars trying to get Matthew’s attention. They were probably looking for some new food, he thought to himself.

He hadn’t even caught the moment that the little black ball of fur ended up in his boyfriend’s arms. It seemed as if the two of them had known each other for years, the little thing was emitting little trills of pleasure as it worked its claws into his sleeve. B’s eyes were glossy when the attendant mentioned that Soot had been returned a few times. Sebastian bit his lip and knew that this was the one. 

“Of course. This is the whole reason we came.” He smiled at his boyfriend and reached over so the kitten could sniff his fingers.  Sebastian looked up at Matthew, “Where do we fill out the papers and pay the fees? She’s ours.”

Soot was loaded into a cardboard box with little holes poked in the side. She didn’t like it and kept poking her black nose through and basically screaming at them to let her out. Blaine filled out all of the paper work with giddy energy and Sebastian handed over his card for them to swipe. He hadn’t been worried about how much it would be but she was surprisingly cheap since she had been brought back a couple times. 

Sebastian wrapped an arm around Blaine as he clutched the noisy box in his arms. He sat in the passenger seat smiling as he gently held onto his new pet’s carrier. They drove around for a few minutes before they found a pet store. 

“Don’t be shy in here. There’s no limit.” 

Blaine blushed and began to protest.

“You need litter, a cat box. Food, she obviously needs some toys, too. Don’t forget about a water dish.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s heart fluttered against his ribcage, a feeling he couldn’t quite place fell over him when he heard Sebastian say ‘She’s ours’. She was theirs now. They had done something big together. He let out a little laugh and fought the urge to pull Seb into a thank you kiss right in front of Matthew. He nodded, barely believing that he was actually going to get to take a living creature home with him and as he signed the paperwork and Sebastian paid he felt even happier than he had when the day started and that was saying something considering he didn’t think he could feel any happier. Instead of something terrible throwing a wrench into his joy he’d been gifted the most adorable thing. 

Blaine settled back against Sebastian’s comforting arm as his boyfriend drove away so they could shop for her. She sat on his lap in her little cardboard crate, screaming for attention and slipping her tiny little paw out through the holes before shoving her nose through it. She did this over and over again.  Blaine pet her nose and her paws to calm her, but didn’t let her out for fear that she’d get lost in the car. He was so excited, he couldn’t wait to share his apartment with her. Wondered if she’d like his music, or if she would sit in the window and stalk birds, wondered if she’d cuddle up on his pillow as he slept. He realized then that the thought of Sebastian having to go home and leave him alone for the night later on wasn’t as hard to stomach as it had been the day before. Of course he hated that part. When Seb couldn’t stay because of early classes or whatnot. He wanted his boyfriend there all the time, he felt safer and more whole, had gotten used to letting Seb’s arms be around him, letting his hands touch him without tensing up and he loved it, but maybe, just maybe, with Soot in the picture he wouldn’t stay up too late wishing he wasn’t alone. Maybe she’d help take the edge off his nighttime loneliness away.

The store welcomed animals so he was able to put her little crate into the cart Seb had gotten for him and he was thankful, couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her out in the car. He was still nervous about the cost, animals were not cheap and he was on his own now, Cooper’s year of “free” rent was pretty much up and almost all of his extra money went into his apartment and food. He knew he was lucky, most college kids had to stay in dorms or be extremely well off to make it like this. But when Cooper had helped get him out of his horrible situation with Kurt, a dorm wasn’t an option. They both knew Blaine couldn’t handle all of those people around him, couldn’t handle a stranger in his room. His severe anxiety wouldn’t let him. Maybe luck wasn’t the right word actually considering, but either way, Blaine got to live alone and that money added up. He hadn't gotten a pet in the first place despite desperately wanting company that couldn’t hurt him over the last year and a half because he couldn’t afford it. It was like Seb had read his mind, finding thoughts that Blaine himself didn’t really think of often. 

“Seb, this is all going to add up. Are you sure?” Seb was sure and Blaine had to really look at him before he let himself put anything in the cart. He meant what he said. He’d help. And Blaine would find a way to come up with vet money so he could get her fixed, he’d find a way. Even though he had a feeling Sebastian would try and help with that too. Over the next half hour he and Seb had managed to get her about twelve new toys ranging from mice to a wand with a fish on the end to a scratching post with a fuzzy heart hanging off of it. She had a giant bag of food meant for kittens under a year old, a food bowl, water dish, litter box,  and a little red collar with a bell so small Blaine was sure he’d never hear it.  The total was too much, and Blaine instantly felt like a bad cat dad because he wouldn’t have been able to afford that if he were doing this on his own. But when he voiced it Seb shook his head and reminded him that this was a present.

On the way back to his apartment Blaine made the appropriate call to inform his landlord that he’d gotten a cat and that he’d bring in the money first thing. He tried not to cringe when he was told the deposit price. It’s a gift, Blaine. Let him do this for you. He made it through the call without much resistance, the landlord seemed hesitant at first, but since they didn’t have a no pet policy she had no choice but to let him do it. The two of them set up the little apartment before letting the little lady out of her crate and Blaine made sure the bathroom door was shut so she couldn’t go hide there. He wished he had a door to his bedroom, but it was so small there weren’t many places she could go. She let him put her new collar on without struggle, pressed her forehead against his cheek and squirmed to be let down. She sniffed around the room, and made her way across the small apartment, poking her nose in everything before settling on her food, took a bite, then a drink and then promptly darted across the living room floor and dived right into the scratching post and busied herself playing with the fuzzy heart hanging off of it. He couldn’t help but laugh from his spot on the couch. They were quiet for a moment as they watched her play.

“I think I’ll keep the name. I mean look at her, she looks like a soot spot against the wood floor. It’s pretty perfect.” He paused, his eyes glued to her little body. She was playing so hard, it was like she hardly noticed she had been taken to a completely new place. She seemed at home, and when Blaine clicked his tongue against his teeth and said her name softly in a high voice, she actually came over to him and rubbed her scent all over his hand and leg, she went and did the same to Sebastian before once again darting and diving. This time at once of the little mice. She flipped onto her back and she rabbit kicked it before doing it all again, her micro bell tinkling as she moved. Guess he could hear it after all.

Blaine was fucking obsessed. 

“God, I can’t believe no one wanted her. “ He finally turned his gaze to Seb and reached out to take his hand, linking their fingers together. He scooted so he was close to him, his hand sliding up to his chin to bring his face down to his before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He did it again, his own lips slipping into a small, bright smile. 

“Thank you. You have no idea how happy this has made me. I-I didn’t think… well, I didn’t know I needed this. I still feel like it’s too much money… But, I’m gonna accept it, she’s perfect.”

 Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian helped Blaine unpack all of Soot’s new toys. He helped set up the cat box and insisted on pouring the litter even though he had never done it before. I mean, how hard could it be? A  giant puff of grey dust surprised him and made him cough and flail a little bit. The scene had made Blaine laugh, though and that had made the mess worth it. 

Soot seemed to fall into an easy playful mode immediately. She looked like she had always belonged in the apartment. The two of them watched her, laughing at her ridiculous belly flops and wobbly jumps. 

“I think the name is perfect. She’s like a little smudge.” Sebastian pressed in closer to Blaine’s side. He could not only see his boyfriend’s happiness but he could feel it radiate off of him. Sebastian felt pleased. B now had a little companion to warm the lonely nights he had to be away, to hold on to when he felt upset. 

Blaine never had to come home to an empty apartment again. Seb thought that that sounded great, his own empty apartment felt cold and haunted at times. Not literally, of course (he’d fucking move.) but by the past. The stench of vodka would sweep by him when he felt bored. Sometimes his sheets didn’t feel clean enough, seemed matted with bad nights and past lovers. He was thankful that Blaine didn’t have to experience that, that he could walk into the tinkle of a little jingle bell and the flash of orange eyes looking for their food bowl to be filled. 

Sebastian shook his thoughts away and focused on the kitten again. “I’m glad. You guys are a perfect match.” He pressed into the kiss, he could feel Blaine’s smile against his lips. Sebastian loved that feeling. 

“You’re welcome.” He wanted to insist that the money didn’t matter but didn’t want to come across as braggy. Sebastian found that his careless feelings about spending offended some people. He used to not care, would swipe his card with a smirk and casually mention his big purchases. Seb had grown so fucking annoyed by himself after he started getting cleaned up. He had become better and knew that B spent a lot of time worrying about money. Sebastian found it better to just let that part of the conversation go. “Always glad to help. I wanted to do this.”

“Do you think she’ll tucker herself out soon?”

Blaine’s POV:

“You wanted to make me the happiest man ever? God, you’re so good to me, I really don’ t know that I deserve it.” He smiled up at Seb after their shared kisses, relishing in the simplicity of the moment. He wondered if Sebastian ever thought of getting a pet himself, he wondered how big his apartment was. Sure, it was New York, but as he knew, Seb had money and his parents never taught him to shy away from it. Did his home ever get lonely too? Blaine had never even been there before. Had a hard time imagining himself there, letting himself be touched or kissed there, or undressed and bare. Because it wasn’t a space of comfort that he’d built himself. And spending too much time in Manhattan was difficult for Blaine to think about, sure, he knew how to avoid Kurt, knew his spots, knew Rachel’s spots. He’d known how to avoid Seb for three years before this too. But there were so many memories attached to the place, bad ones. Spots where Kurt would drag him and then humiliate him. So many places to avoid.  It was also the place where you and Seb reconnected, he reminded himself. You managed to go to that Warbler party, you could totally go to his apartment. 

God, everything with them really had happened just so fast. Both times they’d been together and Blaine knew, without a shadow of doubt that Sebastian was the only person he’d ever want to touch him again.  He still tensed up sometimes, still loved that Seb showed his hands before reaching for him even though they’d done so much together, it helped him. He still got nervous before intimate moments. They’d had sex a couple more times since he’d panicked and he loved every minute together. He trusted Sebastian and only Sebastian with his body and even more, his mind. He knew that he always had trusted him and maybe that meant that he could trust himself to be intimate in a new place. Sebastian’s  space. The man had just given Blaine an incredible gift that he otherwise couldn’t afford and had uprooted himself to spend all of his free time over here, in a shitty small Brooklyn apartment in a shitty neighborhood. Blaine felt he needed to give him more. Why was the thought so hard?

He looked over at the kitten, Soot was still hopping around, her little paws making the daintiest sounds on his scuffed wood floors as she jumped and landed on her feet. Little Soot showed no sign of stopping, but then again, from what he knew about cats and the countless animal videos he’d watched over the years to cheer himself up the creatures seemed to play hard and then promptly pass out like a loaf of bread.

“I don’t know, she’s going pretty hard though.” He reached out and grabbed the stick with the fish on the end and she instantly started to chase it. She grew bored when Blaine wasn’t fast enough on wiggling the string and pounced over to a new mouse, and as the two of them laughed at her, she visibly started to slow and then she  sat down on her tummy, hiding the mouse under her little body and then she tucked her paws under her chest like they were cold, then her eyes started to close and she was purring loudly as she fell asleep, her head pressed into the scratching post mat.

“Well, I guess there’s your answer… I mean, could you imagine falling asleep that fast? And we’ll never be that fucking comfortable.” Blaine chuckled, looking back up at Seb in amazement, his smile so big his cheeks kind of hurt from the happiness.

And there it was- the tiniest bit of clean litter dust clinging to Sebastian’s cheek and it reminded Blaine of the snowflake that had clung to Seb’s cheek that nerve wracking, miserably bittersweet New Year’s Eve night on a Manhattan rooftop, six short months ago. The night that had set this whole relationship back into motion. The night that un-paused their story and dusted off their beautiful and imperfectly perfect  book cover and set them back on their path. He sometimes wondered what would have happened if he didn’t accept, how bad off would he be now? He took a deep breath and reached out to brush his thumb over the spot. His skin tingling as he brushed it away. It wasn’t as pretty as a snowflake, but the way it had gotten there had made him laugh and he wanted to hold onto this moment just as close as the snowflake moment. That night could have ended them in further disaster, but Blaine had taken a chance because Seb had done the same and had reached out. 

They had come so far since that night and yet it felt like they’d always been here. The four years they spent apart were the worst ones of Blaine’s life, and while it wasn’t just because they were apart, there were many factors, but not being together was a big one. A mistake that had cost them greatly. As he leaned against his boyfriend now, in this moment, he knew that he’d made the right choice in accepting Seb’s invitation after that night. He bit his bottom lip, his smile taking him out of his what- could- have- happened memories and putting him back in the now because Seb was here and there present day choice had gotten them this far. The ‘what ifs’ didn’t matter anymore.

“You had cat litter stuck to your cheek.” He tried to laugh but his voice came out a bit breathy. “I know you can’t stay tonight, and I’m okay with that, I’ll have great company and it’ll feel a little better here. But, you don’ t have to leave just yet do you?” He felt selfish even asking, he knew Seb had a lot of studying to do and that he studied better in his own place without distraction. “I mean, just for a few more hours? We don’t have to do anything big. We could just hang out? I can make us dinner and we could watch one of your trashy shows you love so much. Just for two hours even, maybe by then she’ll be awake and I'll have some entertainment.” He tried to keep his tone teasing, but Seb had done so much for him today and he didn’t want him to go yet. So he laughed and then swallowed, working himself up for his next question. 

“And maybe soon, um, like in the next month or so I could, well, maybe spend the weekend at your place? I could make you your first home cooked meal in your actual house. You could show me your favorite spots around your part of town, I mean, we’re always here. Your place is just as important as mine.” He gave a smile showing he meant it, his thumb tracing over Seb’s long fingers in a comforting rhythm to the sounds of his cat's sweet purrs. It may have seemed a simple request, but it was a big deal for him and Seb knew that because Blaine had never asked to go before, and Seb had never asked him there either. They both knew it would be a task creating a new comfort space for Blaine to be in and for Seb to share his life. But their relationship was more than this apartment and this part of New York, it was everywhere and Blaine wanted to show that. 

 It was out there now and he found he didn’t want to take it back.

 Sebastian’s POV:

“I wish I could just imagine what it felt like to fall asleep that fast.” Sebastian shrugged his shoulders and watched the peaceful scene. “Your floor is a mess. I guess you better get used to it. There’s probably no need in picking it up, right? It’s really taking a lot for me to just...not start picking all of those mice up.”  He laughed, “maybe we should get a tote or something for all of this crap.” 

Sebastian could sense the change in Blaine’s honied eyes. He thumb brushed against his cheek, reminiscent of a snowy New Year’s Eve. He would have felt mortified for having fucking cat litter on his face if it weren’t for the look on the other man’s face. Blaine looked hopeful and was looking at Seb like he was the most perfect thing his eyes had ever fallen upon. Normally he’d say something sarcastic or witty but no words fell from his usually silver tongue. God, Blaine could make him feel so much better with just a glance of those damn eyes, the color of dead leaves, chrysanthemums, and sun tea.  Seb swallowed the lump in his throat and tried for a sly smile, but instead his just for B grin spread across his face.  “Of course. We can do whatever you want.” He cleared his throat, “Umm. I can make a pot of coffee when I get back and dig into my schoolwork.” 

He was a little taken off guard when Blaine mentioned visiting his place. Sebastian could swear that Blaine could see his thoughts painted across his forehead or something. Maybe it just came with knowing somebody for so long or maybe Sebastian didn’t have as good of a poker face as he thought. 

“We can do that. There’s no rush.”  Sebastian laced his fingers with his boyfriend’s. “But, what will we ever do without Ms. Katy Perry watching over us like our very own gay Goddess?” He laughed and pointed at the candy colored poster on Blaine’s wall. “I don’t own anything quite that colorful. Just imagine like...an updated version of the apartment in American Psycho. God, that’s a terrible description isn’t it? But, my father did hand pick it after all so I suppose it’s on brand.” He took a breath,” all jokes aside, I’d love that. Now, what were you planning on making for dinner? I’d ask if you need my help but we both Know I would start a fire or cut my finger off or something.”

Blaine’s POV:

“It’s alright, Seb.” He shook his head and gently squeezed his boyfriend's hand. “I promise at bedtime I’ll pick all the toys up. I think I have a small container up in my closet that I can use until I can get something better. And the next time you’re here they won't be spread out like that, I just wanted to give her options for her first day here.” Of course Seb was worried about the little tornado of toys around his miniature apartment. Adorable. 

Blaine noted the way Sebastian cleared his throat, his voice a little wobbly and emotional as he told him they could do whatever he wanted and he wondered if it was because he was thinking about the night they reconnected too. Seb was looking at him adoringly with his big grin, the one that only Blaine really got to see, and big green blue eyes that told him he’d done something right. He looked up at his boyfriend, and gave him a relieved smile as Seb relented and said he’d stay. He wanted nothing more than for Seb to always look at him that way. It wasn’t something he was used to, maybe years ago, but now, he had the chance again and he wasn’t going to let it drift away. And maybe wanting him to stay was selfish, but Blaine was never selfish and today he wanted to be.

“You’re right, what will we do?” He teased as he thought over what he had to cook in his small refrigerator. He laughed over the American Psycho quip because of course Seb’s house was sophisticated and plain. “I guess I’ll just have to decorate your house up with various pop stars, won’t I? I’ll make sure there’s an extra pop of fluorescent pink just for you. I’ll make sure your fairy lights are a delightful shade of purple. You can pay me back by keeping your axes in your car for the night.” He paused, giggling at their jokes before pressing another kiss to Seb’s lips. “I’d really love to be there, too. Let me go see what I can put together.”

Blaine didn’t have much, but he had ground turkey, pasta and cheese, red pepper flakes and some bread from the deli so he put together a simple spaghetti and meat sauce with a little bit of a kick and made his own garlic bread. Over the next three hours they sipped on coffee and iced water and watched one of Seb’s terrible reality shows while Soot snoozed away, exhausted from her busy day. And after the dishes were cleared and they were settled back on the couch they kissed and giggled and messed around a little bit. They didn’t get too serious, but their lips were swollen by the end of the night and Seb let Blaine put his hands all over him- teasing and touching until Blaine was sure Seb went home for the night completely satisfied. 

After he’d gone, Blaine sent Sebastian a photo of all Soot’s toys cleaned up and tucked under the little coffee table so she could get them out when she wanted; See, all clean! To which Seb sent a photo back of his homework spread out in front of him, yet another cup of coffee just visible in the frame; Yes, looks so much better! And a bit later, in bed, right before falling asleep, Blaine sent Seb a photo of Soot curled up next to him against the wall by his head. Blaine angled it to show the empty space where Seb was absent; The only thing missing is you. <3. A bit later, Seb sent one of himself back, lying in bed, his chest exposed, with a little grin on his face. The spot next to him empty; Ditto. Your spot is waiting.

And then they fell asleep with declarations of I love you’s and wishes of goodnight’s from both of them. 

 /fin.

[shutupandshipit]

Gentle Lovers - Part 1

Summary: Summary: Lying on the couch in the common room, Izuku wasn't expecting when a body dropped heavily across his back.

Part 1: Katsuki is in pre-heat, and Izuku doesn't know how to say no to him. ..... "You're that clingy all the time, hon, not just during your heats."

Part 2: Denki is feeling a little lost since Katsuki's been outed, and Shinsou has a surprise for him.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: M

Part 2: Marking

Authors Note:  This is a follow-on fic to Cosmic Joke, but you don't really have to read it to get this. Some of the monologue won't make sense without the fic's background information though. This is less of a follow-on, and more of just a fluff piece that takes place after the main events of Cosmic Joke.

Lying on the couch in the common room, Izuku wasn't expecting when a body dropped heavily across his back. A nose pushed against the skin at the back of his neck, inhaling deeply. Heat radiated off the body, pressing and almost suffocating. The sweet smell of slick was barely discernible through the overwhelming pheromones that flooded over him.

All spice and burnt sugar.

“Kacchan,” Izuku groaned under his weight, shifting only so he was more comfortable and not to throw Katsuki off, “Can you get off of me?”

Katsuki was purring, the vibrations thrumming through Izuku's back to tumble around his rib cage. They settled against his own heart, making his heartbeat stutter and gallop forward. “No. I'm comfortable,” he murmured, nosing as Izuku's neck again before dragging his lips across his shoulder over his shirt. “Mm, you smell so good.”

'Omega Lover,' his alpha purred in response.

Sighing, Izuku relaxed beneath his body, letting him do as he pleased. During his pre-heats, Izuku had quickly found that Katsuki got wildly clingy and far more affectionate than he normally was. Izuku had a sneaking suspicion that he was naturally clingy with how often he scented Izuku throughout the day, but that he used his heats as an excuse to be as close to Izuku as possible in public.

“Kacchan, did you finish making your nest? You've got everything you need?” Izuku asked, wishing he could turn around and face the omega. Cradle his face in his hands. Press kisses to his cheeks and nose and forehead. Feel Katsuki's heat seeping into his body and riling his own alpha. Help Katsuki combat those ingrained insecurities before they could present themselves as they always did at the beginning of his heats.

“Mm,” Katsuki hummed, but didn't actually reply. Instead, he dropped his knees on either side of Izuku's hips, pressing his hardness against the swell of Izuku's ass. He kissed the back of Izuku's neck, flicked out a long, unhurried tongue to lave at the sweat beginning to bead. Reaching for Izuku's arms, he grabbed his wrists in both hands, stretched their arms out in front of them, and rolled his hips.

Gasping, Izuku pressed his face into the cushion, panting. “We- We should move before some-someone w-w-walks in on us. I need to take my suppressants.”

“I'm not in heat yet, Deku,” he growled playfully against the shell of Izuku's ear, and Izuku repressed a groan. Kissing the sensitive skin, he asked, “I don't care who walks in on us. They can fuck right off if they don't want to watch, but really, who wouldn't want to watch us. We're hot.”

“Voyeur,” Izuku accused before weakly protesting, “Kacchan, this is a common space. Everyone sits on this couch.” He was already achingly hard, as much from the heady scent of Katsuki's oncoming heat as from the weight of his body over him.

“Mm. Izuku, baby, no one is here right now.”

Izuku couldn't have stopped the moan that slipped passed his lips even if he had tried. Katsuki knew exactly how to make him putty in his hands, and that one word was the key. Baby. It drove Izuku nuts, straight up a wall, especially when Katsuki groaned it against the back of his neck when he was buried deep in him. Or when they were lazily making out and Izuku brushed against his sensitive scent glands. Or when Izuku was sliding into him with agonizing slowness and it came out as a mewl. The worst was when they were in class, and Katsuki whispered that word against his ear with a wicked grin.

Baby. That word would be the death of him.

Katsuki Bakugou was a demon, both in their public and private lives, but Izuku had already known that, hadn't he?

After that first heat they'd spent together, things had changed. Just a little. Katsuki had come off his double doses and dropped to a weaker suppressant. There hadn't been any reason to hide that fact that he was an omega afterward. The entire block of UA dorms had smelled his heat from 1-A all the way up to 3-K.

Instead, he only took suppressants to regulate his cycles like the other omegas and only took pheromone blockers closer to his heat so he could attend class.

The ridicule had been never ending, it seemed.

Someone had always had something to say about him being an omega or about Izuku's scent being all over him. After the first fist fight he won and got reprimanded for, he let Aizawa and All Might handle them.

That didn't mean he still didn't get pissed. His temper had calmed down a lot since their first year, but it still flared especially when the others had something to run their mouth about when it came to male omegas. So, he'd had to find a different outlet instead of beating them into the ground.

That outlet had been Izuku. Katsuki seemed to take sadistic pleasure in seeing how quickly he could rile Izuku's alpha during class just to reap the benefits once they'd gotten back to the dorms. He hadn't changed the way he acted towards Izuku, not really, not in public, but once they were behind closed doors, it was all teeth and kisses and hot skin against hot skin.

He liked it that way.

Izuku had changed how he acted though, taking the chance to shower Katsuki in all the love and affection he'd never been able to before. He paid him compliments enough to make Katsuki a bothered mess, blushing and snapping. He touched him softly when no one was looking, a wrist pressed to a neck, fingers against his back, hand on his thigh when they sat next to each other. He gave him little presents every chance he got, and even though Katsuki always told him to take them back or stop giving him things, he showed that he appreciated the sentiment when they were alone.

Izuku had less changed and more let himself do the things he'd been wanting to do all along.

Things had changed, but for the better.

And part of those better things was Katsuki being openly affectionate near his heat.

Izuku groaned as Katsuki rolled his hips again. He knew he was right. This close to graduation, the others had taken the gift of their rare free day to go to the mall and pick up outfits for the post-graduation after party. They'd be wearing their hero costumes for graduation, but weren't required to keep them on the entire night. Katsuki had chosen their outfits months ago during another pre-heat, and so they'd decided to skip.

Another thing that made everything better, Katsuki was surprisingly productive during his pre-heat.

“I want to make you cum all over this couch. I want them to know that I pleasured you out in the open. I want them to know your mine,” Katsuki purred. When he rolled his hips this time, he gasped together with Izuku.

They hadn't claimed each other yet, not permanently that was, but Katsuki's lips and teeth ghosted over that spot beneath his jaw.

Izuku craned his neck, and Katsuki sucked a deep red mark over his pulse.

“Let me, Izuku, baby,” Katsuki purred. A hand dropped from his wrist, trailing down his side and over his hip before dipping into the edge of his shorts.

Izuku gasped and arched into Katsuki's body. He pushed his hips up into Katsuki's hips to give his hand more room.

Unrestricted, Katsuki pushed his fingers immediately into Izuku's boxers, wrapping tightly around his cock. He pressed his thumb against the slit, fingers almost unbearably hot as he spread the gathering pre-cum over the head and his palm, using it to ease the slide of his hand down Izuku.

“Katsuki,” he hissed out, eyes squeezed shut as he tried and failed to keep his own hips still, “We should go to your room.”

“No. I want to do this here.” Katsuki pumped Izuku with more purposefulness and less laziness, rolling his hips forward shallowly each time his hand slid down. “Can you imagine it, baby? This is how hot I'll be -no, hotter- when you slide so smoothly into me. When you bury yourself in me and make me feel so good, so full. I'll be your good little omega. I'll take your cock so good, you'll pass out. I'll be so tight around you.” He squeezed his fingers for emphasis, and Izuku whined, hips jerking against his hand. “And then when my heat is over, and I'm all fucked out, I'm going to bend you over just like this. I'm going to open up your tight ass, and make you feel as good as you made me feel. You'll be my perfect alpha bottom.” Katsuki snapped his hips forward, hard clothed cock chaffing uselessly against Izuku's shorts.

Izuku keened. “Yes! Yes! I'm your alpha bottom. I'll take you so good. I'll suck you right in. Uh-” His hips jerked forward again, abdomen tightening as he panted. “Want you in my right now. Please.”

Katsuki nosed against his spine. He released Izuku's other wrist, using the free hand to push Izuku's shorts halfway down his partially spread thighs and pull his own cock from his heat brief. “No. No supplies. I want-” He stopped abruptly, hand leaving Izuku's cock to run the slickness of his pre-cum along his own. “I'm going to fuck your thighs, baby, can I do that?”

“God, yes please!” Izuku moaned, clamping his thighs around Katsuki's cock when it pressed between them. He jerked when Katsuki gripped both of their cocks, holding them against each other. “Oh, please, please, move. I need to feel you, please.”

Katsuki bit gently into the crook of Izuku's neck, rocking his hips forward. It took several moments to find a rhythm that was not only beneficial to both of them, but had them gasping and moaning in unison.

The couch creaked beneath them as they moved together, joining the chorus of skin against skin filling the room.

“Faster, faster,” Izuku panted, pushing back harder against Katsuki with each thurst.

They're movements lost rhythm as their ends grew nearer, growing sloppy and rushed and out of sync as they panted harder.

“Ka-Katsuki, I'm going to-” Izuku warned breathlessly before he was spilling over Katsuki's fingers and thankfully into his own draping shirt.

“So perfect baby. I love hearing-” Katsuki's own voice cut off in a silent moan, lips spreading against the back of Izuku's neck before darting down so his teeth snapped around the collar of Izuku's shirt. “I love hearing your voice,” he finished on a pant, trembling above Izuku. He tucked himself back into his briefs before pulling Izuku's shorts back up his hips.

Despite his shirt being a mess, Izuku sank down into the couch with a grimace.

Katsuki followed him down, sated for the time being until his heat really took hold. He bracketed Izuku in again, snuggling into his back until he found a comfortable position.

“I need to go clean and change shirts,” Izuku murmured half-heartedly.

“Mm, not right now,” Kastuki hummed, resting his full weight on Izuku, “I just want to lay here.”

Neither of them meant to fall asleep cuddled on the couch, but they were woken several hours later with the entrance of their classmates.

“Hey, smells like heat,” someone commented, and Izuku stirred beneath Katsuki's limp body.

“It smells more like sex to me,” someone else said, the voices growing closer and closer with each passing moment.

Izuku blinked groggily, staring into the gloom of the common room, too sedated by Katsuki's warmth to process what was going on properly. When the lights snapped on, Katsuki released a very disgruntled snarl, clinging to Izuku's back instead of sitting up.

“Oh.” Kirishima was standing over them, smiling softly over the back of the couch. “That's who it is.”

“What?” Mina, Denki, Sero and several of the others crowded in behind him, and he held them back by sheer force of will.

Mina squealed. “You two are so cute, Midoriya! How come he's never this cuddly to the rest of us?”

Unbeknownst to the rest of the group, Shinsou grabbed Denki by the side of the head, dragging him away into his side and up the stairs. Denki whined plaintively, but followed all the same.

“Maybe because they're mates?” Kirishima suggested with a roll of his eyes back towards Izuku who shook his head. “Alright, show's over. Let's go. Get lost before someone gets hurt.”

Izuku waved him away, sitting up with difficultly beneath Katsuki. He turned so the other man was cradled against his chest. He was dead weight, still half asleep and slipping quickly into the beginnings of his heat when he was the most exhausted. “No, it's fine. I'm taking him upstairs. Stay. Stay. We didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“Is the couch clean, though?” Hagakure asked with a grin in her voice, leaning over the back of the couch.

Blushing darkly, Izuku said, “Yes, Hagakure.” She laughed, and he stood, Katsuki automatically wrapping his arms and legs around Izuku.

“He's like a koala,” she cooed.

“Yea, a blasty, aggressive, assholish koala,” Kirishima said with a laugh.

“I can hear you,” Katsuki groused against Izuku's chest.

“Good because I meant every word of it!” Kirishima looked at Izuku before he mounted the stairs. “Have you guys eaten? Do you want me to bring up something? Do you have enough time?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki called before Izuku could answer.

Izuku smiled, pressing his lips into Katsuki's hair. He smelled of all spice and burnt sugar and everything that Izuku wanted to smell for the rest of his life. “Still sleepy?”

Katsuki grumbled a reply that Izuku didn't catch, so when he got to Katsuki's room, he laid him down in his nest and crawled in right behind him. He couldn't have been happier and more content if he tried.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ALEX! You’ve been accepted for the role of HORATIO. Admin Rogue: Alex, I can’t exaggerate enough how thrilled I was every moment of reading your app. You were so clever and thought so quickly, it was like seeing Hunter being built in front of me, until he became not just a character I wrote, but a person in his own right, quick-witted and dipped in gold. He was mesmerizing from start to finish; I believe I ended up half in love with him by the end of reading it. You brought such exciting depth to him that I can’t wait to see him brought to life! . Thank you for bringing my most beautiful son to the dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Alex Age | Twenty-four Preferred Pronouns | She/Her Activity Level | I am a full time grad student but because of the messy events happening throughout the world at the moment, I have been left with more free time than I know how to handle! I anticipate investing that time in plotting with people and beginning threads so once classes pick up again, I am in a rhythm and able to maintain stable activity (catching up on all/most replies 2-3 times a week). Timezone | US EST How did you find the rp?  | Honestly, at this point I don’t even remember. I have been lurking for eons, waiting for the right timing and the right character to become available, and now couldn’t be more perfect!

IN CHARACTER

Character | HORATIO, Hunter Marchesi

What drew you to this character? | There are about a thousand-and-one things that I could list here. I have always been drawn to characters that walk the line between golden and gilded, the ones that are a little bit too inhuman to be fully mortal and yet too weak to truly be a god. When I read Hunter’s biography, it was striking how electric he felt. Reading through the plot summaries, it’s evident that Verona has been wading through dark times for a while now, and glancing through several biographies, her inhabitants are not without their scars. Yet here is Hunter, a boy from out of town that stumbled into the greatest war the underbelly of Verona has ever seen. He’s too clever to be fully naïve, yet he’s rampantly green – and that newness brings with it a certain freshness. Hunter isn’t tarnished yet. His future is bright, and he’s ambitious enough to learn how to make himself known in a new society. All the possibilities that came tumbling in with Hunter was vastly appealing to me, as well as his capability to step confidently into this world. Also, this one line in Castora’s connection had me dead: “He doesn’t hate her of course; his family often deals in philanthropy.”

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

BECOMING INSTRUMENTAL: Being an initiate sounds significantly more important than Hunter currently feels. He’s too new to be helpful, too green to pretend that he knows what he’s doing. Hunter requires mentors to aid in his transition. After all, his face is one that’s never known a bruise, his fingers remain ignorant to the pulse of a trigger, and his nose blind to the rusting of blood. He has started taking on minor missions, learning what he can and aiming to impress, but he needs guidance if he’s going to thrive outside of his comfort zone, and the people that he receives that guidance from will leave a lasting impression upon the Montague’s newest recruit.

NEW MONEY: All his life, Hunter has lived within the penthouse of society. The Marchesi family had wealth so vast that it was rumored to transcend written record. Often, he heard his father discuss how he hardly considered new money families to be money at all. “After all, if you don’t have at least three generations of wealth, you’re no better than a peasant that happened to have a successful night of gambling.” Essentially, Hunter has no concept of what it means to happen into wealth, but he imagines it feels rather similar to his new position within the Montague ranks. It is not the Marchesi family that matters here. No, everyone around him owes blood it to the Montagues, and Hunter is beginning to expect there is no exchange rate for a life debt. He is dealing in an entirely new currency, which he finds remarkably exhilarating. His journey within the mob is just beginning, and as such he’s blinded by challenge and possibility and bolstered by a history that has never known failure. However, I anticipate Hunter stumbling as he assimilates into a new life, and as such, I expect that he will begin to struggle with his idea of self. Hunter is no longer defined by a name, or wealth, or charm; everyone around him carries such characteristics aplenty. For perhaps the first time, Hunter will need to learn how to identify himself without his very foundations, and that may entail a dash of demolition.

LOYALTY IS FICKLE: As someone that has only joined a mob to avoid certain death, Hunter lacks the strict loyalty that seems to flow through the veins of his new family. Of course, he remains loyal to his own life (who wouldn’t?), and to a certain degree, Henry (largely because the good professor had the courtesy to keep him alive). As such, Hunter is able to recognize that helping a Capulet would potentially ruin his future, but the fear of such ruination hasn’t yet gripped his heart. Why shouldn’t he reach out to Beau? What’s the worst that could happen? // The way I visualize this conflict entails Hunter reaching out to Beau before becoming completely entrenched within the Montague camp. Naturally, Hunter will come to realize just how dark and violent life at war can be, thus adding pressure to the help he’s become determined to offer, perhaps leading to the first glimmer that perhaps danger can be just as terrifying as it is invigorating.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | You have my blessing to kill him off as you see fit!

IN DEPTH

INTERVIEW

Hunter was never one to enjoy sitting still, and his leg bounced even as he reclined in his seat. Those that did not know him may mistake the bobbing as movement motivated by nervousness, yet there was too much light glittering across his eyes to be born of anything but excitement. He might as well have been starting his first day at his dream job, not beginning to repay a newly incurred life debt.

His accomplice didn’t appear quite as energetic. Their shoulders were slumped, their gaze downturned. When he’d walked in, Hunter had guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. With the cloud hovering over his head, he looked twice that age. Thirty minutes into a stake-out, Hunter had started picking up on the crow’s feet, the downward angle of his lips, the hair that was in desperate need of a trim. He’d always thought the grandiose mobsters of Verona would have more style.

Five minutes passed, and Hunter focused his attention on the dimly lit street in front of him. He’d been in the city less than a month now, and he barely recognized the intersection in front of them. “Where are we in the city?” he asked.

“Ten minutes north of the Roman Arena,” his partner answered. Hunter had introduced himself at the start of the mission, but his partner had settled for a quick once-over before settling on silence and slipping into the car. He hadn’t bothered to ask his name since.

“Haven’t made it to the Arena yet,” Hunter mused. His partner didn’t respond, so Hunter settled for another question. “What is your favorite place in Verona?” Again, he was met with silence. If they weren’t three hours into a stale stakeout, Hunter would have let it go. He would have read the tension between them as one better suited for silence, but three hours of nothing begged to be replaced by something of substance. “I think that I’ll be quite fond of Lamberti Tower when the time comes. Haven’t exactly had good reason to celebrate yet.” He leaned his head back against the headrest and waited for an answer that he knew wasn’t coming. This time, he let silence settle between them. The moon arched higher overhead, a desperate sliver against the abyss of the night sky.

Hunter glanced at the clock. It’d been ten minutes since his last question, meaning it was high time to strike up conversation again. “What’s your typical day like? So far, all I’ve done are stakeouts and guard shifts at the library.”

“Depends on the day.”

“You’re a real charmer, anyone ever tell you that?” Hunter softened the dig with a wink. “Know any particularly talented fighters? I’m looking for a sparring coach. Punching bags rarely hit back.” Silence. Not even a pity chuckle. “You’re going to need to start answering some of my questions. These are the easy ones.”

His partner glanced at him briefly. “Awfully bossy for an initiate, anyone ever tell you that?” A sigh, and Hunter assumed that was the end of the conversation but the next sentence came with a pleasant surprise. “What are you doing now? Working out? Running errands? Sucking up to your superiors? All worthwhile things, sure. But I’m guessing they aren’t scratching that adrenaline itch that drove you to sign up.”

“And what makes you think I have an – how did you put it? Adrenaline itch?”

“You’re young, confident, rich. The world was given to you on a silver platter so you’re wondering if it’ll taste different on paper. Need something to stoke your fire since you’ve never come in contact with real conflict. You made a mistake joining, kid.”

Hunter swallowed the first response that threatened to spring to his lips. His partner was trying to start a fight, to insult him to the point he’d shut up for the remainder of the night. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Alright then, if we’re talking about mistakes, teach me something. What’s the biggest mistake you’ve made thus far?”

“Man doesn’t go around bragging about his mistakes.”

For the first time all night, Hunter agreed with him. He didn’t want to speak of the first mistake he’d ever made in life that carried consequences. There was still something unsettling about remembering that night, Doctor Zhang creating bloodshed and making it disappear with the bat of an eye. He’d made it seem so easy, and Hunter couldn’t yet imagine himself in such a position. He’d wondered nightly if it was a mistake to have pursued Henry for this long, to think about him as frequently as he did. It led to far too many uncertainties. If Henry Zhang was his greatest mistake, then signing up for a philosophy course was the root of all evil. It sounded ridiculous. Naturally, that meant that the true nature of the mistake would require significantly more introspection than Hunter cared to participate in. So he settled: his biggest mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A shame, but at least it was true.

Nearly an hour passed, filled with a brief moment of excitement when they noted movement ahead only to be met by the visage of a couple stumbling home linked arm-in-arm. There were at least three hours still until sunrise, and Hunter was beginning to lose all motivation. There had to be a better use of time and resources. There was no way this would be his future.

“What’s the most difficult task they’ve asked of you?” he asked suddenly, sure that this night marked his own.

“Staking out in a car all night with an initiate that isn’t comfortable with silence.”

“I’m trying to learn. It shows initiative,” Hunter countered.

“It shows that you’re nosey.”

Hunter wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled from his lips. After a night of intermingled silence, distant traffic, and brusque responses, this was the closest thing to humor he’d encountered, even if it was at his own expense. “They haven’t asked anything difficult of me yet.”

“Be thankful for that, son. You need to learn how to crawl before you can walk.”

“Alas, I came out the womb already sprinting.” It might be the low lighting, but Hunter swore he saw the slightest smirk on his partner’s face. It was enough camaraderie to summon up the question he had been desperately wanting answered all night: “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

What warmth he’d gained was quickly replaced with solid ice. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

Hunter hummed. “Maybe not, but I’m still interested. I think it all seems very… personal. Professional on the surface, of course. They’re competing industries in a small space, conflict in inevitable. But it hardly seems as if they’re fighting over territory at this point. Everything feels much more intimate, and not in a particularly loving way.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He sounded confident, maybe even cocky. But he wasn’t entirely certain, and that unsettled him. Ever since arriving and locking himself within Verona’s perfect cage, he’d been trying to uncover the nature of this war they were fighting. If he was going to risk his life for someone, it only made sense to know why. Yet the answers were vague, elusive, textbook. There were too many layers of blood staining these streets to ever get at the bottom of it all, and Hunter was beginning to realize that like it or not, he’d been assigned a side in this war. And he would fight it.

EXTRAS

ZERO TO SIXTY: While Hunter was never groomed for war, a prior life of extravagance and wealth was not without its incidental lessons. Around his twentieth birthday, Hunter experienced a bout of boredom stronger than any that had come before. University was routine (save for the exception of a single course that oft labored late nights, red eyes, and grins that dripped sunshine), his parents were content with his performance, and his circle of friends remained vast and glittering of silver and gold. There was no change, no challenge looming ahead, and so he sought to create his own. // The first time he slipped into the driver’s seat of a Ferrari 488, he was sold. Looking back, he recognized his first lap as a slow fumble, but at the time he had felt himself a natural. Sinking into curves made his heart race, and the rumble of an engine with more power than he could control sent all thoughts of discontent scattering. Ever one to turn talent to profit, he began to race on the weekends, soaring with pride as his name began to climb the leaderboards of local tracks. The thought of turning his passion into a full-blown career would flit through his mind whenever he was standing in the winner’s circle, but he would wake the next morning with the knowledge that the lifetime wages of Formula One racers appeared mere pocket change next to the Marchesi fortune. Little did he know that he could one day turn his talent into a lucrative career as a getaway driver for the Montagues.

Driving playlist:   1. Physical // Dua Lipa. 2. Ride It // Regard. 3. Roller // Apache 207. 4. Red Flag // Billy Talent. 5. Run Boy run // Woodkid. 6. Slip // Skrizzly Adams. 7. Legend Has It // Run the Jewels.

FAMILIAL INFLUENCE: The headlines have been screaming it for ages: the British aristocracy is running low on funds. However, a single glance at the Marchesi family would cast doubt upon even the most reputable reporter. With manors in three different countries, the Marchesis have no qualms about demonstrating their wealth. // Jasper Marchesi was the eldest of four brothers, and he inherited his father’s art empire upon his death. Collectionswere the Marchesi trade, particularly the acquisition of difficult-to-come-by pieces. Jasper often cited the families distant Italian roots as being the source of his exquisite taste, and he honored the heritage by building a home in Milan. It was at this home that Hunter remembers spending a majority of the year, with voyages to Britain reserved for the holiday season and vacations to Brazil confined to the summer. // While her husband was rapt with the arts, Ana Marchesi believed that wealth was best unearthed in the modern-day gold of real estate. She began investigating just how lucrative buying, selling, and renting properties could be while her father was still traveling the world on diplomatic assignments. What started with a few rental houses quickly morphed into buying mansions left abandoned by new-money families that never had a chance of living in such elegance and transferring them (at a notable mark-up) back into the hands of those with the resources to invest in such a gilded future. Jasper reminded her on numerous occasions that such a business wasn’t necessary, that marrying into the Marchesi family meant that she had already bought into a future of diamonds and galas, but Ana insisted upon building her own empire. // Between the decadence of his father and the intrepid spirit of his mother, Hunter was destined for success. His family’s background required fluency in English, Italian, and Portuguese, and his father’s aptitude for the arts and his mother’s skill with finance instilled a harmony of practicum and creativity within him. He exclusively attended private schools as a child and enrolled in the most prestigious university in Italy without batting an eye. He pursued a degree in economics, and upon graduation assumed control of a subset of art galleries across Italy.

PLAYLIST

More // Poets of the Fall —What do you give someone who has it all? More, just to be sure. I got what I wanted so naturally I want more, what I paid for. Kansas City // The Mowgli’s — Been in a new town, got the same issues to work through. It turns out when you move, you just take them all with you. Wanna Be Missed // Hayley Kiyoko — I wanna be missed, like every night. I wanna be kissed, like it’s the last time. Say you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe without me. An Evening I Will Not Forget // Dermot Kennedy — I remember when her heart broke over stubborn shit. That’s no way to be living kid; the angel of death is ruthless. And I’m always thinking summertime with the bikes out, pushing our luck, getting wiped out, days with nothing but laughing loud. Power Over Me // Dermot Kennedy — I wanna be king in your story. I wanna know who you are. I want your heart to beat for me. Pay the Man // Foster the People — Seasons change, you know it’ll never be the same. We’ll see the sun again before it fades. I just wanna say [REDACTED]. Cringe // Matt Maeson — She said I’m looking like a bad man, smooth criminal. She said my spirit doesn’t move like it did before. She said that I don’t look like me no more. The Best // AWOLNATION —Me, I wanna walk a little bit taller. Me, I wanna feel a little bit stronger. Me, I wanna think a little bit smarter. Said I just want to be the best. Classic Man // Jidenna — My name, calling all night. I could pull the wool while I’m being polite. Like darling, calling all night. I can be a bull while I’m being polite. Bonus Track: 7 rings // Ariana Grande

PINTEREST

[ravynfyre]

C19 Mask Memes

And the ridiculousness thereof.

(I apologize to my non-United States folks reading this. The bitches and complaints herein are, primarily, directed at the Covidiots in my own rather backwards nation. Have mercy and patience on us all. They/we are victims of an educational system that has been intentionally sabotaged for more than thirty years to produce a dumber, and more easily manipulated populace to keep us all from realizing that WE have the numbers to overpower the people who are supposed to be working for US. But I digress)

I’ve seen quite a few of them rolling around, many of them comparing the urging of comparing masking up in month three of a pandemic to insisting on a condom after the baby is born or some variation. It’s maddening, this absolute and utter lack of knowledge of how the scientific process works, for one thing. This surfeit of ignorance about the base process of gaining knowledge. Not only is it okay to change one’s opinion upon receiving new facts, THAT’S HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO WORK. It doesn’t make one a liar. It doesn’t make one a cheat. It doesn’t make one wishy-washy. It makes one capable of rational thought and discussion, including the ability to accept new data. 

That’s not only good science, that just good JUDGEMENT.

That’s how life is SUPPOSED to work. So, yes, initially, the scientists, the CDC, the WHO, they all thought that C19 could not be an airborne pathogen. Combined with the fact that there was a limited number of medical supplies available, they said, AT THAT TIME, that masks were not advised for the public. 

And then they determined, through observation and experimentation - you know, the scientific method - that they were wrong. That C19 IS an airborne pathogen. And not only that, it is still VERY PREVALENT OUT THERE. So yes, NOW they are saying, mask up! This pathogen hasn’t gone away just because portions of the populace are *bored* with quarantine! You can’t just turn around and say, Okay, now, this isn’t fun anymore. We’re done. Olly olly oxen free. It doesn’t work like that.

None of this works like that.

Here's another way to put it, that comes from my years as having been a firefighter. You see, for decades, firemen just fought fires with, at best, maybe a handkerchief over their mouths and noses. That's the way it was always done. Real men just "ate the smoke".

And then, one day, some enterprising soul came up with something called a "Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus", or SCBA for short. In the beginning, back in 1824, it wasn't much more than a couple of canvas bags lines with rubber. Eventually, they evolved into pressurized tanks that could hold as much as 45 minutes of air, with a hose that lead to a full face mask to help all those firefighters see better in the smokey dark.

But, shit! They had been eating smoke for years! Why change things now? Who cared that some guys died of Blacklung or other weird consumption type sicknesses? Those bags and bottles and tanks were bulky and heavy and a NUISANCE! Why, they'd be like to get a man KILLED carrying those stupid things around! Nosir! No REAL Fireman would debase himself to wearing one of those stupid things! A kerchief or the coat collar worked for his father, it worked for his father's father, it worked for his brother, and it would work for him! This was AMERICA! No one could force a man to wear a piece of safety equipment against his will!

Except, actually, you can. Employers can impose restrictions to protect employees, and state and local governments CAN impose regulations to protect citizens. Or did all y'all think that "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service" policy was just for Aesthetics? Not to mention No Smoking laws and Seatbelt laws and Helmet laws...  BUT! Back to our headstrong firemen.

One by one, all over the nation, fire chiefs started requiring the use of SCBAs... and, wouldn't you know it, but rates of lung cancer started dropping SIGNIFICANTLY. And the amount of time that a firefighter could spend inside a fire looking for victims and extinguishing the fire increased SIGNIFICANTLY. And, little by little, those old "smoke eaters" started noticing that they didn't get as sick as often.... and they didn't feel as shitty after every fire as they used to.

And you know what they did when my Academy class came along?

They told us about what it was like to Eat Smoke. And then they told us about what it was like to fight a fire in an SCBA. And then they told us that if they ever caught us trying to fight a fire, even a CAR FIRE, without our SCBA on? They would beat the fuck out of us. Because SCBAs save lives. OUR lives. THEIR lives.

And that's what a mask will do today. It will save lives. It will keep as many people healthy and safe as we can, until a safe and effective vaccine can be found. Because the alternative? The "natural herd immunity" that so many folk keep yelling about that we should just "get it over with and get"?

2.5 million people. That's how many people that will cost us. Given the population of our country, and a mortality rate of 1.4-1.6 at current time, just tossing everything away and opening everything up and "going for it" will cost us roughly 2.5 million people. Are you good with that?

If so, then please, tell me which 2 or 3 people in your life that you are happy to throw to the Reaper. Because that is EXACTLY what that means. It's NOT Hyperbole. It's fact.

Wear the fucking mask. It's, at worst, an *inconvenience*, not an assault on your fucking liberties. You aren't being asked to storm the beaches of Normandy. You're just being asked to wear a piece of cloth on your face when you're outside around people who aren't in your household.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Writing Commission - A Gift of Sunshine - Chapter 3

For those of you who read the manga - or Vigilantes - this story does NOT have Shirakumo in it and Aizawa's backstory is completely different regarding U.A. and his school career. You'll really see that in this chapter. (I hope to one day write something about Shirakumo, but as of yet, I am not ready for that emotional roller coaster.)

                                                            ⁂

Summary: It is the worst day of fifteen-year-old Aizawa Shouta’s life when he trudges home after a failed entrance test to U.A. – the school made for heroes. His worst day abruptly turns strange, however, when he gets home to find a beautiful sword on his bed with a scroll attached that is addressed from his grandfather.

It turns out that his entire family was descended from a samurai (unsurprising considering he lived in Japan) and the sword was meant to help him become a hero. Shouta hadn’t been expecting the sword to talk, however, and he especially hadn’t expected the sword to have a voice as warm as sunshine itself.

It’s a long journey to become a hero like he wants, but Shouta has a feeling that he and Hizashi are going to do just fine.

                                                          ⁂

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia    

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count (Total): 35,935  

Transaction Amount: $250 (USD)

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               Check out my writing commission information here!                      Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!

                         Read and follow the story on AO3!

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                                              Chapter Three

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This was something he hadn’t prepared for, Shouta thought to himself as he stared at the stacks of papers that were scattered across his desk. While he had been expecting the intense workload that would come from being in the Heroics Department once he transferred, he hadn’t expected so much of it to feel so much like paperwork. He had a feeling that their homeroom teacher, Nezu, was fully aware of the fact, however, and simply used it as a tactic to weed out the weak. 

Hizashi seemed to be of the same mind, groaning loudly and dramatically from where he was ‘on’ Shouta’s bed, trying to help by reading a stack of spread out papers himself. “Shouta, this is hard. Do you know how much written language has changed between our times? I’m only so good, Shouta!”

“This coming from the one who bragged that he could defeat the entire class without my help,” Shouta snorted, shifting the sword he had casually propped up against him. He could still work on his papers as he needed to, but there was always a small part of the sheath pressed up against bare skin so he could hear and see Hizashi clearly. “Maybe I should have just gone without a hero name…”

“Aw, what, no way!” Hizashi cried at once, Shouta trying to remain unaffected and not laugh as Hizashi fluttered around him in distress. “Eraserhead is such a cool name! I worked hard on that you know!”

Alright, Shouta couldn’t stop his snort at that one, shaking his head as he tried to ‘push’ Hizashi away from him. Hizashi, as always, obeyed the gesture even without the touch. “You spent five minutes muttering names under your breath and then shouted about that one until I said it just to shut you up.”

“Yeah, but you must have liked it at least a little if you actually went with it,” Hizashi pouted and huffed, looking dramatically distressed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “What’s all this paper even for? This is more paper than last year when you first transferred and were catching up!”

The sad thing was, Shouta thought to himself, that wasn’t an exaggeration. His request to transfer had been met with approval after the Sports Festival, but that still meant weeks and even months of work to catch up on. He had managed, and he was almost certain a large part of his success was due to Hizashi cheering him on, but it still wasn’t a time he liked to think too heavily on. Second year, though, was starting to prove more difficult than his first year. 

“I already told you and so did Nezu for the last three classes. All of this is for proper internships to get us ready to work within the professional world of heroes. It isn’t about just swinging a sword around and showing off, anymore.”

There was a noise of deep offense, Shouta unable to help his snicker at Hizashi’s screech of, “I have never shown off!” It was the biggest lie Hizashi had ever told with a straight face and it was hilarious. “Oh, shut up! C’mon, you’re supposed to be picking a mentor, aren’t you?”

“So, you were paying attention,” Shouta snorted, dragging a few packets of paper closer to look over them. After his success in the Sports Festival in the last two years, Shouta was in no way short of internship offers from pro heroes. It seemed that many, rightly so, knew how rare and unique Erasure was as an ability; and how powerful it could be in the right circumstances. “There’s a lot of choices is all.”

Too many choices, if Shouta were being honest, and a lot of them came from top name heroes who were often in the public eye and were seen on the news almost every day. Shouta wanted to help people, sure, but he had never put thought into how he would have to be involved in the media circus that surrounded pros. The rising fame that was All Might was only making the spotlight even brighter, as well. 

“What about Swift?” Looking up at Hizashi’s question and the unfamiliar name, Shouta looked to where Hizashi was back on the bed, hunched over one of the papers. When he looked up at Shouta, it was with a serious expression that reminded Shouta of how much the other really did care about Shouta’s future. “Says here he’s an underground hero, primarily, and deals with night patrols and the more local crime rates rather than the whole super villain thing.”

“Underground, huh?” Shouta, if he were being honest, had forgotten that underground heroes were really a thing. They hardly learned about them in school and Nezu was the only teacher to have ever mentioned them in length, and even then the information on them was limited.

Pushing himself away from his desk, and sidestepping a few piles of messes scattered across his room that was mostly abandoned homework, Shouta leaned over to get a better look at whatever hero had caught Hizashi’s eye, scanning the paper with a considering hum because, well, this one did sound perfect. 

An underground hero would be out of the public spotlight and that would mean Shouta would hardly, if ever, need to deal with the irritating force of power that was the media. The pro, Swift, was an established hero who had been working at his own agency for over a couple decades if Shouta’s math was correct. The hero himself didn’t seem all that bad, either. 

Shifting to sit on the bed properly, and idly noticing Hizashi shuffled away to free up more room even though he didn’t need to, Shouta grabbed the packet and started flipping through, scanning for more information about the hero. 

He had a simple quirk that was short range teleportation, it seemed, hence the name Swift. The ability to use it seemed to depend how long he could hold his breath, which, really, it seemed stupid, but most quirks did these days. This Swift, however, seemed to know how to use his quirk well if he had been an underground hero for so long. The part that caught his eye, though, and what had probably caught Hizashi’s eye, was that Swift fought with a sword. 

“Says here he fights with a sword,” Shouta pointed out, mostly to watch Hizashi squirm. “Something about being a trained sword fighter, too.” The squirming was even worse and Shouta was having far too much fun watching Hizashi try not to break. “I don’t know, there was that other hero-”

Hizashi’s whining, loud and pathetic, had Shouta trying to fight off more laughter. “Shouta, this guy is perfect for us! You get to stay out of the spotlight, I get to interact with a sword fighter by your world’s standards, and you get to learn from someone else on how to fight with a sword! You can have a sparring partner!”

“And here I thought you were my sparring partner,” Shouta teased, flipping through the papers again and looking at the address for the agency Swift owned. It would only be a single train ride away from where he lived, which, well, that was a sign if there ever was one, really. “Hm… I’ll think about it.” 

It took another week before Shouta was really able to finalize his choice on who to internship under, but Hizashi had been right in pointing out that Swift would be the best for them and their training; and he really was. 

Swift was strict, had a gallows sense of humor, and smiled like he was planning on how to kill whoever he was talking to. He quickly became Shouta’s favorite hero even if he would never admit it unless he was tortured by the man himself. Hizashi had also been right in how good it was to spar with someone who used a sword, as well. 

There was a difference between practicing repetitions and movements with Hizashi guiding his movements versus actually fighting against someone. It was as thrilling as it was exhausting, and it was more than once that Shouta fell asleep while leaning against a wall waiting for whatever cruel torture he would be shuffled off to next. 

It wasn’t just fighting and the pro hero world that Swift taught him about, either, but the man seemed to know a little bit of everything, gravelly voice pointing out bits of history and knowledge and information that Shouta might have never known otherwise. Even Hizashi was caught off guard with some of what they learned, which made Shouta as satisfied as it did wary.

Swift was an incredible hero, as the countless scars that he had screamed, peeking out from under the edges of black tactical gear and a ridiculously long red scarf, but he was also aged and grizzled, and something in his voice, deep and crackling as if he was always on the verge of entering a coughing fit, had Shouta constantly on edge. It didn’t help whenever the man would quietly stare at Hizashi, the sword part of him, at least, with a look that was less than reassuring.

It was a few months before Shouta realized why the look set him so on edge, and it reflected in his tone as he thought over the latest question he had been asked while hunched over his bag and making sure he had everything before he left for the day. “‘Cursed blades?’”

“So, you don’t know about them, then,” Swift - or rather Shukuchi since he had told Shouta his first day that he hated being called by his hero name - was looking down at him with a look that Shouta couldn’t quite decipher. If he were to guess, it meant he was about to be told something he wasn’t going to like. “Tell me, Aizawa, where did you get that sword that you wear so religiously?”

“Hizashi?” Shouta blinked, glancing to Hizashi who was leaning against the wall while waiting on him, surprised by the dark look on his face. “My grandfather.” Shouta had told Shukuchi of Hizashi on his first day with him since Shouta knew Hizashi was annoying enough that one way or another Shouta would yell at him to shut up. It was only logical to avoid any possible confusion and make sure his mentor knew Shouta wouldn’t be shouting at him. 

“Grandfather, huh…” The man trailed off, gaze going from the sword to Shouta himself. “Cursed blades are just like they sound, although no one these days believes they’re real. They’re said to be swords that gained souls of their own after killing enough people, warping and carving their own soul together with the pieces they stole.”

Shouta forced himself to snort, standing up casually before throwing his bag around his shoulders. “Sounds like a story parents made up so their kids wouldn’t play with sharp objects.” Beside him, he heard Hizashi’s soft snort, something in Shouta slowly relaxing and uncoiling at the sound. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Shukuchi looked like he was smiling, but Shouta could tell it was anything but. “They were said to be able to give people the knowledge and power to wield them, possessing them into giving them all the strength they could ever want before taking over their soul completely.” 

“Scary,” Shouta drawled, trying to sound bored and disinterested even as his heart sped up because that… Hizashi had told him the first day they had met. He could increase his strength and give him the knowledge and instincts on how to fight with him, but that same day he had also proved that he could possess Shouta. He hadn’t done it since that first time, but with how close their bond was, Hizashi could take him over whenever he wanted, couldn’t he?

“They are.” Shukuchi said it so calmly, yet so seriously. It was as if he was telling Shouta that a tsunami could kill him. It was a fact. “Let me guess, when your grandfather gave you that sword there was a sealing tag on it and it was bound with a red cord.”

Shouta felt himself freeze, unable to hide his shocked expression as he blinked at his mentor before glancing to Hizashi. Instead of wide-eyed surprise or shock, Hizashi had gone cold and blank, staring at Shukuchi as if he were a threat instead of the man who had been training them to get stronger. For a moment, a moment he hoped he imagined, Shouta felt heat coming from the sword.

“I… yeah, actually.” There was no point in lying when he knew the other man would be able to tell, and, besides, Shouta wanted to know how he knew. As far as he knew, he had never told anyone about how Hizashi had appeared to him, his sword lying on the bed sealed and bound and unable to be drawn. “How do you know that?”

Shukuchi pushed out a long, slow breath, as if realizing he was right and hating the fact. “Let’s just say cursed blades have their reputation for a reason.” The man turned his back to them, walking towards his office and giving out a half-hearted wave. “Go home and get some rest, kid. Think about getting a different sword while you’re at it, too.”

Shouta barely even realized what he was doing as he adjusted his bag and walked out of the agency, thoughts too overwhelming to even hear as he followed a long-ago memorized route to the train station. He was on a train home before he even knew it, his only clear thought that Hizashi was quiet enough that Shouta could almost forget he was there. It was all the ‘proof’ he needed to know that Shukuchi’s words weren’t just an idle warning that didn’t apply to him. 

He wasn’t quite sure how, but between one second and the next Shouta had made it back to his silent home, everything dark and quiet as he sat on his bed with Hizashi’s sword - with Hizashi - lying across his lap, the physical manifestation of him, if it was even that, sitting in front of him with a small, weak smile. “Told you that Swift was terrifying, didn’t I? Gave me the chills the first day we met him.” 

Shouta didn’t laugh like he would on any other day, only staring at Hizashi as all of his thoughts screamed, but when he finally spoke, he winced at hearing how much his voice sounded like a whisper. “Hizashi.” Shouta paused, swallowed, and took a breath, “Are you a cursed blade?”

There wasn’t even a beat of silence before Hizashi answered, a firm, but reluctant, “Yes, I am.” Which meant that, no matter how many things had been false and how many things had been true, Hizashi was dangerous. “Shouta?” At the soft, hesitant call of his name, Shouta opened his eyes, surprised he had even closed them, to see Hizashi looked scared. 

It was that expression, coupled with the past year of friendship and teamwork, that allowed Shouta to take a calm breath and tighten his grip on the sword in his lap before meeting Hizashi’s sad gaze. “I don’t know what I think yet because I don’t have all the information. It’s not logical to make a decision until I hear your side of the story.”

There was a quiet sniffle, Shouta feeling embarrassment prickle at his skin as it always did when Hizashi was overly emotional. “Shouta,” Hizashi mumbled, looking ready to cry before he was laughing and shaking his head. “You Aizawas and your logic, honestly…”

It took a few minutes before Hizashi seemed to get control of himself and get his thoughts in order, breathing out heavily as he nodded to himself more than Shouta. “Okay. I am a cursed blade, but not in the traditional sense, and definitely not how Swift was tellin’ it. Yo, I’m serious, that dude is terrifying.” 

“So you’ve said,” Shouta responded dryly, trying to dredge up the fear he had felt when he started to realize what Hizashi really was. It was hard to do that when he went around talking like he was a punk. “What is the truth, then?”

“It’s…” Hizashi trailed off, tilting his head side to side as he shifted and squirmed on the bed, trying to ‘get comfortable’ before he was sighing and letting his head drop. “I’m the same as a cursed blade in the way that I can give you strength and knowledge and even possess you and others if I wanted. I, uh, kind of possessed you at first…”

Hizashi trailed off into a guilty silence, Shouta not sure whether to give in to fear or anger. He chose annoyance as a nice alternative option. “You did. Was that supposed to be a test? Find out how easy I’d be to take over if something went wrong?”

“Uh, well, honestly I just wanted to prove a point about how I could fight for myself and junk,” Hizashi admitted, his expression so much like a child who had been caught stealing sweets. It made it hard to hold onto any fear; or anger. “I also just wanted to see how strong you were. Most people at least try to push me out, you just let me in even more, if anything!”

Shouta settled for a neutral response of flipping Hizashi off, trying to keep his expression blank as Hizashi burst into wild laughter. “Shut up, Hizashi.” The words had never worked before, Shouta mused, and he supposed it was only fair they didn’t work now, seeing as Hizashi was laughing even more than before. 

“Sorry, sorry, just- Okay, so!” Hizashi drew himself up, leaning forward so his hands were resting on top of the sword, Hizashi smiling as his hands almost brushed against Shouta’s own. “I am a cursed blade, but… I’m different in that I had a soul from before I was a sword. Swift was right in saying that cursed blades sort of grow their own souls after they kill enough, but I…”

Hizashi was still and silent, Shouta almost scared that Hizashi would disappear from right in front of him before he started talking again. “I was human, once, you know.” The news didn’t come as a shock, exactly, since Shouta had assumed as much, but judging by the way Shukuchi had been talking earlier that night, he had a feeling this was a revelation not common to most cursed blades. 

“Cursed blades grow their own souls, but I already had one from where I had been human - although I don’t really remember what I was like,” Hizashi admitted, voice quiet as he leaned back and dragged a hand through his hair. “Did I look like I do now? Did I sound like I do now? I don’t know. I don’t even remember a family if I ever had one to begin with. I don’t even remember when I lived. I just-” Hizashi cut himself off, closing his eyes as he sighed softly, the sound trembling as much as his shoulders. 

“I was human, and I was always getting into trouble. Too curious.” Hizashi opened his eyes slowly, meeting Shouta’s gaze with such a scared smile. “I have a talent, or maybe in your words a quirk, for attracting and getting into trouble. I was… I was just at the wrong place at the right time, and, well. Here we are.”

Shouta nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. His mentor had been right, then, in saying that Hizashi was dangerous, but with his eyes closed, all Shouta could remember was Hizashi’s soft, awed expression from when they had met each other’s eyes after he had first started meditating. 

Hizashi didn’t try to get his attention or interrupt his thoughts, only staying quiet. It was that quiet that allowed Shouta to stay calm as he opened his eyes with a shuddering breath, managing a soft, “Give me time?”

“Oh, Shouta…” Shouta saw the hand that so gently cupped his cheek, but anything he felt he knew was nothing more than his imagination. “Take all the time you need, Shouta. I’ll wait.”

                                                          ⁂

In the end it took six days before Shouta managed to get his thoughts and feelings in order. Six days of not meditating, of Hizashi fading from his sight, of Shouta looking into every scrap of information he could find on cursed blades, and six entire days of Hizashi absolutely silent and not saying a word. 

It was the silence that had been the most difficult, Shouta had found, and it was like weight sliding off his shoulders when he managed to clear out a spot in his room to sit and enter into his usual meditative thoughts, sword resting across his lap and one of Hizashi’s favorite songs, so far, playing quietly from his phone. 

When Shouta opened his eyes after he felt like he wouldn’t shake himself apart, it was to see Hizashi looking at him with an expression of what Shouta would only ever call despair. “I take it this is goodbye, then?” Ah. What an idiot. 

“Yes, Hizashi, I put on your favorite song and spent an hour meditating because I wanted to tell you goodbye. Use your brain for once, idiot,” Shouta grumbled, forcing down a smile even as Hizashi’s own smile began to appear again. 

“But- But I’m cursed. Swift was right in saying I was dangerous! Shouta, you’ve felt me during fights, you know I can get…” Bloodthirsty was probably the best way to finish that, but Shouta didn’t see how that mattered as long as Hizashi kept himself in check when he needed to. 

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head to truly prove how much of an idiot Hizashi was being, Shouta relaxed his tense posture and leaned back. “You were cursed the day I met you, too. That doesn’t mean everything you’ve ever told me is a lie, does it?”

“Wha- Of course not!” Ah, back to his usual loud volume. Shouta almost regretted his actions. “I would never lie to you, Shouta! You’re…” Hizashi trailed off, loud voice dropping off into what was almost a whisper, expression as soft as his words. “You’re so important to me, Shouta.” 

“And you’re my best friend,” Shouta said, words slipping off his tongue easily even as he tried to figure out why Hizashi’s own words, a soft declaration of care and trust, had him feeling so off balance. “That makes all the difference, don’t you think?”

There was a moment where Shouta was utterly content and satisfied that everything truly was going to be okay before Hizashi was sobbing his name and trying to hug him, Shouta almost glad that Hizashi could in no way manage the task. It was still good, though. This was their first real ‘fight’ since they had become friends and Shouta had a feeling that it would only bring them closer, in the end. 

He soon regretted that thought, too, however, when not even days later Hizashi possessed his body and then immediately used it to make friends with his classmates. Shouta’s only saving grace was that when he told everyone he had been possessed by his sword, which many of them hadn’t even noticed he had, they had immediately left him alone to his peace and solitude. 

That was not the case for all of them, however, and Shouta soon found himself forced to deal with Iida Tensei and Kayama Nemuri every day of his foreseeable school career. It was only made worse when Kayama managed to get her hands on Hizashi and the two bonded to a worrying degree after Hizashi taught both her and Iida how to meditate, clear their minds, and forge a connection with him. 

His worries were all proven right when Kayama tackled him in a tight, crushing hug not long after he had settled down at his desk a few weeks after his and Hizashi’s conversation about being a cursed blade. The hug was made terrifying when she cried out a delighted, “Shou-chan! You’re so soft!”

Iida, sane person that he was, looked as shocked as Shouta felt, clearing his throat before speaking, “Er, Kayama? Did you just… call him Shou-chan?” The disbelief was more than warranted because Kayama had yet to even call him Shouta, even though Shouta had insisted he didn’t care and he had been badgered to call her Nemuri more than once. 

“Of course, what else would I call him?” Kayama asked, hug tightening as she laughed in a way that he had never heard her laugh before. “Shou-chan is Shou-chan!” With that bright, loud declaration, Shouta felt as if he had been hit by a bolt of lightning half a dozen times over. 

“Hizashi?” Shouta squirmed in the tight hug, looking up at Kayama’s face and studying it intently before he saw the spark of mischief and delight and noticed, now that he was fully and completely awake, the sword strapped to her - his - back. “You possessed Kayama?”

“Possessed is such a strong word, Shou-chan,” Hizashi pouted, finally letting go to sit up on Shouta’s desk, bright smile reappearing. “She gave me full permission!” Of course she did. “Especially when she found out we had never even hugged!” Of course she did. 

Iida cleared his throat, Shouta glancing over at him to see he looked nervous, “So, uh, that… You’re Hizashi, then? Right now?”

“Yep! The one and only!” Hizashi chirped, wiggling around in delight. Now that he was looking for it, it was so easy to see Hizashi’s mannerisms shining out of Kayama’s body. “It’s only for a few minutes since Kayama-san and I don’t have too strong of a bond, though.”

“You can only possess people for a few minutes at a time?” Shouta frowned, looking up at Hizashi. “Really?” From the way Hizashi and Shukuchi both had talked, it sounded as if it could have been for much longer.

Hizashi himself blinked, caught off guard before laughing. “Oh, no, I can possess people for days at a time, if I wanted to!” Ah, mildly terrifying, then. “Kayama-san isn’t used to this type of bond, though, and possession like that could hurt her. That’s the last thing I want!” Mildly terrifying, and yet far too kind. 

“Well,” Iida said with a clearing of his throat and a clap of his hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly! Or, er, well, I suppose we did technically already meet, and this is probably stranger than simply holding a sword and talking to you, but-”

Hizashi’s laughter mercifully cut Iida off, his - Kayama’s? - feet kicking back and forth in the air as he used Shouta’s desk as his own personal seat. “I know what you mean, Iida-san. It’s nice to meet you, too!” Hizashi looked to Shouta, staring down at him for a long moment before reaching out and lightly patting at his cheek, beaming when skin touched skin. “I had almost forgotten what that feeling was like…” 

Shouta felt a ridiculous swelling of emotion as he quickly looked away, trying to focus instead on the oddity of hearing Hizashi’s laughter with Kayama’s voice. He was, once again, saved by Iida speaking. “You know, this possession thing… Could you use that on villains in the future?”

All of them fell silent, Shouta looking to Hizashi and sharing a look with him before he felt the smile breaking through, the expression mirrored on Hizashi’s own face, wiggling around again before laughing loudly, “Nezu did tell us to come up with a way we could fight when outnumbered, yeah? I’d say evening the numbers sounds like a good way to do it.” 

“Wouldn’t Aizawa need to find another way to fight, then?” Iida asked, Shouta nodding at once as he leaned back in his seat, already thinking over the possibilities of what the future could bring. 

“I would, since the sword would need physical contact with a villain in order for Hizashi to possess them. Although…” Shouta trailed off, looking to Hizashi. “I think I might have an idea when it comes to fighting without you helping me.”

Hizashi grinned and Shouta suddenly felt a lot more confident in the future that was to come. After all, he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be facing it alone. 

[crystallized-iron]

So I got bored and answered an entire ask meme.

Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

My comfort zone for writing might be emotional angst. 

Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Sci-fi, the kind with ships and space aliens, probably similar to Star Wars but with my own spin on it

Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

I wouldn’t be so dramatic with the wording, but I will not write kidfic (that’s when some are kids and others aren’t, right?) or de-aging. I would only write characters as kids if it’s part of a super long series and they all age together. And I haven’t even done that.

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Charles Xavier supposedly died but his consciousness was recovered by scientists and then transferred to a cloned body of his. Then they get scared when he starts to actually use his power.

Share one of your strengths.

Painful scenes.

Share one of your weaknesses.

Fluff

Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

He rubbed his head. They just would not stop.

- sun is dropping - did you hear - the bodies should -

Bodies?

- be at the bottom -

His hand lowered to his side. Did he catch the thought of a murderer? He could pick it out over the usual hum. So he was nearby.

The door to the inn opened and someone walked inside.

There was a flash of a moment in Charles’ mind. A group of men. Their faces pierced grotesquely by their own fishing hooks. And dragged to the bottom of the sea.

The screaming was chilling. But… but...

It was no ordinary person that committed that sinful act. He was gifted, like Charles himself.

Someone bumped into him and Charles caught the image of a girl. Bruised. Starved. ‘They give one fish for using us.’

‘Using you?’

‘Our bodies. We would fight, but… Food is food.’

“Private room for one if you can.”

It was not out of pure cruelty, not from an evil nature. He was stopping those that brought pain to others.

“Charles, let’s go,” Raven said, key in hand.

“He is with us as well,” he stated, getting the man to turn and stare at him.

======

The Gifted, Chapter One

I like this scene here. We see Charles’ just picking up the thoughts of others because he cannot control his powers yet. We get a glimpse into what Erik did, and even why he did it (although that is also an earlier scene). But the closer Erik gets, the more Charles can see, showing that proximity is a big factor in what Charles can see when it comes to mind reading.

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Charles faced him. “I am not sure how much I can tell you.”

“You read my mind.”

“It is the loudest.”

Erik folded his arms. “So what can you tell me?”

“Only about my life after the age of twelve. But I warn you, I am terribly boring.”

“You are a mind reader. How is that boring?”

“But that is just what I can do. Aside from that I'm a boring person, really.”

“Let me decide that,” Erik said.

Charles nibbled his lip while he decided where to start, his mind catching a question from the other man. “Of course you would want to know more about that.”

“Of course. Because you were hurt.”

Shaking his head, Charles said, “I really do not know who she is. That all happened just before Raven.”

“What do you mean, just before?”

He gazed at the floor. “My earliest memory is running. Just running. There is nothing before that.” His arms came up, wrapped around himself. “There is just the stars above me, the cool breeze, the night sky. Cold grass beneath me that crunched with every step.”

Erik came closer.

“My lungs were burning, my heart was racing, I… I just kept thinking ‘run’.”

“And you don’t know why.”

“I don’t. I was in the woods. And I tripped over a tree root. I suppose it was lucky. Raven happened to be hiding nearby. She found me.” He raised his head and looked at Erik. “In the dream, that woman… she… you know.”

“Choked me,” Erik finished for him.

“Yes. Well. That part, it… it must have really happened.” Charles swallowed down the emotions trying to force their way out. “I didn’t… I didn’t know until she said… there were marks.” He moved a hand down his neck. “I know my power is protecting me. Or I would remember all of it, or… maybe be even worse off. Not sure. But whatever it was had to be... really, really horrible.”

Erik stood in front of him. “But you survived it.”

“I don’t know how. I… don't want to know.”

=======

The Gifted, Chapter Four

This scene, I think I pulled it off well. Charles’ emotional explanation of what he does remember from the time just before meeting Raven.

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

That would be So Beautiful, simply because there’s a lot of subs but no comments, anywhere, period. The number of comments really does make a difference in how quickly something might be updated, you know. (And at this point, I’ve temporarily fallen out of MCU love and am now focused on X-Men, cherik specifically)

Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Currently, that is The Gifted. I’m already writing chapter 8, but only up to 5 is posted so far. Probably a good thing because I edited both 6 and 7 maybe three times now.

Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Both. I am passionate about writing, but the fanfiction part has to be a hobby. Now I just need to get working on my original work more.

Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

For me it’s moves, and probably X-Men: The First Class right now.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

When you’re writing a fight scene, you are doing it because you want the character to get hurt. Even if they run away, you need to have the injury goal in mind, because that determines the way the characters move and all that. So decide the injury goal first.

What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Never use -ing, never use -ly, never use blah blah blah.

If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

I can think of three right away, but I would say The Gifted.

If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Fuck... right now, cherik.

Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Generally start to finish, but I will occasionally outline random scenes for the end. I’m always planning for the end and then get stuck in the middle.

Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

I’ve tried. Right now I have a tiny notebook map for The Gifted, and a few scenes outlined, but that’s it.

Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

I don’t think so. I wouldn’t know if I do or not. Maybe it’s James himself lol. His various characters influence a lot.

Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Cat is napping, tv isn’t super loud, I’m not expected to socialize, nothing I want to pay attention to is going to be on, it’s not after 9pm yet, I have ideas and the perfect soundtrack and plenty of empty pages to use.

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Depends. Prompt fills are lucky to get any revision. The Gifted goes through my own editing as well as my beta’s. Promised Love and A Lie to Live, when they were getting weekly updates, had one revision each, right after typing, and then were immediately posted. I stressed over those two a lot during that time though. Not doing it that way again lol.

Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

From Comfort Original:

It had been a bad night, the tower getting cooler than usual as the wind whipped around outside. Even with how well it was built, the windows still had a slight rattle against the force of it. Bucky hated the cold, too many negative memories involved. Watching outside, he knew he was safe, knew that the chances of something coming up this high, without him noticing it, were extremely low, but he still worried. He couldn't go back to Steve, though. Things had been getting a little complicated between them, mostly due to the man that had taken them in.

Edit:

The wind howled outside, chilling the tower more than usual. The windows rattled with every strong gust. Bucky stared outside. The cold reminded him of being thrown from the train, of being frozen for days, weeks, months at a time. It made him think of HYDRA, and even though he knew the chances of anyone sneaking up on the team here were extremely low, he couldn’t stop the worry from creeping up on him.

But he couldn’t even seek out his best friend for comfort after their fight over the man that had been kind enough to take them in.

If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

I already decided I will be doing this for A Lie to Live, because I know I can write it so much better now.

Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Never. Anything I’ve ever posted, you can still find it if you know where to look.

Although it looks like one site decided to delete my work. And my account. I have backups on my flash drive, I’m pretty sure, but still.

Always back stuff up. This was mostly original though. Too high rated for fictionpress.

What do you look for in a beta?

Mostly that they will be okay with the content I want to create. I tend to write darker stuff (had a beta for violent vampire fic and have a beta for dark x-men fantasy au), so it’s good to know they will be okay with that. Also things that I think may be triggering, I mention ahead of time before I write it. Just to be sure everything is still good.

Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

I tend to be my own beta and mostly catch typos and reword stuff, change the flow if I have to, maybe move a scene or a chapter.

Being a beta for others? I fix grammar mostly. I feel like I’m shit at suggestions though lol.

How do you feel about collaborations?

I love them but they never get finished lol. There’s two people I’ve collaborated with on different stories over the years, one I started a page with, and someone that was interested, but that’s it.

My only issues these days, with the invention of google docs and able to write back and forth and all that, I am a shy writer so I will wait for the other person to leave the document, especially during... certain scenes...

And also, that the breaks in between adding a part does not exceed a week. The last one I worked on has now passed a year since anything added, so I don’t think it will be updated again any time soon.

Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

LadyDarkPhoenix because she got me into fanfic and into the MCU fandom and her ideas are awesome. One of the people I’ve collaborated with for years over different stories.

NotEvenCloseToStraight has some of the best fics. I haven’t read any for awhile for a variety of reasons (not to do with her, my own distracted mind and now fandom switch really) but she is amazing and a sweet person.

Kellyscams has written some amazing stuff. Just, really check them out.

If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Um... Oh, this is tough. I think I’m mostly reading prompt fills and wips right now.

Maybe a sequel to Coming Home by helens78, only because I didn’t know how much I wanted Wesley/Charles until then. And then add in the implied interest in Erik as well, and yes.

Do you accept prompts?

I do.

Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

It varies. Prompt fills lately are more canon compliant, but if I’m doing chapters, it’s way AU.

How do you feel about smut?

I love reading it. I somewhat write it in collaborations.

I panic and stop every other sentence when I attempt writing it alone.

How do you feel about crack?

It can be good.

What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

Depends on the character and the situation.

Would you ever kill off a canon character?

I’ve killed Tony at least twice now.

Which is your favorite site to post fic?

AO3 for sure.

Talk about your current wips.

The Gifted is a fantasy AU in the X-Men Alternate Timeline Movies fandom

Promised Love is an arranged marriage fantasy AU in the MCU fandom

A Lie to Live is a fantasy AU in the MCU fandom

So Beautiful is a modern, no powers, college AU in the MCU fandom

Help Me is a sequel to Bite Me and it is a vampire au in the MCU fandom

Talk about a review that made your day.

This chapter made me feel feelings. My poor boys! :'( And well done with Erik's anger, lashing out and the aftermath. I understand you are upset, Erik, but that is not an acceptable way to treat a friend. And it's good that you realized that too.

===

This one especially. Also their previous two comments.

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

Not really. Not since, like, high school.

That was a long while ago. I was still really into the LoTR movies.

Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one)

Bite Me

Bucky tried to block Aldrich’s blows with his arms but the monster gave him a harsh stomp to the stomach. Bucky coughed as he rolled onto his side, tasting his own blood in his mouth.

“I truly did want more of a fight than this out of you. How pathetic.”

“T-think so?” He looked up to see Tony coming back.

Aldrich caught the stare and turned, grabbing onto the wooden stake made from the leg of a desk.

“Shit!” Tony struggled.

“Thank you, Anthony.” Aldrich yanked the stake from Tony’s hands and, finding Bucky on his feet, thrust it through the other vampire’s chest.

“No!” Tony cried, trying to get past Aldrich to reach the man he loved, but his Master gripped his shoulder and threw him back.

“You were perfect,” Aldrich growled, “but I will never have your heart, will I? Not as a mate.”

Tony blinked away tears that threatened to blur his vision. “Never.”

Leering at the vampire that held Tony’s affection, Aldrich shoved the stake deeper, Bucky’s cold, dark blood gushing out around it, and then pulled it free.

A grotesque, thick flow fell from the hole in Bucky’s chest.

“No, no, no!” Tony needed to reach him, but he froze once the already stained wood pierced him next.

“You can join him, Anthony,” Aldrich spoke so sweetly, giving it another push to be sure neither would leave.

Tony stared at him. His chest felt wet, cramped, cold. Fear shook his body.

His knees hit the floor. “B-Buck...y...?”

But no response came.

As Aldrich walked away, Tony found himself all alone in a place that reeked of blood and horror. His vision began to falter. He grew so tired... so very tired... so very... very... tired...

[variety-toaster]

I fucking hate Hanzo, and I hate what he has done to Overwatch.

Ok, so, I’m gonna rant about game balance for a second, and I say some angry swearwords here so if you’re not cool with that, you can just scroll by. Now, I’m not sitting here and getting mad without having a theoretical solution to the problem, so just sit for a second, hear me out, and think about it from the perspective of the healers and tanks this bow-toting fuck-wit hero has shredded within less than a second for just a moment. I’m going to explain the problem, why it’s a problem, and how it could be fixed. If you play on console, this doesn’t really apply to you. Ya’ll are a whole different ballgame than the speed of gameplay that PC reaches. Keep that in mind.

FUCK. HANZO.

He is the singular most UNBALANCED piece of shit in an already suffering game. I hate him so god damn much. The ability to INSTA-KILL is already bullshit outside of ultimates, but he is the fucking WORST with it. He's a "pseudo-sniper" who can do sniper level damage without scoping, which is one thing, but his rework and the lack of balance they’ve applied to it??? FUCK. THAT. NOISE. There is NO reason that a SNIPER should be able to 1-shot at ANY range, and by that I mean close range on top of their already extensive distance options. At least Widow has to scope in, and landing close-range shots is not easy. Ashe, same thing, although her dynamite gives her some options, but she can damage herself with it. Ana is a fucking healer. Hanzo doesnt have to zoom in, and can KILL in 1 FUCKING SHOT from ANY distance. It's BULLSHIT.  His basic attack is a fucking 1-hit KO move. There is ZERO excuse for that shit. He can RAPID FIRE arrows too with Storm Arrow! and they do MASSIVE damage! enemy DPS? full of holes. supports? already dead. Tanks? Dead in < 1 second. Fucking garbage. Ok, yes, you have to aim and shit, yeah, and it takes some amount of skill, but on PC, aiming is a tad-bit fucking easier with a mouse than it is with a controller. He can just spam arrows down a choke and the whole team can get ripped apart! He does loads of damage, and can actually MELT shields! So pushing through chokes is EXTREMELY hard when the rest of the enemy team is firing through their own. On attack, his high mobility makes it easy to drop in behind the healers, rip them apart before they have time to fucking react, and then everyone else can just come barreling through. Yes, counterplay exists in Overwatch. But hard-counters in any game are fucking bullshit and we all know it. Game-balance should allow for characters who are being countered to continue to hold up against their counters to some degree. Because it’s called BALANCE. Meaning they need to be EQUAL, in various ways. The dev team has not been doing that well at all lately, and the game has very much become a game of rock-paper-scissors. It’s not fucking fun. Using skill and teamwork to defeat your opponents in combat fairly is both rewarding and fun. Losing because your teammate is paper when the enemy chose scissors and won’t switch to rock fucking isn’t.

Hanzo isn’t countered by many, if any, heroes. Don’t fucking hand me a list of “Hanzo counters” because we’ve all seen a Hanzo main make that counter-hero look like roadkill with ease. This recreates the “Junkrat double mines” problem we had before. If you recall, when Junkrat was given two landmines in his arsenal, they did massive damage, the moment they hit the opponent. Didn‘t matter how far you were from the explosion, they did the same amount of damage as they would on a direct hit. Now they’ve fixed that, and distance from the center determines damage, but for several months, Junkrat was a highly popular pick, and fighting him... just felt unfair. For everyone. Squishies just popped instantly, and tanks went down without much of a fight.  People left the game altogether out of frustration with the lack of balance. Fighting him wasn’t fair, and there wasn’t much you could do to stop him without some serious teamwork. It wasn’t fun to fight him. People would just leave games altogether when the enemy had a Junkrat. I watched it happen. A quick comment in the chat saying “Junk is fucking bullshit” and “[player] left the game”. It was consistent, too.

Hanzo... is just that, again. It’s not fun to fight against him. There’s no real way to stop him. He’s become really popular because of this, and the more he’s played, the more skilled people become, and while yes, more skill means greater reward for any hero, it also means more unfair insta-kills on heroes who cant do anything about it, unable to fight back, in every game. It’s not fun. It just isn’t.

This isn’t helping balance changes to other heroes either.

Healers and tanks are still only seeing minor changes and adjustments (mostly nerfs), and DPS heroes are getting buffed left and right, just to put them at the same broken fucking level as Hanzo.

Maybe it’s more of the balance changes being made entirely based on the OWL, which was already a goddamn problem (very small percentage of players of extremely high skill causing devs to make gameplay changes that drastically effect everyone else), because my theory is maybe they’re trying to make games move faster, so making DPS kill everything faster while the killcam looks great for the OWL cameras... But that’s just a personal theory, and it’s probably not that.

Hanzo is continuing to be a fucking problem, and playing Overwatch, even in quickplay, where I should be able to enjoy the game casually for fun, has become frustrating. It’s not fun to die in one shot because you stepped one millimeter around a corner, or because your tank’s shield broke in a shorter time than it takes your Guardian Angel ability (as an example, since it has a 1.5 second cooldown) to recharge.

Yes, there ARE other heroes who can oneshot. Doomfist is fucking annoying, yes, I’ve heard that plenty. But at the very least, there are ways to stop Doomfist. Stuns and boops affect Doomfist, because he physically has to be in close range. Hanzo can tear you apart at ANY distance. Those things aren’t effective if you’ve already taken just one arrow and died, or if your healers have been wiped out because he climbed over a wall, and stuck a few rapid fire shots at point-blank range into their skulls.

It’s not fair, and it’s not balanced. There’s no way to kill Hanzo in a way that matters. He’ll just come right back to rip your team a new one every time. At the very least you can take a Doomfist down a few notches by being more careful, and swapping to heroes who can keep him from breaking your face. Hanzo can just... change his distance, and keep killing you. A lot of that has to do with his way-increased fire rate and projectile speed. His damage is way more consistent, and nothing else was brought down to make up for this sudden increase in overall damage output during his rework.

It’s not about skill.

“Oh I kill Hanzo-mains all the time, it’s not that hard. Just get good.” Then you haven’t been paying attention. Maybe you don’t see it, but your healers see it, and your tanks see it. Because if you’re killing Hanzo “with ease,” you’re playing DPS, and I told you at the beginning to consider it from the perspective of the other classes.

He could EASILY be balanced, that's the worst part. It would be so simple yet so effective. He’s a sniper. Reverse damage drop-off. For everyone else, the farther an attack has to travel, the less damage it does, with a few exceptions for certain heroes. This is called Damage Drop-off. Hanzo could be balanced by having the opposite applied to his attacks. The CLOSER he is to his opponent, the less damage he does. It would force the SNIPER to actually be a fucking SNIPER. It’s a simple, yet effective strategy. No more walking through Orisa’s shield to shoot her in the face. No more hopping around through Rien’s barrier to fill him full of arrows. He’d have to put some distance, and focus on his aim. It would make him require MORE SKILL, since while he still does massive damage from  distance, he can’t scope in. He can still defend himself close range with storm arrow and lord knows his wall-hacking sonic arrow could alert him to danger. He literally has a “jump away” lunge ability. He’d be fine, playing as a sniper like he was intended. He can still shoot and look around without being scoped in. Flankers will have just as hard a time getting in his face as before, except now, they might stand a fucking chance without having to have like a thousand hours on Genji or Tracer, and I don’t know, counter him in some way. Game balance is so crucial to the enjoyment of a game like Overwatch, and it has been WAY TOO LONG that this Hanzo rework has gone overlooked by the devs. 

If it isn’t fun to play AGAINST a hero, it shouldn’t be fun to PLAY that hero. The goal of a game is to have fun, but it’s not fun when you get sent to the spawn room 8 times in a row no matter what your rank is or how long you’ve been playing. It’s frustrating, and it’s one of the issues people aren’t articulating when they talk about how winning in Overwatch doesn’t feel like a victory and losing feels aggravating, and leaves you in a sour mood, even though you’re just... playing a game.

But hey, that’s my personal idea as to how to fix this hero. I’d love to hear your ideas too! I’ve had a lot of people I’ve talked about this with tell me they’d rather the devs bring back old Hanzo with the scatter arrow than leave him how he is right now. What do you think? Do you agree with my idea, or maybe the return of Scatter Hanzo? Or maybe you have another idea? Constructive criticism is totally welcome here, or feel free to just let me know if you agree or disagree. However, if your response is something like “lol umad?” or “he’s balanced. shut up.” (without any real argument) kindly fuck off. Thanks so much for reading! Have a nice day! (drink water or something, btw)

[scripttorture]

Do You have any idea what happens from psychologist point of view with a relatively normal person that becomes willing to toerture? I have read about torture that happen during WW2 , especially the Nanking massacre. But i still fail to understand why normal people would angage in such behaviour. What makes them to see IT as alright.

Torturers are, so far as we can tell, normal and psychologically healthybefore they start torturing.

The mental health problems they experience seem to be caused by torture rather than the causeof them torturing. I say ‘seem’ because we have less studies on torturers thenvictims and because none of the studies we have on torturers involved rigorouspsychological examinations before they became torturers.

But I think the evidence we have is pretty damningly clear: the vast majority of torturers are‘normal’. There is no disease, no mental illness, no inherent ‘problem’ thatdrives them to harm others.

And yes, I understand how difficult that is to process.

Stepping back from torture particularly for a moment- Do you know whatthe best measurable indication someone might commit a violent crime is? It’snot gender, class or economic background; it’s a low resting heart rate.

Sometimes looking for reasons can be used to distance ourselves frompeople who commit crimes. If there’s a difference we can point to then we feelthat we couldn’t possibly do something similar. And that feeling may becomforting but it acts to stop us engaging properly with the problem.

There isn’t a good answer to ‘why’. The best I can offer is adescription of the structural and social factors that make torture possible.But ultimately however much external factors encourage or discourage torturepeople always have a choice.

Rejali classed torture indemocratic states into three systems which you can read about here.

What he’s essentially describing are factors and excuses that democraticstates use to justify torture. The idea that torture is an effective form ofdiscipline. The idea that some people ‘deserve’ it for crossing sociallyimposed lines or not being ‘proper’ members of society. The idea thatconfessions mean more than evidence.

I know less about this but I think it would be remiss of me not tomention to role hate speech and propaganda plays as well. Especially given thatyou referred to the rape of Nanking.

A constant background reinforcement and repetition of hate directed atparticular groups can effect communities and lead to violence. There may beother well documented cases but the one I’m most aware of is the Rwandangenocide. Among the people convicted for the violence was a popular radiopresenter who regular broadcast hate against Tutsis and later openencouragement to kill them. 

 I haven’t posted aboutthis much but the evidence showing how hate speech can incite violence ingroups seems to be supported by the way ICURE techniques can be used toencourage individuals to hold particular beliefs. The core parts of thosemethods of coercion are, isolation of the target, control of the informationthey access, spreading uncertainty about prior/discouraged beliefs, repetitionof the encouraged beliefs and emotive appeals attached to the beliefs.

Hate speech propagandacovers three of those five bases. It relies on repetition of hate, stronglyemotive appeals and ridiculing ideas about our shared humanity.

Making hate a core partof group identity, coupled with months or years of the same hateful messages-can and does sway peoples opinions. Coupled with ideas about ‘bad’ people‘deserving’ violence, this is a pattern that can pretty easily lead to torture.

I think it’s probablyalso worth bringing up in-group versus out-group morality.

An awful lot ofcultures encourage us to treat people different depending on whether they’re‘one of us’ or not. Behaviours that are seen as acceptable towards someindividuals aren’t towards others. For instance despite the evidence of howharmful it is a lot of people support the ‘right’ of parents to spank theirchildren. These same people would probably be horrified at the idea of thoseparents spanking a stranger’s children.

Historically it seemsto me that a lot of justification for violence in a raiding context boiled downto ‘well they’re not Our People so it’s OK’.

But here’s the thing; none of these ‘answers’ amount to much.

They are poor, shallow explanations for the scale of atrocities theyseek to explain. Fundamentally, they don’t feel satisfying to us, they don’tfeel like enough.

Nothing would.

There is no answer. Just people. Normal, every day people acting ontheir worst urges and doing terrible, inexcusable things.

We all have a choice.

And here is the thing I find encouraging; however bad the situationthere are always people who try to help. It can be small things, likethe Hindus who opened their doors to fleeing Muslims during the Gujarat riots(no Mister Modi we have not forgotten) or they can be huge things, like Dr HawaAbdi creating a peaceful village and free hospital in a middle of a war zone.But there is good too.

There’s a quote in Karlansky’s book, that life in opposition to violenceis like living between random outbreaks of hope.

The ‘reasons’ are poor. They come down to ridiculous systematic flawsand senseless repetition of hate. But that means they can be fixed. We’re notfighting a fundamental, immoveable urge within ourselves instead we are tryingto create an environment where torture can not thrive.

This is possible. We have been remaking our immediateenvironments before we became Homo Sapiens.

So don’t look at this and feel despair. The reasons are poor. They arestupid. And that means we can win.

Edit: Thank you to the reader who caught my copy/pasting the same paragraphs twice. :)

Disclaimer

[ebhenah]

I’m With The Band #Fictober18 (Original Fiction)

 Day 19

I’m With the Band 

Original fiction, Original characters (a continuation of my Fictober Day 7 story: Uncharted, Day 8 story : Anchor, Day 13 story: Soulmates, Day 16 Story: Sunkissed and Day 19 story: Wound Up. This one featuring Spook in her original timeline, before the mission that stranded her alone in the past)

Rated: Teen for language, violence, mentions of drug and alcohol use, and LGBT2SQIA+ themes

Prompt: "Oh please, like this is the worst I have done."

It was the last chance to see her ‘baby’ brother perform before the big mission, so the whole, massive family turned out to see the show. The venue was… not big, and having so many people crowd in to cheer him on pushed it dangerously close to capacity. As much as she loved all the various cousins and parents and aunts and uncles and might-as-well-be-family friends, having sooo many of them kicking around was seriously going to cramp her style when it came to the OTHER plans she had for the night- namely get shit-faced and work her way through as many orgasms with as many partners as not-quite-humanly possible.

Still, while the night was young, she could make the most of the crowd and party with her loved ones. She wasn’t quite THAT sex-crazed… yet. Ever since her parents had insisted that she start weaning herself off the grief suppressors that might interfere with her ability to access and channel the magical abilities that were vital to the ‘big mission’ she’d been coping by self-medicating with hits of adrenaline and endorphins- excitement and sex. Not the most sustainable long term plan, but she didn’t intend it to be long term. It just had to keep her functional until the mission was done.

So, everytime her little brother gave her that nod that meant he was about to play one of her favorites, she grabbed the hand of some new loved one and dragged them out onto the floor. She’d always loved to dance- she’d even taken classes when she was really young. Not that what she was doing now looked anything like tap or ballet. She bounced to the driving beat, a huge smile on her face as she screamed the lyrics out and wove to the music. This time she was dancing with her twin’s lover, a gorgeous charmer with a great smile, better rhythm, and what her favorite aunt called ‘latin hips’. One of her favorite dance partners, actually. They spun her out and back, pulling her tight to their thigh and grinding to the beat with her. It didn’t mean anything, they’d just known each other for years and years- since long before they’d started bedding her brother- and had always had this playfully flirty relationship.

She laughed as she was thrown back, dipped so deeply that her long hair brushed the floor, then snapped up into a tight spin. “He’s staring at your ass,” she yell-whispered into their ear.

“Oh, I am aware,” they answered, an evil little grin spreading over their midnight skin, “wait til we hit the black lights- betcha a fiver he’ll drag me out of here before the end of the song…”

“You got the ink?” she gasped, surprised.

“Ohhhh yeah,” they answered, pulling away enough to give them both a bit more space to maneuver, “I am very, very pleased… and he has no idea…”

“Oh, this will be good,” she laughed. Her twin had a thing for body mods- piercings, tattoos, other markings, cyber implants… he tried to pretend he didn’t but it was more than a little obvious. The inky-black skin of her current dance partner didn’t take well to piercings, and they had a religious objection to cyber. A few months ago, they’d FINALLY found an artist that worked exclusively in photoreactive pigments and they’d been planning this surprise for her twin ever since.

“Heads up,” they said suddenly, “you’ve got an admirer. Blond, Interrycan, blue… dress? Over by your sister.”

“Interrycan?” she echoed, “HOT.” She grabbed their hand and let them snap her out on a spin that gave her a full view of the room- including the tall, lean alien that was 100% checking her out. The ‘dress’ was a traditional Interrycan garment that was essentially a scarf that draped around the back and crossed in the front where the ends were attached to the golden rings that every Interrycan had placed around their clavicles once they reached the age of majority. “SERIOUSLY hot!”

“Go on,” they laughed, “I’m going to drag your brother up here anyway. Just don’t let Mr. PR see you duck into the backroom.”

“Mr. PR is totally shit-faced, in case you haven’t noticed,” she laughed, nodding in the direction of the table that held both of her fathers and her former father-in-law, who had no idea that the younger generation called him ‘Mr. PR’ behind his back- a nickname that originated from her late wife. ”I’m golden!” They both laughed as they spun away from each other, her heading in the direction of the alien that was still making eyes at her, and her dance partner making their way to her twin.

“Hey,” she said to the blond, making her little sister roll her eyes and make herself scarce, “want a drink?”

“I’d love one,” she answered, the syllables a little strange because of the forked tongue that Interrycans possessed. “But I should warn you… I’m on amaora…”

“Amaora? Oooh FUN!” she answered. Amaora was a party drug that amplified physical sensation, reduced inhibitions, and increased physical stamina… it was also excreted through the skin of users in reduced potency- resulting in a contact high for susceptible races… which she definitely was. “What are you drinking?”

Three drinks, two songs, and one swimming head later- she was stumbling into a back room with that deliciously forked tongue tickling her tonsils. Interrycans had skin that tasted like ginger- warm and spicy and delicious- and coupled with the amaora that ginger skin was laced with, she was having more fun necking than she’d had since… junior high, maybe? She giggled happily, loving the tingley, floaty feeling she was getting from the booze, and the drug and the imminent sex.

Kata- that was her name… Kata. She was pretty sure it was Kata, anyway. Kata was making quick work of her clothes and seemed to be having just as much fun based on the little gasps and mumbled words she was hearing.

She was lifted up by her tall partner and wrapped her legs around her waist as she was slammed back against the wall, the impact triggering a rush of sensation and making her shiver and sigh. “Strong,” Kata purred, nipping at her throat.

“Mmmhmmm,” she moaned, her head craning back, “you, too…” Her hands burrowed under the filmy fabric of the scarf, thumbs stroking over the little ridges in the skin that covered Kata’s ribs, making her moan. Man was she EVER glad she paid attention in Xenobiology class!

One minute she was having the time of her life, and the next she was trying to keep her focus as three BIG guys strong armed their way into the room and ripped Kata out of her arms. She dropped to the floor like a stone, dazed and disoriented. Kata, on the other hand was much quicker to recover. One long leg lifted and kicked the first guy square in the chest, sending him into the sink- oh! They’d ended up in a private bathroom. Cool. That meant…. She ducked under the hands that grabbed for her and rolled. She was impaired and unarmed and she didn’t recognize the race of the intruders, so she was uninformed too.

Not good. She’d gotten herself out of immediate reach and bought herself a few seconds. Hopefully long enough to fix the whole ‘unarmed’ issue. Her preferred weapon for hand to hand was Iriskan Batons, but she didn’t bring weapons to her brother’s shows… so… she hopped up, rocking on her feet slightly from the sudden shift, and grabbed the two narrow pipes that rose out of the back of the commode and yanked hard. It took another two solid jolts, but both pipes came free- sending up a spray of cold water and leaving her armed. On the upside- the icy cold water cleared her foggy mind a bit and rinsed any remaining traces of amaora off her skin.

Hugging the wall, she crouched and got a feel for the weight of the pipes. Kata was keeping two of the guys occupied and handling herself quite well. But the third guy was not the slightest bit slowed by the water. He strode toward her and he was MASSIVE easily twice her size with a long reach. Years of training kicked in and as he got close she rolled out of the way, swinging the pipes together to crack into his kneecap and the back of his knee at once. The joint buckled, throwing him off balance and she continued her spin into a high kick, the steel-reinforced toe of her boot catching him in the back, right over his lower rib. She heard a crack that might have been a bone, or could have been… nope, Kata had busted a sink and was wielding the broken ceramic like a blade. Hot. Focus!

Big guy was recovering and turning to face her, so she moved again, this time using the seat of the toilet to launch her into the air, bringing the pipes down in quick succession on his skull and leaving him dazed enough that she was able to land a couple of punches, still clinging to those pipes. He went down, but before she could catch her breath massive arms snapped around her torso, squeezing her so tightly she couldn’t pull a full breath in and her hands almost immediately started to tingle and go numb.

She shrieked (as much as her restricted breathing would allow) and thrashed, because when quiet and deadly wasn’t working, make a racket. Scream your head off. Attract as much attention as possible. Especially when you were a small female and the person you were fighting was a big male. Outdated gender roles still created an unconscious bias in onlookers that worked in her favor.

“He’s the last one!” she heard someone holler- Kata. She must’ve dealt with one of them herself. She was jerked forward, something must have impacted with the back of the guy holding her. The jolt made her slip down in his grip slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was letting her get a touch more air and when she kicked out, her feet scraped against the wall.

“Do that again!” she yelled back and she could tell the remaining asshat was starting to realize that hanging on to her like this was leaving him completely vulnerable to anything Kata threw at him. This time when he jolted forward, she was ready, legs curled up, feet together. He jerked forward and she kicked out, her boots denting the older wood of the wall and throwing his balance completely off. Reflexively, he released her to catch himself before he fell.

She landed on her back with a splash, winding herself, but managing to avoid cracking her head on the floor. Her arms were still numb and tingling, hands weak, so she wasn’t in the best shape. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. Kata was a surprisingly good fighter… for a random bar hook-up. She rolled away from the stumbling man, still trying to drag some air into her lungs. She was getting dizzy from lack of air… and probably from the amaora and booze, too- but breathing was kind of important. Her head swam and it was getting hard to focus. Uh-oh… she might actually pass- suddenly her magic flared to life, sending her into a spasm like she’d gotten hit with electricity.

Her lungs expanded, sending a rush of oxygen through her, and the magic skittered over her skin, sparking into the air like little embers from a fire. Suddenly, she felt STRONG. Invincible even. Some part of her brain was trying to remind her that intoxication+magic was a BAD combo, but she didn’t really care.

“You shit,” she growled at the last guy, who had Kata by the throat. The words felt strange in her mouth and she suspected that the magic had done more than just energize her. She licked her lips, surprised by the feel of fangs where her canines had been. “I was having fucking fun!” With a sound that was very close to a roar, she charged, feet slipping slightly on the wet floor. She brought one of the pipes in her hands down HARD into the center of his forearm and there was a flash of light as the magic burst around the impact, increasing the strength of the blow. This time the crack she heard was definitely bone, and Kata fell from his grasp, a shaking wheeze telling her that the blond was pulling in some air.

The big guy howled, and she yelled right back at him, one of her boots stomping hard on the back of his knee. Another loud snap and bright burst of magic and he went down. Even on his knees, he was almost as tall as her, but the back of the skull was a weak spot for almost all bipedal races and she didn’t waste any time swinging her pipe down on his. This time the burst was so bright it blinded her temporarily.

Blinking rapidly she turned to where she thought Kata was, “you okay?”

“Yeah…” Kata’s voice was hoarse, noticeably pain-laced. “I think so.”

“I can… probably… help… with… the pain,” she panted, totally overwhelmed by power and intoxicants and adrenaline. “C’mere… Kiss me… it’ll help… magic kisses…”

She still couldn’t really see much, but she felt the soft, warm hand on her hip, felt the little burst of the contact high, and then there were soft, velvety lips on hers and a little forked tongue tickling the roof of her mouth and her body surged, reminding her strongly of what had been interrupted. She felt her magic swirl around the both of them, and heard the pipes splash and clatter to the floor as she moaned and pulled the tall blonde flush against her, deepening the kiss.

“What the actual hell!?! PIXIE!” her father’s voice cut through the haze and Kata jerked away from her.

Her sight seemed to be returning to normal, except for a few spots floating around the edges of her vision. She let her eyes scan the bathroom. Oh. Wow. The sink was destroyed. Water still sprayed from the busted pipes and was several inches deep on the floor. Her shirt, bra, and jacket all floated near the drain that was completely ineffective against this volume of water. Three large guys were strewn on the floor, two of them bleeding… that one by the door might actually be dead- she had no idea what Kata had done to him. One end of the light was torn free of the ceiling, wires hanging in a tangle.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror- oh. Her hair looked like hell, sodden and matted and clinging to her skin weirdly.. Power was still crackling through her, making her skin and eyes glow, her pupils had slitted and- oh hey- those fangs were still there. Kata didn’t look much better- that thin floaty scarf completely transparent from water, streaked with blood and torn in several spots.

It could be worse though. She was unharmed as far as she could tell. Kata seemed to be mostly okay. AND her father had used his pet name for her instead of the litany of ALL of her given names- which meant he was worried, not angry. Which was good, because, she’d been the one that was ATTACKED, after all.

Still, he probably wasn’t thrilled at finding his daughter glowing, and be-fanged, half naked, drunk, high, and making out with a random alien in a trashed bathroom surrounded by- um... possibly corpses?

“Baby? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as he ventured into the room and looked around.

“I.. think so?” she answered.

“Holy shit, Pixie- this place is destroyed… we need to get you out of here… if word of this gets out….”

"Oh please, like this is the worst I have done,” she giggled, still totally buzzing from too many things to count, “this wouldn’t even make my top ten.”