#and i will take that extra hurt and shove it right into my as canon-compliant as a canon-divergent au can be au

[strqyr]

the potential of yang's birthday / the time around it being The Worst™ for her is so high like. she believes raven left right after she was born, and summer left on her mission possibly at some point during the summer if the lush greenery is anything to go by... could have been right around that time, for some extra hurt. like at that point it doesn't even have to be exactly on her birthday or even super near it, just close enough for the negative connotation to be formed.

[prettyboykatsuki]

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

__

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,”  he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

__

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning  on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart  in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

__

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You  cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

[lantur]

royai week 2020: day two, “little pistol”

summary: Riza works for the Fuhrer for two months before she cracks. 

rated: t for teen

tags: canon-compliant

words: 3122 | read on ao3

Riza works for the Fuhrer for two months before she cracks. 

The Fuhrer dismisses her late. It’s the most petty of the several little power plays that he engages in. He always has her work late, and not in a predictable fashion, either. Sometimes he keeps her half an hour past five; sometimes he keeps her until eight or nine at night, despite the fact that she reports for duty at seven every morning. 

Riza hadn’t minded the occasional late nights when she had been her Colonel’s assistant, but this is different. This is so different.

Half the times that Bradley asks her to stay late, he only has the most menial, inconsequential tasks for her to do. Hardly anything of urgency. It’s nothing more than a reminder that she is utterly at his disposal.  Riza is careful never to reveal her irritation or impatience, or her worry for Hayate, alone for so many hours and probably in desperate need of a walk. She schools her expression into blankness. She doesn’t pick at the skin underneath her fingernails or tap her fingertips against the desk, or twirl her pen through her fingers (a habit she had unconsciously picked up from her Colonel, and never realized until Havoc had pointed it out. She misses Havoc.) She doesn’t look at the clock. 

On this Friday evening, two months to the day that she had first reported for duty in his office, the Fuhrer dismisses her at half past six. “Have a good evening, Lieutenant.” Bradley glances away from the window, giving her a small, genial smile, the corners of his visible eye crinkling in the same way Lieutenant General Grumman’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. It looks so human.

Riza salutes him. “You as well, Fuhrer.” 

She walks home briskly, her heart in her throat. The sound of the cars speeding past on the road makes her startle. When one of them honks, she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

Normally, spending time with Hayate, stroking his soft fur, admiring the shine of his warm brown eyes, watching his tail wag and his nose twitch as they walk together, is enough to soothe her. Center her. It doesn’t, this evening, though Riza takes him for an extra long walk. They get home and she measures food out into Hayate’s bowl and stands and watches him eat. Her shoulders feel rigid and achy, her nerves rubbed raw after another long week in such close proximity to the Fuhrer. 

Riza pets Hayate for a few minutes, and then grabs her keys and her access card to the range.

It’s nearly empty, at this time on a Friday night. Riza normally enjoys the solitude, but tonight, she keeps looking twice at every shadow. No witnesses, she thinks, every time. 

She stays until closing, trying to take comfort in the muffled sound of the gunshots, the subtle kickback of her weapon, the smell of the gunpowder, even the weight of the protective coverings on her ears. It normally helps her feel calmer. More in control. Tonight, when every shot hits its target, Riza just sees Lust and Gluttony in front of her, advancing on her, completely undeterred.

It’s almost ten when the range closes. She should go home and try to sleep. She can’t remember the last time she had a good night’s rest. It must have been back in East City, before Hughes was killed. But she isn’t tired. The shooting had burned time, but not energy.

It’s impulsive, it’s not like her - at least, not like the old her - but Riza takes the train, the Sanderson Line, to the very outskirts of Central. She gets off at the last stop on the line and she just wanders, for a while, her hands shoved in the pockets of her coat. It’s a chilly night, and she lets her hair down to warm her neck, relieved that she had thought to put on tall boots underneath her skirt before leaving her apartment. The warmth of the Nimble Bar, when she steps in, is a welcome sensation. 

Riza takes in her surroundings at a glance. It’s a large space, but somewhat run-down. It’s dimly lit and smoky - good for privacy. It’s busy, but not too busy, which is another point in its favor. The deciding factor is its distance from Central Command. She doesn’t see a single familiar face here. 

Thankfully, no one pays her much attention as she walks up to the bar and orders her drink, or when she takes it back to a corner booth far away from the billiards tables. It’s white lightning moonshine, stronger than what she normally likes. She hasn’t had this particular drink since returning from Ishval. Something inside Riza is telling her that this isn’t a good idea, but she ignores it. 

It’s good moonshine. It’s smooth. It’s potent. It burns. Riza curls her hands around the glass and takes a deep breath, and she savors the way it burns all the way down. It nearly hurts. 

She sits there, nursing her drink, and she lets it all wash over her. She thinks of the Fuhrer, and of Selim Bradley, and Gluttony and Lust, and the Philosopher’s Stones, and Ishval. 

Riza finishes the glass faster than she should, and goes back for a second. She is close to finishing her second glass, and is staring into it, contemplating ordering a third, when a man slides into the booth beside her, without even asking if she would like company.

Riza looks up a second too late, and her angry words die on her lips. 

“Drinking alone, Elizabeth?” Roy gives her an affable smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s very unlike you.”

He’s wearing his usual, overly formal, civilian clothes, and he looks so out of place here that Riza blinks, wondering if the moonshine is hitting her too hard (now that she thinks about it, she hadn’t had dinner), and whether she’s seeing things. Colonel, she almost says. She catches herself, just in time, but she can’t bring herself to think of a codename. 

“What are you doing here?” This isn't one of his usual haunts. As far as she knows, he’s never conducted business on this side of town before. It’s clear on the other end of the city from Chris Mustang’s bar. 

“I came to find you, of course.” Roy studies her glass. “Is that white moonshine?”

He sounds a little shocked. Riza closes her eyes. “How did you know I was here?”

“Vanessa was here, on a date, when you came in.” Roy’s voice is low. “She gave me a call. She said that you looked down - that you were probably having troubles with your new man - and suggested that I check in.”

She doesn’t even know what time it is. It could be close to midnight. It could have taken him half an hour to get here. Riza rubs her temples. “You shouldn’t have.” Her voice doesn’t sound quite right. It’s less steady than usual. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” 

She doesn’t want to argue. She’s too tired, all of a sudden, for that. Riza lifts her glass for another sip, and her Colonel presses a gentle hand to her arm, lowering it. “I think that you’ve had enough for tonight.”

She wants to snap at him, like he has done to her whenever she’s tried to cut him off - so many times, over the past years. Especially after Ishval, and after Hughes. But Roy’s hand is lingering on her arm, and he’s sitting so close that she can smell his aftershave and feel the warmth radiating off him, and he’s wearing that dark coat he always wears, the one that’s as familiar to her as anything she owns. Riza feels the tears burn the back of her eyes. She sets the glass down. She presses the heels of both of her hands to the skin underneath her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“That’s better.” Roy pauses, and she wishes he wasn’t sitting so close. The temptation to lean against him, to press her aching head to his shoulder, is almost overwhelming. “I don’t think I need to ask you what’s wrong.”

“No.” Riza actually laughs, though she feels anything but happy, and she wipes her eyes as discreetly as she can. “You don’t.” 

“Talk to me, Elizabeth,” Roy says quietly. “Has anything happened? Did he do anything to you?”

Their shoulders are mere inches from one another. She feels how tense he is; how tightly wound. Riza shakes her head. “It’s more about what I want to do than anything he’s done.” She struggles with the words; with her thoughts. “Every day. Every hour. I think of going to the mansion, at night, and burning it down. I’d pour gasoline around the perimeter, first. All it would take after that is a couple of matches and a lighter.” 

A lighter. Riza thinks of Havoc, and the desire to cry returns. She looks at her Colonel. From the expression on his face, he seems to have had the same thought.  

“Fire kills them,” Riza explains, as quietly as she can. “You remember what you did at the Third Laboratory. But my guns are useless against them. I’m useless against them.” You wouldn’t be, a voice inside her says, one that sounds like her father, if you’d only been able to learn alchemy from me; if only you weren’t such a hopeless pupil-- and Riza nearly sobs. 

She can’t remember the last time she had seen her Colonel look so concerned. Maybe it was on the day that they had all received their transfer paperwork. He moves as if he would touch her shoulder, and then stops short. “Elizabeth--”

“I can’t accept it.” Riza buries her face in her hands. “I can’t get my head around it.”

“What? What is it?”

“All of it, Roy.” She hasn’t called him by his first name in ten years, but it just slips out, and she can’t put it back. “The fact that he is - what he is. Ishval. For all the years since then, I thought he was a person, a person who gave that order, a misguided person, a person who made a terrible, cruel decision, but a person. To learn that everything in Ishval happened not just because a human made a terrible decision - as all humans are capable of, as even you and I would be capable of - but because it was calculated is just…” Riza chokes. “He used us to murder the Ishvalans, not out of his own human cruelty and frailty - but as a deliberate sacrifice to get what he wanted.”

“I know.” Roy’s hands tighten into fists. “I know.”

“I can’t stand it.” It’s taking everything in her not to cry. “I hate it. It makes me want to kill. And all of the senior leadership who know the truth of what he is, who accept having him as the leader of our country, using the people of Amestris as pawns in his game…” Riza’s stomach heaves, and she bites the inside of her cheek to suppress the wave of nausea that washes over her. “Every day, I have to sit in on his meetings with them and take notes, and there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than to take out my gun and put a bullet in each of their brains. It scares me, how much I want it. I’ve never… Killing is something I do, it’s something I’ve done for years, but I’ve never wanted to do it so badly before. Does that make sense?” 

There’s such compassion and empathy in Roy’s gaze. “It does.”

“I don’t just want to put a bullet between his eyes. Even if that would do anything.” Riza rakes her fingernails through her hair, against her scalp. It doesn’t burn in quite the same way the moonshine does, but it’s an acceptable substitute. “I want him to burn, and to suffer. Like Lust did.”

“I know,” Roy repeats. “But you have to let this go.”

The words, the sentiment, is so unexpected from him that Riza stares, taken aback. “What?”

“Anger isn’t your vice. It’s not your burden to carry. It’s mine, and it always has been. It’s not…” Roy hesitates. “It’s not what’s best for you. I know it’s difficult, but you have to put this aside and focus on surviving. It’s going to be a long winter, as it is. It’s going to be a hundred times longer and harder if you’re dealing with all these thoughts every day.” 

A number of retorts rise to her lips, and Riza swallows them down. “You think that you can bear this burden better than I can?”

“I always have.” Roy rests his hand on the table, a hair’s breadth from hers. “With you to keep me in check. With you to pull me back whenever I’m close to doing something dangerous or impulsive. It’s not an option for both of us to be so compromised.”

Riza exhales slowly. She thinks back to the past five years, since Ishval, to all the times she’s warned her Colonel against being too rash, too impatient, too bold, too borderline insubordinate to senior staff. To all the times she had chided him for drinking too much. “I’m sorry. I should have been more understanding of you, in the past.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Roy says, at once. His tone brooks no argument. “And you can let go of the idea that you’re useless, as well. There’s nothing further from the truth. You should know how valuable you are to me.” 

“I--” Riza looks at him, and then looks away. I miss you, she’d almost said. Because she does. That’s the steady undercurrent that runs through every single one of her days, now. Like the background music on a radio drama or a television program. She goes about her work, taking notes at the Fuhrer’s meetings, creating his schedule for the days, making him tea, helping him prepare for his upcoming meetings, filing his paperwork, and she misses Roy Mustang, every single day. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else on your mind?” Roy presses. “While we’re here, and able to speak a little more openly then we can, closer to home?” 

He knows her so well, and Riza can’t help but smile, for the first time in what feels like months. “I miss the unit.” That’s an acceptable thing to say, and it is true. She stares at her moonshine, wishing she could finish the last sip, even though it’s really hitting her, now, and she doesn’t need any more of it. “And Rebecca. And Edward and Alphonse.” Even though she’s surrounded by the Fuhrer’s associates and the Fuhrer himself all day, and she has Hayate for company at night, she feels alone. Alone with her thoughts, her feelings, her anger, her fear. 

“They miss you too. I’m sure of it.” Riza glances at him, and Roy smiles, and this time, it does reach his eyes. “You’re not alone, I promise.”

Underneath the intelligence, the sharp wit, the strength of his convictions, the confidence, the charm, this is what had made her fall for Roy in the first place, more years ago than she cares to remember. His quiet, subtle kindness. It’s been so long since her world has had any kindness, any tenderness, any soft moments at all, and Riza looks away from him abruptly. Her breath actually catches in her throat, embarrassingly, and she hopes he hadn’t noticed it.

Roy reaches out without another word and rests a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles against it, and Riza goes still, because this isn’t something they do. They never touch, unless it’s necessary. But it feels so comforting, so soothing, and all the breath leaves her body in a shuddering exhale. She lets Roy draw her close against him, holding her like a man would hold his girlfriend, like he’s sheltering her, like he would protect her. Riza presses her cheek against the wool of his coat and breathes him in. He’s still rubbing her back, and she can feel the weight and warmth of his hand through her coat and her sweater, and she’s had sex less intimate than this feels.

Riza rests her aching head against his shoulder. “You know,” she murmurs, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Maybe there’s one small silver lining to all this.”

“Hmm?” Roy smooths her hair out of the way, moving his hand further up her back, and Riza closes her eyes, savoring the sensation. 

“We’re not in the same direct chain of command anymore,” she says, as quietly as she can. “You’re not my commanding officer. Not for the rest of this winter. Not until spring.”

Roy’s hand stills for a moment, and then he resumes. “That’s a good point.” His voice wavers slightly. 

She pulls back, just enough to look him in the eye. They’re close enough to kiss. Under normal circumstances, she would never be so bold, but there’s a great deal of white moonshine in her system and all of the want, the need, the craving for destruction and violence that had dominated her earlier, pressing into her ribs with every breath she took, is taking a different direction. 

“Take me home, Roy,” Riza says softly. That’s the second time she’s called him by name in a decade, now. She has to be careful. She loves the way it feels in her mouth, on her lips. It’s strangely addictive. 

Roy closes his eyes briefly, as if to shield himself against whatever he sees in hers. “You’re drunk, Elizabeth.” 

“That doesn’t change anything.” 

Roy opens his eyes, and she can see his frustration, his indecision, as plainly as if it had been written all over his face. His hand is still on her back, thumb caressing down her shoulder blade. “It does.” He takes a deep breath, and she can see it on him, that he’s come to a decision. “We’ll meet at Madame Christmas’s bar tomorrow at nine. For now, though, let me take you back to your place so that you can rest.” 

It’s what she’s wanted - what both of them have wanted - for so long. It’s a win, after a devastating streak of losses. A silver lining amidst the gathering storm. Riza nods. Roy stands, and offers her his hand. The world spins alarmingly when she rises to her feet. She takes his hand, grateful for the support, and they walk out together, into the cold night. 

-

and I, well, I want what's best for me / and I, I think I know just what that means / just what that means

-

The title of this fic on ao3 and the lyrics at the end are taken from “Little Pistol,” by Mother Mother. It’s a fabulous song and I highly recommend giving it a listen! 

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter ix. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~2250

chapter 9.  No Limit in the Sky

You should've had I love you stamped on your forehead in bright red ink.

You still think he's joking when you find your words.

How had he even had a chance to ask?  You'd been standing right there as he and Hoseok had chatted, the former thanking the idol for dropping by the class.  The spots were always filled right away, he'd said.  People just wanted the chance to see him in person.

"What?"  It's smaller than you mean, and flat.  You're not quite sure how you feel.

"He messaged me when we were on the way back."  The carrots are done and he's moved onto slicing green onions, thin fingers gliding the edge of a knife through the ends.  "He's really nice, but I didn't give it to him. I wanted to ask you first."

"Well, um."  The flesh of your cheek aches, you realize.  You've been chewing it with a vigor you can't control.  Nervous habit.

"I don't think that's really appropriate." 

Your eyes snap to the new voice, surprise colouring your expression and slipping into the fall of your mouth.  Taehyung's carding a hand through his hair, smoothing it away from his forehead uselessly before it's fallen right back into place.  "She's probably not ready for something like that and it's not fair to put that pressure on her."

You're not sure whether you want to kiss or thank him, so you remain silent instead, lips pursed.  Jungkook's thumb taps gently against the side of your face - a reminder to stop biting your cheek before you can't eat dinner.  You stop almost immediately, hand of your own reaching to hold his own delicately.

"Hyung's right," your best friend chimes. All three scowl - who's he referring to?  "She'll never say no, but she'll be uncomfortable."

"I'm right here, you know." You finally huff, growing annoyed by the way they're all talking about you as if you weren't right there. You knew they were only looking out for your best interests - which, in some ways, they knew better than you did - but it was frustrating nonetheless. 

Neither man seems bothered by your reproach, Taheyung already turning his back to peek around Seokjin's shoulder.  On the other hand, Jungkook squeezes your fingers once, twice, three times.  A silent apology dating back a decade.  

Mi-an-hae.  One squeeze for each syllable.

"You can give it to him."  You ignore the surprise written in the faces you can see and can only imagine the expressions on those you can't.  "But maybe just tell him I've just gotten out of a relationship?  I don't want him to expect anything."  Or hurt me so soon after, you don't say.

Hoseok's the only one seemingly perfectly okay with the idea.  "Okay, I will."

At the dinner table, surrounded by the most rambunctious men you've ever met in your life - it's chaos.

Hoseok and Namjoon are laughing about something in between bites, the former's eyes disappearing when the latter says something particularly funny, dimples on full display.  

Further down the table, Yoongi has the largest pile of skewers beside his bowl.  In fact, you don't think you've seen him put down his chopsticks the entire time.  He's been happily munching away, engrossed in the salty, fatty goodness while his members have indulged in conversation around him. 

Two seats away, Taehyung is quietly shovelling food into his mouth, only ceasing repetitive motions when Jimin is proposing a toast.  It had started reasonably  - to Bangtan, to ARMY, to our families - but it had since descended into madness.  Now, he was chanting about mini race cars and the high quality meat of tonight's meal, prompting Seokjin to join in. 

"I think you need to catch up."  You're swallowing around a mouthful of rice before speaking, wiggling your eyebrows at your best friend.  While it seemed everyone was enjoying themselves, he'd been curiously taciturn.  At first, you'd chalked it up to him just being hungry - as he always was - but you weren't so sure anymore.  That worried you more than it should.

You'd known him for so long you considered him the other half of your whole.  With that came an innate understanding of each other - or so you thought. 

"I've had more than them."  The two empty soju bottles beside him are raised for your inspection.  "I'm just better at holding my liquor.  I'm JK, after all."  He's mirroring your earlier expression, eyebrows disappearing into fluffy strands.  "Why - are you trying to get me drunk so I spill all my secrets?"

You laugh at that, reaching your free hand up to gently assault his chin.  "Maybe.  You never know what you could be hiding from me!"

That I love you.

Because that's exactly why he isn't indulging in the way his hyungs are, carefree as can be in the comfort of their own home. 

He's already spent the better half of his life fighting the feeling.  As he sits there, warmth of your thigh pressed to his beneath the table, he has to claw back the words that threaten to spill forth.  He has to make a concentrated effort to not linger too long on your lips or the pretty blush that soaks your cheeks in pink.  He wishes he could leap headlong into the sound of your laughter that curls like the peel of a Christmas orange and sinks into his senses. 

Would you take it well?  Would you be shocked and leave?  Or would you be the thing he most feared - contrite, apologetic, as you tore his heart in half? 

Losing you would be one thing but pity - that would destroy him.

So, instead, he scowls at you, nose wrinkling in that patented Jungkook way, and shoves a carefully constructed wrap of goodies into his mouth.  He chews languidly, staring you down the bridge of his nose, and you're a second away from squeezing his cheeks.  

"I don't hide things from you."  He says it simply, dismissively, once he's swallowed.  You hated when he talked with his mouth full.

"I know.  I was kidding."

Maybe it's just the alcohol talking or the devil on your shoulder that speaks so sweetly you can't hear anything else.  There's a ringing in your ears and a soft, fuzzy feeling like you're looking through a snow globe.  You know you're not drunk - far from it - in fact - but there's a pleasant buzz coursing through your body, every nerve lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It's the way Jungkook's looking at you, like he can see right through you.  Could he?

You try not to wilt under his stare, suddenly feeling far too warm.  Fingers twist and turn in your lap, chopsticks and shot glasses long forgotten.  Should you get up?  Surely, he feels this too, electricity crackling between you like a live wire surging from the tips of your fingers to the balls of his feet.  If he can't feel that, then it must be evident in the careening pitch of your laugh, strange even to your ears.  You were so terribly, miserably obvious.

You should've had I love you stamped on your forehead in bright red ink.

But if he does, he says nothing, finally tearing his gaze from yours.  He rises from his seat, holding up empty bottles in a universal question and chuckling to himself when no one reacts.  Except you, that is, but he can't look at you again.  Not right now, when his heart is hammering so hard in his chest he's afraid it's going to burst out like some terrible cartoon sketch. 

"Do you want some help?"  You're offering softly, hopefully, with no ill-intent.  But it burns him to his core, because your words are like a melody he'd listen to forever, a siren song he'd gladly drown for.  Don't you know what you do to him?

Jungkook's halfway to the kitchen before he's answering.  "No, I'm good."

You spend the rest of the evening weightless, feeling like you're floating on cotton candy clouds.  It's a curious sensation but nonetheless welcome.  Anything to distract you from the thoughts that have chosen to make a home of your head, pervasive notions that flit around your mind like an irksome fly.  Why was he the only thing you could think about now, of all times?  Why hadn't you had half a decade to break these dreams into fairy dust?

Oh wait - you had.

Because these were the same daydreams you'd carried with you since you'd realized that maybe, just maybe, you liked Jungkook as more than just a friend.  They hadn't just come out of nowhere, though you'd shout yourself hoarse with the insistence that they had.  The emotions were tied to memories, ones that played against the back of your eyelids like a highlight reel while you slept. 

Flash.

The anniversary of your mother's passing.  Your father but a shell of the man he'd always been.  A star whose light had gone out.  He'd been despondent leading up to the day, forgetting about things that he never would have otherwise.  You'd been hungry for longer than you cared to admit, searching for food in the cupboards that housed ghosts and little else.  You'd carefully spooned soup into your mouth, hesitant to take too much from the thermos you brought to school daily.  You hadn't thought anyone would notice how tired you were, how you barely perked up when the rest of your classmates were sprinting across the lawn to play.  But Jungkook had noticed and from then, he'd always packed a little extra in his lunch.

Flash.

His fourteenth birthday, complete with a homemade cheesecake and four candles.  You'd bought him a new headset, giddy with pride when he'd torn it out of it's careful wrapping.  You hadn't even cared that he'd completely missed the card taped to the front, his name scrawled in neat pink gel ink beside a lopsided heart.  Things had been rough for a little while - the life of a trainee, after all - but it had been all worth it to be able to celebrate this with him.  Even if it'd cost you more than you wanted to admit, it was all worth it to see that smile on his face.  

Flash.

"You did it!"  You weren't sure when he'd gotten so much bigger than you, the top of your head barely clearing his chin.  Hadn't it just been months ago when you'd both fit into your double bed with room to spare?  When had his shoulders turned into an impenetrable fortress, the slope of his jaw all sharp angles?  He'd hoisted you into his arms like you weighed nothing, swinging you around like you were a child.  You'd told yourself the flutter in your stomach was from the centrifugal motion and not the way you were so close you could see the galaxy reflected in his eyes.

Flash.

You knew how hard he'd fought to meet you there, standing off to the side of arrivals.  There'd been a black mask shielding his face and a baseball cap low over his ears, the hood of his sweater bunched up around his neck.  It was supposed to be inconspicuous but there'd been something about him that immediately drew your attention to him.  You refused to believe it was just you.  (Yeah, you weren't touching that with a ten foot pole.)  

The relief was instant when you'd cleared the wall of people, all in various stages of euphoria as their loved ones came staggering back into their lives.  You'd caught his outstretched hand in your own and squeezed tightly, mirroring the smile you knew was hidden from view.  It hadn't been a hug but it was enough.  "Welcome home."

Flash.

His face in low-res pixels, signal not quite strong enough to translate the movement behind his camera.  You could barely make out the figures behind him but you could feel the elation rolling off him in waves, pieced together by the flash of his teeth and his whoop of excitement.  "We did it!"  He'd all but shrieked, nearly prompting you to rip your headphones off. 

"I know - I knew you would!"  Jungkook was over the moon, a shooting star with no end in sight - so when he'd blown a kiss to the lens, you tried not to think about it.  This was everything he'd ever wished for, manifested in a single magical night.  He couldn't be held responsible for the ache in your heart.

Flash.

You're not sure how long you've been lost in thought, staring at some undefined point on the far wall.  Lips are parted, a little dry and a little bruised from the worrying you've done like second nature.  When you realize you're spacing out, you're renewing your assault with renewed vigour.  Why was this happening?

"Everything okay?"  It takes you a minute to realize it's directed to you - or even that someone is speaking at all.  The words don't make sense at first, unfamiliar syllables taking a second to sink in.  You wonder, briefly, why Namjoon's speaking English, his warm gaze kind and expectant.  He's closer than you'd realized but still politely removed, comfortable in his own little square of the couch.  He looks tired but content, satisfied. 

You mull over his question, turning it on its head over and over again.  Were things okay?  Were you okay?  "I'm not sure," you finally relent.  It seems too big of a question to answer, like anything you say won't necessarily be true.  

"That's okay."  He's rising to his full stature, posture relaxed and head cocked, glasses just barely off-skew.  "Let's go talk."

You don't even hesitate to follow him out of the room.  Maybe this was what you needed.

notes.  please enjoy this tooth-rotting fluff as an apology for how dumb these two are.

[r0botarmsapts]

Title: Desperate Illusion. Cross-posted to Ao3, dA and Fanfiction.net. Characters/Pairings: Flynn Scifo, Yuri Lowell. FlynnYuri, FureYuri, Fluri. Words: 1,300 +. Disclaimer: I own this fanfiction but not the characters or game they’re from. Notes: This fic was originally wrote months ago, and inspired by Tales of Vesperia not spoon feeding their players everything, I got to try something new here. Going with implications and things unsaid. The title based on Flynn's current worst fear and need to see Yuri again. Yuri not knowing information on what happened or reacting to the confession; this Yuri born in Flynn's nightmare cannot know more than Flynn himself does, and at that time, Flynn would not know how Yuri would react to his confession at the time. I still need practice, but like the end result well enough. <3 Extra: Angst, Ghost, Nightmare, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional pain, Death, Friendship + Love, Canon Compliant. Counter restarted, so this is the new first entry for Fluriary 2020. Summary: A few moments of silence ticked by, feeling all too long and too short at the same time. Flynn refusing to let Yuri go, holding on as long as he could. Flynn wanted to shout, call for death to come manifest itself into a physical form, ready to challenge it so as long as it meant Yuri lived. They were supposed to have a better life together, the blond having been determined to confess his feelings to his best friend once they were reunited. This was not how he imagined it at all, or how he wanted it to be. Yuri had been the one to break the quiet between them, ending their embrace, taking a step back, looking into Flynn’s widened eyes. “It’s time. Look after the others for me.” Flynn nodded numbly, noticing that Yuri was fading away before his eyes. The swordsman was against a foe he could not win or truly fight against, a foe Flynn himself could not save or protect Yuri from.

Something is wrong, Flynn can feel that much on the spot, while his body felt as though it were made of stones heavier than he had the strength to carry. The blond was sore and strained from the efforts he had been putting in the past two weeks, doing everything possible to locate Yuri. For now, his eyes remained focused on the maps, charting out new areas to search while crossing off and ruling out other areas they had been in already. Brave Vesperia had been covering a lot of ground and, thanks to Judith with Ba’ul’s assistance, the skies. Flynn is exhausted, but rest can come later, when he’s done plotting out a new course for them to take. Rest can come when Yuri’s found. ‘Alive’, he tosses in for himself, not ignoring the probability that Yuri was gone for good given there had been no sign of him anywhere for the past two weeks... Not even so much as his sword.

All too suddenly, the cabin door swung open, a cold air overtaking the room, unfitting for the summer months, giving rise to goose-bumps, leaving that feeling of something being wrong to increase.

“Hey.”

That voice, the all too familiar one Flynn had been missing for so long now, but relief was not what he felt, trying to dismiss how tired he was, the Captain quickly looked over to the cabin door, spotting the other man leaning against the door frame, but somehow Yuri looked off. Flynn looked uncertain and questioned, “Yuri?”

“I came to say good-bye, Flynn.”

Yuri had the too familiar smile he often wore, but his eyes did not match. They were sad, somber, forcing everything into place for the blond as he stared in disbelief. “Good-bye? Yuri, no. You can’t be...” Flynn’s voice nearly cracked while he spoke, not wanting to believe what he was being told, even if it was from Yuri himself, refusing to even say the word. Yuri could not be gone, the other man had survived too many things that would have done in a regular person. He still had yet to tell Yuri how he felt, having been determined to do so after they found him. This, this could not be real.

“I don’t have a lot of time. Besides, between us, I think we both knew I’d be the one going first.”

“No." Flynn did not like how Yuri sounded, it was too different, unsettling. Forcing himself to move, he was with the swordsman in the blink of an eye, pulling him into the tightest hug he could manage, unable to ignore how cold Yuri felt against him, realizing all too painfully he was the reason for the cold air in the cabin. The hug was slowly returned, the possibility this would be the last time he had Yuri in his arms crushing his heart. “Yuri, what happened?”

“It doesn’t matter now. One minute it’s the top of Zaude, then the next, I woke up like this. You can feel something pulling you away to somewhere, I only know I had to see you first to say good-bye.”

Without thinking about it, Flynn held on to Yuri tighter, as if his love could be stronger than whatever force from beyond was trying to pull Yuri away from him. If he held on hard enough, Yuri would not leave him, again. A hundred questions ran through all at once, yet deep down Flynn knew he had limited time, even if he did not want to truly admit it right now. These last few moments were precious, not to be wasted.

“Our promise, we were supposed to do this together.”

“You’re strong, Flynn. You can do this without me, and you have the gang around too. You’re not alone.”

“I do not want to do this without you, Yuri,” the future being fought for was one born from their vow years ago; a corrupted system that favored those with money, power and connections, a system that tolerated those in the middle, looking down at anyone lower as though they were all dirt, hardly even human and not worth anyone’s time or effort. People mostly left to fend for themselves. Yuri had been born into that system, Flynn had experienced the cruelty of it first-hand from too young an age. They were going to make it a better place, both of them.

“You can’t fight death, Flynn. You’ll have to do it without me around.”

There was a bitter fact to those words that even still, Flynn did not want to accept. If death had a physical form, Flynn would fight the being with everything he had for what it had taken from him, what it was trying to take away now. “It cannot end this way,” Flynn furrowed his brow; anger, sadness, disbelief all mixing together in ways that pained him physically. Continuing, his voice wavered, “both of us were supposed to see things change, it was our vow together. Even back then, I knew you were the one I wanted by my side, even when our ways involved different paths. I love you, Yuri, I have for a long time. You can not leave now.”

A few moments of silence ticked by, feeling all too long and too short at the same time. Flynn refusing to let Yuri go, holding on as long as he could. Flynn wanted to shout, call for death to come manifest itself into a physical form, ready to challenge it so as long as it meant Yuri lived. They were supposed to have a better life together, the blond having been determined to confess his feelings to his best friend once they were reunited. This was not how he imagined it at all, or how he wanted it to be.

Yuri had been the one to break the quiet between them, ending their embrace, taking a step back, looking into Flynn’s widened eyes. “It’s time. Look after the others for me.”

Flynn nodded numbly, noticing that Yuri was fading away before his eyes. The swordsman was against a foe he could not win or truly fight against, a foe Flynn himself could not save or protect Yuri from.

Flynn tried to move as fast as he could to grab onto Yuri’s arm, clutching onto air as the person he loved vanished with Yuri‘s final words the last things he heard. “You’ll be okay, Flynn.”

In his grief, Flynn yelled, “Yuri!” towards a sky with a full moon that was cruelly bright that night.

The next thing Flynn was aware of was sitting up in his bed, part of his blanket clutched tightly in his hand, his breathing was heavy, eyes wide, face damp from tears shed while in his nightmare. Right now, the Captain was uncertain if that being a nightmare was a blessing or curse; it meant enough Yuri was not confirmed to be gone, yet it meant another day of searching, hoping, cursing the man’s name until he was found(preferably alive). It meant another day of not knowing if Yuri had been captured, was in a danger Flynn was unaware of or trapped somewhere where they could not find him.

Glancing at the clock on the cabin’s wall, seeing it was only a couple of more hours until he was supposed to be awake, the blond shoved the covers aside, getting ready for the day early. He did not want to chance returning to that scene born from his fears- instead, he ran over details for the day, going ahead and eyeing the maps laid out neatly on his desk, noting their check in with Brave Vesperia in a couple of days if Yuri still had not been found.

Flynn would search every last corner of the planet if he had to. He had to find him, alive, more so since he had to tell Yuri how he felt, after all.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 15

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Crossposted to AO3

“Now, to be fair,” Jonas said, holding the glass filled with mostly ice, and a thin layer of Corellian’s finest up to the rapidly purpling bruise on his face, “no one could have seen this happening.”

Theron glared across the table at his fellow agent before promptly knocking back a shot of the most expensive whiskey he could find on the bar’s menu, since Jonas was now most definitely picking up the tab. The alcohol stung against his split lip, but he just glared through the discomfort, focusing all of his ire on the man in front of him. “I should have. You should have. And apparently the surliest Houk this side of Tatooine did.”

“I’ll have you know, my Sabacc deck is perfectly legal in just about every circle the game is played.”

“Except apparently the Dealer’s Den,” Theron said sourly.

“This is a much nicer cantina anyway,” Jonas sniffed.

“The nice cantinas turned us away.”

“Yes, but this place has character. You just don’t get that these days.”

“I’m never drinking with you again.”

“Never say never.”

“Never,” Theron said emphatically.

“Well, in that case,” Jonas gave out a dramatic sigh, “if this is our last drink together ever, we might as well make it a good one. Bartender, two Whyren’s Reserve, neat.”

The bartender just laughed. “You’re a riot, kid!”

“Okay, then just another round of the best of whatever won’t kill us in one sip.”

“So two more of what you’re having right now?”

“Yes, extra ice please.”

“You really know how to treat a guy, Balkar.” Theron rolled his eyes.

“Has anyone ever told you that you need to lighten up?”

“This one guy, but he keeps getting my face punched in. So I don’t think I should listen to him.”

“I’m just keeping your life exciting.”

“My life was already exciting. And somehow, filled with less bruises.”

“Now that’s a lie.” Jonas took a sip from his drink, getting just the smallest dregs of whiskey through the thick layer of ice. “Half of the times that I’ve seen you your face has looked like some abstract art concept.”

“Um, thanks?”

“To be honest, I’m surprised I was able to recognize you today, what with the lack of blood stains and black eyes. This look now is more you.”

“I do not get injured that often,” Theron said testily, then added a muttered, “and I just haven’t gotten a lot of field work lately.”

“Yeah, promotions suck.” The sarcasm practically dripped from the other agent’s voice. “Although, you have to admit, you’ve been keeping some awful interesting company lately.”

Theron slid a glance up from his glass to see a grin on the other man’s face, rather than the frown that he had expected. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I know for a fact you were involved with the Tython op.” Jonas picked up his glass, and swirled around the ice cubes and minuscule amounts of whiskey. He went to take a sip and frowned when nothing came out. “And also saw that the Jedi’s poster girl was the main operative there.”

“Oh. Her.”

“Thought that I’d get more of a reaction than that, but I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”

Their conversation paused as the bartender sat two more glasses down at the table, and Theron quickly reached across the table and grabbed the one filled to the brim, leaving the one that was mostly frozen water for his companion.

“Hey—”

“You wanted the ice. I prefer to actually taste the alcohol.”

“Why do I ever take you drinking? Those damn implants make it nearly impossible to get you drunk.”

“That’s the point.”

“You’re an expensive date is all I’m saying,” Jonas grabbed his own glass and pulled it back, “and all I get from the deal is sass.”

“Then stop inviting me.”

“Invitation means someone accepts without being forced out the door. Seriously, you’re more trouble than you’re worth at times.”

“I think you just want a human shield when the punches start flying.”

“Well, that too.” Jonas raised his glass and paused before taking a sip. “And that’s all you’re going to say about the Jedi?”

“What else is there to say?”

“From the way Fauler and the others keep going on whenever they pull her in on ops, I figured there’d be something noteworthy, even from you.”

“Why do you care?” Theron asked, tracing the rim of his glass with a finger. “Angling for an introduction?”

“Just wondering if I should keep the name in mind for future ops is all.”

“I thought Havoc was your go-to squad,” Theron mused. “Or is the Major not picking up your holocalls anymore?”

“I like to have extra options,” Jonas said lightly, “you never know when you might need a Jedi to open a few doors. With the Force. She’s pretty, right?”

“She’s a Jedi.”

“Yes, and some of us don’t hold that against them.” Jonas looked thoughtful. “Pretty sure I could charm even a Jedi.”

“Pretty sure she’d just kick your ass if you tried to put the moves on her.” Theron’s finger stilled as he narrowed an eyebrow. 

“Hmm, maybe not my type then,” the other man flashed him a wide grin, “although that’s what you like, isn’t it?”

“There’s not enough whiskey in this bar to get me to answer that.”

“Hey, just saying I haven’t seen you with anyone who couldn’t easily kill you without a second thought. You really ought to lighten up, in every aspect of your life.”

“You haven’t seen me with anyone,” Theron corrected. “Some of us like to be a bit more discreet than you.”

“Oh, drink your whiskey, sourpuss. It costs a small fortune to go out with you.”

“Maybe if you stopped using my face as shield for incoming fists then you wouldn’t feel so guilty that you wind up paying for drinks for the rest of the night.”

“Maybe if you stopped jumping in front of the incoming fists you’d have a few less black eyes,” Jonas shot back. “But point taken.”

Theron let his gaze drop back down to the overly full glass. He eyed the amount of alcohol and weighed it in his mind against the amount his implants could easily dampen the effects of. It would help dull some of the pain of his bruises, but he could easily shove that aside with a few tricks from his childhood training. The fact that he still needed to check into what Darok was up to on Carrick Station had been at the back of his mind for the whole evening, but he couldn’t exactly start that delicate of a slicing job while Jonas was watching.

He reached across the table and swiped Jonas’s glass of ice and poured about half the contents of his glass in, before returning it to the other side of the table. His fellow agent raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

“Getting sentimental on me, Shan?”

“Figured you haven’t looked in a mirror yet, so that’s just to help soften the blow.”

“I’m sure I look dashing still.” Jonas accepted the glass though. “You seem more sullen than usual tonight. Something up?”

“No,” he said and quickly took a sip from his glass, “just trying to sort through this mess from Tython.”

“Yeah,” the usually cheery demeanor slipped away then, and a shadow of Jonas’s real face surfaced for just a moment, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. Thought we had the Imps on the run, then this…”

Theron nodded, eyeing the other agent over the rim of his glass. It was probably the alcohol, but he found himself asking. “You haven’t seen or heard anything… weird lately, right?”

“Weird?” Jonas snapped out of his reverie, and gave Theron a look. “You’re going to have to be more specific, considering the galaxy we both live in.”

“Never mind,” Theron muttered into his next sip of whiskey. “Forget I asked.”

The other man frowned, eyeing his fellow agent speculatively. “I haven’t seen anything that’s caught my attention, if that’s what you’re asking. Should I be looking?”

“I don’t know.” He set his glass down a little harshly, the clunk of the impact sounding louder to his own ears. “It’s probably nothing.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Jonas said quietly. “If anything pops that doesn’t fit, I’ll let you know.”

Theron nodded. He didn’t want to bring Jonas into this thing, hell, it was bad enough he’d recruited one of the most famous Jedi in the Order on his paranoid hunt. Wrangling her was proving difficult enough, and he really didn’t want to to add Jonas and his questionable “charm” into the mix. An extra set of eyes on the official investigation for the odd bit that didn’t fit couldn’t hurt anything. It probably wouldn’t be enough to catch Darok officially, but it couldn’t hurt either.

Jonas raised his glass for a toast, and Theron begrudgingly raised his as well. There would be no slicing tonight it seemed.

“To Tython,” Jonas said.

“To Tython,” Theron echoed, and then mentally added. You bastards are going to pay.

[cinnabea]

hospital flight

did another twitter thread my beauties, this one I’m pretty happy with! It’s bkdk, 2k, canon-compliant, light angst, some action, and a buttload of fluff.

the thread is here, and it’s formatted for the character limits, but I’ve put the full text under the cut for your convenience.

~~

“I really hate it here,” Izuku said, picking at the flimsy hospital gown he was all-too-used to wearing. “Sometimes I feel like I spend fewer nights in my own bed.”

“So leave.”

Izuku blinked. “Kacchan, I'm not cleared yet. I won't be discharged until at least tomorrow.”

Kacchan shrugged. “So what? You're fine. Leave.”

“I-- What? Kacchan, you can't be serious.” Izuku frowned, unsure if he was just missing the joke or if Kacchan really meant it. It was weird enough that the other boy was even still there.

Visiting hours were just about up, and Kacchan had lingered longer than any of his other classmates. It twirled something warm in his chest. Sure, their relationship had been knitting itself back toward something resembling friendship, but it was still unexpected.

He was probably only here to yell at Izuku. ‘Stop being so reckless, shitty nerd! Get better faster so it won't be meaningless when I stomp you into the dirt.’ Something like that.

Kacchan sneered, “I'm always serious, asshole,” before abruptly ripping the IV line out of Izuku's hand.

Izuku yelped.

“What the hell, Kacchan!?” Izuku cradled his stinging hand to his chest, watching dumbly as the blond strode over to the window and threw it open.

“Since you can't do anything for yourself--” Kacchan returned, deftly discarding the hospital blanket from Izuku's lap. “I guess I just have to do it for you.”

And without further ado, he scooped Izuku off of the bed and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Kacchan!” Izuku cried out, scrabbling weakly at the broad back he was draped against, upside-down. There was a reason he was in the hospital!! Entirely drained, he had no hope of stopping Kacchan physically. So he tried with his words.

“What are you doing?! Put me down!”

“Nah,” was the reply.

Kacchan moved over to the open window, and Izuku's heart flew into his stomach. Was Kacchan going to throw him out from three floors up?!

But Kacchan stepped himself up onto the sill, and without another word stepped out into the night.

Wind whistled in Izuku's ears for a heart-stopping moment as they fell to earth. Kacchan slowed their descent with his thrusters, but it was awkward, sloppy - likely because he had to manage keeping Izuku on his shoulder at the same time. They hit the ground hard.

Izuku's brain hadn't time to catch up - it was still three stories above them - when Kacchan spun him down into a princess carry and took off running.

Izuku couldn't help it.

He laughed.

“Kacchan!!”

Kacchan had Izuku pressed close to his chest, and Izuku's face was similarly pressed into the other boy's neck.

Izuku's heart was racing. That burnt sugar scent, the proximity, the absolute thrill of being kidnapped by Kacchan made him giddy as they flew through the streets.

The thrill of being--

of being--

“Kacchan,” Izuku squeezed out, mind racing. “A-aren’t you worried about breaking rules? Getting in trouble??”

“I’d break all the rules for you, Izuku!”

Izuku's blood turned to ice in his veins.

Absurdly, the first thing his panicking brain spun up was that Kacchan hadn't stayed late with him. He hadn't come to visit him in the hospital at all.

Of course he hadn't.

Izuku didn't fight against Kacchan in the hospital, but like hell he wasn't going to fight now.

He twisted, pulling hard on the neck under his arms and throwing their weight off balance. They stopped running, but Izuku was still firmly in the fake's clutches.

Fingers dug harshly into Izuku's side and leg as the doppelganger adjusted, stumbling only briefly before righting himself.

Izuku cried out in pain.

“Let me go!”

“That wasn't very nice, Izuku!”

The strong arms around him crushed Izuku tightly to Fake-Kacchan's chest.

Izuku struggled, but he was exhausted; One for All burned under his skin but he didn't have the energy to call it up. He had to think of something! Think, Izuku, think!!

..

“Oi!”

Izuku's heart stopped.

The voice was the same as the one belonging to the blond holding him, but it was distant, came from behind--

“Drop the nerd, shithead.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered.

Sure enough, now there were two Kacchans standing in the dark, deserted street.

This one looked a lot angrier.

His palms crackled as he advanced.

“Aw, that's no fun,” the first whined, sticking out his lip in a very un-Kacchan-like way. “You sure you don't just wanna play with him together? Bet he'd like that!”

The fake flipped up the edge of Izuku's hospital gown, flashing his bare hip at Kacchan.

Izuku socked him in the jaw.

Without OfA and with the past few days’ events still dragging heavily on his body, there wasn't much power behind it; more of a clip than a proper uppercut. But it did the job - Fake Kacchan staggered, and Real Kacchan closed in.

In a flash, Izuku hit the asphalt, his bandages stopping only some of the scrapes from blooming across his skin. They burned, sure, but Izuku had suffered far worse.

He rolled out of the way.

Literal sparks began to fly. Kacchan vs. Kacchan, explosion vs. explosion. But it became very quickly apparent that only one of them truly knew how to use the quirk, and Real Kacchan gained the upper hand within minutes.

In a comic book, it would have been hard to tell them apart. ‘I'm the real Kacchan!’ They'd say. Or. ‘I'm the real Katsuki?’ What would Kacchan say that would be the dramatic tip-off for Izuku, gleaned only from their strong bond forged over a lifetime together?

“Oi, Shitty Deku, look alive!”

The Kacchans came barrelling toward him, and Izuku had to scramble with a squawk to avoid getting squished.

“Nooo, sweet Izuku would look so much better if we hit him!!”

It wasn't hard to tell them apart in reality.

Separating violently, the fake began stomping his feet. “No, no, no! You ruined it! Agh!! Hey, hotshot, can I get some more of your blood? I'm outta time!” His face horrifyingly began to melt, dripping down his jaw and revealing that it was, in fact her jaw. 

Toga Himiko.

“Fuck off,” Kacchan snarled, spreading his arms wide into an attack stance.

“Okay!” she chirped, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Bye!”

And she ran off into the darkness.

Kacchan started after her like he meant to pursue, but halted, eyeing Izuku still crumpled on the cold ground.

With a huff, he stalked back over.

Izuku jolted up to standing, but the sudden movement left him light-headed and dizzy, and blacked out his vision. He tipped over.

And Kacchan caught him.

Kacchan. Caught him.

“The hell, Deku? How'd you get tricked by some shitty fake?”

His words were angry but he sounded.. hurt.

Hot hands on Izuku's arms, gunpowder and caramel and smoke, and oh, how could Izuku have ever thought that Toga was genuine?

Because the smell was right but the eyes, how had he not seen it in the eyes?

Kacchan's intense, wild, eyes; rubies dipped in fire and blood, burning with a fury and a brightness that left Izuku breathless.

This was Kacchan. No one else even came close.

Izuku turned away, his face hot. “It was too late by the time I figured it out,” he mumbled.

“Tch,” Kacchan scoffed, snatching his hands back and shoving them into his pockets. “Can you walk?”

“Um.” Izuku looked down at his bare, bleeding feet under wobbly legs. “Yes?”

Kacchan scowled.

“Stupid idiot,” he muttered, before roughly sweeping Izuku right off of his scuffed-up feet.

Izuku's heart had never beat so fast.

He was in the same bridal position as he had just been in while being held by Toga-Kacchan. But these arms were different.

If Kacchan had ever held Izuku before, there would have been no way he would have been tricked by that fake.

Strong, unyielding. Rough. Gentle.

Izuku was falling rapidly and he had nothing to cling to to stop it. Nothing but those hard-earned muscles cradling him.

Burying his burning face in his own hands, Izuku desperately tried to stop himself from coming undone in his rival's arms. He had whiplash from everything that had just happened. What was wrong with him? Was he just in shock?

Kacchan had rescued him like some helpless maiden, and now he was acting like one, falling in love with his hero!

Falling in--

Falling--

“Earth to Deku.”

“Ehh?!”

“I said, you got a fever or something? You're hot as fuck.”

Izuku groaned.

“M'fine, Kacchan. Just. Embarrassed,” Izuku pushed out. “Sorry for the trouble. Sorry you had to.. fight yourself.”

Kacchan grunted, and began walking. “It's whatever. Like I was gonna let some shitty extra with my face take you.”

Izuku's heart fluttered.

“H-how did you find me, anyway?”

“Saw your ass go flying out the window. And somehow mine, too.”

The ward Izuku was staying in didn't face the front of the hospital, the visitor's lot, or anywhere where people would naturally loiter. It opened up to little more than an alley.

How could Kacchan have seen him?

But more importantly..

“You were at the hospital?”

Kacchan was quiet.

The incident that landed Izuku in the hospital had been an attack on a theater, where he had been seeing a show with his mother.

Izuku had tangled with the villain alone, and had barely made it out with his life. But thankfully no one else had been hurt aside from a few minor bumps and scrapes.

None of their other classmates had been there.

It was just Izuku.

When "Kacchan" had shown up at the hospital with Kirishima, Izuku had been surprised - but assumed their boisterous friend had dragged Kacchan with him.

When "Kacchan" had stayed, even after everyone had left, Izuku had been elated.

When "Kacchan" hadn't been Kacchan at all, it damn near broke his heart.

But Kacchan, real Kacchan, had been at the hospital after all. Not to see anyone else and not dragged by friends.

“Kacchan, why were you lurking outside my window?”

Kacchan flinched, jostling Izuku in his arms.

“Sh-shut up, you shitty nerd! I wasn't doing anything like that!”

Even in the dark, illuminated only by soft streetlights, Izuku could see the pink coloring Kacchan's cheeks from his vantage point. Red eyes flicked down before deliberately looking away. Kacchan's scowl deepened.

“Shitty nerd,” he repeated, grumbling.

Izuku couldn't help the tears welling up in his eyes, even as a wobbly smile spread over his face. “You came to see me?”

“Shut. Up,” Kacchan hissed between clenched teeth. “Or I'll leave you in the damn gutter!”

Fully smiling, Izuku scrubbed at his face. His chest felt unbearably full. If this was love his heart couldn't have picked a better target. Knowing he was pushing his luck, he tentatively let his cheek rest against one firm pectoral.

Kacchan didn't drop him.

“..Why didn't you come up?” Izuku asked after a minute of biting his tongue.

“What'd I just say?”

Izuku pressed his lips together. He didn't want to be left in the gutter.

Kacchan sighed.

“Didn't think you'd want to see me,” he muttered.

“What?!” Izuku squawked. “Why wouldn't I want to see you??”

Kacchan's feet slowed to a stop, and he looked down at Izuku in his arms with an odd expression.

“You asked if I wanted to see that stupid show and I told you to go fuck yourself.”

Oh.

Honestly, Izuku had barely remembered that had happened. He never expected Kacchan would say yes, but they were both home for the weekend, and he figured he'd ask anyway.

Did Kacchan feel guilty that he wasn't at the theater?

“I still wanted to see you,” Izuku said quietly.

Kacchan grimaced. “Idiot. Stupid idiot who can't keep himself out of the damn hospital when some small fry attacks. If I had been there it woulda been different.”

Izuku hummed, closing his eyes. “Sure, Kacchan.”

“Oi, what's that supposed to mean?”

“It means don't beat yourself up. Well. Unless it's Toga.”

“Tch,” Kacchan spat, resuming his walk. “Cheeky little shit.”

Izuku smiled, peeking up through his lashes. “Thanks, Kacchan. For saving me. And for coming to see me. In your own way.”

“Whatever!!” Kacchan sputtered.

Kacchan was blushing furiously and Izuku felt like his heart was going to explode. In a good way.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“Back to the hospital, useless Deku.”

“Oh. I hate it there.”

Kacchan snorted.

“Tough shit.”

-END-

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 23

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Twenty-Three Mr. Fussywithers

Bjorn was in charge of drilling the holes in the wall for the dynamite sticks to go into. Then they’d put the sticks in the holes when he was done, attach the wires, run the wires out towards the road or under the bridge towards the Moon Garden, wait until everyone was out of the way, and then detonate the charges.

So, first, this meant making sure that they had fences set up to keep people out. Good thing Bjorn had thought ahead and kept some of the fences that G.E.D. had been using.

“Waste not, want not,” he said in a matter of fact voice.

They set up the fences to his specifications. Then he gave them hard hats. “All right ladies, while I start drilling, what you’re going to need to do is get some wheelbarrows. I’ve got the truck parked. You’re going to load up the wheelbarrows, then load up the truck. When we’ve got a full load, I’ll take it off to the track site to make into concrete later.”

They all nodded as if this made perfect sense. They jogged off to get shovels and wheelbarrows that had ended up scattered around the garden from their efforts of clearing off the weeds.

“Better get the rakes too,” Pauline said.

“Brooms for the dust,” Stacy murmured.

They came back with barrows full of tools.

Bjorn wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Gotta put your back into this to do it right.” He told them with a grin. “Right, the first holes are drilled. Let’s see that dynamite.”

They pried open the boxes with a handy pry bar and some hammers retrieved from the stable.

Bjorn picked it up and examined. “Looks like the stuff. All right, what we’re going to do is cut it down so it doesn’t explode too much.” He brought out what could have been a cigar cutter and showed them how. “Mind your fingers. Wear your gloves.”

They blanched and nodded rapidly.

They cut the first sticks down at his direction and inserted them into the holes he’d drilled into the rock. He showed them how to attach the wires and then they wound the wire out towards the road where a couple other girls had been sent to set up the blast box.

Attaching the wires to the blast box, they were forced to find a hat and fill it with names to see who would press down on the handle and send the first electric spark. Brittany won.

Agnetha and Bjorn moved clear.

“Fire in the hole!” She shouted and gleefully shoved the handle down.

The spark went along the wires and at first there was a puff of smoke, then the dynamite exploded, shaking the ground and breaking up the rock in a great burst of dust, tiny shards of rock, and smoke.

They cheered. Even if they weren’t entirely sure what they were cheering for.

Bjorn chuckled. “Whelp, this would go faster if we had a better way to communicate.”

“James’ walkie talkies!” Lily said.

“James has walkie talkies?” Regina asked.

“Oh, long story,” Lily rubbed her forehead. “I’ll go over and borrow them with a bit of blackmail.” She rolled her eyes. “If he wants help with his photography project, he’ll loan us those walkie talkies. I’ll be back!”

“Photography project?” Elsa murmured.

“I’m not sure if I want to know if it’s James,” Stacy said in a soft voice.

They all had to agree on that, but Pauline having sat through the meeting regaled them in detail about James’ current antics. Bjorn supervised the filling of the wheelbarrows, stopping them before they were too full. “This is rock, not weeds and dirt, girls.” He reminded them.

The girls all reacted in various degrees of outrage and shock about James as they pushed wheelbarrows half full of rock. (Completely full could be too heavy and Bjorn didn’t want them making it too heavy.) They worked together to heft the barrows into the truck and dump them out before going back for more. This was definitely at least a five person job.

--

Lily crossed her arms and looked down at James. “I’m singularly unimpressed.”

“I need them,” James gestured with his hands.

Lily raised her brow. “To continue your scam with Mayor Peanut?”

James flushed. “You don’t understand. The tourists love him.”

Lily sighed. “James, did it occur to you, I don’t know, that entering a pony into the race for Mayor was a bad idea?”

James shifted on his feet. “I didn’t think anyone would vote for him.”

“Which says a lot about the lack of quality of candidates around here,” Lily looked around. Pia was in an argument with some of the vendors it looked like. Lily wasn’t sure if she cared to know.

Pia’s voice drifted over. “If we clear this area of shops and combine your goods, then we can attract tourists with an art fair or performers!”

“Right,” Lily muttered. “I’m going to stay out of that one. Look James, you seem bright.”

James blinked. “Seem?”

“Until you start trying to defraud people. Which, by the way, is a crime.”

James blinked rapidly.

“So, your schemes could get you in a lot of trouble one day after someone starts looking at you and doesn’t see kid.” Lily patted her horse’s neck. “Then, you’ll lose everything you’ve gained.”

James opened and shut his mouth.

“But you’ve got ideas, and some of them are pretty damn good ideas.” Lily met his eyes. “If you want them to succeed at being good ideas, you’re going to have to put the work into them.” She wrapped the reins around her hand. “We’re willing to help you. Not do 99% of the work for you.”

James flushed. “But I’m not a photographer.”

“Then, dear God in heaven, why did you think that taking photographs of Token was a good idea and not giving Pia the credit she deserves?” Lily’s voice turned tart. “If you think Pia is that great of a photographer. You have an idea, James. But Pia, by all rights, can take whatever plush she likes, run around South New Jorvik County herself, and publish a book so her name will be on the cover, and she gets the royalties if she’s going to be the one doing the work. Getting a publisher and an agent before you even had the photography is,” Lily trailed off. “Talk about putting your cart before your horse to use a Jorvik appropriate metaphor.”

“All right. All right. I get it. I messed up.”

“I think you owe Pia an apology about thinking her work and labor is worth so little.”

James gulped. “What do you mean? How hard it is to pose a stuffed animal and snap a picture.”

“Oh James,” Lily sighed. “For a professional quality picture, there are going to be hundreds of photos and thousands of shots and experimentation with the time of day and the shutter speed and what about the posing, hats, no hats, scarves?”

“Oh,” James pushed at his glasses. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“And she’ll have to figure out a way to protect your plush, or else Token could get really dirty.”

James’ eyes widened. “Uh,” he bit his lip. “I don’t want him to get hurt!”

“And neither would she, so she’d have to take extra care that he doesn’t.” Lily raised her brows. “You’re getting a reputation as a user, James. And well, someone who’s dishonest. And that’s going to get around and run away business.”

James sputtered.

“So, I suggest you come up with a story like Mayor Peanut has laryngitis and let me borrow those walkie talkies and we’ll come up with a way to salvage your abysmal reputation. But it will take work on your part and some sincere apologies to your fellow business community members.”

“You don’t understand,” James whined.

“You grew up poor. Got it.” Lily snapped.

James jumped. “How?”

“You’re a grifter, James. That was the next tactic, some sob story to make me feel bad for you, so you wouldn’t have to change a bit.”

James flushed.

“Now, you can continue to play the small game, or you can play by our rules and see the bigger picture. That starts with being a good citizen helping out the representative of the Baroness.” Lily held out her hand and opened and closed her fingers.

James sighed. He pulled the walkie talking out of his back pocket and slapped it into her hand. He marched over to Peanut the pony, and dug the one out of his hat. “I already lost money from Ferdinand because of Pia’s meddling.”

“James,” Lily said in a low voice. “Honest, upstanding, member of the business community, that is your goal. Eyes on the goal.”

James handed her the second walkie talkie. “It was a good deal.”

“For you,” Lily looked down her nose at him.

“Ferdinand got what he wanted,” James whined.

“You weren’t exercising them. You were renting them out to tourists who may or may not know how to ride properly. That’s a recipe for disaster and it won’t come back to Ferdinand. It will come back to you. If people get seriously hurt riding horses that haven’t been trained or exercised properly before being taken out, then they could sue you for lots of money.”

James sputtered.

Lily lifted her chin and raised her brows. “You can’t have a stable and have it be empty.”

James shifted on his feet. “I don’t have money to buy horses.”

Lily crossed her arms. “Then perhaps you’re going to have to keep renting from Ferdinand until you do and not try to steal people’s money with ridiculous fines in order to buy said horses.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit speed dial. “Linda, this is Lily.” She smiled. “Yeah, I know you have caller ID. Hey, I’m sitting here in front of James, and he doesn’t have the capital to buy horses from Ferdinand at full price. Are there any yearlings left that you sold to us?”

James stared at her.

“I’ll bring him along and you can help him pick out some nice, docile, good for beginners, easily trainable, trail riding horses,” Lily said. “Thanks Linda.” She turned off her phone. “Okay, Jamsie, here is the deal. The horses at the Silverglade Equestrian Center are 350 Shillings each since it was a really good or bad year depending for foals. The bad news is that they’re all three year olds and are still settling into their personalities. The good news is that with the right training they won’t have any bad habits to undo. You can rent ponies for the kids from Ferdinand until you start making money. You’ll have to pay someone like Pia and the girls to train them to be good trail riding horses, but you’ll have your own horses. They’ll need to be fed, exercised, the stable cleaned. Oh, wait, you have a club here. So, pay them to help you.” Lily waved a hand at Pia.

Pia ran over. “Hey, Lily.”

“Lily, I’m taking James to pick out some of the yearlings at the Winery to be trail riding horses here. Linda and the Baroness are willing to give him the same deal they gave to us. The caveat being that someone is going to need to look after them and make sure they’re being fed quality food and given clean water.”

“I’d never!” James yelped.

The two girls gave him a look.

Pia pushed her hair back. “I think that the girls and I are going to take up a collection and buy into your stable, James. Just to keep you honest.”

James sputtered.

“The more people, the more responsibility gets spread around,” Lily said lightly. “And the more hands to do the work.”

“And we’d have vested interest that way in training the horses,” Pia nodded. “We’d also have a place to board ours and the fees can come out of our salaries.”

James opened and shut his mouth as Lily glared at him.

“The fees will be standard market rates,” Pia said. “Which, we’ve been researching.”

Lily smiled. She held out her hand. “Up you come, James. I’ll give you a call, Pia, when he needs help herding them back.”

“Herding?” James said. He stared at her hand. “I, um, don’t really know how to ride.”

“Well, then we’ll have to teach you. Can’t have a stable owner not knowing how to ride,” Pia quipped. She smiled at Lily and it was rather evil.

“We’re taking a transport,” Lily said. “It is what, three hundred feet.”

James took her hand and she helped him swing up onto the back of her horse. “It won’t be long. I’m sure Linda is sorting the horses out now,” Lily told Pia. She nudged her horse into a walk.

“Why is it so far down?” James gulped.

Lily sighed.

“I’ll have the money ready and we can do our transaction at the bank when we get back,” Pia said sweetly.

“You trapped me,” James accused Lily as they rode past the stone wall and out of Pia’s hearing range.

“You trapped yourself,” Lily said. “If you’d been honest and above board from the get go, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

James frowned. “Then I wouldn’t be making any money.”

“No. You probably would have made more because people would have relied on you to be a good trader. You don’t know how much money you’ve lost because you’ve given people shoddy goods and they’ve gone to someone else,” Lily said. “I doubt you’ve had a lot of repeat customers.” She urged her horse into the horse trailer.

The engine started and the truck pulling the trailer drove slowly away. They could see the countryside passing outside the windows.

James didn’t say much. “Why are you doing this for me?” He asked quietly, in a very small voice. “I upset your friends. You called me a user and a fraud.”

“Because, I think with the right guidance and the right people around you, James, that you can be a good force for this county.” Lily glanced over her shoulder at him. “You want to succeed. You want Fort Pinta to succeed. You put in the best you’ve got and do the work. And we’ll be here helping every step of the way, because we’re stronger together than we are apart. Don’t view the Pony race as competition. Don’t view the Fort Pinta Beach Party as a rival. Those are opportunities to help Fort Pinta and Jorvik grow. If someone rents a pony from you and go and does the pony race with Penny and Polly, that’s not a loss, that’s a win for Fort Pinta and South New Jorvik County as a whole. The more money they spend, the more money goes into the County and the better everyone can live.”

James grumbled.

“Other peoples’ visions may be different than yours, it doesn’t make them wrong,” Lily said evenly. The transport pulled to a stop behind the S.E.C. stables. The door fell open slowly, the electronics whirring.

Lily backed her horse out and rode through the arch stopping under the dome.

Linda came out of the sell side. “I think I’ve got them sorted. Howdy James, I’m Linda. I’m friends with your sister, Alex.”

“I know,” James ducked his head.

“You first,” Lily said.

James slowly got down, not entirely sure how to do it. “So, about these horses.”

“You have a race and also rent for trail rides, right?” Linda said. “These are good racing horses, and also are trainable enough to be trail riding horses. I’d send someone out with them that has experience though.”

Lily cleared her throat. “Pia is the President of the Fort Pinta Pinto Ponies Club and they’re willing to buy in. They can lead the rides. I need to take these walkie talkies off to Bjorn and Agnetha for our tunneling project.”

Linda nodded. “I’ll show him the horses.”

Lily rode off quickly.

Linda put her arm around James’ shoulders. “How many scoldings have you had?”

“Three, so far,” James slouched.

Linda pursed her lips. “All right. Consider yourself scolded a fourth time. I’m doing this for Alex, James. Because she loves you and wants to see you succeed.”

James gulped.

Linda tugged him into the stable to look at the horses. She explained their finer points to James as they waited for Lily to return.

By the time she did, one of the stallions had taken to James, playfully grabbing his hat and running off with it. Linda laughed and said that James had made a friend, that the stallion was definitely his horse. Or he was the stallion’s human.

Lily leaned over. “Isn’t that Fussywithers?”

“Yep,” Linda chortled.

Fussywithers was only a nickname, because the young stallion as fussy and finicky. His water had to be absolutely fresh. His food just right. His stall perfectly clean and pristine. There was no margin of error with Mr. Fussy.

Lily giggled. He was the perfect horse for James. Funny, how the horses that everyone found were the ones they needed. She dialed up Pia and told her to come get James and his new best friend.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[logicalbookthief]

Game Night

So I actually had most of this written before 15x18, and then the episode gave us great Maggie + B team moments, so I figured, well, now I have to deliver. 

Featuring drunk interns, Schmico, canon-compliant Jaggie (barely but for the sake of, yanno, canon) and teeny-tiny hints to potential future Caggie because @schmicoismysunsword has convinced me it ships.

Now cross-posted on ao3!

Maggie doesn’t make a habit of mixing her professional life with her personal one. Aside from the fact that her sisters work at the same hospital as she does, as does her boyfriend, and her ex-- Look, the point is, Maggie tries to keep her private life a private one, albeit not with the passion of Dr. Bailey. 

Just -- she has the unfortunate tendency to babble. Aloud. To anyone nearby, who might be listening.

Which meant unintentionally venting to interns, who were always around, and always eager to listen. It starts with Parker, who, if not sworn to secrecy, at least has the decency to pretend he isn’t hanging off every word that comes out of her mouth. Schmitt is one of the more eager of the bunch and he happens to be on her service today. 

“Game night,” she mutters long-sufferingly. “Why tonight, when Meredith and Amelia are busy, and apparently, I don’t have enough of a life where I have any excuse to be somewhere else.” 

“Oh, right, the football game is tonight. Nic-- Dr. Kim mentioned that was a thing-- a thing Dr. Avery does,” Schmitt stutters, casting some furtive, flustered looks her way. Honestly, Maggie isn’t paying attention.

“I hate when I have to pretend to care about sports on TV. You know what else is on tonight?  The Magicians. But you don’t see me making a night of it with friends.” Not that she has any, apparently. At least, any without kids or prior commitments. 

Maggie deflates, more self-conscious than she means to be. “April enjoyed watching sports. Or maybe she was better at pretending than I am...”

Something dejected in her tone must spark a bit of nerve in Schmitt, who clears his throat. “Hey, you could -- uh, you could come out with us tonight,” he says, shrinking a bit under her stare. “Uh, if you wanted.” 

“Us?” she echoes critically. 

“Oh, um, well there’s me, Doctors Helm, Qadri, Parker--” All interns, Maggie mentally concludes, at the exact moment Schmitt realizes he’s asking an attending to tag along with his friends. 

“Never mind, it--” Finding an extra burst of nerve, Schmitt spews out in a rush, “It’s trivia night at this pub we like and you’d make a great ringer.”

Then he goes on ahead to the next patient on their rounds, as Maggie blinks. Has she sunk so low to consider to hanging out with a couple of kids? 

Except, she thinks with a wince, that sounds exactly like something Kiki would’ve said to her. After all, it isn’t as if the interns are that much younger than she is. Maggie’s so far ahead it only feels that way. She was always the kid to talk to the adults rather than friends her own age. And when she attended her first year of medical school still in braces while her peers were all adults, she had no choice but to grow up fast. 

Sacrificing one night of professional integrity probably wouldn’t tarnish her career forever. And a trivia night is exactly the sort of brain flexing she would prefer over an evening of her male coworkers yelling about a ball not making it over the right line. 

“What happens outside of the hospital, stays outside of the hospital,” Maggie springs on a stunned Schmitt, ending any further discussion with a firm glance. “I’ll be there at 7.”

“Dr. Pierce, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Qadri begins, and then, with the utmost reverence, “You fucking rock at trivia.” 

Schmitt and Parker whoop in agreement. 

“I do,” Maggie asserts, flushed with victory. And it’s probably the jalapeno poppers, too.

“I can’t believe you argued with the guy asking the questions,” Schmitt admits. “And you won.”

“Well, if you don’t have an encyclopedia knowledge of Happy Potter,” she preens. “Don’t try me.”

Helm returns with the celebratory round of shots, including one for her. Is it unethical to take shots with your interns? While on the clock, yes, definitely. Then again, it’s a little unethical to sleep with interns, too, and yet--

Maggie downs the shot. 

Parker hisses as the burn of alcohol slides down his throat. “I need at least three more of those after the study session I pulled last night,” he says, winded. 

“Right, your intern exams are coming up.” A swell of fondness rises in her chest as she remembers toiling over her textbooks, the ease of assessment, the pride of passing with high marks. “You guys excited?”

A chorus of groans answers her question. Oh, right. Not everyone was a child prodigy who gloried in tests. Maggie flinches and figures to hell with it, she’s already in this deep. She orders the next round of shots. 

“I’ve read so much I wore out my contacts,” Schmitt mumbles, his cheek plastered against the table. 

“Did you fall asleep wearing them again?” Taryn huffs at his miserable nod. “Dude, you’re going to go blind.”

“And fail your exam,” Parker adds, prompting another groan. 

Maggie has the weird urge to pat his head consolingly. Luckily, Qadri does it instead. “At least if you fail you have a hot surgeon boyfriend to support you,” she mutters enviously. 

“You could be a house-husband,” Helm proposes, raising her glass at Maggie and Qadri. “Because it’s 2019 and that’s equality.”

Schmitt seems to consider this seriously.

“You wouldn’t have to shave fish,” Qadri tacks on, wrinkling her nose. “No offense.”

It takes a full minute for Maggie to realize the remark is directed at her. “Oh! None taken,” she says quickly. “I take no responsibility for that exercise. Or the smell.”

“Which still hasn’t come out of my hijab,” Qadri mourns. Seeing Qadri look any amount of sad, Maggie decides suddenly, should be a crime listed under do no harm. 

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “I’ll make Jackson buy you a new one!”

For some reason, that sets them into a fit of giggles.

“Drunk Dr. Pierce is the best,” Parker declares, and then blushes, bright and splotchy. “Except for, uh, sober Dr. Pierce. She’s the most wonderful, uh--”

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” says Helm, wryly.

“Sober Dr. Pierce would be at home, pretending to care about sports,” Maggie scoffs. 

“With Link, Dr. Avery and Dr. Kim?” Dahlia grins. “Sounds like a dream.”

“Pretty sure we’ve all had that dream,” Levi snorts. 

“Uh, hello?” Helm pulls a face, jerking a thumb at herself. “Lesbian.”

“Everyone except Taryn has probably had that dream,” he amends. 

“Her, and me,” Maggie says blandly. Alcohol loosens her tongue almost as much as bullies and outrage. “As if our free time isn’t limited enough by his projects, and my environmental research, now Jackson’s gone and bonded with his new buddy Link, who loves sports, and camping, and nature, and -- bikes, I guess?”

“Nico says Link’s got a man-crush on Dr. Avery,” Schmitt whispers in what’s not really a whisper. Parker snorts messily into his drink, which she finds weirdly endearing.

“Please tell me Kim also has one of those secret bro handshakes with Link?” Maggie begs.

Schmitt nods. “Yeah, no, they do. He tried to show me it once, but I, um, accidently hit his chin with my open palm.”

Fits of laughter overcome the group while Schmitt flushes. “Aw. Did you kiss it better?” Parker wheedles. 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” says Schmitt, tight-lipped. 

“You do so,” Helm snorts, shoving him in the chest.

“Hey,” says Qadri, noting how Maggie’s spaced out. “At least if he’s watching sports and -- I dunno, crushing beer cans? -- with Dr. Link and Levi’s ortho god, then you don’t have to act like you want to hear about baseball.” 

“Football,” Parker corrects. 

“There’s a difference?” Qadri wonders. 

Maggie would try to answer, except the implication has finally sunk in. “His ortho god?” she asks, gesturing skeptically at Schmitt. 

“Yuh huh. Dr. Kim is his boyfriend,” Helm shares with relish. 

“Oh!” What she means to say is congrats, yet what emerges is a clumsy, “Wow. Good job.” 

Schmitt only shrugs. “I don’t know how,” he confesses in a slightly dazed tone. “Sometimes I think I died in that freak windstorm and this is just the last of my synapses firing off one last wet dream.”

“Dude, that’s dark,” Parker murmurs. 

“I haven’t slept or had sex in...” Schmitt pauses, clearly wracking his brain. “What’s today?”

“Preaching to the choir,” Maggie mutters. Huh, maybe that has something to do with her mood. 

“Oh, God,” Dahlia exclaims, as if she just cracked the code. “What if that’s why. What if Link is sleeping with Dr. Avery??” 

Parker nods sagely. “That makes sense.”

“Oh, God,” Maggie echoes. After a couple shots of tequila, the theory seems totally plausible. “Oh, no, what do I--”

“Don’t worry,” Schmitt interjects, radiating a suspicious amount of calm. “Link is too busy fooling around with Dr. Shepperd to sleep with your boyfriend.” 

Maggie exhales in relief. Then it dawns on her, what he actually said. “Wait,” she yelps. “What? He’s sleeping with my sister?”

Schmitt blinks. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know!” Maggie gapes. “How did you know?!”

“He’s fucking the other ortho god,” Helm and Qadri chime in. 

“Right,” says Maggie, slowly and with effort. “Right, okay, I’ve got to remember that detail for tomorrow. So maybe, only … one more round of shots?”

Helm’s eyes light up. “Dr. Pierce is the coolest,” she declares, and the rest unanimously agree. 

Maggie Pierce has never been named the coolest anything -- the most impressive, sure, and the most talented by far -- so she can’t help the thrill that shoots through her, headier than any glass of alcohol.

“We’re taking a Lyft.” Parker has emerged as de-facto leader of the drunk brigade, voted in as least likely to order an axe-murderer for a driver. “Levi, you in?” 

Schmitt shakes his head, wincing as it jostles his precarious balance. “Nico said he would pick me up if I wanted.”

Helm snickers. “House-husband,” she sing-songs at him. 

“Breadwinner,” Schmitt fires back. Neither of these are insults, Maggie notes, uncertain if she should point this out.  

“Ma--” Parker catches himself with another blush. “Dr. Pierce, do you, uh, need a ride?” 

“Hey!” Schmitt says like he’s had a full-on brainblast. “You can wait with me and Nico can get you, too.”  

“Really?” Maggie perks. It saved her the trouble of calling anyone liable to embarrass her; namely, either of her sisters or worse, Karev. “That would be fantastic.”

“Sure, he’s already at Jackson’s place,” Schmitt replies confidently. If she were slightly more sober, Maggie doubts that logic would hold up to scrutiny. As it is, it makes perfect sense to wait for Schmitt’s ortho god to drop her off at the place he drove in from.  

Turns out, Dr. Kim is a sexy sight to behold, even with a proprietary arm wrapped around Schmitt, who’s too busy mumbling grateful nonsense into his shoulder to notice the adoration in his boyfriend’s gaze. 

If he is surprised to catch Maggie in a similar state of inebriation, Kim has the decency to make no mention of this. Instantly, he’s her new favorite attending-level doctor. He is also a gentleman, offering Maggie his hand as she clamors into the backseat of his car, all the while still steadying Schmitt with a hand clasped over his waist. 

Maggie marvels at the coordination and strength, wonders if he could carry them both simultaneously, should the need arise.

“He’s awesome at carrying people,” Schmitt brags, meaning that, whoops, she said that aloud. 

Kim chuckles. “Thanks, babe,” he says, wryly. “But at the risk of oversharing, maybe don’t go into detail.”

“What, that it’s a sex thing?” Schmitt says in what he clearly believes is a whisper for their ears only, before he collapses back onto the seat, supremely self-satisfied. At exactly the same volume, he adds, “See? I can be discreet.”

“Great job,” Kim snorts, unimpressed. And yet unable to resist pressing a kiss into his boyfriend’s brow before he starts up the engine. They’re cute, Maggie thinks blearily, and hopes she managed to keep the thought inside her head. 

Judging by the grin Kim shoots her out of the corner of his eye, she probably didn’t succeed. 

Jackson looks surprised to see Nico at his door again, not that long after he left. “Hey, man. Did you forget something?”

“Nope,” says Nico, cheerily. “Just doing a drop-off.”

“You--” Jackson stares in bewilderment, until Nico moves aside, allowing his passenger to sidestep his bulk. “Mags?” 

Maggie stumbles to the door, using one of his sturdy biceps for balance. “Thanks for the lift, Kim,” she waves over her shoulder.

He nods, still smirking as he walks back to his car, away from the bewildered Jackson.

“Mags, are you -- you good?” He hovers close behind as she carefully navigates the stairs, forgoing the temptation of the couch for the queen-sized bed. 

“I,” Maggie begins, slurring with great dignity. “Fucking rock at trivia.” 

The morning-after is almost worth the hangover. Watching Jackson try to puzzle out what she got up to last night -- and exactly how Dr. Kim fits into the picture -- is too funny, since Maggie deigns to tell him only the bare minimum, lest she look as silly as she feels when she walks into work with a lingering stuffiness.

“Wow. You look as though you need at least a double-shot,” says a familiar voice, rippling with sympathy, but also a fair bit of humor. “Good thing I got you a triple.”

Maggie stares blankly at Kim and at the to-go cup suddenly placed in her hands. Truly he is a kind and benevolent ortho god. “What’s this for?” 

Kim grins. “Last night my boyfriend went on about how cool Dr. Pierce was, and how hungover you’d be, and that it was his fault,” he explains, obviously quite amused. “And this morning he groggily demanded I make amends by being especially nice to you this morning. Hence, coffee.”

“That is--” A level of thoughtfulness that made all boyfriends, including her own, seem like total jackasses in comparison. Nico smirks as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and enjoys the high ground very much. “So unnecessarily sweet. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, and leans in, a sheepish twitch to his unfaltering smile. “I’d also appreciate if he didn’t get fired over whatever you may or may not have heard last night.”

Maggie laughs. 

“Honestly, I’ve forgotten a decent amount already,” she admits, for the sake of all three of them. “Except the part about Dr. Link and my sister?”

Kim chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“No, I heard that from your drunk boyfriend,” she replies, picking up the pace to follow his long strides. “But I absolutely need to hear more from you!”

At his reluctance, Maggie pulls out her trump card. “I’ll buy you a bagel.”

Nico stops to considers her. “Multigrain, veggie cream cheese?” 

Evidently, Kim has a price. Maggie appreciates in someone who is still, until further notice, her favorite attending.

Petition for more of what 15x18 gave us with Maggie and the interns? And for Maggie and Nico to become friends?? Hire me Grey’s

[qobiin]

when i fill them, they’ll shine forever | ch 1

pairing: todobakudeku (bakugou x midoriya x todoroki) 

genre: fluff, angst | abo au, growing up au, canon-compliant 

warnings: swearing, trans male character, mentioned instances of transphobia, coming out, gender dysphoria  

word count: 3152 

summary: Katsuki being an omega from birth changes a few things.

day four of @bnhaomegaverseweek (hoping my love will keep you up tonight) 

chapter one of when i fill them, they’ll shine forever 

“Wow, Kacchan, your quirk is so cool! I hope my quirk will be as awesome as yours!”

Katsuki keeps her gaze forward, a wide grin spread across her face as Deku allows her to lead. It’s not often that people let her lead, unfortunately. How she longs for the chance though! She would show everyone a thing or two about proper leadership. But she is an omega and none of the alphas at school would ever let her take control. No matter how capable she’s proven herself to be, no matter how much stronger and cooler her quirk is than anybody else’s. 

Well, none of the alphas except for Deku. He always lets her. 

Her alpha always lets her do what she wants. He has never held her back and has never Ordered her around. She has always been the one to take charge between them and he never gets mad at her for it. In fact, if she didn’t know any better, she would say that he wants her to be the one in charge.

She tightens her hold on the large net in her hands and strides forward confidently. “I’m sure it will be, Deku!”

Of course, neither of them know that they’ll be wrong, but they continue onward anyway, smiling as if nothing could ever disrupt the dreams they have built up around each other.

Katsuki has known Deku as long as she has known her own parents.

He’s been a constant in her life for as long as she remembers. Her mom likes showing off the multitude of photos of them in the bathtub when they were babies. Katsuki would probably find it embarrassing if she didn’t still take baths with Deku now. The collection only continues to grow to her dismay, but Katsuki doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t mind it. Not too much anyway. Deku is her mate and her alpha after all. He likes bathtime with her, so she doesn’t complain.

Even if she feels weird whenever she notices that the bottom half of their bodies aren’t the same, she keeps her feelings and words to herself. It’s something she’s actually quite good at.

Of course, she does explode at school. A mess of curses and bloody fists as she fights all those that try and hurt her alpha or any of the other quirkless kids in their class, but that’s a given.

No one hurts her alpha. No one is allowed to hurt her mate.

She still remembers when they both knew they were mates because it was Deku’s third birthday and when she came over for his party, their eyes met and glowed gold. She couldn’t forget the way the light glimmered on his face and made his freckles stand out so much. She swore to herself after that no one was allowed to hurt what was hers.

Heroes are supposed to protect those that can’t protect themselves and she wants to be a hero.

And she’ll be one. With a quirk like hers, with an alpha that lets her do what she wants, she can do it. She’ll surpass All Might and be number one. Deku will be her support or maybe he’ll take up her offers on training together and become a hero himself. It doesn’t matter if he’s quirkless.

They can do it.

They can do anything if they're together.

 “You’re just a useless Deku! You’ll never be a hero if you’re quirkless!”

“Who the fuck are you calling useless, you piece of shit!” Katsuki yells, running forward to pin the beta to the wall. 

Deku still stands where he was before, pressed against the other wall and trying to look as small as possible. Katsuki has told him over and over again that the bullies will leave him alone if he fights back just once. Just one punch, one shove back, one mean word in their direction to make them back off. Katsuki can’t be the only one holding off bullies for the rest of their lives after all. But she knows he won’t do it. 

He’s too nice, too kind. Too soft and forgiving for any of the crap he gets. And he deserves none of the venomous words spat his way. Katsuki is more than sure of that.

She hates the fear that is wafting off her alpha in waves. It makes her hackles rise and something primal in her howl for blood, to protect, to defend. She shakes the beta in her hold and lets him fall to the floor unceremoniously when he nearly pisses his pants. She knows just how scary she can be when she wants to be, especially thanks to her explosive quirk. People know better than to go after Deku when she’s around, but sometimes, there are the stupid shitheads like this beta. The ones who think they have any fucking right to tell her alpha what to do.

The way Katsuki sees it, if she isn’t allowed to push Deku around, then no one is.

“Don’t talk to my alpha ever again or I’ll make you fucking regret it!” Katsuki yells at the beta’s retreating back, glaring at him and all those around them that stood by and did absolutely nothing, the spineless bastards. “What are you shitty extras looking at!”

The other kids scatter, spooked and terrified of her anger. Katsuki watches them go then turns and takes Deku’s hand. She coaxes him away from the wall, gentle only for him, and leads him down the hall until they enter the playground. They’re both silent as they walk, but Katsuki doesn’t let it remain that way for long.

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” Katsuki asks once they have reached their tree near the edge of the schoolyard. “You know I don’t like it.”

Deku shakes his head and sits between the tree roots, his feet laid out in front of him. “I don’t know. I just freeze up every time it happens.”

Katsuki wants to say something. Deku looks so small at this moment, so lost, and all she wants to do is vow to always look after her alpha, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. She’s an omega and she knows that Deku would never get angry at her for this, but it just isn’t her place. It’s not.

No matter how much she wishes it was.

So she sits beside him instead and stays silent until Deku asks, “I’m not that great at protecting myself, but… You’ll protect me, right Kacchan?”

Katsuki sniffs, trying not to let her pleasure bleed through. “Do you want me to?”

“Always,” is Deku’s solemn answer. 

“Then,” Katsuki begins with a grin that slowly grows until it is spread wide across her face, “I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who tries to hurt you, Deku!”

She pumps her fist into the air to show she’s serious and has to fight back a laugh when Deku smiles at her. It’s her favorite smile, the one he reserves solely for her and her alone. It’s sweet and cute and always makes Katsuki a little nervous to look at, but she keeps his gaze anyway and startles when he leans in.

Deku’s lips are soft on her cheek and only stay there for a moment before he pulls back. She presses a hand to her face and feels it warm underneath her touch. Katsuki hopes she isn’t blushing tomato red like Deku sometimes does. That would be embarrassing and Katsuki doesn’t do embarrassing.

They continue on like normal, but for the rest of the day, Katsuki catches herself subconsciously raising a hand towards the cheek Deku kissed.

 Katsuki holds still as Deku rubs his face into her neck.

He has started to scent her every time they come back from school. The first time, she had held so still she barely thought to breathe before he abruptly pulled away and reminded her.

She knows that the scenting is a form of comfort. That it’s to make his scent lay heavy on her, to drive away other alphas and betas that might be interested. She learned that much from her father when Deku turned six and said he was surprised that Deku hadn’t tried scenting her earlier. She knows what it’s for and that it’s to reassure Deku, but she can’t help but feel uncomfortable.

Because it leaves Deku smelling of her in return, which normally she wouldn’t mind, but she doesn’t like the way she smells. 

Her scent is too floral, too sweet and sugary and makes her insides twist into knots. It makes her want to bury herself in Deku’s scent instead, but that wouldn’t help much.

And, of course, Deku notices how stiff she is, how she forces herself not to react when he scents her. He isn’t stupid. Her alpha is one of the smartest people she knows. How else would he be able to remember so much about heroes and their quirks?

So Deku asks if he can scent her. He always asks and if she hesitates for too long, he steps back and gives her space. He never crowds her and he never tries to force anything. He is always so good to her, even when she feels like she doesn’t deserve it.

Something in her twists and coils at the barest hint of her scent. On some days, she feels sick just being in her body and having to smell herself every second of the day.

She starts showering a lot more often than what is necessary and sprays her father’s cologne on herself in the mornings. It calms her, more than she ever realized.

Deku doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t press her for answers or asks questions. He simply accepts it as a new part of her and smiles every time she allows him to scent her.

It doesn’t solve everything for her, but it helps. It helps her start to feel comfortable in her own body again and that’s what matters.

 When Katsuki is seven, he knows.

He knows and no wonder he has never felt right. No wonder he hates his natural scent and his stupid long hair.

No wonder he hates his body so much.

It’s the wrong one.

He was born in the wrong kind of body.

 A few weeks after his eighth birthday, he tells Deku.

It has been eating away at him, his alpha not knowing. Deku knows everything about him. Katsuki has never held a secret from him. His alpha has always been his sole confidant. Always.

And it’s about time he tells him. For his own sanity at least. Maybe it will help or maybe it will not, but Katsuki won’t know until he tries.

“I’m not a girl,” Katsuki murmurs, for once on the verge of tears as he admits his darkest secret to his alpha. “I’m not.”

Deku stares at him, confusion on every line of his face. “Then what are you?”

“A boy.”

Deku nods but says nothing. Instead, he taps his fingers on his chin and studies Katsuki like this is the first time he has ever seen him. 

(And well, it’s not like that analogy is wrong.)

“I’m sorry.”

Deku frowns, his confusion growing. “What for?”

Katsuki hates the fact that his alpha is acting so dense. Of course, he has to know what for! Deku is one of the smartest people he knows. He knows Deku knows what he’s talking about.

It’s clear though that Deku is waiting for him to say it. For him to lay it all out there and open up for once.

He groans and rubs a hand through his hair, his fingers twisting into the ends of it now that it is a lot shorter than before. “Because we’re mates and you wanted a fucking girl as your mate, right? And I had to go and fucking ruin shit by being born in the stupid, wrong body.”

Deku’s expression cycles through a myriad of emotions. First anger, then confusion again, then irritation, and then a steady calm that does absolutely fucking nothing to settle Katsuki’s nerves.

“Kacchan, I want you,” Deku finally says. 

Katsuki feels his head snap up in surprise, meeting his alpha’s gaze without meaning to. Deku doesn’t falter, doesn’t let any hesitation or uncertainty slip into his voice as he continues and in the back of his head, Katsuki is grateful for it.

“You can be whoever or whatever you want to be. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially not me, Kacchan,” Deku says, reaching out and taking Katsuki’s hands in his own. “I’m not in charge of your body. You are.”

“But, you’re my alpha. You have the right to tell me what to fucking do!”

Deku steps closer. “I am. I am your alpha and I will always be your alpha if you want me to be. But it’s not my place to tell you what to do. I would like to go our whole lives without Ordering you. You make your own decisions for yourself, Kacchan. That isn’t mine to take away from you. It wouldn’t make me a very good alpha and I want to be the best alpha for you.”

Shit, he really is going to cry, isn’t he? Fuck.

“I want to be the best alpha for the best version of you, whatever or whoever that might be. I’m not going to take your free will away, not ever,” Deku continues, his stupid green eyes already overflowing with tears. “You deserve the best kind of alpha, Kacchan.”

Katsuki buries his face in Deku’s shoulder and tries to stifle his sobs, but ultimately fails.

 Later, once Katsuki is sure there is no trace of his stupid tears, he pulls away from Deku’s embrace.

Deku watches him warily, waiting to see if it really is the end of their crying fit. Or Katsuki’s crying fit, at least. Deku never really seems to run out of tears. He has always been a huge crybaby and that alone would irritate Katsuki if he was any other person, but Deku is Deku and Katsuki doesn’t have it in him to find his alpha annoying or irritating.

At least, not usually anyway.

“Do you want to tell Auntie and Uncle?” Deku asks, his voice still warbled by tears.

Katsuki stomps down the heart-wrenching fear that question brings with it and makes sure his voice is steady when he says, “I don’t know how they’ll react.”

“They’ll support you,” Deku says without missing a beat. “They love you.”

“They love their daughter,” Katsuki hisses, unable to stop his voice from shaking and cracking in multiple places as he does.

Deku’s face is still wet with tears, but his voice doesn’t waver and neither does his resolve. “No. They love you, Kacchan.”

Shit. He just finished crying too. Fucking hell.

 Katsuki ends up telling his parents.

They don’t make a big deal out of it and they don’t disown him like he feared they would. Instead, his father goes out and gets him a boy’s uniform for school. Katsuki is wary but wears it anyway.

The first day he goes to school in it, people stare at him. Sometimes it looks like his teachers are going to point it out and say something, but for the most part, people are quiet. They don’t say anything to his face yet that doesn’t mean they don’t say anything at all.

Which is something he quickly learns when Deku gets suspended from school for fighting.

Katsuki storms into his apartment afterschool - spares a moment to politely greet Auntie Inko - and then barges into Deku’s room where he is lying on his bed.

“Who the fuck did you fight?” Katsuki spits out.

Deku sits up slowly, surprised to see him. “Oh! Kacchan, I didn’t think you’d hear about that so soon.”

“Of course, I fucking heard about it! It’s all anyone wants to talk about at school. The stupid extras wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone, asking why you did it and a whole bunch of other shit.”

Deku hums, like that in itself can be an answer, but Katsuki steps forward and jabs his finger into his alpha’s chest. “So why the fuck did you do it, huh? Did you finally snap?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Deku replies, his head tilted to the side as if this entire conversation is difficult. “I mean, I sort of did?”

Katsuki growls, “What made you snap? You’re full of fucking rainbows and sunshine and other mushy shit. What pissed you off so bad you finally fought back?”

“Do you really want to know?” Deku asks, oddly serious.

“Yes! I wouldn’t be fucking asking otherwise!”

Deku smiles at him, like what he just said was hilarious. The little shit. Katsuki exhales and fights the urge to tackle his alpha. He knows how well that would work out and he doesn’t want to be pinned down right now.

Something in him tells him he is going to need space after Deku finally fucking answers him.

“Someone pointed out your uniform and said some things I don’t want to repeat.”

Katsuki freezes, his breath caught in his throat. “What the fuck.”

Deku shrugs. “I know that I’m a pushover most of the time, but something in me didn’t like the way that other alpha talked about you and before I knew it, I had kicked him in the face.”

“What the fuck,” Katsuki repeats.

“Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I’m your alpha and I know I don’t really act as an alpha should, but you’re my mate. You’re mine and no one gets to say the kind of stuff about you. Especially not in front of me,” Deku says, his eyes darkening for a moment before he exhales and his usual bright smile greets a stunned Katsuki. “I know you don’t like it when others help you. I’m sorry, but I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

Katsuki watches him, confused and pissed off, but pleased too. Way too pleased actually. Pleased enough to not act on his anger, to not go after that alpha himself, to not fight his own alpha. Beyond the pleasing feeling is something else much more fragile and shy swooping low in his belly.

He just fucking fell in love right now, didn’t he? Is that what the swooping feeling is? Did it really take Deku finally getting violent for Katsuki to admit this to himself? Fucking hell. And fucking Deku and his stupid, gigantic, good heart too! His stupid gentleness and understanding and unfalteringly support. Deku’s dumbass bright smile, the scattered freckles on his face and the way the stupid fucking sun hits his eyes sometimes. Shit.

“You’re an idiot, Deku,” Katsuki finally manages to spit out.

Deku only smiles, his stance beginning to relax as he does. “Yeah. I know.”

a/n: if you’re interested about how this is all coming together, check out my #progress-report tag (:

thanks for reading! please remember that my requests are open 

[amberandmetal]

Like home | Chapter 7

❖ Author: @waywardkitten

❖ Featuring: Wincest

❖ Warnings/Tags: Wincest, weecest, canon compliant, canon fuckery, a/b/o, Alpha!Dean & Omega!Sam, light violence, bullies, angst by the truckload, smut, feels, the whole shebang

❖ Rating: Teen & up

❖ Word count: 1580

❖ Beta: @trash0saurusrex

❖ Summary: A sort of rewrite of All hell breaks loose

❖ A/N: I swear this will be the last time i try to rewrite anything. This was pain, lol. Also, please comment on it; this fic has gotten so little response, esp the last chapter and I'm starting to fear you guys've grown tired of it?. Masterlist Feedback greatly appreciated and encouraged ♡

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

May 2nd 2007

Sam: 24 y/o

Dean: 28 y/o

Almost three and a half years, his own thoughts echoed in the empty space inside him. Three and a half years I refused him, three and a half years I acted as if I didn’t see, didn’t know, didn’t want. Three and a half years we could’ve had together, and now—..

Now he’s gone, that evil little voice residing in his mind supplied.

The skin on his knuckles split on the impact with the wall, but the pain got lost in translation somewhere halfway through his nervous system. He stared at the ripped skin, his eyes unwilling to focus.

    “Dean? Brought you this back”

Dean didn’t even gift Bobby with as much as a glance.

    “No, thanks. I'm fine.”

    “You should eat something”

    “I said I'm fine”

He took a swig of the half empty bottle of whiskey, not even noticing the liquid burn slicking it’s way down his throat. Everything hurt, yet he couldn’t feel a thing. He narrowed it down to the alpha part of him being so torn apart over losing it’s mate that it had gone numb and his human side, stubborn as ever, still screamed at the top of his lungs. It was like being cold and heated at the same time; it made him nearly lose his mind..

    “Dean... I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time... we bury Sam?”

That almost made Dean laugh. A morbid feeling crawling in his stomach. He looked up at Bobby’s eyes, searching the warm coloured irises that matched the swirling whiskey in his bottle for any sign of insincerity, because surely he had to be joking?

Dean’s face hardened.

    “No.”

    “We could... maybe—”

    “What? Torch his corpse? Not yet”

Bobby continued to plead, urging Dean to come with him, to bury and leave Sam, like that was even an option. Dean fidgeted and ran his hands through his unkempt hair, greasy now after days of not showering.

    “...something big is going down – end-of-the world big”

     “Well, then LET IT END!”, Dean roared.

He didn’t know where the rage came from but he felt hollow and as if all that remained was fire licking up his insides and turning his heart into charcoal. 

     “You don’t mean that..”

Dean stood up at that, getting as close to Bobby as he dared without losing his control completely. The Alpha inside him awoken by the pain and growling and snarling low in his throat. The fire was behind his eyes now, almost blinding him, and it hurt. Everything was white hot and he hurt and he wanted the hurt to pay, he wanted everyone to pay.

    “You don't think so? Huh? You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? HE WAS MINE!”

Bobby blinked at him at that last line but Dean didn’t care, everything ached and he needed to get it out, needed to scream some of it out or he’d go down with it.

    “.. he was mine and I rejected him, because I thought I was protecting him, again and again. For what?! I resisted! I lied to myself and everybody and to Sam! To protect him and I couldn’t even do that!  I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd turn around, and get the hell out of here.”

A million and one emotions seemed to ghost over Bobby’s face: hurt, incomprehension, understanding, pity, anguish. His jaw worked as if in slow motion but no sounds came out so he just looked down, shaking his head.

And for some reason Dean couldn’t stand it. The panic started to burn bright in his veins, coursing through him to get a steelgrip on his heart. He couldn’t breathe.

He took one step forward and shoved the older beta

    “GO!”

Bobby just looked at him with shock and despair in his eyes. He could almost hear himself break as all the fight went out of him. There was no point, no use.

    “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, just go..”

    “You know where I'll be”, Bobby sighed with his back turned and then he was gone, leaving Dean alone with the cold body of his dead brother and for the first time since Sam’s death, Dean let the tears come.

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

He just sat there for a while, crying silently with his eyes fixed on Sam’s face. Every memory ran through his mind like a freight train; the day of the fire; Sammy’s first word being ‘Dean’ and the competing emotions of joy and jealousy on their father’s face; Sam knocking Gus out on the schoolyard for calling Dean a freak; that 4th of July in the field with the fireworks when Sam had been so beautifully happy; the first time they’d been with each other and the feeling of relief and utter happiness knowing he felt the same; the letter from Stanford, two years of agony and burying himself in booze, women and hunting; the indescribable feeling of seeing and touching again; the almost moment on the bridge and every single one thereafter; and Sam..lifeless and still warm in his arms.

   “You know, when we were little— and you couldn't been more than 5— you just started asking questions. How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go when he'd take off for days at a time? I remember I begged you, ‘Quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don't want to know’. I just wanted you to be a kid... just for a little while longer. I always tried to protect you... Keep you safe... Dad didn't even have to tell me, it was just always my responsibility, you know?..”

Dean wrung his hands and took a steadying breath that shook on the inhale.

    “..I got so caught up in protecting you I forgot everything else. I was so obsessed with what was best for you I didn’t stop to think about what you wanted or needed. The thought to ask didn’t even cross my mind… I know I kept blaming you for leaving, but god dammit man I know it was me. I know I rejected you and that’s why you left and I kept doing it, right? ‘Protect Sammy at all costs’... always keep you safe.. I should’ve made you happy instead, should’ve been there.. with you. And now..It's like I had one job... I had one job...and I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that, I'm sorry..” fresh tears fell and wet his cheeks “..I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love. I let Dad down. And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down, too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that?”

He swallowed hard, chin wobbling as the fiery grip on his heart tightened.

    “What am I supposed to do? Sammy. God. What am I supposed to do?”

    “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

The soft notes of a Metallica ballad rang out through the speakers as Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He tried to push any thought of what he’d just done as far down in the back of his mind as he could, only focusing on getting back. The taste of the demon still lingered on his lips and he growled in disgust, licking his lips clean and spat out the window. A little voice rang curiously hollow in his thoughts ‘you just sold your soul’. 

Dean snarled and his knuckles turned white where he gripped the steering wheel. It was worth it, I did it for him, it was worth it, it was worth it, he repeated to himself again and again to drown all other thoughts out. He loosened his grip and turned up the volume on the old stereo.

“So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters”

Dean swallowed hard and pressed down harder on the gas, urging Baby to go just a little faster. The engine was straining, he knew, but right then he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

But I know

I never opened myself this way

Life is ours, we live it our way

All these words I don't just say

And nothing else matters”

Dean growled again, low and deep in his throat, mumbled ‘fuck it’ and put the pedal to the metal.

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

His heart leapt in his chest and did at least three extra beats.

    “Sammy?...thank god.”

Sam didn’t even have the time to finish the ‘Hey’ waiting on his lips before Dean stalked over to him and clashed their mouths together.

He didn’t even care that he whimpered. It was too close, too soon and too warm but he was too emerged in it to resurface; it was like a brief spark of sanity inside the madness and it hurt and it soothed and it practically vibrated within him.

Sam’s hands were immediately on him, up under the back of his shirt and Dean soon reciprocated, tangling his dirty fingers in even dirtier hair and not being bothered about that the slightest. Sam wasn’t cold anymore and that was the only thing Dean could care about.

In the end it would be worth it; he’d bought them a new chance together, even if that chance came with a deadline.

[imagine-loki]

Dear Diary

TITLE: Dear Diary

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 of 4 AUTHOR: Eclectica-posts ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki comforting you when you’re crying. He knows exactly what to do or say to help you through it. RATING: Maure, with a lot more mature in further chapters NOTES/WARNINGS:

THOR RAGNAROK SPOILERS

Smut, fluff and bad jokes.

The children of Asgard weren’t the only ones of that cliff in Norway.

Sophie recalls the events of Sakaar and Ragnarok from her point of view, as she found herself thrust into a Universe beyond her imagining, and meets a familiar face.

— This is Chapter 1, 3 more to be uploaded, smut starts from Chapter 2.

Canon compliant, it’s written with the same timeline and series of events as per Thor Ragnarok - like a story line that happened but didn’t make it into the film.

——————————–

Chapter 1 - The beginning 

Dear Diary,

Wow, those are words I haven’t typed for about 20 years, when I outgrew my 12 year old obsession with documenting my every moment. So, why now? Why the need to write this?

Maybe it’s because it might give me a way to actually understand and come to grips with what has happened over the last few weeks. It’s also because there are somethings that I definitely want to remember - which reminds me. If anyone else ever reads this I have to warn you there will be swearing and, let’s just say, things of a very very personal nature that occurred that I am going to write down in great detail. Because those things I definitely don’t want to forget about. I should also warn any readers that this isn’t a full account of what happened on Sakaar or the fall of Asgard. I wasn’t at all of it, and I’m no good at recounting battles or epic heroics I’m afraid. Luckily Asgardians are great at three things: feasting, drinking and writing sagas. Read those. They are also very good dressers, sort of like a celestial GAP look, all very colour coordinated.

Sorry, I digress. Anyway, the most important reason I’m writing this is that I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow, and I’m scared that whatever ‘this’ is won’t be this when I tell him what I need to. He’s here now in the room with me, laying under the gold silk sheets as I write this at the desk nearby. Asleep he looks almost angelic, with a body that sets me so completely alight that I’m going to have to work hard not to become very distracted…

Ok, so to start this at the right point I’m going to give a bit of context about why I was in Norway standing on a clifftop in the first place. A few months before, although it seems a lifetime now, my ex decided to become my ex. He had decided that he ‘didn’t see a future for them going forward because she was too emotionally distant and could do with losing a few pounds’ but apparently did see a future in her size 6 ex-room mate he was now shagging. Emotionally distant of course because I was still grieving for my mother I had lost last year, spending months travelling down to Cornwall to support her through her cancer and working a crap job because it was the only thing I could get when we moved to Reading so my boyfriend could start his dream job. Although how anything counts as a dream job in sodding IT, I don’t know. I know I sound bitter, and I was. I was also sad, confused and desperately wanting to start over. So I’d finally made the trip to Norway, to honour my mother’s wishes and to rid my head, and heart, of my ex.

As to why I had to go to a random cliff in Norway? All I knew is that my mother had wanted me to go there, to understand about where I had come from. I loved that woman will all my heart but the one thing I regretted was that she never, ever spoke about my father and I never pushed because I didn’t want to hurt her, and so Norway was all I had.

The locals had told me the views from the cliffs were stunning, and they’d been right, so I hadn’t been surprised to realise I was sharing the panoramic views with another. Just ahead stood the figure of an old man wearing a slightly tatty linen suit, just staring into the distance. I’d sat on a nearby pile of rocks, nestled in the long grass from the breeze and hopefully giving him the solitude he perhaps wanted, and that I too had come for.

It sort of went a bit weird then because had been those rocks that only a few moments later I’d found myself hiding behind as, and this was the only phrase that seemed to make any sense at the time and now, “shit got weird” when two men had arrived through a circle of fire. When that sort of quieted down, I peeked over the top to see a woman in black with antlers appearing through a black storm cloud. At this point I have to admit, I’m not particularly heroic so I had crouched back down, ignoring the growing cramp in my legs, and hoped that they might just all go away.

Of course, that was the moment that I got dragged up a column of rainbow lights and then dumped on a completely different planet.

Things had then gone from bad to frightening when I woke up dazed on a rubbish tip being considered as a snack by extras from a Mad Max movie.It had only been good luck that I’d been picked up by one of the many small space ships circling through the air on the lookout for new arrivals. Grabbed by someone who smelt appallingly I’d been chained, stabbed in the neck with a big metal button and then manhandled into the vessel.

I hadn’t immediately noticed that there was another passenger, he was sitting silently, looking as at home as you could wearing chains and with someone threatening you with a gun. Although, to be fair, he is pretty used to being in chains.

I can still remember the slight smile on his face when he had glanced over at me as his gaze took in my denim shorts and ripped t-shirt. He then promptly ignored me, trying instead to engage our captor in polite conversation. Of course, I’d recognised him in an instant, he’d been there on the cliffs - not dressed the same, but I was pretty sure it was him, before I’d dived behind the rocks a second time. Yes, I know, not the most heroic of actions - but I’d got a huge fright when they had suddenly appeared out of ring of fire.

But what froze me in terror was that I had also recognised him from the news reports a couple years ago - Loki, God of Asgard. He wasn’t wearing those stupid horns, but almost every inhabitant of Earth had seen the news footage and read the stories about what he had done in Stuttgart and in New York and been horrified. The brutality, the obvious disdain for human life, and here he was, almost within touching distance. I put my head down but kept looking over at him, hoping like hell he wouldn’t notice. It was like finding a wild animal suddenly in your lounge, a wolf perhaps, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stroke its beautiful fur or run away screaming.

And the truth was that he was beautiful - and it was completely unfair that I looked like someone who’d been dumped in a pile of crap and dragged through it, while his black and green leather clothes looked immaculate and tailored to his lean body. Seeing him in person, and while not in the middle of causing death and destruction, I had to admit that he was better looking in person and that he had a certain physical appeal - if you were into beautiful, magnetically attractive men. Who thought that ‘mortals’ were best placed on their knees, worshipping him. I felt my face redden and cursed myself for it. How could I even think of that?

The creature with the gun shouted something and my head was viciously yanked up by my hair, exposing my neck and the gold chain around it. The pain as it was torn from my neck was nothing compared to the instant devastation I felt.

“No, not that, please not that, take anything else but that. It was my mother’s “ I screamed, sobbing. She’d always worn it, a small golden rune on a chain. I had no idea what the symbol meant, except that it meant everything to me. The bastard just laughed and took it into the pilot to show him his trophy. After all the stuff that had happened to me, that was the one thing that nearly broke me. It sounds like such a little thing, but it kept her memory close to me and I was desolate.

“Stop your mewling! Rule One of survival - don’t show any weakness”. Loki paused. “Although as I expect you’re from Earth, that might be difficult given your innate nature as a race.��

That stopped my crying. I turned my head slowly and stared at him in disbelief. (just realising I feel like I should be footnoting this thing, because Loki now swears he was, sort of, trying to help. Not entirely convinced by that though. Sorry, as I was saying)

“What?” my tone was hard yet calm. It was the same tone of voice I had used when my ex boyfriend had told me that our three year relationship was over.

“Why don’t you shove your ‘advice’ up your arse, with that ridiculous horned thing you decided to wear when you unsuccessfully tried to invade my planet?” I continued, my previous despair replaced with righteous anger?

“So why don’t you fuck back off to Asgard, OH NO you can’t because you are in chains as WELL!!!”

At that point I decided to look intently out of the window on my side of the ship and watch the piles of waste and discarded bits of junk from everywhere in the Universe flash by underneath. I did hear something that sounded a little like a chuckle but I was determined not to gratify him with any more of my time.

So by the time we were presented to the ‘Grandmaster’ (seriously though, who calls themselves that?) Loki looked calm, in control and put on the charm and I stood there mute and angry. I was also overwhelmed by the vast size and sheer weird beauty of the building and people around me while I was looking like hell and definitely wishing I was wearing more clothes. Loki had ignored me on the way here, and I had ignored him, except for an occasional glance just to make sure that he was ignoring me as much as I was ignoring him. His mind was apparently elsewhere, trying to work the odds, find an angle to his advantage, I concluded.

I remember standing in front of the Grandmaster, trying to loosen the metal bands they had fitted around my wrists, staring at all very busy and beautiful people in the huge rooms around us. It was like being in the middle of a huge and very wonderful party, but not because I was in chains, and not in a good way. Given the reception and introduction we had been provided with, I knew that the Master must indeed be very powerful and scary but it was hard to take anyone seriously when they had on too much electric blue eyeliner and face paint.

I think I was very tired because it took all my effort to drag my attention back to the conversation that Loki and the Master had struck up, getting on famously. The only thing I was getting, I noticed, was withering looks from the Grandmaster’s grim female assistant who was holding a very ominous orange headed stick.

“And her…” Three sets of eyes descended on me. Oh fuck, they were talking about me.

“Did she come with you. Is this your pet then?” The Grandmaster asked Loki, gesturing languidly in my direction.

I looked at Loki who seemed to be considering an answer, his lips curling into either a grin or denial. The complete unfairness of the situation and the crap of the last few hours finally took their toll.

“His!?” I positively snarled at the Grandmaster who slightly recoiled at my vehemence.

“Like fuck I am. I’ve got better taste than that. He tried to invade Earth and make slaves of us all! I’d rather die. I’d rather cut out my heart with a spoon than have anything to do with the slimy git!”

“Apologies, she has a rather indelicate turn of phrase” said Loki, using a condescending tone that made me want to kick him really really hard.

“OOh feisty, we like feisty don’t we Topaz?” beamed the Grandmaster, although I was getting a bit worried about the way she seemed to be still pointing at me with the big orange headed stick.

“Feisty, I’ve give you fucking feisty!!” I desperately pulled against the two guards holding my arms, but stopped, a little unsure of wisdom of those last words as the Grandmaster seemed to be considering them as an actual option, well at least Topaz did. Loki on the other hand, looked amused by my outburst which did not improve my mood.

The Grandmaster smiled “ Loki, I have to say I like a man with ambition, even if it doesn’t quite succeed” He seemed to really like Loki, but his smile faded slightly as he turned back to me, and I got worried.

“but you young lady - while I appreciate your spirit and your desperation to end your wretched existence, death is such a boring thing, let’s make this fun.” He turned to his dour companion Topaz

“She’s got a bit of get up and go, let’s see if she’s a contender”. As I was dragged away, I looked back at Loki who shrugged almost apologetically and then gone back to his conversation with his new friend.

“Fucker” I may have growled.

Well, I had been wrong to worry about the inappropriate shortness of my shorts and tshirt- clothing wise things had only gotten worse, well, minimal was probably a more accurate term. I’d been thrown into a weird sort of circular cell and had my own clothes taken away so I was forced to wear what I supposed was some sort of gladiator outfit. The cell was already occupied by a couple of human sort of looking men, a rock man (Korg, love Korg), a sort of large slug like creature with knives for hands. And me. Dressed up in what could only described as like a really anti feminist pervy Wonder woman costume - if, given the smell and the stains, Wonder woman had been wearing something that had been rather obviously worn by at least 10 women before, all of whom had had boobs at least a cup size smaller than me. It came with a skirt, although the term was rather too generous for the three inches of fabric that made contact with the very tops of my thighs. It was mostly of tan leather, as were most of what the others were wearing. I looked like an extra from Spartus.

After a very uncomfortable night, due to a) not really having anywhere to sleep b) being quite aware that some of the other gladiators were a little too interested in me (although Korg did make himself my unofficial bodyguard), we went down to the arena area for ‘sparring practice and weapon stuff’. This mostly involved me picking through racks of weapons on the first day, with absolutely no idea of what to do with any of them. Some looked positively gruesome and too heavy to consider. Korg had tried to help and in the end I went for a battered sword I could at least lift and a small shield. He tried to teach me some decent blocks so I’d at least last a few seconds without losing my head, but lovely guy though he is, he can be a little downbeat and he seemed pretty pessimistic about my chances at survival.

Not that I could blame him. Any athletic prowess was due to about 5 crossfit classes I had attended over the last year and the occasional (slow) job around my local park. Given that my complete fighting knowledge came from watching late night Vikings and Game of Thrones box sets, I couldn’t blame Korg for his low estimate of my survival chances.

The next day we were told that we would fight in the evening, and that I’d have my own, personal 1 to 1 fight. Korg whistled softly when he heard this and looked even more concerned - well, as concerned as a face made out of granite can look I suppose.

“Wow man, that’s really unlucky” was all he would say really, and then patted me on the shoulder. Not only did that hurt, it also made me very worried. I later found out that most women who were gladiators got to do sort of group fights, more for the spectacle of women wearing not very many clothes manhandling each other to the delight of the crowd. Sort of mud wrestling but with no mud, and with a blunted sword. For some reason that wasn’t going to be my fate - the other team no longer had a female gladiator at all, so I was going to have a real fight against a guy, with a very sharp sword. Apparently the audience at these things liked to see women bleed as well.

I should have been panicking, crying, shitting myself in fear, but although I hated him for it, I knew Loki was right. Weakness wouldn’t get me through this.

On the afternoon before ‘kick-off’ we spent time getting ready in a holding area, which for some weird reason was beside a bar - taking the whole gladiator spectator sport to yet a new level. Unfortunately we seemed to draw quite a crowd as gamblers and punters tried to decide who would be a good bet. I noticed that I attracted a bit of interest as a novelty, but I could have laid bets I was being touted as a short-lived one.

“Nice outfit, very ….fetching..” I looked up from where I was sharpening my new sword to see him standing on the other side of the laser wires that separated the two areas.

To be honest, I had really tried not to think about him at all over the last few days. I had certainly not let myself consider whether I should have waited to hear his answer - and what would I would be doing now if he had said yes. I refused to acknowledge that I felt any attraction for him, although I had a horrible suspicion that my mind and body were of different opinions on this. I could feel my whole skin prickle when he was near and my breath catch in my chest. Meanwhile my mind that kept screaming that he was completely and utterly bad news -quite literally. Perhaps some of my reaction was fear - I was entirely justified in being afraid of him.

I’d watched CNN, seen the destruction, the terror and the utter contempt for human life. What was it that he had said in Germany? Oh, that was it, he thought that ‘mortals’ should kneel before him in submission. Fuck, that really didn’t help. Keeping my eyes firmly on his face, could feel my own face grow pinker. Yup, ok, that was definitely another thing not to think about…

“What do you want? Shouldn’t you be planning world domination, or doing whatever it is you are doing with the Grandmaster to stay alive?” I tried the sarcastic approach, and hoped he hadn’t noticed that he was getting to me.

“I’m having a short break. No, I thought I would come down, see what lovely new friends you were making… and of course give you that chance to beg for me to get you released ..” he drawled, with that cut glass almost upper class English accent he somehow had.

Never show weakness I thought as I tried a humourless chuckle and walked closer to the wires, our faces almost touching through the shimmering red lines.

“Fuck you” I said quietly.

“That is very much part of the plan, but first, I think the begging” his voice was soft as his eyes took a languid look over my body which I knew my leather outfit only accentuated. I felt myself blush deeper as I took in the intention behind his words. This wasn’t going well.

“ I never beg for anything” I replied, trying rid of my voice of any tremor.

“When you change your mind, and you will… I’ll be here” He laughed and started to walk away, but paused, then turned back to where I was still standing at the barrier. His smile and swagger had gone, this was a different Loki to the one just seconds ago.

“Take this” he slide a slim blade under the lazers and I picked it up. I’d never thought a knife could be beautiful before, but this one was. Narrow, with a curved smooth bit to hold it, it gleamed dark black, almost green. I’d never seen anything like it. I looked at him questioningly, confused as to why he was giving it to me.

“Put it inside your boot, you won’t be able to feel it, but when you reach for it, it will be there” I did as he told me, and he was right, I couldn’t feel any discomfort having it shoved down there - just a sense of security.

He’d completely flummoxed me, why was he being helpful?

“Rule 2: whenever possible - cheat. I’ve got a large wager on you tomorrow, try not to die” and then he left, and I just stood there watching him go and trying to work out whether I should feel grateful. I decided against it.

So, yeah, the fight. We were the red team, I knew this because slaves would come up and daub us with stripes of the colour, so I looked like Wonder woman but with red face paint. There were a few planned fights each tournament. Korg and Miekke went out for a group pitched battle - five of ours against five of theirs. Three returned, the last one bleeding heavily, he fell into back into our holding pen. I went to go over to help but Korg held me back.

“Nothing we can do but wait, chest wound, poor Doug” he said sadly

Two solo fights - firstly huge mountain of a man fighting a similar sized fighter from the blue team. We watched through the bars of the arena gates as he lost quickly and was dragged off. Nerves, fear, I’m not sure how to explain how I felt when I entered the arena.

I was deafened by the roar of the crowds above here, and almost paralyzed by the overwhelming spectacle of it all. Fear had turned to gut wrenching panic as I’d seen my opponent enter from the other side - it took all my will not to run screaming back to the gate through which I’d been pushed and beg to be let back in. I knew that was death, I’d get a sword to the back as soon as I turned, but how could I stand and face the alternative? The guy opposite me was huge, massive arms holding a sword twice the size of mine.

And then, well I really don’t remember much. Maybe ask Korg, he saw it. All I can recall, apart from small disjointed fragments is a clarity and stillness that I’d felt as my opponent had charged at me. I’d had the same feeling before, when I was in a car accident, skidding off an icy road on a sharp bend. Everything slowed down, everything became crystal clear. I can remember blocking his furious sword thrust and feeling like it was the most natural thing in the world when I spun and sliced through the back of his leather jerkin with my blade. It was like dancing, and I hadn’t realised I knew the steps.

At the end I found myself panting and bloody kneeling on the sand, the arena erupting into applause for “Red Red Red”, for me. I got up unsteadily, the come down from the adrenaline rush and exhaustion finally hitting me. Walking slowly back to the now open gate, I looked up to the Grandmaster’s box, with its long white couch and hordes of attendants standing behind. The Grandmaster was clapping excitedly, but at the far end I could see Loki, sitting, leaning forward, arms in his knees as he stared at me, his expression unreadable. I hoped he saw the middle finger I thrust into the air in his direction as I had limped off, clasping my hand to a cut my opponent had inflicted on my upper arm. I couldn’t look back as they dragged his body off the sand. I got into the pen and threw up until there was only bile left.

Weirdly though, that wasn’t the hardest thing emotionally I had to go through during my time on Sakaar. Worse was to come…

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 41

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Forty-One Linda the Answers Woman

Loretta waved a hand. “Linda, are you supposed to be telling us this? The Keepers have always been a fan of the mystery.”

“If you don’t know what they do, you can’t stop them from doing it,” Lily pointed out.

Loretta shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not real.”

“It’s very real, Loretta,” Linda said.

Alex stepped forward. “Linda and I, along with our friends Lisa and Anne, are Soul Riders. A year ago when we were your age, we went up against Dark Core and thought we’d given them a real set back.”

“What does Dark Core have to do with the Keepers of Aideen?”

“You’re getting ahead, Alex.”

Linda nudged Alex’ ankle. Alex stepped back looking sheepish.

Linda raised a hand for silence. “The Keepers of Aideen are broken into four circles. Star, Moon, Sun, and Lightning. Each one protects the knowledge of one aspect of Aideen and can access powers associated with those circles. The Star Circle is her Heart. The Moon Circle is her Wisdom. The Sun Circle is her shield. The Lightning Circle is her Judgement. The power of Aideen and her Light is what keeps the Darkness at bay.”

“Or Garnok,” Alex said.

Linda glowered at her.

“They need to know. We agreed that they needed to know regardless of what Elizabeth or Fripp said,” Alex gestured.

“Anyways, I’ve been doing some reading and research and trying to remember what Anne told me about her trip to Pandoria over a year ago.” Linda bit her lip. “It’s fuzzy and I don’t know why. It shouldn’t be.”

“Did the druids do something?”

“I don’t know. It could be because we got too close to his power,” Linda shoved her glasses up again. “But it’s fuzzy.”

“James was kidnapped and he doesn’t remember a thing about it.” Alex shrugged.

“Okay, so, the stories go that thousands of years ago, aliens crashed here on Jorvik, one of them was Aideen and those with her.” Pauline waved a hand. “Are you saying there was another alien?”

“That would be Garnok and his generals. Some of them escaped, including Mr. Sands,” Linda said. “Mr. Sands started Deep Core, now known as Dark Core, I’m not even sure when. During the late 1800s, he worked on a fishing boat. It’s believed he pulled up a small portion of Garnok. It was after that he started looking more to the sea than to land for whatever he was doing. I’m going about this wrong.”

“Chalk board,” Lily said. “Does anyone have a chalkboard?”

They found a white board.

Lily picked up the markers. “Okay, we’ve got group 1, G.E.D. So far, seems pretty mundane, but annoying. Group 2 is Dark Core, started by an ET named Mr. Sands and is?”

“Trying to free Garnok.”

“Who is I’m going to assume evil,” Lily said and wrote it down. “And is imprisoned.”

“In Pandoria and under the sea all at once. It’s magic. Don’t question it too deeply.”

“Okay, and then we have the Keepers of Aideen who have four circles,” Lily said. “Star, Moon, Sun, and Lightning and their job is?”

“To keep Garnok imprisoned,” Linda answered. “By thwarting Mr. Sands, the other Generals, and their Dark Riders.”

“Seems a lot simpler when you do it that way,” Alex muttered.

“Okay, all three of these groups are dangerous,” Lily capped the marker. “Yes, even the druids. Because the druids don’t want us to know this stuff even though we are the ones that are interacting with Dark Core and G.E.D.. Continue Linda.”

“Yes, they’re dangerous. Pandoria is a plane of magical existence that is right next to ours. And if you know how,” Linda bit her lip.

“Are part of the Sun Circle,” Alex muttered.

“You can travel in and out of Pandoria,” Linda said.

Lily frowned but noted that on the board.

“Our friends, Anne and Lisa, left Jorvik to follow their dreams. They went missing. We’ve learned that they’ve been kidnapped by Dark Core and are in Pandoria,” Linda nodded.

Alex pounded her fist into her palm. “And we’re going to free them.”

“Okay,” Tan spoke up. “This is cool and all I suppose, but what does it matter to us?”

“You have a huge Dark Core site on your beach,” Lily pointed out. “One where they’re trying to steal horses from South Hoof. And we don’t know where they’re taking them if they’re capturing any of the horses, or why.”

“We think it might be connected to Starbreeds.”

“How many of our horses are Starbreeds? And why do the druids want them so much?”

“Starbreeds are horses with a magical connection to Pandoria. If they bond to their Soul Rider, they can talk to you.” Alex pushed her hair out of her face.

“They also have extra stamina and strength,” Linda added. “Making them better competition horses than most.”

“But they can be twisted into Dark Horses if they get in the hands of someone like Mr. Sands,” Alex said. “Or at least, that’s what we think happens to them.”

“So, the druids are trying to protect them. But they already have us as owners. We don’t want to be part of Dark Core,” one girl rolled her eyes.

Alex held up her hands. “Look, all we want you to do is be careful and be on the lookout, while Linda and I come up with a plan to free Lisa and Anne from Pandoria.”

“Which is going to be hard when neither of us is Sun Circle,” Linda mumbled and tucked hair behind her ear.

Lily spoke up. “Ladies, we’re the distraction. We keep Dark Core and G.E.D. busy enough that Mr. Sands, Mr. Kemball, and the like won’t be able to keep their eyes on what Linda and Alex are doing. But we do it carefully and discreetly and within the bounds of the law. We don’t want any of you getting hurt by getting too close.”

“Could any of us be part of the druids or be Soul Riders?”

Linda bit her lip. “I don’t know, honestly.”

Alex shrugged. “Like, they try to make it seem like there are only four Soul Riders a generation, but there are a lot of druids too and some of them seem to know magic and others don’t.”

“So, they’ve kept you in the dark too. Nice,” Riley’s voice was sarcastic.

“Does anyone know how many Dark Riders there are?” One girl asked.

“We know there are three,” Alex said.

“There are probably supposed to be four,” Linda nodded. “One for each Soul Rider. But they don’t have one that we know of. But at the same time, they’ve imprisoned two of ours.”

“They don’t also ride around looking scary in hoods and on black horses with fiery hooves all the time.”

“Nazghal,” Regina murmured.

Everyone around her sighed or nudged her to quit with the pop culture references.

“They look like normal people, normal girls.” Alex said.

“Could they be one of us?”

“The three of them? Not that we know of,” Linda frowned. “I mean, we don’t know how the third and fourth ones are. But we do know Jessica and Katya. I’ve heard no rumors about them lately.”

“I mean,” Linn spoke up. “Sabine’s a bitch and her horse is creepy, but that doesn’t make her evil.”

“It makes her a candidate for being evil,” Alex said. “I knew I never liked her.”

“No one likes Sabine,” one girl said.

“Not even Loretta.”

Loretta huffed and rolled her eyes as everyone laughed.

“Which is a good indication, that Loretta isn’t completely evil,” another said.

Loretta flushed.

Lily held up her hands. “All right, all right, ladies, settle down. Our next big event is the Midsummer Beach Party! So start thinking beach! Think midsummer! How can we make a county wide beach festival with a midsummer theme?”

“We’ve also scheduled the Dew Family Race Riding Challenge during that time,” Luciana spoke up. “So, we should be getting Riders from all over to come run the races in order to earn money for the Dew Family farm.”

“And then, they might come out of hiding and we’ll have room for two more clubs,” Lily said.

Loretta groaned.

“Dismissed!” Lily shouted.

The girls got up all talking rapidly to each other about what they’d learned and the upcoming Midsummer Beach Party. While Rainbow Week had been a huge success, they couldn’t rest on their laurels.

Lily edged closer to Linda and Alex. “So, what is the plan? And what did Elizabeth say?”

“We went to her and she took us to Fripp,” Alex made a face. “Fripp wants confirmation of what we’ve learned from Starshine. I guess we must go carefully or something. Like Starshine’s word isn’t good enough.”

“Elizabeth agrees with him.”

“She’s his little yes woman.”

“But I found this Pandoria Codex in his library and I think it might have some of the answers we need.” Linda quivered in excitement. “I’ve only seen references to this book in the Baroness’ library.”

“You stole a book,” Lily’s lips parted slightly.

“I’ll get it back before he notices,” Linda pushed up her glasses. “This book is really important. It contains a lot of information about Pandoria and the Keepers. It might help me scry out where Anne and Lisa are.”

“Anything on the sun seal thing?”

“You said you found it under Gareth’s statue,” Linda flipped through her clipboard looking for pages she’d photocopied out of books in the library.

“Uh huh,” Lily nodded.

Linda passed her the clipboard so Lily could skim the pages.

“It’s a key I believe to Jon Jarl’s tomb. He was buried behind four seals.” Linda nudged her glasses up with her shoulder and opened the Pandoria Codex. “See, these are the four symbols, and they made keys of them. It was said in one of the journals that Gareth found a lot of artifacts in the walls of Fort Pinta when he rebuilt it. And he kept the one that relates to the sun for himself.”

“Seems a bit of a leap. Why seal it up like that?”

Linda wrinkled her nose. “Well, we think he was buried with a fragment of Aideen’s Light. Elizabeth told me about it once.”

“And this Fragment does?”

“Radiates light and goodness.”

“You mean it’s the Phial of Galadriel that holds the light of Earendil.”

Linda grinned. “Close enough.”

“Okay, I think something is coming together, but I don’t know what. We’ve got a Sun Seal that will get us into Jarl’s Tomb to get a Fragment of the Light of Aideen.”

Linda nodded.

“What did the Weeping Widow want?”

“She says that in order to extend her root system, you’re going to need to give her more power and use the song of Aideen on Aideen’s Harp. She says you can hear it up in the highest point of the mountains above the Silversong at first light.”

“How quaintly specific,” Lily rubbed her forehead. “And how are we to give her more power?”

“She’s a tree,” Alex said. “Water and light.”

Linda turned to her. “You’re a genius.”

“What did I say?”

“We need to use the Fragment of Aideen’s light and Tears of Aideen to give her more power. You’re a genius,” Linda repeated.

Lily shut her eyes and raised her eyebrows. “Ok. That’s great. Good solution. Whatever the Tears of Aideen are. But about this harp.”

“It’s in a museum in Jorvik City. They’re pretty proud of having it. Not that it’s been on display in an age.” Alex grinned and waved a hand. “My home town.”

“And the highest point above the Silversong?”

“I can take you there,” Linda promised.

Riley edged over. “Hi, sorry to interrupt. But you seem to be the answers girl.”

Linda grinned. “Answers girl at your service.”

“Do you know anything about witches?”

“The druids don’t trust them,” Alex said instantly.

“We are having a bit of a witch problem. It’s actually the Mayor’s wife and he doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s turned their mountain lake home into a swamp.” Riley made a face.

“Terrance Rockwell fell in and turned into a zombie,” Ginny said over Riley’s shoulder. “So, if we could get that sorted and cleaned up.”

“Grateful.”

“Very grateful.”

Linda nodded. “I’ll look into it.”

“Then we better get back to the Baroness with the news of the water,” Lily murmured. “Before she wonders what became of us.”

Alex wiped the board down to remove all the information.

They all said good bye to everyone and headed out of Firgrove, everyone shouting and waving at each other as they turned off towards their own home bases.

When they gave the information to the Baroness, she seemed pleased. With it, they would be able to run Dark Core out of the mountains.

Or so she thought.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.