#anyway I’m going to have to burn this energy somehow but we’ll figure that out later but still

[daincrediblegg]

WHY DO BARISTAS LOVE ACTUALLY GIVING ME FREE SHIT GIRL OH MY GOD

[willowser]

if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?—

dabi x reader

wc: 9.5+

warnings: 18+, ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, explicit/crude language, reader is not doing well, angst, dabi is bad at feelings, also yandere by accident?

if he's as bad as they say, then i guess i'm cursed, looking into his eyes, i think he's already hurt—

HOME PAGE | part two >>>

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really.

It had been by some ridiculous coincidence that you attended Shizuoka Private School at the same time, in the same class and had the same peers. There was always an idiotic smile on your face; it made you seem so damn friendly that the other kids fought over you at lunch—who would you sit with today? But you sat with them last time! When was it my turn?

Even then you were pulled in different directions.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, only classmates. Sometimes he sat with you, sometimes he didn’t; more often than not he spent his time outside, counting out his breaths so he didn’t burn his stomach or his hands or his face—which is pretty fucking funny, in retrospect—but you talked to him, just like you did everyone. It wasn’t anything special.

A smile and a wave. How’s it going, Touya? Sure are working hard!

An offering, some of the leftover rice in the bento your dear mommy made you. Ugh, I’m so full! You need the energy, want it?

A chin perched on your knee, pulling them close to your chest as you watched him. That’s super cool! I bet you’ll be even better than your dad!

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

(He didn’t think that then. Nah, not back then.)

It always made you throw up, using that quirk of yours. Underneath the tree, the one in the front of the fence on the side of the school, he’d told you,

“You can be my sidekick! I’ll get them with Prominence Burn, and you get ‘em with Mind Freeze!”

There was blood in your teeth when you responded. “We’ll get the bad guys together!”

It’s not until after everything that he realizes what the problem is, not until you take that job in the hospital and put needles in veins and take temperatures and clean up shit that he realizes you can’t take it. Something about it ruining your own neurological whatever; if you had tried to be a hero, you wouldn’t have made it to your late-twenties. Brain would have ate itself, or something.

(In retrospect, he guesses that’s a good thing. If he ever ran into you out there, if he had to turn your bones to ash in an alleyway while you wore some cheesy spandex, you might not have recognized him—but you would have figured it out just before he carbonized you. You would have probed his mind all different ways, found everything out, even those things he shoves behind the door in his head.)

(Of course he could do it, smite you into fucking nothing, absolutely, no problem.)

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that supported whatever path you wanted, the kind that only exists in the movies. They said things to you like, “only if you want to” and “you can be just as much of a hero without your quirk”—which was a load of shit and you knew it. He knew it, too.

Those kids by the fence were supposed to be partners.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny. Every last bit of it.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you lit incense for him at least once a year. Most of the time on his birthday (he wasn’t sure how you figured that out; the idea that you went to his house to ask Enji was horrifying), but sometimes you wouldn’t show up that day. Sometimes you did it at Christmas, sometimes on Valentine’s Day. Sometimes on any random Saturday of the month.

Sometimes you showed up for a few weeks in a row.

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

Who the fuck even are you, anyway? Acting all sad and heartbroken because some kid from your class went and got himself incinerated to Hell. Acting like you cared, as if those conversations under the tree ever really meant anything. As if the future was ever gonna be up to him, as if he had any say. Acting as if you could ever do the Hero Thing, as if you had any say. As if the blood on your lips didn’t stain his when he kissed a girl at age ten, for the first time.

Grow up. Kids say shit they don’t mean all the time.

And without him, you had—grown up. After a while you stopped talking about him, stopped saying, “Oh, my friend Touya,” as if he was still there, waiting for you at the front of the school. You were an honor student, every year, and your parents bought you a car when you started high school. A normal one, not U.A. No one had figured it out yet, that your bouts of illness and fatigue, the Twice-sized migraines you got were all due to that quirk of yours, but you knew something was wrong. Even then.

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that paid your way through college, the kind that bought you a stethoscope as if you were gonna be some hot-shot doctor. So fucking stupid, in a world of quirks; someone could do what would take you hours, in seconds, but you still chose that job. Because you still wore that idiotic smile and people still flocked to you and you wanted to please everyone, just like always.

Yeah, he knew where you lived, but it’s not like he was a creep.

When he managed to unscramble his brain enough to use it, it was easy to find you. You lived in the same house you always did and he’d been over once, as Touya, and the curtains covering your windows were still pink, still had stars on them, when you were ten and when you were eighteen. Those parents of yours had to make a big ol’ deal of you moving out, to some shitty apartment closer to the hospital, closer to downtown, so it wasn’t hard for him to follow that moving truck.

And you still had those fucking curtains. Why wouldn’t you throw them away? Move on. Grow up.

To his complete horror, you kept a photo of him in the third drawer in your kitchen, the same photo Enji stared at. It was pathetic, all of it, how you kept him around and in your space. Sometimes you would open that drawer and see it and act surprised, as if you hadn’t put it there yourself, and you would say something stupid like, “How’s it going, Touya?” before grabbing what you needed and putting him back in the dark.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it was all so idiotic.

When one of your nurse friends asked about the picture, you told them everything. About the bento boxes and the tree, about the Hero to your Sidekick, about the one and only time he felt like a kid, in someone else’s home, while he watched some girly movie about a witch and her broomstick and a cat.

“—and my mom made me salmon, but he hates fish, so we threw it at a car in the school parking lot.”

Hates. As if he was still alive. As if you still cared. As if you could tell he was sitting against the wall in your dark bedroom, listening to every sip of that beer you took.

The worst part of it all was that you walked to and from work, like a big fucking fool. Mom and Pop bought you a car for a reason, stupid, and if you wanted to stay in shape so bad, you could just join a fucking gym, like the rest of the world. But no. You insisted, even when that cunt from the hospital cafeteria offered to drive you himself. “Fresh air is good for me,” you told him, which was a terribly lame response—one fit for you.

So fucking stupid, trying to be so perfect all the time.

The way you curled your hair and the careful hand you used to put on your makeup. If a bum on the street asked you for money, you’d come back from a coffee shop across the road with water and a sandwich, maybe even throw him a bill or two. People stopped you to ask for directions and you gave them, sometimes you would pay for the person in line behind you at some takeout place. If litter was on the ground, you’d carry it to the nearest trash can.

They told you that if you’d tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three, and yet there you were, holding open the door for four people in a row with that smile, playing the good guy.

Grow up.

There were plenty of other women in his life better than you, women that understood his motivation, his rage, ones that left the door unlocked when he needed to get his rocks off. Some of those women had pierced nipples and wore spandex—not the cheesy kind—and let him do the whole BDSM thing because they liked it just as much as he did. They didn’t expect anything of him, they didn’t talk about him like he was still there or pretend to care. They liked him, Dabi (most of them, anyway, some of those fucking bitches couldn’t get over his appearance, but he didn’t care about them).

He didn’t care about any of that, least of all you. Least of all the skimpy dress you wore when that cafeteria cuck finally got your number, finally got the balls to take you out. Who cares that he brought you flowers and that you kissed him for it? It’s not some big, grand deal that a man took notes from a shitty romance flick to impress you. He didn’t care at all, because he was balls-deep in a girl he’d picked up at the bar, and it wasn’t some big deal that he pretended it was you moaning his name.

Yeah, you were kinda attractive. Whatever.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it wasn’t a big deal he watched you after that twelve hour shift you always pull. The walk home in the first place is dumb, but it’s nearly 3am and you’re stumbling on your feet (it’s your third night in a row, because, of course it is). The alleyways gets real dark, he knows this, and all it takes is for him to tip his head down and breathe in his nicotine for you not to notice.

There’s blood on your scrubs and you look tired, a different kind of tired than the one you usually wear, a sad-tired. All the mascara is gone from your eyes. Probably lost some poor bastard in the ER because you didn’t have a quirk that mattered, not in your profession, and now you’re crying because you’re soft.

People die. Touya did. Grow up. Throw away the picture.

It’s all so boring and lame, weariness eating at the edges of his own eyes, but he isn’t ready to go back to that shitty motel room he’s living out of. Toga is on his last damn nerve at the moment and Shigaraki is messing around with some losers, so he doesn’t care, not right now. The motel bed is broken and it creaks when he moves and he’s fucking over it, so that’s why he leans against the wall when you walk by, why he closes his eyes and lets the cigarette smoke swirl into the sky, and it’s why he doesn’t follow right behind you, not yet.

One would think he’d be familiar with the sound of a tire iron against a skull, but that isn’t really his style, so it’s only when you start coughing that he realizes something is weird. When he rounds that corner and looks down the sidewalk, the last thing he sees is the curtain of your hair disappearing into an alleyway too far from him.

“Fuck.”

He almost says your name out loud, he almost calls it out, but someone actually has the nerve to grab you right out from underneath him, so he’s shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying down the sidewalk. The first thing he sees is one of your teeth (he kicks the other one and it clicks down the concrete, skittering over the curb and into the street) and then he sees the tiny pool of blood you’d spit up when you hit the ground.

Dabi isn’t some fucking pussy, so he really isn’t sure why it happens so slowly, why he lets it go so far. By the time the sound of your cries reach him, some fucker already has your scrub pants around your ankles and he’s slotting himself up against your ass, but you’re too out of it to really realize what’s happening. Blood is pouring over your eye and half your face is already bruised and knotted from where the metal struck you, but you’re awake.

Which is why he thinks this idiot hit you where he did, nowhere truly lethal, because some guys like when girls squirm.

You’re just moaning in pain, lying there while he looks at you in shock (someone is really doing this to you? Just out in the street like a fucking tool?) but you’re trying to drag yourself away, pretty nails scraping against the pavement without any real effort. When the alleyway begins to glow blue, you look up at him, and he sees the fear in your eyes when you meet his.

It’s ugly, but it’s over soon.

That alleyway fucking stinks now, with the smell of melted skin and hair and it’s too smokey for either of you to breathe. For some reason, you aren’t even screaming, which is absurd, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone attacks you, idiot. Your entire face is covered in ash and dirt and blood, sticking to the sweat pooling from you, and you’re still just rolling around like a headless chicken.

And for a moment, he isn’t really sure what to do.

For a moment, he has some idiotic thought, about gathering you up in his—

Nah, fuck that, he won’t even finish it.

There is a hospital up the street, your hospital, and they would probably find you soon enough. If he leaves right then, as you try and fail to reach for your pants, he could even run up there and call out about a woman in the alleyway. People flock to you; they love perfect, little, you, and they’ll find you. They’ll call the doctor with the quirk you don’t have and they’ll heal you. They’ll take care of you.

The two of you weren’t even friends, not really, but he won’t forget the way he felt when you used that shitty quirk of yours on him. As if someone was reaching in through his ears and his nose and poking around, trying their damndest to touch his brain with their fingers, and then it’s like a switch is turned on, one he didn’t realize was turned off.

Just before you vomit enough blood to knock you out, you gasp and reach a shaking hand out to him and then you say it. You say his name.

You say, “Touya, please.”

And then he has no choice but to entertain that fucking thought from before, because you’ve used that quirk and you’ve unlocked that door in his head and he’s the kid by the fence, under the tree, all over again.

At best, he should have left you for someone to find. Possibly should have left you for dead because he’s not ready yet, not for the big reveal. There is a timeline he’s working with, one that will hit Enji the hardest, and tonight isn’t the night for it to all start. You know the incense you’ve been burning has been for nothing, that the picture in your drawer is about as stupid as he’s always thought it was, and you know that Touya isn’t dead.

And no one is supposed to know, not yet.

Yeah, he knows where you live, but he can’t exactly climb the steps to your apartment with you, half-dead and covered in your own blood and grime, in his arms and expect none of the do-gooders in your building not to call the cops. The motel is gross, but it’s in a bad part of town; this sight sure isn’t the worst they’ve ever seen, will ever see.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll just die in this creaky bed. Then he can blame the blood stains and the smell for the reason he needs to change rooms. Nothing about you seems alive, except for the pulse racing in your neck, for the heartbeat in your chest that nearly comes out of your skin. For once in your life, you aren’t wearing that fucking smile, not looking with those bright eyes or batting your eyelashes. For once you’re finally quiet.

Dabi has patched himself up enough times to do this, but he hardly has anything with him that can help whatever the fuck is going on with you. Will you die from the wound to the head? Have a concussion? Are you gonna puke blood all over the sheets, like he wants you to? After he pulled your pants up, your underwear were still on and intact, no blood on your thighs, so he doesn’t think that asshole actually got anywhere with you.

It’s kinda pissing him off, how long it took for him to do anything.

Not that he cares.

The towels in the motel are shitty and scratchy. The water is lukewarm and never cold, but he wets a hand towel all the same and tries his best to wash the blood off your face, off your mouth and your neck. There is probably blood in your teeth, just like there always had been, but he’s not about to pry your lips open and brush them with his only toothbrush, so you’ll just have to figure that out whenever you wake up.

There is a sorry excuse for a first-aid kit under the leaking sink and thank fuck you’re knocked out, because he’s got to cauterize that wound on your forehead (you still stir a little bit and tears escape your closed eyes), but he puts a somewhat sticky band aid over it.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny; your perfect little face, finally marred.

When there is nothing left to do but wait for you to wake up, he just stares at you. For a long time. Longer than he’ll ever admit, even to himself. Because he hasn’t been this close, not since the tree or that time he sat next to you in your living room, while you shared onigiri and watched that dumb movie. Enji didn’t even know—he’d been too busy with Shoto to realize he hadn’t gone outside to train. He’d been too busy to realize Touya had slipped out of the yard and down the street, into a girl’s house for the first and last time.

When he thinks about you, sitting beside him and touching the white of his hair, with your soft hands and your shy little face, he leaves to go get water from the store around the corner. There’s hardly any money in his pockets, but he uses it all to buy as many bottles of water he can, and when he gets back, you haven’t moved an inch.

“Are you dead yet?” He doesn’t look at you when he asks, only sets the water on the wood-chipped table by the door and waits. It’s nearly 5 in the morning and he’s dead tired, but he just sits on the ground and waits some more. About an hour goes by and he checks your pulse again, just to be sure.

He’s half awake when your fingers start twitching, when you start whimpering in your sleep. The bed creaks when you shift on your back, moving your legs in discomfort as you start rolling around again, just like you did in the alley. When your eyes finally open, you blink at the ceiling for a long time (he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath), before touching your head gingerly. At the first feel of the band aid on your forehead, tears immediately well up in your eyes and you let out a gasp, looking away from him and to the shitty bathroom.

Dabi is sitting beside the mattress on the ground, looking at you when you turn your head to him. Maybe you should scream, if you had the energy, maybe you should do what most people do when they see him and his fucking skin, the staples holding him all together. But you’re a big idiot, so you don’t. You only scan his face and look into his eyes (and he’s a man now and not a fucking kid, so he stares back), blink at him, just like you did the ceiling, and you don’t say anything for a long time.

It looks like there are a million thoughts running through your head and it’s pissing him off.

“Say something,” He spits, “Don’t just fucking stare at me like that.”

“Touya.”

“Don’t call me that.” No one has, not since the Hero and Sidekick days, not since Shizuoka Private School, not since Sekoto Peak. “And don’t ever fucking poke around in my brain again!”

"Am I dead?"

So fucking idiotic. "Unfortunately for me, no."

Your head is so heavy that when you try to sit up, it just lolls back on your shoulders, looking like it's gonna fall off and onto the sheets. After a minute of trying, you give up. "Are you dead?"

All your words are slurring. Maybe you are dying, after all.

"Unfortunately for me, no."

"Where am I?"

And you're still not screaming or freaking out, even though you'd been nearly whacked to death, nearly raped into the concrete. Even though a kid from your class—one you weren't even friends with—is alive right next to you, looking like someone left him in the oven too long.

Does he tell you where you are? Chances are, if you survive this thing, you'll report him to the police since you're such a goody-goody. A wannabe hero and all that. Once, he'd seen you carry an empty fast food bag for three fucking blocks because every trash can you found before then was full. Fucking pathetic.

On the bed, you're still shifting your legs and twitching. It doesn't seem like you realize it.

"Are you alright in there?" Maybe if he hits you upside the head, you'll stop. "'Cause you almost got your brains knocked out."

More tears. The skin on your forehead is real tight with that knot and your brows only pull down a hair. A big, fat pout. "What? What happened? Where am I?"

The scrub top is tucked into your pants because he'd been in a hurry to yank them up your legs, but you don't seem to notice. There's a good chance you don't even remember getting whacked, and the last thing he wants to do is pretend he cares enough to console you. So fucking soft, you'll definitely start crying if he tells you what nearly happened to you (seriously, what the fuck was he doing? Supposed to be some badass and it took him a solid six seconds to act. So annoying), so he won't.

"Some guy stole your purse."

That's not true, it's behind the toilet.

"What? Where is he?"

Dabi snorts and his eyes relax into an unimpressed stare. "Oh, well after he bludgeoned you, I thought I'd entertain a game of Shogi with him—where the fuck do you think he is? I lit him up like the Chinese New Year."

"Oh." Is all you say and then you're quiet. When he looks up from the stained carpet and back at your face, your eyes are closed and he snaps his fingers until you reopen them. "Am I dead?"

"No, now quit askin'."

Your equilibrium must be way off, because you try to raise your hand to touch your face but it just waves around near your right ear like you're drunk off your ass. When you try to sit up again, you manage it, but you still sway back and forth.

He still has no idea what to do. Finish the job already? Put you out of your misery?

The bed creaks every time you lean back and you swivel around dumbly to look down at it, down at him. That perfectly curled hair of yours is a wreck, all tangled in the back like some sort of bad sex hair, and in the light of the barely rising sun, he can see parts of blood he missed. You don't smile that smile, so he doesn't know if it's in your teeth. Probably is.

Maybe you aren't gonna croak right then, because you look at the door, the chipping paint on the walls, the who-knows-what colored stain on the carpet. You look at the water on the table, at the shitty desk, the flickering light outside the bathroom. Then him.

"Can I have some water, please?"

Please.

Oh, shut the fuck up.

Dabi gives it to you anyway, even unscrews the cap for you like some kind of gentleman, like some kind of hero you or he could never be. Half of it spills out of your mouth and runs all down your shirt, like you have no idea how to work your lips anymore. When it dribbles down your chin, he can see it's pink.

Every time you blink your eyes, they get heavier and heavier, one closing and opening before the other.

Maybe you are really dying, right there in some shitty motel room with the ghost of a kid you kinda knew. Those parents of yours will probably lose it, maybe your mom will even off herself when they find your body, decaying on this creaky bed. But he'll be long gone by then. And he doesn't care.

In retrospect, it's pretty fucking funny. Touya will come back and you won't.

It takes you three attempts to stand, holding yourself up with a weak hand on the bed. The second attempt has you nearly falling on your face back into the mattress, ass all up in the air like it had been in the alleyway. When you take an unsteady step forward, he jumps up, just in case you're faking it and are gonna make a run for the door.

But you don't, you just look at him and say it again. "Touya."

"Don't call me that."

"Am I dead?"

It takes him three steps to cross the distance between you and him, and he grabs your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together and making you look at all the burnt parts of him. "I wouldn't be here if you were dead, you idiot. Stop asking."

More tears. That pout again.

Oh boo fucking hoo, he's being mean. Grow up.

Thoughts are flashing in your eyes again but you're not saying anything, you might not even know how to anymore. He shakes your face a little before letting go and you stumble into him, like the grip of his hand had been the only thing keeping you upright.

"I miss you."

The two of you hadn't even been friends, not really, not at all. The tree had been cut down, Shoto was the hero he was supposed to be, and you were fucked up, dying out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is how it was supposed to be.

Maybe if he cared about anything other than himself, he would be worried about you, drooling like that because you can't keep your mouth closed. Maybe if he cared, he would give a shit about seeing your face up close and he would admit he's been watching it for too long, seeing how it changes and gets prettier every year, seeing the woman you grew up to be. Maybe if he cared, he would even say something stupid, like that it meant something to him that he meant something to you. Maybe he'd even smile, let you touch him, maybe he'd even bury his face in your neck and tell you he missed you, too.

But Dabi doesn't care, not a bit.

So he holds you at an arm's length, face twisting into that crazy snarl he gets sometimes. Miss, like he was still alive. Like you were the dead one, imagining it all in whichever layer of Hell you ended it up. What a load of shit.

"Get off me!"

When he steps back away from you, you catch yourself on the wall, turning so that your back is leaning against it. Your eyes close again, but he can see that they're rolling behind your lids, even as you slump down to the ground. All the blood left on you has dried and it comes off in flakes when you itch at your hairline, at your jaw, underneath your chin. There is dirt and maybe some leftover skin, a little bit of gravel, all embedded under your nails and pressed against your neck, which you finally seem to realize.

"I'm...disgusting."

"Yeah."

That pretty little head of yours looks like it weighs a ton, but you raise it so your eyes can meet his, and, he's not close enough to tell, but is one of your pupils dilated? That band aid is hardly clinging to your forehead and at the touch of your fingers, it just gives up, falls off and into your lap. It stretches between your fingers and you look at it like you've never seen one before.

"I don't feel good."

No fucking shit. That first aid kit has a small package of expired Acetaminophen—whatever the fuck that is—and he gives it to you, though you choke while trying to swallow it.

It takes you another few attempts to get to your feet, but you finally do and he steps out of your reach again. "I need to shower."

A laugh actually barks out of him. "This water'll probably poison you."

Maybe your ears are clogged with blood or something, because you just repeat yourself. "I'm gross, I need to take a shower, please."

Please.

Fine, if you want to die with a yeast infection, go right ahead.

Dabi has seen your tits before—not on purpose—but you don't know that, so he tries to be a gentleman and at least act like he's not looking when you peel that dingy scrub top off, when you nearly fall down trying to get out of your sports bra.

He does look when you ask him for help, though.

There is no way you can stand up by yourself in the fucking shower, and you want this UTI so damn bad, so he just runs a lukewarm bath. The water splutters and comes out at all different kinds of pressure, but you don't slip when you step in, so he just leaves you to it.

Maybe you'll drown in there—though this shitty tub isn't really big enough for you to do that—and it will all be over painlessly. Then he won't have to hold a pillow over your face or burn your flesh off while you scream and writhe.

No problem, he could absolutely do it.

Maybe he'll just come back and you'll finally be done twitching, looking as peaceful as you do when you sleep, underneath that blood-tinged water.

After it happened, Dabi wanted to kill you. Like actually kill you. A whole lotta people, everyone he knew, really, but you were somewhere near the top of the list.

Maybe because you made him feel something once, maybe because the little charm bracelet you gave him was the first thing that turned to ash at Sekoto Peak. Maybe because, if he couldn't rise up and do the Hero Thing, then he didn't want you to do it, either.

(Which, in retrospect—)

There wasn't gonna be any big show, no flames or anything, just him and his hands. It lulled him to sleep most nights, out there on the street, thinking of the ways he would do it. He planned to slip through those pink star curtains of yours and wake you up—because he wanted to see the light leave your eyes—and then he'd wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes fucking popped. Maybe he'd even kiss your gasping lips again.

There was a time when he wanted it so bad, that it was almost hard to distinguish that desire from reality. Some days he would wake up and he wouldn't think about shoving his thumbs in your eyes, because, he'd already done it, hadn’t he? They'd already buried you, the world had already moved on without perfect, little you. Dabi sure had, Touya sure had.

Guess that's why you're still alive (well, somewhat) in that bathroom and he's just sitting against the door, waiting for the sound of you to start gurgling or something. Somehow he just forgot to kill you, became too wrapped up in a plan for Enji. If he pictures that list in his mind, you were number 4 or 5, but he'd never made it past the first name.

It kinda pisses him off.

There hasn't been any sounds, none. Not even of you moaning or crying, no water splashing as you drowned or even washed yourself. Just silence, from the minute you sat down in that tub. It's been at least 30 minutes and that lukewarm water must finally be cold, but you haven't said anything. You've got to be dead. You've got to be.

Maybe he can cross your name off that list, after all.

The scene from the alleyway keeps replaying in his mind and he's finally figured out why it makes him feel so sick: if he had followed behind you in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten whacked. And if you hadn't gotten whacked, he wouldn't have needed to bring you back to his base of operations here, in the fucking decaying motel room, and you wouldn't know he was alive. There would be no chance for his plan to be ruined because you'd be at home, in bed or actually taking a shower or something, and things would be safe. His plan would be safe.

That's why the sight of you there, bloody and beaten, half naked on the ground, makes his stomach hurt and twist in all different ways.

That's why the sight of you in here, disoriented and fading, blood hemorrhaging in your brain, makes him nervous.

That's why. No other reasons.

Still doesn't explain why he hesitates with his hand on the door, thinking of seeing you naked with far away glassy eyes, but, fuck it, Dabi doesn't have time to figure that out, too. Now he's got to get rid of your body, throw it in the dumpster out back or something before people start to notice you've gone missing.

When he opens that door, his lungs seize up as he looks at you.

But after a few, still moments, your still-filthy head swivels to look at him and he breathes (in disappointment, damn it).

"What the fuck?" He says, but your expression doesn't change. "I thought you needed a bath."

There is still a layer of dirt and grime on your chest and face, all the places the water didn't rise to meet because you didn't sink down underneath it. It's been a big fucking waste of time, leaving you in there, because now it's after 6 and you're as wrinkly as a fucking raisin and still alive and he still doesn't know what to do.

"I do." When you swallow, it sounds like your throat is as dry as his skin. Probably left your mouth open this whole time, just staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

"Then why didn't you take one?"

"My arms are heavy."

"Mother of—fuck!"

So fucking stupid. So fucking idiotic. The water is an ugly color, similar to the stain out on the carpet, and he reaches his hand right down in between your legs to pull the plug. It's the first time he's felt the water being cold and, so close to you, he realizes you're shivering. Teeth chattering, shoulders shaking, lips turning a little blue, all because you'd just sat in the damn tub for too long.

"Get the fuck—stand up." Though he says it, he knows you aren't gonna do it, so he just puts his hands under your armpits and hauls you to your feet. The second he lets go, you nearly tumble sideways out of the tub and he doesn't want to clean up anymore blood, so he stops you from bashing your head on the tile.

But he should have let you, oh boy, he should have let you do it. Then he wouldn't be in this stupid situation anymore.

This fucking situation, where he's standing in a grimy tub as water swirls around his feet, as you dampen all of his clothes with your pruned body. Dabi has been in a lot of bad situations, but this one takes the fucking cake.

"Like taking care of a fucking baby," He mutters, and he's looking at the shower-head and the knobs, he's looking at the water draining in the tub and feeling the coldness seeping into his socks, into his skin from his wet clothes.

It's fucking pointless now, might as well.

The rings of the shower curtain rattle when he pulls it closed, the water is lukewarm when it sprays him directly in the face and he jerks back, blinking it out of his eyes as you sigh against his chest. It doesn't stop you from shivering, but the little bit of heat against your back has you curling, arching like a cat and nearly purring at the warmth of it.

It's pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as him standing fully clothed, holding up a half-dead girl in the shower, some girl from his class. One he wasn't even friends with.

"Touya."

"I said don't call me that."

The two of you stand in silence for a while, your cheek against his chest, his hands under your arms. The front of his hair has flattened against his forehead and every now and then, a dark drop of water drips down on your nose and leaves an inky trail. Dabi has this thought, a scary one, that a lot of things are going to come clean in this shitty shower.

The giant sighs you heave are the only way he knows you aren't dead. And you're a fucking liar, because those oh so heavy arms of yours are raising, he can feel your hands at his hips, dragging up over his tightened stomach and at his chest. Then you loop your feather-light arms around his back and shuffle just a bit on your feet, like the two of you are just hugging, like friends.

"Why’re you wearing clothes?"

Dabi snorts and rears his head back, but you don't look up at him. "Because I've got a massive hard on and you're not in there"—he taps his finger against the top of your sopping wet head—"enough for me to fuck."

That's not true, he's not the slightest bit aroused by you.

In this state, at least; okay, so yeah, maybe he didn't look at your tits on purpose, but it was in the spank bank now. Get over it.

The last thing he wants is to be naked with you, anywhere near you. Maybe if he cared about something other than himself, he could admit that the very idea terrified him. Not even in this failing state of mind would you laugh at him, or be grossed out or scared. You'd probably still put your hands in his hair, still touch his face, put yours against his chest.

And no one has ever touched him that way, not the way you would.

"Then don't." You say, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Yeah, so," For some reason he feels awkward now, thinking of it all and it's so stupid. "I'm not taking my clothes off."

That knot is still budding on your forehead, so your brow still doesn't pull down very far when you look up at him. A big pout is on your lips, though. "No, I—I mean, then don't take them off."

"Yeah...I'm not gonna."

"Wait," One of your hands leaves his back to rub at your rolling eyes. Maybe he should keep talking to you; it makes you use your brain and maybe it will pull you out of this state.

Not that he really wants that, of course.

"No, I meant, you don't have to have sex with me."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna." Fuck, he knows you got your brain turned upside down, but you can't comprehend anything, it seems. You must realize you're having a hard time making sense because you give a little sigh, like you're giving up, and just wrap yourself back around him, a little closer this time.

The two of you are both soaked, no matter how far he tries to lean out of the water, and he wonders if you can feel the texture of his skin underneath his wet clothes. For a moment his brain shuts off, just like yours is currently doing, and he wonders what you think of him like this. Doesn't really matter though, he tells himself, you're going in the dumpster all the same.

The water from the shower-head is starting to get a little colder and he's not perfect, little Shoto, doesn't know how to use the fire for anything other than killing and melting, doesn't know how to use it just to warm you up. There's no telling how much time has passed with the two of you just standing there, like idiots.

"Gotta wash my hair." You say.

"So, wash it." He says.

"My arms are heavy."

"You're so full of shit."

Dabi thinks, he thinks, that he feels your lips shift against his shirt, like they're curling into a smile because you know you're a liar, too. And you must be using your quirk or something (though he doesn't feel any fingers in his nose or ears, not like before) because he does what he shouldn't and would never do, which is bend around you and grab the snot green bottle of motel shampoo that's sitting in the corner of the tub.

Eucalyptus, it says. That's all.

It should be called Push Over or Pathetic, maybe Burnt Idiot, Not Really Friends, Sorry I Looked At Your Ass, Too.

Maybe Nervous.

When he dumps all of it onto your hair and starts digging his fingers against your scalp, you tilt your head enough so that he can see that smile of yours, the bloody one.

"I'll wash yours," You say, with copper breath and dark red gums.

When he kissed you under the tree, your breath smelled the same. He had been so afraid then, of a multitude of things: getting caught by his teacher or his dad, classmates seeing, messing up or embarrassing himself, you, mostly you. There were other kids in his class he talked to, sure, but none of them sat outside with him when he trained on his own. None of them shared their rice and threw salmon at cars or held his hand while he turned his face—red as his fucking hair—at the grass because he couldn't look you in the eye.

Sometimes Enji kissed his mother. Sometimes she looked like she liked it. Back then, he thought maybe you would, too. He didn't know he had blood on his bottom lip until he got home and Enji asked him about it, until Rei inspected it like he'd bit it by accident. But he couldn't tell them, didn't tell them that all of it, every moment with you, had been on purpose.

Dabi feels a lot like he did then, when you smile at him.

“Ain’t none left.” For some reason, it croaks out of him, like he’s the one with the issue keeping his mouth closed. Maybe blood is still in your ears because you don’t answer, you only keep your face titled towards him as he massages your scalp, lips open just slightly with closed eyes. As if to prove it, he throws the tiny, empty bottle back towards the corner of the tub and it clatters, loudly, the way all things do in the shower. When you open your eyes and look at him, unfocused and half-lidded, he thinks maybe he could fuck you in this bathroom, if you wanted him to.

He hopes you don’t ask.

There isn’t any soap on your hands, but they leave his back to go into his hair. A ghost of a laugh puffs out of your lips and into his face, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, you, pretending to wash his hair while he washes yours.

A bunch of idiots, the both of you.

“Stop,” Dabi tries to yank his head away from you, but you sway a little bit. You don’t push him, though because you’re a goody-goody, and when you run a hand across your face, there is a light gray smudge over your nose. All his hair dye is washing down the drain, lightening him up, making him Touya again. The soap washes off one of his hands as he rinses it directly under the water and he wipes the smudges from your face, a little rough, too rough, so rough that your head easily moves from the left to the right with each swipe of his fingers. Underneath his hands, you’re really soft. Too soft.

The walls of the shower are closing in on him and that sick feeling is building in his stomach again, the one that swirls every time he thinks about what could have happened to you in the alleyway if he’d waited another stupid fucking minute. Such a baby, so fucking soft, what that kind of aggression would do to you. How it would impact you. How it would impact him. That dopey, bloody smile wouldn’t appear on your face for a long time, he might not have even seen it again before everything with Enji finally went down.

It’s probably too drying for your face, but he uses the shampoo to wash yours, rubbing against the blood stains on your chin and your neck. They come away easily, the texture from his hands perfect for scrubbing it all away.

The way he can finally be of use to you, as a fucking loofa.

“Touya,” You say again, but he doesn’t correct you this time. “Am I dead?”

That sick feeling builds, really builds, until it feels like he’s holding his breath (he probably is). There is a settling wave that washes over him, just like the cold water from the shower-head, and he realizes, holy fuck, you’re dying.

Right there in his arms. Blood is probably pooling in your brain, killing you every moment that he waits. The hour he spent watching you writhe on the bed, the 30 minutes he spent outside the bathroom, the few blocks it took to get from the alleyway to the motel room. The time he’s wasting here with you, now. All of it is just him, opening that dumpster, digging a deeper hole to put you in. The star curtains will come down, the cafeteria fucker will drive himself to work alone, the homeless guy will shrivel into nothing, and litter will fill the streets.

Just like the doctor said; if you tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three.

When he’d unscrambled his brain enough to think straight, he planned to take Enji down. Since then, he’s lulled himself to sleep with the idea of it, the downfall of Endeavor, and, if he lets you go, it will just be the downfall of crazy, batshit insane Touya. All of it will crash and burn with him. It’s probably too late for you anyway, too much time has been wasted, and it would all be for nothing.

All the fucking pain, all the rage and the planning, all the blood and sweat and tears would swirl down a shitty motel drain like his hair dye. And you’d end up in that dumpster all the same.

“No,” He answers, tipping your head back so the shampoo can wash out of your hair, off your forehead and chest. There’s more words in his mouth, like not yet and almost and i’m sorry, but his throat feels all croaky again, so he doesn’t say anything.

Dabi only has one change of clothes. Water is dripping off him and all over the floor when the two of you step out, when he wraps that shitty towel around you and rubs up and down your arms, like some kind of idiot out of a romance movie. He even runs it over your head a few times, hair getting all ruffled up, and he grabs the spare sweater by the bed when you smile lazily at him.

He wonders how much time he has. Maybe if he knew, he would say something. But he doesn’t, so there’s no fucking point.

The air in the motel room is stuffy and has never been cold, but, drenched in shitty, piss-water, it chills him to the bone. Now he’s the one shivering while you lay back down on the bed, creaking and shit, and he just stands over you and watches you blink, one eye at a time. One of your pupils is definitely dilated.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you fix those fading eyes on him and open your arms, inviting him to lay with you.

(When he came over to watch that movie, he’d been nervous, but you had a blanket on your lap and you opened it to him, patting the space beside you with that smile until he felt comfortable enough to scoot closer to you, to share that blanket.)

He wonders how much time he has, but he’s got no fucking idea, so he just does it.

Yeah, he’s soaking wet and you’ve just put on his warm sweater, but this is his first chance, his last chance, to be this close as the man he grew up to be. He’s just Touya and you’re just you, lying in a shitty motel, waiting for the end. There’s a vision in his head, of you and him, of what might have been. There isn’t a mark on him, all smooth skin and soft, just like you, and you’re lying in a motel room, the both of you, naked. Maybe you’re still young, in high school, hiding from his parents just like he had been that day under the tree. Maybe you’re adults, this age, getting away for the weekend, away from the Hero Thing.

It’s a disgusting thought, one that has his lips curling down, one that has him choking on the ugliness of it all. It’s no use wanting like that, when your body is getting quieter and quieter, when you try to say his name again but can’t get the words around your lips. Maybe you’ve forgotten it.

When you're silent for a long time, he lifts his head from where he’s buried it in your neck, but your mouth is open, staring at the ceiling.

“Finally,” He pants, “Finally you’re fucking dead. Finally you’re out of my fucking hair and my life.” When you don’t respond, he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Hey!”

But now you’re just a corpse. Now he’s just clinging to the body of a kid he used to know, one from his class, one he hadn’t even been friends with.

The picture he sets up is one from the hospital website, your employee picture. At some internet cafe, he’d printed it off, paid the extra change just to get it in color, and he’s lighting the incense (and his cigarette) with the blue tip of his finger. There are a bunch of pink flowers around this place, though most of them are fake, and he can sit out in front of the grave without a hood on. It’s so far at the back that someone would have to want to come back there to find him, which is why he’s sitting there in the first place.

Dabi isn’t really all that interested in the cigarette; he’s just leaving it between his lips, letting the smoke swirl in front of his face, letting the ash fall into his lap.

“How’s it going?” He grunts, just like you would say.

Every time he thinks of you in that shower, his stomach hurts again. How close you’d been, how real you felt under his fingers. The smudge of his hair dye across your face, claiming you in a way, like you were his. As if you’d always been, ever since Shizuoka.

Maybe he’s got it all wrong, maybe he’d always been yours. Every time he sat in the tree outside your window, every time he slipped through it, every time he followed you after work, lingering back like an ugly shadow. All that time, he’d always been yours. In the shower, in the bed, breathing you in as you died.

Always yours.

It’s a big, fat weight that should be lifted from his shoulders. Now he’s back with the League, that plan for Enji is in motion, and he doesn’t have to make up an excuse to Twice about why he’s gotta slip out at night, why he’s gotta head across town, why he suddenly wants takeout. There’s no following anymore, that’s been given up. And yet, now he feels like he’s got too much time on his hands, too much space in his chest. Scars on his body feel too rough, there is an insecurity he can’t beat back anymore, he spends too much time thinking about the what-if’s, which is too dangerous for a man in his profession.

It’s all making him soft, just like you had been. It feels like a fucking sickness.

Toga notices, because she’s so love-drunk on everyone that she can read his face as plain as day.

“Ooooh, you’re thinking about a girl!”

Yeah, maybe, but it's still annoying; he’d always been thinking about this girl, Toga wasn’t special for just now figuring it out.

Sometimes he wishes he’d gotten that sweater back. Not because it was comfortable or fit over his chest just right, but maybe because it might smell like you. Or the Eucalyptus shampoo. He’s a pathetic piece of shit, thinking crap like this, but it feels like a somewhat sticky band aid has fallen off, like that door in his head is open just a crack. Like it’s stuffed with too much stuff to get closed again.

It’s a fucking sickness, seriously. All those years away, too many steps behind, had kept the germs from him, made him feel like he was immune to it all, to your charm.

(That’s a load of shit, truly; he’d followed you for 11 fucking years after all. Dabi wasn’t immune to squat.)

The grave is so far at the back that someone would have to mean to come find him and he hears the footsteps far before they reach him, which should send him running, but it doesn’t. His hair is still white because he hadn’t found the energy to re-dye it, and if Toga says one more fucking thing about it—

There isn’t a blanket to hold open, no need to pat the space beside him; you sit so close, you’re nearly on his lap.

“How’s it going, Touya?”

Okay, so yeah, maybe he’d run out of that motel room like a man possessed, cradling you in his arms and whining like a fucking pussy, but whatever.

That doctor with the quirk you don’t have loves you, just like all your little nurse friends do, and they must have dropped everything for you. Not that he stayed inside or anything, just had to yell a little and lay your body on the front desk before hauling ass back outside, but you were knocking on the motel room door that night. Looking for him, actually looking, with focused eyes, pupils that were the same size.

The scar on your head was small (which is a load of shit; just a little bitty one? Come the fuck on) and shaped a little bit like a strike of lightning against your skin. Probably needed to stay home and in bed for a few days, not make any sudden movements or flip the light switch on too quick, but you were standing there, in that sweater, before he’d fallen asleep.

No, he didn’t fuck you.

He would’ve though, if you’d asked. Kinda wished you had.

Dabi has seen you twice a week for 11 embarrassingly long years, but you’ve seen him for half a day. There’s a lot for you to understand, a lot of things to catch up on, which he thinks is why you hadn’t gone to the police. Not such a goody-goody after all; when he’d told you that, you looked confused and a little hurt.

“What makes you think I’d give you up so easily?”

He doesn’t really mention it after that.

There are a lot of things you don’t understand, a lot of things you won’t understand. Lots of things he won’t tell you, but you’ll be there. Yeah, he knows where you live, and yeah, you said you’d leave the door unlocked (probably shouldn’t though).

You’ll be there whenever he decides to show up, or rather, he’ll be there, for you, whenever you want him. Because he’s yours.

Always has been.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Choosing Destiny

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Summary: Pietro has never believed in fate or soulmates or destiny…well, until he meets you…

Note: I know it was recently confirmed in canon that Pietro and Wanda were 26 during Age of Ultron, but for my own purposes, I’m going to pretend they were only 23. WandaVision spoilers if you squint, but not really.

Warnings: Mentions of death (he doesn’t die tho)

Word Count: 3.5k

Reader is: Female

Pietro Maximoff didn’t believe in prophecy. He didn’t believe in soulmates, either, but that was another matter entirely. His entire life, he’d been making decisions. Important ones. And he wanted to believe that they mattered. That his choices determined his outcome. He didn’t want his hands to be tied when it came to matters like that, to his destiny or whatever.

And yet, at twenty years old, approximately three years before his life would change forever, the fair rolled into town. Wanda wanted to go. She always wanted to go. It helped take her mind off of everything. And besides, with the fair came the psychics that would set up their stands, charging a handful of coins for a reading on your future. Your destiny. Your soulmate.

Wanda was very into it, as he knew she would be, and so, reluctantly, he handed over the money and she sat down across from the psychic, who took Wanda’s hands, shivering slightly before she reached for her tarot cards and shuffled them. “I do see a soulmate in your future.” The psychic told her. “He’s tall. Heroic. I see a long cape billowing out behind him and there’s a…strong association with the color yellow. He’s very intelligent, wise. He’s quiet, but he has a lot to say. He will help you through difficult times.”

Wanda chatted with the psychic for a while longer before they finished her reading, and when she was done, she handed Wanda a small rose quartz stone, which she admired before tucking it into her pocket.

“Let’s go get something to eat.” Pietro nudged her onwards towards the food carts.

“Don’t you want a reading?” Wanda asked him.

He scoffed. “I don’t have a soulmate.”

“I beg to differ.” The psychic said softly, beckoning him closer. “Tell you what, this reading is on the house. Take a seat.”

Wanda pushed him closer to the chair and he rolled his eyes, but sat down anyway. His foot bounced up and down. He was antsy, always antsy. Impatient. And on top of it all, a skeptic.

The psychic reached for his hands and he gave them to her. As soon as she made contact with his skin, she gasped.

“Oh you have a soulmate alright. She’s incredibly powerful. I can feel her energy radiating just from your touch alone. You’re going to meet her soon. Not right away, but definitely in the next few years. I sense…some tension. Some resistance, but inevitably, things will work out.” She reached into a pouch hanging from the table and pulled out a butterfly charm. It was small and silver and made of metal and when she pressed it into his palm, it was cold to the touch. “You’ll know it’s her when you see a butterfly.”

Pietro was disbelieving, but he nodded, tucking the charm into his pocket.

“How about that, huh?” Wanda asked as they started walking away. “You have a soulmate after all.”

“We’ll see…” Pietro shook his head. “I still don’t buy it, though, for the record…”

“Sure.” Wanda smirked, unconvinced. She’d seen the look on her brother’s face she knew that look. And she knew that whether her brother liked it or not, he believed the slightest bit that there was someone out there made for him. She liked to believe it, too.

***

There were not many belongings Pietro had inside the walls of the Hydra facility he was transformed in. But one of them was the silver butterfly charm he had gotten at the fair that day. He always kept it with him, and he’d fought tooth and nail to be able to keep it when he’d gotten admitted.

When he was in his cell all alone, he’d take it out and look at it, study the intricate patterns on its wings, and then tuck it back into his pocket, his fingers fiddling with it.

He remembered the day when his transformation happened, although he didn’t like to think about it often. It stirred up weird emotions in the core of his being. Being…altered in a way like that. Changed into something he was never meant to be. Most of the moments from that day, his brain had tucked away, had hidden from him, but when he first stepped into the room with the stone, it had seemed to…come alive.

He watched with wide eyes as it released itself from the staff it had been held inside and floated in front of him. And in the glow of the stone, a figure manifested herself in front of him, a girl who was a bit shorter than him. She had giant butterfly-shaped wings spread out behind her and she landed in front of him, as real as he was. Vivid and beautiful. He stared at her for a long time, waiting for her to speak.

And she did.

“Pietro…” She’d spoken, her voice soft and sweet, but also…worried? He couldn’t tell. “I need you to be okay for me. Breathe, alright?”

“I…I don’t understand. What do you mean?” He asked, but she didn’t respond. It was like she was separated from him somehow, somewhere different in space and time although she was standing right there in front of him.

She reached forward and rested her hand against his cheek. “I’m here, now. Just breathe…”

And then everything went black.

When he came around, everything started…changing. For a few days, every step he took was at superspeed. He’d run into walls without really meaning to, rush forward feet at a time when he’d only meant to move a little. He was hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d always loved food, but now, he felt like he was starving all the time when he was eating more than he ever had. His enhanced body burned through it like it was nothing. His hair started to turn blonde and then white, leaving the top half of his head a silvery bleached color that rivaled the snow. He barely recognized himself in the mirror anymore. Barely recognized this person he’d become.

The choice he’d made, the choice he and Wanda had made together, had sent him on a different path, had altered his destiny. And he wondered if he’d ever pay the price for it.

***

The day came, as he knew it would. His home town in Sokovia was being hoisted into the air, higher and higher every minute. The air was thin and he had trouble catching his breath. He was used to running, now. It was part of him, his speed. It was a gift. A blessing. A “miracle” as the scientists at Hydra had said. He couldn’t help but believe them.

He heard something approaching the border of the city, something big, and when he ran to the edge to see what it was, he was surprised, but pleasantly so, to see a Helicarrier rising, a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo emblazoned on it. He looked around and spotted Captain Rogers standing nearby with the Black Widow, so he ran over.

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D.?” He asked.

“This is what S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to be.” Rogers nodded, looking on proudly.

Pietro considered it for a moment before replying with a smile, “this is not so bad…”

It was then that he spotted her flying across the gap. The girl with the butterfly wings. And he couldn’t stop staring, his blue eyes fixed on her for a long moment. She said something, but he didn’t hear her, so distracted by her presence. He knew it had to be her, the girl from his vision.

“What?” He asked, blinking a few times. She giggled and the other two Avengers standing beside them chuckled knowingly.

“I said, I’m (Y/N).” You offered your hand and Pietro shook it, squeezing it slightly as he did so, and hesitant to let go once he was finished. “Fury reached out to me. Figured you could use all the help you could get.”

“We’d definitely accept an extra set of hands.” Rogers nodded. “What are your powers.”

“Flight, energy manipulation, enhanced strength…” You listed off. “There are kind of a lot. I can do whatever you need me to do. Be wherever you need me to be.”

“Priorities right now are evacuating civilians and killing robots.” Natasha said.

“That, I can do.” You nodded. “And you’re…?”

“Pietro.” He offered, smiling softly as he did, an unfamiliar warmth tingling in his stomach.

“Pietro.” You repeated, trying the name out. Your pronunciation was a little off, but he couldn’t help but grin at the attempt. “Alright. Well, let’s go kill some robots then, Pietro.” You let your wings flutter, and when you did, your feet lifted from the ground.

He smirked, getting a bit competitive as soon as you’d challenged him. “You’re on. Try to keep up.”

As the two of you rushed off into the city, Steve and Natasha watched with knowing looks, taking another little moment.

“Twenty bucks they’re together by Friday.” Nat said. “Maybe sooner.”

Steve shook her hand. “You’re on.”

***

The battle went smoothly until it didn’t, and as soon as Pietro took fire, you felt the hit in the center of your being. It shook you to your core, and once you’d shot the quinjet that had hit him out of the sky with a powerful stream of pink energy, you landed beside him, his body still and his breathing weak, holes mangling his limbs and torso.

“Pietro…” You whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You summoned your energy to your palms, but it was…different than it usually was. Rather than its typical pink color, the energy you summoned was yellow. It was warm. But you trusted your power and you held the energy over him.

His breaths were shallow, strained. You watched as, very, very slowly, your energy pieced him back together, the holes in his body closing up, repairing as if by magic, as if he’d never been shot in the first place.

He struggled to try to say something, but you just cupped his cheek and shook your head. “I need you to be okay for me. Breathe, alright?”

“But—”

“I’m here, now. Just breathe…” You told him, still pushing energy into his chest, but more slowly, gradually. You felt his pulse and waited as his heartbeat returned to normal, his breathing forced, but becoming more natural as you knelt beside him. “Take a minute. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

He nodded, struggling to sit up, his arms and legs shaking really badly. At some point, you felt like your power hit a wall. There wasn’t anything more you could do for him. He was healed.

“Do you feel okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He nodded, staring at his hands for a long moment, looking at his fingers and moving them. “I’m…thanks to you, I am.”

“I think we’re gonna have to get out of here pretty soon. Can you stand?”

“I’ll try.” He decided.

You stood up first and offered your hands to him, pulling him upright with unexpected strength.

He’d definitely pulled something in his leg, and that became obvious as soon as he took a few steps.

“Do you want me to try to—" You started to ask, raising your hand, but he grabbed onto it, lowering it.

He shook his head. “You’ve done enough for me today. Thank you.”

You pulled his arm around your shoulders and supported his weight while he limped.

Captain Rogers walked over and looked at the two of you, paying special attention to Pietro.

“You alright, kid?”

“I am now.” He answered, nodding.

“Get back to the Helicarrier. Both of you. This’ll all be over soon.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded. The two of you walked most of the way back to the Helicarrier in silence, Pietro sneaking unbelieving looks at you every so often.

Meanwhile, Rogers walked up to Clint. “Did you see what happened?”

Clint nodded. “He almost died. But she…she just…healed him. Like magic…”

Steve considered it for a moment, nodding. He looked back and watched as you helped Pietro onto one of the boats, the two of you sitting together. And he decided in that moment that you might not make a bad addition to the team…

***

As soon as Wanda made it back to the Helicarrier, in the arms of the Vision, no less, she ran towards you and Pietro, disbelief on her face when she saw him. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged around her eyes from crying and she looked paler than he’d ever seen her before.

“Wanda,” He walked towards her, taking a painful step forward.

“You idiot!” She wailed, throwing herself into his arms. “I…I thought you were dead! I…I felt…”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He apologized, his voice soft. “She healed me. She…saved my life.”

“Who did?” Wanda asked and Pietro motioned to where you were sitting.

You stood up and prepared to introduce yourself, holding out your hand, but she engulfed you in her arms instead, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She cried into your shoulder. You held her a little tighter in an attempt to comfort her. “I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Don’t worry about it.” You told her quietly. “He’s safe. You both are.”

Wanda nodded and pulled away from you, looking up at her brother with teary eyes. He smiled down at her. And then his eyes settled on you and he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

Pietro Maximoff, at one time in his life, hadn’t believed in fate. But now, without a shadow of a doubt, he did.

***

“You want me to be a what?” You asked. You were sitting in the conference room that the Avengers, including their newest additions, had all crammed into in the remains of the Avengers Tower. They were scheduled to move soon, but before they relocated, Captain Rogers had gotten ahold of you through Nick Fury and called you there to “discuss an arrangement.”

“We want you to be an Avenger.” Clint Barton, the one you’d previously only known as ‘Hawkeye’ explained. “I saw you. You saved the kid’s life. We…we need that kind of power. All the help we can get.”

You looked at Pietro and his eyes were locked on yours, a serious look on his face.

“Look, I’m flattered. I am.” You forced yourself to focus away from the handsome speedster and on Stark instead. “But I’m just…I’m a college kid. I’m graduating in like a month. I have finals and…and I…I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

“You are. Cut out for it, I mean.” Natasha insisted. “We’re not going to force you, but…you’d be a great addition to the team.”

“Can I think about it?” You asked. “I just need to get through college. Get my degree, and then…then I can…maybe look into this hero stuff.”

“Take all the time you need. We’ll be here if and when you come around.” Captain Rogers said.

“Cool.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

You left the conference room and you thought you were alone, but as soon as you walked through them, someone else did too.

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” Your ears picked up the all-too familiar accent of one Mr. Pietro Maximoff.

You looked up at him and you hated it, but your heart raced just looking at him, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You couldn’t deny he was handsome. Incredibly so, in fact, but you couldn’t just give up four years of work for a man at the drop of a hat.

“Why do you want me here so bad?” You countered, raising an eyebrow.

He took a few steps closer to you, framing your cheek with his large, warm hand. “Do you believe in fate?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Kind of. Why?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t until I met you.” Pietro said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver butterfly charm, hanging from a thin silver chain. “A long time ago, a psychic told me I would know my soulmate when I saw a butterfly. And…the moment I saw your wings, I knew…”

He was quiet, shaking his head as he reached for your hand, setting the necklace in your palm. “You saved my life. The least I can do is returning the favor at some point.”

“Okay.” You said, closing your hand around the charm. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”

***

You went back to school. It was hard, but you focused on your studies and before you knew it, finals week rolled around. Your wings, for the most part, weren’t active. They only came out when you needed them, and therefore, you were able to blend in pretty seamlessly. No one looked at you differently, although, watching news coverage from the Battle of Sokovia, you’d hear your peers whisper rumors about the mysterious Butterfly Girl who had appeared and disappeared right after.

Tony Stark had been approached for a statement on who she was and where she’d come from and if she was a new member of the team, but he hadn’t commented, which you were grateful for.

Aside from that, everything was…well, as normal as it can be when you’re a superhuman, you supposed.

Your brain fried, your eyes burning, you looked up from your textbook only to spot Pietro standing in the doorway of the building. You stared at him for a long time, unsure if he was a hallucination or your eyes playing tricks on you after so many hours staring at your textbooks.

He jogged over as soon as he spotted you, a mischievous look on his face. It was weird, seeing him force himself to move at a normal pace. At a speed which had once been normal to him, but was now much, much slower than he was capable of moving.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, taking your headphones off and setting them on the table, looking up at him.

“I knew you must be getting close to the end of your semester. I…well, I wanted to know if you had made your decision yet. I’m…impatient.” He admitted, causing you to giggle softly. “And I figured…maybe buying you a coffee could help you make your decision a little faster?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” You laughed.

“Alright, perfect.” He grinned. “What do you want? I’ll go get it right now.”

You told him your usual order and he walked to the coffee shop tucked into the on-campus library, retrieving two drinks and bringing them back a few minutes later. You cleared out some of your stuff so he could sit across from you, and so, when you motioned him to the chair, he did.

“What are you studying?”

“Psychology.” You replied, wiping the sleep from your eyes. “God, what time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

“Great.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m not nearly done studying.” You raised your drink to your lips. “Thank you for the coffee, by the way.”

“Of course.” He grinned, resting one hand against his fist and reaching for your hand with the other, which you gave to him, allowing him to fiddle with your smaller fingers. He was a fiddler, you’d noticed. Always had to be moving, even if it was only a little bit. “So…?”

“So what?” You asked, amused at his antics.

“Are you going to come to the compound when you’re done?”

You were quiet for a long time, before you nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I…I think I am.”

Immediately, a smile overtook his handsome features and he gave your hand an excited squeeze. He leaned over the table and captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaving you stunned for a few seconds afterwards, staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized immediately. “I don’t know why I—”

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in, pressing your lips onto his again, in a kiss you’d been wanting to give him for over a month. He kissed back passionately, his lips soft and desperate, his scruff tickling you gently.

As soon as you pulled apart, he switched sides of the table, sitting next to you and cupping his hands around your cheeks. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and then another quick one to your lips, causing your heart to race and the butterflies in your stomach to dance around. And in that moment, you knew that whatever you believed about soulmates and fate and destiny…it all went out the window.

You knew whatever you did from here on out, whatever choices you made or paths you took, it would always lead you straight to Pietro Maximoff. And you couldn’t have been happier about that…

[purecantarella]

Reunited

belated happy Dahyun day! 💓🍞 so this is a tad overdue but here it is HAHAHAH the fic is hella long, over 2k words but i honestly have no clue how it happened?? guess i got carried away. anyway enjoy! disclaimer : this is a three genred fic, so fluff, angst, and smut. viewers discretion is advised, if you're below 18, please find something fluffier or angstier things to read.

Dahyun was incredibly upset with you, and she didn’t want to be, especially not now. It was the eve before her birthday when you told her that you had to miss your date with her to rehearse for your group’s latest comeback. While she didn’t want to be petty, especially since she understood the lifestyle you lead, she was still sad that you weren’t going to be around on her special day for the first time since you got together years ago.

“Are you sure you can’t just escape?” The pale girl asked rhetorically as she lay in the bed, staring at your image on her phone screen. Biting your lip as you stared at her sympathetically gave her all the answers she needed. Your girlfriend sighed sadly, leaning back into the bed. “I know it sucks, sunshine.” A prominent pout appearing on her lips, making you chuckle softly.

You looked around before whispering into you device, “I just want to be with you right now…” Seeing your fellow idol’s pout begin to crack, you continued to flatter her. “Doing everything I want to do to you…” You paused, gauging her reaction. Dahyun had given you her full attention, a sly smirk gracing her lips.

“What would that be, L/n?” She questioned, propping her phone up on her pillow, her hand holding up her chin. Dark chocolate orbs trained intently on you making you grin playfully. “Why cuddle, of course! What else, Kim?” You retorted making her groan out before laughing softly. A satisfied smile finds its way onto your lips.

“There’s my Dahyunie.” You said, making her cheeks tint to a cute pink hue. “I just wanted to see you smile, sunshine. I hate seeing you so upset, especially if I’m the cause.” Dahyun, feeling guilty, stroked your grainy face through her phone. She placed a gentle kiss over the screen, making you chuckle softly, trying to expel the sinking feeling in your chest. As she was close to the screen, she whispered like a prayer, “It’s not your fault.”

Before you could get another word in, your bandmates called out to you, making you cringe and sigh heavily. As she could sense your disappointment, she hushed you and offered you the smile that you fell in love with. “Go! I want to see you do well during your comeback!” Flashing a sad smile, you nodded before getting up and walking over to your bag to put your phone back in your bag. “I love you, Dubu. I’ll talk to you soon, my sunshine.”

The moment the line died, Dahyun fell onto her side feeling bad about herself. She ran a hand through her hair trying to hold back her irrational tears. It’d been months since she last saw you, and it was becoming harder and harder to not miss your soft voice, the way you held her when you cradled her at night, the sweet way you smelled. Just you. The pale Korean simply closed her eyes and dreaded another moment without you in it.

On the other side of Seoul, you stared down at your phone, your beloved ray of sunshine as your lockscreen. You bit the inner layer of your cheek softly before nonchalantly tossing your phone into the piles of bags, swinging your arms back and forth frustrated. When your leader saw you, they couldn’t help but laugh at your expression. You glared at them as you began stretching again.

“Shove off. It’s hard enough that I haven’t seen her in months, makes it worse that I can’t be with her on her birthday.” You breathed out before pushing your hair out of your face. The other idols around you chuckled in their own accord before one said, “She’s turning 23, Y/n. I’m sure she can handle one without you.” You sighed sadly and nodded slowly before proceeding to practice your dance moved to yourself as your other members looked at you, a guilty feeling resonating with them.

After the practice, your members piled over you. You’d been distraught the whole time and it was about time that they did something for you and Dahyun. As you slung your bag over your shoulder, prepared to go home, all of them stopped you. You raised a brow at them, your tired features making them feel worse than they already did.

“Y/n, we’re sorry that you can’t see Dahyun right now—” You cut them off with a tired sigh, the frustration in your chest building more with the explicit reminder. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll get over it.” The group’s leader cut you off hastily by saying, “No, no, we’re legitimately sorry for belittling your problems, and we want to help.”

A small smile began to etch its way onto your lips as you heard what they said. “Help how exactly?” The other members looked at each other, small grins on each of their faces. “You’ll see, N/n-unnie!” Your maknae said dragging you along making you laugh.

The next day, Dahyun rose from her bed tired and managing a slight headache from both the tears and tossing around in bed the night before. Releasing a heavy sigh as she looked down at her phone. With the multiple greetings from her family, her friends, and the Onces, a genuine smile befell her with the sense of sadness that not a single text or post from you came up.

Sana was the first one in the room, a big, happy smile on her face as she ran up to her member and friend excitedly, tackling Dahyun to the bed. Both of them laughed as she wrapped her arms around the Japanese woman.

“Happy Birthday, Dahyun!” She cried out loudly, catching the attention of the other girls as they all began to pile into the room. They all burst out singing, off-tune and loud, causing the celebrant to laugh and clap for them, dancing along to the out of harmony singing. For a moment, the rapper felt truly happy.

“Okay, so after practice today, Dubu…” Jihyo paused briefly, to build up the suspense of the night. “We’re going to dinner, Nayeon-unnie and Momo-unnie are going to buy drinks and we’ll come home and have some fun of our own. How does that sound?” The vocalist offered with her signature gummy smile. Dahyun nodded, looking at the girls around her, feeling grateful for the people here yet she still held hopes that you would find a way to get to you.

Somehow.

But as the day drew on, with no call, no message, no random gift from you, she didn’t feel too hopeful and her morale was obviously low. From getting choreography wrong to not being in the mood to goof off with her other members. Her birthday was turning up to be one of the worst to date.

Dahyun wasn’t hopeful for the dinner but she it’s not like she could skip it. She got ready despite the disappointment that continued to eat at her mood. The rapper got up to see her members who waited patiently outside for her. As she excited her dorm room, the girls cheered and showered her with compliments making the pale skin of her cheeks turning to a bright red, the familiar big smile gracing her face.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late, pretty girl.” Chaeyoung said taking her hand and dragging her out of the dorm, filling the group up with laughter and talking about other things they’d seen or done throughout the day.

At the restaurant, the girls were all giddy while Dahyun couldn’t bring herself to feel the entire party, still sulkily sipping at the spiked iced tea they had ordered. Nayeon, who’d been next to younger girl, nudged her gently. “Cheer up, it’s your special day, Dahyunie.” The bunny-toothed woman gave her a smile, making Dahyun smile gently.

“I’m sorry everyone, I just…I wanted to at least talk to Y/n and she hasn’t—” Before the younger woman could finish her thought, the almost empty establishment sprung to life with a group of seemingly familiar faces in zip-up hoodies, caps, and shades. There were about seven of the unknown people and Dahyun was becoming increasingly nervous.

A single figure stood in the middle, turned around, more hidden from the rest.

“I hope you’re ready for a show, darlings…” The figure turned tossing the hat and the mask to the side. When the speakers burst to life with the voice that Dahyun knew like the back of her hand, she became speechless. Once she got a good look at the performer’s face, the bright smile returned to her face and you returned it.

“To my love, my girl, my sunshine. Happy Birthday.” You smiled and tossed jacket that you were clad in in the direction of your girlfriend, who caught it and held it close to her chest, swooning. Your group began to perform their regular numbers, filled with energy and TWICE began hyping them up. Once the group had burned through two of their songs, ones that you had specifically written for Dahyun.

Then, your band members tossed you a handy guitar. Before you began strumming it, you paced close to the rapper, a fond smile on your face. “When we met, I was a trainee with nothing to my name but a guitar and a passion. You took the time to get to know me and who knew that I would fall madly in love with one of…” You paused to smile at Chaeyoung and your group’s rapper before continuing. “The best rappers in South Korea. That I’d be willing to do the dumbest things and say the cheesiest things because I need you in my life. I love you, Dahyunie.” You were right in front of their table, a smile on your face as Dahyun held back soft tears.

From across the table that was flushed against the back of the restaurant, you took her delicate hand, placing a kiss over the back of her hand. You continued to strum the guitar, for a solo, acoustic cover of ‘What is Love’, making the girls both cringe at you singing their own song but still finding the gesture sweet. After the song ended, Dahyun couldn’t sit patiently anymore. Jumping out of her seat, though with great difficulty, to get to you.

Finally, after months, you dropped the guitar and took her in your arms happily, carrying her and taking in the scent you’d missed so dearly. You placed a kiss softly on her cheek, so happy to be by her side again. “My girl, my precious girl.” You whispered against her ear, pulling her impossibly closer. Dahyun on the other hand, choked back the satisfied sob.

You pushed her away, looking into her eyes and stroking her cheek lovingly. “Happy Birthday, my ray of sunshine.”

Once you were both reunited, the entire dinner Dahyun couldn’t be helped but be latched onto you. While the girls talked to your members, you two were stuck in your own world. Talking about the things you’d missed out on, spoilers for your latest comeback, and of course, just how much you both missed each other.

She hid herself in your neck and left little kisses here and there while your hand busied itself on her thigh, dangerously close to her center. When she knew no one was listening in to both of you, she bit your ear gently. You smirked down at her as an embarrassed flush fell over her face. While Dahyun was the good Catholic girl, she knew what she wanted, and that was long awaited alone time with her girlfriend.

“It’s clear one of us wants it more than the other.” You teased in her ear as you lay another kiss gently on her cheek. Sure, she wasn’t the only one who wanted some, but you weren’t going to let her down that easy. The rapper pouted up at you as you giggled softly as you took her lower lip between yours. It took all your restraint not to pull her onto your lap and take her there and then.

"Wanna get out of here?" You whispered suddenly, you breath tickling her neck. Usually, you’d try to stick it out and Dahyun was the same, not wanting to cause a scene but after months of being apart…you both very much needed some alone time. Without hesitation and with just a wave to all the people present, both of you got up from the overcrowded booth, whispering things to each other while both your groups looked on in horror.

“Love is gross.” Tzuyu said poking her food around.

"And we just lost our ride home." Your group's leader commented.

The moment you left, neither of you could keep your hands off of each other. Getting out of the parking lot alone was an uphill battle all on its own. Your body was tense, her gaze was locked on your perfectly colored lips, and the air around you was so deathly thick.

You couldn’t get to your dorm fast enough.

Upon entering, knowing you were both completely alone, she pushed herself onto you. Pinning you against the wall beside the dorm door. The rapper’s hand trailing to the back of your neck as your lips met in a fiery passion. A desperate moan ripped violently from Dahyun’s chest from your tongue meeting hers. You smirked at the sound as you pulled away leaving kisses to her ear, hands already working on the back of her shirt to unhook her bra.

“Fuck I missed you, princess.” You groaned, moving to kiss her again. Her hand trailed up to thread her fingers into your hair, tugging slightly wordlessly asking for more urgency on your part. Taking the hint, you leaned down to give more attention to the nubs that had now become rather firm because of the cold air. “And these, holy shit they still look good.” You note before your tongue greets them through the fabric.

Dahyun groans at the sudden contact, running her other hand through her hair. “Y-Y/n…” She stammered out as you looked up, mouth still religiously suckling on the nipple. “Please.” Her voice shaky as she begged for her pleasure. Standing up once again, your lips collide with her pink ones as she desperately ground her hips towards yours, looking for any kind of friction.

You pulled away before taking her shoulders in your hands as you pressed her against the wall.

Admiring her features in the moonlight, a fond smile found its way to your lips. Seeing her face so needy for you; her eyebrows contorting, her lower lip under her teeth to suppress the embarrassingly obscene noises. “So gorgeous, Dahyunie…” You whispered, you hand dancing its way lower and lower until you reach the top of her bottoms, slithering your way into her underwear. Feeling the patch of arousal that has now ruined the underwear, you smirk again.

Your other hand on her breast once again, twisting the nipple making her groan out. “My girl missed me so much that she’s ruined herself…” You experimentally played with the erected bundle of nerves. “Oh God…Y/n…More, please. More.” She begged as her lips looked for yours. The smirk on your face growing tenfold as your finger moved further down to her center, pushing your finger into her, making her cry out.

“Ooh, princess, you’re just so fucking tight aren’t you? So tight for me.” You teased, pumping your finger into her before adding a second one, stretching her out in the most delicious way possible. Moans and gasps fell past her lips, begging you for more as your finger worked tirelessly against her. “Did your pussy miss me, Dahyunie?”

With no response, you slowed your movements making her groan loudly, grinding up against your fingers. A stern expression falling over your face as you twisted her nipple again, pushing your lips against hers forcefully, repressing her cries. You pressed her sweaty forehead against yours, forcing her to look at you. “I asked you a question, baby.” You simply said as you began pumping your slick fingers between her core again.

“Yes! Fuck yes! I missed you. My pussy ached for you…You looked so fucking hot during your last few stages, it was so hard not to call you to have you take me in every way possible, N/n.” She panted out, desperate for her release. Pulling your fingers out of her, you carried her to your room. Her whines driving you further.

Once in your room, you placed her on your bed gently before kissing her lips again. Teeth now ramming into each other from the raw need Dahyun’s hand cradling your face, nails scratching your jaw slowly making your body tremble with want. Reluctantly, you pulled away from her lips as you kissed your way down, marking her chest, so it wasn’t visible to the public, down to her center.

Seeing the wet cavern, you couldn’t help but lick your lips hungrily seeing the sexy beast that was your girlfriend. You hooked your arms under her thighs as you stared into her dilated and dark eyes. Teasingly, you blew a huff of air into the exposed pussy, chuckling softly as she shook under your touch.

“Y/n…Please.” She pleaded through lidded eyes.

“What my princess wants, she gets.” You whispered before diving into the sopping wet core. A loud cry echoed through the empty room as her head shot back, back arching in pleasure of your tongue digging into her pussy in ways that she could only long for late at night when she missed you. You ravenously licked and sucked at her clit as your fingers found their way back into her doubling the intense feeling of the knot beginning to tighten in her stomach. Her hand pulling at your hair once again, begging you to work harder to bring her to her climax.

“Holy God, Y/n. More, fuck you feel so good!” She cried out as her legs began to shake around your head, closing from the pressure that was building. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Just a little more. Please! Oh shit, yes!” Dahyun moaned out, her essence coating your chin like a painting as her body convulsed.

You offered small kitten licks to help her ride out her orgasm while also getting a taste of your favorite flavor. Once she tapped your head, signaling you that she was too sensitive at this point, you made your way back up. Small kissed littered across her now pink skin. You lay beside her panting form, as you pecked her lips gently.

“What abou—” You cut her off with another kiss, making her smile dazed at you. “Don’t say it. You need rest and can wait.” The rapper smiled up at you before wrapping her arms around your still clothed midsection pulling you closer. “I can get you a shirt you know, sunshine.” You offered seeing as she was still naked.

Dahyun shook her head before pushing her head into your neck, savoring the smell she missed so much the past few months. “That can wait as well. I still want to cuddle.” You chuckled softly before pulling her onto your chest as she looked at you again sleepily.

“You are not staying away from me for that long again, N/n.” The pale woman said before yawning and cuddling into your chest. You nodded along and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”

Before she could fall asleep completely, she whispered, “I love you.”

Your smile grew wider as you pulled her closer to you, nuzzling into her hair. “I love you too, Dahyun.”

yeah, i'm going to hell for a lotta things and that last part is on the long list i would say HAAHAHAHAH this has to be my longest fic yet 🤔anyway, remember that requests are open on any group and i will get to them as soon as i can and comments or criticism is always welcomed! 😊 alsoooo happy pride month everyone! love is love always! keep safe always and i will see you all very very soon! 💕 taglist: @labrachrosite

[intheticklecloset]

Burn Some Calories (Haikyuu!!)

Primary Universe

Thank you, first anon! Your request made me so happy! I love Nishinoya! I want more of him in my life! General yelling about how awesome and adorable he is! Yaaaaaah! Anyway, enjoy! ^^

2. “Take that back!”

5. “You don’t have it in you.” “Are you sure about that?”

30. “Are you crazy? I can’t last that long!”

~

“Eat my dust!” Noya laughed as his racer blazed by Asahi’s on the track.

Asahi glanced at his smaller friend for a brief moment, smirking. Noya was always energetic, but somehow while playing video games that energy just went so far beyond the next level it nearly broke through the atmosphere. This was only their second race, but watching his friend get so worked up over fictional characters in a game that ultimately didn’t matter was highly amusing to Asahi.

I wonder if he’d freak out over suddenly losing? The ace thought, and no sooner had he wondered it than he was testing it, reaching over at the end of the third lap to grab onto Noya’s ribs and tickle.

“AIEEE!!” Noya screeched, bursting into laughter. “Nohohohoho, you cahahahahan’t do that! Asahiehehehehehehe!” The libero cackled madly, but somehow managed to stay in control of his racer just long enough to cross the finish line, at which point he shoved at his friend’s hand to free himself. “That was a dirty move.”

The ace chuckled, crossing the finish line a few places behind Noya, but it had been worth it to get that reaction. He set his controller aside and playfully grabbed his friend’s leg, yanking his foot into his lap and scribbling wildly over the socked sole. “I was hoping you’d get mad about that. I guess nothing fazes you, huh?” Nothing, that is, except tickling.

“Stahahahahahahap!” Noya shrieked, using his free leg to try and kick Asahi away. “No fahahahahair, you knohohohohow I’m tihihihihihicklish!” At that moment the doorbell rang, bringing a stop to their playfulness as Noya twisted out of the ace’s grasp. “Pizza’s here!” he declared, hurrying to the front door.

Asahi grinned at the retreating figure, then lowered the volume on their game, content to let it sit on the screen between races, waiting for someone to let it know to move on to track three. He got up and moved into the kitchen just as Noya was returning, pizza box and 2-liter soda in hand.

“Finally, we can eat,” the libero said, setting both items on the table and lifting the lid of the box all in one fluid movement.

“Hold on a second, Noya,” Asahi said, doing his best to sound serious despite his ulterior motives. “We are actively in volleyball season. We have to be careful about what we’re eating.”

Noya stared at him. “Dude, we ordered a pizza forever ago. If you thought it was a bad idea you should have said something then, not now.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean we’ve got to watch our calories.” Asahi pushed down on the lid of the box, closing it as Noya frowned in confusion.

“Whatever calories we get we’ll burn off in practice. What’s your deal, Asahi?”

Deciding it would be best to jump right into his mischievous intentions rather than risk Noya getting mad at him, he grabbed the little libero and hoisted him over his shoulder, carrying him back into the living room.

“Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?!” Noya cried, grabbing onto Asahi’s shirt for support in the seconds before he was suddenly flying through the air, landing on the ace’s beanbag chair with an “oomph!” When he suddenly found himself straddled with both wrists pinned over his head and wiggling fingers in his field of vision, Nishinoya realized what was about to happen, and he grinned nervously.

“I think,” said Asahi, smirking down at him, “we should burn off those calories before you eat, hmm?”

“What about you?” Noya retorted, letting out a yelp when the ace lunged for his helpless ribcage, stopping just before making contact. He blushed, embarrassed.

“I don’t need to worry about calories. It’s all muscle for me. But you’re just a little guy. You have to be more careful.”

Noya gasped, pretending to be offended. “How dare you! Take that bahahahahahack!” He giggled when those fingers finally started scribbling. “Gah – nohohohohoho! Asahi!”

Asahi beamed, thoroughly enjoying himself. When he’d found out last year that Noya was extremely ticklish, he’d vowed not to use it against his friend too much – but every now and again, he simply couldn’t resist.

“Let’s see…I think about thirty minutes of tickle torture will be enough to burn off the calories you’ll get from eating that pizza, don’t you?”

“Whahahahahahahat?!” Noya cried, giggling helplessly. “Are you crahahahahazy? I cahahan’t last that lohohohohohong!”

“It’s either that or you don’t eat as much pizza.” Asahi shrugged. “If you want, I’ll only tickle you for fifteen minutes and then eat the rest of your share for you.”

“Thahahahahahat’s not fahahahahair!”

“I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

“You jeheheheheheheherk! The pihihihihizza will be cohohohohohohold by thehehehen!”

Asahi hummed contemplatively. “Then I guess I’ll have to speed things up. How about five minutes nonstop on your worst spots? That should do it.”

“No!” Noya shrieked, but Asahi was already digging harder into his ribs, turning his giggling into laughter. “Gahahahahahahaha nohohohohohohohoho! Asahihihiehehehehehehehe!”

“Orrrr,” the ace drew out the word teasingly, “if you want, instead of eating the rest of your share, I could fill up on ribs instead.”

Noya couldn’t take being messed with like this. What sucked even more was that Asahi had strength and height to his advantage, so no matter how much he struggled, he knew he wasn’t getting away until the ace said so. The libero scoffed. “Y-Yohohohou dohohon’t hahahahahave it in you.”

“Oh?”

Immediately Noya knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

“Nononono, wait, wait, I was joking, please Asahi—”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Wait! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Nishinoya tossed his head back and screeched, kicking his legs uselessly as Asahi nibbled on his exposed ribs. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE ASAHIHIEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” The ticklish sensations were so strong and so maddening, Noya felt like he was losing his grip on sanity being tortured like this. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Asahi let up, allowing his friend a chance to breathe. When the libero met his eyes, the ace grinned wickedly. “Don’t wanna.” Then he leaned down to nibble along the other set of ribs, relishing in the screams of laughter he produced, enjoying how Noya squirmed and kicked beneath him to no avail. The second-year outshone him in so many ways, it felt good to be able to outdo him in at least one activity. Plus, Noya’s laughter was loud and screechy and uncontrollable. It was the best sound ever.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Noya begged, unable to stand the strong tickly feeling emanating from his ribcage as Asahi nibbled. “PLEASE, PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! PLEASE, ASAHI!!”

Again the ace let up, allowing Noya the opportunity to gasp for air. “Hmm…we’re burning off some calories, that’s for sure. But I think a little more tickling is in order before I can in good conscience let you have some pizza.”

Noya groaned, but he was grinning ear to ear, secretly enjoying this as much as Asahi was. “You jeheherk, I hahahahate you…”

“Okay, so we’ll burn a few more calories for that comment.” Asahi wiggled his fingers in Noya’s underarm, grinning when the libero instantly burst into hysterics again.

“GOD, YOU SUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“A few more calories, then. You really want your entire half, don’t you?”

“OF COHOHOHOHOHOURSE I DO, YOU PIEHEHEHECE OF—NAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Nishinoya screamed when Asahi leaned down to blow a raspberry on his belly. “OKAY, OKAY, I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY!! NO RAHAHAHAHAHASPBERRIES!!”

Asahi chuckled. Raspberries were his trump card when it came to making Noya submit. They worked every single time.

“PLEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAN’T TAKE ANY MOHOHOHOHORE!! LET ME GOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“I think you can.” Asahi smiled, scooting up so he was straddling Noya’s lower stomach, using his free hand to reach behind him and squeeze at one of his thighs.

Noya would have bucked his hips if he weren’t stuck in this position, laughter bubbling out of him once more, this time more frantic and hysterical than the last. “NOHOHOHOHO, NO, ASAHI NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!!”

“I think a couple more minutes should do the trick.”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T LAST THAT LOHOHOHOHONG!! PLEASE – PLEASE – NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Noya laughed and laughed and laughed, unable to hold back even a little bit as Asahi squeezed and kneaded into first one thigh, then the other, then back again, over and over for a solid minute and a half at least.

Asahi watched Noya’s face contort with uncontrollable joy, his voice coming out in loud screams for mercy, his body thrashing helplessly beneath his firm hold, and the ace couldn’t help but smile endearingly at the sight. Every once in a while, it was fun to turn his confident friend into a complete and total wreck.

When Noya’s pleas for mercy started coming out in wheezing gasps, Asahi decided he’d had enough for today and let him go, releasing his wrists and climbing off of him. He sat on the floor beside the beanbag, waiting patiently for him to recover.

“I h-hate you…” Noya said at last, his voice breathy and little hoarse. “The pizza’s gonna be cold now…”

“I have a microwave.”

“It’s not the same.” The libero groaned as he sat up, turning to look at his upperclassman with a tired smirk. “Been a while since you decided to really destroy me like that.”

Asahi chuckled, getting to his feet and helping Noya up behind him. “Couldn’t resist.”

Noya grinned, leading the way back into the kitchen. “Come on, ace. I think I more than deserve those calories now.”

[goddessofmischief]

Blue Monday, Chapter Thirteen - Loki x Reader

TW: Mention of the word ‘suicide.’ Not discussed in graphic terms.

Author’s Note: It’s been a long journey! There is still so much more story to tell, so please send me questions or feedback if you liked this chapter!

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

...

The last day of Amora Freyadottir’s life had begun like... well, almost any other.

Loki had woken up next to you. His Amora.

The pair had risen in synchronization, methodically buckling up armor after armor, sword after shield.

And when you were both ready, you’d descended down the stairs together, one perfect unit, marched down to the castle courtyard, where Odin and several other highly-trained soldiers were assembled. He’d instructed you on the mission-

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to escape the flood of memories that had suddenly fallen into your mind.

"I’m... I’m what?”

“You,” said Mobius. “You’re Amora. You always have been.”

“Loki, I don’t... I don’t understand,” you stammered. “You lied to me, you swore you knew I wasn't her, you swore it-”

“I didn’t,” Loki promises. “You aren’t. These lies are simply a diversion to distract us from Mobius’ misdeeds.”

“Oh, Loki,” said Mobius. “Poor, poor Loki - if only that were true.”

He gestures, and a T.V.A. guard rushes in, restraining you both.

“Our story begins in Asgard, I think,” Mobius spoke, sipping from a tumbler of whiskey that had magically appeared. “Yes, that’s the one. Asgard. You and Loki had just marched off to the battle of Vanaheim... a terrible, terrible battle. Oh, they found you in pieces, Y/N. You died a warrior’s death.”

“Not me,” you said, stubbornly. “Amora did.”

“Yes, well... Loki got kinda despondent after that... not all that surprising, since he obviously loved ya-”

You glanced at Loki. He paled.

“And, well, Loki usually gets what he wants... and he decides he wants you back. Only problem is, he wasn’t sure how to do it. You were about as dead as it gets, sweetheart. So he studies, right? He studies for months and weeks, until he finds the plan that works best for him... that he’s going to reincarnate you.”

“No,” you argue, stubbornly. “No. No, that’s not true, it’s not true, it can’t be-”

“Crazy, right? I thought so, too. But I saw potential, in his failures, cause, the thing was... I’d started to see where things were going, even then.

The Earth was on the verge of nuclear war. The stars, divided by piracy and battle. In the middle of all of it... the two of you. I’d been trying to leave this universe for a long, long time - only problem is, the Watchers have kept me here. Something truly cataclysmic would have had to happen in order to let me destroy it - and, well... this little Romeo and Juliet story was a pretty good disaster-in-the-making, if I do say so myself. I knew if I stoked the fires of it, Loki would find a way to make the universe burn.

Soon enough, our friend Loki here uses a considerable amount of dark magic to reincarnate your soul into that of a mortal. He’d thought... well, I imagined he thought that once you reached a suitable age, about the age you are now, he’d give you your old memories, and find a way to make you immortal again. But you just couldn’t stay away, could you, Loki?”

“What does he mean?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” Loki stammers, and Mobius snaps his fingers - and suddenly, Loki’s eyes glow bright green, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

“I visited you,” Loki whispers, slowly. “In your dreams, I -”

He paused, removing his glove and resting his palm on your forehead. You couldn’t see everything, not just yet - so many of your memories were still blocked out.

But you saw him. You saw him... throughout your life. Long walks, chess games, dives into swimming pools. He’d appear in your dreams, even. You were never alone.

Never.

“You didn’t have any friends,” Loki said. “And... I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“But if you were there, for everything... why can’t I remember any of it? Why can’t you?”

“Well, you can’t remember much of anything, can you?” said Mobius. “Only... the moments without him. The moments with your father. And, of course... your would-be death. But you never could remember what drove you to make that choice, could you? Only that you did, that cold Monday morning, and that I saved you, and swept you away to a life with us. You have wondered, haven’t you?”

You had.

“That was my work. I needed you to get to a point of desperation, so that the T.V.A. would seem the perfect option for you, so that you’d feel you had nothing else left. The thing was, when I made Loki forget... I kinda altered his memory two years before yours. So I doomed you, you see. I left you for two years, without him. He abandoned you... or, so you thought. And without your protector, well, you were a mess, weren't you?”

You had been.

“And without him to stop you, you made the rashest decision you could. You made an attempt upon your own life - and thus, my plan fell into place.”

“So it’s my fault,” said Loki. “If I’d never visited you... none of it would have happened. You’d never have thought I left you. Mobius never would’ve been able to manipulate us. It’s my fault you... died. Or, almost did.”

This was almost too much for you to comprehend. You were Amora? Loki had known you all your life? His leaving caused your depression, and set Mobius’ plan into motion?

But something more important stood out, too -

You loved Loki.

And he loved you.

Somehow, that had to mean something.

With a growl, you kicked Mobius across the room.

Loki turned to you, and without wasting a moment -

The two of you ran.

“Loki!” you found yourself shouting, tempted to shake him and make him listen to you.

“We can’t just run!”

“Why ever not? I’ve used this strategy - it’s worked for me, many times.”

“Because your last enemy didn’t have access to every timeline in existence! We can’t hide - he’s just gonna follow us there!”

He considered this.

“Fine,” Loki said. “How about this - we’ll fetch some back-up.”

You had to admit, your heart began to pound a little faster about the idea, just imagining the heroes you and Loki could recruit.

Alternate Iron Man. Alternate Black Widow. Perhaps even Thor himself-

“I’m sure me, being me, would be more than willing to help.”

Just like that, all those hopes came crashing down, all at once.

“Uh... what?”

"Well, in this scenario, I can really only trust myself, darling. You of course can understand. We’ll simply locate a variant of me... and enlist their assistance.”

You shrugged, helplessly.

“I... I guess.”

By this point, you figured you were going to die, anyway. You may as well just give in to his flawed logic and see where it would lead you.

“But I’m not dealing with another Lady Loki,” you insist, as Loki started to focus his energy on programming the tesseract with coordinates. “Not again.”

“No, no, of course not... then again, we would have gotten along, had I not possessed something she wanted. So, it seems to me... all I have to do is find a ‘me’ that hasn’t yet lost his Amora.”

“Okay, how do we do that?”

Loki focused on the tesseract.

“There,” he uttered, after a moment. “It’s... it’s programmed. It’ll take us somewhere, I know not where... to me. A me who has a version of Amora with him. That me will have no need for jealousy, and I’m sure I can reason some way to tempt them to aid us-”

“And... we’ll take her with us, too? The other Amora?”

“Jealous already, darling?”

“No,” you said, raising your gun to blast an approaching T.V.A. soldier. “Never.”

He grinned, and takes your hand.

And together, you both disappear into the icy-blue light of the Tesseract.

...

Taglist:

@bepo-is-sorry @the-obelisk @buckybarnes1982 gorgeourrific-nerd @suwupremeleader​​ @sserpente​ @tripleyeeet​ @kcd15 @rorybutnotgilmore 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 27: Blankets

Title: Sick Day Spells

Fandom: N/A

Based on an ask box prompt. The prompt: “It’s all well and good until the cleric gets really sick.” 

What does a party of adventures do when their cleric is forced to take a sick day after a battle? Featuring a Halfling Rogue, a Dwarf Fighter, an Elf Sorcerer, and a Human Cleric.

(Author’s note: Holy crap this was fun to write, and I’m thrilled with how it came out! I can’t believe it took me so long to write a D & D-based story. This is the first time I can say with confidence that you will almost certainly see these OCs again. I loved them way too much to let them go. And there's three more people here for me to whump in all ways magical and physical. So keep your eyes peeled for them again soon!)

They say pride comes before the fall, but most people like to think that applies to everyone except them. Still, perhaps the adventuring party should have kept their pride in check, or else watched more vigilantly for the possibility of falling. 

The party of four were riding out of the village they had simultaneously saved and partially destroyed. True, they had fought off a school of necromancers that were terrorizing the local area and destroyed the necromancers' constructs, but the fireball they had used to wipe out the zombies had also wiped out the entire market and half of the residential district. Still, collateral damage was to be expected, and the slightly-singed foursome were in high spirits as they left the smoking town in their wake.

Their calamity came from a very unexpected source, and it started with a sneeze. The party always traveled in pairs of two, with the fighter and the sorcerer in front and the cleric and the rogue in the back. This meant that Filius and Kandry were generally surrounded by a cloud of dust while on the road, but they didn't usually mind, both being the hearty sort.  

Today though, the dust began to make Filius sneeze even before they'd left the town. After two sets of three sneezes nearly back to back, Lorellyn turned, looking at him with concern.

"Are you all right, Fil? Your cold is still bothering you, isn't it?"

"I suppose. Honestly I'm so tired I barely notice it right now. I just want to get back to camp and sleep for a day or two," said the cleric, congested and hoarse, trying not to cough.

"Well yeh certainly earned it. It seemed yeh were everywhere at once ou’ there, throwin' out healin' spells left an' right, an' destroyin' th' zombies in droves, plus flingin' necromancers here an' there with tha' mace o' yourn," Gundor said.

"He's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Lorellyn said earnestly. "You're the hero of the day."

Filius smiled tiredly, but before he could reply, a sickly green bolt of energy hit him in the back, making him spasm. He froze, then slowly his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward on his horse. 

The other three jumped into action immediately. Kandry leapt off of her mount and onto the back of Filius’ with flawless acrobatics, somehow managing to prevent him from falling off of his horse and take control of the steed immediately, though she couldn't reach the stirrups. 

Lorellyn whipped around, immediately shooting a firebolt from her palm, aimed at the bush from which the offensive spell had come. The dry bush caught fire immediately, causing the pair of tiny goblin mages hiding inside it to run out shrieking, heading toward the smoking village. Gundor was already off of his mount and chasing them down with rage in his eyes, ending them with his axe before they knew what hit them. 

Gundor and Lorellyn were at Kandry's side as soon as the threat was eliminated. The halfling was anxiously checking Filius over for visible injuries.

"He's burning up!" she cried. "What did they hit him with?"

"It was a wimpy Ray of Sickness. I saw it out of the corner of my eye," Lorellyn said, taking over assessing the cleric. "Those mages were barely second level. I'm surprised they were able to hit him at all. There's no way this is just from that. There's something else."

"Well can't you figure it out?" Kandry snapped.

"I'm trying! But divination is Filius' specialty, not mine!" Lorellyn snapped back. 

"Let's jus’ get ‘im back ta camp. We need ta get off th' road. We're too exposed, an' distracted ta boot," Gundor said, looking around worriedly. "Yeh can look ‘im over there just as well as here."

The other two quickly agreed. They hastened back to their base, with Filius slumped in the saddle in front of Lorellyn, and Gundor leading Filius' horse behind his own. 

The ride was somber, the high spirits from their successful battle all but forgotten. Filius had a raging fever and was dead asleep, unable to be woken, but seemed to be in the throes of terrible nightmares, for he writhed and cried out the whole time they were moving. Whenever he would yell, it would send him into an awful coughing fit that left him panting and sweating. Lorellyn tried her best to soothe him, but she was clearly distressed, especially when it seemed to have no effect, and she had tears in her eyes most of the trip.

Arriving at their camp, they made a makeshift stretcher for him from a blanket, gently carrying the tall man to his tent and laying him down on his mat. They lingered at his side, unsure how to proceed.

"Why don't you do a healing spell on him or something?" Kandry snapped at the sorcerer. "There's got to be something we can do!"

"I don't have any spells left after that battle," Lorellyn hissed. "I need to rest my magic! And anyway, sorcerers can't do healing spells. Our magic is too chaotic. Bad things would happen if I tried. Do either of you have any healing potions?”

"I never waste time with that. They're too heavy to bother with. You all always carry them... Or Filius takes care of it," Kandry mumbled. 

"I gave mine ta th’ villagers tha' got hurt in th' blast," Gundor said sheepishly. "Filius planned ta brew some more, so I wagered I wouldn't need 'em."

"Some adventurers we are," Kandry groaned. "We can't even take care of our cleric."

Lorellyn wrapped Kandry in a hug, which the halfling immediately tried to wriggle out of, but the elf was stronger. 

"We'll figure something out. It will be fine," Lorellyn said bravely. 

At that moment, the party heard a commotion on the highway, with many people screaming and yelling loud enough to be heard at the camp, though they were well away from the road. The three healthy members of the party gave each other worried looks. Lorellyn attuned her hearing to better assess the situation while Kandry and Gundor waited breathlessly.

"It's a green dragon," Lorellyn gasped after a moment. "Something angered it and now it's flying around, attacking randomly. It's already killed dozens of people." 

"It's all well and good until the cleric gets really sick," Kandry groaned, covering her face.

They didn't have time to make any sort of plan, for immediately they heard the sound of running footsteps approaching their camp. A young man with wild-looking eyes dashed into their midst.

“Adventurers!” he gasped. “Have you heard? There’s a dragon terrorizing us! We need your aid to defeat it!”

Gundor stepped forward. “We hadn’t heard o’ this trouble. O’ course we’ll do what’s necessary in this time o’ danger.”

“So you’ll come? We must go right away!”

“Give us time ta make our necessary preparations. Leave us fer now.”

The lad nodded, hurrying away again. 

Gundor, Lorellyn, and Kandry shared a look. Without a word, they quickly began to break down their camp, hastily packing their things and snuffing out the fire under cover of Lorellyn’s disillusionment cantrips, and taking full advantage of Kandry’s stealth. In minutes they had packed their belongings on their horses and were heading in the opposite direction of the main road, deeper into the forest. Through it all, Filius remained unconscious, mumbling and sweating and weak with fever. 

After another hour or two’s ride, having hidden themselves deep in the forest, Kandry found a secure cave in which they could hide out. The party was in no shape to fight a dragon right now. Here, they wouldn’t be in danger, or be run out of town for not assisting with the dragon. Gundor secured the perimeter while Lorellyn attended to the sick cleric, laying him out gently on his bedroll once more and bathing his sweat-slicked face with a wet rag while Kandry saw to the rest of the camp preparations. The cool water slowly brought Filius to consciousness, with much coughing and trembling. However, wakefulness did not bring awareness with it. He looked around dully, his eyes heavy-lidded and fever-bright, but seemed to take in little of what he saw. He closed his eyes again wearily without acknowledging his companions hovering over him worriedly. Shivers wracked his body.

“ ‘m so cold,” he coughed. “Thirsty….” 

Kandry rushed to get him a mug of water while Lorellyn snatched the blankets off of each of the other bedrolls and brought them over, covering him in all of them. They seemed to have no effect though, and he continued to shiver violently. Gundor built up the fire frantically, but it took a while to catch, and the smoke only made the sick human cough more. After drinking two mugs of water, Filius fell back asleep, which was somehow both a relief and a worry to his friends. His fever never changed, neither going lower nor higher.

“I’ll run ta th’ village ta get ‘im some kind o’ potion,” Gundor murmured over supper. “I can’t watch ‘im suffer like this.”

“And risk being seen, or worse attacked by a dragon?” Kandry scoffed. “After all the trouble we went to to find this place and stay hidden? Please don’t.”

“She’s right,” Lorellyn said. “That’s at least two hours' ride, and one of us will be left alone and vulnerable. At least wait until morning, when our health and spells are back up. If he’s the same or worse, then go. We’ll see how he does through the night.”

Once night fell, with nothing else to do, the party tried to sleep, rotating 6 hour shifts keeping watch, as usual. However, even when not on guard duty, the party members found they couldn’t settle, and kept lifting their heads to shoot worried glances at their cleric, or make sure he hadn’t worsened. Gundor had had the first watch, and when it came time for him to rest, he settled on his bedroll, but then tossed and turned for a long time. He was usually snoring like a bear within moments of shutting his eyes, so this had the ladies on high alert. Finally, the dwarf got up with a huff, picked up his bedroll and carried it over to Filius’ side, dropping it there. When he lay back down, he was close enough that his shoulder touched the cleric’s. The dwarf then pulled a corner of one of the blankets over himself and rolled to his side, pressing up against the human, and immediately falling asleep with a weary snore. 

Lorellyn had the second watch, and she kept shooting tender, but envious looks at the sleeping men. Filius never woke, but he seemed to sleep more peacefully after Gundor had joined him. As soon as her watch was finished, she followed the dwarf’s lead, pushing her bedroll up against the other side of the sick human, sliding under the blankets, and resuming her meditation. 

Kandry was not so easily swayed, and tried to ignore the thoughtless sharing of germs happening behind her as she took her turn at the watch. However, when no one was looking, she surreptitiously slid her bedroll around to the other side of the fire, placing her closer to her companions.

Had Gundor and Lorellyn been aware of their surroundings, they would have noticed that in the wee hours of the morning Filius began to sweat profusely. He had hardly moved after the other two had settled in with him to share their body heat, but he began to mutter and toss a bit once more. Finally, just as dawn was creeping over the horizon, he woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright with a hacking cough. Lorellyn and Gundor were instantly awakened as well, and Kandry was at their side in an instant. Filius tried to catch his breath, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. 

“Where ‘m I?” he croaked. “What happened?”

Lorellyn leaned over to press the back of her hand to his forehead, then his neck. “We’re safely hidden in the forest. Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Filius groaned. “Sick. How long have I been asleep?” He yawned hugely. 

“Almost a day,” Kandry said, pressing a mug of water into his hands. “You scared us half to death. You got hit with a Ray of Sickness and you just… passed out.”

“I did?” he said worriedly, looking confused. “I don’t remember that….”

“Yeah. Did you have some poison in your system too or something? I’ve never seen Ray of Sickness do that,” Kandry said accusingly. 

“Not that I know of. Might have to do with me already being sick when it hit me. Just exacerbated everything, made it worse temporarily.” He coughed roughly into his shoulder, wincing, then downed the mug of water. 

“Well your fever is much better,” Lorellyn said happily. “Let’s hope you’re on the mend now!”

“I’d be on the mend faster if I got some whiskey,” Filius sniffled, looking meaningfully at Gundor. The sleepy dwarf readily got up and shuffled to his pack. Finding what he was looking for, he returned with an amber-colored bottle and handed it to the cleric, who took several unceremonious gulps. 

“Good ta have yeh back, mate,” Gundor rumbled happily, reclaiming the bottle and taking several swigs of his own. 

“What are you all doing over here anyway?” Filius said after a moment, yawning again. “This cave is plenty big enough for all of us.”

“You were freezing, so we shared our blankets with you,” Lorellyn said.

“Really? You mean you slept here all night?”

“Tha’ we did. ‘Twas a mighty fine night’s rest, too,” Gundor said. “Matter o’ fact, I could use some more shuteye if it’s all th’ same ta you lot.” With that, he lay back down right where he was, pressing up against Filius once more and closing his eyes. The cleric looked surprised, though not unhappy with this development. 

“Some more rest would be nice. Filius, are you able to put up some protection spells so we can all relax for another day? I hate to ask so much of you--” Lorellyn began.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, coughing chestily. “I can manage.” He grasped his talisman of Njord and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. After a moment, an opaque barrier appeared over the cave’s entryway. No creature, magical or otherwise, would be able to pass through. Looking exhausted now, he lay back down alongside Gundor and shut his eyes, a tiny smile appearing on his face as the dwarf shifted cozily against him and Lorellyn too pressed closer. 

Lorellyn was also grinning. “Come join us, Kandry.”

The halfling rolled her eyes. “I don’t cuddle.”

“I don’t either, but here we are,” Filius mumbled, almost asleep. “Just call it team bonding.”

Kandry almost declined again… but it really did look very cozy to be surrounded by blankets and pillows and teammates. With a little sigh, she shuffled over and slotted herself in, with Filius’ long legs on one side of her, and Lorellyn’s on the other. 

They spent the rest of the day just like that, sleeping and eating and talking, content to take a day to simply enjoy each other’s company as they let their cleric take a sick day.

[paranaturalpop]

I rate your pnat ships by how well they work as foils

I’m Professor Pops, welcome to Literature 405: comparing and contrasting in pnat ships. Love is in the air but all that really matters is narrative symmetry!

Mina and Agent Day (submitted by @anxanhh)

two women on missions who need a confidante. 

Mina is a calculating woman of science with a tender, vulnerable heart deep down that she guards. Day is a fun, giggly love goddess but beneath the surface she is just as calculating.  

They are both focused on their prospective goals to the point of subterfuge. 

They have similar missions, to solve the many mysteries of Mayview, but they’re at odds instead of working together. Will these lone wolves learn to let their walls down and work towards a common goal? 

Their spectral energies are complementary colors!!!!!!!!!!!! 

9/10 so different yet so alike. They should kiss and also develop as people.

Spendcia

Where's that post about paranatural having what my hero academia wants?

These two had interacted in cannon only once before we found out they were dating, power move on Zack’s part

The cousinhood and the consortium seem to have bad blood…. Enemies to lovers????

As teachers, Garcia is tired and phoning it in while spender is energetic and committed. But when it comes to mystery solving Spender is burning himself out while Garcia keeps him grounded.

Garcia does things like pack spender lunches with little hearts drawn on the bag but was surprised to be called his boyfriend. He acts chill but inside he is deeply invested in spender but also knows about spender’s isolating tendencies. 

8/10 there's a reason these two have been off and on again for 6ish years, they’re walking a tightrope of vulnerability.

Imaax (submitted by Rubyya)

The Destiel of Paranatural. No I will not elaborate.

Here’s a pnat history lesson, the original ship name was Maxaac, but Zack weighed in on twitter with a much better alternative: Imaax. Also sometimes called Team Lightning Rod. 

Black and blue colors, just like the emotional bruises they leave on the people around them. 

Isaac wants to be seen as heroic and Max wants to be seen as aloof. It presents in different ways but deep down they both really care what other people think.

They both fear sincerity. Isaac protects himself with theatrics and Max with sarcasm. 

Isaac puts on a big show of having strong ethics but he’s a little mean on instinct. Max puts on a big show of cutting people down with his snark and devil-may-care attitude, but when push comes to shove he’s kind and cares how other people feel. 

Max immediately insults every person he meets and they still want to be best friends with him, while Issac tries so hard to be cool and nice but people just can’t stand him. 

The meta tension between Isaac, who wants so badly to be the protagonist, and Max “magnetic personally” Puckett who is exhausted with being the protagonist, is delicious. 

There’s a reason official art tends to portray them together. They bring out the best in each other. Isaac brakes through Max’s performative pessimism and Max brings Isaac down to earth. 

10/10 these two were written as a pair and it shows.

Suzabel (submitted by Rubyya)

One of my fav tropes is ‘enemies to friends’ where the enemy part is completely one-sided. Isabel probably thinks she and Suzy get along great. 

Both the heads of their respective clubs, but with very different leadership styles. 

Isabel only studies her grandfather's spectral style to please him and is a near master of it, while Suzy is incredibly self-motivated even though her actual skills are lacking. 

Isabel is at a crucial time in her life where she’s learning to distance herself from adult authority figures in order to take on more personal responsibility. Suzy is already blazing with independence and could help her adjust. 

Inversely, Isabel could teach Suzy a thing or two about treating your club members with respect and doing the emotional labor necessary to prevent future conflict. 

Red and pink! Valentines colors! 

Isabel could kill you but would never, Suzy would actually try to kill you. 

Investigative reporter/person living mysterious double life is a great dynamic.

Back when Izzy had Eightfold they had the ship name ‘Paper Girls’ which is awesome

7/10 Don’t ask me how I know this but they would kill at karaoke together. And they’re ok foils.

Bullymagnet

Max ‘too cool for clubs’ vs a boy who defines himself by his tight knit group. 

Max is learning to be less passive aggressive and johnny is learning to be less aggressive aggressive. 

Max’s entry to spectral life was when he injured Johnny and saw a shade of a doctopi on him, and Johnny's first shade was Max's doctopi after the hit ball game. 

Johnny refuses to commit to not bullying max anymore even though he really likes him, and max is working on being nicer but he’s still gonna be snarky with people even though they’re his friends. Old habits die hard. 

If he hadn't seen that shade, Max might have joined Johnny's gang. He has the style, the stunts, the snark. 

8/10 Just two bros whose lives are changing forever.

Isaac and Dimitri (submitted by Rubyya)

Here’s my pitch for a ship name: Brainstorm

Orange and blue are complementary colors. 

Isaac hurt Dimitri accidentally somehow. Hurting others accidentally is the central theme of chapter 5. 

Idealist/pragmatist is a classic dynamic

They both have relationships with their spirit partners that are rooted in fear. 

Dimitri’s self concept is overly dependent on his sense of intellectual superiority, and Isaac’s on ethical superiority. 

7/10 have not directly interacted in the comic yet but the narrative symmetry is there

Johnny and Isabel (submitted by Rubyya)

Burnhound Vs Shockadile

These two are natural leaders who know how to treat their friends with respect.

These jocks are both lethal weapons, but while Isabel is a master martial artist, Johnny is a passionate but blunt instrument.

They’re both going through similar identity crises.

Isabel is struggling to reconcile her violent and disciplined upbringing with a good, gentle heart and Johnny is trying to reconcile his violent and self-centered lifestyle with a developing respect and empathy for other people.

Johnny dies his hair red, so he would think it’s cool how Izzy emits a fiery red aura when excited.

8/10 there's a reason these two were the team leaders in the hit ball arch.

Violet and Lisa (submitted by Rubyya)

People have been theorizing about what kind of cryptid Lisa is since day one meanwhile Violet gives off big normie energy.

Lisa is very plugged into all the Mayview weirdness as the queen of the school underground, while Violet was the only person who thought to go get a teacher during the hit ball arch. Lisa was also the only one who really spoke openly about how something was clearly very wrong with Jeff, everyone else talked around it and played by the so called ‘rules’. Lisa’s secret brokering Vs. Violet’s ‘sunlight is the best disinfectant’ attitude presents two different approaches to trying to survive in a school run by a mysterious shadow organization within a town that contains several other mysterious shadow organizations.

“If you were, I’d have to be jealous too.” just two middle schoolers pinning over their crushes.

7/10 two girls against the world.

Isaac and Johnny

ship name: Firestorm?

Just 2 fiery redheaded mediums with anger management issues that command primal forces and wanna be best friends with max

Johnny chooses to have red spiky hair, Issac has had red spiky hair thrust upon him.

Both met Maxwell Pucket and decided they needed to change for the better.

I’ve said this before but Johnny and Issac have equal and opposite philosophies. Johnny doesn't care about the greater good, he just cares about a small group of people who he loves. Issac cares about the greater good, but can’t connect with individuals and ends up hurting them. Together they form one GoodTM boy.

Both their spirit partners want revenge on Spender. This spells trouble.

If there’s anyone to teach Isaac about unconditional friendship, it’s Johnny

Isaac has sworn off violence and Johnny worships at the altar of it.

9/10 they’ve only interacted in canon once so far but I’ve think we’ve got a big storm coming.

Suzy and Collin (submitted by Rubyya)

The Bakudeku of pnat. I will continue to not elaborate.

Suzy once stole Collin's phone which prompted Collin to try to cut her hair which prompted Suzy to stab Collin and at no point did either of them think to move to a different bus seat. As different as they are they are also very much the same.

Collin is the definition of mouth service (constantly disapproving of suzy’s antics but going along with it anyway.) while suzy is all action.

Despite their different attitudes they both seem genuinely passionate about the journalism club.

Fashion icons. Suzy’s sunglasses and legwarmers, Collins sweater vests and wrist bands, this duo could walk for Paris fashion week: middle school edition.

We’ve gotten an indication that Collin cares a lot about what Suzy thinks of him (taking off his wrist bands when she made fun of Max's) but we haven't gotten any sign yet that the feelings are mutual.

5/10 I think their story is yet to be told and we’ll get to know more about how they compare/contrast to each other in the future. Maybe brought on by Dimitri's betrayal?????

Cody and Isabel (Submitted by @a-bitchtm)

Cody is gay by WOG but that doesn't matter here since we are evaluating thematic compatibility, not romantic compatibility.

Red Vs. Blue

Izzy’s arch about stepping into her role as leader through communication and honesty contrasts Cody’s role as the secret class president. Izzy finally told Isaac the truth about the consortium, while Cody blatantly lied to max about being president.

Both seem to have generally good motivations and the skills/talent to back those motivations up.

Isabel is in the process of unlearning the ‘firm hand’ philosophy that she learned from her grandpa and Cody’s dad straight up tried to mind control him into murdering a toddler.

They were both taught to fall back on their capacity for violence and intimidation but those teachings conflict with the people they really want to be.

6/10 just two kids who are being led astray by authority figures trying to learn to be themselves.

Cody and Collin (Submitted by @gatortavern)

They both like vests.

Both beholden to blood thirsty predators

Collin is a journalist, Cody is a vampire/leader of the shadow government. It’s a huge power move on Cody’s part to hang out with Collin.

Cody’s support of his friends is enthusiastic while Collin would have you believe Suzy has kidnapped him.

4/10 they hang out for a reason but those reasons have yet to be fully developed

Isabel and Max (submitted by @Paranatural-goofiness)

They’re both people who have learned to put up walls to keep people out. Isabel through violence and intimidation, max through sarcasm and mockery. T

he other side of this is their mutual journey to let their walls down and connect with other people more genuinely, starting with each other.

Their search for acceptance and identity has led them both to become incredible athletes. Spectral fist martial arts = shred eagle stunts

As we saw in the hit ball game, Izzy faces things head on while Max is all about evasion. However we’ve seen how Izzy has actually learned to be evasive and guarded about her feelings while Max is a little more forthcoming.

8/10  Never has there been faster friends.

Isaac and Cody (submitted by Rubyya)

Drama kings

Isaac wants the likability Cody has.

Parallels of power: Isaac with power he didn't choose and cant control vs. Cody who also didn’t choose to have his power (elected), but wields it like an instrument.

Involuntary anime hair and involuntary glowing monster eyes

These two definitely both fall under the category of “lawful”.

I can see these two ending up on opposite sides of a conflict because they both have such rigid personal codes and an intense sense of duty.

I know I’ve been approaching almost all of these platonically but Isaac probably really wants a cool vampire boyfriend deep down

 7/10 Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. You two should watch anime together.

Hijack and PJ (submitted by @gatortavern)

They both wanna join the activity club so bad

Both have immature ideas about heroism and villainy. 

Both aspire to heroism while at the same time understanding that they aren't that yet and maybe never will be. 

They both, like many people in this comic, wanna be friends with max.  

5/10 Two supernatural babies who should play wii sports together

Stephen and Isaac (@Gatortavern)

Two boys who are easily overwhelmed

Lawful vs. chaotic

Isaac has enough secrets to give Stephen his conspiracy fix for a long time. 

In their own ways they both just want everything out in the open. 

Isaac is Stephen's dream, someone actually living a secret double life, and Stephen is Issac's dream, someone with a cool scar who would think he’s actually very interesting. 

5/10 these two are both very intense in their own way.

Johnny and Ed (Submitted by @theevilbrainman)

Two souls lost in the wind

Two people for whom friendship and loyalty is central to their character, and they’re both struggling with personal growth because of it. Johnny is afraid to change because his friends have always liked the person he already is, and Ed is struggling to even define himself outside of Isabel, the person he cares about the most. 

Both impulsive and uninhibited. 

They both live lives free from expectation. Johnny’s wild bully persona means no one is surprised by his antics or cruelty, while Grandpa Guerra doesn't really care if Ed takes up phantom fist like Isabel. He actually calls him a freeloader. Not having much expected of you can feel free but it’s also lonely and can warp your self-perception. 

6/10 these two crossed paths at exactly the right time.

I didn't cover every submission because even though only 9 people submitted you sent in 34 ships between you. Pnat’s fanbase is small but very dedicated. 

Honorable mentions: 

Johnny and clear sinuses, submitted by @gaul-the-unmitigated

Isaac and therapy, submitted by both @squidgeons and @somethingfishysgoingon

PJ and Johnny, submitted by @gatortavern, who seems to be under the impression that Johnny Would protect PJ and not destroy him just by breathing near him.

Day and Scabs, submitted by @gatortavern, because funny.

Special thanks to everyone who sent in ship between people who have never interacted in cannon, which was a lot of you. My eyes are opened now, so many possibilities.

[neocityarchive]

[2:10 AM] Jeno sighed as he leaned over to tie your hair up in a bun. You were sitting against the counter of the bathroom sink, looking the most wasted that you have ever been.

You spent the entire night drinking after a major fight broke between you and him. It hasn’t been going fine for a while now. You never seem to meet a common ground in almost everything which led to a dozen arguments a week. The fight from four nights ago was the last straw. You were fighting over something as simple as doing the dishes. That’s how bad it was. In your frustration, you said some words you didn’t mean. You called Jeno names you never even used before. And in his anger, he said he wished you two just never met.

Something broke inside you that time. You shouted at him to leave. To just go and never come back. Jeno didn’t even say anything in his defense. He just let out a sigh before turning around and walking out the door, closing it with a deafening bang. Then you broke down.

You love him, you still do. But with everything that went on lately, with your lack of time and attention and patience for each other, love definitely wasn’t enough to keep the flame alive. Still, part of you hoped that it was just one of your silly fights. Part of you hoped to find him right next to you when you wake up in the morning. But he didn’t show up the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

I guess it’s over, you thought to yourself. It was fine at first. But every ticking second weighed heavier on your heart. Did you really just throw a three-year relationship in the dust just because of some dirty dishes? You broke down again. Then you figured crying won’t drown the pain. But alcohol definitely will.

After forcing some friends to go clubbing with you, you wasted no time emptying shots of alcohol down your throat. You didn’t keep count. You just kept on throwing them in and in. You know your friends have been trying to slow you down the whole night. You kept getting worried looks from them but you couldn’t care. You just wanted to forget. You wanted the thought of Lee Jeno to depart your mind and give you even just a night of peace. 

But every time a guy dances a little too close to you or someone turns to ask your name, you always blurt out the same reply, “I have a boyfriend.”

“I know,” one guy replied. He was gripping your wrist, enough to keep you from running but not so much to make it hurt.

You laughed. Your head was spinning. “How?” you asked, your tone a little too flirtatious even for your intoxicated self.

“Because I’m him.”

You looked up, surprised to see Lee Jeno, the guy you were trying so hard to run away from that night. It was like you were suddenly sober, but you could feel your whole body heating up. You pulled your arm from his grip and took wobbly steps to the bar. You ordered two shots of whatever their strongest alcohol is. You downed the first one as soon as it came, the hot trace of alcohol burning down your throat. Before you could even take the second one, it was snatched from your grasp.

Jeno threw the drink in his mouth, his face scrunching as he swallowed. “What the hell is this?” he asked.

You just shrugged, looking away to ignore him. You were about to call the bartender to order another one but he cut you off.

“That’s enough, Y/N,” Jeno said, his voice commanding. “You’ve already had too much. I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not coming with you,” you whined. But you didn’t have enough strength, energy, nor control to fight against him once he started pulling you out the bar. He was mad. Even in your intoxicated state, you could recognize the firm set of his jaw and the way he was trying to keep his eyebrows unfurrowed. Still, he was gentle with you. He never pulled you too hard nor tightened his grip on your wrist. He carried you on his back when you crossed the street to his car since you were walking too slow.

The car ride to your apartment was silent. You thought Jeno was going to scold you for your behavior, that this is going to be yet another fight. Honestly, if he did, you would just let him. You didn’t have any will to defend yourself, and he has the right to be upset. But he was quiet. His hands just gripped firmly on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road except for the occasional times he would glance your direction to see if you’re okay.

When you got home, you rushed to the bathroom immediately, throwing yourself to the toilet and disposing everything in your system. It wasn’t pretty. You would’ve made a mess on the bathroom floor if the door wasn’t already open.

Somehow, it felt a bit better after you threw up. But every part of your body was weak. Jeno stood by the door as you closed the toilet lid, letting your head rest against the wall in exhaustion. He gave you a glass of water, and when you only whined, crouched down to let you take it.

“Y/N, please,” he pleaded. So you obliged.

He let out a sigh before carrying you effortlessly and placing you on the counter of the bathroom sink. Your eyes were half-closed when he was tying your hair. But it didn’t matter since you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye anyway. He told you to take your shirt off and quickly replaced it with a clean one. He grabbed your toothbrush, put some toothpaste in it, and asked you to brush your teeth. He took a cloth from one of the cabinets, soaked it in water, and started wiping your face gently.

It’s crazy how fragile he was holding you. He lifted your chin up to wipe your neck so you couldn’t help but look at him. He had the softest look in his eyes. All the anger and the frustration that was there earlier had dissipated, replaced by a gentler, more caring gaze. You haven’t seen this side of him in weeks. Lately, it has always been the Jeno with all his defenses ready and his walls put up. So you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you watched him pamper you with care.

“You okay?” he asked, finally meeting your gaze when he realized you’ve been staring at him. “I told you you shouldn’t drink without me around. Your friends had to call me because you were having too much and they can’t stop you.”

At that, you couldn’t help it. You buried your head in his chest and just broke down. Jeno was quick to react, his arms automatically wrapping around you, rubbing comforting circles on your back.

“I love you,” you cried. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s just him but your emotions were at an all time high. “We don’t say it to each other anymore. Maybe that’s why we’ve been fighting so much. But I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you even when I was calling you names. I’m sorry for tonight and all the nights before. I love you.”

“Hey, don’t cry. It’s my fault we fought. I’m sorry I was being stupid. You were right. We shouldn’t have been picking fights over the smallest things, and I chose to be immature,” he said, trying to pull you back to look at your eyes, but your grip on his shirt was strong.

You shook your head, still sobbing. “It’s my fault too. I was being too sensitive. I didn’t mean anything I said, Jeno. I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay,” he said soothingly. “I’m sorry I even left. Please stop crying. I love you, too. More than anything.”

Jeno asked you to sit up straight and look at him. He wiped your tears and tucked the loose strands of hair behind your ears. “Promise me that we won’t ever fight like this again, okay?”

You nodded. “I promise. We’ll fix it right away. We should.”

He chuckled softly before pulling you in another hug, kissing the top of your head as he did so. “Good, cause I can’t bear to walk away again. I couldn’t stop beating myself up for leaving you like that.”

“I couldn’t stop beating myself up for letting you.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” In that moment you realized that no matter how much you try to run away from each other, no matter the words you say, no matter how big the fight is, you two will always find your way back to each other. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1976

The X-Men, those fiery mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 97 - 102) - by Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum

If I ever participate in Drag Race, this will be my entrance look. (“Hear me, bitches! No longer am I the woman you knew! I am fierce! I am fashion incarnate! Now and forever, the winner of season 27!” *mugs at camera* ) (X-Men 101)

It really amazes me how quickly Claremont shifts things into high gear. One year in and he absolutely does not calm down, giving us both the Shi’ar, more Sentinels and the (motherfucking) Phoenix. SO LET'S GOOOO

You’d think that, as a telepath, Charles would be used to dreaming absolutely twisted shit, surfing everybody else´s freaky dream waves, but apparently, vividly dreaming of space is so exhausting that he needs a vacation.

To be fair, I’d be exhausted too if I dreamt of schizo space bugs on detailed splash pages. Get into it, Mr. Cockrum. (X-Men 97)

Meanwhile, Alex and Lorna have absconded to the sizzling Rio Diablo to work on their doctorates. It’s unclear what they’re studying (archaeology?) and where this Rio Diablo is (Panama, Chili, Ecuador?), but considering that Rio means River, I’m unsure whether drawing a dry dry desert is the appropriate setting. But hey, this was the pre-Google era and you’re not here for topographical nitpicking, so.

Lorna is shot by an unknown assailant and continues the long, long history of Polaris being mentally overtaken by other entities. Together with the equally not-himself Havoc, they travel back to NYC and attack the plane Xavier is boarding. The X-Men battle them, until it is revealed that these former not-quite-X-Men are in league with… Eric the Red?

Scott is all: But I was Eric the Red! Also, Eric the Red does not exist!

Xavier escapes, apparently not giving a fuck that all kinds of X-Men are demolishing the JFK airport, but the still-evil Havok and Polaris also get away. The X-Men are shook!

Some time later, The X-Men celebrate X-Mas at Rockefeller Square, where Claremont skips some steps in favour of narrative expediency. Moira and Sean are apparently in a relationship, Jean and Storm are the best of friends. It’s some pretty rough telling, not showing, but we’ll allow it, but only because the Storm/Jean-friendship is one of my favourite things.

What, you think only the movies indulged in Lee/Kirby-cameos? (X-Men 98)

Anyway, Jean and Scott are attacked by the Sentinels, who continue their trend of being way too sneaky for supersized racist robots! Xavier is kidnapped on his boat trip with super-duper scientist Peter Corbeau (seriously, he has two Nobel Prizes), while they steal away Jean, Sean and Logan in NYC. When they come to, there’s some gloating from Stephen Lang.

Jean Grey being a literal pin-up while delivering nazi-burns is such a big middle finger to everything she was in the sixties and I am here for it. (X-Men 98)

When the three kidnapped X-Men make a break for it and escape the Sentinel’s clutches, they burst through a wall, only to be greeted by the cold vacuum of space! They’re not on Earth at all: they’re on a formerly SHIELD space station! GASP! (literally)

In secret, Peter Corbeau, inventor of sliced bread, helps the X-Men back on Earth board a space shuttle, where Colossus remembers his brother Mikhail (objectively the worst Rasputin), a kosmonaut who died at the launch of another spacecraft. It’s another Future Plotline Seed©.

The X-Men dodge solar storms which sounds like a made-up contrivance but aren’t, while the Sentinels try to destroy the shuttle. In what the kids these days call a pro-gamer move, the X-Men instead ram the space station and go through to these apparently sub-par Sentinels like Magma through butter. Kurt’s showmanship and Colossus’ loyalty are highlighted, while Cyclops becomes more robotic and repressed the more Jean is in danger.

Colossus’ secondary mutation is apparently BEING THE BIGGEST DORK. (X-Men 99)

Scott almost kills Stephen Lang, but then Stephen throws his ace in the hole at them: THE OLD X-MEN? This reveal throws us right in the hallmark one hundredth issue!

And, look. Stephen, this is just a terrible plan. Instead of using most of your budget on making more impressive Sentinels, you blow half of it on making janky X-Men clones to… what? Confuse the real X-Men?

It works for a hot minute, but Kurt and Ororo quickly figure out something is wrong. This Beast, for example, isn’t hairy and this Jean doesn’t remember being in Storm’s confidence. Wolverine is the first to snap: acting on instinct, he kills ‘Jean’, proving she’s an android.

Stephen Lang, foiled by the X-Men’s logical thinking skills (which, to be fair, are notoriously unreliable), spews some hatred and accidentally blows himself up. Nothing of value is lost.

Too bad the X-Men can’t return to Earth: their space shuttle is too damaged. I actually love this: going to space is kind of a big deal for most people and the fact that the X-Men have trouble because they’re stranded in space lends them a kind of vulnerability that has been lost over the recent years. Jean steps up to the plate, herds the other X-Men into the protected life cell and assumes the pilot seat of the shuttle. This is after zapping Cyclops into unconsciousness and telling the other X-Men to kindly fuck off when they try to stop her.

As the X-Men descend onto the Earth, Jean’s telekinesis isn’t enough to protect her as she’s engulfed by solar flares. OR IS SHE?

Nothing funny. All of these panels are just beautiful. Forget those robot copy X-Men, this is why this issue is worthy of being the hundredth one. (X-Men 100)

The space shuttle crashes, rolls over JFK airport before dunking in the water. The X-Men emerge, safe, sound and very lucky and then, defying all odds, Jean emerges as the Phoenix. Fire, life incarnate, etc.

After a brief but melodramatic burst of energy, Jean collapses into unconsciousness and is hospitalized. Wolverine intends to bring her flowers (aw!), before throwing them out when he realizes the gal’s taken, establishing the X-Men’s most famous love triangle. (You can fuck right off with your Scott/Jean/Warren-bullshit.)

I’m not sure what my favorite thing is here: the absolutely bonkers everybody’s-elated-panel (special mention to Kurt’s boots and his bounce) or the subtle character beat where Kurt goes all heart-of-the-team and checks on Scott, who turns out to be not so stoic. (X-Men 101)

Charles orders all the X-Men (except Scott) to go on vacation, so he can take care of Jean. Like, Charles, you’d think they could just go hang out at the X-Mansion. Instead, they go to Ireland because Sean has conveniently inherited the ancestral Cassidy Keep.

All the X-Men dress up fancy for a welcoming feast, and it seems Kurt and Ororo are flirting? But sometimes, it also seems like Ororo and Piotr are flirting? Listen, I’m not judging: I love these polycule vibes from the early X-Men. Especially because neither Kurt nor Ororo have had particularly satisfying romantic plotlines for the past 20 years.

I’m not here to insinuate nothing, but last time I said “I enjoy being with both of you”, it ended up in a spitroast. (X-Men 101)

The soiree is interrupted by… THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH, and Black Tom, Sean Cassidy’s evil cousin. They are hired by an unknown someone to kill the X-Men! Since nobody subtle is involved, they quickly wreck the castle and everybody tumbles into the dungeons. (Local news paper reports: gay power couple harasses ill-dressed American tourists.)

This story is mostly a vehicle to tells Ororo’s backstory: Storm, one of the few who could conceivably put up a fight to Cain Marko, feels caged by the cold rocks of Cassidy Keep and is incapacitated by her claustrophobia.

Back in the USA, Charles, who’s heard Storm’s mental anguish, is furious with Scott because he doesn’t hop in a plane to save the other X-Men, even though Scott correctly points out that he’ll never get there in time if he leaves now. Meanwhile, Jean awakens, convinced she somehow brought herself back to life. Yeah, you go girl.

While the rest of the X-Men fight the evil duo in Ireland, Claremont tells Storm’s backstory in a few gorgeous spreads.

“I could write a novel about Storm’s backstory.” “You get two pages.” “Deal.” (X-Men 102)

Another classic comics trope appears here, where family members are immune to one another’s powers. I have no idea how Black Tom is immune to Banshee’s sonic scream - he has ears.

Does Black Tom just have a voice in his ears going NEENER NEENER NEENER when Sean screams? (X-Men 102)

When Storm finally pulls herself back together, it’s too late: the Juggernaut has pummeled the other X-Men into a paste and she also falls to his onslaught. IS THIS THE END OF THE X-MEN?!

Other things introduced this year:

Kurt’s image inducer, which he abuses to look like Errol Flynn. (I would abuse it to look like an amalgam of Milo Ventimiglia (ca. Gilmore Girls) and Timothée Chardonnay. OR like Emmy Raver-Lampman.)

The fastball special!

All kinds of name confusion: Lorna is Polaris, Havok is sometimes Havoc and Piotr becomes Peter.

Best new character: Phoenix. Hit me with that iconic shit.

What to read: The Stephen Lang arc is not fully necessary, just read issue 100 and 101. Don’t skip issue 102 if you want to know all about Storm’s past.

[kitkat1003]

If Dying Slowly was a Competition, I’d  have Won the Grand Prize.

Dot knows her role.  The tragic, ill woman, whose purpose is to give the men in the movie something to fight for.

She hates clichés.  She hates dying.

AO3 link to Series

@asilcorner :)

Dot, for as long as she can remember, has had a single parent—his name is Yakko and he’s only four years older than her.  Had anyone tried to tell her that was strange, she would have struck them hard with her mallet, for even suggesting such nonsense.  Yakko’s her brother and her parent, and that suits her just fine.

Growing up in a dying orphanage certainly isn’t the best environment, but Dot charms just about anyone she interacts with, which works wonders when one needs extra food (for Wakko, who needs to eat more than most) or needs to get themselves out of a hairy situation.

She and her brothers are thick and thieves, in both the figurative and literal sense.  They take extra food from the cupboards at night, for Wakko’s voracious appetite, and occasionally they pickpocket adopters.  

Is that morally wrong?  Probably, but from a young age they learned that they only matter to each other, that they have to stick together and forget the rest of the world, because the rest of the world will forget them without a second thought.

And that’s fine by her.  She likes being independent, with her brothers.  They’re their own unit, strong and determined and zany and wild.  

The orphanage closes down, because their town is poor and there aren't funds for such charities.  The rest of the kids are easily adopted off, but...

Nobody wants them.

And that’s fine, because they don’t need anyone anyway!  Dot has Yakko, and he’s her parent and oldest brother, and Wakko, her friend and second oldest brother.  Who needs anything else?

She holds onto that attitude for a while, until she starts seeing how tired Yakko is, day after day when he comes home from work.  Thinks about someone only a few years older than her acting as an adult, and thinks about how she would feel.  And then she feels awfully selfish, for thinking that everything was fine because they have each other, because they do have each other, but Yakko’s the one doing all the work, and she and Wakko are hardly a help.

She asks, one day, if Yakko will be okay.  If they all will be okay, when he’s wearing himself down to the bone.

Yakko laughs.

“I’ll be fine.  We’ll be fine,” He ruffles her hair, and grins wider when she reaches up to smack away his hands.  “Promise.”

She learns to cook.  She teaches Wakko to clean.  They do what they can, to make what was once a working orphanage, now abandoned save for them, comfortable, so when Yakko comes home he can eat and relax.  He takes them grocery shopping, in the town market, on his day off.  They never ask for anything that can’t be shared between the three of them, and that’s if they ask for anything at all.  Yakko teaches them how to tell when vegetables and fruits are ripe, and once he graduates them from the School of Food Identification, he lets them run wild and grab some of the items they need, so the trips to the market take half as long.

It’s an especially useful tactic in the winter, when it’s bitterly cold and no one wants to be outside.  They’re lucky, since they’re insulated first by fur, but they still shiver.  

Sometimes, Dot is jealous of Wakko’s sweater.

It’s the winter after she turns 8 where she starts to get a cough.  It’s not too much of an issue—it’s winter, and it’s to be expected that one might get sick, especially as the town gets poorer and poorer and food gets more and more scarce.  She can tell Yakko is giving himself a pittance to eat while splitting half of what should be his full portion between her and Wakko.

He hasn’t had a job in a month.  She doesn’t want to worry him.  So she keeps the cough to herself, and takes it easy the next week or so.

Then, one day, she’s chasing Wakko around in the snow, throwing snowballs and giggling like kids are supposed to.  Yakko is hiding somewhere, waiting to ambush, and Dot is having a wonderful time, forgetting about any of the terrible things that are a part of their life.  Except, somewhere along her strides, her breath catches in her throat, and when her body searches for oxygen to use, there is none.

She drops to her knees, and a hacking cough rips through her.  Her throat burns, feeling scraped raw and bleeding, and every breath is a gasp that doesn’t give her enough.  She’s on the precipice of passing out with every choking heave, and there’s a ringing in her ears that muffles the sounds of Wakko and Yakko’s shouts of her name, as well as their approaching footsteps.

Yakko slides on his knees to her and picks her up off of the ground, holding her in his lap, and he hugs her against him tight, and she doesn’t think she can ever remember him trembling this much.  The warmth, somehow, helps her breathe.  She takes in hot breaths instead of cold ones, and it’s like the blockage in her chest melts.  She still coughs, but they slowly peter out.

“Dot?” Wakko’s voice sounds far away, but Dot looks for him.

He’s kneeling in front of Yakko, face looking pained and teary eyed.  

“I’m tired,” she mumbles, but hearing her talk is enough, apparently, because Wakko drops his head in relief.  She can see his smile anyway.  

“You’re going inside.” Yakko’s voice sounds brittle, like iron melted down, rebuilt, and struck so many times that it’s one more blow from cracking.  He stands, clutching her close, so tight it’s as if he’s scared she’s going to slip through his fingertips if he goes lax for a second.  She leans into him-he’s warm, and she feels very, very cold.

She’s half asleep by the time they’re halfway home, and she’s completely out before they get there.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When she wakes up, Yakko is sitting on a chair in front of the big bed, and Wakko is sleeping in his lap.

“How long have you had that cough.” It’s not really phrased like a question, and she’s never seen Yakko this defeated.

“A couple weeks,” she says, and her voice sounds hoarse, not cute at all.  “It wasn’t this bad—I just thought it was a passing cold, so I took it easy,” She coughs, and her shoulders shake.  “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yakko is quick to assure her, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “You just didn’t want me to worry, right?”

“You always worry,” she grumbles in reply, and Yakko laughs.

“Yeah, well, you’d worry too if you were me,” he says it like a joke, but she doesn’t like the implication.  It must show on her face, because he raises his hands.  “Kidding!  Kidding, sis, promise,” He smiles.

She has a sinking suspicion that his lies and his promises are very similar, as long as they’re made in an effort to make her and Wakko happy.

“You’re going to be fine,” Yakko says it more as if he’s convincing himself than her, but she doesn’t comment.  “Say, why don’t I tell you the story?”

She perks up at that. He doesn’t need to clarify which one; he knows her favorite.

Yakko sits up—she hadn’t noticed how slumped over he was—and pats Wakko’s head once, clearing his throat to speak in that ever familiar storytelling voice she and Wakko have known for as long as they can remember.

“Once upon a time, a brave knight married a beautiful princess...” he begins, and she knows her lines by heart, too.

If she coughs through a few of them, he doesn’t comment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For a week or so, things aren’t too bad.  Sure, she’s sick, and it isn’t exactly pleasant, but she thinks she’s getting better.  Wakko offers her his sweater, which is almost a surprise, because he likes his sweater more than almost anything, only taking it off to shower and clean.  She waves the offer off—the last thing they need is to have another one of them getting sick.  Besides, Yakko has basically smothered her in all of the blankets that he could find.

Needless to say, she isn’t exactly chilly.

She does miss them all sleeping in the same bed.  Yakko moves to a bed frame close by, but at a safe distance, and she doesn’t even know where Wakko sleeps.  She wouldn’t be surprised if she found out he was sleeping on the floor.  Her brothers are so predictably self sacrificing.  Maybe they all are, she doesn’t know.  She’s never had to sacrifice anything for them.

She’s the one they’re always taking care of.

The thought sticks in her mind and refuses to vanish, not even when she sleeps.

She doesn’t get better.  It’s an up and down process, for a year.  Some days she can run without any sort of issue, chasing Wakko around like she could before she ever had a cough, and the next she won’t be able to find the energy to get out of bed.  Yakko worries, like he always does, but on the worst days he doesn’t dare leave her bedside, like if he turns away she’ll wither to dust before he can look back.

It’s draining, and some days she just wants to curl into a ball and disappear, because she’s so tired.  Every breath becomes a challenge, every waking second is a nightmare of pain and exhaustion.

She wants to sleep forever, she wants this to be done, she wants to be able to rest, but her brothers would never recover if she died.  That, at the end of it all, is the only reason she keeps fighting.  Sure, some days she can delude herself into thinking she’ll magically get better, but it’s hard to keep hope.

Dr.Scratchansniff, after hearing about Dot’s predicament, offers a free examination, so they can at least know what’s wrong with her, see how they can fix it.  Yakko practically jumps at the opportunity, walking Dot over to the doctor’s office with a fervor she hasn’t seen from him in months, since before she was sick.

The examination is odd, and unpleasant.  Scratchy has her breathe while using a stethoscope on her back, and then she blows into a tube, and then she takes a breath and holds it for as long as he can.  He’s very gentle, and explains everything he’s going to do before he does it, and if she was better she’d mess with him.  But she doesn’t want to mess this up by being a prankster so she stays quiet and lets him work.

“She has a teeny hole in her lung,” he tells Yakko, gesturing to the size of it with his fingers. 

She sees Yakko pale, eyes wide and uncomprehending.  Wakko grips her hand tight in one hand, and fiddles with his sleeve with the other.  She doesn’t quite understand what a hole in her lung means, but she knows it’s bad.  

“It is allowing fluid to slowly get into her lungs.  In order to fix it, we would have to operate.”

“What would that cost?” Yakko asks, and he sounds so much older than he is.

“A hay penny.”

Yakko flinches.  Wakko looks away. Even she knows they don’t have that much.  A hay penny is a lot of money, especially now.

Yakko takes a few steps forward, gestures for Scratchy to move away from her and Wakko, and whispers a question that suspiciously sounds like ‘How much time does she...,’ and it makes her furious and terrified all at once.

“Thanks, Doc,” Yakko mutters, once he gets his answer, and Scratchy looks a mixture of pained and sympathetic and nervous, unable to fix things for them, because he has as much money as they do, which is practically nothing.

They leave.

“I’m sorry, Yakko,” She tells him, their feet crunching the underbrush as they walk.

“What for?  It’s not your fault.  I just wish...,” he trails off.

“I could go to another town,” Wakko suggests.  “I could work and get the money.”

And Dot hates this.  Hates that her illness puts a weight on her siblings shoulders, hates that all she can do is lay in bed and wait for someone to get money, to save her.

She was never born to be a damsel in distress.  She’s a fighter, a doer.  No wonder the world had to give her a handicap, because she and her brothers would be unstoppable otherwise.

“No, I can figure something out, Wakko.  Promise,” Yakko tells him, but he sounds unsure, and she can tell that he has no idea what to do, even though he acts like it’s all going to be fine.

She’s getting tired.  Yakko has to carry her for the second half of their walk home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko leaves around a few months later, after he turns 12, and she can tell it tears Yakko apart, but she’s heartbroken too, so she can’t find the energy to comfort him.

Wakko is smiling when he goes, but she can tell, she knows that Wakko is terrified, knows that he shouldn’t be out on his own.  They’re a unit, a trio, they’re not supposed to be separated.

What a cruel universe to tear them apart for even a second, let alone a year.

She can feel herself getting weaker, too, so she knows they’re in dire straits.  It takes all of her energy to see Wakko off, and she sleeps through the rest of the day and night.  Yakko wakes her up only to force her to eat.  She’s never that hungry anymore.  She doesn’t feel much of anything anymore, besides pain and exhaustion, but he still manages to make her smile.

Frustration builds, as it has over the entirety of her illness, as Yakko tries to smile and joke his way through this Shakespearian tragedy. The tight band of self control she has has to snap eventually.

“Do you think Wakko’s okay?” she asks, four months in, and Yakko hesitates.  

It’s rare for him to do so, when he’s about to lie, or promise, because she knows he’s been doing it longer than she can remember, so used to covering up the things that should make her terrified, and the fact that he’s hesitating now turns her heart to ice.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he tells her, in the same sweet, placating tone of voice he’s used since she was four, and it grates on her ears. “He’ll be back in a few months, and he’ll bring back the money we need for your operation, and everything will be fine.  Promise.”

Promise.

She snaps.

“Stop lying to me!” she shouts, even as it tears her throat in two.  “Stop acting like you know how Wakko is, stop acting like you know if things are going to be okay, stop acting like I’m not dying!”

She doubles over, hacking and coughing, hands clutching at her chest and neck because it hurts, it hurts so much, and she can’t handle it anymore.  “Just stop it!  You don’t know!  You don’t, so stop acting like your promises aren’t lies!”

It takes her a full five minutes to catch her breath, and when she looks up she flinches, because oh no.

Yakko is crying.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, miserably, and she wishes she had never said anything at all, anything to take the heartbroken look off of his face.  “I’m sorry, sis-I was just trying to-I just,” he buries his face in his hands, body trembling with the effort to stay upright, to not just curl into a ball, and this isn’t what she wanted at all.  

She reaches for him, but he stands, and her hand catches nothing but air.

“I’ll...,” He sniffs, and wipes his eyes, but she can still see the tears building there.  “I’ll leave you alone.”

And he goes, and Dot feels like the most awful, selfish person in the whole world.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She wants to run after him, but the thought of standing seems impossible, much less walking.  She has a hard time catching her breath after that bit of shouting, so needless to say she won’t be actually doing much of anything for the next few days.  It only adds to her mounting guilt and regret, and she doesn’t even know where Yakko is.

She hates being alone.

She’s sleeping on and off when Yakko returns, eyes red and whole body slumped forward in something like defeat that she hates, and he sits down on the edge of her bed.

“I’m sorry,” She says quickly.  She needs him to know that.  “I was stupid-you’re not a liar-you’re trying-I know that-I-”

“Dot, it’s okay,” Yakko smiles at her, weary and yet somehow still standing.  “I get it.  I’m more surprised you didn’t get frustrated sooner, honestly.  We’ve been dealt a pretty bad hand when it comes to life.  You don’t have it easy.”

She reaches over and holds his hand.  “You don’t either,” she tells him, because he needs to understand that he deserves better, too.  That her life isn’t the only one that’s unfair.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound like he believes it.  “I’m doing the best with what I’ve got, I think,” he chuckles to himself.

“You are,” She assures.

“Yeah.”  He sighs, after a moment of silence, and she scoots over so he can lay back in bed.  He does, and it’s just like they were younger and she wasn’t sick at all.

“I’m terrified that you’re going to disappear,” he tells her, and it’s so soft she doesn’t know if she’s meant to hear it.  “You and Wakko—you’re everything, okay?  You’re it, for me.  I know it’s awfully selfish to ask, but can you stay?  Promise me?”

She can’t be certain.  She doesn’t know if she’ll live, if she’ll survive this, after all this time, but she suddenly understands the desire to say ‘Promise’ anyway.

If this is the lesson he’s trying to teach her, he’s doing it well.

But she knows Yakko well enough that she knows this is just him, at the end of his rope, letting himself be vulnerable for a moment, when he doesn’t have the energy to be the put together big brother who can take care of anything.

“Promise,” she says, and the taste of the word on her tongue isn’t as bitter as she expected it to be.  “You’re stuck with me.”

The second part, at least, is true.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko comes home with a single hay penny and a haunted look in his eyes you can almost miss if you haven’t spent your entire life with him, knowing just how his eyes used to shine, and she mourns the shimmer in his eyes that has dimmed in his year’s absence.

But he has what they need, so she lets herself hope, for a moment, that she can finally be useful. Be okay. Be something other than the bedridden Warner that needs to be taken care of lest she withers away like a rich Victorian aristocrat whose corset is on too tight.

But Plotz steals their dreams as if he enjoys it, and she watches everyone slump like balloons who’ve been pricked, air flowing out of them.  Yakko’s face flashes to something like rage, hate, despair, and it vanishes behind a cool mask and acceptance before she can comment on it.  He heads over to cheer Wakko up, and she wonders how often that happens to him.  That he has to hide.

She wonders how long he’s been doing it.

And then Wakko makes a wish, and they’re off to chase it, with the desperation of children who have nothing to lose but their lives, because that’s really it, isn’t it?  It’s almost comical, how the wishes she hears from the other townspeople are for such material possessions.  She wonders how desperate they’d be if they were dying, or if one of their few people in the whole world were dying.

She wants to be selfish, and tell them to stay away.  This is their last chance, her last chance, they don’t deserve it.  But that’s not fair.

Sticking it to King Salazar, on the other hand, is more than fair.  Their journey is as much of an adventure as it is a mission, and even though she’s still mostly bedridden she gets to breathe in the open air and be chased and mess with people like she did what feels like decades ago, though she hasn’t been alive that long.  She gets to, for a moment, feel normal.

And then they’re running to the wishing star, hand in hand because they refuse to leave her behind, and the boom of the canon rings in her ears and there is only pain in her back and her chest, as everything inside her shatters.

She feels nothing but pain and cold, collapsed in the snow, and she doesn’t hear anything, doesn’t feel anything until Yakko pulls her into his lap, clutches her close, bruised and beaten like her.

She realizes, suddenly, that making a promise you were doomed to break isn’t easy.  It hurts, deep in your heart, because you know you did it to stay the hurt, but the person you meant to protect is hurting anyway.

She wonders how much Yakko hurts, with how many promises he’s made like that.

“Tell me the story,” she whispers, voice weak because she can’t breathe, and when Yakko can’t she starts it up for him, because after years of him repeating the same words she wants to be the one to tell him. She wants to give him, everyone, one last thing before she’s gone.

The words fall off of her tongue, the world turns to dust and her eyes close.

Suddenly she’s floating in a white space.  There’s no pain, no hurt, just warmth and breath and love, and she sees two faces that seem so familiar, crowns and capes and warm smiles, hands outstretched.

Princess, They say.  Come home.  We’ve missed you.

And it’s tempting, because she’s tired.  She’s been tired for years, fighting just to breathe, but as she looks, she doesn’t see her brothers anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” She says, and she means it.  “But I made a promise.  And I’m not breaking it.” 

Because she’s a fighter, a doer.

She turns back and reaches for the hurt, because living is hurting is loving is thriving is home with her brothers, all curled up in a single bed because they couldn’t be happier or safer cuddled up together, Yakko’s arms around each of their shoulders.  Through thick and thin, she can depend on them.

She keeps reaching, and it’s slipping through her fingertips, because her body has been through too much to keep going, but she fights, and suddenly it’s ten times as easy, hearing the voice of spirit Wakko spoke of when first bringing up the wishing star.  He looks like a middle aged, balding man, and she bites back a laugh.

You deserve home, He tells her.  So let’s get you back to it.

She opens her eyes to Yakko’s crying face looking down to hers, and this is for kids, so she jumps up and pretends.  She feels lighter than she has in years, and Wakko is turning around with two hay pennies, and the King is nothing compared to this, to joy and life and winning, for the first time since she can remember.

The operation is terrifying, and she’s told that while she’ll be fine to breathe, her lung capacity will forever be diminished.  That’s fine, because anything is better than being bedridden, being dead.

And they’re suddenly royalty, and isn’t that something.  She thinks of the words said to her in the white light.

Princess, they had said.

They looked like the two figured in the portrait, the royal one.

She cries a little, when she sees it.  When she realizes.  Yakko asks, and she just says she wishes she got to properly meet them.

It’s not technically a lie.

Yakko is King.  He is made such, with them as his co-rulers, and she finds the royal garments rather fitting.  She wears clothes that won’t easily tear, for the first time ever.  She gets three big meals a day.  She gets a warm home.

Yakko wears the crown like one not worthy of it, like one not ready for it, but she knows him.  He’s never been more ready for or worthy of anything, and as he addresses the crowd at their coronation, she stands by his side and smiles.

“I will be a fair and just ruler,” he says.  “I want what’s best for my people.  I know how hard these past few years have been.  Believe me.” 

He looks down, almost sheepish.  “I lived in a shack most of my life.  So I’m going to fix this,” he looks up, certain, “And this Kingdom is going to be more than fine, prosperous and peaceful.  I promise.”

And when she hears him say it, it is the first time it seems like he believes in himself, too.

So she makes a promise too, deep in her heart.  That no matter what happens, she will make up for the time she lost.  She will be the rock her brothers were for her, steadfast and strong.

And like every promise Yakko’s made before, she knows it’ll be true eventually.

Because finally, finally, they’re going to be fine.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

It's that time once again when Diabolical plays in my head on loop.

Can I please get fic where Hels gets back on hermitcraft server? Causing some shenanigans and general trouble?

This was so much fun to write, thank you!! It also ended up being WAY more angsty than I expected but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it anyway, my friend :) Slight CW: minor descriptions of injuries

...

  Welsknight had been avoiding his nether portal as much as possible since he saw his doppelganger disappear through it. Something about the formerly harmless particles and whooshing noise when he walked past it now just about gave him an anxiety attack every time he walked past it. Once, when Jevin popped out of it to say hello just hours after Helsknight had left, Wels had reacted so violently that Jevin was STILL wary around him all these months later. 

  Nobody used his portal anymore. He made sure of that. 

  One sunny day, he finally worked up the courage to go to the shopping district, something he hadn’t dared to do in weeks in case something happened. He went straight past his own portal and flew all the way to Etho’s; there was no way he was going to use the portal his evil clone went through to go back to the hell dimension from which he had come. 

  The shopping district had changed a lot in the weeks Wels had been avoiding it. He couldn’t help staring around at the myriad of new shops that had sprung up. It almost seemed like an entirely new place. 

  As Wels entered the barge, he found another Hermit already inside, browsing the chest full of golden carrots. 

  “Hi, Joe,” said Wels politely, unable to hide a smile at the sight of his old friend. 

  Joe turned and gave him a wave. “Howdy, Wels. Haven’t seen you around here for a few weeks.”

  “Yeah, it’s been… a while. Just been busy, that’s all.” Wels awkward;y indicated the chest. “You, uh… buying stuff?”

  “Nah, I’m not dealing with diamonds this season. I thought Grian might be open to some kind of trading system using stuff other than diamonds but he hasn’t responded to my message yet, so in the meantime, I’m-.” He broke off with a frown. “Okay, I think I might have forgotten to actually send the message.”

  Wels chuckled. “You’re busy too, huh? You only start forgetting stuff when you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  Joe matched his chuckle. “I’ve got quite a few projects going at the moment, yes. You wanna come over to my base sometime and I’ll show you what I’m working on?”

  “That sounds nice, Joe, thanks.”

  At that moment, the sound of a firework going off nearby caused both of them to look up. A second later, a figure glided through the door and landed neatly on the ground, his elytra closing as he took a few steps further into the room. “Hey, Wels,” Etho said, giving a friendly wave. “Man, you really got here fast.”

  Wels frowned at his friend. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I just saw you over by Shade-E-E’s a minute ago. You said hello to me and everything.”

  “That…” Wels’s heart skipped a beat. “That wasn’t me.”

  Etho frowned back. “Well, then… Someone must’ve stolen a spare set of armour or something, cuz it looked exactly like you.”

  “Oh…” Blinking very fast, Wels let out a nervous breath. “Oh, boy… Please don’t tell me he’s back…”

  Etho and Joe exchanged a confused look. “Who?” asked Joe.

  Wels considered either making something up or dismissing his comment, but looking at the concerned faces of two of his best friends on the server, he decided to tell the truth. “The evil clone of myself that Beef and I accidentally created who ran off into the nether after I beat him in a rap battle when he tried to destroy the server.”

  Etho stared at him with wide eyes. 

  “I thought it might be something like that,” said Joe, nodding.

  “How can you possibly have been expecting that?” Wels said in disbelief.

  Joe shrugged. “I’ve heard weirder.”

  “Well… anyway. His name is Helsknight and he’s from a nether-like dimension called Hels, apparently. I thought I’d driven him back to where he came from but I should’ve known he wouldn’t stay away for long.”

  “To be frank, beating him in a rap battle isn’t quite as definitive as beating him in PVP,” said Joe. 

  Wels scowled. “The last time I tried PVP, you dropped an anvil on my head from a great height.”

  “Oh yeah.” Joe snickered. “I did.”

  “Leaving that aside,” said Etho, “it seems there’s an evil clone of you loose on the server, so we should probably deal with that. Helsknight, you said his name is?”

  Wels nodded. “He looks exactly like me except his eyes are red, his armour is slightly greyer than mine, and his hair is a darker shade of blond.”

  “Ohh, I noticed the darker armour,” said Etho. “I just thought it was the shade from my shop. I guess we’d better go find him, huh?”

  “Yeah, I need to find him before he causes any more chaos. You guys should probably warn the other Hermits so they-.”

  “No, we’re coming with you to find him,” Etho interrupted. 

  “It’ll be quicker if the three of us look together,” Joe added. “Plus, I’ve never met an evil clone before, so it would be rather thrilling to do so.”

  Wels frowned at his friends. “Are you sure? He’s really dangerous. I don’t know exactly what he’s capable of, but he’s from a hellfire dimension, so...”

  “As sure as the day is long,” replied Joe, patting his friend on the shoulder. “You need our help and we aren’t gonna abandon you.”

  As Etho nodded, Wels gave a small smile. “Thank you, guys. I really appreciate it.”

  “No worries. So where should we look first?” asked Etho.

  “Well…” Wels thought for a moment. “He’s probably trying to cause some shenanigans on the server. If we check certain prominent places on the server, we’ll probably find him trying to lure me out somehow.”

  “I’ll check the rest of the shopping district, then,” said Joe. “He might still be here.”

  “I’ll have a look round the nether hub and the Upside Down,” Etho added. “You said he’s from a nether-like dimension so he might gravitate there. What about you, Wels?”

  “I’m going to Bdubs’s castle,” said Wels. “It’s the most medieval build on the server, so if he isn’t there now, he’ll end up there eventually.”

  “Okay, but be careful, Wels,” Etho said softly. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

  “I won’t.”

  With that, the group split up. 

  Wels flew straight over to Bdubs’s base. As he got closer, he couldn’t help marvelling at the sheer size and grandeur of the cliff and the castle sitting atop it. It was one of the grandest bases on the servers, so Wels felt sure he would find his clone here.

  He landed atop the cliff and started looking around. As he explored further, he spotted the person he was looking for standing at the entrance to Bdubs’s castle. 

  “If you’re looking for your little friend Bdoubleo, he’s in the nether,” crowed Helsknight. “I watched him go through his portal.”

  Wels glared up at his doppelganger. “You know I’m not looking for Bdubs.”

  “Are you here to rap battle with me again, then?” Helsknight grinned. “I warn you: I’ve been practising.”

  Shaking his head, Wels drew his sword. “No, Hels. I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.” 

  Helsknight sighed and drew his own sword. “So boring. Come on, then.”

  His doppelganger’s relaxed, indifferent manner sent a bolt of anger straight into Wels. Letting out a yell, he charged to attack.

  Their battle lasted at least ten minutes, though to Wels, it felt like hours. He poured all his energy into his swings, attacking his evil clone with all the rage and fear that had threatened to consume him since Helsknight had disappeared into the nether all those months ago. He was done letting his negative emotions control his life. 

  Finally, Wels managed to knock Helsknight’s sword out of his hand and kick him to the ground, aiming his own sword at his evil clone’s neck. 

  Helsknight simply grinned evilly up at him. “You gonna kill me, Welsy? I wouldn’t do it if I were you; we Hels Hermits only get stronger when we die. If you kill me, I’ll come back with a vengeance. We have a special lava fountain in Hels that can-.”

  “Oh, shut up,” snapped Wels suddenly. “I’m not going to kill you, but not because of any stupid threats you make. I don’t care what you have in Hels. I’m not going to kill you, because I’m merciful. But if you ever come back here again, I won’t be so forgiving. Do you understand?”

  Helsknight simply stared back at him. “You’ve got some great friends here, Welsy. Better hold onto them in case something… happens.”

  Wels narrowed his eyes. “You stay away from them. I swear to god, if you-.”

  He hadn’t realised that he had lowered his hand slightly until Helsknight moved, fast as lightning, and kicked the sword out of his hand. Before he could react, Helsknight jumped up and grabbed him by the throat. He took two steps forward and threw Wels over the edge of the cliff. 

  The fall seemed to take only a split second, but the cliff was tall enough that Wels’s left leg broke immediately upon impacting the ground. He lay still in shock, too numb to cry, despite the searing pain in his leg, which was folded painfully underneath his body. 

  Helsknight appeared above him and effortlessly picked him up off the ground, again by the throat. He grinned, his face less than a foot from Wels’s.

  “You know what else we have in Hels?” Helsknight taunted. “Fire. Lots of fire.”

  He lifted his free hand, which was now engulfed in burning hot flames. Wels weakly struggled in his grip, trying to lean as far away from his counterpart as possible, as Helsknight slowly moved the fire closer to his face, taunting him with the fact that he couldn’t escape it. 

  The flames started to burn his face. He held his breath, trying not to let his pain show, trying not to give Helsknight the satisfaction. 

  But finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He let out a cry at the burning agony across the side of his face.

  Helsknight barked a laugh and retracted his hand, as if all he’d been after was a reaction from Wels. “Maybe you should stick with the rap battles next time.”

  With that, he dropped Wels on the ground and walked away.

  Wels lay where he fell, unable to move through the burning pain in his face and leg. His chest moved quickly up and down as he struggled for oxygen, still winded from the battle. 

  “Wels!” yelled a familiar voice from somewhere behind him. 

  Seconds later, Joe appeared on his right and Etho on his left, their worried faces peering down at him. 

  “Is he okay?” Joe gasped.

  “H-His face…!” Etho gently touched Wels’s burnt cheek. Wels could feel his friend’s cool fingers trembling. “Wels, can you hear me?”

  Wels couldn’t speak, couldn’t reassure his friends that he would be okay. His leg would heal. His face, he wasn’t sure yet. The only thing he knew wouldn’t heal was the crushing feeling of failure, of knowing that because of said failure, an evil clone of himself was still running around the server, potentially hurting people he cared about. The pain in his leg and face served as an agonising reminder that he wasn’t strong enough to stop his doppelganger. 

  How was he supposed to protect other people when he couldn’t even protect himself?

[alice-dont-break]

based on an anon request from the angst prompt list: “any other lies left to tell me?”

let me in | janthony one shot

cw: alcoholism

When Anthony was coming home later at night, Jasmine nearly always ignored his pleas to not wait up for him. He didn’t want her to lose sleep because of him, but she knew that her sleep would be more restful if she just waited. She’s gotten used to falling asleep in an empty bed because she’s been forced to, but nothing could compare to sleeping next to her love. The way he holds her tightly in his arms, enveloping her in his warmth and sweet but musky scent, lulls her into the most peaceful trance that allows her to drift so effortlessly into a deep sleep. It’s simply always worth waiting.

Anyway, by the time she’s finished putting their nine year old daughter to sleep and getting herself ready for bed, it’s usually almost 11 o’clock. Anthony rarely stays out much later than that, so it’s easy for Jasmine to relax in bed with her scented candles and a book until she hears him tiptoeing up the stairs.

His caution to avoid waking their sleeping daughter always made her smile, but even more so when she watched him slowly and carefully open their own bedroom door. It was endearing how after all these nights, he actually thought she might be asleep.

Tonight was one of those classic nights, until Jasmine realized that chapters and chapters had gone by without any sign of her husband. She reached to her bedside table for her phone, hoping to see a text, but was met with a blank lock screen.

She hated being that clingy, needy wife, but at this point she was nervous. It was nearly 1 o’clock in the morning and he was never out this late. She needed to text him, if only for her peace of mind.

Hey babe, you okay?

When minutes passed with no response, Jasmine felt her mild concern sink into complete nerves. This was about more than a late night. More than the loneliness of falling asleep next to an empty pillow. This was about a promise.

Years ago, Anthony made her a promise that held together the fraying seams of their relationship. After hours of spewing whiskey-scented lies, Anthony faced an ultimatum from his wife: vow to stay sober and call her when he needed help, or leave.

Since then, he’s been steady. He hasn’t faltered in his commitment, though he’s absolutely struggled. Jasmine felt no animosity when he called her at a late hour, having gone out with friends and found hard to fight against the pressures to drink. She’d simply roll out of bed, throw on some shoes, drive to him and bring him back home with his hand held tightly in her lap. When they would get inside, she’d look him in the eyes and ask the simple question. “Did you drink tonight?”

The answer was always no, and she would know if he’d been lying. Though truthfully, she wouldn’t have been terribly upset if he’d told her he’d messed up and had a drink. What mattered to her was the call; that indication that he was still in this fight to get better, and that their lines of communication were open.

Over the years, he’s built back up Jasmine’s trust. She was always willing to give him the benefit of the doubt now, knowing how hard he’s been fighting for so long. But tonight, she was rocked by the lack of communication. This was as unusual as a slip up would be.

She tried earnestly to hold it together, to keep her hope alive, but hot tears were burning in her eyes. She slunk down the stairs to wait on the couch. There was no way she’d sleep until he was home, and this way she could see his face sooner.

When she heard the click of the lock and creak of the front door swinging open, she was flooded with equal parts relief and fear. He was safe, but was he really?

“Baby, whatchu still doing up?” He said softly, kicking off his shoes and coming up behind the couch to kiss the top of her head.

She took a breath, reveling in the warmth of a simple but loving moment, before turning around to face her fear. “Where were you, babe?” Her voice wavered; she was afraid of her own words.

“Hey,” he cooed, noticing her bubbling over emotions and rushing over to sit beside her. “What’s going on, Jas? I was just out with the guys, I’m okay.”

“You said you’d be back... and you didn’t text...” she whimpered. “If you did something, just tell me... please.”

“Jasmine, you can trust me,” he breathed out in exasperation, “you know I don’t do that shit anymore.”

His breathy words and slight slur betrayed him, as the scent of that all-too-familiar dark liquor wafted over to Jasmine. His eyes were downcast, too captivated by the fidgeting of his fingers to be innocent. She scanned him up and down as fire burned through the last ounce of hope she’d carried with her.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t drink tonight,” she said, clawing for every bit of stability her lungs would allow.

“I.. I didn’t, Jas. Or I didn’t... I didn’t mean to,” he said softly, tears starting to well in his eyes. “I just ... I don’t know how -“

“Stop,” she said plainly, “any other lies left to tell me?”

Anthony sucked his lip between his teeth and looked up at his wife for the first time, revealing his heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes. “Jasmine, please. I tried not to, but you know how anxious I’ve been lately - “

“You fucking promised me, Anthony,” she spat. “You promised to call if you needed help, you promised.”

“I know Jas, I know I fucked up, but I’m not wasted... I’m really not. I had two drinks, that’s it.”

“It’s not just two drinks when you’re stressed and so out of control that you lie to your wife!” She whispered harshly, jumping up to her feet. Anthony rose to meet her, standing just inches apart. He murmured ragged apologies trying to hold her by the waist, but she thrashed in his grip. She pounded her fists against his chest, hushedly crying out “why would you do this to us?”

He held her wrists, but didn’t really try to hold her back. Now that she stood before him openly bawling, he realized he deserved it. After just a few seconds, she was worn out and let her head fall forward so her forehead rested his chest. He nodded down too, to hold his lips against her curls. Anthony knew now that apologies were just words, so he focused on feeling her breath.

Finally, Jasmine looked up at him with lifeless eyes staring right through him. “Leave,” she whispered.

Anthony felt his ribcage contracting and squeezing his heart. His lungs were empty and a weight sunk down his entire body. “Jasmine, please, I’ll do anything-“

“Shut up,” she rasped, “I’m telling you to leave because we have a beautiful, beautiful little girl upstairs and I will not let her hear her parents fighting like this.” Jasmine clumsily rubbed away her tears and bit down hard on her lip. She felt his eyes searching her for answers, but she didn’t have them. “I’ll tell her you got home late and had to leave early. Just get a cab to your brother’s, or your mom’s, and when you come back, be sober and ready to talk.”

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut and nodded slowly. When he opened them, all he could do was whisper “I love you.” In those three words, he was begging her to let him stay.

“Dont you see that I’m doing this because I love you? Because I don’t want your daughter to lose the perfect relationship she has with her father? If we go upstairs now, I don’t trust myself or you. I don’t want her to hear us fighting, or smell it on you, or sense anything is off so I want you to get out and understand that you cannot be drunk in this house with our daughter. You cannot lie to me in this house with our daughter. Do you understand that Anthony? Do you understand that I’m doing this for you and for us, because I love you?”

Anthony clenched and unclenched his fists, shaking his head and pulling himself back into the moment. “Yes, Jas. Thank you. I know I fucked up, but you two are everything to me. You’re just my whole world, and I won’t... I won’t risk losing it... I’m gonna figure this out somehow and I won’t come back until I do,” he gulped.

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” she mumbled, stepping forward to cup his cheeks. “You’ll come back tomorrow after I’ve taken her to school and we’ll figure this out together. Just because you fucked up on your own, doesn’t mean you have to fix it on your own. That’s what this means.” She pulled back her hand and pointed at the wedding ring.

“So you’re not... we’re not...” he whimpered, voice cracking with every word.

“Of course not, Ant,” she whispered, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Her hands roamed up his back, kneading his shoulders before letting them twist through his curls. “I know you’re hurting,” she said even quieter, right against his lips, “and I’m still here for you. I’m just telling you to leave because I know you and I know how much worse you’ll feel if you hurt me more tonight or god forbid hurt our baby. So please go now, okay?”

He nodded, keeping their foreheads together until her lips met his own. He felt a surge of life at her tenderness. The salty melange of their tears could have broken him if he weren’t so focused on her soft caresses. Once they parted, he gazed deep into her eyes for just one fleeting breath, before turning to put on his shoes. He left wordlessly, opting to call the cab from the front steps. He couldn’t handle the shame for one more second.

When Jasmine had nightmares about Anthony drinking again, they always ended with her crying inconsolably. But now that she was left alone, hunched over with her hands bracing her weak body on the back of the couch, she simply didn’t have the energy. She felt so drained that all she could do was guzzle some water, pop a tylenol for her impending headache, and traipse up the stairs. She opened her bedroom door, but before she could even cross the threshold she was overwhelmed. He was embedded in every inch of space, in every breath of air, and it simply hurt too much; not because he hurt her, but because he was hurting and she couldn’t be there.

Jasmine knew there was only one place right now she could approach any semblance of the love and comfort she was craving. Silently, she crept down the hallway and into her daughter’s room. Their little girl slept like a rock, so she knew she could slip under the covers and Cassidy would be none the wiser. Jasmine snuggled up tightly to her daughter’s back, securing her close with an arm around her waist. She buried her face in the younger girl’s curls, inhaling the familiar scent that opened her chest for the first time all night. As soon as she felt Cassidy sink deeper into her arms, darkness danced at the corners of her eyes and she let go.

When she woke up to the sound of her daughter’s alarm clock, she felt a pit quickly sinking back into her stomach. That was overshadowed quickly though, as Cassidy groaned and rolled over into her mother’s warmth.

“Hi baby,” she cooed, wrapping her arms tighter and letting her nails scratch at the head resting on her chest.

“G’morning,” Cassidy grumbled, “what are you doing here?”

“Dad came home late and had to leave early for work and I didn’t want him to wake me up. Plus I just wanted some cuddles,” she smiled softly.

“S’nice, you’re warm and cozy,” she replied. Jasmine had to hide her little sigh of relief when Cassidy had easily believed the lie.

After a few more minutes of head scratches and temple kisses, both girls went about their normal mornings. Cassidy was chatty as usual in the car, and though Jasmine had perhaps held on for a second too long in their goodbye hug, she was confident that Cassidy couldn’t sense anything was off.

However, once she got home, she was back in the panicked mindset of the night before. For the past few years, she’d meticulously planned these speeches in case she would ever need them, but now that she was here, waiting for Anthony to come back, nothing felt right. All she could do was curl up on the couch, stare at the door, and hope the right words appeared when she opened her mouth.

When Anthony finally trudged through the front door an hour later, he looked dreadful. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks blotchy, and his shoulders hunched forward. His hands were fidgeting in his pockets and his eyes were downcast. He could hardly bare to look at her with his tail between his legs.

“You need coffee,” Jasmine said with the faintest little smile. Anthony just nodded as she walked off, before taking a seat on the couch. When Jasmine reemerged a few moments later, she passed him a piping hot mug and sat down next to him. She let out a small sigh, as she was all too familiar with the signs that he hadn’t slept even a wink.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, nodding at the cup of coffee before letting the scalding liquid sear his lips.

“Of course. Cassidy doesn’t know a thing, by the way. Didn’t ask any questions or anything,” she replied, still avoiding his eyes.

“That’s good, thank you Jas.”

She tried to give him another tiny smile, but he couldn’t even react. He was drowning in something awful, and she just wanted to be let in. They sat together in the discomfort for a moment, before Anthony piped up.

“Can I go first?”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Jasmine nodded.

“Jasmine, I am so so sorry,” he said as firmly as his weakened heart would allow. “I’m obviously sorry for drinking, but I’m sorry for lying to you, and for not calling you most of all. I know how hard it’s been for you to trust me again, and I just betrayed all of that. Thinking about how I hurt you, and risked hurting Cass makes me sick and now all I want to do is find a way to make this better. I know the drinking causes this, and I know I need to stop, and I wish I could promise you right here, right now that I’ll never have another drink, but I’m just not that strong, Jas.”

His voice started to waver, and Jasmine tentatively reached forward for his hand. “I’m weak, and because of that the only promise I can make to you is to be honest. And right now I’m being honest and telling you that the anxiety I’ve felt and the craving I’ve felt over the past couple weeks isn’t something I can deal with alone. So there’s an AA meeting in a couple hours... at 1 o’clock. Ten minute drive from here. I’m gonna go, and I’m gonna go to a lot of these. And I have an intake meeting with a therapist on Friday at 8 o’clock. I tried to get it sooner, but that was the earliest appointment. Jasmine, I feel like such an asshole for asking you for anything more, because you’ve done so much, but if I could ask you for one more thing. C-could you come with me to the meeting today?”

When Anthony took a breath after his speech, he looked up through damp eyelashes and found Jasmine with tear tracks all the way down her cheeks. She was holding his hand with both of hers, drawing little circles on the back of his hand despite the trembling of the rest of her body. He opened his mouth to apologize for making her upset yet again, wishing he could punch himself in the throat for causing even more pain, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

“Stop,” she interrupted, “my turn. C’mere.”

Anthony looked her up and down before feeling weakness seep through his every fiber. He collapsed forward with his head in her chest as loud cries shook his frame. She wrapped both arms around him awkwardly, gently petting his hair while trying to soothe him with hushed coos. She pressed kiss after kiss to his forehead, letting him expel all the guilt she knew was eating him alive from the inside.

When his shoulders relaxed and he started to sniffle, she pulled him upright, and pressed her fingers under his chin so she could connect with his tired eyes. She carefully thumbed away his tears before pressing her lips to soothe the red blotches left in their wake.

“Baby, I’m so proud of you,” she murmured. His brow furrowed and his lips prepared to protest, but she pressed a finger against his chin to stop him. “What hurts me is the fear. It’s knowing that you could be out somewhere in so much pain, drinking yourself to death, and I’d be left in the dark, unable to help you,” she said, tears starting to spill down her cheeks even faster. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be let in and to know that if you need me, you’ll let me help you. I want to help you, baby.”

“You deserve someone easier, someone stronger,” he whispered.

“I never want to hear you say you’re weak again,” she insisted. “Baby, at your lowest, you just found a meeting, found a therapist, and asked me for help, all in one morning. Yes, you slipped up last night, but what you’ve just done matters so much more. You’ve been so, fucking, strong and I could not be more proud of you. And yes, I will go to a meeting with you today. I’ll go to meetings with you every day, if thats what it takes.”

“What if I fuck up again, Jas? I can’t risk hurting you like that...”

“Ant, the last time you were in this place you clawed yourself out with some crazy mix of adrenaline and force. Of course that wasn’t sustainable, and honestly I blame myself for not realizing that it was finally catching up with you. Now you’re getting real, professional help, and that’s going to be different.”

“Jasmine, I can’t promise you that I’ll never slip up and drink again,” he said softly, cheeks flushing red and words dripping with shame.

“I know,” she said even softer. “I know this is an illness babe, and I can’t pretend that I know how your mind is fighting against your better judgment when you’re craving it. I’m not asking you to promise me you’ll be perfect because I know how hard this is going to be. I’m asking you to promise me that you’ll be honest with me, failures and successes. That you’ll call me when you feel yourself slipping. Whether you hold out or fall before I get there, I’m going to pick you up and put the pieces back together. Okay? That’s my promise to you. No judgment, just unconditional love.”

Anthony gulped back the last of his tears, and took both of Jasmine’s hands. He looked her in the eyes and nodded firmly. “I promise, Jasmine. I love you and our girl more than anything, and I promise you honesty and communication.”

Jasmine let her lips curl up into an easy smile, and squeezed his hands tight. She leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, before resting her forehead on his temple.

“I love you so much, Anthony. Always. And right now I love you enough to tell you that you look horrible.”

He looked at her dumbfounded for a moment, before somehow finding it in him to laugh. “Seriously Jas? Gonna tell me I look horrible when I’m already a mess?”

“Mhmm,” she sneered, “otherwise you won’t listen when I tell you to get some rest.” Jasmine stretched out her legs to rest her feet on the ottoman in front of the couch, and patted her lap. Anthony laid back with his head on her thighs and looked up at her with a wistful smile.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I know. And I love you too. Now close your eyes,” she quipped back. Her smile softened as she brushed his curls off his forehead, and let her fingers rest against his scalp. She scratched just softly, while setting her other hand under his jaw so she could brush her thumb over his cheek. She could tell he was fighting his exhaustion, so she started to hum sweet, soft, lullaby tones until his eyes fluttered shut. For now, she was content to lay back and let her mind be filled with hope.

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (kmart’s haunted)

Summary: (part 1) Reader has joined Douxie on the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company. (part 2) - Missouri 1     (part 3)

Warnings: swearing, very light spooky?

Word Count: 2245

A/N: so we’ve established that Doux wasn’t the one who burnt the bookstore, but they don’t know that. look, have you been in a Kmart recently? its apocalyptic. also, you know that post about people repeating their default work greetings by accident? yeah

“Do you want me to split the bill or?” The waitress asked, not sure if the group at the table was a young couple and their child or just three college kids hanging out. It was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, that one kid was so small, wearing a little deer costume, and had been helped to order. The other two radiated the energy of an old married couple and talked mainly to each other. But on the other hand, college kids are just like that sometimes.

“Nah, I got it.”

“What? No. I’m paying for us.” Douxie insisted.

“I have the cash, Doux.” (Name) turned to the waitress. She put some honey in her voice. “Just bring us one bill, please.” The waitress nodded nervously before heading off.

“No. I don’t want you paying for too many things while we’re traveling. You’re unemployed.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. Mephits-Are-Vulnerable-To-Fire? You fucking burned down the store and put us both out of work here.” Nari was squirming at the negative vibes going on. It helped that she didn’t exactly understand what was going on.

“It was magic fire!” Douxie interjected in outrage. He looked so cute when he got defensive.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” (Name) shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. She let out a huff, “look, I invited myself onto this trip, Douxie. I want to pull my own weight. You’re going to have to let me pay for something eventually.”

“We’ll see about that, Love,” he said as he grabbed the ticket from the waitress’s hands as quick as lightning, tucked his card in and gave it right back before (Name) could further protest.

“Ugh! FINE! Then I’m getting the tip.” She pulled out a tenner and slapped it onto the table. She glared right back into Douxie’s hazel eyes. He glared right back into hers with a matched intensity. Nari looked back and forth between the two and whimpered. (Name) broke the standoff to assure Nari that they weren’t actually angry at each other so she shouldn’t be worried. That seemed to ease the forest child a bit but not by too much. She could still feel the weird aura they were putting off.

“Okay! So here’s your check back and here’s that lox bagel you ordered to go.” The waitress handed (Name) a doggy bag.

(Name) took the bag gingerly. A big fake smile spread across her face as she was momentarily possessed by that good spirit of customer service. “Thank you! I hope your experience was spellbinding! Have a magical day!” (Name) said on autopilot in that high-pitched voice and winked exaggeratedly. It was like she was an NPC and her talk button had been accidentally pushed. The waitress laughed forcibly and scurried away to the kitchen. Douxie cracked up.

“You do know that when I told you to say all that stuff after ringing people up, I was hazing you, right?”

“Oh yes, I am completely aware, Doux. Did you think I’d not pick up on how ridiculous that sounds? But I still say it to spite you.”

He shook his head. “Of course.”

***

Archie scarfed down his bagel sandwich with almost disturbing speed. It was like watching the void consume, well, a bagel sandwich. It just disappeared. Down his furry maw and out of existence. Being a dragon works up an appetite, after all. (Name) was a bit baffled and asked him if she should go get him another bagel. He assured her that the one was just fine and said something about trying to catch some birds later. She leaned back on her elbows against the boat’s railing, trying and failing to not think about the details of that.

Douxie cleared his throat. “So,” He folded his hands together for emphasis, “Since the subject of money came up earlier, I think we should also discuss the topic of our accommodations.”

“Well, you two obviously cannot afford lodging every night.” Archie snarked, flicking his tail.

“Thank you, for that, Arch. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a tent.”

“A tent?” the cat asked incredulously.

“Oh, that could work.” (Name) pointed at Douxie animatedly, “keep us close to nature for Nari. And also could keep our possible property damage bills down. Good idea, Doux.”

“Thank you,” Douxie puffed up, “see Arch? Someone appreciates my ideas-”

“Wait. That’ll be a short-term solution. We’re just barely into September. It’s going to be much, much colder in about a month. By October it’ll be too cold to bear. Even if we all huddle together like penguins.”

Doux looked away to hide his blush at the suggestion. “That is a problem. Okay, um-”

“Maybe we could just cross that bridge when we get there? Who knows what could happen between now and then. We could find so temp work in a little town somewhere.” (Name) shrugged, smirking at Doux. She didn’t want to admit that ‘we could be dead by then’ was also definitely a possibility on the table, so she tried to further distract from that thought. “Maybe we’ll find a creepy abandoned cabin in the woods we can squat in. Maybe some nice trolls will take us in as novelty pets. Maybe my rich Aunty Josie could just suddenly die under some ‘mysterious circumstances’ and leave her lavish fortune to her beloved niece,” she smirked at Doux, “I dunno, just spit ballin’ here.”

“I’m electing to ignore that you just suggested we ice your aunt because you were onto something there.”

“I was?” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief.

“Yes! New Jersey!

“New Jersey?” The wheels turned. “Oh! New Jersey!”

Nari looked confused. “What is special about this ‘New Jersey’?” she asked

Both Douxie and (Name) turned to her, “Trolls.” They said in sync.

***

(Name) stood there with her hands in her pockets. Somehow this Kmart was still standing, out here in The-Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Missouri. She was standing here, in a Kmart. It might as well have been 1986. There was barely anything on the shelves. Half the shelves themselves were missing. The floor had a layer of grime to it, in spite of the wet floor sign along with the shiny patches that said that it had clearly been mopped recently. The air smelled like something (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nostalgic. A strange scent that took her back to her childhood. Or at least she thought it was her childhood. It had to have been. Taking deep breaths, she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

Continuing that vibe, a muzak 80’s tune played over the speakers. Funny enough, despite (Name)’s brain seeming to recognize that it was playing a song from the 80’s, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to which. Every time she thought she’d figured it out, she’d hear a few notes that would somehow change her mind. It was a pop song at least, to narrow it down. It’d been going on for about six minutes now. Must be one of those extended tracks.

She’d ask Douxie what he thought the song was. She turned her attention to him and noticed he was still just staring at that same shelf like he had been for, what, ten minutes now? Even though this fucking Kmart barely had any shelving in it, by some miracle it not only had exactly what they were looking for but an entire aisle of them. How lucky was that.

Douxie was taking very careful consideration into this tent purchase. This was going to be their new home, after all. He just couldn’t decide which one was best. They all had fancy camping terms on the packages that meant nothing to him. He’d been trying to decipher the code. The secret outdoorsman code. Nari shifted uncomfortably in the basket.

“Hisirdoux, you should maybe, hurry this along?” She sounded strained.

But she was right. He should just pick one already. It’s all a gamble anyway. He decided on a dark green one that boasted a water-proof material. Good natural color, not easily spotted, and it wouldn’t soak through with rain. That should work well enough, he figured.

“I’ve hurried along. Sorry Nari.” He casually tossed the box into the cart next to her. She sniffed the box and nodded to him.

Now that they had their goal item, the quest party started for the checkouts. Douxie could have sworn that it had been on the side of the store they were in. They had passed it when they came in. Now it was completely across by the other door. Did he get turned around? Or maybe they did come in from that side of the store. He actually couldn’t remember.

As they walked, a few things caught (Name)’s eye. They passed a display of dark leafy plants in oddly shaped pots, a table stacked high with various books and a clearance sign, a knife case that had been left open, a candle display with a few that had already been lit and were dripping wax, a bargain bin of CDs, and lastly a sad box of no-longer-in-season pool noodles. There was a sale on bloodmeal apparently. Perfect for perking up those roses after the summer heat.

They arrived at the checkout after what felt like an endless journey. (Name) hadn’t noticed any other customers the entire time they had been there, and yet the line for the only check open had seven people in it. She grabbed a couple bags of red licorice from the impulse shelf to add to their cart while waiting.

Nari was really interested in that checker. (Name) took her in. The teen was taller than most and had very, very long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a shiny golden waterfall. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in. Must be going through a diet phase. Poor girl.

The young woman was obviously not one for small talk. Name couldn’t blame her. Retail sucks. Her perfect red fingernails clicked against the keys of the register in a practiced beat. She turned around and told them their total in a bored monotone. As Douxie fiddled with his wallet and payed, (Name) found herself staring right into the cashier’s eyes. They were such a light icy blue, they were almost white. It was striking. (Name) was almost in a trance. It was broken as the cashier turned around swiftly to rip off the receipt off the machine, and, in an uncharacteristically cheery voice, told them to have a nice night. Night?

They returned the cart back to the stack, grabbing their one singular shopping bag and helping Nari out. Of course Nari could easily just jump out herself, but that wouldn’t be something a human child could do. They didn’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves here. They made their way to the automatic sliding doors that lagged so that they didn’t open until you were standing right in front of them. This allowed Douxie time to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. The reflection of the store was completely devoid of people. Not even the checker was at her station. He sucked in a breath. After walking through those first doors, he stopped. He took a moment to turn back. There she was, right where she should be, checking out another customer with three more in the line.

Douxie hurried along the doorway to catch up to (Name) and Nari. It was darker outside than he expected, and he was taken aback. He found them right outside the store, waiting for him. In one hand, (Name) was holding Nari’s, in the other, the plastic shopping bag. Her head was tipped up to the sky, transfixed by the moon. He came over, grabbing her shoulder as he pulled her along, in an attempt to urge her away from this place. She looked back at him, eyes wide with distress. He tried to convey that he understood with his eyes. All three of them instinctually knew not to say anything more why they were still in this parking lot.

It had barely been half past noon when they had started this little Kmart side quest. It was now at least seven by the looks of it. They had spent six and a half hours in a Kmart? How had they spent six and a half hours in a Kmart. There went their entire travel day. But no time to dwell on this, they needed to get back to Archie and the boat as soon as possible.

As they walked back towards the ship, (Name) and Douxie both took one of Nari’s hands so that she was in the middle, like how those couples walk with their children. The streetlights glared up at them in the slick pavement. Apparently, it had rained while they were in shopping limbo. Poor Arch. (Name) let out a puff of air.

“Well. That sure was something.”

Douxie nervously chuckled, “If we had stayed in there any longer, I think we might have died.” (Name) mirrored that nervous chuckle.

“Oh, no, dying would be much simpler than what would have happened to us.” Nari said sweetly, like what she was saying was somehow better. Nari liked being helpful. (Name) put on her best fake smile.

“Thank you, Nari.” She tried her best to sound as sincere as possible to spare the veggie lady’s feelings.

[nanami-says]

Part IV (4/5): chapters 45~49

Chapter 45

[About talismans put on curses released for students to hunt during the group event]

“But even when exorcised with non-registered energy, it’ll burn red”

Not incorrect here, just pointing this bit out since it was mistranslated in the original explanation by Ichiji in ch. 40. (They kind of skipped the info about pre-registering cursed energy altogether.)

U:“It must be an outsider. Maybe an intruder?”

M:“Does that mean Master Tengen’s protective barrier isn’t working?”

G:“Intruder or not, this is an unexpected situation”

⇒ U:“Somewhere from the outside… Do you mean an intruder?”

[Mei Mei’s line]

G:“Whether it’s [someone] from the outside or from the inside, it doesn’t change that fact that those are unforeseen circumstances”.

Utahime was more asking and not actually stating anything here. Could go with “outsider” too but I wanted to capture the nuance of her still musing here better. As for Gakuganji, he wasn’t actually reiterating the line about “intruder” but “from the outside”! I.e. that it doesn’t matter if they came from the outside (of the barrier, I’m assuming), or from the inside. 

[Gojou talking about the curtain]

“We’ll just rip it apart once it’s complete”

⇒ “So all you have to do is just rip it apart after it’s gone down”

Not wrong but Gojou sounded cockier here haha.

“In exchange for denying Satoru Gojo entrance, it gives everyone else free access”

⇒ “This is a [protective] barrier that, in exchange for denying ‘Gojou Satoru’ entrance, allows ‘everyone else’ besides that to enter and leave freely”

The original included more technical information, like Gojou calling it a “barrier” (結界/kekkai) even though normally the term used is “curtain” (帳/tobari). I’m not really sure on the specifics but, for example, the Jujutsu High is protected by Master Tengen’s “barrier” and when sorcerers want to conceal their fights from civilians they use a “curtain”. 

Also, the original has “Gojou Satoru” and “everyone else” put in quotation marks so imo they should’ve signaled that somehow in the official English release as well.

“Why is there a cursed spirit here?”

Actually specifies “at Jujutsu High”.

“And whose curtain is that?”

“It’s probably coming from whomever is working with the cursed spirit”

Again, Megumi actually specifies that it’s “the curse user working(...)”.

[After Megumi interprets Inumaki’s riceball language with Kamo present]

“You can understand what he’s saying?”

“Does that matter right now? It might use expansion on us. We need to contact Gojo-sensei”

Megumi only says “domain” here (and it’s put in quotation marks again to show it’s a term) and not “domain expansion”. Also, he sounds more dismissive because the first line is closer to, “Something like that doesn’t matter right now, does it”.

[About Hanami’s speech] 

“What the-- I can understand the meaning behind the noises it makes”

⇒ “What’s that-- Even though I don’t get what it’s saying from the sound, I can still understand the meaning”

Not incorrect, just wanted to propose something closer to the original wording.

“The forest, the sea, the sky… They’re crying from the tragedies they’ve withstood. We can no longer live in peace with humans”

⇒ (...) They’re crying how they cannot bear any more. Continued coexistence with humans is no longer possible.”

Imo the “can no longer coexist” referred to the forest, sky etc. Also just a slightly different nuance for the whole line, I suppose.

“They know that there are humans who care for the planet. But how useful is mere compassion?”

Hanami doesn’t really call it “mere compassion”, just “that compassion”, or, literally, “kindness”, “affection”.

Chapter 46

“We’ll have Inumaki stop it so we can keep some distance between us after we attack. We gotta do this if we’re gonna have a chance of getting out of the curtain. We need to find the principals.”

⇒ “Have Inumaki stop it, then we attack, and gain distance. Through a repeat of this, we’ll aim to get outside of the curtain and regroup with the principals”

Not incorrect per se but it sounded more like Kamo just describing their strategy to me. 

Cont. on the next page.

“But how long can we keep this up. Inumaki’s cursed speech is losing effect. We can’t get in touch with the teachers either. It may even figure out a way to counter cursed speech.”

⇒ “But we don’t know when the current equilibrium will crumble. The effectiveness of cursed speech is bad as it is and we can’t even try and get in touch with the teachers. If he realises how to counter cursed speech, then it’s over.”

Lots of nuance lost here. First off, Kamo seems to have been talking about cursed speech’s low effectiveness in general, rather than referring to Inumaki getting weaker. And the line about the teachers actually said they “don’t even have a chance/space to contact” rather than that they’d already tried and failed.

“Finding Todo is a priority. Even Miwa would do at this point.”

⇒ “I’d like to join up with Todo, or at the very least Miwa, as soon as possible but....”

“Even Miwa” makes it sound like Kamo doesn’t really value her but he’s actually ranking her quite high, as she seems to be his next option after Toudou.

”The cursed speech he used wasn’t particularly strong, but his throat gave out. The enemy is that much stronger”

⇒ “Even though he wasn’t using a powerful spirit of language, Inumaki-senpai’s throat still got crushed. The difference in levels is just that huge”

When speaking about Inumaki here, Megumi actually didn’t refer to “cursed speech”, i.e. the technique, but “kotodama”, which’s what the technique uses, its main component, you could say. (“The spirit of language”, please refer to ch. 33 part IV (1/5). Also, as the phrase used in the last sentence is literally “higher rank”, imo it wasn’t so much about difference in pure strength by itself, as difference in levels (which will obviously also translate to difference in strength).

“You can’t cut me with such sword”

He literally calls it “this blunt sword” here. 

“Its eye branches are its weak point”

Closer to, “are more fragile/brittle than the rest [of him]”.

[Maki about the new weapon she just switched to]

“But using this doesn’t feel right”

Actually “is vexing” or even “disgusting”, “revolting” etc., as, you know, it’s a weapon that used to belong to Getou, who once almost killed her. (Vol. 0)

Chapter 47

[About Maki’s special grade weapon]

“Indeed, that is not bad”

Actually “this is a good one”, a different nuance.

“Jujutsu sorcerers are interesting. And so emotional too. Every time one of their allies gets hurt, they leave new openings.”

⇒ “[It seems] jujutsu sorcerers are exceptionally compassionate.(...)”

What they translated as “interesting” was actually a descriptor for “compassionate”, which too imo is different from just “emotional”. All the possible translations given by the dictionary I checked are adverbs (highly, extremely, outstandingly, unusually, remarkably, exceptionally etc.), so imo, despite of how it was spaced in the original, it was intended as a single sentence.

[After Hanami explains how the bud that’s gotten lodged in Megumi’s body works]

“How nice of you to explain! You’re planning on killing me anyway, right?”

“I hear it’s more effective once explained”

This bit is interesting because while it’d been stated before that explaining a technique can lend it more power, Hanami is actually talking about speed here. I guess you could argue regarding the actual differences between speed vs. effectiveness but he did only say that “it'll work faster” this way.

[Hanami praising Maki]

“You have some nice moves”

Actually just “you can move well”, which imo has a slightly different nuance.

“I need to use everything I’ve got! Even if I get ripped apart”

⇒ “{Got to] Muster all of my cursed energy, even if it means my stomach/guts will rip!”

“I get ripped apart” sounds more drastic than the original imo.

Cont. onto. 

“I choose who I save, unlike the others. I’m bearing the least burden. That’s why it’s inexcusable that I be the first to go down!”

⇒ “I’m not like the others. I choose the people to protect. I’m not [the one] bearing the most burden. That’s why (...)”

Again some of the nuance of the original seems to have been altered imo. I’m not 100% sure re the line about bearing burden but I think the meaning was probably closer to what I suggested. I am sure that he said “people to protect” and not “people to save” here, though. 

Chapter 48

[Nishimiya about Toudou]

“If nothing else, you’re strong”

The phrase used here actually means “redeeming feature”. So you know, in Nishimiya’s eyes Toudou may suck overall but being strong is his only saving grace.

[Toudou to Megumi about Yuuji seeming different]

“You see it too. He’s beginning to spread his wings. He must find his own way. That is where he stands now.”

⇒ “So you’ve realised it too. When a person is beginning to spread their wings, it’s unforgiven for others to interfere. Itadori is in such a state right now”

Toudou was speaking rather loftily here, so maybe that’s why they seem to have gotten it slightly wrong but imo phrasing it as “must find his own way” didn’t really capture the original nuance of “it’s unforgiven for anyone else to so much as touch them”, which is what the second part of the sentence literally says. So it’s less emphasis on what Yuuji himself must do and more on what others aren’t allowed to do.

[Hanami after judging Toudou as weaker than himself]

“But he’s got a strong presence.”

⇒ “But this mysterious brazenness…”

Could also go with “impudence”, “shamelessness”, “boldness” etc. here haha.

[Hanami about Yuuji]

“You’re smart to close the distance. [I’ll commend you for that]

⇒ "You don't rush in recklessly. (...)"

...Literally the opposite meaning for this one. Hanami was commenting on Yuuji having attacked from the distance first.

“More agile than the girl! But his strength is disappointing”

⇒ “His instantaneous force surpasses the girl from before! (...)”

The word also means “explosiveness”, “explosive power”, so imo it pointed to Yuuji being able to unleash a lot of power in a short amount of time (although the actual output still fell short in Hanami’s opinion). Idk why they made it “agile” instead...

“Anger is a valuable trigger for a jujutsu sorcerer. There’ve been instances where people have been put on their heels after provoking an inferior opponent. The opposite is not good either. Mishandling cursed energy when angered, wastes your skills, and the fight will end in defeat.”

⇒ “‘Anger’ is an important trigger for jujutsu sorcerers. There are times when you can be beaten by a lower rank just because you’ve angered your opponent. Of course, the opposite is true as well. There are also times when you lose, because you became unable to draw out your true strength, with your cursed energy disrupted by anger”

They seem to have conveyed the nuance of Toudou’s lines here being a broader explanation this time but a lot of nuance has been lost nevertheless. Most importantly: “there are times” and not “there have’ve been instances”, this would be a different grammatical construction if the latter was the case; “the opposite is not good either” is just off; “wastes your skills” was imo unclear, it was closer to “can’t unleash your true power”.

“Your friend Fushiguro is hurt. And worst of all, our bonding time as best friends got interrupted, so I understand better than anyone why you would lose your cool.”

⇒ “Your friend got hurt, and worst of all, the honeymoon with me, your best friend, got interrupted as well. So I can understand rea~~~~~lly well why you’d be boiling with rage”

Once again Toudou using a much more poetic/lofty language in the original was flattened down in the official English release. (“Are boiling with rage” becoming “lose control”, freaking “honeymoon” - and yes, he actually used that word lol - becoming “bonding time”.)

More importantly though, there have been several cases before, when I mentioned that something is written one way but read differently, but didn’t go into the details. (For example, Sukuna’s way of referring to Megumi and Nobara in chapter 7 (refer to part I), or Nobara speaking about the Kyoto principal in ch. 37 (part IV 2/5). This is where I finally explain this phenomenon a bit more in-depth, using Toudou, who’s probably the best example.

If you've ever studied Japanese, you're probably familiar with furigana used over/beside kanji characters to indicate pronunciation. For example, the word “shin’yuu” which means best friend, would be written in kanji 親友, and then have しんゆう written over it in hiragana. Here, the actual word and the way it’s read match.

But in manga it's a fairly common practice to use furigana to provide an alternate reading. So you have 1) the actual text and 2) the reading.

  1) can sometimes supply additional information as well (e.g. written as “technique” but pronounced as “talent”) but mostly it’s included to provide context and specify something to the reader that the characters would be naturally aware of, and 2) is what the character is actually saying out loud in the scene.

So in this scene Toudou doesn’t really say Fushiguro’s name out loud and only calls him “[your] friend/comrade", because it’d be obvious to Yuuji from the context whom he means here.

The same also applies most of the time when Toudou addresses Yuuji, like in the line that got translated as “Itadori, my friend”. In this case, the text is “Itadori” (to indicate to the reader that Toudou truly addresses him here) but what he is saying out loud here is “my friend”, which, btw, is actually said in English even in the original. So he’s literally calling him “mai furendo” here, haha. (In general, Toudou seems to opt for English equivalents quite frequently in the manga.)

Whelp, this ended up very long but basically, whenever I say that “it’s written like XX, but he actually says YY”, this is what I mean!

“But that anger is not for you. Suppress it for now”

⇒ “But that anger is too much for you. (...)”

Not 100% sure but this is probably closer to the original meaning. Also I just found the English translation really vague/unclear. 

“Any more distractions?” 

“Nope”

⇒ ”Did they disappear? Distractions"

“Yeah, not a single cloud [left]”

Aww, this isn’t incorrect but the wording in the original is just so lovely.

“Thank you so much. My best friend - Todo”

⇒ “(...), best friend!”

What I said for Toudou re text vs. pronounciation, except now it’s spreading, down to gratuitous English. 

“For those who have experienced black flash, as compared to those who have not, their understanding of the essence of cursed energy is immeasurable.

⇒ “(...) the gap between their distance to the core of cursed energy is like heaven and earth”

Not incorrect but I really like the ring and the descriptiveness of the original wording.

Chapter 49

“You got to taste a sample of your cursed energy”

⇒ “You’ve grasped the ‘taste’ of cursed energy”

Imo not Yuuji’s own but cursed energy as a whole, as in that Yuuji has glimpsed what cursed energy truly is.

Extended cooking metaphor cont. onto the next page

“Until now, it’s like you’ve been putting ingredients that you’re not familiar with into a pot and cooking haphazardly”

Not incorrect per se but the original wording for the line about ingredients is “ingredients you never tasted yourself” and imo there’s a distinction.

“But with black flash, you’ve gained the ingredient that is cursed energy. As a chef, or in this case, a jujutsu sorcerer, you’re on a different level than you were just three seconds ago”

⇒ “But now through ‘black flash’ you’ve grasped the ‘taste’ of the ingredient that is cursed energy. As a chef, you’re now standing in a completely different dimension than the you from 3 seconds ago”

It wasn’t the “ingredient” (cursed energy) itself that was emphasised here but the ingredient’s “taste” (essence of cursed energy). Also Toudou is actually extrapolating on what he said on the previous page and he even reiterates  his line from there (that mistakenly got translated as “you got to taste a sample of your cursed energy”). Overall, the text on those two pages just flowed better originally and wasn’t as disjointed. Also, this was another instance of text (jujutsu sorcerer) vs. pronunciation (chef)!

“Congratulations brother. You will be strong”

Closer to “you will be able to grow strong”. Also, re “brother” - it’s written as "super best/close friend” and spoken out loud as “brother” and again, it’s actually pronounced in English (“brazaa”). Heck, Toudou also actually says “congratulations” in English too haha.

[After Hanami has healed his own limb]

“It can heal itself?!”

“Cursed spirits are made from cursed energy”

Actually specifies that it’s the “bodies of cursed spirits” here.

“But its cursed energy is undoubtedly weakened. If we get its head, then it’s game over.”

⇒ “But it [healing] will infallibly/certainly shave its cursed energy. And if you crush its head, it’s game over”

Again, imo a more general explanation on how self-healing works for cursed spirits.

“I need to try a little harder”

⇒ “It seems it’ll be better to get serious to an extent”

Just to make sure that the nuance here is that Hanami had been holding back before. 

“What a heavy hit! It’s not quite as heavy as the black flash hit from earlier. However, individually they have enough power to hurt me”

⇒ “Heavy! Not to the extent of the previous black flash hit but each [hit] has enough power to deal damage to me with certainty”

Imo the official release was a bit unclear, so I tried to tweak the wording. Especially the “individually” bit - imo it was intended to mean “each”. In other words, the two’s attacks, while not as powerful as black flash, are still potent enough to actually hurt Hanami with each respective hit.

[After Hanami dissolves his technique and Yuuji and Toudou's footing disappears]

“Our footing! We underestimated it! With this amount of mass I thought it was manipulating physical branches with its cursed energy. But it’s the embodiment of cursed energy! It made the illusion real with just its cursed energy. That’s a special grade for you!”

⇒ ”(...) We let our guards down! (...) Everything was materialised and manifested just with his cursed energy!! (...)”

Like in the instance above, imo the way the official release translated it was really unclear, especially the line about “making illusion real”, which actually was just “manifest”. (Again, “materialisation” is actually “realisation” but I used the former to make it easier to understand.)

(jp)

“You should be more true to yourself, Hanami”

“I’m not trying to be anything else”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. I know why you fight. But as long as we’re fighting, why not try to enjoy it?”

⇒ ”Hanami, you know, you should be more honest”

“I don’t think I’m pretending”

“It’s not like I’m calling you a liar or anything and I know what’s the objective you fight for. But I think you should try to enjoy the process - the present called ‘fight’ - more”

The meaning was there but I wanted to propose something closer to the original wording because it’s interesting to me how Mahito switches between very simple phrases and more complicated thought processes (like here he explicitly compares “objective”/”goal” and “the process”).

[After Hanami asks whether Mahito enjoys fighting]

“The pleasure I feel while fighting didn’t motivate me much until recently”

⇒ “It’s not until recently that the joy, that the pleasure, I feel at the height of a fight have become my motive”

So it’s not like they didn’t motive him much but that they only recently became his motive/incentive to fight!! Quite a significant distinction imo.

“Before I realised, all the deceit, cheating and killing left me satiated. Just like humans eat, sleep and rape, curses manifest instinctive behaviors as well”

⇒ “When I realised - deceit, tricking, killing - I’ve already been filled/satisfied without being aware of it. The same way humans eat, sleep and transgress/violate - for curses those are probably their instincts”

Not 100% sure about the first sentence but it’s something similar. Emphasis mine for the second sentence. In other words, it’s precisely deceit, tricking and killing that Mahito sees as curses’ instincts. Also the word that they translated as “rape” does indeed mean that as well, but imo it could’ve just as well been pointing to one of its more broader meanings, like “to violate” or “commit [crimes]”.

“We might have gained reasoning, but that doesn’t mean we should deny our impulses”

Imo “reason” instead of “reasoning” and “fight against our instincts” (since the same word gets used) instead of “deny our impulses”. Especially since they translate it as “reason” in the next panel.

“A spirit is blend of impulse and reason”

⇒ “A soul is a blend of instinct and reason”

Emphasis mine. I genuinely have no clue why the official release suddenly translated it differently here... Everywhere else they’d also gone with  “soul” whenever the word appeared before, which, needless to say, happened in almost every other instance of Mahito talking about his technique and/or philosophy. 

“You all right, brother?”

“No problem!”

“There you go!” ⇒ “Splendid!”

Also means “excellent”, another example where in the original Toudou is using a lofty expression and which sadly got a cut in the official release. He’s so proud of everything that Yuuji does, okay. :”( The first two are fine. 

[to part iv (5/5)]

[burnedbyshoto]

Sickness and Afflictions

todoroki shouto x reader; bakugou katsuki x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing

a/n: one crushes your heart. the other one fills it. pick your poison. bitch... this made me sad and happy....

Part Two ; Alt Ending

todoroki shouto

You had been happy in your relationship with Shouto. Happiness and longevity seemed to be something coined for the two of you. But you knew that you were the first real relationship he had.

Recently, Shouto was becoming better acquainted with his family. Often spending his free days with his family instead of spending it with you. Which wasn’t an issue in your opinion, but it was three months since this started… and you only ever saw Shouto at night when he would come to bed past midnight. You were becoming upset by this, and whenever you voiced your emotions he was quick to ignore you.

The reality of your relationship was that you were not happy at this moment. You were also sure you did not wish to break up with him… but you wanted effort. Today was your birthday, and you hadn’t received a single acknowledgment from him about it. Today was your day off and he didn’t so much as kiss you goodbye today when he left for work as you woke up.

Today, you sat at the kitchen table at nine at night, waiting for him to come home. Your fingers play with a gift you bought for the two of you as a way to get him to go somewhere with you.

Some part of you wishes that he isn’t here because he has some elaborate plan. That these past few months, he’s been making you insecure for this very night. That Shouto’s waiting for you to cave first so he can expose his birthday celebration plans. But you know better to assume that, Shouto has never been spontaneous like that.

So today, instead of celebrating with friends, you waited for Shouto to come back home.

One hour passed.

Two hours more.

It’s no longer your birthday when the front door opens and closes. Your weary eyes staring at Shouto who walks in, slippers on his feet, exhaustion on his face.

Your eyes lock with his, and you break the gaze to continue down his body. There’s no card in sight.

“Why are you coming home so late?” You ask placing your chin onto your hand. Your eyes boring into your boyfriend’s ambivalent aura.

“Long day at work.” Was his response and it irked you.

“Midoriya-san posted a video of you and your classmates at a bar. Why are you lying?”

“We only went in celebration of—“

“Bakugou’s early birthday celebration, yeah. I know.” You snark back, your hand dropping on the table and a frown on both your faces.

“I’m not in the mood to have a lecture right now. Especially since you know everything there is to know.” Shouto voice drips with sarcasm as he tries walking away.

“Only because if I don’t you won’t ever talk to me!” You exasperate standing up. The sounds of the chair scraping against the floor echoes through the apartment.

Shouto stares at you, his heterochromia eyes feeling empty, lifeless.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.” You repeat, your bottom lip quivering. You try not letting your feelings overwhelm you. Desperate not to give him a reason to walk away. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Keeping your business to yourself?” Shouto steely response. His upper lip presses into his bottom one. “Why do you need to know everything?”

You blink many times, your mouth dropping with failed sentences.

“You’re my boyfriend,” You’re slow to respond. “I’m curious and concerned because you’re my boyfriend.”

“If you’re going to be telling me things I already know, I don’t see the point of me listening to you.”

You laugh, unsure of what was wrong with him. In your inability to speak, Shouto begins walking away. His arm hitting your shoulder causing you to stumble.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You seethe, your eyebrows scrunched as you push his back. He stills, not turning around. Your mind now in overdrive. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you! A conversation, Shouto! Something we haven’t done in fucking months! And you’re— you’re ruining it!!”

Shouto turns around, his face dark, his own eyebrows crunched as his lips are curling into a scowl. “Let’s make this clear, I’m not ruining anything here. I’m busy, y/n, I have a fucking job that requires utmost concentration and dedication. I can’t be waiting on your every demand and need. Don’t pretend that you didn’t know that coming in.”

“Of course I fucking knew that coming in! I’m the damn best fucking support employee Japan has! I’ve dealt with shit for you fucking heroes! I can see that you’re busy! But you’re not always busy! You just don’t spend any free time with me! And that’s what’s bugging me!”

That one complaint sends both of you over the edge. And insults pour out of both of your mouths. Eventually, you’re both just saying things to make the other upset.

You were too clingy. Demanding. Impatient. Unclean.

He was too bitchy. Completely unavailable. Dense. Opinionated.

He scrutinized what you had gotten him for Christmas. Claiming it was insensitive and embarrassing to open in front of his family.

You retorted that at the very least you had gotten him a present! You further added to the fact that he refused to meet your family.

He fought that you shouldn’t be too sensitive all the damn time because you’re a grown adult. Not some child.

It circles back to him not being attentive, the two of you in each other’s faces.

Red.

Angry.

Yelling.

“I don’t owe you anything. I don’t owe you my time, my energy, or my presence. If you’re not happy with it, why the hell are you here?” Shouto growls at you, his face dark.

“Because you mean everything to me, you fucking dick?! Something I’m not ready to give up! Is it that hard to fucking see that I want to be here?!”

“I don’t owe it to you to spend my free time with you,“ Shouto repeats. “You’re my girlfriend, not a pet!”

“Oh, no, sorry!!! I forgot because if I was a pet, I would be getting much more love and affection than this!! You know what, Shouto? This is my place. This is my apartment, and you still have the fucking audacity to show up with this attitude? For someone who loathes Endeavor as much as you do, you sure don’t act any fucking different from him.” You hiss centimeters from his face.

Your mind doesn’t even register the terrible words that come out of your mouth. All you know if that pure rage manifests upon Shouto’s own.

“Don’t you dare fucking compare me to him. You know nothing about what it was like living up with him.” Shouto seethes, as his body stiffens, his eyes dark and angry.

“Let me guess, always distant and cruel? Emotionally manipulative? Using the people in his life for his own advantage? Seeing only his own fucking feelings and no one else’s? Hm, and the real question is who am I describing?! Pro-Hero Endeavor or Shouto?!”

Shouto’s right-hand grips your forearm, shocking you at the sudden movement from him. But Shouto’s too angry to notice that his quirk activates in his moment of anger and frustration. Ice cold burning pain shoots down your arm. It not until you’re sobbing out in pain does he see the blistering ice burns on your forearm and the tears in your eyes. And fear fills his being.

You rip your forearm from his grasp. Baffled and choking sobs leaving your lips as you examine the blistering skin. You tremble as you cry.

He burned you.

Shouto burned you and he wasn’t even apologizing. All he was doing was staring.

Your eyes rip away from your burned arm and stare at Shouto. A new sadness burning through you. “I only wanted you to show me that I mattered today… it was my birthday today. No yesterday Shouto… it was my fucking birthday! But… I get it now, how much I annoy you, and how much you’re unhappy with me but… still. It was my birthday and you didn’t speak to me or acknowledge it at all yesterday.” Your voice resonates with broken, cracked, and defeated tones.

Your throat tightens with overwhelming sadness as pain throbs through your arm. But it’s nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart. You cry as you walk to the table grabbing the white envelope in your hands as you give it to him.

“Take this, it’s yours…! I’m… going to the hospital to get this fixed up… please don’t be here when I get back. …we—we are…” Your voice cracks again as you know what you have to say, but don’t want to say. It’s too late to fix these mistakes. “We’re done. Please have Midoriya come pick up your things. I don’t want to see you, ever again.”

You don’t even conceal the flowing tears as you clutch your burnt arm to your chest. You want him to say something, anything! Anything to convince you that this has only been a few bad months, but that this was the extent of it.

But still, even in defeat, he won’t budge to your will. “Leave the key under the mat, goodbye Todoroki.” You whisper completely defeated as you turn on your heel and leave the apartment.

Shouto goes to open the envelope you gave him, unsure of what it is. But he freezes at the sight of the address. ‘for shouto so that you can have fun with boring old me!’

Shouto unravels a letter within the envelope and reads it over.

‘dear shouto, I don’t know how to start a letter! is it like this? oh well!!!! I figured you were going to get me something I would love for my birthday. so I went ahead and got us this! two tickets to go, drumroll please, see the All Might museum that just opened!!! yes! you read it correctly!!! so I know you and all your friends somehow lost the lottery system for getting it among the Pro-Heroes. don’t panic, we support techs are smarter. we bid on them like feral animals. this ended up costing me ¥125,000!!! totally worth it in my stance. I know somethings been off with us lately, and I’m not all that sure what it is, but I do love you. like a lot. I’m just at this point unsure if I did anything in specific to make you mad? god, I hope not… anyways!!! I know we’ll get over it, we always do!! I love you Todoroki Shouto, and I’m so excited to get to go to this museum with you!!!! love - y/n’

A splitting headache overcame Shouto. His heart is frozen as he stared at the two tickets for special entrance to this museum. It was made out for today, the day after your birthday. A birthday that slipt his mind until your choked up voice reminded him of it.

Shouto sank to the ground, tears falling from his eyes. Oh.

He fucked up big time.

bakugou katsuki

On god, you were going to murder your boyfriend.

How could someone so smart be this dumb?

This entire day he had been avoiding you like a ninja and simply ignoring your every action to get him to open up. It was pissing you off! He was acting like a damn cat instead of a human being.

“Katsuki, I swear, if you don’t eat this goddam soup and medicine, I WILL murder you!” You snap through the bathroom door.

The countless amounts of dry heaving coughs, sniffles, and sneezes heard from the door. You still continue to bang the on wall despite him ignoring you. “Soup is fucking disgusting, and medicine can suck my balls!” Bakugou’s voice weakly snaps back. The sickness heavy in his throat. You can hear him retching just a little bit.

How the mighty fall when they’re sick. But Bakugou fell hard. Plus he refused anything to make himself better! He was more typically relying on his own body to make him better. Which was dumb! But this was week three of him being this way, he needed something stronger than his own immune system.

“If you don’t open this door, I’ll find someone who can kick the door down. Like Deku!”

“Like hell, you would, shitty woman. Even like this, I can kick his ass across the country and—and—ACHOO!!” The crackling of his quirk goes off.

Yes, the worst part of Bakugou being sick was that he was no longer as in control of his quirk.

You grumble as you place the piping hot soup and medicine bottle onto the hallway counter. You walked to the kitchen grabbing your spare bathroom key. You opened it up to find Bakugo sweating profoundly. His body shivering, yet wrapped up in five blankets. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was plugged up with a tissue.

He looked disgusting.

“Don’t you dare,” He croaks slightly, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

You grab the damn soup and medicine and put it on the bathroom counter. Bakugou was trying to escape. But he was weaker than he typically was only because he would get a migraine from standing up. “Oh no, you’re not going fucking anywhere, dumbass!” You snap at Bakugou as you put your full weight onto his hips, trying to keep him pinned down.

Bakugou won’t let you challenge him like this, and is very quick to fight back. So there the two of you were, wrestling in the bathroom. Your healthy body pressed against his clammy and sweaty one, but still, he’s able to keep up with you.

“Let go of me, shitty woman! I don’t fucking need that crap!”

“Your nose is just about dripping on me, idiot! You’re taking the damn medicine!”

Bakugou’s hand clutched your forearms, ready to throw you off him. But he freezes, and your eyes widen in the horror of having his hands on you. And as he sneezes before he can pull away, his sweaty hands exploding against your arms.

“OH MY GOD!” You scream, scorching pain exploding against your skin. You pulled away from Bakugou, your arms quivering as you watched red blisters form on your arms.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry!” Bakugou sneezes again, his fingertips exploding.

“You burned me!” You shriek, unsure on how to feel about your boyfriend using his quirk on you.

“Well, I told you to leave me alone!” Bakugou throws back at you, and youthrust your burned arms his way.

“Yeah, still! Also, WHY do you have zero control over your quirk when you’re sick?! YOU’RE SO ANNOYING!” You cackle despite the pain as Bakugou blows his nose before crawling over to you grabbing your arms.

“Stay here, shitty woman,” Bakugou says after examining your burnt arms.

You watch as Bakugou stands up and goes to the medicine cabinet and pulls out some burn salve he owned. He often got burns from overexerting his quirk, and it seemed that you were going to be the one using it today.

“This is why you need to leave me alone when I’m sick,” Bakugou grumbles as his clammy fingers touch your arms. The soothing balm kicking in at the slightest touch.

“NO, what you need to do is to let me take care of you, dumbass!” You counter, shoving him with your foot. “You’re sick, and you could’ve been better five days ago had you just let me take care of you.”

His eyes look up at yours when he’s done applying the balm, and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Fine.”

Within a day you get him to feel better, but now it’s your nose that’s running. Chills running down your spine as Bakugou shoved soup down your throat.

"You’re gonna eat this damn soup.” Bakugou snaps as you groan.

Why was this soup literally the worst?