plumbastic

[lesbiacnh]

it’s supposed to snow and be gross all day tomorrow but i wanna go to the gym and thrift and go for a walk😭 i have a little bit of school work to catch up on and i wanna revise my notes for a test that’s coming up at the end of the month. but i wanna go outside first omg

[idontblushsrry]

Inuyasha Characters As Roomates

In honor of yashahime’s release i’ve decided to post this for no real reason.Can you tell who my bias is lmao. Lmk if I should do a Part 2 with the people I missed. Also I apologize I haven’t updated in like a year I have a post addressing this coming up soon. Thank you for your continued support despite the fact that I’ve been updating infrequently, I really appreciate it. Without further ado:

Warnings: Some swear words oop

Word Count: 1632

Inuyasha

You want Inuyasha as your roommate???Chile anyways...

No but fr tho in general Inuyasha isn’t an awful roommate, he pays his bills on time(ususally), doesn’t make too big of a mess but that’s just because he owns like 3 things and 2 outfits.

No, the real problem with Inuyasha is that he is LOUD

You walk outside to throw the trash away and he’s in his room screaming about a video game or something and the WHOLE neighborhood can hear him. 

People pokin they head out in concern and everything

Another time he was watching a horror movie and you guess the characters did something stupid because you hear a scream from the character and then Inuyasha screaming “WHAT THE FUCK, WHY WOULD YOU GO THAT WAY DUMBASS! THAT’S WHY YOU’RE DEAD NOW!”

Shit woke you up out of your sleep

After that incident you knew you’d have to ask him to be a bit more considerate of your eardrums.

So, you ask him to quiet down and he pouts like a child and huffs and puffs.

He does quiet down tho...for about 2 minutes until he stubs his toe on the end of the couch

God bless you and your patience but god bless his girlfriend Kagome

She’s a saint

If it were up to Inuyasha your groceries would consist of a cabinet of ramen like the man has the budget for ramen and paying his share of he bills why would he spend money on things like fruit???

This is where Kagome comes in, she comes by pretty regularly and she brings food or groceries because she of all people knows how terrible Inuyasha’s shopping habits are.

Bless her soul truly and every time she does this you thank her lmaoo

Inuyasha eventually does move out with Kagome but he does apologize for being loud before he leaves, you aren’t sure if he did that on his own or if Kagome made him do that

Kagome

She’s so sweet

Fair share of chores, groceries, she cooks for yall sometimes, truly a saint

Only 2 problems:

Ms. Girl has no moneyyy

Poor Kagome, she always tries to pay her bills on time but between trying to feed Inuyasha, helping out her family, and school the paycheck only spreads so thin(She does eventually quit school to start working more but)

Nothing wrong with this but you do end up having to cover for her sometimes.

She of course thank you and you don’t usually mind and your routine was functional for you two, until you meet problem number 2 

The loudest mf on the planet Earth, her boyfriend, Inuyasha

One day you’re in he kitchen grabbing something to eat and you hear pounding on the door like the police showed up.

You proceed cautiously because...what the fuck and you almost reach the door before you hear 

“I’ll get it!”

You’ve never seen Kagome run faster

She opens the door and you see this 5′5 mf who was banging on the door like he paid the bills

Inuyasha just has rbf but you don't know that so you think he’s making faces at you

Immediately you have a problem with him

“Hey Kagome, who’s this?”

She looks between you two before immediately rushing to introduce you to each other

“Oh, I forgot my purse be right back guys.”, Kagome left not knowing that yall were about 2 seconds from fighting

You didn’t like Inuyasha for banging on the door and glaring and he didn’t like you for glaring at him

After that you just avoided talking to inuyasha for the sake of keeping the peace

When he came over you exited stage left 

Eventually Kagome does move out with Inuyasha and she asks why you and Iuyasha had never spoken to each other

“Are you kidding me the first day we met he was already glaring at me?!”

“Ohhh, that’s just his face, he’s really sweet promise :D”

You doubted that

You liked Kagome as a roommate but you were glad she was moving out so you could find someone who could pay the bills on time.

Sango

She a baddie ngl

Aside from that, Sango is the perfect roommate

However, I hope you aren’t allergic to cats or Miroku because they’re pretty much a package deal

Also hopefully you don’t hate children because she does have Kohaku to worry about

But she makes pretty good money at her job so expenses aren’t a issue

She also isn’t home too often between her job, taking care of Kohaku and Kirara, and her relationship

She ends up spending more and more time at Miroku’s place anyways

Sango finally moves in with Miroku when she gets pregnant, yall still keep in touch tho because you’ve become good friends

And thus you say goodbye to the best roommate to ever grace this Earth lmao

Miroku

Miroku is the shortest lasting roommate on this list

Mans is a little creeper pervert and that shit gets annoying after a while

You’ll be walking out the shower and Miroku’s standing there like “hey lil mama lemme whisper in ya ear”

Needless to say you smacked the taste outta his mouth and he stopped with that real quick

He stops but you’re surprised when you see Sango come over 

Your hand starts itching with the urge to slap him again...

You meet Sango and what she sees in him is... baffling, scientists to this day still don’t understand 

Baby girl, you’re Sango do better, self love

Anyways, Miroku moves out eventually and he takes his nasty ass ways with him

Later you find out that Sango moved in with him and sje’s gon have a baby by him

But you know that’s none of your business 

Koga

If you thought Inuyasha was loud...

Inuyasha doesn’t have any friends, Koga has a wolf pack...

Parties all the time good luck homie

If you were tryna study, sleep, do work, etc. best wishes lmao

You come home and mans got 2 random people over like how ya doin   O-O

“Hello”

“Where’s Koga?”

They point to the kitchen and you head here ready to just “talk” with Koga

He turns around and gives you the cutest smile known to man and you immediately lose your will to argue

Can’t argue with a man that beautiful sorry...

Anyways besides being loud af, Koga is HYPER

Mans is up at 5 am knocking on your door like “hey you wanna jog to the gym”

“No Koga, goodnight”

‘No problem, it’s the morning btw!”

He’s actually a decent roommate and he moves into a bigger house with his friends and calls it the ‘pack house’

He actually invites you to come move in w him and his buddies 

You tell him you’ll think about it

Sesshomaru

The king of “I’m better than you”

He has his life so well together and you’ve gotta give him props

Mans is basically Caspar the Friendly Ghost of roommates 

Does he actually live here? the lights stay on and his name is on the deed so... I guess

Seriously tho, Sesshomaru doesn’t need a roommate but he does need someone to mind Rin

You might ask, what about Jaken, Jaken is busy (following Sesshomaru) or so he claims

Sesshomaru isn’t too bad honestly he covers the majority of the expenses in exchange for you watching Rin and feeding Ah-Un

So you’re basically Rin’s stay at home nanny

But you don’t mind because she is a SWEETHEART

Ah-Un isn’t too bad, just feed 2 lizards

(Although depending on who you are feeding them bugs might be your worst nightmare)

Jaken and you buttheads all the time, it’s almost comical

The times you interact with him mainly consist of you telling him to leave Rin alone or him telling you something Sesshomaru said

Speaking of Sesshomaru you don’t see him often and the only times you hear from him are in the form of notes he leaves around the house to the degree of ‘I fed Ah-Un this morning’ or ‘Make sure Rin takes her vitamins’ 

The other times you “hear” from him are when Jaken comes by saying things like ‘Lord Sesshomaru has requested that you prepare Rin to go out’

And for a while you were like who tf does he think he is because like yea he pays most of the rent but like he isn’t paying you for this so why does he think he can order you around indirectly

The first time you see Sesshomaru, it’s late and Rin’s been asleep for hours.

You walked into the kitchen and didn’t bother with turning the lights on but then you heard the smallest shuffle and a groan

And the moonlight comes through the window at the perfect angle and it reflects so beautifully off his silver hair

He turs some and you see his face and immediately take back all the times you’ve cussed him out mentally

And the you realize you’re in your pajamas staring at this man you’ve never met before that’s sleeping on the couch. For all you know he could be some random guy who broke in

He looks so peaceful that you loathe to disturb it but you poke at him w a stick and he groans out something to the tune of “Go away Jaken”

“I’m not Jaken”

He immediately sat up and stared at you like he was trying to figure out who you were in his head for a moment 

“Don’t you want to sleep in your room?” you asked him. He stood up and begun to walk towards his room in response 

You just watched him walk away but before he turned the corner into the hallway you swear you heard him say “You should get some sleep too.”

[teaplease1717]

Ashes of Love and War - Ch 9

Art by the amazing @rennomiya​

Story: Ashes of Love and War

Chapter: 9 / ?

Couple: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo (TodoMomo)

Rating: M (for language and violence)

Betas: @flourchildwrites​ (Link)  & C’s Melody (Link) and 666-HyuugaNeji-999 (Link)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638800/chapters/59830819

Sorry for the slightly late chapter, I’ve been busy with the TodoMomo Mini Bang, but I got this wonderful picture from Rennomiya to say thank you! 

If you haven’t heard of it, the Mini Bang is a collaboration between incredibly talented writers and artists to produce new TodoMomo content and the posting dates are from June 14th to July 13th! Works are tagged to the TodoMomo Mini Bang 2020 collection on Archive of Our Own, if you want to look up the amazing works. Also, if you care to get involved, feel free to pledge to become a Book Club member. Basically, you’d agree to like, reblog and/or comment on a couple of our wonderful teams’ creations. :)

Also, thank you to my wonderful betas: Flourchildwrites and C'sMelody. And thank you to 666-HyuugaNeji-999 for doing a preview read to make sure everything flowed.

XXXXXX

Chapter 9: We Can (Not) Comfort

XXXXXX

29 days post the fall of Troy

Fucking Kaminari. 

Shouto leaned back in the tub and ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the red strands. He had tried not to dwell on it, but Yaoyorozu’s words from the night prior wouldn’t leave him. 

In truth, it wasn't surprising that Yaoyorozu’s friend had been on the receiving end of a god's unwanted affections, but the fact that he had taken her was. 

 Gods were only allowed to bring mortals back to Mount Olympus if they intended to keep them as consorts. Which meant that the god had fallen in love with Yaoyorozu’s friend, enough to marry her.

 He tried to recall if he had heard of any of the gods taking a mortal as a wife but couldn’t remember. After all, it seemed that besides starting wars, fucking humans was all they ever did.

 Shouto's jaw twitched at the thought. He closed his eyes.

 Yaoyorozu had never confirmed it was Kaminari who had stolen her friend, but regardless, it was clear that Kaminari had been sent to protect her. Shouto was sure of it.  But then — why use him? Was he simply a convenient bodyguard? Or was there another motive behind the curse? It couldn’t be that straightforward, could it?

 He ground his teeth and opened his eyes to glare down at the water. The bath had become cold. 

 There had to be a reason Kaminari hadn't simply whisked Yaoyorozu away from the battle.

 His stomach twisted faintly at the idea of the Erotes even thinking of touching her, but he pushed the feeling aside. He glanced at his weapon, Endeavor, leaning against the wall. Even without his godly powers, the Erotes was a decent enough fighter by himself. His sword, Chargebolt, had been given to him by Zeus and could release lightning-based attacks. He could have easily defeated the Athenians, but he hadn’t.

 Was he being controlled? Kaminari wasn’t the smartest of gods, but even he wouldn’t have done something so foolish as to curse Shouto on a whim. Would he?

 Shouto sighed to himself. He had always considered himself intelligent enough, but the mystery surrounding this was making his head hurt. If only someone was here that he could talk to — that he trusted. Midoriya or even Bakugo might have been able to dissect what was going on. 

 He flexed his fingers and stood up. 

 Not that it mattered. None of this mattered. He was still cursed for the time being.

 Shouto scowled at the knowledge as he dried off. Pulling on his perizoma, he picked up Endeavor’s sheath and grabbed his clean chiton, throwing it over his shoulder before walking out of the bathroom.

 It was almost dark outside. The fiery reds and oranges of the setting sun shimmered off of the tiled floors and bathed the marble pillars of the house in golden hues. The day’s oppressive heat had lifted somewhat, and a cool breeze flowed off the ocean. 

 The children laughed as they continued playing in the courtyard, getting their last bit of energy out before bed. A boy threw a pebble-sized bone into the air and proceeded to scoop up as many of the other bones as possible before catching the tossed one in a game of knucklebones. 

 Shouto watched the boys for a moment before a shift in the wind caught his attention. He raised his head and sniffed the air; his eyes narrowed. There were faint traces of magic in the wind. It wasn’t as heavy and oppressing as the stymphalian's. So a god’s. 

 A shiver ran down his spine. It felt like claws raking down his back. Shouto swallowed over the sour taste in his mouth and looked down at his hand. Ever since his fight with Dabi, he’d been crippled.

 His vision in his left eye had been impaired. It was healing slowly, but if it was too bright or dark, he had a hard time making out his surroundings. However, the deepest cuts were the ones no one could see; he still couldn’t use his magic. It was as if it had dried up. He had the memory of it, could still feel the sensation in his fingers, but anytime Shouto reached within himself to pull on his power, he felt hollow. It made him feel bare. Vulnerable.

 His fingers spasmed, and his hand drifted to Endeavor’s hilt. For the time being, all he could rely upon were his instincts and sword skills. His hand tightened on the hilt until his knuckles turned white. 

 It would have to do.

 He was strong. 

 “Hey, mister!” A high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts.

 Shouto started and looked down. A young boy with dark marks around his eyes and sharp teeth shrunk back. The other children stopped their game of knucklebones to watch. 

 Shouto rolled his jaw and forced himself to relax. He hadn’t meant to scare the kid. “What is it?”

 The boy shifted. Tamashiro, if he remembered correctly. He was half tempted to ask the child to save his question for later, but this was the first time any of the children had addressed him unprompted.

 The kid looked at his sword, then up at him and straightened. “You can fight, right?” the kid asked, lifting his chin. “Are you any good?”

 A small boy with short black hair and gold horns scowled next to him. “Obviously not if he ended up here,” he said, scoffing.

 “I ain't asking you, Kota,” Tamashiro snapped. Then he turned back to Shouto, and a small grin pulled at his mouth as he took a step forward. “Teach me! I want to learn to fight.”

 There was an audible pause, and then Kota stood up. “If you're learning, I want to too!”

 It was like a flood gate had opened, as all the other boys began standing up and yelling over each other. 

 “Teach me!”

 “Teach me too!”

 "I want to kill a cyclops!"

 Shouto stared at them in surprise as the boys surrounded him.

 He didn’t know what to say. He had never dealt with children before. But he couldn’t think of a reason not to teach them. They’d eventually have to fight one day, whether they wanted to or not; the life of a half-breed was dangerous. They’d never be fully accepted by the gods or humans. The only way they’d survive was by relying on their own strength. 

 The smell of the god’s magic hardened his resolve. Shouto curled his hand into a fist.

 The strong live, the weak die.

 Shouto nodded faintly. “Okay.”

 The children shouted in triumph and began shooting off questions at him. He shifted awkwardly under the sudden attention. He really wasn’t good at this.

 There was the click of sandals on tile.

 “Everyone!” The familiar voice pulled at him. “It's time to get ready for bed.”

 The boys had vanished before the speaker had even finished her sentence. Shouto turned to look down the hallway and tried to suppress the feeling of his stomach flipping as Yaoyorozu drew closer. 

 It was the curse, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, even as he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders begin to relax.

 “Oh, Todoroki?” Yaoyorozu said, then paused; her eyes grew wide. She dropped her gaze, then looked back up at his face and away again. Her face appeared flushed, and something inside of him reveled in the tinge of red that was spreading across her cheeks. 

 He straightened, smothering the urge to smirk, as Yaoyorozu shifted.

 “Are - Are you done bathing,” she asked, her voice slightly higher. The curse pulsed in his veins. She pushed her bangs behind her ear without looking at him. “Aizawa said to come meet him when you are.” 

 “Hmm,” Shouto said. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he watched Yaoyorozu nervously bite her bottom lip. He stepped toward her unconsciously. 

 Her eyes seemed to grow impossibly wide; her pupils were dark. She stepped back slightly, and he followed her. Her hand curled in front of her mouth. She still wouldn’t look him in the eyes, and he couldn’t suppress the part of him that wanted to see what she’d do if he cornered her. Would she look at him then? 

 He wanted her to look at him. 

 Movement behind her snapped Shouto back to awareness as Tokoyami appeared out of one of the side rooms. He looked at Shouto, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion, then glanced back at Yaoyorozu. She jerked and abruptly dropped her gaze to the ground, her hands twisting together in front of her. 

 Tokoyami turned back to Shouto; his stare was hard. And if he could read Tokoyami’s bird-like features, he’d say he looked furious. 

 Shouto felt the urge to scowl. His fingers twitched and tightened unconsciously on his sword’s hilt as he looked back at Tokoyami and met his cold glare.

 There was a long silence. 

 “Oh good, Todoroki,” Asui’s croaking voice suddenly interrupted, cutting through the tension as she stepped out from behind Yaoyorozu and Tokoyami. “Aizawa was looking for you, kero.”

 Shouto breathed deeply to calm himself before schooling his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression. “What is it? Did something happen?” he asked Asui.

 She shook her head. “Good news, actually," she said. Her tongue stuck out slightly from the side of her mouth. "There's an aurai here if you wanted to send your message, kero.” 

 That explained the smell from earlier.

 “Send a message?” Yaoyorozu asked, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked up at him. Her face was still slightly red, but her eyes didn’t flicker from his face as they had earlier. “To whom?”

 Shouto glanced at her. “I’m sending a message back home. To Sparta.” 

 “And you’re using an aurai to do so?”

 "Out here, the only way to contact anyone is to ask a favor from a minor god or one of the nymphs of the sky to carry it for you, kero,” Ausi explained.

 “Oh, I see,” Yaoyorozu said slowly. 

 Shouto stared at her for a moment before turning back to the nereid. “And you’re sure this aurai can be trusted?” Shouto asked skeptically.

 “Kero.” Asui pressed her finger to her chin. “Hado Nejire has helped Aizawa with small tasks before. It shouldn’t be a problem for her to bring your message back to Sparta.”

 In truth, he hated dealing with aurai — they were airheaded and generally unreliable, not to mention taxing to deal with. Out of all the nymphs, the aurai were the most energetic and nosy. Two characteristics Shouto hated. But, he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to contact Midoriya.

 He sighed to himself. “Where can I find her?” 

 “She’s out front right now.” Asui paused and looked him up and down. "And you should put on your chiton, kero," she added, her slightly croaking voice teasing.

 Shouto raised a brow questioningly, but Asui just smiled up at him, pressing her index finger to her lips as if she was letting him in on some sort of secret that he wasn’t understanding. Shouto didn’t dwell on it as he slipped on his clothes before going to find Aizawa and the aurai. As he passed, he glanced back at Yaoyorozu, but Tokoyami stepped in front of her. His eyes were narrowed in disdain.

 Shouto’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t miss this chance.

 He stepped out into the fading sunlight. The smell of magic abruptly intensified. It smelled sweet and fresh, like myrtle, and he looked up. Aizawa was standing by the statue of Hephaestus, talking to a woman who was floating in the air. She had long flowing hair that fell past her knees and gleamed lilac in the fading sunlight.  

 Shouto moved closer.

 “They said they’re on their way,” the woman said with a giggle. 

 He could see Aizawa nod. “Good.”

 The woman looked up, spotting him. Her eyes went wide, and she hurried closer until her face was centimeters from his. “Oh! Who are you? You’re so handsome. But that scar!” she said, circling him with child-like curiosity.

 Shouto scowled and threw her a sharp look that she ignored. 

 “Todoroki,” Aizawa said, turning. “This is Hado Nejire.”

 “Hello! Hello!”

 Shouto nodded stiffly in greeting. 

 “Nejire can take the message for you,” Aizawa said, his voice dull.

 The woman twirled in the air, unperturbed. “Of course! Leave it to me,” she said, giving him a mock salute. 

 Shouto sighed to himself, the sound barely audible. He hated dealing with aurais. He rolled his jaw and looked back at the sky nymph. “I need you to deliver a message to Midoriya, one of the princes of Sparta.”

 Nejire nodded eagerly. 

 Shouto paused. The aurai had poor memories, so it wasn’t likely that she’d remember anything complicated. “Tell him that I’m okay and heading home. If everything goes as expected, I should be home before winter.” 

 He paused, his eyes sliding to the side to look discreetly at Aizawa. Shouto didn’t want to let the old man know more than he needed to, but the sinking feeling in his stomach said that Aizawa already knew. 

 The older man was far too smart for Shouto’s liking. 

 He brought his hand to rest upon Endeavor’s hilt as his gaze flickered back to the aurai. “And ask him how much he knows about Kaminari and his powers.”

 “Kaminari?” Nejire asked, blinking in surprise. “Hmm. I don’t get it.” She tapped her lip with her pointer finger. Then she smiled at him. 

 “But okay!” she said gleefully, almost bouncing. “Anything else?”

 “No.” His tone was clipped.

 “Okay! I’ll be off then!” She spun and gave Aizawa another mock salute. “Bye bye!” she half-sang as her body shimmered and then disappeared with a soft pop.

 Shouto watched the space where the nymph had been for a moment longer before turning towards Aizawa. 

 The older man was staring at him, his expression closed but eyes calculating. Shouto stiffened. It felt like a lump of dread had formed in his throat. If it wasn’t clear how much Aizawa knew before, it was now. He swallowed hard. 

 “I’m taking Asui and Tokoyami for the first watch. You and Yaoyorozu have the second shift,” Aizawa said, abruptly changing the topic. 

 Shouto felt his shoulders relax slightly, and he nodded. “Something has changed.” There was an unspoken question in his tone.

 Aizawa looked out towards the ocean. “Nothing for now,” he said at length. “But, I have a bad feeling. Ever since you all arrived, the stymphalian have been acting strangely. They’ve only been sending the omegas and gammas of their flock to attack. It doesn’t make sense. It’s almost like they are waiting for something, but I don’t know what.”

 “Do you think they are testing us?”

 “Possibly.” Aizawa tilted his head back, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “They could be weary and trying to determine how strong you three are.”

 “Perhaps,” Shouto agreed as he turned to look fully at him. “It hasn’t always been like this, has it?” 

 Aizawa didn’t look at him, and Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “What’s changed?” 

 Aizawa didn’t say anything. 

 Shouto studied him silently. He debated pushing Aizawa for more information. The older man was entirely too secretive for his liking, but Shouto knew he wouldn’t say anything unless he wanted to. 

 He scowled. Shouto hated people like Aizawa. He couldn’t read the older man at all. He was better with straightforward people like Bakugo. At least he always knew where he stood and what Bakugo wanted. 

 Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention as Asui and Tokoyami emerged from the house. 

 "We’re heading out.” Aizawa looked back at him, breaking the silence. "Do a full sweep of the grounds. We need to be extra vigilant until we figure out what is going on.”

 Shouto nodded and watched the three disappear over the ridge before he turned to go check the perimeter of the house.

 xxxxxxx

 It was getting late, and the moon was shining brightly by the time Shouto finished checking the grounds. There had been faint traces of something in the bushes surrounding the house. 

Someone had been watching them. 

Yet, it was too dark for him to be able to track down whatever it was until morning. He’d have to bring it up to Aizawa when he returned. 

Shouto’s jaw twitched as he returned to the house. The place was silent. Yaoyorozu must have retired after putting the children to bed. 

It would be another four or five hours until Aizawa and the others returned. He might as well try to sleep as well. The night prior, he had only slept for two hours before he became restless. And the night before that, Shouto slept even less. 

He made his way towards the courtyard and paused. 

Yaoyorozu was standing under the veranda. The moonlight caught in her dark hair and cast her profile in silver. She was staring up at the cloudless night sky.

She looked ethereal, and Shouto could feel his heartbeat stutter as he gazed at her silently for several seconds before stepping out of the house. “Yaoyorozu.”

She jerked and whirled around to look at him. “Todoroki!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared me.” Shouto’s steps faltered, and he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry.” 

Yaoyorozu shook her head, her posture relaxing. “It's okay.” She gave him a small, forced smile. “I was just startled. I didn’t hear you approach. Were you able to send your message?” “Mhm,” Shouto hummed as he moved closer. His fingertips ran over Endeavor absently, before resting his hand fully on the sword’s hilt. “I asked her to deliver a message to Prince Midoriya. To let him know we’re alive, and we’ll be coming home soon.” 

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I see.” She looked down and grew quiet. 

His eyes narrowed as he studied her profile. There was something off about her tonight. Shouto hadn’t noticed it earlier, so whatever had happened must have occurred while he had been out. He wondered if she'd tell him if he asked. 

Probably not. 

He sighed to himself. “Go get some sleep. You didn't sleep well last night."

She shook her head faintly. “I'm fine, but I could say the same for you.” She looked up and met his eyes. “You and Aizawa get the least amount of sleep out of all of us. You should be careful and watch your health.”

He scoffed silently. “I'm fine. There were worse nights during the war.” 

It was a half-truth.

Yaoyorozu didn’t say anything. He looked away as they lapsed into silence for several moments before he glanced back at her. Yaoyorozu was staring blankly out at the courtyard. He watched as her lips thinned, and she wrapped her arms over her stomach. His fingers twitched. “What are you thinking about?” 

She was silent for several seconds. “Many things,” she finally said. 

His hand tightened on Endeavor’s hilt when she didn’t say anything else. It had been a long time since he’d dealt with a woman’s feelings, but he vividly remembered that anytime Fuyumi refused to tell him what she was thinking, it meant something was wrong.

“Todoroki.” He looked up. “Would you tell me what Sparta’s like?” she abruptly asked.

Shouto’s mouth went dry, and he stood still trying to remember. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. He looked away. His voice was stiff. “I haven’t been there in over ten years — probably looks like any other city. Nothing special.”

“I see.” 

Shouto glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She looked almost sad as she continued to stare out across the courtyard. Her onyx eyes flat. 

Was she grieving? Remembering Troy and all those she had lost? Shouto swallowed hard. He had his own memories of the war. Of the people he had killed, those who had died honorable deaths of a warrior and those who had been too young to deserve to  meet Thanatos. 

He rolled his jaw. He didn't know how telling her about Sparta would help, but Shouto didn’t like seeing Yaoyorozu like this. He didn’t want her to suffer. The war wasn’t hers to bear.

He searched his mind for something to give her. 

“It’s pretty,” he began slowly. “The city is made of marble and limestone. And the pastures are rich, and the forests are filled with game, so we never go hungry. It… has its problems, but Midoriya and Bakugo, the princes, are trying to change things to make life better.”

Yaoyorozu looked at him. Her eyes studied his face as if searching for something. “And your family?”

“I’ve lived with my sister ever since Ares took me away from my mother when I was around six or seven.”

Her expression grew pained, and she dropped her gaze back to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “I’m used to it being just her and me.”

Yaoyorozu swallowed. Her hands tightened around her stomach. “And your slaves? How many other slaves do you have?”

“Just you.”

“And Tokoyami.”

“No, just you.” 

Yaoyorozu’s head snapped up, and her eyes widened as she stared at him. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” He lifted his hand off his sword as if he were reaching to touch her. His chest tightened. 

She glanced away, and he let his hand drop. “It’s nothing.” Shouto frowned. “Did I say something?”  She shook her head faintly. “No. I just - I just don't know where I fit in anymore.” “What do you mean?” he asked, studying her. “I…” Yaoyorozu dipped her head so that her bangs fell in front of her face, obscuring her expression. “Nevermind,” she said quietly.  Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

She shook her head again. “It’s not like that...I’m just....I’m thinking too much.” She curled a piece of black hair around her fingertip. “I’m just not used to this...” 

Yaoyorozu swallowed and took a shaky breath before continuing. “Back at the temple, I’d always be working. I had my job, and I knew what was expected of me, but these days...I...I just don’t know where I fit in anymore. I have too many thoughts, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do...” she choked, and her voice trailed off. Shouto swallowed hard as Yaoyorozu’s words hung in the silence. It felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He had never expected to feel as though he could relate to another so well, least of all, to Yaoyorozu. But, she was voicing the sickening feeling that had been swirling in the pit of his stomach for weeks. The war had stolen his youth. And now it was over, leaving him a warrior, a soldier, but without a purpose besides returning home. 

His fingers twitched. He had never considered that Yaoyorozu could feel the same sense of helplessness as he did. Shouto’s fingers curled into tight fists. “You were a healer, right? Back at the temple.”

She nodded.  “Why don’t you ask Aizawa if you can help him then?” She looked up. “Are you really okay with that?” she asked suspiciously. Shouto tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  She dropped the piece of hair and looked away, folding her hands in front of her. “Is it really okay for a slave to learn those types of things?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Shouto felt his stomach twist. He turned to fully face her and took a step closer. “I’m not the best with words. I’ve always felt that actions are what matter.” Her eyes darted up to his face, and Shouto swallowed. “So, I know my words probably won’t make you feel better, but, even so, I’ll just say that I don’t want you to feel like you have to suffer by yourself. If - if there is anything I can do to help, I want you to let me know.”

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widened as he brought his right hand up. His fingers, unfurling and half-hesitant, wavered for a moment before he brushed her loose hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to forget who you want to become just because you’re with me.”

She gasped softly. His fingers lingered on her face for a moment, and then his hand slipped under her chin to cup her jaw, lifting her head up. 

“Yaoyorozu.” Her name rolled off his tongue. He felt her pulse jump underneath his thumb. It sent a rush of excitement through him. “I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to take care of you.” 

She sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything. Her eyes were dark, almost pitch black. He could feel her warm breath on his face. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and he felt his heartbeat speed up.

Slowly, Shouto leaned down. Yaoyorozu was still underneath him, and his lips skimmed over hers.

“You’re mine. Let me care for you,” he whispered as he kissed her.

 XXXXX

 Ahh! So they finally kissed again! I was really thinking of making us all suffer longer, but I was itching for a little romance. And since the chapter is a little slow otherwise, I hope you all liked it. :P

 Notes:

Aurai - nymphs of cool breezes.

Erotes - The Erotes are a collective of winged gods associated with love and sexual intercourse in Greek mythology. Kaminari is one of the Erotes.

Hephaestus - was the god of fire, metalworking, stone masonry, forges and the art of sculpture. He was also the patron of cripples and outcasts.

Knucklebones - a game similar to jacks or fivestones, but played with the ankle-bones of goats or sheep. 

Perizoma - A loinclot

Thanatos - Thanatos, in ancient Greek religion and mythology, the personification of death.

[cosmicbug379]

Today, Life is Good

It is 12:26 am, but here I am posting this fic anyway because I’m impatient. Here we go, another Boromir fic but this one is happy! YAY! I did not proofread this, because that is who I am as a person and I should probably get a beta reader or someone to edit these, but here we are. I like this fic. It’s a bit longer, and I have a lot of feelings, but I liked writing this! I hope you guys enjoy it and I hope it’s not too long or too weird or something.

Fandom: Lord of the Rings 

Pairing: Boromir x reader

Words: 2560

Rating: T 

Warnings: mentions of injuries, pretty large portion takes place in the Houses of Healing, but nothing is too crazy graphic, suggestive language, mentions of sex (but no actual smut)

There was a long night ahead of you after the battle that had raged on Pelennor Fields and through the city of Minas Tirith. As a healer, you hadn’t fought in the battle, but now the wounded were coming into the Houses of Healing in droves and you weren’t sure how you would keep up. 

You helped everyone you could, but there were so many wounded, you knew that it would be impossible to save everyone. You worked your way through the soldiers, beginning with the worst of the injuries. There were many you recognized, men of Gondor who had fought for their home. But there were many you didn’t recognize as well. The people of Rohan had arrived to help it seemed, and you were sure you would have lost the battle without them.

You were helping one man with a head injury who told you that an army of the dead had arrived from the river, cutting down all the orcs in their path and even swarming and killing the Mûmakil with ease. You told him that perhaps he hit his head harder than originally thought, but then one of the Riders of Rohan who was close by confirmed the man’s story. He said that a man named Aragorn had left them at Dunharrow and taken the paths of the dead, later arriving at the battle with the Oathbreakers behind him. Part of you had never believed the legends of the army that Isildur had cursed, but if they had won the battle for Minas Tirith, you were glad the legends were true.

You kept working through the night, barely stopping in an effort to help as many people as possible. You heard someone shouting for you and you hurried over to find a man cradling an injured woman. She was hurt badly, she was barely breathing. You learned she was the princess of Rohan and the man cradling her was her older brother. You managed to pry Éomer away from his sister far enough to examine her. You weren’t sure that Éowyn would survive.

“This is beyond my skill to heal,” you said sadly, looking at Éomer. “We need athelas to even begin the healing. This looks like the Black Breath.”

Éomer wailed in anguish and you felt terrible, you had seen similar wounds on men who had come too close to the Nazgûl in the battle at Osgiliath a few days ago when the orcs had taken the city on the river. Those men hadn’t survived.

“I can heal her,” you heard a voice say behind you. 

Turning, you looked up at the man. He didn’t look like much, but you heard Éomer speak to him and say his name. This was Aragorn, the ranger from the north, raised among elves for a time and apparently Isildur’s heir. 

You stood aside and let him take over, rushing off to find some athelas to aid him in healing the woman. When you returned to Aragorn with the needed herb, there was another man standing nearby. You dropped the athelas and stared at him. It couldn’t be.

Boromir was there, standing right in front of you, very much alive despite what you had been told. When you didn’t hand the athelas to Aragorn, all three men looked your way. Aragorn just grabbed the needed plant and kept working, Éomer didn’t seem interested in anything other than his sister, but Boromir looked at you and your world stopped. He was here, standing in front of you. This was all too much. A combination of little sleep or food and the shock of seeing your apparently not dead husband standing in front of you caused you to faint right there in the middle of the Houses of Healing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t long before you woke up, and you hadn’t been moved far. Boromir had caught you before you could hit the floor and injure yourself. You sat up, looking around before spotting Boromir speaking to Aragorn next to you.

“This can’t be real,” you whispered.

Boromir looked at you and smiled, “It is real, my love. I promise you that.”

“You’re dead… They found your horn washed up on the banks of the river. Faramir was sure of it, so was your father. We thought we would never see you again.” 

“I am sorry you thought I didn’t survive, but I am very much alive and I would very much like to steal a kiss from my beautiful wife,” his smile grew, and you couldn’t help smiling yourself.

You kissed him then, trying to show him how much you loved him through that kiss. He responded in kind and held you close to him. You felt at home in his arms, you thought you would never feel this way again, thought you would never see him, but he was here and he was holding you.

“I should get back to work,” you whispered. 

“You need to rest. I spoke to Ioreth, she said you haven’t taken a break in far too long. You’re no use if you can’t even stand on your feet,” he said. 

You hesitated, but eventually agreed with him. You were exhausted, there were so many wounded and you had been working nonstop for hours. A small break would be alright. 

You held Boromir's hand tightly, like you were afraid he would disappear if you let go. He led you to a corner of the Houses of Healing that had been set aside for the healers to rest, guiding you to lay on one of the cots. 

"Don't leave," you said, maintaining your death grip on his hand. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he said with a gentle smile. "But I'm afraid if you hold my hand any tighter you may crush it, my love." 

You eased your grip on his hand and laughed quietly.

"I'm sorry, Boromir. I'm just afraid that if I let go of you all those nightmares will be true and you'll be gone. Pippin didn't even tell me that you were alive, I'll have to have some very stern words with him. Though, we barely had a moment to speak, and he's been following Faramir around every moment he got. I did hear him tell your brother that he admired you very much, so it seems both sons of Denethor are good at making friends with Hobbits," you said with a smile. 

"I am very fond of the little ones," he agreed. "I'm surprised Pippin didn't talk to you more, I spoke of you often." 

"I've been here most of the time. I was here when he and Gandalf arrived, but we didn't get a chance to speak. Ever since Faramir came back with the horn… I've been here, avoiding anything that reminded me of you," you squeezed his hand gently. 

"I'm sorry I worried you. The battle at Amon Hen was only 17 days ago, everything happened so quickly I didn't have time to write to you. And I didn't realize my horn would wash up on the shore for Faramir to find." 

“Only 17 days ago? So much has happened since then,” you trailed off then sat up quickly. “Faramir! He was hurt when your father sent him to Osgiliath, I couldn’t help him. It was the Black Breath, just like Éowyn! You must tell your friend to help him!”

Boromir hushed you and pushed you gently until you were laying down again.

“I will tell Aragorn, I promise. Our new king will not let my brother die if he can save him. Now you need to rest, my love.”

You had many questions, but your eyes were so heavy. You drifted off to sleep with Boromir beside you, promising he would explain everything soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days after the Battle of Pelennor Fields you had to watch your husband leave again for Mordor, and you were afraid none of the Host led by Aragorn would return, but they did return, twenty days later and they brought two more Hobbits back with them.

You spent most of your time in the Houses of Healing once again, but this time you watched over Éowyn and Faramir more than anyone else. Aragorn had taught you how to help them, using the athelas and changing their bandages often. They were both almost back to normal, and you found them together more often than not. You were happy for them, they deserved to be happy; they deserved to be in love.

When you heard the horn announcing the arrival of those who had gone to the Black Gates you ran out of the Houses of Healing, sprinting through the city to get to the Citadel before they did. They beat you there, and you stood, searching for Boromir among the many weary faces before you. When you finally did see his face, you called for him before running into his arms.

Boromir caught you with ease, taking a step back to steady himself. He smiled at you and kissed you the moment you were still long enough. You were out of breath from running to find him, but you kissed him back with as much passion as you could muster.

“You’re here,” you sighed. “You came back to me again.”

“I will always come back to you my love,” he whispered into your hair.

You stood together for a long time, holding each other tightly until finally you followed Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship into the Citadel. There were two new Hobbits with the company, you learned they were Frodo and Sam. Both of them were injured and on the brink of death, you worked alongside Aragorn to nurse them back to health.

Sam was the first to wake, his injuries were not quite so severe and he had not been carrying the Ring for months as Frodo had. Frodo returned to consciousness only a few days after Sam, and you found you very much enjoyed the company of all the Hobbits.

Boromir finally got the chance to apologize to Frodo for trying to take the Ring, and everyone was given the chance to recover from the long journeys they had been a part of. 

You learned many things from Aragorn, and became a better healer. Aragorn was very skilled, and the prophecies of the Heir of Isildur having the hands of a healer were correct. 

When you weren’t in the Houses of Healing you were with Boromir and your new friends. You liked the entirety of the Fellowship, but the Halflings were your favorites. They were wonderful company and Merry and Pippin were always energetic and happy to entertain you. Frodo and Sam were more reserved, but you found their company calming, and you enjoyed having tea with them every day. 

Gimli and Legolas were the strangest pair; an elf and a dwarf who were good friends was unheard of, but you loved them just as dearly as the others. The elf was calm and calculating, but he was also warm and kind and fiercely loyal. The dwarf was much like the few other dwarves you had met; loud and daring, and protective of his friends. 

Gandalf you already knew, and you were glad to see him again and spend time with him. When he would come to Minas Tirith while you were still a child, he spent most of his time with Faramir, who was always eager to learn from him. He was a wise and powerful wizard, even more so now than before.

Most of your time, though, was spent with Boromir. You had missed your husband dearly, and you barely let him out of your sight. He seemed happy enough to spend time with you, never denying you the opportunity and smiling at you every time you asked. Sleeping next to Boromir was a relief; you hadn’t slept so well in months. You felt safe and secure in his arms and that first night he was home you slept the whole night through for the first time since he had left nearly a year ago. 

You opened your eyes slowly, it was early and you were still tired; Boromir hadn’t let you get much sleep the night before. You felt his arm resting across your stomach and you turned to smile and watch him sleep a little longer. He had a slight smile on his lips, and you wondered what he was dreaming about. 

“I can feel you staring, my love,” he mumbled, his smile growing.

“I can’t help it,” you replied. “You’re very handsome, you know.”

“So you tell me,” he said, opening his blue eyes. 

“I’m right. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“I believe you.”

You smiled at him and kissed him deeply, pressing yourself closer to him. 

“Must we get out of bed today?” you asked sadly.

“I’m afraid that today it is very important we get out of bed, and soon. Aragorn’s coronation is today and it would reflect poorly on us if we were not in attendance,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You sighed heavily; you knew he was right, but you would much rather stay in bed with him all day. 

“Tomorrow we can stay in bed all day, I promise,” he said, as if he had been reading your mind.

“I suppose I can wait until tomorrow then,” you sighed. 

The coronation was a lovely affair; Aragorn was reunited with his love, Arwen, and all your new friends were there. Faramir announced his intention to marry Éowyn and they looked like they couldn’t be happier, in fact, Faramir looked happier than you had ever seen him. 

“Did we look so sickeningly happy when we announced our engagement?” Boromir whispered in your ear so his brother did not hear him.

“I’m sure we did,” you told him with a smile.

“Well I’m happy for them. I’m surprised it took so long if they were as close as you say in the Houses of Healing. We returned from the Black Gates over a month ago.”

“Well it probably took that long to convince her brother to allow it,” you said with a laugh. “Éomer still doesn’t look like he wants this to happen.”

“I suppose you’re right. It took nearly a year for me to convince your father to allow me to marry you,” he recalled.

“I remember,” you teased. “You asked him every day and when I finally found out you were asking I begged him to say yes. Finally he got so sick of both of us asking every day he agreed to allow it. I’m so happy he did; I’m so happy I’m married to you”

“I’m happy too, my love,” he smiled, pulling you closer. “And I’m even happier to be home with you. The world is finally going to know some peace, and we can be happy.” You nodded and pulled him into a corner to kiss him deeply. Boromir complied happily and pressed himself closer to you. 

“Perhaps, we could retire to our chambers early,” he whispered. “We could start trying to have children like we talked about before I left?”

“I don’t think Aragorn and Arwen will mind,” you smiled, taking his hand. 

The two of you laughed together, racing towards your rooms like two newlyweds; so in love with each other that no one else seemed to matter. 

Tags: @rzrcrst​ @opheliaelysia​ @rae-gar-targaryen​ @hdlynn​ if anyone else wants to be tagged in any future LotR fics message me or send me an ask or something, I will happily add you! Or if you don’t want to be tagged let me know that too! 

[angelsfalling16]

Criminal

Read on ao3

Tarot Card: The Lovers - my second fic for the @cotarot​ event!

Summary: Simon and Baz are stuck in a burning building, and they have to find a way to stop flirting arguing long enough to find a way to get out. The thing is, Simon is a superhero who seems to have lost control of his powers, and Baz is a villain, who Simon suspects set the fire.

Word Count: 5763

A/N: For the Lovers card, I wanted to play with the idea of soulmates, even though that accidentally became a secondary story line in this fic because I got a little carried away with them in the building fire. I hope you all like it!

Thank you @caitybuglove23​ for beta reading and for leaving some fantastic comments that still made me laugh today when I went to go copy the fic :)

Also, this is my 100th snowbaz fic on ao3!! :D

***

Simon was certain that he had gotten everyone out of the burning building. He had checked all the floors, all the flats. There shouldn’t have been anyone left in here, but as he reaches the landing on the third floor, he sees someone halfway down the hall.

He moves towards them, trying not to inhale too much of the smoke. It isn’t until he’s just a few feet away that he is able to get a better look, and he comes up short because he knows that person. He would recognize them anywhere, even without the usual getup that they usually don.

“Baz?”

Simon’s biggest rival. The one criminal he has faced and never beaten. The one person who gets under his skin more than anyone else has ever been able to. The guy he fought with all through school.

Baz turns at the sound of his name, and he looks surprised for just a moment before he schools his features and manages to look bored.

When Simon woke with his powers and decided to use them to help protect the city, he never would have guessed that his biggest foe would be the guy who taunted him for years.

They never even really talked in school, so he has no idea why Baz hated him so much back then. He would glare at him from a distance, never saying more than a few harsh words to him from across the hall. Simon never understood it, but it eventually got to him.

Simon began to hate him back, or at least he thought he did. Things with Baz have always been a little strange. He’s sure that he’s supposed to hate Baz — especially now that people see him as a superhero and Baz as the villain – but he isn’t sure that he does.

Not that anyone knows that Simon is the face behind the mask. (Except Penny, of course.) It took Simon a while to find out that Baz was the villain behind the flames, and when he did, he became just as obsessed as he was when they were in school.

He became intent on tracking him down, figuring out what he was up to, and putting a stop to his evil plans. There were one or two times when Simon was so focused on trying to find him that he almost let a different villain slip right through the cracks.

Penny has had to pull him aside on multiple occasions and remind him that he shouldn’t let Baz consume his thoughts like that. What she doesn’t understand — and what it took Simon a long time to see — is that there is something else underlying his determination. There is a feeling of...something that is pushing him towards Baz.

He can’t explain it. All he knows is that he can’t get Baz out of his head until he catches him.

He has been searching for him for a long time. It has been a while since they last met, and Simon was beginning to worry that he had left town. It turns out that all he needed to do was run into a burning building to find Baz.

It takes Simon a minute to snap out of the daze that he’s in and speak again. He thinks Baz said something, but he doesn’t know what, so he has to try to remember why he came running back into the building.

“Have you seen a cat?”

“A cat?” Baz asks, quirking that annoying brow that has become as familiar to Simon as the suit that he wears. “Like in general or…?”

“I saved a kid, and their cat ran back in here. I have to find it.”

Baz rolls his eyes at the mention of saving a kid. “No, I haven’t seen it.”

“What are you even doing here?” Simon asks.

“I live here.”

“On this side of town? Not likely. Don’t you have like some big mansion out in the country or something?”

“That’s my family’s house. I moved out.”

Something about this doesn’t feel right. First of all, if Baz is running from the law, why is he just sitting here, living in a flat like his life is normal? Second, wouldn’t his family try to help him pay for something nicer? And keep him out of trouble? Or did they turn on him once he became a criminal? Third, this neighborhood is riddled with crime, which Simon supposes makes sense since Baz himself is a criminal.

Simon doesn’t have time to ponder any of this, though. Right now, they’re trapped in a burning building, and they need to find a way out. And he needs to find that cat because he can’t disappoint that kid.

“Okay, but surely you had plenty of time to get out of the building. Why are you still in here?”

“I was a few floors up, and I was looking for something. Then, I got trapped on this floor. The flames have blocked the path.”

“Looking for what?” Simon asks. That’s when he notices that Baz is holding something in his hand. He wants to get a closer look, but Baz quickly pockets it when he sees Simon’s interest in the item. Simon thinks it’s a scarf, which is a peculiar item to risk your life for.

“None of your business,” he says, leaning against the wall like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Like there isn’t a fire surrounding them.

Simon grits his teeth. “Whatever. Come on, let’s get out of here.

“Great, the Snow Prince is here to save me.” He says ‘snow prince’ like it’s a dirty word.

“It’s what I do.”

“Even villains?”

“I don’t care what you are, I’m not going to let you die.”

“But if I die, you won’t have to worry about chasing after me anymore. You will finally win.”

“If I let you die, I wouldn’t be a hero.”

“You should really get over the whole hero thing. One day, you’ll end up dead.”

“Is that a threat?”

Baz laughs coldly, pushing himself away from the wall to glare at Simon full-on. “I’m not a killer.”

“Right. You just commit petty crimes.”

“And I get away with it.” Simon wants to punch that irritating smirk off of his face.

“Not anymore. Once we get out of here, I’m taking you in.”

“And how exactly do you plan on getting out of here?”

“Uhh…” Right. The fire.

Simon runs through it in his mind. The fire seemed to have started somewhere above where they are now, and it spread down the side of the building, taking over the first floor. Basically, it’s surrounding them, and their hope for getting out is looking kind of bleak. There is only a matter of time before it reaches them.

“Can’t you put it out?” Baz suggests when Simon hasn’t said anything.

“Not exactly.” Simon looks down, scratching at the back of his head, seemingly nervous all of a sudden.

“Why not? You’re the bloody Snow Prince, aren’t you? Use your powers and put the fire out.”

“Uh, about that…” He peers up at Baz through his lashes, and those blue eyes behind the mask hold something strange in them.

The city is so used to seeing them full of confidence and determination. This is something else, something like doubt or maybe even a loss of belief in himself. Baz has never seen him look like that.

“What?” Baz asks, pushing him for an explanation.

“I seem to have lost control of my powers.” He murmurs it quickly and quietly, obviously ashamed.

“Can’t get it up anymore, is that what you mean?” Baz asks, smirking at him.

Simon blushes furiously, unsuccessfully attempting to hide it. “No. It works. I just—.”

“Oh, so you can get it up. You just can’t keep it up.”

“Would you please shut up?” Simon asks, but he’s fighting back a smile.

He should want to punch Baz right now. They aren’t friends. They aren’t joking around.

They are rivals, and they are very much still in the middle of a burning building.

“It’s alright, Snow. Everyone has those days. Not me, of course, because I’m perfect.”

“Oh, is that why you’re out here being a criminal, then? Because you’re so perfect?”

“What’s not perfect about that? You still haven’t managed to catch me.”

“I have you cornered now, don’t I?”

Baz laughs, and the sound echoes off the walls around them. “You think that the fact that the both of us are about to go up in flames is you catching me? That is a really low bar you’ve set for yourself, but sure, enjoy it for however long we have left.”

Simon glares at him but doesn’t say anything else because they can’t keep standing in this hall. The fire is going to reach them eventually. They need to find a way to get out of here.

“Can’t we go back the way you came?” Baz asks.

Simon shakes his head. “No, the flames swallowed up the door as I turned the corner. The whole first floor is probably in flames now.”

“So, what do we do then?”

“Jump from a window?”

“Sure. You jump first and break my fall.”

“Not likely,” Simon says with a glare. He never seems to stop glaring at Baz.

“Then, think of a better plan.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with anything.”

“I’m not the one who ran into a burning building.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly run out of it either.”

“I was working on it, but like you said, we’re trapped.”

“I don’t get why you didn’t just leave in the first place. No item is worth your life.”

“It’s not just an item.”

“Whatever. Let’s just get out of here,” Simon says, turning and beginning to look for a way out.

“Simon, look out!” Baz shouts, a moment before he crashes into Simon, knocking them both out of the way of a part of the ceiling that has just fallen. They land on the ground, Baz sprawled out on top of him.

“Is that what it feels like to save someone?” Baz groans. “Gross. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Y-you saved my life,” Simon chokes, turning to look at him, sounding breathless from the fall they just took.

“Obviously.”

“And you said Simon.”

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“How do you know that?” Simon tries to jerk away from him, but the weight of Baz’s body prevents him from moving.

“Because I’m not an idiot,” he says before rolling off of Simon and getting back up to his feet.

“How long have you known?” Simon asks, standing up beside him.

“Long enough. It’s amazing the whole world doesn’t know. It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? I mean, your last name is Snow after all.”

Simon growls, but Baz ignores him.

What he doesn’t say is that it was Simon’s eyes that ultimately tipped him off. Those extraordinarily ordinary blue eyes. There is nothing special to them, but Baz spent years staring into them, so he would recognize them anywhere.

“That could just be a coincidence. How did you—?”

Baz cuts him, attempting to distract him. “Oh, is that a new suit? It’s looks good on you.”

“Um, yeah. It is. Thank you.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Whatever. You and I both know that there’s a part of you that means it.”

“What would possibly make you think that that is true?”

“The fact that we’re in the middle of a burning building and you stopped to notice what I was wearing.”

“There isn’t much else to look at.”

“Just admit it. You like to look at me.”

“Quit flirting and kill me already.” Baz rolls his eyes like he’s annoyed with this whole conversation, he doesn’t quite sound as disgusted as he meant to.

“I-I wasn’t flirting,” Simon says, completely flustered.

“Mhmm. Sure. Then, why do you care whether I like to look at you?”

“I-I don’t. Y-you were the one who—.”

“It’s okay to admit it.”

“You’re the one who said I looked good.”

“Well, you are looking a little hot today. I can practically see the smoke coming off of you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly.”

Baz takes a step away from him just as another part of the ceiling gives way above him.

Simon rushes forward to try to push him out of the way like Baz did for him, but he isn’t fast enough.

Luckily, it’s mostly plaster that rains down upon him.

“I just washed this!” Baz says, patting at his hair as dust and ash rains down on him.

It’s Simon’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, get over it.”

“Excuse you?”

He turns a glare on Simon, one hand pushing through his hair to try to clear of it dust, and Simon thinks it’s criminal how good he looks even with the plaster in his hair.

He shakes that thought from his head and tries to focus on the matter at hand.

“If you hadn’t set this fire, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

“I didn’t set it.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you’re a criminal? Because your whole MO is fire?!”

“I don’t set them. And I’d have to be a right idiot to set one with myself trapped in the building.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you are currently my number one suspect.”

Right at that moment, some more debris rains down, falling onto Simon this time. Baz laughs, and Simon is sure that he has never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. And he isn’t sure why he thinks that. He’s supposed to hate Baz, so why do these thoughts keep creeping in?

Baz is a criminal for fuck’s sake. (That doesn’t change how he looks or sounds, a voice inside Simon’s head points out, and he growls.)

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Simon says.

“A little bit.”

“And you expect me to believe that you didn’t set the fire?”

“What will it take to make you believe me?”

“Nothing! You’re a criminal and a liar.”

“I am so much more of that.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I do not have to explain myself to you.”

Simon glares quietly.

“Look, you have every right to suspect me, but can we please just get out of here?”

Simon wants to protest, but they’re quickly running out of time. “Fine,” he says begrudgingly.

“Truce?”

“Only until we get out of this.”

Baz holds out his hand, and Simon frowns at it.

“Shake on it,” Baz says.

Simon hesitates before taking his hand, shaking it once before letting it go. He’s surprised to find that even through the material of his suit, he can feel how cold Baz’s hand is.

That’s strange. Someone who can control fire is freezing.

He supposes it’s the opposite for him. He typically runs warm, but his powers are cold.

“We should move away from where I came from,” Simon says, clearing his throat. “The fire has taken over that entire side of the building.”

“Okay. Lead the way,” Baz says, and Simon does.

“So, how did you become a hero?” Baz asks conversationally as they begin moving carefully down the hall towards the stairs at the opposite side in the hopes that it hasn’t been completely taken over by flames.

“I don’t know I just woke up one day, and I had these…these powers.”

“That I get. Why did you choose to become a hero?”

“Why did you choose to become a villain?” Simon counters.

“Villains have more fun, of course. Plus, it’s a lot less stressful when you’re not trying to save the whole bloody world.”

“If I remember correctly, your family is rich. Why are you robbing banks and setting your own flat on fire?”

“For fun? And I didn’t set this fire. I told you.”

Simon decides to ignore the last bit. “Come on. I know you a bit better than that. I know you’re lying. You don’t do this for fun.”

“It’s not really important, okay?”

“It is when I have to keep coming to stop you.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t stop me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Simon doesn’t answer that because they’ve reached the stairwell. They look through the window on the door, and they can see the fire way down at the bottom. They should be able to make it most of the way down, and hopefully they will come up with something before they reach the fire.

Simon pulls open the door and starts to walk down the stairs when the flames suddenly rush up at him, building height and reaching up towards him, like they were just waiting for him.

Baz yanks him back out into the hall, pressing him up against the wall to keep him away from the fire.

“What the—?” Simon asks, wondering how many times Baz is going to save his life. Isn’t he supposed to be the villain? Maybe things aren’t quite that simple.

“Oxygen,” Baz says. “When you opened the door, you allowed more oxygen into the stairwell, feeding the fire.”

Simon is speechless, but not because he nearly just burnt to a crisp.

Baz is really close, practically keeping him against the wall with his entire body. Simon’s eyes flicker between Baz’s eyes and his mouth. He briefly wonders how soft Baz’s lips would feel against his own.

That is the last thing he should be thinking about right now, but Baz’s hands are still on his waist, holding him against the wall. He’s so close, and Simon wonders what it would be like to be even closer.

“You really should be more careful. You could have gotten yourself killed.” He’s scolding Simon, and he almost sounds like he’s really concerned about him. “What would happen to the city if that happened? They’d be lost without you. The city would collapse. You—.”

Simon cuts him off.

He leans forward and seals their lips together.

Baz’s lips really are as soft as they look, and they easily part against his. Simon is surprised when Baz doesn’t pull away, instead tightening his grip on Simon’s hips and pulling him even closer.

Simon swears he feels sparks, but that could just be because of how close they still are to the fire.

“Oh,” Simon breaths when he pulls away, something clicking in his head. “I like you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“That doesn’t change the facts.”

Simon feels something coarse through his body, and it’s more than the electricity he just felt from that kiss. It’s his powers.

Simon holds his hand out toward the stairwell and gives an experimental push. A blast of snow comes out of his hand, killing some of the flames.

He has control again.

Baz is relieved and immediately pulls away from Simon.

“Finally. Can you put out the entire fire?”

Simon nods. “I think so. It will be easier when we’re outside, so let’s just start with the stairs.

“Great. Let’s get out of here then.”

Simon follows slowly behind him, a little disappointed that that was it. They kissed, and then Baz turned away from him like nothing even happened.

He feels a bit used, like all Baz wants him for is his powers. He will probably ditch him as soon as they get out of here.

He hates how much that thought hurts. He isn’t supposed to like Baz. He’s a villain.

They carefully make their way down the singed stairs. Simon wants to stop down the stairs to release some of his feelings, but the one stomp he does nearly sends him crashing into Baz.

“Careful,” Baz says not unkindly, holding out an arm to steady him. “These steps could give out beneath us.”

Simon treads more carefully, and the walk down the steps seems endless. The silence starts to drive Simon crazy.

“What are we going to do when we get out of here?”

“I suppose I’ll be in search of a new place to live.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. What are we going to do about us when we get out?”

“There is no us.”

Simon has to pretend like that doesn’t hurt him. Like it doesn’t feel like a thousand tiny swords are being pressed into his chest, slowly puncturing his heart.

“But—.” Simon begins, but he has no idea how to finish that sentence. Did he really think that one kiss would change things?

“What, did you think I would suddenly change?”

“No, but I thought we could try to do things differently.”

“You can keep chasing me, but you’ll never catch me.” Simon isn’t sure if he’s discussing the relationship thing or the hero vs villain thing they’ve got going on. Either way, his response is the same.

“Then, maybe you should stop running.”

“Are you suggesting that I should turn myself in?”

“No, but I am saying that you should stop committing crimes. You could even come fight them with me.”

Baz scoffs. “Do you honestly believe that people won’t immediately recognize me? I would still be using fire, even if they don’t know that I am your biggest rival.”

“You can wear a mask. It’s like you said. People are idiots. They will never figure it out.”

Baz seems to think about it for a minute, and Simon starts to feel hopeful. Maybe this could work. Maybe they can actually do this.

“I will stop the crimes, but I won’t be a superhero with you.”

“Fine.”

“It can’t pay well, and I want to do something else with my life.”

“Like what?”

“I could teach like my mum or write.”

“Why not do both?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about it.”

“What would you even write about?” Simon asks curiously.

“A boy with powers. Superhero by day, boyfriend by night.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, well, I obviously wasn’t talking about you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“But I mean,” Baz says, his voice suddenly softer, “if you wanted to, we could…you know.”

Simon starts grinning like an idiot. “No, I don’t know. I need you to tell me.”

“Fine. Snow, if you’ll have me, I would like to be your boyfriend.”

“I would love that.”

They continue their walk down the stairs, Simon wearing a huge grin. Baz is hiding a smaller one.

Simon blasts snow every so often to fight back the fire, and by the time they reach the first floor, the fire has been put out down there. The place is effectively charred and almost unrecognizable.

Baz and Simon both seem to slow down as they grow closer to the door, unready to face everyone outside or separate. But Simon still has to put out the rest of the frie.

Baz turns to Simon, opening his mouth to say something to him.

"Meow?"

“The cat!” Simon says excitedly, startling Baz in the process. “There you are,” he coos, crouching down to hold a hand out to it.

Carefully, the cat comes closer to sniff his hand, hesitating a moment before pressing its forehead into his hand. Simon’s face breaks out into a grin as he begins to pet the cat before scooping it up and turning to Baz, who is watching him quietly from a couple of feet away.

"Let's get out of here,” Simon says.

"What? Do you plan to walk out holding hands with your biggest rival?"

"No one will know it's you. Besides, would you rather I carry you out bridal style? I'm sure it would make for a great picture, especially if you were holding the cat."

Baz rolls his eyes. "I'm not some damsel in distress I can walk."

"Good. Let's go."

Simon reaches for Baz's hand and receives a quirked brow in return.

"People will talk."

"So?"

"You're their hero. You don't want them to turn on you, do you?"

"If they can't accept me for who I am, that's their problem. I don’t want to be a hero of a city that turns on me because of who I like.”

Baz looks at him doubtfully, but he allows Simon to take his hand, and they step out of the building together.

***

Simon is feeling drained when he gets back to the flat that he shares with Penny a while later. He immediately goes to his room to change out of his suit, tossing it carelessly on the bed. Penny will yell at him for that later, but he can’t find it in himself to care right at this moment because he only has one thing on his mind right now.

He runs his fingers over his mouth, and he swears he can still feel the ghost of Baz’s lips. That kiss was so brief, yet it changed everything.

Simon smiles to himself and holds his hand palm up in front of him, wondering if it somehow changed one other thing. He closes his eyes and imagines the feeling of his power, pushing up and out through his hand. When he opens his eyes, it’s snowing in the room.

It’s not quite what he had intended, but it’s something. With a wave of his hand, he makes the snow disappear. He at least seems to have some semblance of control over his powers. He and Penny are still going to have to figure out what’s going on with it.

Speaking of Penny, Simon hears her moving around in the kitchen and decides to go join her, letting her know how it went.

She warned him not to go there, not when his powers are acting up, but he couldn’t not try to help. He couldn’t let the city down like that. Plus, what would have happened if he hadn’t gone, if he hadn’t raced in after that cat?

Would Baz have made it out, or would he have died in that fire? Would anyone have even noticed?

It hurts to think about that, so Simon pushes that thought away. All that matters is that everyone is safe.

“If your suit is thrown on the floor again, I am going to kill you,” Penny says when he steps into the kitchen.

“It’s not on the floor.” It isn’t a lie.

“Good. You need to take care of that suit. I can’t keep mending and replacing it.”

Simon nods. He’s heard this spiel a hundred times before. It’s only a matter of time before people start questioning why she keeps ordering the makings of a super suit. Someday, people will track her back to the Snow Prince, and then it will be no time at all before they figure out that he is Simon.

Simon isn’t sure what he would do if the entire city found out who he was. He likes protecting the city, but he also likes his privacy. He likes being able to walk through the city as an anonymous uni student when he’s not worried about catching criminals.

“What are you making?” Simon asks.

“Scones. I figured you’d be famished when you returned.”

“You’re amazing, Pen. Let me help.”

Simon moves to the sink to wash his hands, and he hears Penny gasp beside him.

“Simon, look at your wrist. Who did you touch? Did you take off your suit?” She sounds more worked up about the suit than his wrist.

“No, of course not.” Simon says, confused.

He looks down at his wrist, and that’s when he sees it. His soulmark.

Everyone is born with a symbol that represents their soulmate. It stays black until the first time that you have physical contact with them, then it fills with color and starts to glow faintly.

Currently, the little flame that has lived on Simon’s wrist his entire life seems to have come to life, a swirl of red and orange and yellow.

“Then, how did someone manage to touch you and activate that?” Penny is asking, and Simon feels himself blush.

It’s probably not best to admit that he was kissing his rival in the middle of a burning building.

“Umm, I actually tripped and fell on someone, and my cheek brushed their arm.”

“Oh, Simon. You have got to be more careful. You might hurt someone rather than protect them.”

“I can’t believe you actually believed that. Although, Simon is rather clumsy. I suppose that’s why he never managed to make the football team back in school.”

Simon and Penny both turn in surprise and find Baz standing in their kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She’s wielding her wooden mixing spoon like she is prepared to attack him with it, and Simon would honestly not put it past her to do so.

“How did you get in?” Simon asks. “How did you know where I live?”

“Your front door is unlocked, and I followed you.”

“Get out,” Penny demands, stepping towards him with her spoon.

“Wait,” Simon says, glancing down at Baz’s arm. He’s wearing long sleeves, but Simon thinks he see the edge of it. “He’s with me.”

“What do you mean he’s with you?”

“He’s under my protection.”

“He’s a criminal, Simon.”

“A reformed criminal actually. As of about thirty minutes ago.” Baz says it like it’s a joke, but Simon wonders if he really means that. Will he really give up crime?

Penny sighs. “I told Simon to stay away from you. I told him that it would be a bad idea to get messed up with you. He always gets so obsessed though, especially with you, and—.”

She stops when she notices that they have moved closer to each other and Simon has pushed up Baz’s sleeve to reveal his soulmark. It’s a snowflake, blue and white and silver.

“This is why I followed you,” Baz says. “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“We’re soulmates,” Simon whispers.

“Yes.”

“I should have known,” Penny says. “It all makes a sort of sense now.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. It at least explains your total obsession with him.”

“I’m not obsessed with him.”

“It’s okay,” Baz whispers. “I’m a little obsessed with you, too.”

Simon leans up to kiss him, and Penny groans.

“Not in the kitchen please. You’ll ruin my appetite.”

Simon frowns but pulls away from him.

“I have a confession to make,” Baz says.

“What?”

“I started the fire.”

“What? Was this all a trick so that you could make me save you?”

“You would have saved me either way. And I didn’t set it on purpose.”

“How do you accidentally set a fire?”

“Uh. I was baking.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a thing people do,” he says, gesturing at where Penny has returned to making the scones.

“Obviously not you, though, because you burnt them and an entire building.”

“Fine. It was for my sister. Her birthday is coming up, and I wanted to surprise her.”

“Oh. That’s really sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me now.”

Baz smiles and leans down to quickly kiss Simon again.

“Out. Now. There will be no kissing in the kitchen. That’s my number one rule.”

“I thought your number one rule was no eating butter with a spoon.”

“I would much rather watch you do that than have to see you two make out in here.”

Simon grins at her. “Fine. We’ll go to my room. Let me know when the scones are ready please.”

“I’ll be sure to knock first.”

Simon blushes. “We won’t be doing anything.”

“Whatever. Just make sure you lock the door. And use protection.”

“Penny!” Simon hisses, but she ignores him.

Embarrassed, Simon turns back to Baz and starts leading him towards the hallway.

“Want to go to my room?”

“Maybe I should be going.”

“Where? Your flat just burnt down.”

“My family’s house. Like I said, my sister’s birthday is coming up.”

“Do you have to go now?”

“I suppose not. It can wait a couple of hours.”

“Great. Also, maybe you shouldn’t tell your sister that you burnt down an entire building because you tried to bake for her.”

“Right. I should probably pick something up from the store next time.”

“I could help you bake something. I’m pretty good at it. I don’t set the building on fire at least.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“I appreciate that.” He smiles quietly at Simon, and Simon’s heart stutters in his chest. He swears one of these days his heart is going to stop because of the way that Baz is looking at him.

When they get to Simon’s room, he’s barely got the door shut before he’s pushing Baz up against it, reversing their earlier positions.

He pauses with his hands on Baz’s hips, keeping a few inches of space between them as he searches Baz’s eyes for something.

Simon wonders how he never saw this. How he never figured out that this feeling in his chest and his need to always know what Baz was up to might mean that he liked him. It was right there in front of him, but he couldn’t see it.

He’s glad he finally did. He’s glad that he kissed Baz in that burning building because if he hadn’t, how much longer would it have been before they figured out how they were soulmates? Would they have ever figured it out?

Maybe. Simon likes to think so. But that doesn’t matter right now.

Because they are here together, and that’s what matters, right? That they found each other and are happy.

Sure, it’s going to take a lot more than this to get through the things that they have been through – have put each other through with their fighting – but Simon is willing to put in the work. He wants to be with Baz, and he will do whatever it takes to make sure that their relationship works.

Baz is looking at him with a questioning look of adoration, and Simon smiles at him before leaning in and kissing him.

There are sparks, just like last time, but Simon is sure that this time, it’s because of how they feel and not because their lives are in danger.

Simon is still kissing him like his life depends on it, though. He’s putting his all into it because this is how he feels. He feels deeply for Baz, and nothing will ever change that. Even if Baz still decides to be a criminal.

Simon can’t help how he feels about him, and he doesn’t care what others would think. Because he likes Baz, and as long as Baz likes him back, that is the most important thing to him.

[pip-n-flinx]

Among Us

So this is going to get long, this is going to get personal, this is going to be about prejudice and race and self-serving bad-faith arguments and flawed rhetoric. And for all of these reasons I’m going to leave the rest of this under the cut.

As a few of my friends will know, earlier this week I was delivered an ultimatum from my landlord/roommate. He disguised it well, telling me he was ‘concerned for my mental health’ that my ‘negativity was dragging the whole house down’ and that I was simply too filthy to live with. I won’t pretend I’m a neat freak, and I can honestly say that I have taken some pains to clean more since, to his surprise and delight, though its particularly hard to take coming from him.

“You’re always so down. It’s making you lazy and thin skinned” You know its funny you should say that, now specifically, because I’ve actually been on the up and up this last week and you didn’t mention this at all in January when I was actually at my worst, or February when I was afraid I was going to have to quit my job, or back during the holiday season when retail work was breaking my back... Only now do you think to check in on me?

“You left a pair of gloves, a letter, and a small wooden trinket on the table!” Indeed I have, as you have left your pair of gloves, well over 21 letters, and regularly set your packages on this same table, including today two packages to be returned to amazon. I didn’t realize I didn’t get to use the table the same way you do.

“You don’t do dishes! except that you did this week, which is cool I guess but still!” You do realize that I actually hand-wash every dish I use within 24 hours of using it, right? And that often the dishes you come to me bitching that I never cleaned are in fact your fiances, yes? Ok good, next question.

“You’re always complaining about work. I don’t mind that you vent, but its all you talk about anymore!” I have either lost or walked away from 4 jobs in this last year, and that has not been easy, or fun. I have worked essential retail jobs the entire pandemic thus far. Additionally, in the months leading up to you storming out of your 75k a year salaried sales job, I had told you to leave it because I could see that it was killing you. You got so fed up with the job that for 4-5 months before you left your grandma-paid-off-my-second-mortgage capitalism-knows-best-pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-ass spent more time playing valorant and league of legends on the clock than doing actual work. Need I remind you that every time I stepped into your office, or simply stepped upstairs to get ready for work, you would complain about how awful your managers were, or how shitty someone had been to you over the phone? DID I EVER BELITTLE YOU FOR ANY OF THESE THINGS????

The real kicker was that the spark, the moment that started this (at least for him) was me trying to explain why racism and ‘cultural supremecy’ was bad. I had brought to him something I thought we could both agree on, that we could both laugh at. I brought him a series of tweets about how problematic Van Gogh was for studying and imitating traditional japanese painting techniques. He took this, and immediately turned into a piece of the culture wars. Now, I agree, this is an egregious example of trying to ‘cancel’ someone. How cancelling a long dead artist who couldn’t sell his art while he was alive is important is beyond my comprehension, its not as though the market value of these comes up very often, and almost no-one will ever have a chance to buy or reject a Van Gogh. But to him this was emblematic of ‘liberals’ cancelling Seuss and Rowling.

He even went so far as to say that Van Gogh probably ‘did it better’ than the artists he was studying/imitating. Now, this is a huge red-flag to me because this is straight out of the Nazi playbook. This is William Shenker, proposing a theory of music to proof ‘German cultural superiority.’ This, if you will pardon my language, is the real culture war: trying to supplant other cultures art and history with western figures and events.

Now, for those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about, this man is sexist. He doesn’t believe women are equal, complains about women’s sports, and rejects a woman’s right to choose. This man is a transphobe, questioning the logic of ‘safe-spaces’ and allowing people to change their pronouns. This man is a Trump supporter, and voted for him twice. And all of these things I found out years after we became friends. I have in the past contemplated what it would take to cut him out of my life wholesale. Despite our wealth of shared experience and our shared interests, we’ve been drifting apart as he drifts further and further to the right. And he has been drifting. He’s parroted more bad-faith arguments from Ben Shapiro and Tucker Carlson in the last 6 months then he ever did when I first moved in with him.

I have been trying to push back, especially when he says the quiet parts out loud. I try to let him know that it is not acceptable to say he would rather an unarmed black man die that risk that a police officer might be injured. When he compares the people in control of Seuss’ intellectual property and works choose to stop printing less than 6% of his published works to the book burnings in Mao’s china. When he says that its more important to protect teacher from students trolling them by changing their pronouns than it is to protect trans or NB kids. When he espouses his belief that trans and NB kids are ‘just mentally ill.’ Whenever he says any of this shit, I have pushed back. I have tried to halt, or at least slow, his descent towards eugenics and white supremacy and fascism.

It has been to no avail.

And to be honest its exhausting. I wanted to believe that he would trust me, not just to be a moral and thoughtful person, but to be educated and informed on these issues. We went to school together, spent countless hours solving homework and trying to crack games together. If I don’t know the answer to his questions immediately, he often jokes ‘C’mon, you’re supposed to know everything!” and has frequently told me that I’m selling myself short.

But apparently all that trust and all that respect goes out the window when I challenge him. Suddenly I’m ‘overly negative’ or ‘too sensitive’ or he’ll ‘need to look into that, but...’

And the thing is, he is capable of great acts of kindness. He offered to rent me a room in his completely paid-off house, no mortgage at all, simply because he could see living at home was killing my mental health. He offered me 50-75% off of market rate. He buys gifts all the time, has landed tenants job interviews, set people back on their feet, and refused to press charges for several major financial loses he’s taken on the determination that it would do more harm to the defendant than he could ever recoup from it.

But he does not extend this kindness, this generous soul, to everyone. And lately, his circle grows smaller, and his kindess has waned, and it’s been so devastating to see him slip further and further towards his own worst impulses.

I know there will be people who think I should have cut him out of my life years ago, who can’t believe we never talked enough to know that he voted for Trump in 2016. I think back then he was genuinely ashamed, or at least guilty, about that vote. Now? It’s almost a matter of pride for him. I can’t tell you the number of times in the last 4 months that he’s told me that Biden “couldn’t possibly” be as “great” a President as Trump.

And he hides behind this “praise them when they do good, cuff them when they do bad” line and I used to take comfort in it but now... Now it’s clear that it was just a front or excuse for liking these abhorrent people.

I’ve had a couple of hard conversations with some of our mutual friends about what this means for me, and how I interract with the whole group of friends as a whole, in the last 3 days. None of our mutual friends seem to take any of these things as seriously as I do, with my oldest friend even telling me that he ‘can’t imagine’ breaking a friendship off over politics.... I know I know, the caucasity of it all, yes ha ha. And it does make me genuinely worried that I’ll wind up losing the 5-6 close friends that I actually rely on these days over this horrible sonuvabitch. But all this personal venting aside, there’s something bigger here I want to address:

I sat down this evening to watch Last Week Tonight and I was struck by this piece about Tucker Carlson, because while I knew some of what was said on his show, he is remarkably confident for a man who spouts the quiet parts of racism/sexism/homophobia on TV. I have a hard time imaging a more blatantly racist thing to do then declare that a woman who suggested ‘dismantling systems of oppression wherever they are found’ wants to dismantle the American system...

And I have to say, we should go back to punching Nazis. I want these fuckers afraid. I want them to crawl back to the furthest reaches of the internet, relegated to be laughed at for their bigotry by pundits of every political ideology. I want their vile vitriol hidden away where it doesn’t embolden others. I want them to know that they are out of line, out of touch, out of time. I want them to feel ashamed, like the relics of a bygone and worse era that they are, and for them to quietly fade to an ignominious death. I’m tired of seeing them on National News. I’m tired of Pewdiepie’s channel and influence refusing to die despite all the horrible things he’s said and done. I’m tired of Ben Shapiro spouting off about a woman’s place and rights, as if he has any fucking authority on the matter. I just want these people to lose their platforms and their followers. And for me the fact that they haven’t yet is so incredibly discouraging.

I know I didn’t offer any answers here I’m just tired of being alone with this defeated attitude and I guess I needed to get this off my chest as I try to disentangle myself from the losing battle of trying to save a friend from alt-right radicalization.

[saradamnnnn]

Headcanon: “Sasuke Uchiha Jealous? No way.”

A/N: Wherein dinner between friends end up with a game of Truth or Dare, aided by a bottle of Sake.

—

Sakura let out a sigh of relief as she finally reached her office. Three surgeries within the day, plus hospital rounds! She was beat.

She reported for hospital duty at 5 AM and now, if the sky were any indication, she guessed it would be sundown soon.

As she closed her door, she realized there was someone in her office. She recognized him right away.

“Anata,” she said softly. Just seeing him made her feel a whole lot better. Sasuke stood up to greet her, it took no more than three strides for him to get to her.

Almost instinctually, Sakura wrapped her arms around his torso. With his one hand, Sasuke returns his wife’s embrace, pulling her close to his chest.

“When did you arrive? It’s a shame, you just missed Sarada, she was assigned on a mission.”

“Ah. I heard. I’ll still be here when she gets back,” Sasuke said, leading his wife to the couch she had in her office.

He had noticed how depleted of energy she was the moment she entered the office. He knew his wife would just give him an earful if he told her to stop working too hard, so he did the next best thing: subtly get her to rest.

“Oh? How long can you stay?” Sakura asked. She was leaning on his shoulder as she drew circles on the palm of his hand.

“4 days. 5 at most,” he said. He leaned his head on hers. She smelled like strawberries and isopropyl alcohol, a smell Sasuke has come to love because well, it was Sakura.

They sat there in silence, just being with each other was enough. They felt at ease, content.

“Sakura, the dobe told me something about a dinner tonight,” Sasuke said. His wife was about to drift into sleep but he didn’t want her to skip her meals, tired as she was.

Sakura’s eyes suddenly popped open and she jumped in panic. “WAIT— isn’t the dinner on the 13th?”

“It is the 13th today,” Sasuke said, his eyebrows furrowed.

“No, that can’t be? I’m certain today still has to be the 12th,” Sakura goes over to her table, which was cluttered with paperwork.

She still had to tackle a tower’s worth. She grabbed the file, the most recent, on top and read the date on it.

13th.

“Shannaro...!” Sakura exclaimed weakly. She thought it was an extra long day at the hospital, turns out she’d been here for two days.

Sakura plopped back onto the couch, not even bothering to prop herself up properly. She felt disoriented.

“Sakura, don’t tell me you’ve been here for days and didn’t even know it,” Sasuke said in an icy voice.

Sakura gulped and scratched her head sheepishly. “Want me to make you your favorite tomato soup later?” Sakura said with a grin, attempting to deflect her husband’s reprimanding glare.

Sasuke shook his head at his wife’s attempt. “You’re annoying,” he said, but a small smile escapes.

Sakura couldn’t help but giggle. “Shall we, Anata?” Sakura said, standing up and holding her hand out.

Sasuke takes her hand. “Ah.”

—

“No.” Sasuke was watching his wife make bad decisions.

Sakura groaned in annoyance. She and Sasuke stopped over at the supermarket to buy something for the dinner, which was going to be at Sai and Ino’s home.

Sakura thought it would be a good idea to bring sake.

“Aw, c’mon, Anata. I bet the rest already bought meat and whatever else for the potluck. We’ll need drinks.”

“Last time there was Sake, you and Naruto took turns puking on me,” Sasuke said with no fondness of the memory.

“That Baka Naruto thought he could beat me in a drinking contest! I had to fight for my honor, Anata!” Sakura said, but slightly blushing because she didn’t realize Sasuke remembered — but of course he did.

Naruto thought it would be a good idea to have a Team 7 reunion. It ended up with Kakashi bailing when Naruto was puking into a water fountain and Sakura passed out on the ground, on the small crater she accidentally made when she tried to save herself mid-fall. Sasuke was left to babysit the usuratonkachi and his darling, drunk wife — who told him “I can hold a drink, I’m not weak!”

“No.” Sasuke said with finality. Sakura pouted but Sasuke didn’t let her have her way. When her back was turned, Sasuke let out a little smile.

They ended up buying meat.

—

Sasuke and Sakura got to their home around 6:40 PM, the dinner was not for another 50 minutes or so; they still had time to bathe and get changed. Sakura showered first.

Sasuke thought his wife would be ready by the time he got out of the shower but when he does, he’s greeted by the sight of his wife, sitting on the foot of their bed, snoring.

She was clutching onto two dresses, still on their hangers: the first was white with cherry print, and the second a plain navy blue.

Sasuke couldn’t help but snort. His wife always insisted that “I don’t snore, Sasuke-kun. Shut up!” Sasuke used to have a hard time sleeping because of her snoring but now he’s quite fond of it, it made him feel easy, it was a way to know she was there. He still teased her for it though.

“Sakura,” Sasuke gently prodded, poking her forehead. Sakura opened her eyes slowly and immediately turned red in the face.

“Why are you so close!” She jumped back in shock. Sasuke’s face was only an inch away from hers. She knew it was so stupid for her to shy away from her husband but she still very much had a crush on him.

Sasuke rolled his eyes, quite amused. He gently pats her head and says, “navy blue,” as he walks out of their bedroom.

“Shannaro! You’re so annoying!” Sakura throws her shower slipper at his retreating back. Sasuke smiles to himself. Sakura was so fun to tease.

Sakura was left in their room, her face heating up to what seemed to be a thousand degrees.

—

Sakura walks out their bedroom and Sasuke’s eyes are immediately drawn to her. The dress fell gracefully on her curves, the dress stopping just a little above her knees. She was also wearing the necklace Sasuke got her; a dainty little thing, an Uchiha fan pendant.

His wife looked gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Sasuke looked away, feeling a little embarrassed that he was staring a little too intently.

Sakura couldn’t help contain her smile. Her husband looked so handsome in his black button down. He could make such simple clothing look magnificent. She went over to him and gently combed her fingers through his hair to fix it. It was sticking out a little, reminding her of his porcupine hairstyle back in the day. Her heart swelled with nostalgia.

“Ready now?” She asked. “I wasn’t the one snoring,” Sasuke said with a smirk. Sakura’s smile turned into a pokerface. She knew it wasn’t something Sasuke would lie about be she swears, she doesn’t snore!

While Sakura went over the checklist in her head, Sasuke was already by their doorway, wearing his footwear.

“All appliances turned off, stove is turned off, all faucets closed properly, the meat, house keys, wait where are the house keys?” She thought out loud.

She went back into the bedroom and found them on their dresser. This is when Sasuke noticed something about her dress. His eyes widened a fraction. He didn’t realize the dress had been backless.

“Got them!” Sakura exclaimed, ready to go. “What about your coat?” Sasuke asked. He felt himself grow a little overprotective and this annoyed him. But outwardly, he looked like his normal expressionless face.

“It’s a short travel. It’s fine,” Sakura said, not noticing what Sasuke actually meant.

“Ah,” was all Sasuke could say. It was logical, he pushed his overbearing thoughts aside. He did choose the dress after all.

—

The walk to Ino and Sai’s, even if it was only 20 minutes away, felt long to Sasuke. They had taken a shortcut, through the town square. So naturally, there were lots of people.

A lot of them recognized the pair, Sakura would greet them back and Sasuke would just nod in recognition. Sakura noticed the slight shift in her husband’s mood — she guessed it was because he wasn’t a fan of crowded place. She didn’t think much of it.

Sasuke noticed men were gawking at his wife. Sakura, enveloped in conversation, didn’t notice this.

Sasuke didn’t know if these men were openly doing it or they were just doing a poor job at hiding it.

Suffice to say, this put Sasuke in an off-putting mood. Sasuke moved from walking beside his wife to walking in front of her. Without realizing it, Sasuke had begun glaring at the men, who immediately avertered their sights in fear of the Uchiha patriarch.

Sakura noticed that Sasuke was walking ahead of her now. He always did walk too damn fast for her, much to her annoyance. He was 6 foot 2 and she was a mere 5 foot 4. Sakura took this as Sasuke getting impatient with their pace.

“Anata,” she whined in a small voice, he caught this. One look at her and Sasuke knew. She’s always complained about him walking too fast, “little legs here!” It was one of their squabbles back when they were traveling together.

Sasuke wordlessly went back to his place, by her side. What was the point of backless clothing anyway? It serves no purpose. Stupid, he complained in his head.

—

“Sakura-chan! Sasuke!” Naruto drawled as he watched his two best friends enter the house.

Naruto went in to hug them but only Sakura returned it, Sasuke stepped out of the hug in his lightning speed fashion. Sakura couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hi, Hinata! How’s Hima?” Hinata had brought Himawari to Sakura a few days ago because she had a fever.

Sasuke took the available seat which was next to Naruto, who already began to talk his ear off. Sasuke sighed.

“She’s doing better now. I think Naruto and Boruto annoyed her into feeling better!” Hinata chuckles.

“Forehead! I haven’t seen you in forever. I thought you wouldn’t ever leave your hospital cave!” Ino went in for a hug, with Sai tailing behind her.

“Wow, you don’t look ugly today, ugly,” Sai says, this earns him a punch from Sakura.

Sasuke used to be displeased whenever Sai called Sakura ugly. But he’s come to realize it was just banter between two friends now. If he didn’t know about Sakura and Sai’s friendship dynamic, Sasuke would have been livid over anyone disrespecting his wife.

“Sasuke-kun! When did you get back?” Ino asked in excitement. It was always a treat to have Sasuke over at one of their gatherings since it was quite rare.

“Hey, what about me!” Naruto complained, pointing at himself. Ino waved him off.

“Nevermind you, I’m so sick of your face!” Everyone, except Sasuke who just gave an amused smirk, at the table bursts into laughter. Because he was Hokage, Naruto’s face was everywhere.

Temari and Shikamaru enter the home.

“Sorry, we’re late. Some people are such a drag,” Temari says sarcastically. Giving her husband a dirty look.

Shikamaru smiles sheepishly. He got carried away with a game of Shogi with Shikadai. Mendokusē, he thinks. “Hi, everyone,” he greets.

(They began catching up and chattering about. This is when Kiba arrives with Shino.)

“We got the goods!” Kiba yells, raising up a case-full of bottles of sake.

“I tried my best to stop this. My apologies,” Shino says.

Naruto, Sakura, Temari, and Ino clap animatedly. The rest, not that excited for what was to come.

—

They still had a bit of food left, which no one was surprised of. Choji couldn’t come so they were bound to have extra food.

“I apologize, I have to head out first. I have an early class to teach tomorrow,” Shino said.

“Stay for a little while, Shino! We rarely get together like this,” Naruto said, but also aware he had a ton of work to do at the Hokage’s office.

Shikamaru chuckles because he’s just read Naruto’s mind. There was more paper in Naruto’s office than actual furniture. The adult life was really something.

“Honestly, when it’s past 9, I already get sleepy,” Shino shyly admitted.

“Oh boy, we’re getting old,” Temari says, amused. She could relate.

“Not me! I’m still so youthful!” Naruto exclaimed, still the only one chowing down on the food. Hinata stared at him adoringly, Sasuke and Sakura shook their head. He was still such a messy eater.

“Can’t believe this idiot is the Hokage,” Sakura and Sasuke thought in unison, they look at each other as if to see if they were thinking the same, and one look from each other and they knew. Sakura giggles and Sasuke hides his smile as he drinks water from his cup. Ino notices this exchange.

“You guys are so cute!” Ino expresses in glee. Sakura blushes and Sasuke pretends not to hear.

“Don’t leave, Shino! I’ll be outnumbered by the couples!”

Shino looked at Kiba blankly. “You already are. They came in pairs, you are single. Akamaru doesn’t count.”

“Hey!”

“That’s because you don’t get sleep, Naruto,” Shikamaru chimes in.

“That’s because I don’t need it. Sleep is for the weak ‘ttebayo!” Naruto shouts with pride. He flings his chopsticks in the air as he does this, this causes grains of rice to fly.

“Naruto-kun!” Hinata scolds, Naruto realizes the mess he’s made and sheepishly apologizes. “Sorry, dear! Hehe.”

“Why are you apologizing to her? I’m the one who’s gonna have to clean up,” Sai deadpanned. This earns a collective laughter.

“You’ve trained him well, Ino!” Temari howled in laughter.

“Hey, I help around the house, too,” Shikamaru piped in. Temari rolled her eyes at her husband playfully.

“What can I say? He’s helpful and cute,” Ino said, patting Sai on the cheek affectionately. This makes Sai smile.

The rest of them made puking noises. “Should we leave?” Kiba asked jokingly.

—

“Let’s play a game!” Kiba says, hauling the case of sake onto the table.

The lot of them beamed in excitement, except Hinata, Sasuke, and Shikamaru.

Temari rolls her sleeves up her elbows and Shikamaru visibly gulps. “Mendokusē. I already foresee the disaster,” Shikamaru said, scratching his head. Sasuke and Hinata shared Shikamaru’s sentiments. They didn’t need their kekkei genkai to see this was indeed going to be disastrous.

“Let’s get this party started dattebayo!” Naruto claps excitedly. He produced shadow clones to help set the dishes aside.

“If you puke on the floors, I will personally use you as a mop to clean it up,” Sai told Naruto with a smile. Ino bursts into laughter, she knew well enough that Sai was serious — they just had their floors done and Sai was borderline obsessed with keeping them spotless.

“Me? Puke? As if. I can take my drink, unlike some people,” Naruto said the last bit in a whisper.

“Excuse me, what was that?” Sakura piped in, feeling her competitive side pique.

“Don’t provoke her, idiot,” Sasuke said. He still remembered the shock he felt when he found out Sakura accidentally reduced their home into rubble.

“You’re so biased, Sasuke!” Naruto exclaimed, childishly.

“It’s just facts, Naruto-kun. I can take a drink better than you,” Sakura said with a confident smile.

“It’s true. Women can take alcohol better,” Ino piped in and the rest of the kunoichi agreed.

“Ohoy! Is that a challenge?” Naruto exclaimed. “That’s just not concrete fact,” Shikamaru added.

“So I suppose we have to see. You ladies vs us men?” Sai said

“Let’s go!” Naruto cheered.

“This’ll be easy,” Sakura said, cracking her knuckles. She went over to the other side of the table, along with Hinata. They switched places with Shikamaru and Sai.

Naruto noticed Sasuke didn’t show any indication that he was up for the game — which by all honesty, wasn’t out of character.

“Hey, Sasuke. C’mon!” Sasuke looked at him and shrugged, “my wife’s not weak.”

Sure, Sakura could get into such a drunken state but Sasuke knew she was much tolerant to alcohol than Naruto.

Sasuke’s comment earned hollers from the men and gushing from the women, Sakura looked down at the table, blushing at her husband’s compliment.

“So whipped -ttebayo!”

(28 bottles of sake later...)

Only Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Hinata were sober. Sakura was walking the fine line of being drunk & being tipsy. The rest were outright drunk.

Naruto found his way over to Hinata, plopping himself beside her. He then began poking her cheek. “Hinata-chaaaan,” he drawled.

“What?” She asked her clearly drunk husband. “Hi!” At first Hinata found it cute, but at the 11th time he did it, she smacked him off the bench they were sitting on.

Shino and Kiba somehow thought it would be a good idea to play Tag. They ran to the Yamanakas’ backyard with loud chuckles. The both of them couldn’t agree on who would be ‘it’. In the end, they decided they’d let there shadows chase them. It made no sense but in a drunken thinkinf, it was the best idea ever.

Sai decided to play some music on “Karaoke!” He yelled, he was now standing on top of the table. Sai, Ino, and Temari began singing their lungs out and swaying to the music.

“You sound so good!” Temari told Ino, who then replied, “You do, too!” the kunoichis then high fived.

But in reality: Temari was out of tune and Ino was out of sync. Sai, dancing on the table didn’t match the song’s rhythm one bit.

Sakura was the only one who was still drinking. She chugged two whole bottles all by herself and then some. She was currently finishing up the 29th bottle they had.

“Shannaro! How can you guys be such weakshits!” She giggled, raising the bottle in the air like it was a trophy. Sasuke decided it was nearly her drinking limit — if her pink cheeks were any indication.

Swiftly and quietly as he could, he took the last bottle of sake and hid it. At this point, he’s moved seats and is now sitting next to his wife.

He was holding her head up because it would lull back and forth, ever so slightly, every now and then. Her exhaustion plus alcohol intake taking its toll.

“A-anata. Where’s the last bottle? I’m going to win this!” Sakura hiccuped, now resting her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“It’s gone,” Sasuke said, he technically wasn’t lying. Sasuke was a little relieved that Sakura still had some of bearings, she was still aware of her surroundings.

“Oy! You kids come back here,” Shikamaru yelled at Shino and Kiba. Who to his surprise, listened, he guessed following orders was basically a reflex action for ninjas.

The rest of the drunk people followed suit. When Kiba reached the table, he eyed the bottle that was in Sakura’s hand, thinking it still had some contents in it.

“Awww,” Kiba whined when he realized Sakura had emptied it.

Sakura sees Kiba’s sad expression. “Don’f be sad!” She stands up, and gets dizzy by the suddeness. Both Sasuke and Kiba hold her to keep her from falling. Sasuke gets a tad annoyed. He can take care of his own wife.

“Don’t be sad! C’mon let’s dance!” Sakura told Kiba. Sakura was naturally compassionate person and it heightened whenever she had alcohol in her. She could see a dog in the rain and she’d cry for a straight hour.

Sakura takes hold of Kiba’s hand and they join Sai. Kiba forgets about the sake and gets lost in the frenzy of the music.

Sasuke notices all of this, his annoyance growing. He watched as Kiba and Sai put their arms around Sakura as the three of them jumped in glee to the music.

He was pleased that Sakura was enjoying himself but Kiba and Sai could enjoy themselves, at least a feet away from Sakura, too, he thought to himself.

“You lot settle down, come back to the table,” Hinata said gently, the three of them obediently followed.

When Sakura came back to sit next to him, he tugs at her hand from under the table, inconspicuosly pulling her closer to him.

“Truth or dare! We have empty bottles to spin now!” Kiba exclaimed, taking one from the pile that’s accumulated from the floor.

“Yes, twenty-nine to be exact,” Shino said, counting the bottles, swaying at his step.

“Sasuke-kun! See? Missing one!” Sakura whined.

“Shh, that’s enough,” Sasuke whispered in her ear. Sakura pouted and rested her head back on her husband’s shoulder.

Kiba spun the bottle and it landed on Temari.

“Okay, Truth or da-“

“Dare!” Temari slams the table and stands up as she yells this.

“I dare you to tell us the most embarrassing memory you have with Shikamaru!” Kiba chuckles

“Oy!” Shikamaru complained, his wife was incredibly blunt when intoxicated. He tugs at her sleeve to get her to sit back down. She ends up sitting on his lap, she was too drunk to feel embarrassed about it.

“This idiot brought me to a hotel for what I thought was our first date! I thought he was some kinda pimp! Turns out he was asking me to help choose a gift for your wedding!” Temari says with a laugh, pointing at Naruto and Hinata.

Naruto was half passed out cold, resting his head on Hinata’s shoulder, his mouth wide open, drooling. Hinata laughs, mainly because Shikamaru has turned three shades of red.

“Mendokusē,” he groans. “Pimp!” Temari teases him.

Temari spins the bottle with such force that it teeters off the table. Shino retrieves another bottle. “Good thing we have a lot of spare.”

This time the bottle lands on Sakura. “Dare!” She says with energy but her heavy eyes say otherwise

“Was there a time you got horribly jealous?” Ino asked, her arm around Sai, who was still animatedly dancing in his seat.

Sakura chuckles and hides her face in Sasuke’s shoulder.

He smells so nice, Sakura thought. Sasuke didn’t show it but he wanted to hear her answer.

“Well, when we were traveling, there was this inn keeper who openly flirted with Sasuke,” Sakura said, wearing a bitter smile on her lips.

Sasuke didn’t recall any inn keeper. He looks down at his wife with raised eyebrows.

“She asked you out for dinner while I was right beside you, Sasuke-kun!” Sakura exclaimed.

“You can be so dense sometimes, Anata. Good thing you’re so cute,” Sakura giggles, pinching Sasuke’s cheeks.

“Woah!” The group was so shocked at the scene before them.

Sasuke Uchiha, one of the deadliest ninjas in the world was just called... cute and had his cheeks pinched... and he let it happen.

Even Naruto sobered up a little due to shock.

Sasuke was paralyzed, his face heating up. To make matters worse, Sakura gives him a smack right on the lips.

“Cutie Sasuke-kuuuuun!” Drunk Sakura drawled. Very unaware of the fact that her husband’s turned into the very shade of a tomato.

“I really am drunk, did that actually happen dattebayo?” Naruto asked, looking around if anything he was seeing was actually real.

Luckily for Sasuke, Kiba pukes at that moment — diverting the attention.

“NO!” Sai leaps to his feet.

From there, the dinner took an official close. “Don’t worry, they’re all too drunk to remember this,” Shikamaru told Sasuke who was looking at his smiling albeit drunk wife with a facepalm.

Hinata made a zipping motion across her lips, indicating, what happened would be kept secret. Sasuke nodded in thanks.

“What about you, Sasuke-kun? Do you ever get jealous?” Ino asks, face on the table, clearly dizzy.

Before Sasuke could formulate an answer, Sakura beats him to it. “Sasuke Uchiha jealous? No way!”

Sasuke scoffs.

List of my SasuSakuSara headcanons 

[gellavonhamster]

terpsichore

explicit || Bertrand Baudelaire/Beatrice Baudelaire/Lemony Snicket || pre-canon

ao3 link || originally posted in Russian

“As to Remarque, I believe that All Quiet on the Western Front is overrated. The same could be said of Three Comrades,” Lemony argues as he unbuttons his shirt. “A classic case of everyone being familiar only with the books made popular by their screen adaptations. Spark of Life, for instance, deserves much more appreciation. So does Heaven Has No Favorites.”  

“Hmm. I share your opinion on Spark of Life,” Bertrand hangs his sweater on the back of the chair, sits down on the edge of the bed, and starts undoing his wristwatch. “But Heaven Has No Favorites… no, can’t agree. I found it rather superficial.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as one of those who consider any book centered on a love story superficial.”

“Please don’t put words into my mouth. I never said that,” Bertrand puts the wristwatch on the nightstand, under a pot-bellied table lamp with a motley shade, and turns to face Lemony again. Lemony is fighting the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, and it appears they’re winning this battle so far. “It’s just that it looks a great deal weaker when compared to his war novels. If it had been his only book I’ve read, I might have well thought of it differently. Need some help?”

“Be so kind,” Lemony extends his hands to him, and Bertrand unbuttons first the left cuff, then the right one. “Still, you have to agree that the problem of denying the inevitable or resigning yourself to it…”

“Snicket, why are we talking about literature when we’re about to have sex?”

“Well,” it looks like Lemony isn’t embarrassed or bewildered by this question in the slightest, “because Beatrice asked us not to start without her and I thought that while waiting for her, we could revisit our yesterday’s discussion?”

“If you’re not going to start without Beatrice, what are you doing with my belt?”

“Helping you unbuckle it, like you just helped me with the buttons,” Lemony replies, his face perfectly honest. “But I can stop if you don’t want me to.”

Bertrand catches his hand and presses it back to his belt buckle. Perhaps a little lower. Perhaps, not to the buckle.

“Go ahead,” he allows.

Beatrice lives at the attic floor of a house situated on one of the busiest streets in the city, but today it’s surprisingly quiet here. No noise of cars or tipsy passers-by coming from outside, just the sounds of the house itself: the ticking of the clock, the creaking of the bed, his and Lemony’s breathing, Beatrice’s heels clicking in the living room. It is as though this apartment has suddenly wound up outside of time and space, and it shall always be late evening here, an early spring outside the window, and just the three of them and no one else. A sanctuary, Bertrand thinks, running his fingers through Lemony’s soft hair as Lemony kisses his neck, each time near the spot he’s planted the previous kiss at, like applying brush strokes to the canvas. A parallel dimension that strangers cannot enter. He doesn’t know how to express this feeling of blessed detachment from the world, and he isn’t sure it has to be spoken about.        

“Why is she wearing heels at home,” he whispers instead, and Lemony’s quiet laughter tickles his skin.

“Because, my good sir, in my own house I can wear whatever, even a diving suit.”

Beatrice is standing in the doorway, her arm resting on the doorpost. Lemony rolls off Bertrand clumsily, and both of them reclined on the bed, they watch her twirl in front of them like in front of the mirror, providing them with an opportunity to get a good look at her outfit.  

“How do I look?” Beatrice inquires. She seems so pleased with herself, there’s something touching about it. Bertrand smiles.

“Gorgeous,” he says, and immediately after him Lemony pronounces:

“Ravishing.”

Beatrice is wearing a flippy scarlet dress, black stockings, and high-heeled shoes with ankle straps – a highly convenient model for those who have to hide a certain tattoo from curious eyes. Her dark locks are shining in the dim light of the chandelier and falling on her shoulders that are covered with a silvery shawl. Bertrand hasn’t seen any of the things she’s wearing before, except perhaps for the stockings and – certainly – for the pearl necklace he and Lemony gave her for her last birthday as a present from them both.    

“Are we going somewhere?” Bertrand asks, trying not to sound disappointed. Beatrice looks gorgeous indeed, but after the supper, when she pulled them both close, and with an inscrutable smile ordered them to wait for her in the bedroom, he imagined the rest of the evening somewhat differently.  

Beatrice’s face breaks into a smile just as inscrutable as earlier:

“Esmé and I did some shopping today…”

Lemony, who cannot stand Esmé, and knows the feeling is mutual, lets out an anguished sigh.  

“…and I decided I have to show you everything I’ve bought,” Beatrice either doesn’t notice his reaction or pretends not to notice. “Everything at once,” with that, she turns around and disappears in the living room again. Bertrand’s instant conclusion is that she’s forgotten to grab some other today’s purchase, but it turns out that apparently she went to put on a record, because the silence of the apartment is suddenly ripped by the sounds of saxophone. Etta James, Bertrand observes automatically.  

Beatrice appears in the doorway again and makes her way towards them, swaying her hips.

“So what…” Bertrand starts, and immediately gets hit in the face with the balled-up silvery shawl. He looks up in confusion – and meets Beatrice’s eyes as she begins to lift her skirt slowly, smiling with abandon and continuing to move in sync with the music.  

“Now I see,” Bertrand says, and shifts his gaze to Lemony, who is watching Beatrice spellbound and longing and doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. “So does it happen often?”

“Occasionally,” Lemony responds, not looking at him, and Bertrand cannot help but feel a pang of… jealousy? Not of him but of everything these two have already had before him and will probably have after him. Sometimes it crosses his mind that their strange union that came into existence this winter is something fleeting, that he, in contrast to Beatrice and Lemony and their love, is something fleeting himself, because so far everything in his life has been fleeting, and that must have left its mark on him. These are destructive, pestilent, suffocating thoughts – so is Lemony’s ill-concealed certainty that both Beatrice and Bertrand are too good for him and he doesn’t deserve either of them individually, let alone both of them together. So is Beatrice’s slightly better-concealed certainty that in truth, none of them deserves all of this, none of them deserves their fragile secret happiness because they all are murderers and one day all of this shall be taken from them, they shall be taken from each other. These thoughts are impossible to drive out completely; still, Bertrand puts the crumpled shawl to his face, buries his nose in it for a moment – the outfit may be new but the perfume is the same, Beatrice’s dressing room at the theatre smells just like that – and swears to himself at least to put them aside until later.             

“Do you also… occasionally?” he cannot stop himself from asking. Lemony chuckles softly:

“You know I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Eyes on me,” Beatrice orders half-strictly, half-playfully, and they obey, of course they obey her.  

Naturally, it’s not the first time Bertrand sees her dance. But the way she waltzes with him or someone else at another ball of the Duchess of Winnipeg, or dances Charleston with Monty in the Anwhistles’ drawing-room, has nothing in common with what she’s doing now. Bertrand isn’t even sure that could be called a dance: she’s flowing like quicksilver, moving her shoulders, her hips, her arms; she’s running her hands over her body, crumpling the dress; she presses her back to the doorpost and streams down it only to rise again. It seems like she doesn’t notice him and Lemony at all, although a stripper probably is supposed to… maintain the contact with her audience? Remind them that it’s all for them, stroke their ego? Beatrice could just as well be dancing on her own in front of the mirror, so whatever it is that she’s doing seems devoid of play-acting and very intimate, and Bertrand cannot fight the feeling that they’re spying on her and she doesn’t know.    

It is… thrilling.

She undoes her dress with her back turned to them; the zipper gapes open lazily, and after Beatrice frees her arms from the sleeves, the dress falls on the floor. Beatrice steps over the dress – and only then finally looks at them. “And I just wanna make love to you, love to you,” toils away the old record player, yet Bertrand still hears Lemony heave a sigh next to him and squirm on the sheets a little, even though it’s not like he hasn’t seen any of this before – it’s not like Bertrand hasn’t seen any of this before either, actually.      

Fine, they haven’t seen this lingerie set. It makes sense now what Beatrice meant by “everything she’s bought”. All black – stockings with a garter belt, silk panties, and a bra made of translucent lace which, judging by its design (the recurrent necessity to work undercover has broadened Bertrand’s horizons in regard to ladies’ fashion), supports adequately but doesn’t really cover anything. Even from the bed Bertrand still can see her nipples through the twirls of ornaments. That’s all really beautiful, but Bertrand is almost sure that if any other woman was standing in front of him looking like this, some other woman he has never seen in nothing but underwear, never seen without underwear, never held close and never tasted, that wouldn’t have had the same effect upon him. But it is Beatrice standing in front of him and watching him with her shining mischievous eyes and undoubtedly seeing with the naked eye how her little show affects him. Him and Lemony too, Bertrand notices when he turns away from Beatrice for a second and quickly runs his eyes over him.          

Beatrice bends down, swiftly unclasps the strap of one of her shoes, then the other, and kicks them off, careless.    

“Come on,” Bertrand begs in his head, though he doesn’t know for sure what he’s begging for.  

Then she makes her way to him. Perhaps she’s following some plan she has thought out earlier – after all, there’s nothing she enjoys better than coming up with some bizarre and unreasonably elaborated idea and putting it into action; or maybe she’s reading his mind, who knows. In any case, she hardly doubts he’ll guess what he has to do: at some point their ways, which had previously ran in parallel, crossed, and they found out they were great at taking each other’s hints.    

Beatrice detaches her stockings from the garters, takes the belt off, and throws it on the bed – Lemony reaches out to catch it but doesn’t manage to. Beatrice approaches the bed from the side Bertrand is reclining on, and puts her left foot on the bed without a word, her knee bent. For a moment her eyes meet Bertrand’s, and she gives him a barely discernible nod: go on.  

He takes off her stocking very slowly – not because he fears he might tear it but to keep touching her for longer, to run his fingers over her hot skin, to squeeze a little, but not enough to cause any pain. The moments stretch, thicken like honey, and all along Beatrice keeps her eyes on him. She’s got a fresh scratch on her knee – the only thing lacking is a flowery children’s plaster – and she must have shaved her legs either quite a long time ago or just not that carefully, and she’s so familiar and home-like behind all this game of seduction that Bertrand longs to kiss her but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. Frankly, he also longs to do something about the problem that prevents him from concentrating on Beatrice’s performance properly – to take matters into his own hands, so to say – but of that he’s even less sure.  

After he’s finally relieved her from the stocking, his fingers keep stroking her ankle for some seconds more; then he takes his hand away. Beatrice gives him an encouraging smile and moves to the other side of the bed, offering Lemony to take off her other stocking. Snicket turns out to be bolder: he leans down and no, he doesn’t kiss her, he doesn’t dare to, but he presses his forehead to her knee, closing his eyes in rapture. Snicket and his need to worship, literally at times, the people he loves. Bertrand would’ve wondered what that says about his state of mind, but firstly, this is not the most unhealthy need Lemony could have developed after everything he’s been through, and secondly, Bertrand is but a mere mortal and loves the way Lemony nuzzles at his belly before moving down and taking Bertrand’s cock into his mouth.        

“Patience,” Beatrice says when Lemony pulls off her other stocking at last and tentatively reaches out for her again. She’s as turned on as they are: it’s obvious from her voice and the look in her eyes and the way her hardened nipples stand out under the thin lace of her bra although it’s far from cold in the room. She steps back and turns around to go back to the spot by the footboard of the bed – back to her stage – but suddenly stops and notices:  

“You don’t have to suffer though, you know. You just can’t touch me until I let you. But you can touch yourself. In fact, you should,” she smiles playfully, as if drunk. “I want to watch too.”

Bertrand should probably be ashamed of how he makes haste to take his underwear off. He doesn’t manage to, though – a broad hand stops him, suddenly on his crotch.

“If you want to,” Lemony says hoarsely, and if all of this has already felt like too much before, now it is downright unbearable, because he has a voice like melted dark chocolate; had it been tangible, it would have been tempting to dip one’s fingers in it, and then lick them clean. Bertrand looks at him, all flushed, with a ridiculous bedhead caused by their short prelude and the subsequent lying on the pillows, and thinks: does he really believe I’d refuse him?    

“Turn towards me a little,” he orders. “And take off your pants, for crying out loud.”

It must be at that moment that the performance stops being a performance – because they’re not staring at Beatrice non-stop anymore but get sidetracked by each other, and Beatrice isn’t dancing by herself like before but is clearly aware of their presence and watches them just like they watch her. As a matter of fact, she isn’t dancing anymore at all. Her hips still keep swaying but she’s staying at the same spot by the footboard and paying less and less attention to the music – looks like she doesn’t even notice when the song ends, and just keeps on fondling and squeezing her breasts that are still covered by the bra. When she finally takes it off and puts her hands on her breasts again, lifting them and letting them fall, licking her fingers and rubbing her hard nipples, Lemony lets out a deep moan and jerks up his hips. He won’t last long because Bertrand knows how to touch him, heavy and hot and aroused to the limit; because Lemony’s breathing raggedly, and although he’s trying not to miss Beatrice’s single movement, he keeps closing his eyes time and again in bliss and agony. He gets out of step over and over again and his hand slides off Bertrand’s cock and he loosens his grip when he shouldn’t. Just as much enthusiasm, but less skill. Not his forte; Bertrand knows for sure that if Lemony was sucking him off right now, he wouldn’t last long himself. For a moment he imagines what it would have been like, thrusting into Lemony’s hot capable mouth while watching Beatrice, who has climbed onto the bed right beside them, caress herself through her panties and move in a way that makes her breasts bounce as if he’s making love to her now and she’s riding him – and nearly comes on the instant.          

Lemony finishes first. Bertrand doesn’t notice what he’s wiping his hands on: the sheets or his own clothes or that new silvery shawl that must be still knocking around somewhere on the bed. It is probably important but right now he cannot recognize that. What is really important is to kiss him, and Bertrand kisses Lemony first on the lips – he’s so stunned by pleasure that he can just barely kiss back – and then on his sweaty forehead, right by the hairline, hastily breathing in the intoxicating, familiar smell of his hair.

Bertrand moves aside from him and turns to face Beatrice again, set upon using his own hands to finish what Lemony started – and gets hit in the face with the silk panties. He picks them up and reflexively puts them to his face: soaked through.  

Beatrice pulls her wet, slicked fingers out of herself and extends her hand to him.

She told them they can’t touch her until she lets them.

Now he can.

Bertrand sucks her fingers into his mouth, swallows their salty taste, grabs his cock – and finally lets himself go, and the world around him explodes with unknown colours, and Beatrice takes her fingers out of his mouth when he moans.  

“You’re both so…” he hears her say, as though from afar, her voice slightly surprised and tender. When she drives herself to her orgasm with a few confident touches, her other hand keeps hold of the only part of her outfit she’s still wearing: their pearl necklace.    

Then she collapses on the pillows between them, and the three of them lie side by side for a little while, trying to catch their breath. Bertrand is the first to recover himself; he gets off the bed despite Beatrice’s groan of protest, makes it to the bathroom, pours water on the first towel he gets his hands on, and wipes himself with it. Having thrown the towel into the bathtub, he takes another one from the hanger and wets it under the tap, then brings it into the room and drops it on Lemony’s belly. Lemony flinches.

“Clean up,” Bertrand tells him, climbs back onto the bed, and puts his arm around Beatrice’s waist. “You’re going to mess up the sheets.”

“I admire your ability to remain sober-minded in any situation,” Lemony murmurs as he cleans himself.

“I admire your ability to use such fancy language in any situation,” Bertrand says. Beatrice giggles.

“I think,” she props herself up on one elbow and moves closer to Lemony, “he’d use such language even if woken up at three in the morning.”  

“Please don’t try to check if it’s true,” Lemony says, and Beatrice kisses him on one cheek and then on the other and then on the mouth, and Bertrand’s heart aches with tenderness a little when he watches them, but not with jealousy, no.  

Beatrice turns back to him and takes his face into her hands.

“Always thinking about something. Can’t stop for a second, can you?” she asks, affectionate. “What is it about this time?”

“Just the two of you,” Bertrand says.

This time he’s actually telling the truth.