#but that sounds too painfully close to my old class designation in school

[darthartplant]

This is my entry for the Dopheld Mitaka Fanworks Exchange 2019 on AO3

For @rudbeckia, who gave me three options (of which I took N°2, “Oh no, there’s only ONE bed!”) and two possible pairings, one being Phasma/Mitaka and the other was Hux/Mitaka. So I was like

More Hitaka Art

[hopetofantasy]

Translated interview with Willem De Schryver

Also on my website: Behind wtFOCK - link in comments

The young stars of Streamz series 'Déjà-vu': 'You learn more on the internet than at school'

‘Déjà-vu’ is the name of the latest Flemish fiction series that’s rolling off the production line of ‘Streamz’. In addition to the traditional list of actors' names, Xenia Borremans (21) and Willem De Schryver (19) are featured as fresh blood in the credits. Two newcomers who shamelessly rival the established values.

Calling Willem De Schryver a newcomer is really failing the truth. He has more than 50,000 followers on Instagram and cannot cross the Ghent Korenmarkt without posing for a selfie. It’s the fault of ‘wtFOCK’, a youth series that mainly takes place online and is extremely popular with all those who saw the light of day after 2000. The chance that you’ve seen Xenia Borremans in action, is much smaller. Her only claim to fame for time being, is the horror short ‘De vijver’. And ofcourse, there’s her family name. Xenia is the only daughter of artist Michaël Borremans, but really wants to make a name for herself now.

How did you get into acting? Borremans: “Ever since I was a child, I wanted to act. There are piles of videos at home in which I try to recreate scenes from old films like ‘Some Like it Hot’. I also acted for ten years at ‘Kopergietery’ (children's theater company in Ghent). Acting was a dream, but I didn't dare to hope for that too much. There was always that little voice in the back of my mind that said, "You don’t only need talent but a lot of luck to make it." That was evident when I started to participate in castings. I often cried when I didn’t get a role.

I didn't dare to hope too much for ‘Déjà-vu’ either. Actually, I had no intention of auditioning at all. For fear of being rejected again. In the end, it’s my mom who pushed me to try. When they called me to say I had the part, it came as a complete surprise.”

De Schryver: “I can recognize myself in that story. I too was always performing plays at home. I did ‘Diction’ on Wednesday afternoons, but that wasn’t more than a hobby. When I no longer felt at home at school in secondary school, I took the step to go to the ‘Lemmensinstuut’ in Leuven. That was a revelation. Suddenly, I was allowed to be involved in theater day in, day out. I was happy to get up in the morning, when before, I often came home crying because I really didn't want to go to school anymore. It was obvious that after secondary school I would take the step to theater education at the ‘KASK’.” Borremans: “I also took the entrance exam at the ‘KASK’, but I wasn’t admitted. Maybe I'll try again next year. But maybe not. I’m not convinced that such an education is necessary. There are plenty of examples of actors and actresses who also made it without a diploma.” De Schryver: “In the classes I’m taking now, there isn’t only attention for acting, but also for making plays. I get building blocks to get started in the future. But, just like Xenia, I’m convinced that it can also be done without it.”

In ‘Déjà-vu’ you play the ideal son and the rebellious adolescent daughter, respectively. How deep did you have to dig for that role? De Schryver: “The role of Max is pretty close to my own personality, so that wasn’t too bad. I only had to practice playing hockey. (laughs) Although as far as I’m concerned, a role does not necessarily have to be written for me. For example, in ‘wtFOCK’ I play a bipolar, gay boy. That’s difficult and I had to do a lot of research for it. But when - like recently - you’re approached on the street by a boy who tells me that through my role he had learned to live with his own bipolarity, then the satisfaction is all the greater. ” Borremans: “I recognized myself super hard in Louise's character. I have done quite a lot of rebellion in my puberty years and just like Louise - who has a mother who makes a living as a radio host - I can be bothered too by the fact that one of my parents is famous.”

In what sense? Borremans: “I’m very proud of my dad, that's not the point. We have a very good relationship. He's my best friend. For real. But my family name isn’t always a gift. Many times in the past people have tried to contact me with the sole intention of getting closer to him. Even people I thought were friends, turned out to be solely interested in me because they were fans of my father's work. I also noticed that some teachers marked my grades more strictly just because I was ‘the daughter of’.” Did that influence you to choose acting and not, for example, drawing? Borremans: “I did drawing. In ‘Sint-Lucas’, just like my father. He did push me a bit in that direction. But I stopped when all the lessons suddenly had to be online due to corona. Dad thinks it's important to get a diploma. I attach less importance to that. I prefer to figure things out on my own. If you have the discipline to do self-study, then that’s in my opinion as valuable as any education. I’ve already learned a lot more on the internet than in school. My mom is part of that story, daddy still has some work to do in that aspect.”

You both had a supporting role on the set of ‘Déjà-vu’. How much pressure did it cause? De Schryver: “I did lie awake at night. Although it had a lot to do with the beginning of the shooting period, when I overslept. I cried when I arrived on the set. Such a gigantic production and it gets delayed, because a rookie like me, is late. In the end we hardly lost any time, but the nights after, I was wide awake in my bed waiting for the alarm to go off.” Borremans: “Willem arrived on the set, crying, but was professional enough to put himself in the shoes of Max a few minutes later. Pretty impressive.” De Schryver: “There really was no time to lose. The makeup artist just had about enough time to get rid of my red eyes, but that was it.” Borremans: “I’ve experienced something similar. During the shooting period, I met with a friend who turned out to have corona. Panic, of course. In the end, the shooting stopped for a week as a precaution. There were some tears then. You have a first major role and then something like that happens. Fortunately, it was handled very well on the set. Everyone came to tell me that it could’ve happened to them too.”

The corona crisis has been defining our lives for over a year now. How do you deal with this? De Schryver: “The first weeks, I didn't mind the lockdown. It gave me a chance to catch my breath. By the way, I still don't miss going out that much. Although that also has to do with ‘wtFOCK’. That show has a very fanatic fan base. And you notice. In any case, going out to a bar with friends was no longer possible without being approached or posing for selfies. When people have been drinking, a number of inhibitions also disappear. As soon as they recognize you, they’ll immediately hang onto you. It made me prefer to stay in the room even before the lockdown.” Borremans: “I’m now 21 years old. This may sound strange, but I’m kinda done with nightlife. Of course, I also want to be able to go out again and see people, but I notice that it’s more difficult for those who are younger. I get bored sometimes. But that also has its positive sides. It makes you do creative things. For example, I started to design and make clothes. Without the lockdown, that would’ve never occurred to me. I never read books either, now I do. Although, I would like for it to gradually return to normal. " De Schryver: “I mainly suffer from touch starvation. Actually hug people. I really miss that. But just like Xenia, I also think this is an interesting period. It makes you think. About yourself, about where you want to go in life.”

The Covid crisis also makes painfully clear how vulnerable creative professions are. Did that change your plans for the future? Borremans: “I was already looking for a plan B before this whole situation. Acting is and remains the big dream. But there are no guarantees. I’ll continue to go for it anyway, but I realize that I cannot assume that I’ll succeed in making acting my livelihood.” De Schryver: “We shouldn't be shy about that: the acting world is a tough world with a lot of competition. It’ll not be easy to make it and I know that there are still difficult moments to come. But I do not intend to suddenly follow other classes just to have something as a back-up. The corona crisis has made me realize even more how important acting is to me. I could never completely push it aside. This’s what I was made for. I just feel that.” Déjà-vu can be seen on Streamz. The series will be released on Play4 later this year.

[zmwrites]

tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose? 

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft. 

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her. 

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado​, @radiowrites​, @pigeon-hold​, @sleepyowlwrites​, @akindofmagictoo​, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

[localswordlesbian]

in case you don’t live forever

Martin panics when he notices Jon's eyes open as he sleeps, forcing him to remember a horrible six months in a hospital with so much uncertainty. Afterwards, Jon introduces Martin to one of he and Georgie's university traditions – stick poke tattoos.

(also known as i’m back on my bullshit of posting old fics from ao3 here on tumblr)

i’ve also got a playlist of all the songs that my fics are titled after, find it here

read it on ao3 or below the cut

The sun was rarely enough to wake Martin up.

Normally, he’d set himself an alarm, but more often than not Jon would wake up before his alarm anyway and he would much rather wake up to Jon shaking his arm and saying his name than some stupid, blaring alarm.

That morning, though, Martin woke up first. The sky was still dark, with the barest hint of the orange of sunrise peeking in through the curtains and tinting the dark floors. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes blearily as his vision focused on the slumbering figure next to him.

His heart leapt into his throat and he couldn’t hold in a gasp as he saw Jon, lying on his side with a hand on the pillow next to where Martin’s head had been, eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

Martin was suddenly back beside that hospital bed, watching Jon stare at the ceiling, all but dead – Martin gripping his cold, cold hand, begging himself not to cry and Jon to wake up, please wake up, I need you–

He was back in his bedroom, heart thundering, silent tears trekking down his cheeks and dripping onto his pyjamas, his hands shaking as an uncontrollable shiver passed through his entire body and he clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs.

Jon’s face was stoic in sleep, and Martin slowly reached a hand out, hovering over where his pulse would be, if he wasn’t dead. If he hadn’t slipped away from Martin while they slept, and this time, not to return to life – to him. His hands still shaking, he placed two fingers delicately against Jon’s neck, because he had to check, he had to know, he had to–

There, beneath his fingers, was a pulse. Martin released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and he tried desperately to contain his sobbing, sobs of relief that flooded through his veins at the realization that the man he loved was alive.

“Martin?”

He heard Jon’s voice breaking through his panic a moment before he felt hands taking his and squeezing his fingers tightly. He focused on that sensation, the feeling of his own knuckles digging into his skin, of Jon’s hands enveloping his own with a gentle firmness, a grounding force that said I’m here, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere .

Once his heartbeat had calmed into a manageable beat, he opened his eyes. Jon was sitting in front of him, still holding onto his hands, looking at him with such worry in his eyes that Martin’s heart twisted. “Are you okay?”

Martin nodded slowly, squeezing Jon’s hands. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Waking you, I guess.”

“Martin,” Jon said, his voice painfully gentle. “Don’t– please don’t apologize.”

Martin choked down another apology, forcing himself to look at Jon. His eyes were open and expressive, not that blank stare of both sleep and death; his brows furrowed and even in the dark Martin could tell he was frowning. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Jon pursed his lips. “I was– I did it again, didn’t I?”

Martin nodded. “It’s not… I know you can’t control it, I just… every time I see it, I’m back in that hospital room all over again.”

Jon nodded, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Martin’s chest, his head just under Martin’s chin. “I’m sorry, love.” he murmured.

Martin snorted. “It’s not your fault, it’s not like you asked to die.”

Jon hummed. “I know. I suppose it just felt appropriate to say.”

They held each other as the sun began to trickle its way into the room, orange light spilling onto the floor and the fear began to ebb from Martin’s chest. He knew, logically, that Jon sometimes still slept with his eyes open and that didn’t mean he’d suddenly died in his sleep, but he could never seem to shake that fear – he’d seen what Jon looked like dead, and the two didn’t look different enough for comfort.

Eventually they stood, feeling as close to okay as they could get. As Jon ran his hands through his hair, Martin noticed something peeking out from behind his ear.

“Jon?” he called. “What’s that? Behind your ear?”

Jon seemed to instinctively move his hand up over the spot Martin was pointing to, his expression surprised. “Oh, that. It’s, well, it’s kind of a funny story, actually. In university, Georgie went through a phase of learning how to do stick-poke tattoos. She taught me to do them and we gave each other new ones as soon as the old ones wore off. One day, on our first day of our last year, she convinced me to pick a favourite one to get tattooed. I wanted one that wouldn’t be too visible, so I got it behind my ear.”

Martin gaped at him. “You have a tattoo ?” he demanded.

Jon chuckled. “I’m a man of many mysteries,” he teased.

Martin rolled his eyes. “To know and never be known, what an existence,” he deadpanned, and Jon laughed. “Come here and let me see it.”

Jon smiled as he walked over, moving his hair aside so Martin could get a better look at the lines of ink behind his ear. It was a design of a simplistic cassette tape, with spools of tape spilling from the top and creating a loopy heart pattern above it.

“It was Georgie’s design,” Jon explained softly. “Feels a little ironic now,” he said with a laugh. “And yet, I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

Jon was standing in front of where Martin was sitting on the bed, hardly having to lean down to make the tattoo eye level with Martin. Leaning up slightly, Martin pressed his lips to the ink briefly before smiling up at Jon. “It’s pretty.”

Jon nodded, pushing his hair behind his ear. “Yes. In fact, I think I still remember how to do stick-poke tattoos,” he mused.

Martin smirked. “Are you implying something?”

Jon smacked his shoulder. “Arse.”

“Coming from you.”

Jon curled a strand of Martin’s hair around his finger – the pink was starting to fade, and Martin wondered if he should redye it. He liked the pink. “I think it’d suit you.”

Martin considered for a moment. He’d never thought about tattoos, never thought there would be anything he’d want on his body forever, but he supposed something temporary…

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

That was how they ended up on the bathroom floor, hardly more than an hour after dawn, with Jon dipping a needle into a bottle of ink, because of course you just had that lying around, Jon . “What design do you want?” Jon asked.

Martin considered for a moment. It’s not like it was consequential – just a small, temporary tattoo on his ankle, easily covered by a sock if needed. “Surprise me.”

Jon considered for a moment before setting to work. Martin hissed as the needle punctured his skin, though he waved off Jon’s concern. The needle stung each time Jon stuck it in his ankle, though he quickly adjusted to the pain as Jon worked, concentrating on making sure he didn’t mess up the design. Martin sat back on his hands. “How exactly did this little tradition with Georgie come about?” he asked.

Jon thought for a moment. “She was stressed about an exam one night,” he said. “Said she needed to do something with all her pent-up energy instead of stewing in it. So she learned how to do these as a form of stress relief, and when I commented on it she insisted on giving me a couple, too. I guess it just stuck from there – they always faded after a while, so there was no real commitment issue, and they were fun.”

Martin chuckled. “Sounds like you were a real enigma in university,” he mused.

Jon laughed. “Certainly compared to now.”

Martin watched Jon’s hands as he worked with deftly injecting the ink under his skin. “I never got to go to university,” he mused. “Despite how stressful it sounds, I think I would have liked to go.”

Jon looked up at him. “Why don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s ever really too late to go to school. You could enroll now, part time or full time, study something you love. Major in poetry.”

“If you didn’t have a needle to my ankle, I’d smack you.”

Jon chuckled. “I mean it. You could have that experience you never got to have.”

Martin considered this. He’d never thought about going to school as a grown adult, taking classes and exams and having fun with other students – that particular part of growing up had been stolen from him too soon. He imagined getting up in the morning, grabbing his tea to go, walking across a campus with books in his arms on his way to a class where he’d get to discuss… something. “I suppose I could… give it a try,” he said slowly.

Jon gave him an encouraging smile as he sat back, depositing the needle. “Well, it’s done.”

Martin looked at the design on his ankle – it was a looping cursive design, branching off and creating separate designs of flowers and stars as it turned in a circle like an intricate ouroboros. Despite knowing it was written in English, Martin had no clue what it said, and he expressed as much to Jon.

Jon ducked his head. “It, uh… it says I see you .”

A lump formed in Martin’s throat as tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to make a joke, a comment about how corny it was, but all that came out was a choked “Jon,” and then Jon had his arms around him and his face was buried in Jon’s hair. “I love you,” he whispered.

Jon rubbed his back soothingly, knowing what those words meant to him – they meant he was not alone, that he had someone in this world who cared for him, who would never let him forget how loved he was.

They both knew that, even once the ink faded from his skin, those words would ring through for the rest of their lives. Jon saw him, back then when he was lost and broken and desperately in need of a hand to hold, and Jon supplied that hand with patience and love. Martin did the same for Jon, those days where his guilt got the better of him, when he was left feeling empty and meaningless in the aftermath of his powers.

Later that week, tattoo still fresh on his ankle, Martin looked up at Jon over his tea. “I’m going to apply to the University of London.”

Jon gave him a soft smile. “Good, good,” Jon murmured. “I’m really proud of you, Martin.”

Martin smiled back. “Me too.”

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Monika/Reader piece for a lovely anonymous commissioner, with a few unfortunate implications coming towards the end. It was nice to write something a little different from my usual style, and I almost forgot how well this game was written... my adoration of Doki Doki Literature Club is rejuvenated, to say the least.

Word Count: 4.0k

TW: Implied Stalking, Physical Threats, and (Non-Graphic) Violence. 

It was a fixation. That was the best word to describe it.

A fixation.

In itself, the game hadn’t been anything special. Shocking, sure, absolutely horrifying at points, but you were seasoned veteran when it came to horror, a connoisseur of all things dark and demented. That was the downside when it came to warnings. All those labels and reviews were necessary, especially with how a game like Doki Doki Literature Club presented itself, but it kept you on the edge of your seat. If you’re waiting for something bad to happen, you’ll never be surprised when something bad does happen. Just disappointed that it didn’t turn out to be worse.

Either way, you played through the dating-simulator, blushing when Sayori confessed and jumping in your seat when Yuri’s obsession boiled over and having all the responses you were supposed to when unfortunate things happened to people who didn’t really exist. You were painfully precise about these things, never daring to veer off the trodden path, even in a game that couldn’t really be failed, and when it came time for your fun to end, you knew what you were supposed to do. You’d delete Monika’s file, restart the game, and watch things play out. That was it. Three easy steps. Three mindless steps.

Three steps you didn’t think you’d ever actually go through with.

You knew you wouldn’t as soon as you saw it. Monika, a character you hadn’t paid any mind to, sitting right in front of the screen, taking up your monitor in her over-done, oppressive glory, the mood only made more dramatic by just how late it’d gotten, how dark your room was by now. It was a picture, you knew that, something someone had drawn and edited into a game, and yet… it wasn’t, at the same time. There was a connection, as unprecedented as it was unearned. An attraction, albeit one you couldn’t name the source of. A fixation.

There was that word again. Fixation. An undeniable, unreasonable fixation.

Monika seemed to know as well as you. The fact that you’d been staring at the same frame for far too long probably helped her to reach that conclusion, pre-scripted or not.

"Hey, have you ever heard of the term 'yandere'?"

You had, in passing. You’d never paid too much attention to it, though, not enough to be able to pick the definition out.

“It's a personality type that means someone is so obsessed with you that they'll do absolutely anything to be with you. Usually to the point of craziness..."

The idea appealed to you, interested you. Lingering on it for a moment, you let yourself fall into the word. Yandere. You liked that. Yandere.

"A lot of people are actually into the yandere type, you know? I guess they really like the idea of someone being crazy obsessed with them. People are weird! I don't judge, though!"

Well… you wouldn’t want someone to be obsessed with you, you were sure. That seemed like too much attention. It’d take too much effort to keep them interested, and it’d probably be dangerous to entertain a stalker like that… Yeah, you were sure. You didn’t want anyone to be obsessed with you.

But, Monika didn’t exist. She wasn’t dangerous. She didn’t have anyone else to give attention to, and you wouldn’t have to worry about her judging your interests. Even if someone found out, you could just blame it one a glitchy file that won’t close. There wasn’t a risk.

“It's not like I could ever actually kill a person… Just the thought of it makes me shiver. But, come on… everyone's killed people in games before. Does that make you a psychopath? Of course not."

Right. It was just a game. Liking something fictional didn’t make you weird or perverted or… a Yandere for Yanderes, you supposed. It was a dirty little secret. A guilty pleasure. It was normal. Or, it wasn’t anymore abnormal that the disgusting investment a lot of people had in blood-splatter and gore, anyway.

“But if you do happen to be into the yandere type… I can try acting a little more creepy for you. Then again, there's already nowhere else for you to go, or anyone for me to get jealous over."

She didn’t have anyone else in that isolated, tiny world of hers. It would’ve been lonely, if she was real, and for whatever reason, your empathy found that fact too heart-breaking to ignore. And you didn’t really want her to ‘act more creepy’, she was fine as she was, so… that made it a little better, didn’t it? You might’ve just liked the companionship, how close she wanted to be to you. It was an artificial intimacy, and who wouldn’t like intimacy they didn’t have to return?

“Is this a Yandere girl's dream?"

If that's a Yandere’s dream, then your situation must be a Yandere-Lover’s dream. There was no harm, no foul, very low risk and a very high reward, even if it did come in the form of a one-sided, directionless conversation. You thought about finishing the game, speeding through the process and never bothering to think about Monika or Yanderes or Doki Doki Literature Club again.

You thought about it, rolling the idea over in your mind like an antique in need of inspection. You thought about it, scanning over Monika one more time, and turned your monitor off without closing the game. You’d decide tomorrow, before class, or when you got home. A few days of self-indulgence wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

Least of all Monika.

Least of all you.

~

You didn’t close the game.

Not before you left, not after class, and certainly not that night, when the urge hit you to play though her dialogue until your eyes forced you to stop. You didn’t bother reading, the next morning, something you sorely came to regret as you sat in your first class of the day, little to do save for staring at the clock and wondering what you should do after school, despite already knowing what the outcome would most likely be. Your teacher was out, today, for the first time all year. She’d bragged that she never missed a day, but you didn’t care enough to raise anything more than a few curious questions. Concern was too much, considering how often accidents happen.

“Do you have a pen?”

A light voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you glanced towards the desk in front of yours, immediately meeting eyes with the girl seated there. You’d never noticed her before, not to any exceptional extent, brown hair and murky eyes making for an unremarkable combination. You simply nodded, reaching down and beginning to search through your bag, talking to fill the silence. “She didn’t leave work for us, right?” You asked, sticking your hand into a random pocket and coming up empty. It was weird, but you tried another. Monika always had a pen on her, it was part of her character design. “I think the assignment on the board was old… it was there yesterday, too.”

She chuckled, as if you’d made a joke. A funny one, judging by how long the noise lasted. “I know that, but…” She trailed off, just long enough to lean onto your desk, attempting to peer over it. “Clubs are demanding, aren’t they? I’m not even a council member, but Debate still has me doing more work than the President.” She let out a heavy sigh, as if the optional dedication had been forced onto her. “It’s all supposed to be extemporaneous -- unplanned, y’know? That’s what used to make it exciting. Everyone was speaking from the heart and everyone minded their own business. It was a competition, but it wasn’t personal.”

You hummed, lightly, closing that compartment and opening another. “And it is, now?”

“Oh, definitely.” There was a subtle emphasis on every other word, it seemed, a passion for nothing in particular breaching whatever she felt like talking about. You could see why she must’ve made a good speaker. “That’s what happens when you start thinking about things too much. They started announcing the topics ahead of time, then people started writing out their arguments, and now you can’t take a side without attacking the other.” There was a pause, a tap to her cheek. A moment to think. “You have to phrase it a certain way, or else it is personal. If you keep things objective, the other side will follow along. It’s amazing how suggestive people can be, when you make an effort to guide them.”

“I wish you would guide me in the direction of a fucking pen,” You mumbled, eliciting another giggle, the sound muffled by a palm over her mouth. “I’m sorry, it usually doesn’t take this long. It’s like they all just, I don’t know, phased out of existence or something.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The disregard came casually, without hesitation. You couldn’t help but wonder if she was as dedicated to her cause as she seemed. “Check the main pocket. You probably kept dropping them in the first place you saw without noticing.” You blinked, glancing up to frown at her, but she just shrugged. “A lot of people do it. If you haven’t caught on, I don’t have a whole much to do ‘cept watch them.”

You didn’t pry further. This was the first time you’d heard her voice, too, so it was fair to assume she wasn’t much of a socialite. “About your club,” You said, bringing the conversation back to a topic that didn’t have to do with how often she stared at your classmates. “Why don’t you quit? You don’t seem to like it very much.”

“Who knows?” She frowned, closing her eyes well she spoke. “I’d have to find another to join, and there’s no guarantee I won’t just keep running into the same problem over and over again. I think about making my own, sometimes, just because I’d be able to make rules against that kind of thing.”

Again, you brightened, and not only because your fingers found something tubular and plastic. “You want to start a club?”

“Yeah, but it’d have to be about something fun.” She rolled her wrist, not noticing when you held out a thoroughly abused pen. “Like, about music or art or…”

“Literature?” You suggested, eagerly.

She scowled, shaking her head, muttering something about her distaste. She said it’d been months since she read a book, years since she’d written something original. Even the idea was alien, to her.

And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be disheartened.

She’d taken the pen, after all.

~

“Whatcha starin’ at?”

Her tone was playful, posture following in suit, the girl rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited for you to snap out of your stupor. You hadn’t meant to zone out, to stare at the dense collection of apartments and condominiums in front of you, but there was just something so familiar about the collection, something you couldn’t put your finger on. But, a hand waving in front of your eyes brought your attention back to the real world, regardless of whether or not you wanted it too.

You were still getting used to having another person around, honestly. Your new friend took a shining to you quickly, settling to let you trail after her like a lost puppy whenever you didn’t have something better to do. She’d offered to show you a shortcut to your train-stop, today, but you were having your doubts about how well she knew the route. It felt like you’d been walking down this same road for ages, now. Like it was a loading screen you didn’t have the connection to overcome.

You took a step forward, standing a little straighter. Attempting to check if the buildings would still be there when you changed perspectives. “Has this neighborhood always been here?” You asked, tilting your head. Still there. “I don’t remember seeing it, until now.”

“As long as I’ve been alive,” She replied, not seeming to take you seriously. “Besides, how would you know? You lock yourself up whenever we’re not in class.”

You huffed, sending a quick glare in her direction, the diversion taking more effort than it should’ve. “I get out occasionally, I’ve just been--”

“Busy with a new game?” She rolled her eyes, setting a swift pace and signaling for you to follow. “It’s not a ‘new game’ if you’ve been working on it for the past two weeks. I’m going to come over and finish it for you myself, one day.”

You were tempted to interrupt her, to contradict her diagnosis, but… you had been playing through Monika’s dialogue for a while. There were so many options, so many routes and monologues, but you’d exhausted most of them. She didn’t hold the same… uniqueness she once did, for lack of a better way to put it. You certainly weren’t tired of playing yet, but you were starting to realize you would be, one day, possibly sooner than you’d anticipated. You’d need something new to focus on, something new to satisfy that itch in your chest, the one that seemed to form every time you were away from your computer for too long. You wondered if there was something similar - Yandere was a genre, technically. There had to be more content, even if you had to look for it.

You resolved to do a more in-depth search once you got home.

“...I’m working on it,” You mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek. Hesitantly, you scanned over her, speeding up to stay at her side as something caught our attention. “When did that start?”

She raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair self-consciously, already aware of what you were talking about. It was tied back, today, done up painfully tightly and secured with a white hair-band. Her hair was too short for it to come off as elegant or sophisticated, but the way it swung as she walked was cute, and the effort that’d been put into pinning each strand into submission was admirable. She caught onto your approval quickly, locking eyes with you as she spoke. “I’m trying to impress you, idiot.”  

You blinked. She blinked. You blushed, stuttering out something stupid, and she punched you in the side, laughing.

“I’m kidding, (Y/n), don’t freak out on me.” You tried, unsuccessfully, to do as she demanded, earning you another blow, this one coming in the form of an elbow thrown into your rib cage. “What? Can you only accept confessions from 2-D girls, now?”

“It’s just…” You shoved your hands in your pockets, attempting to hide your distress. “It’s just different. I wasn't expecting it!”

“Exactly, it’s different.” She smiled, throwing the offending pony-tail over her shoulder. “Little changes have been doing me a lot of good, lately.”

~

‘One day’ had come too soon.

You knew it would, eventually. You’d been expecting it, in fact. Back-ups had been prepared, a new game and an older series to watch and a few stories on the… riskier side, made by people with too much time and similar interests, and for all intents and purposes, you were ready. It was natural. People got tired of things, of characters and plots and seeing the same face every day, and you knew you would get tired of Monika too, eventually. She was wonderfully written, but no character could be entertaining for… how long had it been? A month? Two?

You needed to check the date more often. Time always seemed to get weird, slowing down and skipping ahead so awkwardly when you spent most of the day in front of a screen.

You guessed the date didn’t matter, though. You were still in the same position, either way, your head resting on one hand while the other laid over your mouse. You’d been staring down Monika’s character file for far too long, but not nearly long enough, at the same time.

It felt like this should be a bigger deal. Like there should be a ceremony, a commemoration, something to mark the occasion. Should you celebrate? Play a funeral dirge? Every action felt inappropriate, but none felt quite as inappropriate as not taking one at all. Absentmindedly, you quit the game, a reaction based on reflex alone. You had a few times, in the beginning, but you still checked Monika’s dialogue. A parting interaction, you rationalized. The final interaction.

"Okay. I'm just going to accept the fact that you need to quit the game once in a while. I'm starting to get used to it, anyway."

Oh, god, she sounded like a clingy girlfriend. You guessed that’s what she was, but she was never this… passive-aggressive.

"Besides, it makes me happy that you always come back..."

You perked up, at that, your favor easily swayed. Maybe you could wait one more day, just give this whole thing another shot--

“But I shouldn’t have to be happy when you come back.”

You hadn’t pressed anything, that time. She shouldn’t have been talking.

“I know you have your own life, and I know you need breaks, but… it’s a really horrible feeling. And since I try to make you feel the best you can feel, you should want to make me feel good, too!”

Except, you didn’t want to make her happy. She was a fictional character, one you didn’t want to be lectured by. Monika seemed to catch onto that as soon as you thought it, though.

“And since you have to want to make me happy… it must be a glitch in my character file. That makes sense. Whenever it happens, it almost feels like I've been killed or something."

It was meta, a little concerning, but your empathy had been all-but drained dry. It wasn’t like you’d felt bad for leaving Monika in the first place, honestly, but an appeal to that non-existent sympathy wouldn’t earn her many points.

"If you could figure out what's causing that, I'll love you forever~"

Yeah, right. Sure she would. Monika would absolutely love you, forever and always, to eternity and beyond. May death do you part.

You didn’t hesitate, this time, deleting her character file and exiting the game. 

You didn’t really feel like playing through the final scene. ~

How long it’d been since someone used this part of the school?

‘Empty’ didn’t quite cover the expanse of nothingness in front of you. The floor was tinted grey with scuff-marks and dirt, unused tables pushed against the walls and chairs that weren’t fit to be sat in stacked on top, forming barricades between shutter-covered windows and yourself. The door had stuck, despite the key in your hand, and everything seemed to make a truly awful creaking sound when touched. The only thing that looked new (relatively new, at least) was the teacher’s desk, dark faux-wood unscarred by whatever’d torn through the rest of the room. Even the lights seemed to feel the effect, dim and flickering, some already succumbing to the pure dullness that permeated the air. It was abandoned. Desolate.

More similar to another classroom you’d acquainted yourself with than you felt comfortable admitting.

“Some people say it’s haunted,” She started, closing the door behind her. You heard the ring of keys jingle, the lock sliding back into place, but you didn’t bother turning to face her. “A lot of people, actually. Rumor’s that a group of underclassmen girls used to sneak at night and do all sorts of satanic stuff. It’s why no one uses this building, anymore.”

“They have to be joking,” You countered, taking a step towards the teacher's desk. You ran a finger along the surface lazily, wiping the resulting dust build-up onto your shirt. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Someone probably just thought it’d make a good campfire story.”

She approached before replying, her bag having been discarded somewhere along the way. With silence as unusual as it was between the two of you, you couldn’t help but laugh, turning and getting ready to tease her for being scared or believing in something so supernatural. You opened your mouth, but the joke died and turned to ash on your tongue before it could make it past your teeth.

There she was, like you knew she’d be. Hair up, uniform perfect, and a bright smile pulling at the edges of her lips. As cheery as it ever was. As blinding as it ever was.

The carving knife in her hand almost rivaled its shine.

She took another step towards you, and you took one back, hitting the desk abruptly. “You’re acting like you’d know anything about the real-world, (Y/n).” She was giggling, again, flexing her grip on the knife’s hold. You considered attempting to run past her, making a break for it, but the key was still in her blazer’s pocket. You glanced down, searching for your phone, but its outline was gone and its weight was equally as absent.

Like it’d disappeared into thin air.

It hadn’t, though. Your aggressor laughed one more time, holding up the device in her free hand before dropping it to the floor and crushing it under her heel, the resulting crack sending a spike of something dark into your chest.

“You don’t know shit about the real world,” She said, waving the blade around haphazardly. Another step forward, this one all-but closing the distance between the two of you. “All you think about are… games and fake girls, never what’s right in front of you. We’ve known each other for four years, but I had to hospitalize someone before you’d do so much as look at me.”

Four years. Four years. You hadn’t noticed her before a few months ago. “Listen, I just didn’t think we were that close--”

“I know.” This time, the knife came down. It missed your side, but not enough to save your shirt, a tear forming and something crimson spreading outward from the small cut. The sting came a second later. You wanted to move, to scream, to run, but it was all you could do to remember to breathe as she went on. “You didn’t think we were close. You didn’t think I was worth getting close to. That’s why I started wearing this fucking costume.” She ran a hand through her pony-tail, fingers catching on her hair-tie. The band was practically ripped from her scalp, snapping before she discarded it. “I’m not even a brunette. I thought dying my hair might get your attention, and… it did. Of course it did.” She paused, shrugging, and you remembered how to inhale. “But, that doesn’t matter now.”

You relaxed, ever so slightly. “It doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t.” Her grin was back in a moment, your hopes dropping as soon as they’d arose. “Because the two of us are going to stay here until we know each other, or… until you know me. As well as I know you, at least. Then, we’re going to leave and I’m going to be your girlfriend. It’ll be so sweet, right?” The tension in her shoulder’s lessened, dissolving. But, that edge was still there, and you doubted it’d dissipate any time soon. “You probably don’t even know my name. I’ve never heard you use it before.”

Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you later than it should’ve. “Monika?”

“No, not Monika,” She answered, softly, her smile taking on a more disappointing note. She brandished her beloved knife, and your heart dropped into your stomach. “But, you don’t have to worry about getting it wrong. We’re going to work at it until you love me just as much as you love her.”

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 16: Sit, Drink, Talk

(Click here for chapter 15!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Severus could not help but notice a change in his apprentice’s behaviour over the next couple of days.

Unlike her last emotional low, Granger did still show up to class; however, she’d stopped raising her hand and kept her head down working quietly during the majority of the lessons. She also appeared to have changed her regular meal times, and, whenever she still could not avoid running into her “friends”, she would sit at the opposite end of the long Gryffindor table, eating alone. Sometimes, she would also just skip meals all together. And while she continued to visit his office on the daily, her mood had definitely changed as well. She seemed a lot sadder and less carefree than usual. Severus would often try to engage her in interesting discussions about potions and the like, but they would all soon fizzle out as she did not appear to want to talk much.

Severus was becoming increasingly irritated. Not only did it hurt him to see her feel that way, but he also selfishly wanted his Hermione back – the one he could spend hours quietly working on potions with, the one that would pester him with countless questions, the one that would give him a great big smile whenever she walked through his door. Now, she was only a shadow of her former self, and he hated it.

And so, he decided that he had to do something about it.

*************** *************** ***************

Hermione threw her heavy bookbag on her bed with a loud grunt. She was feeling extremely frustrated. Not only was she currently struggling to come up with a solution for an especially tricky equation that was part of the Arithmancy homework she would have to hand in the following week, but she had also been unable to cast the new spell they had learnt about in Defence Against the Dark Arts earlier today. And while it was almost dinner time now and her stomach was actually growling, she really did not feel like going down to the Great Hall and facing her estranged friends. She could not stand the way they stared at her whenever she was forced to walk past them to sit down as far away from them as possible.

She sighed as she bent over and gave Crookshanks, who was curled up at the foot of her bed, a quick cuddle. Perhaps she could sneak down to the kitchens later and manage to grab a quick bite that way. Straightening, she then turned and walked into her small study, where she sat down at her overloaded desk and began to work on trying to solve that stupid equation.

It must have been about an hour and a half later when her concentration was interrupted by an all too familiar tapping noise. Sure enough, there was a little school owl sitting on the windowsill. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

Another late-night delivery? Surely it couldn’t be …

An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, she walked over, opened the window and made sure to give the bird a treat before carefully untying a small scroll from its left leg. After watching the animal fly away into the starry sky, she returned to her desk and unrolled the letter. Just like last time, there was no sender; however, the penmanship was all too familiar.

My office, 10.30 pm.

How strange, she thought. Why would he want to see her after curfew? Tapping her fingers against the tabletop, she allowed herself to ponder for a moment. But no matter how hard she cudgelled her brain, she simply could not come up with a plausible explanation for this ever so peculiar summoning.

Standing up, she began to pace around the room. The only possible reason he would invite her over this late that she could come up with was something forbidden, like dark magic or an illegal potion. Hermione could feel her cheeks start to burn. While she had never been one to break the rules, the thought of Professor Snape being a – for the lack of a better word – bad boy made her feel queasy in all the good ways for some reason.

Stop it, Hermione! That’s Professor Snape you are thinking of!

But with way too much time left on her hands until she was supposed to meet up with her tutor, the Muggle-born’s thoughts began to run wild: Professor Snape showing her a ground-breaking discovery he had just made, Professor Snape smuggling her out of school grounds to bring her to a secret gathering of the wizarding world’s best potioneers, Professor Snape regarding her intently as his lips were getting dangerously close to hers … Because if Hermione Granger was good at something, it was overthinking.

By the time she stole out of her tower to make her way down to the dungeons, Hermione had completely forgotten about dinner and Arithmancy. She had been too preoccupied by thoughts about the purpose of their meeting. Not by thoughts about Professor Snape, she tried telling herself; but subconsciously, she knew that she was lying to herself.

She did not know where it had come from, why her head was suddenly filled with unchaste ideas about her teacher. She was a bit too old to attribute them to pubertal confusion. All she knew was that she admired Professor Snape. He was a well-accomplished Potions Master, one of the smartest yet most mysterious people she had ever met and, if she was being honest with herself, not too bad looking either. He intrigued her, and the beating of her heart had suddenly quickened when she’d read his note. What would this encounter have in store for her?

It was a long walk from the Head Girl Tower down to the Potions professor’s office, but Hermione knew that she would not get caught. Among the perks of her position was knowing the patrol schedule as she too was sometimes required to aid school staff when it came to making rounds through the castle’s endless corridors. Her outfit was a bit more casual than what she would normally wear to see one of her teachers. She had combined a pair of light wash jeans with lined slippers and a really thick, bright-red woollen sweater, with the latter intended to protect her from the penetrating November cold – after all, Hogwarts was not exactly known for its good insulation. She had debated about whether she should have kept on her uniform but ultimately decided that Professor Snape could not expect her to be dressed formally if he sent for her past regular school hours.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally turned the corner and found herself in the corridor in which Professor Snape’s office was located. She knew that she was running a few minutes early, and she had actually planned to wait them out before knocking on the door; but to her surprise, the wizard was already waiting for her in the hallway. Seemingly out of nowhere, she felt her hands get sweaty.

“Good evening, Professor,” she said quietly; it was merely a whisper. “Aren’t we going inside?”

Snape mustered her for a second, noticeably surprised by her attire, and Hermione promptly started to regret her fashion choice; however, he did not comment on it. Instead, he let his voice resonate from the stone walls as he replied, “No. Tonight, we shall retreat to my private quarters. Follow me.”

And before she could get another word in, he had already spun around and was hurrying through the gloomy dungeon maze.

Hermione could feel her chest tighten painfully as she tried to keep up with the man’s long legs. “Private quarters? What in the name of Merlin is going on?!” the voice inside her head screamed. Sure, she had been in there before, but that had been during an emergency situation; she would have never thought that he would ever invite her back. Yet again, her own thoughts were threatening to overwhelm her.

Soon, they arrived at the portrait marking the hidden entrance to the professor’s rooms. Hermione could hear him mumble something under his breath before she watched the painting swing open. Almost instantaneously, she felt his hands on her shoulders. He practically pushed her inside.

Stepping into his sitting room, she immediately felt calmer. She had fallen in love with this place the very second she had first laid eyes upon it. The countless books lining the walls, the dark yet homely interior design as well as the overall cosy feeling just filled her with joy. If she were to imagine her dream home, it would definitely look something like this.

As soon as she turned around, however, her blissfulness swiftly turned into nervousness again. There he was, Professor Snape, just standing in the corner and staring at her with an expressionless face that made her whole body stiffen up. His presence was looming over her, and it somehow made her feel excited and scared to death at the same time.

You’re not twelve anymore, Hermione. He doesn’t scare you any longer. He’s still the same person you’ve been spending time with every day for weeks now!

But she simply could not help it. Merely standing next to him made her feel incredibly anxious.

“Sit down,” he all of a sudden ordered, pointing at one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace – and without thinking, Hermione complied.

*************** *************** ***************

The only thing interrupting the silence was the crackling sound of fire. Sitting in the other identical chair just a few feet away, Severus watched the girl closely. She seemed nervous for some reason – her right leg was bouncing up and down restlessly, and she was back to gnawing at her bottom lip. Her eyes would not meet his; instead, they were clued to the floor. But he guessed that he could not blame her since it was indeed an incredibly weird situation.

Truth be told, he felt very much the same. Internally, he was chiding himself for being such a slave to his emotions. He knew that it had been wrong to invite her here, of course; that it would only make their relationship more personal which it definitely should not become. But he had just felt this inexplicable urge to do something, and, with how inexperienced he was when it came to social interactions, this was the only thing he could come up with – to try to make things better.

Admittingly, Severus was still a bit shocked by her look. He obviously knew that students often chose to wear casual clothing outside of class; after all, he had been a student at one point, too. And needless to say, he had seen her dressed in something other than her uniform before – during their coincidental confrontation in the Hospital Tower, a couple of times at Grimmauld Place, and in the memories which he had secretly viewed over a month ago, to name just a few instances. But for some reason, tonight was something else. Her outfit was definitely not special or provocative by any means, yet it threatened to disarm him wholly. The way the tight jeans hugged her curves, the way that the red of the jumper complimented her complexion – she was effortlessly breath-taking. It literally took him all of his hard-earned self-control not to start drooling right then and there.

When he had initially come up with his plan to help her feel better again, he had not thought about how it would all actually go down, and so quite frankly, the awkward silence was intimidating him a bit now. In an attempt to break the tension that currently filled the room, he conjured a silver tray with a large teapot, two dainty porcelain cups and a plate of biscuits straight from the nearby kitchens. A flick of his hand was all that was needed to propel the iron kettle into the air and command it to pour out the piping hot herbal tea. Leaning forward, Severus then handed Granger one of the cups without a word before setting the other one down on the small wooden table beside him. She accepted the beverage without complaint; however, after a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Severus noticed that she still had not touched it.

“Drink,” he said a little bit too loudly, making her jump. But still, she did end up taking a small sip. His own cup continued to sit on the side table untouched, where it would remain like that for the rest of the night.

Taking a deep breath to gather up his courage, he then finally managed to force out the words, “Now talk.” He prayed to the gods that she had not heard the slight crack in his voice.

“Pardon?” Granger looked up at him with her brows furrowed in confusion.

Severus gulped. This was not going well.

“Talk,” he repeated hoarsely, staring directly into her whiskey-coloured eyes.

“About what, sir?”

He was not sure when it had started exactly, but he had come to hate it when she used honorifics to address him. It merely served as a reminder of their teacher-student relationship – of how inappropriate his crush really was.

“Your … feelings.”

As expected, her mouth dropped open. “Um –“

Severus interrupted her quickly, internally starting to panic.

“Miss Granger, I simply cannot work like this! I need an apprentice who is able to dedicate herself completely to the subject of potion brewing, and the conflict with your little friends is obviously preventing you from doing so. You left me with no choice but to do something about it! If I have learnt anything from mainstream literature and cinematography, it is that women like to solve their problems by talking about them. So go ahead.” He knew that he was speaking too fast – he was painfully aware of it, in fact – but he simply could not help it. “Talk.”

Granger’s puzzled facial expression showed just how lost she was for words. “Professor Snape, I don’t –“

“This is probably the only time I will ever say this aloud, but you are truly an excellent apprentice. I enjoy working with you, and so if this is what it takes for you to become productive again, then please, by all means, speak!”

It was rather fascinating how easily readable she was sometimes; Severus was practically able to watch her inner debate with his own eyes as a whole array of different emotions washed over her face. Finally – it felt like it had been forever – she came to a decision.

���I mean, I can understand that they feel a bit let down by me, but I still don’t think that their reaction was justified,” she mumbled, the primitive dance of the flames inside the fireplace reflecting in her pupils.

Not saying anything, Severus waited until she was ready to continue. He had learnt a long time ago that most people would eventually start talking again just to make the unpleasant taciturnity go away.

“Every single year, during the height of Quidditch season, I barely get to see all three of them. But did I ever complain? No! I have always understood that that’s their passion. I have always put their needs and wants before mine. I come to every single one of their games to support them, to cheer them on – yet they complain whenever I ask them to join me for a study session at the library. But then as soon as exams roll around, I’m suddenly in high demand again …”

Barely holding back tears, her whole body began to shake, and there was nothing that Severus wanted to do more than to close the short distance between them, to hold her and calm her down like he had done that one night in his office. But he forced himself to stay put.

“I don’t even know how many assignments I have helped them with over the years. You better don’t believe that even half of the essays they have submitted to you were actually written by them. I normally take academic integrity really seriously, but shit!” Severus’ eyebrows shot up in surprise at her use of a curse word. “Ron and Harry wouldn’t even have made it past first year if I hadn’t helped them. I pretty much pushed them through six years of schooling myself, and this is the thanks I get? THEY DIDN’T EVEN CARE ENOUGH TO SPEND TIME WITH ME ON MY BIRTHDAY, BECAUSE OF FUCKING COURSE QUIDDITCH IS MORE IMPORTANT! DID I SAY ANYTHING BACK THEN?!”

The petite woman was screaming at this point.

“Do they think I enjoyed being pushed to the centre of a bloody war just because I was friends with The Boy Who Lived? Do they think I enjoyed putting my life on the line every single day starting when I was still just a child? Time after time, I saved their asses from certain death, and now that the war is over, now that I do not have to worry about that shit anymore, they get mad at me for finally doing what I enjoy?!” By now, her face was covered in tears. “How dare they fuck me over like this! HOW DARE THEY! It’s like our friendship only exists on their terms. So what if I fucking missed lunch with them? Oh yeah, because that totally cancels out the time I got FUCKING TORTURED by that bitch Lestrange; when I was almost killed but did not say a single fucking word because I had to protect them!”

Granger let out an agonised whimper as she grabbed the left sleeve of her jumper and yanked it up, revealing a horrific sight: there, on the inside of her forearm, the word MUDBLOOD was carved into her delicate flesh over and over again, marking her from her wrist all the way up to the crook of her arm. The cuts – the dozens of them that were there – must have been extremely deep, as each dark red letter was elevated noticeably from her pale skin.

Without thinking, Severus jumped out of his seat. He was by his beloved’s side in no time.

“Bellatrix,” he hissed under his breath. The witch was lucky that she was already dead, because he certainly would not have been nice to her – not after seeing this. Kneeling next to the weeping girl, he carefully held her fragile arm in his wiry hands as he nonverbally cast different diagnostic spells.

“Why have I never seen this before?!” He had known that Granger had briefly fallen into enemy hands during the final battle; but no one, neither the Order nor the Dark Lord, had ever mentioned that torture had taken place. He could feel himself get angrier by the second. “Albus should have told me!”

Granger would not meet his gaze. “I don’t think he knows. Nobody knows. I usually cover it up with a charm.”

The anguish in her voice made his heart ache.

“This looks bad,” he whispered, even as everything inside him screamed to go on a murderous rampage. “But I am sure it could be fixed. We could try an ointment, maybe a potion. If you’d just give me enough time to come up with –“

“No,” she cut him off, pulling back her arm and covering up the marks with her sleeve again. “It’s of no use. She used some type of ancient pure-blood curse so it would never go away. Trust me, I’ve tried everything.”

Severus was taken aback by the sudden lack of emotion in her voice.

“I’ll just have to live with it. It’s a daily reminder of my real place in the wizarding world … a daily reminder of how worthless the blood running through my veins really is.”

Hopelessly despaired, Severus wanted to say something – anything – to the contrary and was desperately searching for the right words. But in the end, he stopped himself; nothing he could possibly say right now would make this situation any better. He had seen his fair share of magical injuries over the years, but this was definitely one of the worst. If Granger was right – if this had really been an ancient curse – then there was nothing he or anyone else could do. The fact that she was able to cover it up when needed was already incredible and showed just how unbelievably capable she truly was.

Still wanting to comfort his little witch and show sympathy somehow, he found himself reaching out and carefully placing his hand on hers. He heard her draw a sharp breath upon contact, and for a split second, he was afraid that she would pull away from him. But then, ever so lightly, she squeezed his fingers.

They stayed in that position for a very long time, holding hands in silence as they watched the fire slowly burn out. It was not until there was only a handful of dying embers left that he spoke up again, having to clear his throat first after not saying anything in so long.

“I know that nothing could ever possibly replace your friends, but if you want to then you can come here anytime you wish. I have a lot of books that I am sure you would enjoy, and if you ever don’t feel like eating in the Great Hall, the house elves do offer rather good room service. And they are very much discreet at that, too.” His heart was beating so fast and loud that he was sure all of Scotland could hear. “I wouldn’t really mind your company either. After all, you do seem to be the only person in the entire castle that is able to hold an intellectually stimulating conversation for longer than five minutes.”

For the first time tonight, he saw the corners of her mouth lift a little.

“I’d love that,” she said softly.

Severus could not stop himself from grinning back at her.

“Great!” he exclaimed without a care in the world about whether he sounded just a little bit too enthusiastic in that moment. “Then let me just quickly jot down the password for you.”

“A-are you sure? I mean, I could just knock!”

Severus chuckled at her shocked expression as he stood up and walked over to his secretary desk.

“I think your position as Head Girl proves that you are more than trustworthy. As long as you promise me that you are over your ‘breaking in and stealing from other people’s private stocks’ phase from five years ago, I think that we should be just fine.”

Granger’s face instantly mottled crimson.

“You know that was me?” she whispered, positively mortified.

“You were sitting in the Hospital Wing a half-human half-cat. It did not take a genius to connect the dots. Besides, who do you think brewed you the antidote?”

“Oh god! Sir, I am so, so sorry! I –“

“It’s all right. Here,” he said, handing her a small piece of paper. “Come and go as you wish. Even when I am not here.”

“I, I –“ Severus could not help it – the mean professor inside him still for some reason enjoyed seeing a student stammer helplessly right in front of him. “I don’t even know what to say, sir. Thank you so much. For your kind offer and for letting me get it all out. I appreciate it, really!”

An hour later, as he laid alone in bed, Severus could only think of one thing: he never knew that Granger could swear like that.

(Click here for chapter 17!)

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu) Memory

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Friendship, Angst, Drama ☁

Word Count: 4,826 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Tetsutetsu ☁

World: Boku no Hero Academia ☁

Author’s Note: First time writing for Tetsu and he’s probably so out of character haha I don’t know why, but it was so hard to focus on writing this and I’m not sure if it was the fic doing it or just because I can’t focus on one thing for more than two seconds (thanks tumblr). But I powered through and I think the ending is okay?? Either way, enjoy nearly 5,000 words of Tetsu pft Oh, by the way, I cried working on the middle so good luck.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Your earliest memory that you could recall was about Tetsutetsu, standing over you with a curious expression on his chubby cheeks. It was the height of summer, cicadas singing without pause as the sun beamed down with angry rays of heat. You hated the summer, but your mother was tired of you spending all your free time on the computer, so she ordered you outside to get some exercise. And at the age of six, who were you to argue? Plus, she threatened to cut the internet cord if you didn’t so so, which was a big motivator.

This boy, with his mop of silver hair and black eyes, teeth as sharp as a razor and eyes lined with tan-colored spikes, had seen you fall dramatically to the grass and had rushed over to make sure you were not injured. Screaming in your face admittedly wasn’t the best way to approach someone that might be injured, but his worry touched your heart, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.

As the two of you sat there, talking about all of the things you both enjoyed or couldn’t stand, time quickly ticked by and, before you knew it, the sun was hiding behind the mountains in the distance. You had, surprisingly, completely forgotten about the internet and the anime you had been binging that morning.

When he noticed the darkness quickly setting in, he stood up and offered you his hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“Sure,” your hand slid into his own and he pulled you up with little effort, but he didn’t release your hand, nor did you try to pull away. “Ne, what’s your name? Mine is Y/N.”

He grinned widely, his shark-like teeth glinting under the light of the streetlamp. “My name’s Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu! Remember it, because I’m gonna be a pro-hero!”

You honestly didn’t know how to feel, unable to wrap your young mind around how a parent could doom their child with such a name. Did his family hate him? Was it some sort of dare gone wrong? As badly as you wanted to ask him about it, you thought it rude to do so. “Thanks for walking me home, future hero.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he increased his grip. “Can we hang out tomorrow, too?”

You considered this for a moment before nodding, offering him a grin. “Sure!”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

The second memory that sprang to your mind took place when you were just twelve years old. Spring was coming to a close and you had decided to confess your feelings for your classmate, Yui. The pink-haired boy was your first crush and your first heartbreak, and you had made the mistake of confessing to him during lunch, surrounded by your peers.

It didn’t go well.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but -”

“He would never like you!” Yua, his twin sister, forced herself between the two of you, her loud voice drawing the attention of the other students. “You’re too ugly for him and you look like a hippo! Hippo Y/N, hippo Y/N!”

Tears stung at your eyes as you looked to Yui, waiting for him to stick up for you, but he only turned his head away, eyes cast toward the ground. The other students soon joined Yua in her teasing.

“Hippo Y/N! Hippo Y/N! Hippo Y/N!”

Your sneakers squeaked across the floor as you ran toward the door, tears blurring your vision. Your nearly ran into Tetsu and his friend as they entered the lunchroom, but you dodged his hands when he tried to reach for you. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at your retreating form. Why were you crying? And then he heard the other kids chanting and laughing. As badly as he wanted to yell at Yua, who was clearly the mastermind, you were his top priority. He had to make sure you were okay, but… where had you gone?

The roof was off-limits to the students because of how rusted the railing was, so the doors were kept locked. That meant nothing to you, though, as your quirk, Key, was able to easily bypass this. It was a fairly simple quirk that allowed you to create a key for any lock you touched, but it disappeared after use.

The janitor had left the door unlocked once, allowing a group of girls to skip class by hiding out on the roof. When the staff found out about this, the janitor was fired and the girls received a month of detention each. Since then, the roof has remained unused, no one wanting to risk spending a month with Jamison-sensei. The place was perfect for you to hide away from the other students.

You headed to the far side of the roof, sliding down the side of the metal air conditioning unit, the fan whirring loudly. The sound helped to block out the sound of your sobs, though you did try to muffle them by stuffing your face against your knees.

Tetsu was panicking as he ran through the school, trying to find his best friend, but you were nowhere in sight. As he rounded the corner, he suddenly came to a stop, spying the thin staircase that led directly to the roof. Something compelled him forward and he raced up the stairs without a second thought. Though the door was closed tight, his eyes just barely caught sight of the gray dust left behind in the lock from your quirk – a fine, barely visible powder.

He pushed the door open, the metal creaking loudly. A choked sob reached his ears, making his heart seize painfully as he followed the sound, finding you curled up within yourself, body shaking. The sight left him feeling a pain he had never before felt and he didn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you, whispering softly into your ear as you clung to his shirt as if your life depended on it.

It took a couple of days before you were back to your normal self, and you were surprised that the other kids weren’t still teasing you. While you assumed they had just gotten bored and moved on, the truth was that Tetsu had yelled at anyone he found to be making fun of you, threatening to pound them senseless if they didn’t stop.

You didn’t need to know that.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You never wanted to be a hero. Really, there wasn’t anything that you wanted for the future, you were just kind of living life and enjoying your youth by binge-watching anime. Maybe you could be a video game designer? Or perhaps you could get a job at the local internet provider. Maybe then they would have better download speeds because it takes far too long to download your anime.

Tetsutetsu was different. He had been motivated to be a hero since he was a child, and he was training hard to get accepted into U.A. high, the leading school for hero hopefuls. Being his best friend meant that he forced you into training with him and even managed to convince you to sign up for the entrance exam alongside him, which you thought was a complete waste of time. After all, how could someone with a Key quirk become a pro hero? Still, you wanted to support your best friend and you had nothing better to do, so you agreed.

The written test was troublesome, mostly because you couldn’t stay focused with a winged boy sitting to your left. His wings would react to his thoughts and feelings, so they kept expanding and shuddering and you couldn’t possibly concentrate until you touched them.

He did not appreciate that.

When it came to the physical test, you had a lot more fun than you had expected. With Tetsu’s training, you were able to dodge most of the robot’s attacks, though one did sock you in the gut, leaving a nasty bruise. While dodging, you just had to locate a control panel or emergency shut off switch, to which your quirk became quite useful. It was pretty cool to see so many different types of quirks in action, you had to admit.

There was one person specifically that caught your eye; a blonde boy with some kind of explosion quirk. Though he didn’t seem to be anything too impressive, he was so aggressive and angry that you couldn’t help feeling intrigued. He was someone that definitely demanded attention.

When the results of the exam finally came in, you were surprised to find that you had been accepted into the hero course. You immediately headed over to Tetsu’s house to see if he had gotten his letter, as well. He had, but was too afraid to open it and made you do so for him.

“You got in!” You grinned after the holographic video ended. “Congratulations, Tetsu!”

He threw his arms around you, sniffling as he tried to hold back his tears. “I got in!!” And then he paused, pulling back so he could look at you. “Did you?”

“Yup! Class… A, I think?”

Tetsu’s smile faltered for half a second, barely noticeable to most, but very much so to yourself. “That’s… great!”

“What’s wrong?” your brow furrowed.

“It’s nothing. I was just hoping we’d be in the same class!”

“Oh, yeah, that does suck. But we’ll still be best friends, don’t worry!”

You made the mistake of believing him.

You’d pay for that later.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You remembered it like it was yesterday, though it had been about two weeks already. It was, by far, your most painful memory to date, but you couldn’t help feeling like it was all your fault. You had misinterpreted the signs or just missed them altogether. What kind of friend were you? After everything he had done for you over the years, this is how you repay him.

You stole his dream away from him.

It was right after the announcement for the sports festival. The other classes had gathered outside of class 1-A, scoping out the competition because, after you all had been attacked by villains, your class was front-page news. Tetsu was also there, yelling up a storm as he usually did. You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, but he didn’t appreciate that.

His eyes narrowed at you, fists clenched tightly at his sides. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t raised like normal, it was deadly calm. “You think this is funny, Y/N? This has always been a joke to you. You don’t even want to be a hero, but you get put in class A… you’re pathetic!”

It left like his words had been turned into sharp arrows, piercing your heart with each sentence. In all of the years you’ve known him, he had never talked to you like that, never raised his voice or gotten angry at you. So what had changed?

“Tetsu, I…” But what could you say that didn’t make things worse? He was right, after all.

Bakugo, who you had gotten close to since starting at U.A., scoffed as he threw his back over his shoulder. “You’re just mad because you know you’re beneath us,”

“Katsuki,” you hissed, smacking his shoulder. “Stop trying to make things worse!”

Tetsu’s lip curled back in disgust as he watched you, not missing how you used the boy’s first name. He had witnessed first hand how close you had gotten to the ash blonde and he didn’t like it. “Y/N, this is my declaration! I will beat you in the sports festival and take your spot in class A!”

“Ha! You can try, you damned extra, but you won’t get far! Let’s go, Y/N!” Bakugo took off down the hall.

You turned your attention back to Tetsu with a frown, but he only scoffed and walked in the opposite direction. You could only stand there feeling like shit, watching your best friend walk away from you.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You sighed as you fell into your seat, eyes trained on the window beside your desk. The sky was dark grey, completely blocking out the sun. Rain fell in heavy sheets, the wind blowing hard enough to knock thin branches from nearby trees. The forecast had said nothing about rain and, just twenty minutes ago, the sun was shining without a cloud in sight.

‘Maybe I have a secret quirk that changes the weather according to my mood,’ you sighed again, burying your face in your arms that sat atop the desk. It certainly reflected your current mood. You had been thinking on it a lot and you came to realize that Tetsu had been slowly distancing himself from you since the day you both were accepted at U.A. You had just assumed he was spending time with his new classmates so you didn’t pressure him, but now you wondered if that had been his subtle way of reaching out to you.

You wanted nothing more than to fix this, but you didn’t know how. You had gone to class B to try and talk it out, but that annoying prick, Monoma, had blocked your way, not missing a beat when it came to insulting class A. For some reason, though, he was careful not to insult you, which you did find strange, but you had more important things to worry about.

“Damn it, Y/N, if you sigh one more damn time I’m gonna kick your ass!” Bakugo jumped out of his seat, slamming his foot on your desk.

You only groaned in response, the sound muffled by your arms.

Kirishima frowned as he approached. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You muttered a response, but it was impossible to make out.

“Speak up, damn it!!”

You lifted your head, eyes glassy as you tried not to cry. Seeing this threw Bakugo off guard and he froze, not knowing how to respond. Your eyes met the red rubies of Kirishima, who reminded you so much of Tetsu. You would give anything to fix your relationship with him.

And then it struck you like a bolt of lightning splitting the sky. You knew what you had to do. You jumped out of your chair, startling the two boys who called your name as you ran from the room, nearly hitting Todoroki in your haste.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“Please, sensei!” You pleaded, bending at the waist as you bowed at the two pro heroes standing before you.

Aizawa rubbed the back of his messy locks, feeling annoyed with your request. “That isn’t possible, Y/N.”

“But why not?” You demanded, straightening your back so you could look him in the eye.

Kan grunted, folding his arms over his chest. “He has to earn his place, not be given it by someone that’s trying to win brownie points.”

“I’m not trying to win brownie points,” you snapped, fists clenching at your sides. “He has more than earned it! I shouldn’t even be here, he should!”

“Calm down,” Aizawa ordered, narrowing his eyes in warning.

“Not until you let Tetsu take my place! I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be a hero! All of this is meaningless to me if I lose him in the process!” Tears flowed down your cheeks but you didn’t care.

Aizawa’s expression softened as he stepped forward, his hand resting on your head. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but this is not the way to fix it.”

“I don’t know what else to do, sensei.” You sobbed, looking into his tired eyes. “Tell me what to do,”

“Talk to him and tell him how you feel. That’s the best advice I can give.”

“He won’t talk to me!”

“He doesn’t have to talk, he just has to listen.” He ruffled your hair. “You may not think so, but you belong here. You earned your place. Now go on, go fix this problem. I won’t have you distracted and causing problems.”

“Yes, sensei…” you muttered, rubbing at your eyes as you left the room. Maybe he was right – Tetsu didn’t have to talk to you, and even if he walked away, as long as he heard what you had to say, that was enough. You could only hope that your words would reach him.

With your mind made up, you furiously wiped away your tears before heading for class B. Most of the students had already left the class, but the most important one was still there, but so was Monoma. When the blonde noticed you in the doorway, he sprung up like a Jack in the box.

“What are you doing here, hmm? Did you get lost? Makes sense since from class -”

“Get out of my way!” You snapped, eyes narrowed at him. Even with your eyes red and puffy, he scared of what you might do, but Monoma was an egotistical idiot that didn’t know when to quit.

He laughed loudly, his tone going up an octave to mirror his nervousness. “Class A isn’t at all heroic! You’re all a bunch of villains in training!”

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention to Tetsu. He had clearly heard the commotion, but he continued to write in his book as if you didn’t exist. You swallowed hard, “Tetsu -”

“He doesn’t want to associate with villains from class A!”

“Tetsu,” you called desperately. “You don’t have to respond, but please just listen to what I have to say! I’m a selfish jerk that doesn’t deserve to have such a good friend. You’ve always been there for me no matter what and… all of my best memories are with you! I applied for U.A. because you asked me to, but a part of me did it because I was scared of losing you. I never intended to hurt you or take your place and you’re right, I am pathetic… but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to fix this, Tetsu. You’ve always been better than me at solving problems. You’re better than me at everything! A better friend, a better fighter, a better person.”

While his hand stilled, he didn’t lift his gaze from the book. You were well aware of all the eyes on you, his classmates and several students that had been passing by. You probably looked like a fool, but you didn’t care.

“Do you remember the day we met? You told me to remember your name because you were going to be a pro hero one day. The truth is… You’re already a hero. My hero! You’ve always been there for me. A shoulder to cry on when I’m sad. A friend to confide in when I’m stressed. A knight in shining armor when someone messes with me. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize it, but… I’m in love with you, Tetsu. I have been since the first day we met. I’m so sorry for betraying you, I never meant… I didn’t…” Tears stung your eyes again and you didn’t bother holding them back. “I’m sorry,”

Having said your peace and knowing that Tetsu had no intention of responding, you turned around and left the room, hanging your head as the gathered students whispered about you. You had bore your heart for all to see and, while it hurt like nothing you had felt before, somehow you felt a bit lighter.

People always say you shouldn’t make decisions when you’re emotional, but they fail to realize that’s when you’re most motivated. With this in mind, you waited until class A was empty before slipping a folded piece of paper onto Aizawa’s desk – it was your resignation from from U.A. high. The whole point of coming here was to be with Tetsu because you were scared of losing him, but look where that got you. If Tetsu wasn’t by your side, you didn’t want to be at U.A. anymore.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

BANG

The sudden, loud sound from downstairs jolted you from your sleep, nearly causing you to fall off the bed. A week had passed since you left U.A. and several of your classmates had been trying to contact you, including Bakugo who liked yo bang on your door for thirty fucking minutes, threatening to “burn your ass to ash”. Thankfully, your parents had gone overseas last week and weren’t do back for the rest of the month.

But that left you to wallow in self-pity and binge watch anime filled with romantic drama and tears. Your room was a mess, tissues thrown everywhere, clothes literring the floor, and empty ramen cups stacked up by the desk. Another bang sounded from downstairs and you glanced at the clock.

Six pm. That was a bit early for Bakugo’s visit, but maybe he was trying to catch you off guard. Either way, you couldn’t be botheted, choosing to fall back against the mattress and cover your body with the comforter. In your cocoon, you felt safe and it was the closest you had felt to content since falling out with Tetsu. Your heart clenched painfully just at the thought of him. Yui may have been your first crush, but Tetsu was definitely your first love and boy did it hurt a lot worse than just some crush.

SLAM!

You jumped in surprise, shooting up in bed. Bakugo was persistant, sure, but not that persistent. It sounded like the front of your house collapsed! Panicked, you hurried off the bed while simultaneously trying to throw off the comforter, but your foot got stuck and you ended up falling to the wooden floor face first.

Footsteps echoed loudly as they ran up the stairs to your room, the bedroom door opened with such a force that it bounced off the wall. “Y/N!”

That familiar voice made your head snap up, reddened from the impact to the floor. “T-Tetsu?”

His face was hard and angry, but it softened just a bit when he saw you on the floor. Normally, he would have run to you without a second thought to make sure you were okay, but with everything that had happened, he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

You slowly sat back onto your knees, legs on either side of your body. “Did you break into my house?”

His body tensed up, a small line of pink coming across his cheeks. “I, uh… You wouldn’t answer the door!”

You scoffed. “I wonder how many criminals have tried that excuse.”

An awkward silence settled over the room and neither of you seemed capable of facing the other. Had you ever felt this awkward around him before? You scanned your memory, but every instance you could think of with him felt warm and comforting. You wanted that back, but… just like a piece of water, once it was crumbled up into a ball, no matter how much time you spend trying to smooth it out, it can never be perfect again. And that terrified you.

Unable to take the silence any longer, you finally spoke up, but your voice wasn’t nearly as strong as you wished it was. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you really drop out of U.A.?” he didn’t even give you a chance to respond. “Are you stupid?! Do you have any idea how many kids would kill to get into U.A.?! Into the hero course?! And you just three it away like it was nothing!”

A surge of anger rushed over you as you got to your feet, eyes narrowed at your former best friend. “What the fuck do you care for, huh? I can’t fucking win with you anymore, Tetsu! I didnt even want to apply, but I did it for you and when I got accepted, you got pissed at me because they put me in class A. And then when I give up my spot and leave the program, you’re still not happy! What do you want from me, huh?! You want me to just roll over and die so you don’t have to -!”

Tetsu couldn’t control himself. One minute he was standing in the doorway and the next he had rushed forward, his palm connecting with your cheek.

SMACK

Your eyes widened as your head tilted to the side, cheek stinging from the impact. ‘He just… hit me?’

“Don’t ever say that!” he cried, tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t live without you, Y/N!”

You didn’t know what to say as the boy fell to his knees, tears falling down his eyes as his body shook. You had never seen him so upset, so vulnerable before. He was always strong and filled with positivity and hope, but now… He was just as broken as you were. You kneeled in front of him, hands suspended in mid-air as you tried to decide if you should comfort him or not. You didn’t want to make the situation worse, but he made the decision for you, throwing himself against your body and burying his face in your chest. You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him, gently running your fingers through his mane of silver hair.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, fingers digging into your back. “I just wanted to be your hero but then you got put in class A and started doing better than me! I got jealous and I said things I didn’t mean, I… god I’m so sorry!!”

You softly shushed him, your hand running across the length of his back just as he had done to you so many times in the past. “Its okay, Tetsu, I unders -”

“It’s not!” he cried. “I pushed you away, right into the arms of that damned Bakugo!”

“Katsuki?” Your brow furrowed. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“You think I haven’t noticed how close the two of you are? He’s your new best friend, right?”

“No!” You grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back so you could see his eyes, your hands gently cupping his face. “You are my best friend, Tetsu. You always have been and always will be. I consider Katsuki a friend, sure, but he’s got nothing on you!”

His eyes met yours, his large hands sliding over your own. “In class, did you… did you mean what you said?”

With a blush in your cheeks, you nodded, offering him a smile. “I did. I love you, Tetsutetsu. You’re my everything and I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“I love you, too.” He suddenly leaned forward, his lips capturing your own. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The fight was forgotten, the words scrubbed free from both of your memories. All that mattered was here and now, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You stood on the porch, leaning on the wooden railing as you watched the wind blowing the field of flowers in the distance. The house you lived in was just outside the city, within a small town that valued nature over the overwhelming number of buildings the city offered. Plus, there was little crime in the area, making it a safe place to live for families.

The screen door squeaked as it was opened and shut, the wooden floor creaking under the weight as Tetsu stepped up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, his warm chest pressed up against your back.

“What are you doing out here?” he questioned, voice groggy after having just woken up. A gust of wind blew across the house. “It’s so hot outside, you should come back inside where it’s cool.”

You chuckled, leaning back against him. “It hasn’t been this hot in a while. It brought back some memories.”

He hummed, his lips lazily moving across your neck. “Good ones?”

“The day we met, actually. It was also this hot.”

“Yeah, it was, but your mom still made you go outside.” Tetsu chuckled. “She threatened your internet, right?”

“Yes!” You scowled at the memory, crossing your arms over your chest. “The nerve of that woman. I would never be so cruel to my child!”

He quirked a brow, turning you around to face him. “You’re planning to have a child without me?!”

You pretended to think on it a moment, laughing when he pouted at you. “Hmm, I was thinking of having a kid with that pro hero, what was his name – – Real Steel, that’s it!”

“Oh?” he smirked, leaning down to pepper kisses across your neck. “And what makes him so special?”

You groaned when he bit down softly on your flesh. “He’s such a handsome man. Strong and caring, and those abs, my god.” As if to prove your point, your hand ran under his shirt, nails scraping across his stomach. His muscles tensed and he groaned against your skin.

“You’re such a tease, Y/N.”

You chuckled, tugging at your husband’s hair so your lips could meet his. “But I’m your tease, Tetsu~”

Tetsu smiled warmly, claiming your lips with every ounce of love within his body. Yes, you were definitely his, but he was just as much yours.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

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[xaphrin]

A Thousand Secrets and One Truth

Raven annoyed the hell out of him.

Absolutely annoyed the hell out of him. And, honestly, Tim wasn’t even sure why she annoyed him. For the most part, she kept to herself - either quietly taking notes in their two classes together, or staring out of the window, looking off into the distance. Even when she did talk, it was to ask a usually ask a poignant question, or make a point the professor wanted the class to learn. She was smart, observant, and unnerving. There was something about the way Raven looked at him that set Tim’s entire body on edge. It wasn’t so much like she was checking him out - like some of the other girls on campus - but that she could see into him. Past the designer clothes and dimples, like she was trying to pull apart his entire being and then piece him back together with better understanding.

And sometimes it was as though she somehow knew that he wasn’t entirely what he seemed, or what he claimed to be.

Tim wasn’t sure how she knew, or even how he knew that she knew, but there was something about the side-eye she gave him that made him feel like she had figured him out. It set him on edge, and while he hadn’t mentioned it to Kon or Gar, it was enough to make him wary. He had tried to avoid her the best that he could, but she kept reappearing - no matter what the time or circumstances.

Like now - at two in the morning, in the school library.

Tim swore under his breath and closed his laptop, pretending to be flipping through a book next to him. He watched as she stepped through the shelves, and her eyes settled on his form, watching for what felt like an eternity. His lips twitched as she lifted her stare towards his, her eyes settling on his brow. Of course she noticed him, they were the only two in the whole building. His body stiffened as she walked up to him and set a paper coffee cup down in front of him without any kind of ceremony. He could smell the scent of unsweetened coffee with a small amount of cream, exactly how he took it. How in the world did she know?

Her voice was somehow loud and soft at the same time, like she was screaming, but her words were being swallowed by the stillness of the library around her. “I thought you’d be here.”

Tim’s lips twitched and he stared at her, his face blank, but Raven seemed unfazed.

“I thought you had already handed in all your midterms. So, what are you doing in the library in the middle of the night? Shouldn’t you be out partying with all the other students?” She didn’t sit down, but she stared at him as though she were expecting him to invite her to join him. He didn’t.

“Mm. I see you’re as talkative as ever.” She sat down anyway, her lips pulling up at the edge as if she knew something he didn’t.

Tim’s stare flicked down to the coffee cup. It did sound good. He’d been up for nearly twenty hours at this point, and he couldn’t remember a time when his mind wasn’t racing. If he ever needed a shot of caffeine in was now.  “What do you want?”

“You’re doing something not school-related.” Raven crossed her arms over her chest, still staring at him. “I’m not oblivious. I just want to know what it is.”

“It doesn’t concern you.” He grabbed the offered coffee cup and took a long drink, keeping his stare leveled on her. It was good. It felt like it was going straight into his mind and was slowly lifting him back up where he needed to be. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the taste as if he were being transported to Nirvana. Maybe Dick was right, maybe he did rely too much on coffee.

“You’re not enrolled in this school for education. You have a 4.5 GPA. A four-point-five.” Her sharp reiteration of his current GPA made it clear she had been studying him, and probably for a while. He wondered how long it had taken her to get into his records on campus, and almost felt a little proud that she’d managed to get the information.

Raven continued, her voice barely above a whisper, but no less heavy. “You could have easily tested out of every single class you’re enrolled in, but you didn’t. You should be in master-level classes, but you’re not. Instead you’re taking Chem 100 and Intro to Algebra like every other student on this campus.” Her lips twitched, and she continued to stare at him, eyes steely. It was like something in her had flipped, and she was no longer the quiet girl who sat next to him in chemistry. She was something different, and he could feel it crackling just under the surface of her skin.

“I won’t ask why you’re here, and enrolled in classes way below your level. If it’s something you can’t or don’t want to divulge, I won’t force you to talk about it.” She pressed her lips together and glanced away, as if there was something inside herself that felt as though it was eating at her. “But… if it has anything to do with the disappearances… I want to help. I think you owe me that much at least.”

Tim was honestly surprised he was able to keep his face as calm as he did. She was smart. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“My friend was one of them.” Her voice was soft, but it had an edge to it that seemed to cut deeper than he was expecting. Raven set her hands on top of the table, her fingers tightening into fists, as if she was ready to fight him. “Look, it doesn’t take much to realize that you magically showed up after the third disappearance, that you’re far too smart to be in any of the classes you are enrolled in - classes, by the way, that the missing girls were enrolled in. Or had a connection to.”

Holy hell. She was definitely smart. Tim felt a small amount of pride fill his chest as he stared at her. He was impressed that she had figured it out so quickly.

“Look… my friend was the only one who’s known me for what I am and still been kind to me. She made me feel like I had a place here, so if something happened to her, then I want to bring her back and keep her safe.” Raven lifted her eyes to Tim’s face, and he felt something odd in his chest turn over. His stomach knotted and he watched as she glanced away, dropping her voice again. “I don’t think that’s so much to ask for.” She paused. “Besides, I can be useful.”

Her words itched at the back of his mind, and he felt the question fall from his lips before he realized how rude it really was. “What are you?”

“What are you?” Her voice turned painfully sharp, and she leveled another stare at him. Something sparked at her fingertips and she shoved her hands under the table. “Genius boy who sits next to me in Chem 100? You can’t just go around and ask people what they are, it’s rude.”

Tim shook his head, trying to make heads or tails of his own thoughts, but everything suddenly felt out of focus. “Look, if you’re asking about the disappearances, then you know something more than most people. Tell me what you know.”

Raven crossed her arms over her chest, the stillness in her unnerving. “Tell me why you need to know.”

“If I was investigating the disappearances, then I would need to know all the information you have.” Tim realized that made him sound like he was actually trying to investigate the missing girls, but obviously this girl knew more than anyone else had at this point. If he could get her to open up a bit more about what had happened, then her knowledge could shave off weeks of his investigation. He played to her heart. “It would help me find your friend quicker.”

That did the trick.

Raven shifted, obviously trying to play her hand close to her chest. She knew that if she gave too much information, Tim would take it and not include her any more. But she also seemed to know that giving him the information would lead to her finding her friend quicker. It was a choice she didn’t want to make, but there were no other alternatives. Tim felt a thick black feeling of guilt tighten around his heart and he looked away. He shouldn’t antagonize her like this.

She picked up her phone and flicked through the screen. “Runes.” Raven handed her phone to him, pictures up on the screen. “There were runes all over where she was last seen. The police dismissed them, and said they were just gang symbols or bad graffiti, but I know better. They weren’t gang symbols. They were runes. Old ones.”

Tim looked down into the screen, flicking through the pictures. This was useful. It was the most information he’d gotten since he arrived here. None of the police reports he’d read, or the roommates he talked to mentioned any of this. “You can read these?”

Raven nodded, her expression cautious and a bit guarded. She was trying to read how much she could trust Tim. “A little. I was taught some of them when I was younger, but I haven’t really read them in a long time. I’m… probably a little rusty.”

Tim flicked through the pictures of the runes, until he saw a cute selfie with a redhead with bright green eyes pressing her cheek against Raven’s and smiling into the camera. Wait. That was… Tim’s eyebrows knitted together and he stared at the screen. “Kori?”

Raven snatched her phone back, her face serious again. She held her phone close against her chest, as if she had been burned by something he said. Her eyes were wide. “How do you know Kori?”

“She’s my…” He snapped his mouth shut, too much information all over again. Tim shifted, looking away as he reached for the now half-empty coffee in front of him. “That’s not important.”

Raven glared, her stare sweeping down the length of him still trying to read him. “Are you Dick? Is that why you won’t tell me who you actually are? I’ve never seen a picture of him, but Kori said he was a great detective. That he trained with the best.”

“No! I’m not Dick.” Tim shook his head. “Dick is my… friend?” He didn’t really know what to call him. He barely knew what to call the other Robins. Sometimes he called them brothers, but that wasn’t exactly right either. Dick tried his best to be inclusive, but there was always a sadness when he looked at Tim, Damian was threatening to kill him half the time, and Jason barely tolerated him, although Tim didn’t really blame him for that either. “Dick is someone I’m close with, but our relationship is… complicated.���

That was about as close to an explanation as he could get.

Raven blinked, and she kept staring at him as if she was determined to figure him out. A long stretch of silence passed between them, and she cocked her head to the side. “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

He wasn’t sure. Tim changed the subject quickly, hoping he could turn her observant stare away from him. “How do you know Kori?”

“She was a TA in one of my classes my sophomore year. We became friends after that.” The explanation was simple, but honest. She wasn’t lying.  

“Did you know… about her?” Tim made sure to leave the question carefully open for interpretation. If Raven knew the truth about Kori, she would pick up on it. If she didn’t then they weren’t as close as Raven let on.  

“Did I know… what? That she was an alien?” Raven nodded, looking down at the table. “I knew. I think a few of the professors knew too, but no one mentioned anything. At least not to her face.”

“Do you know anything about the other girls that disappeared?”

Raven shook her head. “I know that it can’t be… human. Whatever is taking them, I mean. Kori is the strongest person I know - mentally and physically. If someone has taken her, then this is…” She trailed off, and Raven took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Her hands were starting to shake. “Then, it’s dangerous. I’m worried for Kori, but I’m worried for the other girls too, and… and anyone else on campus who might not be what they seem.”

There was something in her voice that told him that she included herself in that thought.

Tim looked at her, and for a moment, Raven looked so small and vulnerable. In the dark quiet of the library, with the shadows trying to pull tightly around her form, he could tell that she wasn’t entirely human. There was something more to her that she was offering to show him, but he didn't know what it was or how to interpret it. And he certainly didn’t know if he should trust it or not. It was one thing to put himself in danger, but it was something else entirely to jeopardize the integrity of their mission and the rest of the team just because she had information.

And yet… his gut was telling her to trust her. He’d met Kori several times, and while she could be a bit of a space-case sometimes, but she was wise beyond her years. So, if she called Raven a friend and trusted her with Kori’s own secrets, then Tim could probably do the same.

“Okay…” His voice was low, and he took another long drag of coffee. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

Raven lifted her face towards him again, the dim light of the abandoned library filling her face. “And I can help find Kori?”

He really should talk to the team first, but…  

“Yes.”

Raven’s eyes widened, and Tim felt that weird feeling in his chest again, like his heart was practically vibrating inside him. He should have wondered exactly what he had agreed to with this, but looking into her face, he realized he didn’t care. She was just… kinda cute. And for a split second, that took over all logic in his brain. He’d take the wrath from the team later, but right now he could only see her.

[fueledbysprite]

Nathmarc November Day 24: Stargazing

well this is fluffy and crack and fun. it’s also 3k words but you know, i feel productive

The bus ride was agonizingly long and uncomfortable. Chloe ditched the bus within ten minutes and called up a private ride instead when Mme Mendeleiev told her she couldn’t skip out on the field trip, and Marc was starting to wish he had the money for a private ride, because this was starting to really get on his nerves. The bus was noisy and crowded, and even though he and Nath had both chosen seats at the very back where they didn’t have to share with someone else, the smooth, paved roads were far behind them, and every bump on the road hit them with maximum force.

And yet Nathaniel still somehow managed to sleep through the whole thing. Marc had never found himself so capable of falling asleep anywhere, and the chances of him successfully achieving even a minute of shut-eye with all this noise were very near impossible. He could only hope that tonight made up for the ride. Marc dared to let his imagination race with the possibilities, reminding himself not to set his hopes too high and expect anything, but dreaming far ahead of himself all the same.

Wishing for the millionth time that he’d thought to bring headphones, he put in the one earbud out of the pair that still worked, covered the other ear and turned the volume all the way to the top. He turned away from the window, the cloudy skies and dark trees on his side becoming unbearable to watch, and shifted his body so he was sitting lengthwise on the bus seat, facing Nathaniel’s seat on the other side. Marc leaned back against the window and kicked his legs up so his shoe soles were almost against Nathaniel’s, then closed his eyes and relaxed, letting his imagination run free.

He’d almost forgotten about the rowdy mob of people occupying the rest of the bus, almost drifted away to the point he’d forgotten they were going somewhere at all, until his head painfully bounced against the window on one final bump, bus jerking to a stop. Marc winced, rubbing his head and pulling the earbud out, and sitting up so he could see what was going on up there as Mme Mendeleiev stood up to give them directions. He only glanced away to see Nathaniel getting up himself, looking around confusedly until his attention snapped to the front.

“Everyone listen up!” Mme Mendeleiev commanded. “You all know who your partners are, stay with your partner throughout the entire afternoon, you’ll have time to break apart and mingle later, but don’t dare go exploring unless at least one person is with you! Am I understood?”

Chants of “Yes, Mme Mendeleiev” echoed through the bus and Marc mumbled it himself quietly in accord.

“Good,” she said. “You know what to do, I should be able to trust you enough to exercise common sense and complete the tasks you have been assigned to do. You are all aware of what’s off-limits so please be smart and we can all have a safe and fun trip!” She smiled encouragingly, much to the caution and terror of the students, and descended as the bus doors opened.

Nathaniel sat up, stretching. “Here already, huh?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. Marc tried to ignore the sleepy flush in Nath’s cheeks and the adorable way he spoke when he still wasn’t fully in the moment.

“Er, yeah,” Marc answered. “You’ll be with Alix, then,” he said uselessly, wondering why he was trying to make conversation like this. Maybe because he liked hearing Nathaniel talk- no. There was no point of getting himself all worked up when the school trip had barely begun.

Nathaniel nodded, leaning back in his seat. Alix shouted for him from wherever she was at the front, and they both looked up to see. Marinette was waving at Marc to come join her, so he bade one last glance at the redhead before gathering his things and joining his partner.

Although Marc would theoretically ideally have partnered with Nathaniel, and Marinette with Adrien, he had to retrospectively appreciate he’d picked Marinette. Although it meant less time with the person he’d have liked to spend the most time with, there were things that had to be done before the day ended, and Marc was sure they wouldn’t have been able to get them done this efficiently and relaxedly if he’d been with Nathaniel instead. Plus, he and Mari didn’t often get a chance to interact like this, and he wasn’t going to complain about working with his good friend. Though that didn’t stop Mari from looking wistfully over at Adrien and Kagami.

“Plans for tonight?” Marc asked, half-teasing. That was another thing he would have never dared to do if Nathaniel had been there. Marinette laughed.

“I wish,” she admitted. “What are the chances a guy and girl’ll end up with their sleeping bags next to each other out of almost 50 people? What about you? Don’t you have certain hopes for this trip?”

Marc chuckled too.

“Well, I mean, you know,” he said, flushing slightly. “Probably not gonna happen, but uh, I have some hopeful dreams,” he shrugged vaguely. Marinette grinned at him impishly.

“Still more hope than me,” she said, studying the trip itinerary. Marc gaped at her for a subtle moment.

“How would you know what I wanted to do?” he challenged, only slightly wary.

“Mm...” was all she gave in response, not at all helping his nerves.

Was he that obvious? Marc shrank in on himself, feeling suddenly anxious. Marinette glanced at him and looked up.

“Relax, I’m just playing with you,” she assured him. He looked at her with uncertainty, and she smiled reassuringly.

“Whatever you say...” Marc mumbled under his breath, before his attention was diverted by the list of things that had to be done before tonight.

***

“Dude! You should have seen his face! It was freaking hilarious!” Alix told the group that had gathered around the campfire. Nathaniel sat next to her, nodding along amusedly while clearly attempting not laugh.

“What happened?” Marc asked, taking a seat next to Nathaniel and trying to act casual.

“Kim- I don’t even know what he was doing- he ended up in the lake somehow and good thing Ondine was there with Lila- Ondine had to literally go in and get Kim out,” Nathaniel explained, smirking slightly.

“But I thought Kim was a swimmer?” Marc asked in confusion.

“I know!” Alix said. “Apparently Max was using Markov to take a sample of lakewater for some test, I think Kim wanted to know if it was safe to swim in, but then it fell in and Kim tried to save it?” she finished with a laugh.

“Okay, in my defense, Max designed that piece of equipment himself! Who knows how much it was worth?” Kim countered, arriving at the site with a towel around his neck, shirt open.

“Did you figure out if it was safe to swim in or not?” Nathaniel smirked in spite of himself. Marc didn’t remember Nath being this energetic or confident before.

Kim glared at him.

“I did, actually. Ondine and I are going to have a race tomorrow after breakfast,” he informed them.

“That’s great, Kim!” Marinette told him encouragingly, sitting down next to Marc so he was squished slightly against Nathaniel. He flushed.

Adrien arrived after that, Alya quickly convincing him to sit beside Marinette, and Marc was squeezed even closer against Nathaniel. He squirmed slightly, shrinking in on himself, until Nathaniel noticed and moved slightly over on his own side to give him more space. Marc wasn’t sure if he was thankful or disappointed at the gesture. At least he still had his comfort in personal space, he supposed.

“Kay, guys,” Kim said, once the whole class plus some others had gathered around a recently lit fire. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

He was met with general discordance, and groaned.

“Come on, you guys are no fun,” he complained. “What do you wanna do, then? Play hot potato and sing songs around the fire? What are we, six?”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Alya said brightly, much to Kim’s chagrin, and they began a half-hearted chorus of Smelly Wolf and 99 Bottles. They were on bottle 69 when some immature boys started smirking, and the singing ended rather soon after that.

“Why don’t we play Never Have I Ever?” Kagami suggested. “It’s less wild than Truth or Dare but it’s not something boring a ten-year-old would play.”

The others seemed to agree with that. Marc feeling a knot suddenly growing in his stomach, but nodded along with the rest. Nathaniel didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and Marc didn’t want to look like a wimp.

“I’ll start,” Alix volunteered. “Never have I ever fallen into a lake on a school trip.”

Half the group laughed at that, Nathaniel included, and Kim glared, putting down a finger. Markov closed one of his metal digits, too, out of respect for Kim, justifying that it had been his own apparatus that had fallen and caused Kim to go down too.

Next was Nathaniel. “Never have I ever, uhh, been on the very top of the Eiffel Tower, I guess?” he shrugged. Some people nodded, a surprising number having to put down a finger for that. Lila looked annoyed.

Marc swallowed when it was his turn, felling the others’ eyes on him expectantly. “I, uh, never have I ever...” he searched his mind for ideas. “Drank a cup of something that wasn’t what I thought it was,” he decided finally. The others were initially confused, then broke out into groans and laughs and remarks.

“Dang, Marc, way to expose me,” Nathaniel whispered, and Marc felt his cheeks grow warmer in embarrassment.

“S-sorry,” Marc mumbled. “It just came to mind,” he shrugged.

“You probably know how many times I’ve accidentally drank paint water, huh?” he asked playfully. Marc swallowed- of course the first thing that came to mind would have been linked to Nath somehow. Typical.

“Okay, okay, but guys!” Adrien called out over the rest of them, and they quickly silenced, more or less. “How do you know you haven’t ever drank a spiked drink. How would you know, huh?” he asked, and they all broke into energetic chatter about conspiracy theories and whether or not milk was really milk or actually just water and some other foreign substance.

Marc sighed into his hand, wishing he’d picked something else. Now everyone else was discussing something else and he and Nath were both silent.

“What do you think?” Nathaniel poked him gently, and he looked up. “Is juice really juice? I water really water? Are you sure what you were talking about?”

“Who knows,” Marinette answered for him, leaning over. “It’s all just one big hoax perpetrated by the illuminati,” she whispered, and Nathaniel noded seriously.

Marc found himself awkwardly in the middle as they went off discussing some of the wildest conspiracy theories he wouldn’t have ever been able to imagine himself. What were those two even high on?

It barely felt like any time had passed at all until Mme Mendeleiev shouted over the group and informed them it was getting late and they should be getting out their sleeping arrangements before it got dark out. Nathaniel set off to locate his own bag, and Marc headed over to the sheltered structures to change into his sleeping wear, quietly praying he found a spot near Nathaniel before the site filled up. He ran back to the field just in time to catch Nathaniel rolling out a sleeping bag, and stopped, staring.

“What?” Nathaniel asked, noticing Marc watching him intently. Marc didn’t say anything, just watched him in surprise. “What, my pajamas? I’m a comic book fan, don’t you know me yet?” he smiled, slightly unsurely, Marc could tell.

“N-no, I think it’s awesome you still wear Marvel pajamas,” Marc said quickly before Nathaniel’s confidence disappeared and Marc was left forever guilty.

Chloe apparently didn’t think the same. She had stalked over with a rather pretty bag of personal items in one hand (Marc would never bring something that expensive on a camping trip), followed by Sabrina who was carrying a large uninflated air mattress and comforter. She took one look at Nathaniel and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“What are you, ten?” she asked. “Who the heck wears those to a school trip? You’ve got some nerve, wearing those in front of the whole grade.”

Nathaniel looked down, Marc swallowing nervously, until both sensed Chloe audibly freeze.

“A-Adri-chou...” they heard her say, voice distant, and Marc’s gaze snapped up. “What are you wearing?!”

Nathaniel looked up too, and followed Chloe’s gaze to Adrien who was set up not too far away, wearing the brightest red and black-polka-dotted onesie any of them had ever seen. Marc stared.

“Something wrong?” Adrien asked unconcernedly.

Chloe gaped at him for a good thirty seconds before gathering herself and sashaying off to a different part of the site. Marc couldn’t help himself from giggling. Nathaniel looked at his own pajamas with a small smile, then at Adrien, who offered him a wink and a thumbs up. The redhead grinned.

They entertained themselves by observing the others’ interesting pajamas- mostly generic and typical of their age, but some truly iconic. Max’s night wear still had glow-in-the-dark decals that grew apparent as the sky darkened. Wayem’s pajamas were straight out of one of the Adrien advertisements all over Paris, but he was grateful not to find himself alone- at least four other boys were wearing the exact same ensemble. Juleka’s pajamas, although not looking very comfortable, were a level of gothic style that made even Marc envious. He wondered if he could pull off black lace as well as she did.

And then, it was too dark to even make out who was wearing what. The trees cast shadows as twilight neared, and Mme Mendeleiev finally re-appeared to shout at them again for not being calm and peaceful. Marc lowkey suspected she had been waiting for it to grow dark so no one would comment on her pajamas, and deal with the same as M Damocles suffered for his owl-themed pajamas.

Marc sighed happily, laying back on his sleeping bag, as more and more torsos dipped down and out of view, more and more students lying back to fall asleep. The stars were coming out now, and the sight was truly incredible- most of the students just wanting to lie back and enjoy the view. That was what they were here for, after all. Taking a break from the bright glare of the City of Lights, and appreciating the natural view for what it was. Marc thought back to what Mme had told them- this wasn’t even close to the truly natural, unadulterated night sky. If this wasn’t even comparable, Marc wondered how that must look. He glanced over at Nathaniel, expecting the redhead to have fallen asleep by now, but Nathaniel was wide awake. Marc partially sat up in surprise.

“You’re awake?” he whispered to the redhead. Nath blinked and turned his head.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I’m lowkey nocturnal, I sleep in the morning and the day, and then I’m wide awake at night and don’t fall asleep until like 3am,” he explained.

“Yike,” Marc said, pulling his blanket over his shoulders after a sudden unexpected breeze. “What do you do?”

“I usually draw my comics then,” Nath answered, supporting his head on one arm. “Some reason I work better then than during the day.”

Marc nodded in understanding, leaning back slightly.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” he murmured, wondering suddenly why that phrase seemed so familiar. Nathaniel quietly smirked, looking at him with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“You know what else is beautiful?” he asked quietly, almost daringly, and Marc’s breath caught in his throat. He had to force his mind to go quiet, because this couldn’t possibly be heading where he thought- hoped- wished it was heading.

“Wh- What?” Marc asked, not daring to breathe.

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment (which didn’t help Marc’s nerves at all), smirk slipping slightly. Marc couldn’t read his expression very well in the dark, but Nathaniel’s eyes seemed to be darting nervously.

“Uhh...” Nath started.

“Y-yeah?” Marc asked carefully.

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a full five seconds, then opened them again, looking Marc dead in the eye. Marc’s stomach fluttered nervously.

“You,” Nathaniel breathed, and Marc didn’t even have to silence his mind because it abruptly crashed and shut down right then.

“M-me?” he repeated softly, sounding stupid even to himself.

Nathaniel barely nodded, as much as he could in this position. Their gazes were locked, Marc couldn’t break away even if he tried.

“Really?” Marc asked again, not at all believing him.

“I’ve liked you for a while, now, I just- uh….” Nathaniel said very softly, trailing off.

“Me too,” Marc responded, voice unusually steady. “I like you too.” He wasn’t sure why he kept repeating things but so long as he wasn’t messing up his words this time, he could give in to a bit of stupidity, he supposed.

“So...you like me...and I like you...and we’re here, camped out, under the stars, confessing to each other while everyone else is falling asleep,” Nathaniel summarized unhelpfully, for lack of anything else to say. Marc nodded mutely.

“Yeah, unless I actually have fallen asleep and I’m dreaming, that’s what we’re doing,” he said, willing himself to stop being repetitive.

Nathaniel didn’t say anything for a few moments, then broke into a wide smirk, all but laughing.

“We should make a comic book out of this or something,” he said. “Romantic goals, amirite?”

Marc chuckled quietly.

“I can’t tell if you’re being silly or serious right now,” Marc laughed in both humour and relief.

“Both?” Nath shrugged. “Neither? What do you say?”

“I’d say,” Marc said, poking Nathaniel gently in the arm, “this is all some crazy dream I’m having and I’ll wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened at all.”

“Do I feel real?” Nathaniel asked. Marc frowned, thinking.

“It’s crazy realistic, but for all I know, you could be one of the best dreams I’ve ever had,” Marc said honestly.

“Then why don’t we make it the best?” Nathaniel offered, leaning in and closing the space between them.

Marc pulled away after fifteen seconds, breathless.

“Did that feel real?” Nathaniel asked.

Marc shook his head vigorously, mouth hanging open in surprise. Nathaniel chuckled and sighed, picking up his pillow to swat Marc with it playfully.

“Go to sleep, dork,” he said affectionately. “Maybe when you wake up I can try again and prove it to you.”

But Marc didn’t fall asleep. Marc lay with the widest of smiles on his face, eyes closed, seeing stars.

[pancakecakes]

AU Yeah August- 15 Life Swap

One-shot. 

Summary: Adrien is in love with the school’s queen, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Ladybug is in love with Chat Noir. Everyone is swapped, but everyone is cool. 

Tags: Life swap, Marinette, Alya, Adrien, Nino, Chloé, Cararouge  (Carapace x Rena Rouge) .

Notes: I wanted to do a quick drawing but I didn’t finish it (｡•́︿•̀｡) I’ll post the sketch and I’ll upload the finished version when I upload it to AO3. This is for  @auyeahaugust

Everybody knew who Marinette Dupain Cheng was. But why wouldn’t they know? She was the only daughter of the best patisseries in all of Paris. Maybe the best in the world.

Dressing in black and white formal clothing and delicate black earrings, with her beautiful hair in a high bun, red eyeliner and pink lips, Marinette walked in the hallways fully confident. By her side, Alya Cesaire with an orange fashionable dress and long white heeled boots. She was the daughter of the best chef of Paris, they were destined to be best friends.

They were not the kind of popular people that made others feel inferior, but they sure were the ones that were trapped in their own world, and didn’t let anyone in. Marinette was a famous young designer and Alya had a successful web page as a reporter, and the creator of the Ladyblog. They both had the highest grades in every class and were the class president and vice-president.

Even when the school was the most prestigious one in Paris, everybody knew both girls were out of everyone’s league. Everyone respected them, admired them and loved them, but always from afar.

But Adrien couldn’t take it anymore. With messy hair in a black cap, white sweater, black t-shirt and old jeans and tennies, Adrien sat in the school’s garden with his best friend Nino.

“I really want to talk to her.” Adrien’s voice was desperate “But I’m just a scholarship student with no special talent. She’ll never be interested in me.” He sighed.

Adrien was the sweetest guy in school. He won a full scholarship because he was smart. Something very special because College Francoise Dupont only accepted the kids of only the most successful and influent people around the world. And occasionally a couple of people won full scholarships, but they really had to be very intelligent. The exam was almost impossible.

“Come on Adrien, wining a scholarship here isn’t nothing.” Nino’s family were important people. Adrien didn’t know much about his family because they traveled a lot, but he got in because of their connections. They meet the first day of school and they were best friends since. “But ok, I have to admit you aiming for the school’s queen is also kind of…” Nino dressed in a formal-casual style in his daily life. He had a simple V-neck dark green sweeter over a white shirt, persimmon dress pants and brown shoes. In his face he only wore those elegant glasses he loved. Sometimes he would use his contacts and bring sun glasses of different colors.

 “Stupid.” Chloé said before Nino could finish. “Why would you want to be with someone like Marinette? The girl must be very superficial, just look at her. You deserve someone who appreciates you the way you are, not someone who will change you.” Chloé sat beside Adrien, pouting.

Chloé’s and Adrien’s families were best friends, so they grew up together as if they were siblings. Chloé had always been in love with Adrien. She knew he only saw her as nothing more than a sister, so she always bottled up her feelings. But she couldn’t help being jealous of other girls.

With her long blonde hair loose, a fluffy white jacket over a yellow and black stripped shirt, black shorts and long heeled boots, Chloé took off her white sunglasses as she stared at Adrien waiting for his reaction. She got in because her mother was an important fashion critique and her father had something to do with politics. Chloé loved fashion and dressed only in the best clothes. This caused many people judge her before meeting her, thinking she was a bratty girl, when in fact she was very sweet, smart and cute.

“You both are judging her for what you can see in the outside,” Adrien added “but in the inside she is really soft, and her smile is the most amazing of them all.”

“Marinette? Smile? As if that pretty statue knew how to smile.” Chloé said, letting her jealousy talk. She sighed “I’m sorry, I just think you shouldn’t aim too high or you could get hurt, Adrien.”

“Chloé is right. We both support you, but neither of us want to see you hurt.” Nino put a hand in Adrien’s shoulder.

“Look, I know you said she acted really sweet and smiled to you when you gave her your umbrella the first day at school, but I don’t know, maybe you imagined it? If that really happened then why she never gave the umbrella back, or why never smiles or talk to you when you say hello?”

“I know it sounds like a lie, but it really happened, I swear!”

“And we believe you, Adrien.” Nino gave a cold stare to Chloé as he slowly said it “But we need you, we can’t protect Paris if you’re distracted.”

Adrien covered his face in hands and let a pained sound out “I know we have to protect Paris and have a normal life but I caaaaaaaan’t stop thinking about Marinette.”

Nino laughed and Chloé pouted again.

“I mean, if you ever dated Marinette you would talk good about me when Alya is present, right?”

“NI-NOO!” Chloé hit Nino in the arm with all her strength, which wasn’t much.

“Hey, Alya is amazing. If she ever looked at my direction I’d go directly to heaven.”

“What would your girlfriend say if she knew you said that?” Adrien smirked.

Nino blushed “I already told you me and Rena aren’t together!”

“Are you sure? You’re always pretty close and you always flirt instead of actually fighting the akumas” Chloé smirked and then giggled.

“I’m pretty sure Rena is in love with you, I saw her blush when she saw you last fight.” Adrien added.

“We don’t even know each other’s identities.” Nino’s face was red.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were directly chosen by Master Fu. Master Fu gave Ladybug the fox and peacock miraculous, and she entrusted someone with the fox miraculous. Both of their identities remained a secret even up until that day.

Master Fu gave Adrien the Bee and Turtle miraculous to choose the next heroes, and even when they were supposed to keep their real identities as a secret, Adrien choose to ignore the rule. The three of them didn’t know who Ladybug or Rena Rouge were in real life, nor the whereabouts of the peacock miraculous.

“If in other reality I was in love with Ladybug, I think I wouldn’t care who was beneath that mask, I’d still love her.”

Nino and Chloé looked at each other, face full of resignation. They knew Ladybug was crushing on Chat Noir since day one. It was painfully obvious, and the worst part of it was Adrien didn’t even notice.

“Oh, Adrien…”

‘Why am I in love with such an oblivious moron’ Chloé’s thoughts made her sigh.

They heard an explosion coming from inside the school and shortly afterwards tons of students running towards the exit.

“An Akuma!” The three of them said at unison and quickly transformed.

They helped the other students scape as they waited for Ladybug and Rena Rouge to arrive. With the most elegant movements, Rena Rouge fell from the sky, looking fabulous as always.

“Hey there turtle, I missed you, babe.” Rena said with a flirtatious voice.

Carapace blushed, because of the conversation they had earlier “I missed you too, d-darling.”

“What, seeing me made you this nervous? Are you finally falling in love with me, my love?” Rena smirked.

“Please stop flirting, there’s an actual Akuma in this school. Where’s Ladybug?” Queen B asked.

Ladybug fell from the sky in the same elegant way Rena did. “The Akuma is near the music classroom, let’s move everyone!” Ladybug always looked so professional and strong. Well, at least when Chat Noir wasn’t there.

“Glad you made it Bug!” Chat Noir petted Ladybug’s shoulder and then he started running to the direction she mentioned.

Ladybug turned red and suddenly her legs stopped working properly.

“For God’s sake,” B whispered, “I’m going with Chat, catch up when you can.”

“Seems like you have a job to do. See you there, beautiful. I’ll be waiting.” Carapace followed Chat and B, leaving the pair behind.

“Oh, baby, what am I going to do with you.” Rena sighed.

“I can’t help it,” Ladybug covered her mouth with both hands “he touched my shoulder…”

“We need to go, we have to fight the Akuma.” Rena gave Ladybug a hand “You’re always so clumsy around him, no wonder why he can’t figure out your identity. Nobody would guess you’re the school’s queen.”

Master Fu did tell them they were both attending to the same school, but that was the only clue he told them.

“Shut up Rena, you wouldn’t flirt like you do with Carapace if you weren’t transformed.”

“Who knows, I really like him.”

“Do you think Chat knows I have a crush on him?”

“That oblivious piece of -?”

“Rena, language, please…”

“No, I’m sure he doesn’t know. Now please let’s go back to battle.”

Ladybug blushed and smiled “Yeah, let’s go.”

[heroesarelife]

So here’s a piece I have been working on for the beautiful @fandom-trash95 as a secret santa gift <3 it was not a request, but I hope you guys enjoy it just the same ^^ i was experimenting with a different writing style and exploring ways to play with structure a bit.

This is an All Might piece with their OC, Aiko, in a platonic capacity. Aka: dadmight goodness.

Aiko has a telekinectic sort of quirk, and is the daughter of a known and loved local hero (made up). That hero is in fact abusive and nobody would believe her about it, so her actual hero/example is her mother due to her strength of character. She’s 15 and wanting to go into heroics through gen ed. Does not ken how to fight.

Takes place after All Might’s true form is revealed and after his injuries are healed.

Word count: 2397

Warning: May contain mentions of abuse. Hinted depression/anxiety. Body dysmorphia. So so much angst.

It was either too early or too late, depending on how one looked at it. Toshinori liked to think it early, blissfully choosing to ban his ever so frequent restless nights from his memory. It was a brand-new day and, he decided, so should be his attitude towards it; novel and unwearied. With that fresh thought playing in his hopeful mind like a scratched disc, the once number one hero found himself jogging in the UA yard.

Many years had passed since he last felt the need to care for his body in this way. His whole self had been, for as far as his remembrance could reach, defined by healthy strength and sheer power, especially once he acquired his quirk – or rather, a quirk he had made his own through no small struggle. But before that, he would run. As fast as his legs could bear him. Going against time, fighting all odds that seemed strategically designed to disturb his desired path and crash his dreams. Only to find there was no end to his pursuit, no matter if he was called a hero, let alone number one. Even as the indefatigable media and dry-cut history books branded him as the pillar of peace, a bringer of hope in a world so deeply rooted in chaos. And he had foolishly believed the tales, if not in themselves at the very least moved by the feeling behind them. Allowing himself to be what was needed of him without sparing a passing thought to the limits that time imposed. To the chilling reality of his own mortality.

A merciless thing now forced upon Toshinori’s existence. Declaring its presence in every pained step of his flimsy excuse of an exercise. Felt throughout the junctions of his shaking joints, of the miserable wetness of his ragged breath. Making him so very painfully aware of how he was now reduced to nothing but a sorry shadow of his old splendour; a fragile creature, stripped of anything he once understood as intrinsic parts of himself. An antique in his own right. His body so unrecognizable to him as it was a stranger, a thing more dead than alive, glued together entirely by angled bones, stale blood and deep regret. The sudden notion filled him with unbearable anxiety, scratching him raw from the insides of his already too bleary structure.

He stopped then, battling to breathe, to stand. To be alive. Unsure on whether his struggle arose from the physical effort or the oblique fear he so wanted to deny. It was truth too: long had passed since he felt afraid, so much so he had barely lost grasp of its meaning. He couldn’t say he missed the emotion.

Dry leaves crackled a soft sound under his body as he sat gingerly on the grass. Resting. Regretting. Every contained movement an apology, as if abashed for the space his existence occupied in the world. Dawn approached timidly enough, traces of light prying holes through the dense clouds. In his current state of mind, the golden hero felt it was a fitting mirroring of his own soul; it laid helpless while dark thoughts hammered it with unforgiving fervour.

It was decidedly a bad space of mind to be, and he would have likely been stuck on that miserable vicious cycle for a long – well, longer – time, weren’t for the curious sounds. Subtle and distant, masked by the gentle ruffle of leaves and careful bird’s twitting. Out of place and yet familiar. Immediately recognizable despite its faintness, like a road travelled often and again as to be found even if blindfolded.

He got up, painstakingly and insecure on these foreign limbs, and followed the invisible trail, finding his way through air rather than soil. Sure enough, there it was. The source of the sounds stood tall amidst the hidden training ground, the unmistakable energy of a striving hero surrounding the young girl’s body; much more telling than the evident exercise could ever be. And Toshinori had some pride in his ability to recognize a hero’s soul at first glance. Something that proved useful on his particular line of work. Or what used to be, he corrected himself hurriedly, with no shortage of shame.

She hadn’t noticed his presence, and he was thankful for the small blessing. The slender girl was deeply engrossed on her own exercise, which seemingly consisted of eradicating a piteous wooden dummy existence to no more than shreds and broken pieces. An objective, he was quick to realize, she was failing at. She staggered on her feet, all movements uncertain in nature, uncoordinated jabs and kicks throwing the promising strong body off balance, uneasy, coy. Lacking the motivational energy he could so clearly see she possessed. As if her soul and body were in disarray, somehow disconnected from each other.

When the growing frustration apparently reached a marked limit, the youngster let out a fiery scream, her quirk lashing out in chaos. An invisible force throwing all the training equipment far and high, the shocking crashing sound putting to flee all the poor unsuspecting animals on the immediate vicinity. The so-called symbol of peace had approached – or so he must, at a given point, since he found himself close to the border of the training ground, staring at the wreckage it had become. In plain sight for the student to see him, which promptly happened, her body turning with impressive smoothness despite the anger, and haunting suddenly, shakenly.

He could have understood – was in fact half expecting – if the girl had blown up on him, seeing his presence as prying and as added pain to injury. Or maybe she would shy away, embarrassed to have had a witness in that singular moment. Or, more irrationally, somehow starstruck by being face to face with no one other than All Might. Instead, he was humbled. In an impressive demonstration of self-awareness, she stood still, silent. Chin up and clenched trembling fists the only indications of possible nervousness.

He bowed his head slightly and forced a smile, raising his hands in peace. Attempting to ease the situation. “That was a nice quirk, indeed, young student! I’m impressed I haven’t noticed you in training before with the rest of the class.”

Immediately, he realised he had said the exact wrong thing. Instead of relaxing into casual conversation, she kept her position, something like hurt moving behind her eyes and then hidden masterfully. He would have been impressed, had he not been busy feeling terrible.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” She answered dryly, resenting. “You all only look at heroics. I’m with general ed.”

Giving himself a metaphorical slap, he grimaced. The girl wasn’t wrong. However, typical of its dry nature, plain truth tended to be a hard pill to swallow. He opened his mouth. Changed his mind. Closed it again. Was no matter; she wasn’t paying attention.

“I don’t care about how difficult it is. I have my mother’s quirk, and I will become a hero just like her.” The bold statement carried within an odd note, almost as in a rehearsed conviction. If you repeat it enough times, it becomes true.

Conveniently saved from giving a proper answer about the failed school system, he lashed onto the opportunity. “Is your mother a pro, then? What’s her hero name? I might know her.”

A head shake. Firm, emphatic. “No. I said she’s a hero, not a pro. My father is a pro, but he’s not a hero.” Her voice raised slightly at that, hard with challenge. “Do you know the difference?”

The sudden serious topic caught Toshinori unawares. A kind being, he took no offense from the remark, allowing it to simply exist instead, harmlessly floating in the air between them. Of more importance was the feeling behind it, he decided. Because he could see the apprehension, the sad belief driving the words. The adult in him very much conscious of the surprisingly complicated anguish he could see on the youngster’s expression. It clenched at his heart, a feeling of protection rising there, as vivid as it was strange.

“He doesn’t deserve to be called a hero.” She went on. Maybe to fill the silence. Or maybe to assure herself. And then raising her head, sudden and abrupt, looking at him with something like sorrowful acceptance. “But you don’t believe me. No, you wouldn’t. Nobody does.” Her voice faltered, its shakiness being covered by a flimsy laugh.

He smiled softly, somewhat saddened. Dropping altogether the attempts of redirecting the conversation towards safer topics. She was having none of it, and he too had to admit he lacked the will to keep the pretence. Toshinori struggled. Lost in the situation and yet the need to help overcame him, despite not quite knowing how. The way he knew wouldn’t work anymore. Those days were over.

He reached a hand, placing it awkwardly on her shoulder, hoping it would bring comfort.

“I believe in you, young lady.” He said then, finally. The honesty of his words matching hers. “I still have enough integrity within me to recognize the truth when it stares me in the eye. Or so I like to think.” And that was, perhaps, the only honest thing that passed through his lips in a rather long while. Such recognition shook his structure to the core. What a hero he was.

Her eyes widened, unbelieving. And then, simply and acutely, filled up with raw emotion. She looked as surprised as him by the sudden outburst, but the intensity of it overcame her with such power he could clearly see it was beyond of her control.

He squeezed her shoulder gently, in assurance. “It’s okay. You can let go.” And she did, burying her face in both hands and allowing the feeling to cleanse away, escaping through her fingers and dripping onto the earth, like pure offerings of liquefied frustration.

This he could handle. This he knew, maybe a bit too much, he thought with no small amount of endearment, remembering the kind boy he had chosen as his successor. So Toshinori stood close, solid and understanding, hoping that would be enough as he, too, was depleted of much more to give.

Slow and sure the shaking under his hand subsided to smaller intervals, until all that was left was the relieved weakness that usually followed breaks of such strong nature. She took a step back, sniffing through the emotional hangover and wiping clumsily at the wet cheeks. It did not escape his eyes on how she now looked lighter, as if the irons trapping her limbs had been removed at once. He sighed, relieved.

“Do you think I can make it?” The girl asked then, somewhat shyly, eyes cast down.

“Make it?”

“Into heroics. With my quirk, I mean.” She clarified, looking up and facing him directly. “You are All Might, right? So you should know. If it’s possible, for me.” She finished, lamely.

Toshinori looked into the youngster’s dark eyes, sparking with the threat of controlled tears, recognizing in its depth the longing so akin to his own; bridging past, present and future. The hardship and fear. And the buried hope, hidden in such a way as to not show itself overmuch. Dreading what would become of it if her dream got pulverized to dust by the cruel mortar of reality. Because so he could understand, some things didn’t change.

“Well, I’m not very mighty right now.” He said for lack of something better, scratching the back of his head, at a loss. Feeling thoroughly inadequate for what this one child needed; all too aware of how little he was reduced to. How less of anything he currently was.

“You are still All Might.” Came the answer. Not surprise, nor judgemental. Rather she sounded puzzled, almost delicately curious. As if pointing out an obvious answer. “Nothing is ever created or lost, only transformed, right?”

That took him aback. A deep part of him – a fearful one, always ready to hold onto self-depreciation – reacted strongly, prompting him to reject the wild notion at once. Holding his stand, he looked at his hands instead, pensively. They were big and callused, angled and rough around the edges, used and abused for many years to count, winning against a multitude of enemies. Keeping the piece through sheer strength and peril. While still the same size, they were now frail things, almost disconnected from the rest of him, a reminder of what he could never do again.

But as the girl stared at him expectantly, he thought that maybe it was less a matter of fact and more of interpretation. Free transformation. Perhaps there were people he would never be able to reach as his old self that he could in his current form. With these very same hands. And perhaps a little too late in his life, he came through the rather rattling realization that some things could only be effectively handled through a more complex touch than a shallow-minded punch could ever allow. He closed his fist slowly, considering the perspective that there was something else his fists could hold onto. And protect.

Well, wasn’t truth found in the oddest of places? But Toshinori has never been a picky one.

“The problem” He began, decisively. She raised her head in interest, her ears metaphorically peeking up to absorb whatever he was about to say, while carefulness and fear still lingered in her eyes. “Is not your quirk. But your fighting ability. If you train that and master how to use your quirk alone, you can become a powerful hero.” He said, meaning every word. ��I could teach you some of the basics.”

She smiled then. Finally. It was a bright thing that he would like to see more of. Yes, this was the right decision. Maybe there was more to him, and to everything he had gone through, than the ability to defeat new villains with mindless power. He could still do things that would bring meaning to the world, even if not in the straightforward and simplistic way he had grown used to.

Hope had not been born with him, and wouldn’t die with his last breath either. If he could make sure that it would live through and be translated with the next generation of heroes then maybe, he thought, a single Symbol of Peace would no longer be necessary.

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[tiang0u]

you are warm because you are alive

And then, during the sports festival— 

 They were trembling again, even with those shoulders so painfully, forcefully squared.  

(Izuku’s second impression—Todoroki-kun looks sad.

He understood then why it mattered, when Todoroki’s left hand had trembled that first time.)

bnha; tododeku, crossposted on ao3

Survival training is usually uneventful for the first twenty or so minutes, until Kacchan manages to catch unwitting and unwilling adversaries by surprise.

It is still quiet when Todoroki slows to a stop beneath a towering pine, pressing his palm to the rough bark.

He says to Izuku, "Here."

Their familiarity has manifested from the ways they have almost died together—and the ways that they will live with this, so without speaking, they split up to scout the area for any suspicious activity. The place is a crag clustered with trees, so remote that the chance of being attacked is little to none, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

By the time Izuku returns, Todoroki has settled at the base of the tree, between the thick roots, against its formidable girth, and his eyes drift shut in the sunlight just as Izuku approaches. His arms are crossed over his chest, and though his body is closed off, his brow is smooth. Izuku can tell—he's as relaxed as he allows himself to be.

"Are you tired, Todoroki-kun?" Izuku asks softly.

He settles down a few feet away, cross-legged, not quite daring to disturb. Elbows braced against his knees, head bowed in vigilance, he listens for the telltale signs of Kacchan maybe blowing some people up. The only thing that can be heard for miles is the susurrus of the trees.

"It's peaceful," Todoroki answers. His voice is faraway.

This is the first time they've been paired up in training. It may also be the first time Izuku could pass all five hours peacefully, without fists and fighting, and that ironically is even more exhilarating.

Characteristically, others will soon get restless waiting, especially to the sound of explosions and Kacchan yelling, and then the battles will begin. But when the teams were announced, the silent look Todoroki exchanged with him betrayed a wish for rest, and Izuku shared the sentiment deep in the marrow of his bones.

(We should find a place to wait, Todoroki suggesed, leaning briefly into Izuku's space.

For stake-out purposes, Izuku agreed, jokingly, giving them plausible deniability, and Todoroki gave a soft sigh.)

"It is," Izuku says.

The wind breezes past like a caress. When Izuku turns toward the open view, beneath is the expanse of forest canopy beyond the precipice that runs out underneath them. Away from urban towers that mount the heavens onto a distant pedestal, the wide vantage of this world curls the sky like a concave cloudscape, fitting it to the earth. And where they are, above the forest, below a great tree, they watch like guardians over a vast land. Together.

He lets himself bask in this brief moment, Todoroki with him, and when he turns back, Todoroki has dozed off.

Izuku isn't surprised.

But he is surprised when he takes notice that two birds have appeared, one perched faithfully on Todoroki's shoulder, the other nestled in Todoroki's hair.

In the space under his lungs, a solid ache congeals.

/

Before he came to know Todoroki, before Todoroki approached him in the waiting room that day, Izuku's first impression of him was that he must really like animals.

In the first week of school alone, Todoroki was with at least three stray cats, but in particular—

The sidewalk one block down from the school gates is lined with high-boughed trees. In the chilly spring breeze of a late afternoon, as Izuku made his way to the train station, he saw something.

Todoroki—he extended a hand to touch a bundle of tabby fur, tilting his head, the line of his shoulders softening as he knelt in the grass.

The orange sunlight splintered into shards through the tree's moving leaves, and when the fragments danced against the back of Todoroki's hand, Izuku wondered if it was his imagination that Todoroki's fingers were shaking.

And days after that, during the sports festival—

They were trembling again, even though his shoulders were so painfully, forcefully squared.

(Izuku's second impression—Todoroki-kun is sad.

And then he understood why it mattered, when Todoroki's left hand had trembled that first time.)

/

Or maybe it's less that Todoroki likes animals and more that animals really like Todoroki.

/

Midnight once invited a colleague as a guest speaker for the class. There were some pretty diverse reactions, because to Midnight, Serpenta is many things. A pro hero, an old friend and classmate, and—to the curiosity of genuinely no one—a past, passionate fling.

Anyway, Serpenta's quirk is the ability to work with snakes. Work, she insisted during her talk, because there is a mutual agreement, no manipulation in the slightest. The sheer potential reconnaissance and intel in both the human and natural world dazed Izuku then and dazes Izuku now, and that day, she brought her most trustworthy aide, a two meter albino rat snake with a name only those fluent in hissing can speak.

Ashido bravely asked if they could touch. When Serpenta gave the go-ahead, the entire class save a few crowded to the front to run finger pads along the river of pebbled skin. The snake's muscles constricted powerfully against Izuku's palm, and when Todoroki's hand brushed somewhere close to its neck, the snake slowed to a stop.

And then angled towards him.

A forked tongue flicked out twice, and everyone stilled.

The entire class watched in rapture as the snake slowly passed over Todoroki's pulse, then slithering around his sleeve, curling up his arm, up and up until most of its body hung around his shoulders, its head resting against the long column of his neck, hiding in the cove of heat under his red locks.

If anything, it looked like a poorly wrapped scarf.

Remarkably composed (as always), Todoroki readjusted the lengthy line of its lithe form, and it was so pliant that it obeyed, following where the warmth of his palm guided.

When Kaminari reached out to touch a second time though, the snake peeked out and hissed.

/

And it always comes back to cats.

Izuku still wonders to this day how that cat had made its way onto the premises, especially with campus security so tight nowadays. But there was an even more shocking display—Todoroki was napping out in the open.

The likely chain of events:

He probably took a breather after running a few miles around campus, settling down in the soft grass behind the dorms. Then he must have fallen asleep, curling up on his side—and then the cat, some time after that, sidled over and curled up beside him.

When Izuku found them, it was almost dinner time, and he didn't want Todoroki to sleep through (though reluctant to disturb the peaceful scene). So he bent down in the grass and made to wake Todoroki, reaching for his shoulder, but the cat shifted and—

—clawed him a good one, a raw stripe right down the back of his hand, immediately breaking skin.

Izuku's eyes stung with tears; he bit his cheek to muffle the yelp of pain, yanking his hand back. Pain pinged across the severed skin, but maybe this was because the cat thought he had designs...? So he paused and reached for the cat instead, to reassure it that his touch meant no harm—but was promptly rewarded a second stripe for his efforts.

With involuntary tears positively threatening to overflow, he fell back onto his rear with a soft thud, cupping his wounds from the war, trying in vain to stem the bleeding. The cat jerked its head haughtily away.

Animals, Izuku thought, eyeing the cat resignedly, really don't like me that much. But it was pretty fitting that they liked Todoroki.

"Midoriya," a sleepy voice rasped, breaking his daze. "Time?"

Todoroki slowly sat up without disturbing the cat, rubbing his eyes, and when Izuku didn't think to back away, the proximity of their faces catapulted his heart into his throat.

"It's almost time for dinner, Todoroki-kun," Izuku greeted casually, betraying nothing. His heartbeat punctuated the pauses between his words. There was something else he wanted to say, but then the cat snuggled closer to Todoroki's leg, and Todoroki looked down and scratched its head, and those words died a swift death in the space between his tongue and palate, so he quickly scrambled to his feet and said a little too loudly, practically yelling, "Take your time!" and ran.

/

An explosion rings distantly in the background. That'll be Kacchan then. About time.

Izuku doesn't hear the flurry of beating wings, but he does hear a cluster of alarmed chirps followed by a grunt. His head whips toward Todoroki, who is solemnly blinking the somnolence from his gaze. The creatures have smartly fled, but the one that was in Todoroki's hair left it mussed where it was tidy before.

"...Birds?" Todoroki murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

"Two," Izuku replies lightly.

Todoroki checks himself for any abandoned feathers and other...residuals, patting down his body, running a cursory hand through his hair. Within arm's length, Izuku thinks about reaching forward to brush away the tuft Todoroki has missed. He thinks about letting his palm linger briefly by Todoroki's jaw to catch the warmth. He thinks that he probably—shouldn't.

Izuku gestures to his own head instead, and Todoroki blinks in understanding, at last combing out the pale blue afterfeather caught in the red strands. 

"Animals really like you, Todoroki-kun," Izuku says without thinking. 

There is a long silence where Todoroki's gaze travels ground-up along the length of Izuku's arm, starting from his crooked fingers, ending at his face.

"Because my left side is a source of heat," Todoroki supplies, realistic. "Not because of anything else."

His face is wan, and his voice doesn't imply anything other than weariness, but something about the way he sits and the way he looks at Izuku is guarded. Like he has steeled himself for so long (for ten years) that he has already hardened to stone.

Those words are straightforward. Todoroki has offered him a simple, scientific explanation. Animals are attracted to warmth. His left side is warm. Animals are attracted to his left side. Quod erat demonstratum.

What those words mean is complicated. Todoroki did start using his flames after the sports festival—he used his fire against Stain and saved them—but considering that Todoroki's self concept up until now—considering that he has never—considering what he thinks of his left—

Izuku holds his gaze firmly. "I don't believe that, Todoroki-kun." He's going to follow up with just exactly why, but he doesn't add that, after all, Endeavor radiates heat too; he's a walking blowtorch and even without his flames, animals would rightfully flee at the sight of him. For their lives.

That wouldn't be a good follow-up, except, apparently, he added it, because Todoroki blinks at him and then snorts.

"Sorry," Izuku says quickly, ears pink, but he never takes back what he means, and it does make his point—Todoroki's fire has nothing to do with Endeavor.

"No," Todoroki says back. "It's fine."

But it isn't. Not quite.

There has to be something that Todoroki isn't acknowledging, or maybe he doesn't know—or maybe he doesn't think it of himself—but Izuku, compulsively, needs to let him understand.

So he does. "The way you treat animals," he blurts, bungling the delivery. "I think that you're—kind. It's what you do. And who you are." He gestures vaguely at Todoroki's left hand. Then he grimaces. Did what he just said...make sense? "Heat does attract animals, but it's not just that, Todoroki-kun. Aside from having heat, you're very good with—to them. The distinction might not seem very important, but they stay because of..."

Todoroki has quieted, to the point that his breathing is inaudible. His eyes are dark with unreadable emotion—and maybe, at this point, Izuku has overstepped.

"Because they know," Izuku finishes. It would be too presumptuous to say out loud—and though it usually wouldn't stop him, Todoroki's expression halts him instead. So he wills Todoroki to understand from his meaningful gaze—when a person is kind. That it's not just superficial warmth. You're kind. (You're really nothing like him.)

It takes the entirety of the pause for Izuku to realize that Todoroki looked like he wasn't breathing because he actually wasn't. Now, the rise and fall of his chest resumes to the flutter of his breath. 

The hard line of his shoulders falls, and he inclines his head in acknowledgment. Izuku...said something right in the midst of that babbling after all.

"Okay," Todoroki says.

"Sorry," Izuku coughs.

Another explosion—louder this time. Closer too.

"But animals," Todoroki begins suddenly. "Towards you."

Izuku tilts his head in confusion.

"You were scratched by that cat," Todoroki explains. "Your conjecture is faulty."

Izuku grimaces in remembrance. He can even feel the stinging pain in his memory, shuddering briefly, but he decidedly does not read into why Todoroki remembered, and says casually instead, "Animals can also have preferences."

"But you like them."

Izuku tries to give them his humble love and they reject, Todoroki probably means. And he means—he means something else too, he's implying something about Izuku, something that Izuku didn't expect him to think, and—and now their roles have reversed.

Winded, Izuku soldiers on, "I do, but it can't be helped...that they don't like me very much."

Todoroki leans forward, placing his hands in his lap. He smooths a thumb over his knuckles thoughtfully before he looks up to Izuku again and confesses, bluntly, "I don't see why."

"W-Why—"

"You're kind. Kinder," Todoroki continues. The than me is implied.

Oh, Izuku thinks faintly, feeling even fainter.

It would be a good time to respond, right about now, he realizes while still staring at Todoroki. The explosions have become a repeating arpeggio above a cacophony of shouting; listening closely enough, he could probably pinpoint Kacchan's voice in the midst of it all. It would be a really good time to respond, because something like this, the situation Todoroki has just created (but Izuku's at fault too) can't be left unaddressed.

He can't let Todoroki get the wrong impression about his reaction, because Todoroki looks away first and that's definitely Not Good.

Izuku opens his mouth hurriedly. A high-pitched noise comes out, resembling a squawk. Or a croak. Before he can try again, the earth abruptly crumbles and:

"So this is where you cowards were hiding, huh? Deku! Half-and-Half!"

/

There really can be no doubt, no excuses to be made, when he turns up after dinner and after the nurse's office at Todoroki's door. With the fact that he followed Todoroki up, when his room actually is a few floors below, Todoroki seems to know this too. His entire body is stiff as he allows Izuku to follow, and then when his hand finally closes around the knob to his door, he turns around to face Izuku.

Izuku wipes his hands nervously on his shirt.

"About earlier," he begins. "I wanted to...say something."

"I embarrassed you," Todoroki notes.

"No—I mean—yes—but in a nice way!" Izuku counters quickly. "And I didn't respond at the time, and I thought that I should, because I think I gave you the wrong impression about what I was actually thinking. I don't want to make you think I was weirded out or that I was just—arrogantly acknowledging it—so, um, it was actually really f-flattering and—thank you. For thinking that. Of me."

Izuku pauses. Of all the things he just said, not a single one conveyed what he actually wanted to impart.

"This isn't..." he sighs. "This isn't what I wanted to say. Todoroki-kun, what you said was—to me—"

"Midoriya," Todoroki says. It's clear, from his eyes, that he doesn't expect kindness. It takes a seasoned eye for Izuku to see that he's subtly roiling in chaos from his painful swallow. "I can't follow what you're—please say it clearly."

Todoroki's door is right there. He could just walk inside and ask Izuku to tell him tomorrow. But he hasn't moved. And there are numerous ways in which Izuku could make the situation very uncomfortable for the both of them. Pity where it's unwanted, overstepping where it's unwanted, assuming where it's unwanted—any sort of thing that is not wanted. Izuku himself can't even understand why, or what, he wants to say in return, just that he needs to respond. The fact that Todoroki looked a little blankly at him during dinner clued him in that he definitely should have then, and that he definitely should now. And he has so many questions that he wants to ask too, like you really think that? Why do you think that? How can you be sure? Do you...like that? Do you want...

"I want to be kind to you," Izuku says. And he really shouldn't, he could leave it at that, but he can't stop saying, "And I can't really explain why... And I can't say specifically in what ways I want to be kind, but I—you think I'm kind a-and, well, I want Todoroki-kun especially to expect k-kindness from m-me. At any time. Every time. A-All the time. And you can—you can expect other things too, Todoroki-kun! You can...you can relax around me more. I hope that you can feel calm around me too. And at peace."

He concludes his spiel with a mental funeral and farewell to his dignity, at last looking down at his feet, waiting for Todoroki's reaction, lacking the fortitude to look.

But he does peek a little through his eyelashes, and Todoroki is trying, in various ways, to school his expression—pressing his lips together, then furrowing his brow, smoothing his brow, scrunching his nose, taking a long inhale—and then he stops fighting it, eyes tracing Izuku's humbled form, and a brief, small smile dawns.

Izuku doesn't know why his breath catches. Maybe because he shouldn't have looked, so he redirects his gaze to the floor and tries in vain to will away the warmth that has diffused across his cheeks. Todoroki's quirk might be contagious, he wonders, a little ludicrous, or he's just getting all messed up by himself. He can feel his ears getting hot too, his palms, his nape.

"Midoriya," Todoroki says, soft, and Izuku finally raises his head, hoping his face isn't red. "I already... I already knew that. Thanks."

Izuku waves his hand. "You don't need to thank me," he says lamely.

Todoroki opens the door to his room. "Then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Izuku replies, straightening up.

"And, Midoriya," Todoroki says again, turning back to him. "I accept."

So Todoroki is accepting his kindness. And accepting...to relax around Izuku more, maybe? That must be what he means. So Izuku wasn't too impudent and presumptuous. What he wanted to say didn't come across wrong. He lets out a soft breath in relief.

"But please think carefully about what you said," Todoroki finishes, and Izuku, albeit confused, promises earnestly that he will, and Todoroki, lips quirking up once more, closes his door.

/

He promised to think about it.

He does.

And the more he thinks about it, the more he sinks into turmoil—burying his face into his pillow, his heartbeat surpassing its speed limit, face awash in the colors of mortification, because 'please think carefully about what you said'—well, he realizes now that what he said sounded awfully close to a confession and he wasn't even thinking, just so relieved that Todoroki received the feelings that he tried to put in words that he didn't even consider what those feelings actually were and—

In the name of All Might. He just confessed to Todoroki. 

And—with fire blooming violently in the garden of his ribs, spreading like wildfire to set his entire body aflame—Todoroki accepted. The first time anyone's ever, really, with what Izuku was, with what he still is, and even an accidental confession at that—

It's excruciatingly warm, Izuku thinks. And he doesn't take back what he means. But he's so embarrassed he could die.

(But maybe he could live to see Todoroki smile like that again.)

[jungnoir]

wips tag!

thank you @wonhopes and @seoulscapes for tagging me!! I actually don’t know if there is a limit on how many wips I can do so I’m just gonna put the ones I’m most excited for (some may not actually be listed in my wips lol)

the boy who can’t cry | one shot.

⇢ hades!jeon jungkook/reader.

⇢ supernatural, romance, dark.

↴

He was a skinny, small thing, hair black as the clothes he wore and cut bluntly above his brows. There was not a hair out of place even as the wind continued to blow all around you. His attire was odd too, not necessarily for a funeral, but rather for a little boy who barely looked a day older than you. His pants cut off at above his knees with a strange design sewn into the hem, resembling something of small dragons. His shirt was also black, done up cleanly to his neck and a loose, draping coat hung off his shoulders. None of his clothes seemed to catch light, and as his equally dark and wide eyes found yours, you gulped a little too loud. You swore he didn’t look real.

“What are you doing all the way over here, getting yourself into trouble?” He spoke like a fully grown adult, bushy eyebrow raised as if he was inspecting you.

“Uh... my grandma-” “Oh, I think I see your grandma. You two look just alike.”

You look at him oddly, the little boy gleaming and revealing a set of teeth resembling quite cutely to a bunny. It certainly didn’t match the rest of him. “She’s dead.”

He looked at you as if you’d told him the sky was blue. “Yes. I’m aware.”

“How can you see her if she’s dead? You wouldn’t know unless you could see through the ground.” You assess the strange boy once more, wondering if maybe he had a screw loose or two and that’s why you were having such a funny conversation. He certainly looked capable of it.

He laughs, the sound squeaky and childish and the only fitting thing about his age, “I don’t see her body. I see her soul. It holds her resemblance from when she died.”

You stare even harder at the strange boy. “You can’t see souls.” “I can see them as clear as day. Watch.”

Then, without warning, his free hand grabs yours and tugs you forward, turning you away from the field of misguidedly lovely flowers to the site of your family still grieving. But instead of seeing them, just simply them, you see much, much more.

1-800-bad-date. | one shot. (to elaborate about this one: reader’s job is to save people from bad dates. they call and can choose to remain anonymous or not.)

⇢ nakamoto yuta/reader.

⇢ romance, humor.

↴

It goes like this. If you love someone, let them go, and if they come back they were always meant to stay, right?

What if you hate someone and you violently, painfully, vigorously shove them away from even the very recesses of your mind the moment you graduate high school and aren’t obliged to see them five days out of the week, nine months out of the year, and suddenly they come crashing back into your life like a bowling ball and you, the unsuspecting pin? Were they meant to stay too?

You hoped not, staring with expanded eyes from your place at the front of the restaurant, an attendant with her sleek bun and tight expression turning irritated the longer you ignored her repeated question of “which party are you here to see?”. Past the two heads faced away from where you were, you could see clearly the man who had called you not twenty minutes ago, begging for an escape from the clutches of a date he hadn’t meant to be invited into.

His dark hair was styled clean and precisely, falling in smooth waves around his head and stopping just shy of the center of his earlobe, the style that many other successful business men copied but couldn’t quite pull off the way he did. His jaw was sharp and clean-shaven, nose pointed upward as he kept his head held high before the couple seated across from him at the table a stone’s throw away from you. The woman chatted animatedly to him even though he obviously wasn’t focused on her. He, who had not been listening since the moment he’d locked eyes with you, or rather, the heavy blue necklace laced around your neck, the one that “you’ll see when I arrive. don’t panic, act pleasantly surprised when I show up, and I’ll get you out before you know it.”

You had cursed his name the minute your diploma was handed to you and your high school career of attending classes alongside the jerk had ended, for God’s sake. Of all the people to save from a bad date, it had to be Nakamoto Yuta.

a moment to think | one shot. voltron!au.

⇢ coran!kim taehyung/reader. 

⇢ comfort, romance.

↴

In the small amount of time you’d gotten to know him, he had never once shown an emotion much stronger than mild dislike. He had a tendency to be a little overdramatic, but he was usually playing things up for shits and giggles, you knew that much was true.

And still, in that small amount of time, you’d never seen a tear from the alien boy fall from his eyes.

“Taehyung?” You call gently, when he still hasn’t turned around and his hands are covering the expanse of his face. His longer fingers extend from the top of his forehead down to his chin, hiding any bit of his expression from you even as you round closer to the boy, “Are you alright?”

He makes a small sound, something like a whimper- or maybe a laugh? -and nods his head, hands still firmly stuck to his face. “Very much, yes,” his voice comes out muffled behind his palms, “the… it’s the stars. It’s not unusual to cry looking at them, you know… not that I was crying!”

Standing beside Taehyung, your front turned toward his side, you can now clearly see the wet stains on his baggy white sweater, the sleeves of which cover a good majority of his hands. Surely, if you pulled his hands away, the ends of them would be wet too.

“If you’re not crying, you can look me in the eyes then, right?” You question, keeping your voice soft. Why Taehyung hadn’t thought to go somewhere private and not so close to the sleeping quarters is beyond you, but you doubt you’ll get to move him anywhere in this state.

“Ah, no can do. You see, an Altaen fresh out of sleep is a very unsightly thing. Our faces kind of morph into the facial equivalent of a gophlegorf’s behind. Very gross. I’d like to save you the trouble.” You recall the gophlegorf, one of the many galactic beasts Taehyung had elected to school you and the others on during your first few days on the ship. While the others hadn’t bothered to pay him much mind save for Yoongi, you’d been absolutely fascinated. That had been another reason he always liked you: you listened to him.

Now, if only he would realize you were willing to do that for him again, right now.

the fifth | one shot.

⇢ witch!park jinyoung/reader.

⇢ supernatural, romance.

↴

They stopped their humming and took a sip of their tea, “You reek of youth and good intentions, I could sense your aura from eight miles away. You really took your time getting here.”

The voice is smooth and not at all bothered by your presence, even as you are being held tight in a vice by their magic and your words have been stolen from your mouth before you’ve even thought to speak them. If they saw you as a threat, they sure as hell didn’t sound like it.

You open your mouth to speak again, and the person seems to mutter in surprise before you’re landing back onto your feet so hard and so fast you go tumbling to the hardwood floor, and when you mutter a curse or two under your breath, you find whatever spell was placed on you has left you completely.

“Sorry,” the apology doesn’t sound that apologetic at all, “I cursed the knocker. Anyone who touches it gets roped up like that the minute they step foot on my staircase.”

You raise your head from where you’re looking over your energy drained body, the magical chains having left more than just a touch behind, and come to find that standing before you is the witch you’d been assigned to check on, looking very nonchalant for someone whose home had technically just been broken into by a strange person out of nowhere. His profile and the interviews done on him back when he was still attending the Seoul Institute of Witchcraft didn’t do him nearly enough justice. His magic was radiating, practically cooling you with its presence as he stared down at you, waiting.

He wasn’t a giant, but he was fairly blessed with height, long legs adorned in old, dirty jeans that looked torn at the denim and a draping black tee shirt tucked into the hems of said jeans, looking far too big for just him yet attractively hanging off his shoulder and exposing his tanned collarbone underneath. His short hair was midnight black, held back by a thin, bright pink elastic headband adorned with white heart patterns that you really wanted to question, but his eyes drew you back in with the topic at hand. Who were you, and what were you doing in his home?

“So what happens to the people that just barge in?” “Struck dead on the spot,” your eyes widen considerably and you swear you see his lip quirk up, “don’t worry. I’m a green witch, and my mother was trained in the art of resurrecting. I’d bring you back to life as soon as I noticed you were of no threat to me. The knocker tends to draw in those that aren’t coming to kill me though, so usually that resurrecting thing doesn’t come into use that often.”

You stare into his dark eyes, trying to find any traces of sarcasm, but disturbingly find none, “Yeah, cool, okay. I’m already regretting this.”

encore | one shot.

⇢ fae!min yoongi/reader.

⇢ fantasy, dark.

↴

“Ah Suga, loosen up, hm? We’re just making friends.” The fairy who wasn’t holding you captive grinned, moving in closer to Jungkook’s neck, the boy wincing away at the closeness. You could feel your anger rising and you reached your free arm out to shove the fairy away in an act to protect the younger boy.

“Paws off.” You growl, and the fairy growls back with a look to kill.

Suga however, seems heavily unconcerned by the situation, his fingers laced together behind his back with a confidence that impressed you, but you still weren’t sure what exactly he was playing at at the moment. “I understand very well what you’re doing. But if I didn’t make myself clear before... release them and I’ll spare your measly lives.” 

Something dark coats Suga’s tone when he threatens them a second time, and you notice the effect instantaneously, the two Fey immediately releasing both you and Jungkook with an urgency to get away. They cower into each other and look at Suga with fear, “S-Suga, seriously-” 

The fairy behind you raises his hand and you watch with barely concealed horror when their mouths slam shut, their lips painfully melting into each other as their screams go unheard. The dancing Fey around them couldn’t care less. 

They look between each other, almost clawing at the other’s mouth in an attempt to reverse whatever Suga had done, when the powerful Fey speaks once more, “It’s only a curse. You act like you’ve never been tricked before.” The sharp line that is his mouth quirks up some into a sinister smile, leaving you both winded and fascinated.

The troublesome Fey look at Suga once more and flea through the crowd, most likely as far away as they could get from the fairy now standing beside you, looking minutely interested in Jungkook, “They haven’t done anything to you, have they?” 

Jungkook, stunned by the question or rather the one asking it, shakes his head no silently. 

Suga nods and raises his hand upward, making both of you flinch, but it is you that jumps in front of Jungkook before anything could happen, “Don’t...” You start, until you see that his hand is extended in greeting, and not to curse. 

college boyfriend!joshua | headcanons

⇢ joshua hong/reader.

⇢ fluff, romance.

you’re jittery, knowing class starts soon and you already don’t have that much time to book it to your next class at this rate, but you have to have your coffee

finally,,, you reach the front..... and....

“hi there! what can I get you this lovely afternoon?”

in the words of jeonghan again, whom the fuk-

“u-hhuhhhuuu hhh ????” 

windows has shut down unexpectedly

this beautiful specimen of a man is smiling down at you without a worry in the world, blinking softly with the longest, prettiest eyelashes you’ve ever seen on a guy

his hair is short and well kept, roots dark and colored with highlights of chestnut throughout

he’s in the uniform but that’s really only black slacks and a half apron; he’s wearing a really nice baby blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his collarbones are just slightly exposed with only two buttons undone at the collar- !!

this was a lot of fun omg. makes me wanna get to work (wink wonk).

I will tag: @choco-seventeen @tendershepherd @stormae and yeah i’m bad at tagging people so I think I will end it here 🙈

[lonelypond]

CROSSROADS

Love Live, NicoMaki main pairing, New 1Kiss AU story, 7K 

1Kiss (NicoRinPana) has been on tour for 6 months, Nico and Maki’s 5th anniversary is approaching and Maki finds herself struggling with both school and the absence of Nico. So she gets talked into going out with some schoolmates, which only makes the situation worse. More intense than my usual 1Kiss style, but I wanted to figure out the Maki doctor-music equation. And There’s a playlist.

LOST

1Kiss had been on tour for six months. Maki stared at their website. Winking and cheering for their fans were the grinning, vibrant faces of the three people closest to her in the world. Also the three people furthest from her in the world currently. Currently. Currently dancing their way across Canada, then swinging down to the US, then back to Europe. Another three months. While Maki sat here, alone, in classes, bored, useless, dreaming about … Maki shoved her textbooks into the laptop and stood, stomping, nearly screaming. She’d tried connecting with Nico tonight, but no response. And she’d been … out … last night, when they usually had their weekly catch up on everything call.  One they’d never missed until yesterday.  Well, Nico had been available …

Maki stopped, hands tearing through her hair. So much was racing through her head, and she hated not telling Nico. But Nico wasn’t here, and how could she explain it. Even through the laptop, the past few weeks, she’d seen it in Nico’s eyes, how worn out Nico was from Maki’s loneliness, the aching, the worries, the pit that Maki saw in front of her instead of a future. And as far as Maki could tell, Nico didn’t ache, didn’t tremble on the edge of a precipice, no, Nico was busy, active, happy, achieving her goals, losing any discontent in dance and busyness, and letting sharp, well-dressed reporters take her out to expensive restaurants for interviews.

Her phone. Her mother. Not a conversation Maki wanted to have. And a text message. Not from Nico, from … oh, Maki hung her head. After last night, she should have a headache, but instead, there just seemed to be anger throbbing in her skull, she just wasn’t sure what or who it was directed at. And Nico was in Toronto, probably being feted by someone who actually took the time to listen to her.

A knock, polite, then a pause and more determined. Maki groaned and opened the door. A very stern Umi stood on the sill, golden eyes concerned, umbrella dripping. Of course, it was a rainy day, all things ended in grey.

“Umi.” Maki stepped aside; Umi removed her boots and followed Maki into the apartment.

“Have you been on your computer?” Umi asked.

“Not really. Why,” Maki collapsed on her couch in front of her computer, back to disinterested.

“Kotori was right,” Umi muttered.

Maki’s head snapped up. “What did she say.”

Umi frowned. “That you needed to be hit upside the head by a dose of reality.”

Maki laid back. “Is that like rain? Will it drip on my floor like you?”

Umi ignored Maki, crouching in front of the laptop and typing, then she dumped the laptop on Maki’s chest.

Maki focused. There she was, last night at the club, in full color, oh God, she really did wear that dress, Nico-chan would kill her, and there was Yasu, sitting next to her, head on Maki’s very bare shoulder, shot glasses lined up in front of the bar, and then again, there they were on the dance floor, with Mi and Eiko …

“They’re my classmates,” Maki explained.

“Studying hard, I see.” Umi found another page, which had a helpful written clue, “Nishikino heir takes over club for wild night with girlfriends.”

Maki sat up, placing the laptop back on the table, and spoke carefully. “Yasu was having trouble with her boyfriend. She needed a distraction and a sympathetic ear.”

Maki’s phone buzzed again. Her mother. She ignored it.

“I have a dear friend who is having trouble with a romantic partner as well.” Umi’s voice was sharp. “I talked to her last night because she was worried. And crying.” Umi sat next to Maki, “This is information I was forbidden to share with you,” Umi had a look worse than any sad puppy Rin had ever sent a pic of, “but you are also my friend.”

“Why did Nico-chan call you?” Maki felt a few old resentments simmer, even as she realized how ironic that might seem in this situation. But jealousy is a hard habit to break.

Umi never pulled any punches. “I believe she said she tried to call you.”

Maki’s phone vibrated again. Umi snatched it. “Possibly just as your mother is now.” Umi handed Maki the phone. Maki typed in her passcode.

“Mama, I can’t talk now. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Maki listened for a moment. “No I’m not alone … no, not … Umi’s here.”

“What happened?” Umi poked.

Maki shrugged.

“Maki.”

Maki closed her eyes, willing the tears not to start. “It’s just too much.”

“What is?”

“School, Nico being away, seeing her talk to people, flirt with everyone, sing … do EXACTLY what she’s always wanted while I’m …”

Umi was relentless. “While you’re …”

“Here. I’m here. Stuck.” Maki stood and shoved the table with her shin. Umi recognized the temper flare and grabbed the laptop before Maki tossed it anywhere or put her bare foot through the screen.

“Ah.”

“You don’t understand,” Maki snarled.

Umi stood. “Honoka and Kotori spent two years in France.”

“It’s not the s …” Maki halted, still not entirely sure what the combination of Umi, Honoka and Kotori meant exactly. If Umi had been anyone else, she might have raised an eyebrow at Maki’s hesitation. As it was Umi, she just waited, solid and unquestioning until Maki continued, “I’m frustrated.”

“With Nico?” Umi prodded.

Maki shook her head and decided to grab a cold coffee from the fridge. Maybe that would cut off the headache that was actually starting. She couldn’t remember exactly what she’d drunk or said last night, she just had an empty, foreboding twist in her gut that Yasu now had more information about Maki and Nico than either of them would be comfortable with. What had possessed her?

Umi repeated her question. “Are you frustrated with Nico?”

Maki banged her head into the closed door of the refrigerator, and decided to just be raw, it was how she felt anyway, and she might have told someone who was practically a stranger yesterday so why not share with a friend. “With not being able to to feel her breathing, to touch …”

Umi was silent. Maki glanced to the side. Umi looked physically pained, but she whispered, “That’s what Nico said.”

Maki stood, shocked. “What do you mean?”

Umi couldn’t look Maki in the eye. “I asked Nico what she thought was wrong, and that’s what she said, that you were probably frustrated.”

Maki’s lip curled. “Because she isn’t …”

“Wrong.” Umi’s eyes were steady and warm but unyielding. “Do you know why Nico called me?”

Maki shrugged. Why care anymore.

“I’ve been helping her with meditation and designing workouts to deal with …” Umi twisted her hands, looking away again, “excess energy. We talk every couple of weeks. She seems to be enjoying rock climbing. Most hotel gyms have a wall.”

Maki’s jaw dropped. Nico had mentioned a while ago that Umi had helped her develop a workout program. Maki had puzzled over that for a few days, especially since 1Kiss had a personal trainer.

“Nico’s going to start learning kendo when she returns to Japan. She works very hard.” Umi sounded proud of her pupil. Maki was still processing.

“So neither of us is happy,” Maki concluded, after slowly working through Umi’s revelations.

Umi raised an eyebrow. “There is no single component to happiness.”

Maki popped the tab on the coffee and chugged it, the chill waking her up a little.

Maki’s phone rang. 1Kiss’s first Hot Chart topper, “Cute Girls Kiss.” Hanayo.

“That’s Hanayo.” Maki tossed the can aside.

Umi nodded, resting a hand on Maki’s shoulder. “I’ll be going. I am available if you need to talk.”

“Thanks, Umi,” Maki smiled, a little.

Umi nodded. “You are welcome, my friend. Take care.”

Maki grabbed her phone. Hanayo had called again after getting the voicemail.

“Hello.”

“Maki-chan!” Hanayo sounded relieved.

“I tried to call Nico-chan today,” Maki blurted out; Hanayo didn’t respond. “How is she?”

Maki heard Hanayo exhale, she imagined the lavender eyes looking concerned over glasses. “She’s mad. And confused and worried. Rin is trying to cheer her up. Rin and I are worried about both of you.”

Something about the gentleness is Hanayo’s tone triggered tears Maki had been holding in for she’d forgotten how long.

“Maki-chan?”

“Just don’t … ask … I’m sorry … I just … I can’t talk right now, Hanayo.”

There was a long silence. “Call Nico-chan.” And Hanayo ended the call.

Maki did. Some days, following simple directions was better than having to dive into a whirling, stormy, rock- and siren-strewn strait.

“Maki,” Nico’s very controlled voice lashed painfully across all the raw emotions digging tears down Maki’s cheeks. “Are you all right?”

“Y … yes.”

“Good.” Nico’s voice was so cold. “I don’t have time to talk right now. Try not to let photographers get shots of the next set of girls you have draped over you. The questions cut into our sound check.”

“Nico-chan …”

A knock, hard and persistent. Nico heard it. “Have a date?”

“No … of course not, I don’t know …” Maki looked confused, between the door and the phone.

“Answer the door, Maki-chan.” That was the tone Nico used when she thought Maki was being hopelessly inept. This minute Maki was proving her right. She went to the door.

“Mama?” Maki heard Nico chuckle in her ear as she stared at her mother, who looked stern.

Nico snorted. “Call me back when you’re not grounded,” and she ended the call. Maki’s mother swept into the room.

“Was that Nico?” Accusations hovered.

Maki nodded. Nothing was going to help with the headache. Certainly not anyone she knew. And who else would show up next. Cocoro?  Oh … Maki felt a bit pale.

“Maki?” Her mother put a hand around her daughter’s waist, noticing the sudden shakiness.

“I have to go to the Yazawas for dinner.”

Her mother’s smile was grim. “Well, at least you’ll stay sober.”

“Mama!”

“Care to explain yourself?”

Maki opted for a kitchen chair. Her mother sat across from her.

“It was a late study session. Yasu was having boyfriend troubles, I was …”

“Missing Nico.”

“Yes.”

Her mother put a hand over Maki’s. “You know that’s not a solution.”

“There isn’t a solution.” No one was giving Maki any time to think. And she didn’t want to.

“Do you have class?”

Her phone said she’d missed her exam. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No.”

“Do you want a plane ticket to …” her mother hesitated.

“Toronto.” Maki finished the sentence without having to think about it, and then met her mother’s worried eyes. Was this some kind of a fever, this aching feeling of being without Nico, would it go away in time, was there a cure?

“Well?” There was no sympathy in her mother’s glance.

Maki put her head on the table; the tiles felt cool. Nico had vetoed Kotori’s choice of wood and made Maki buy a table with nature scenes brushstroked across ceramic tiles. She’d been surprised by Nico’s choice but loved it. “No.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

Her mother patted her hair. “When were you last happy?”

Maki’s response was, once again, automatic. “Touring with Nico.”

“Do you just want to follow Nico around?” Her mother sounded curious, not disappointed. That was unexpected.

“No.” Maki raised her head, energy coming back, “It was … we explored, we sat next to each other on trains, looked up cool museums, stared at different stars, Nico told me everything about her days, she set up master classes for me in practically every city, we curled up on sofas together watching silly things, I played pia …” Maki felt energy charging. “There was music.”

“Right.” Her mother nodded, a suspicion confirmed. “Have you eaten?”

Maki shook her head.

“Get changed. Let’s go get some food in you.”

“Okay, Mama.” Almost meek.

Her mother hugged her daughter impulsively as soon as Maki stood, before she could flee.

“Mama!” Maki struggled.

But Nishikino-sama refused to release her daughter. “You need to talk to Nico.”

Maki chuckled a little. “She said to call after I was done being grounded.”

No amusement tinged her mother’s voice. “You’re not 16. Don’t act like it.”

Cocoro glared, Cocoa was still for the first time Maki had ever seen, and her question was subdued. ‘Is your new girlfriend prettier than Nico?”

Oh gods, Maki would have prefered to face Nico’s phalanx of paparazzi. Nico’s mom stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, waiting.

“N … no …” Cocoro and Cocoa continued to present an unyielding wall of Yazawa disdain. Maki straightened up. “They were only my classmates.” Maki held out a box of extremely expensive French pastries. “I brought dessert.”

The younger Yazawa sisters turned in unison and went into what used to be Nico’s room, closing the door before Maki could say anything else. Inside, it was still aggressively pink, although most of the pillows had migrated to Maki’s apartment. Their exit left Nico’s mom. And a very very heavy silence.

“I regret that Cocoa and Cocoro saw those pictures.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to regret being in that situation?” Deceptively mild, not a safe question to directly respond to, Maki knew.

“I intend to avoid similar situations in the future.”

“Good.” Nico’s mom tapped a foot, “My daughter is very upset. She thought better of you. So did I.”

Her own mother had said something similar. Maki had thought it herself, staring in the mirror, seeing a near stranger, before heading out for this dinner. She had once thought better of herself. She had once felt in control. There had once been cool breezes, and Spring days, not stormy, drenched emotional avalanches.

“Maki?” Nico’s mom sounded worried. Everyone sounded worried. Except Nico. Nico had sounded livid.

Honesty. Default to that. At least then everyone would know where she was. “It’s been hard.”

There was a small flare of sympathy mixed in a swell of sadness in bright crimson eyes.

“Nico’s been trying; I’ve been trying, but I don’t explain things very well. And I know she’s getting discouraged because I keep …” Maki palmed the wall, but not hard enough to disturb the girls inside Nico’s room. “I keep getting low.”

Another silence, but then Yazawa-sama came toward Maki, taking the box out of her hand, “Cotarou has a new game to show you. He’s been waiting.” A pause. “And Nico never gives up on anything she loves. You know that as well as anyone.”

Maki felt the tears again, but this time they were a cooling relief, not another fever symptom.

NO SLEEP FOR NICO

Maki tried again, a third time. Nico’s phone had gone to voicemail. Maki quickly did the time difference; thirteen hours behind, Nico had had to travel back to Toronto after a concert, she’d probably still be asleep.

And there it was, Nico’s voice, grumbling and sleepy. “Maki-chan, Nico needs sleep.”

Maki opened her mouth to say “I”m sorry” or “Are you mad” or anything, but nothing came out.

“Maki-chan? Are you there?” Nico yawned. “Is this a prank call?”

Maki still got nothing out, Nico’s sounded like she was going back to sleep. “If you want to talk, or cry, or break up, text Nico, please. Nico will read it when she’s awake.”

“N … No …” Maki yelped.

“You mean Nico. You have my number.”  And the call cut off.

Maki stared at her phone. Even for asleep Nico, a person Maki had probably too much experience talking to, that had been cold. Talking to Nico without Nico here was impossible. Nico was hard enough to read. And she was angry. And when Nico was angry, she shut down. And Maki just wanted to hug Nico and never let go. Sure, next week, Maki planned to fly to Canada, to meet Nico for their fifth anniversary. But at this rate, it would be a nonevent. Text something, anything to Nico, Nishikino, she ordered herself. Communicate.

M: (´･_･`) Sorry about the call; I just wanted to hear your voice. And talk to you. About being an idiot ((_　_* I love you, Nico-chan ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ) I miss you (⋟﹏⋞)

M: That’s about me being an idiot ●﹏●. Nico-chan is wonderful (★≧▽^))★☆

A reply text.

N: Call Rin if it’s an emergency. (｡v_v｡)

“Call Rin if it’s an emergency.” Maki stared at the screen. She was scared. Was that an emergency? Maki sat on her couch, staring … was there a song for this? Shuffle. Beverly “I Need Your Love” Universe getting in a gut punch on a bad night.  Might as well turn up the volume. Maki threw herself back into the couch, the ceiling her new target, trying to picture Nico, to remember what lying next to Nico felt like, what laughter was … why had she gone out last night? To get someone to pay attention? To get Nico to pay attention? Well, that had the opposite effect. Nico was throwing up walls. Or was Maki just bored … and dangerously, recklessly tired of the same nights, the same conversations, the same worries and aches. The repetitive solitude. Now she was crying again. Pointless. No one to notice the tears. And Nico across an ocean, growing colder.

Maki sat up as the song looped again.  Nico would be in Toronto for the next couple of days, 1Kiss was using it as their base as they toured that region. Time to get on a flight and see Nico. It had been too long.

BAD TIMING

Rin had told her this was a bad idea, twice. And texted her. ALL CAPS. Maki didn’t care. She’d left her luggage in her suite at The Hazelton, changed into a nearly see-through shirt she knew Nico found irresistible, threw a hoodie over it, tucked her tailored trousers into boots and flashed ID at security at the concert venue. Nico-chan’s dressing room, check. Now to wait. Rin had said this was their biggest crowd ever, made sense with Toronto’s rep as a diverse, multicultural hub. Maki had enjoyed visiting here once with her parents and looked forward to exploring it with Nico, if she could … Maki sat in front of the makeup mirrors and noticed a frame with a picture of herself, taken at the beach last year, that she didn’t recognize. Maybe that meant Nico hadn’t gone completely …

The door opened, and Maki recognized the exhausted sigh.

She stood. “Nico-chan!”

“W … w … what …” Nico spluttered. Her costume, what little of it there was, clung to her, sweat was dripping off the tip of her nose, her eyes were brilliant rubies held siege by tired red lines, and her lips … Maki couldn’t help staring. And then Nico was right in her face, finger shaking under Maki’s nose, and all Maki could feel was amazement that Nico was so close, smelled so good, and Maki stepped forward, a move Nico anticipated from a familiar glazed over look in the amethyst eyes. Nico dodged, and Maki stumbled.

“You can’t be here, Maki-chan. No one can be in Nico’s dressing room after a concert. Nico needs her space.” Nico’s jaw was so tight Maki was surprised not to hear teeth being ground down. “That’s how rumors start.”

Maki knew what that was a dig about as Nico muttered, “Nico is going to have a long talk with Rin and security.”

“I’m sorry, Nico-chan.”

Nico shook her head. “Nico doesn’t want apologies. Nico wants you to be somewhere else. Tokyo, where you’re supposed to be. Or in your apartment, when you’re supposed to be, talking to Nico.”

“I”m here now. Talk to me.” Maki felt like dropping to her knees, surely Nico must see the plea in her eyes.

“No.” Nico turned away.

Maki pulled the smaller woman into an embrace. “Scream at me if you want, Nico-chan.”

Nico froze in Maki’s arms, and as soon as the redhead gave up and released the embrace, she stepped back, arm slicing through the air between them.

“This is Nico’s biggest concert ever, best concert ever, audience crazy for Nico, and she can’t enjoy it because Maki is in Tokyo with women crawling all over her, except Maki’s in Toronto, NOT LISTENING TO NICO.”

Maki’s eyes were wide. She’d seen Nico angry before, but this Nico didn’t seem to have any warmth left at all. It was all cold, loud rage.

“N … Nico … I never … I’m s … Nico-chan …” Maki floundered, then found something to save the moment, “I just needed to see you.”

“Hmmpphh.” Nico glared, reaching behind her to tear off her mic pack, throwing it at Maki, then came her heels. “You need to see Nico, how much of Nico do you want to see …” And then her arms went up, and her shirt … Maki fled to the hall, chest tight, breathing impossible, brain stalled.

“Maki-chan?” Hanayo’s voice was a softness in the echoing confusion. She and Rin had a furtive aura, caught lurking.

Maki’s eyes looked lost. “Nico-chan hates me.”

“Yeah,” Rin agreed, Hanayo frowning at her. Then there was the sound of something slamming in Nico’s dressing room.

“Someone who hates you wouldn’t be that upset,” Hanayo offered, sliding her arm through Rin’s.

“So she’s mad?” This was galaxies beyond any previous rage level.

Rin and Hanayo exchanged a look and then Hanayo spoke. “She’s hurt. And scared. And worried. We all are. Nico looks forward to your call every week … and she thought something had happened to you. And then …”

Maki felt queasy. One impulsive decision, so many ripples, so much hurt. Another slam. Rin shook her head at Maki. “And Nico’s mad. Really really mad. So mad.”

“Want to wait in our dressing room?” Hanayo was ever kind. Maki appreciated the offer, but Nico was going to have to go through her to get anywhere else. They had to talk.

Maki sat next to the door, knees pulled up to her chest. “I’ll wait here.”

Hanayo nodded; Rin chopped her on the head. “Don’t be a jerk, Maki-chan. We love Nico-chan.”

“So do I.”

ATTENTION

Maki might have nodded off, but just for a moment. Nodded off, but never got comfortable. How could she get comfortable when Nico was on the other side of the door, as furious as Maki had ever seen, because Maki had shown up. Maki leaned back against the wall, stretching her arms, listening for Nico. And the door ripped open, and Nico stomped by and a duffle bag as large as the Idol thumped into Maki’s shins.

“Do you have a car? Nico is starved,” Nico hissed. Maki grabbed the duffle and raced after Nico. She took Nico’s arm and guided her to the door.

“It’s been waiting.”

The concierge had arranged a driver and a nicely sportif car that fit the Toronto downtown aesthetic. Maki figured Nico didn’t need a limo screaming “look at me.” Since 1Kiss had actually started having fans who came up to them on the streets in nearly every city they visited, Nico had become a little more appreciative of privacy protections.

Maki opened the car door, and Nico slid inside. She put Nico’s bag on the front seat and greeted the driver, “Back to the Hazelton, please.”

“Of course, Ms. Nishikino.”

Nico had her arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window and refusing to look at Maki. Maki slid an iPad across Nico’s lap and handed the Idol her phone. “There’s the menu. Order whatever you want, even if it’s not listed, and have them bring it up to the Bellair Suite.”

Nico turned, her eyes wide for a moment, then she “hmmpphed” and turned her attention to the menu.

“The desserts are excellent. And they’ll deliver breakfast if you want it.”

“Nico can read,” Nico grunted.

Maki pressed against the door, giving Nico space, and watched couples walking down the relaxed sidewalks, wondering if she and Nico would ever be that casual together again.

Nico placed her order, but Maki was too lost in thought to pay attention. What had brought her here? Why had she agreed to go out with Yasu? A reckless mood, the kind that surged when her outlook was dark, nothing was challenging her, and nobody was there to … Nico, when Nico wasn’t there to be Nico. Vexed, physical frustrations too closely mixed with this feeling she kept getting, that nothing was resonating and medical school was a labyrinth leading away from everything and everyone she loved. Her mother had pressed the “did she see her future at the hospital” question, and Maki had for the first time demurred. Not because she couldn’t see her future taking over the family business, but because she couldn’t sense a path forward into that future at all. She could easily see the white lab coat and the clean floors and the fluorescent lighting that would make her eyes twitch from too many late nights, but she couldn’t feel herself taking the step forward into that hallway, some echo behind her turning the present into stone she couldn’t carve her way free of.  

The car stopped. Nico hopped out. Maki pulled Nico’s bag out of the seat and swallowed, best to make no assumptions. “Thank you. Ms. Yazawa may require a ride back to her hotel.”

The driver nodded. “Just let the concierge know.”

Maki slung Nico’s bag over her shoulder. Nico was wearing a cute pink and black over-sized varsity jacket with a 1Kiss logo on the back and pink Chuck Taylors.

“I’m on the fourth floor.”

Nico followed silently, until they got to the room. When they got to the first sitting room and Nico saw through to the second, she whistled. “This is big enough for me, Hanayo-chin, Rin-chan, and the rest of the crew.”

“There’s only one bed,” Maki said automatically as she placed Nico’s duffle on a couch, and turned to see Nico’s eyes flash at her.

“Nico will take that car now.”

Maki felt herself flushing. “I … I didn’t … I know … I wouldn’t …”

“Good.” Nico sat on the end of a tan couch, staring wistfully out a window at the night sky.

“There’s a balcony, if you want to see the skyline. And a kitchenette. That’s why I picked this suite,” Maki explained rapidly.

“So you could cook?” Nico didn’t even turn to raise an eyebrow at Maki, but her tone was dubious enough to get the message across.

“N … no.” Maki stepped into the other room. “I’ll check on your food.”

Nico had ordered more than enough food for both of them, so they sat at the table, opposite each other, chewing slowly, no words to share. Nico really was starved, Maki thought, noticing as the color came back to Nico’s cheeks.

“Is this show more difficult than the last?” Maki wondered, forgetting for a moment there was a reason for the weight of silence between them.

Nico looked up from her cookies and milkshake, startled.

“I haven’t gotten to see a performance yet,” Maki admitted.

Nico’s lip was a snarl. “Right, Maki-chan was too busy being a diligent student to pay attention to how hard Nico works.”

Maki’s voice had a tremor. “You were a continent away while I had school. And my break is about to start.”

“From Nico?” Nico pushed the shake away and crumbled the cookie.

Maki felt like slamming her head into the table. “From school. Not from Nico.”

“It looked like a break from Nico to me.” Nico’s pace was matter of fact, her tone frigid.

Maki stood, discouraged by bashing uselessly at Nico’s emotional fortress, hands gesturing wildly in the air. Balcony. Door. Fresh air, she needed fresh air, and space, and a minute to think if they were going to have this talk with Nico in sniper mode. But Nico wouldn’t give her that minute.

Nico stood, her voice finally afire with the emotions she’d been tamping down. “Tell me, Maki-chan. Why? Were you that lonely?”

“No!” Maki yelled. “NO!” A moment, a huge breath, and then right back at Nico, throwing all her own emotions into a desperate parry. “I wasn’t lonely. I wasn’t attracted. I was just … I just …” she felt the damn tears starting again, “I was just lost, Nico-chan.”

“So you don’t call Nico AND you went out in your sexiest dress with not one but three women Nico doesn’t know. Did you find anything?” Nico was small, and coiled, and fierce, all the astounding Nico Ni energy and charisma hammered into a perilous, cutting edge.

Maki stepped out on the balcony, tempted to close the doors behind her and just scream. She deserved this, Nico had a right to ask all those questions, but it wasn’t anything about anybody else … it was about this feeling, this empty, this inability to express herself. She found the fingers of her left hand in front of her, slamming through the air as if she were seated at a piano.  A tune in her head. Ravel. Slamming through “The Left Hand.” The start. The darkness. She needed the release. And a piano, not a damn kitchenette. And she needed Nico.

Nico was in the door of the balcony, chic in black shorts and an off-the-shoulder white lace tunic, one hand on her hip, one resting against the doorframe. The picture was one Maki had been dreaming about for months. Nico was breathtaking. And heartbreaking. Maki couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t reach for her again. Maki couldn’t articulate her feelings, physical expressions were too inexact. Not touching Nico was too painful. Nico was so close, sharp angles and soft curves glowing in the light, silky hair blowing in the wind, her sweet, sweaty, fruity smell a pull, but her eyes had no welcome or warmth. All crimson challenge, a challenge Maki was no longer prepared to meet. A challenge Maki was no longer worthy of.

Maki glanced away from Nico’s intensity, arms wrapped tightly around her own torso, holding everything together for just another minute, until she could flee. “I’ll get another room. Or you can call for a car. I’m sorry I interrupted your night. It was good to see you.”

And tears. End scene. Rush past the woman you can’t bear to either be near or apart from and then practically fall to your knees when she puts out a gentle hand to stop you.

“Maki-chan.” It was a demand. “Tell me.”

Maki had dipped to Nico’s eye level in her moment of collapse. The ruby gems were dark, a mix of emotions too intense for Maki to process behind their shadows. Nico’s hands were under Maki’s arms, and the small woman pulled her inside, to the couch. She settled Maki down and then sat catty-corner next to her, legs tucked under.

“Tell me,” Nico urged.

Maki rubbed her eyes. “My mom asked me if I just wanted to follow you around.” Maki’s eyes impressed on Nico the urgency and truth of her next statement. “I don’t.” A breath. “Well, I do want to be with you … but it wasn’t just that.’

Nico nodded, still listening. Maki pushed her hands into her the couch at her sides. One barely brushed Nico’s knee, but Nico remained steady. The weight on Maki’s heart lightened.  

“I hate school.” Maki just said it. Out loud. For the first time.

“Wh … what?” Nico shook herself, shocked.

Maki turned, and spoke louder. “I hate school.”

Nico tilted her head, cautious. “Does Maki-chan not want to be a doctor?”

Maki breathed out, rapidly and loudly. “I don’t know …”

Nico’s voice was gentle. “Did you tell your mom?”

Maki felt the tears again. “N … No.”

Nico hesitated. “Did you tell your ‘friends’ while Nico was worrying about you?”

Maki stared at Nico, surprised by the cynicism in Nico’s voice.

“N … no, Nico-chan. I don’t even remember anything I talked about. I just wanted … to not talk for once.”

“You looked like you were saying a lot,” Nico drew her hands together, pulling back.

That was it. Nico was never going to get past whatever she thought Maki had done. Maki propelled herself from the couch, heading for the door. She couldn’t go through this over and over, all night, throwing herself at Nico’s defenses. And then Nico caught her, arms as strong as Maki remembered, and Maki stopped, overtaken by sensation and hope.

“What do you want, Maki-chan?” Suddenly, Nico only sounded curious, her head pressed into Maki’s back as she tightened her embrace. Maki felt herself relax, just a start to the thaw. And then everything came out in a flood.

“You. Music. Freedom. Not stupid classes and stupid teachers and people who want to know all about me. And you. I just …” Maki couldn’t be still any longer.

Nico, arms still around Maki’s waist, walked Maki to the table. “Nico will make tea. Maki can keep talking. Nico will listen. Or Nico will not listen if Maki doesn’t want to talk.”

Maki let Nico sit her down. She was shaking. Nico kept her arms wrapped around Maki’s shoulders, whispering, “But I’ll be right here, Maki-chan. It’s okay. Nico loves you.”

“Nico-chan.” The sobs started, and Nico pulled Maki’s chair around so she could hold the hysterical redhead, continuing to murmur endearments into Maki’s hair.

Then there was calm. Nico was kneeling on the ground in front of Maki’s chair, forearms resting on Maki’s thighs. “Maki-chan,” she urged, her voice tender.

“I … I’m sorry.” Maki stared over Nico’s shoulder.

Nico giggled. “Maki-chan is cute even like this. Nico is just glad to be the one Maki is crying on.”

Maki grabbed Nico and pulled her onto her lap, hugging the air out of Nico.

“MAKI! Nico needs those ribs. I have a show tomorrow.”

Maki refused to let go, although she did ease her grip.

Nico put both hands on Maki’s cheeks and pulled her in for a lingering kiss before chirping cheerfully, “The Number One Idol in the Universe has a genius for a girlfriend. We can figure this out.”

Maki wasn’t really listening, her head buzzing and her lips tingling. Nico recognized the fugue state and stood up. “Maki-chan, Nico is making tea, Maki-chan is talking, telling Nico what’s been going on without Nico, then there will be more kissing.”

Maki grabbed Nico’s hand. “Promise, Nico-chan?”

Nico grinned, “Guaranteed.” Nico kissed the palm of her lover’s hand, and Maki took a deep breath as Nico started filling the electric kettle at the sink. “Go wash your face, Princess, you’ll feel better. Then Nico will rescue you again.”

Maki nodded. Cold water would help. And maybe the balcony. “Bring the tea outside?”

Nico saluted with a wink. “You got it, Maki-chan.”

RELEASE

Nico took longer than expected, but she also brought out the leftover doughnuts. “Eat something, Maki-chan.”

Maki didn’t really like the sweet, but food made her feel a little less shaky. “Thanks, Nico-chan.”

Nico nodded, her tone serious. “So now that you’re a fugitive from Tokyo, what are you going to do?”

Maki sniggered. “I am not a fugitive, Nico-chan.”

“Here you are, on another continent, hiding from school. And cute girls. Because you know Nico will protect you.” Nico leaned back against the balcony, hands on her hips, chest proudly puffed out.

Maki chuckled. Laughing was so much better than crying. “They aren’t cute. Nico-chan defines cute. But Nico-chan always does save me.”

Nico’s nod of acknowledgement was quick, and she pecked Maki on the cheek as a reward before sitting in the other chair. “You used to love school.”

Maki-chan shrugged. “School was something you had to do. It was okay. And then there was μ’s.”

Maki had such a sweet smile remembering μ’s that Nico fell in love with the hidden softness of an imposing, impossible-to-ignore stranger all over again. “Third year must have been tough, eh, Maki-chan?”

“I had cram school and exams to study for … it passed.” Maki lowered her head, trying not to sink back into memories of solitude and sadness. But then Nico’s voice threw her a lifeline.

“Do you want to be a doctor?”

Maki leaned back, staring intently into the sky as if to divine an answer from the stars. “I like the hospital. I grew up there. I want to help people.”

Nico’s comments were gentle, trail signs to help Maki find her way out of darkness. “Maki knows Nico helps people. Besides Maki-chan.”

Maki reached out a hand, squeezing Nico’s. “Nico-chan is the best, always wanting to make people happy.”

“You can too.”

“How, Nico-chan? Write songs for 1Kiss? Idol music makes people smile, it doesn’t actually heal them.” Maki did miss writing for Nico and 1Kiss occasionally, but she’d been happy to move on to new adventures when college had started.

No one should sound that weary at 20, Nico decided. No wonder Maki had tried and – being Maki – failed miserably at a wild night on the town. Hanayo had done better when she turned 20, Nico still shuddered at the memory of the look on Rin’s face when a drunk and dizzy Hanayo had bumped into one of her favorite Idols at an afterparty. Rin and Nico had been roommates for a few nights after that.

“First of all, Maki-chan,” Nico stood, perching on the balcony edge and facing Maki, “Nico’s smile and voice DO have healing powers. Don’t insult Nico. You know better.”

Maki muttered something, eyes half closed. Nico decided not to push the redhead on that point. She’d get an apology later. The thought made her grin, dangerously,  and Maki began to look wary.

“Isn’t dead guy music good for your brain?” Nico wondered. Maki knew the “dead guy music” reference was her fault, from what seemed like a very long time ago, but Nico had latched onto it far too strongly. “It always puts Nico to sleep.” Then Nico posed dramatically, finger in front of pursed lips. “But didn’t Nico read somewhere that music therapy helps depressed patients and stroke victims get better?”

“Classical music and music therapy are two different things. Too many people think music therapy is just entertainment and has no clinical value.”

“Can’t Maki-chan do both? Help people with songs instead of scalpels? Change people’s minds?”

Maki leaned forward, flummoxed. “I don’t know, Nico-chan. I never thought about it.”

“Well,” Nico stretched out her arms, lacing her fingers together, “Maki-chan can take some time to consider Nico’s insightful suggestion. Nico will be here to consult.”

Maki hmmmmed and nodded. Nico sat opposite, watching Maki’s amethyst eyes slowly regain their sparkle as ideas danced across them. Then she leapt, sitting across Maki, pushing the redhead back into her chair. “But for now, Nico-chan needs someone to carry her bag for the rest of the tour. Want a job?”

Maki grinned, her heart doing flips in her chest, her lips moving closer to Nico’s. “I’m terribly expensive.”

The sigh in response was dramatic, and, of course, perfectly suited the mood, “Nico knows.” Nico leaned in, one hand tracing a line down the front of Maki’s shirt. “And Maki knows Nico finds that shirt terribly tantalizing.”

Maki shivered as Nico’s hand roughly brushed across a breast. “Nico-chan’s vocabulary is impressive.”

Nico’s hand slid under the shirt, her mouth hovering near Maki’s ear. “Nico has had far too much time to think about Maki.” Nico’s fingers began deftly unbuttoning, as Maki found herself straining to get closer to Nico, but then both Nico’s hands were stroking lightning over Maki’s skin, and the stars were spinning, and Maki was collapsing back into the chair, Nico’s agile lips a sharp, spiking pleasure as they darted from lips to throat to shoulder and back.

“Nico-chan,” Maki gasped as Nico’s knee slid into the chair, Nico leaning her weight into a kiss that dissolved Maki into waves storming against Nico, who met every surge with renewed vigor. They were going to be on the ground soon, rolling up against the balcony wall, Maki knew, and she was going to be screaming Nico’s name so loud it could be heard over the crash of Niagara Falls, and then Nico pulled her up, and somehow Maki fell through three rooms into a bed and Nico was there, everywhere, hands and lips and legs and …

Nico-chan … Maki sat straight up, silky sheet draped over most of her, suddenly awake and fearful that none of tonight had happened. But she felt Nico, right there, solid, next to her, one eye open.

“Maki-chan?”

“Sorry. Just a bad dream.”

Nico nodded, patting the bed next to her. “Come back to sleep, Maki-chan. I missed holding you.”

Maki stared down at Nico, black hair across her eyes, half a sleepy smile. “I love you, Nico-chan.”

“I love you.” Nico reached up and pulled Maki down into a kiss.

Maki remembered something and hesitated. “Nico-chan?”

“Yes?”

“Umi and Honoka and Kotori … what exactly … Umi said …”

Nico looked more awake – and cautious. “Nico-chan will explain it when Maki is older.”

“Nico-chan,” Maki chided her lover.

“Nico needs her beauty sleep.” Nico closed her eyes.

Maki grabbed a pillow, trying to sound threatening. “Nico-chan.”

Maki thought Nico had fallen asleep again, but suddenly Nico’s arms were around her waist, and Maki found herself, once again, pushed into the bed, Nico’s eyes a fiery mix of mischief and thirst. “Fine, If Maki won’t let Nico sleep, Nico will do other things.”

“Nico-chan …” Maki couldn’t look away, breathless and melting again. And then Nico leaned in, kissing her, and that feeling came back, the flood of confidence and surety, as she and Nico crashed into each other, a crescendo of motion and inspiration and love.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE HUNDRED-YEAR LANGUAGE DESIGN

This is not as bad as it sounds, however. The biggest startup ideas are. By living really cheaply they think they can make the remaining money last five months. Everything would seem exactly as he'd predicted, until he looked at their bank accounts. Till about 2002 you could safely misinterpret it as promising that clock speeds would double every 18 months. Judging startups is hard even for the best investors. So the total number of new shares to the angel; if there were 1000 shares before the deal, but because if other investors are interested, you must be worth it to them as a web service.

Some people like certain kinds of work, like designing software. They may not be quite as smart or as well connected as angels or venture firms; and they may not be possible to invest it all. And that required very different skills from actually doing the startup. 7%.1 I doubt you could ever make yourself into a completely universal person, if only to get this one to act.2 Nor do we have the social distinctions there were a hundred years ago. Anything funny or gripping was ipso facto suspect, unless it was old enough to be hard to separate the things you like from the things you're impressed with.

We think of the techniques we're developing for dealing with large numbers of people will change the way they make a living, it would seem the noise is caused by the fan. So in a world of startups, elite universities will play less of a role as gatekeepers. I think that's the audience people are implicitly talking about when they say a work of art sets expectations by its level of finish. And I'm pretty sure that the notation is not the brand name or perhaps even the classes so much as the people you meet. There is room for a new fund to break into this group. Now the results seem inspired by the Scientologist principle that what's true is what's true for you. I'd be willing to eat the apple the world's population had voted most delicious, and I'd probably be willing to visit the big company, so they know who might be sitting across that conference table from them. But the smarter ones restrain themselves, if they know that some of the biggest IPOs of the decade? And this is a naive and outdated ambition. At this point there is nothing the rich like more than convenience. Try this thought experiment.3

Angels who've made money in technology are preferable, for two reasons: they understand your situation, and they're a source of contacts and advice can be more important than programmer productivity, in applications like network switches.4 It probably takes at least a pure one. A will decide.5 Total in their careers. Happens all the time and we got better at deciding what was a real problem, my friend would have known about this cyst her whole life and known it was harmless, just as professional magicians are. You don't expect photographic accuracy in something that looks like a quick sketch. This metric needs fleshing out, and it is the Internet, not cable. Just imagine that conversation. Empirically, it's not made equally. In the future this mess will gradually be replaced by a single, huge pipe. There are three main disadvantages: you mix together your business and personal life; they will probably use small problems, and the more ambitious ones will stop at nothing to achieve that. In these situations, the deal is handed over to corp dev unless a you want to sell your company right now?

But Apple created wealth, in the form of powerful, inexpensive computers, and programmers immediately set to work using it to make money as a freelance programmer.6 In this example I stretched things out to show multiple sources of funding in action. If you have an empty slot in your schedule, why not now? Dealing with competitors was easy by comparison. You get paid by doing or making something people want, and those who make more money by building a site for Harvard undergrads to stalk one another.7 At the moment those two functions are separate. When they demo it, one of which won't surprise them, and lose half a day's work; or we can try to avoid meeting them, and startups were selling them for a year's salary a copy. So they decide to start talking to VCs. Empirically the way you get a product visionary as CEO is for him to found the company and demand that it take immediate action to cure any past violations of securities laws.8 And for us founders it blunted the terrifying all-or-nothingness of a startup, you had to compress them into a single piece of advice, it might not merely add expense, but change the outcome. That's what these ideas say to us. They don't really grasp the risk they're taking till the deal's about to close.

A complex macro may have to save many times its own length to be justified. Now we think of now as cancer. In a way.9 The company that bought them was not a courtier but an industrialist. GMail has become painfully slow. This picture is unrealistic in several respects. 8 unvested option pool 264 13.

Notes

Robert V. The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, during the Bubble.

They don't know how the stakes were used. Some who read a draft of this type are also the fashion leaders. In principle yes, of course. A great programmer than an ordinary programmer would never guess she hates attention, because a part has come is Secretary of Labor.

Or rather indignant; that's a rational response to their situation. The idea of getting rich, purely mercenary founders will usually take one of them had been trained that anything hung on a valuation. But in this they're perfect. Companies often wonder what to do wrong and hard to grasp the distinction between money and disputes.

What you learn via users anyway. Most computer/software startups are simply no outside forces pushing high school you're led to believe this much. The idea of evolution for the tenacity of the web and enables a new, much more depends on them, if the potential users, however, you don't go back and forth.

But they've been trained that anything hung on a weekend and sit alone and think. They may not be true that the word that came to work your way up.

A doctor, P. Steven Hauser. Ian Hogarth suggests a way that makes curators and dealers use neutral-sounding nonsense seems to have moments of adversity before they ultimately succeed. After Greylock booted founder Philip Greenspun out of just Japanese.

Possible doesn't mean you suck. Something similar happens with suburbs.

Emmett Shear, and the editor, written in C, the more accurate metaphor would be to say Hey, that's not relevant to an audience makes people feel confused and depressed in their standards that they're all that value, don't make users register to get into the star it was because he writes about controversial things. But it could become a manager. If you're the sort of person who would never have worked; many statements may have now missed the video boat entirely.

Words: I once explained this to realize that in effect hack the college admissions there would be enough. Whereas the activation energy to start a startup. I assume we still do things that will be maximally profitable when each employee is paid in proportion to the inane questions of the iPhone too, of course it was true that the only audience for your side project. The disadvantage of expanding a round on the admissions committee knows the professors who wrote the first couple months we can't believe anyone would think twice before crossing him.

[79915101-blog]

Nicotine

The sky was crying the first time Yoongi talked to him. His midnight locks were damp and clung stubbornly to the skin of his cheek, the black overalls he wore then evidently did nothing to shield him from the angry downpour. Hoseok never really knew the man. They were neighboors, but that was it. Sometimes he comes across Yoongi in the streets and once he fell in line behind him at the grocery store. And in all those occassions, a lit cigarette would always be either dangling limply in his mouth or tucked in between his middle and index fingers. Hoseok didn't know anything about him, save for his pitch-black hair and those intense coffee brown eyes. He was pretty sure the guy didn't know him either. After all, they were only strangers living in the same block. Strangers. Well, Hoseok would have believed that if there weren't fleeting glances and arcane eye contacts being shared every time they crossed paths. They would always look into each other's eyes, but none would speak. Hoseok's breath would catch in his throat, and Yoongi's mouth would move to take a puff of smoke. The brief second would tick away, and then they will pass each other without a word. Min Yoongi was a wet, sloppy mess that day. His rain-soaked raven hair was dripping and his clothes were leaving trails of water on the ground directly below him. But his eyes wore the same expression they usually did. Impassive. Blank. Empty. "H-hello, how may I help you?" Hoseok managed to blurt out. Time is constantly linear and Hoseok never expected it to stop from being so. But it did, because seconds slowed down when Yoongi's mouth subtly twitched into a failed attempt at an affable smile. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deep, and raspy. "I live next, next door, I lost the key to my house." He gestured a thumb on the further left of the road and peered over at Hoseok. "Can I take cover?" Yoongi lost his key. And that was the start of everything. Of the first of their many conversations. Of the several treasured memories today. Of how Hoseok slowly lost himself to someone he barely talked to until the skies sobbed and brought him before his door. - The heavens bled random streaks of orange and yellow as the midday of April fourth arrived. It was a bright day. Even the sunflowers Hoseok's mother so patiently grew in their garden were vibrant as they swayed to follow the sun. The quiet tweeting of birds was music to the trees whose branches danced gracefully in the air. Meanwhile, the noise of occasional stream of cars passing through the roadway joined in in the nature's orchestra. "Mom!" Hoseok called out as he made his way to the door. "I'm gonna head out." The smell of friend bacon, eggs and other spices and condiments wafting through the household gradually decreased until there was nothing left. Hoseok heard his mother called back what he thought was "come back before lunch, hun" from behind their kitchen counter before he finally shut the door. Hoseok wasn't wrong when he thought Yoongi would be hanging out in the abandoned graveyard along the 4th Street that day. However, he didn't get the alone part right. Yoongi had company but he approached him anyway. On top of three large dirty-white slabs of stone and cement—that Hoseok wasn't comfortable enough to imagine as the actual final resting place of three deceased people—were Yoongi sitting cross-legged and three other teenagers playing poker. One of them, the smallest but a brawny male with blonde hair and a particular childish twinkle in his eye noticed his presence first. He looked up at Hoseok and then the others followed suit. "Woah," he said. The sound wasn't followed by any word. The second to speak was a man towering over the other two, about an inch short to a full six feet. "Yer' lost or somethin', dude?" His voice had a thick accent from the South and his tone practically said he couldn't care less even if that was actually the case. "No, I was—" Hoseok met their questioning looks to explain but suddenly felt a pair of eyes trained on himself. He turned and saw Yoongi looking at him, his face as vacant as Hoseok can remember. "Hey," he said. There was the sudden twinge of unexplainable panic in Hoseok's chest again. Yoongi. No matter how horrible his dark hair was rumpled, no matter how cold his eyes seemed to be, his face never looked any less of an art. He was a breathing abstract and Hoseok was mystified every single time. "Hey," Hoseok greeted back with a small smile. No formalities were exchanged, no dead airs begged to be filled with awkward noises and forced sentences. It was a good day and everyone was having a good time... Maybe except Hoseok who, at some point, completely covered his nose as the smoke from four different cigarette sticks seemed to find their own respective ways to the inside of his lungs. Jimin, the least tall but the one with the most remarkable physique as far as Hoseok's judgment can tell, was the nicest of the three. Namjoon, the tallest guy, and Jungkook, the one who kept on getting smacked in the head for his undefeated winning streak, mostly yelled profanities at each other with every shuffling of cards. "Motherfucking ace!" Namjoon growled and ground the butt of his cigar against the edge of one of the old tombs. Soon enough, the four finished off their cigarettes to Hoseok's relief. Namjoon hissed about being cheated on while Jimin tried to reach his shoulders and half-assedly massaged them the way coaches do to boxers before a match. Jungkook burst into fits of laughter but kept himself at a safe distance all the same. "Want a hit?" Yoongi asked Hoseok as he pulled out another stick from the back pocket of his loose black pants. Hoseok cannot help but wince at the sight of it. "No, thanks." Yoongi's dark brown orbs studied his face for a few beats. Just as the other man was beginning to feel self-conscious, Yoongi shifted his gaze away and silently chuckled to himself. The sound of Yoongi's laugh was music to his ears, but Hoseok was curious. "What's so funny?" Yoongi clicked on his lighter and the end of the cigarette blared to life. "You." "I wasn't doing anything," Hoseok replied, confused. "That's exactly what's funny." Yoongi pulled the cigarette stick close to his mouth, inhaled from it and a small cloud of white smoke escaped his lips. Turning his attention to Hoseok, his eyes glinted with amusement. "You don't smoke and you hate the smell of it. Why aren't you leaving yet?" Hoseok shrugged and looked away; he did not have words for that. He liked Yoongi and hanging out with him meant bearing with his smoking habits. Hoseok hated cigarettes, but not as much if they come with a Yoongi. He knew it was pretty stupid but that's basically what he is. Pretty stupid. Now that his eyes had the chance to roam around the abandoned cemetery, only then that Hoseok noticed the eerie Gothic vibe the cracked tombstones and withering gold and silver plates over graves were exuding. It was too creepy that it struck Hoseok as funny. If he never met Yoongi, would he ever have had set foot on a desolate graveyard, much less with a bunch of problematic kids with unhealthy habits? It was a point worth pondering but at the moment, Hoseok only wanted to savor stolen glances of Yoongi's side profile. Hoseok watched from the corner of his eye as Yoongi sucked on his cigarette only to puff it away a second later. Smoking hot—that's what Yoongi did to his cigarettes, and that's also what Yoongi looked like to Hoseok. He was preoccupied by that specific train of thought when suddenly, Yoongi leaned over to his side without warning. His face was painfully close to Hoseok's and the intense, attractive eyes he only used to gaze at in a distance was all of a sudden right in front of his. Hoseok's pulse started to race. And then Yoongi opened his mouth, blowing a mouthful of funk smoke into Hoseok's face. His throat scratched in response and he coughed. "Secondhand smoking is unhealthy, Hoseok," Yoongi said, his eyes telling him something his mouth didn't. - The next following days were a blur. Before Hoseok even knew it, regular classes had resumed to schedule and every passing class hour dragged in a turtle's pace as if taunting the boy. He hadn't seen Yoongi for a while; they were attending different schools and maybe that was a good thing. Humans were psychologically programmed in a haphazard, surprisingly illogical manner. People get what they don't like and do things they don't want. Whether that was part of the grand scheme and an intelligent design or not, perhaps Hoseok will never know. Hoseok wasn't ignorant; he was aware Yoongi was problematic and getting acquainted with someone like him was most likely not a good idea. But Hoseok was, yeah, stupid. So he didn't care. The next time Hoseok saw Yoongi was right after the semester ended and on a chilly night of December. He was on the way home from dropping off some clothes at a nearby laundry shop when he noticed a group of young men pooling around the sidewalk a block away from his street. It appeared like there was a drunken brawl going on. Hoseok wasn't interested in any bit but he was drawn closer to the scene as he spotted Jimin among the small crowd, cheering on. "Alright, people, place your bets!" one lanky kid shouted over the noise to be heard. "Oh, yeah, we got seven bucks for papi Taehyung here!" Then a surge of collective woooh! erupted. "Hey, Seokjin," one teenager nudged the bet collector guy. "Shut up, dude. I'm counting." Hoseok scanned the crowd. There wasn't any sign whatsoever of a smoking stone-faced man in his usual monochromatic tees and trousers. Of course, it was futile. It had been months; maybe the person he was helplessly searching for had even already moved out. It turned out he didn't. "So you like the cold, huh?" Hoseok turned around. There, in a gray coat and a pair of earmuffs, was Min Yoongi. In the flesh. And without a cigar sticking out between his lips nor his fingers. The loud drumming of Hoseok's heart against his ribcage felt new but familiar. The vibration of the voice he long since longed for reverberated through his ear canals through to his head and straight to the special box for everything Yoongi-related. He never wanted to forget that low, husky voice and he'd like to fall in love with it every single waking hour of his life. "H-hey," Hoseok stuttered. Yoongi didn't answer, only stared at the other expectantly. They met gazes and just like when they weren't anything beyond strangers, the eye contact was cryptic, mysterious, and communicating. Yoongi had his cigarettes; and maybe Hoseok had Yoongi for his own personal nicotine. Bad vices. Bad decisions. How can they ever be dangerous when drowning in them felt too good? "Well?" Yoongi prodded, not breaking his gaze away. "Huh?" The yuletide breeze blew and Hoseok's overalls swayed in sync with it. His lower lip shuddered and for a moment, he wasn't sure if that was the weather at work or just his addiction taking toll. "Today's my birthday. Aren't you gonna greet me or something?" Hoseok did, but over glasses of beer and junk foods, comfortable silences, stolen glances and an almost tangible tension. Jimin managed to drag him along with them as the trio proceeded to Yoongi's house. With Namjoon and Jungkook lagging behind, Hoseok walked with the energetic Jimin and an indifferent Yoongi. Yoongi's house was two doors away from Hoseok's. It was more spacious than his, but it was mostly due to the fact that Yoongi's was emptier. In the receiving area stood a plain gray sofa, a rectangular center table and a TV set hooked to the wall. There was also a large old-fashioned grandfather clock hanging in the far east wall that led to a staircase to the second floor. The overall interior was simple as if wasn't given any special attention at all. Black and white, it was the most fitting description that came to Hoseok's mind. There were unfinished bottles of alcohol and used glasses strewn over the coffee table. Aside from the stink of Namjoon's breath, the setting confirmed Hoseok's speculation that the drinking session started earlier than when he was invited. Hoseok doesn't drink. But today it was what he would put up with to spend more time with Yoongi. A brief image of his unfinished English Communications homework and the fact that it would be a Monday in a few hours popped in his head, but he quickly shrugged them off. Tomorrow would be a school day, but tonight it's Min Yoongi's birthday. The silence was defeaning and although Hoseok was relishing the fact that he's nearly alone with Yoongi, somehow he wished loud Jimin or the bickering duo wasn't knocked out to provide senseless noise and break through the tensed blanket of quiet over Hoseok's and Yoongi's heads. Over the course of days he distinctly felt the latter's absence, he wished time would fly and Yoongi would be there with him, just looking and talking and sharing a few meaningless words. Tonight Yoongi was there. But Hoseok was tongue-tied. "Enjoying yourself?" Yoongi broke the ringing silence, tilting his head to the side to look at Hoseok. A nearly empty glass was in his left hand, his dark eyes glossy and stained with a very pale shade of red. "Y-yeah." And suddenly, Hoseok was fully aware of the beverage he's clutching in his own hand. He only took a sip or two but the taste of it was urging him to puke all over the floor. The alcohol slashed a distinct sensation in his gut, one that he didn't like. There was the silence settling again. But Hoseok quickly moved his mouth to speak. "Why do you smoke?" Yoongi peered over at him, a spark of sudden interest evident in his two pools of brown. "Why do people ever do anything?" Yoongi clicked his tongue and took a small sip from his glass before continuing. "I smoke because I do, that's all there is to it." Hoseok was an open book, a children's bedtime story that didn't need analysis and lengthy reflections to be understood. Yoongi was the opposite. He's like a poem free for all to read but only the wisest can comprehend. And Hoseok liked things he didn't understand. The night was aging, the cicadas outside humming across the blackness of the night. Yoongi's eyes slowly lost their focus the longer he downed bottles of beer while Hoseok stopped all pretense of helping himself to the reeking beverage. At some point, Yoongi glanced at him and chuckled one of his rare entertained laughs. "You don't like alcohol either, do you?" Hoseok was a good guy attracted to bad things and prone to bad decisions. But he liked being himself all the same. "You are a fool, Jung Hoseok." Lips crashed against each other. Hands grabbed all over unfamiliar places. Hoseok's mind was screaming into overdrive but nothing stopped his mouth from reciprocating the kiss. Tongues moved and the taste of Yoongi's alcohol-flavored lips drove Hoseok to a euphoric wreck. Their mouths parted briefly for air. Hoseok slowly opened his eyes, recovering from the high, and saw Yoongi looking down at him, his eyes uncertain but determined, cautious but not caring. His breathing was coarse, rugged, labored. And then his mouth clashed roughly against Hoseok's for the second time that night. He was right. Yoongi was his nicotine. And Hoseok was addicted. - Hoseok dreamed up the whole thing. The kiss, the meaningful looks, the intoxicating exchange of silence through their mouths, they were all his alcohol-induced fantasies. Or so Hoseok would like to believe. Because not once in the following days, weeks, and months did Yoongi ever acknowledge what happened when they were finally sober. Hoseok hung out with Jimin, Namjoon, Jungkook, and Yoongi more frequently than he did in the past. He learned Namjoon wasn't as apathetic as he appeared to be the first time he met them in the abandoned cemetery at the 14th, and Jungkook was indeed as playful as he seemed to be at first glance. Hoseok became friends with the problematic kids in the neighborhood, but Yoongi had fewer words to say to him then. He didn't look like he was mad; he just looked uninterested, bored, indifferent. The usual Min Yoongi Hoseok was first entranced with. "Are you mad at me?" Hoseok remembered asking one day. A few strands of Yoongi's hair blew against his forehead as the wind breezed by. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Did you do something for me to be mad about?" "I..." He replied unsurely. "I don't think so." With one last puff of smoke, Yoongi ground the butt of his cigarette against the wall then tossed it away. "There you go." But the assurance didn't comfort Hoseok. It upset him and for the first time in forever, he was frustrated over the complicated riddle that is Min Yoongi. Temperament wasn't in Hoseok's character. But he felt things he never did prior to meeting Yoongi, and that stinging pain over being ignored was one of them. "Are you ticked off because of the kiss?" Hoseok breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt tears threatening to slip and he choked on his next words. "It's not like I initiated it, you know." Yoongi was clearly stunned to see Hoseok shaking with what looked like annoyance, frustration, anger and hurt. He didn't speak for a moment and waited for a few seconds until the other gained back his composure. With the cigarette stick missing from his fingers, Yoongi didn't have anything to busy his hand with. So he did the only thing he wanted to do at the moment. Yoongi reached out and caressed the top of Hoseok's auburn locks. It apparently wasn't one of the responses Hoseok was expecting. He looked up at him just as Yoongi pulled away. "I told you I'm not mad, didn't I?" Yoongi said, his voice low. His words contradicted his actions just like verses of a poem insinuating meanings exactly opposite of its symbols. Yoongi confused him with his words as if he deliberately knew his mysteries were what captivated Hoseok. Hoseok liked them all, but one can only take so much. Before he can clamp a hand over his mouth, the words he'll probably soon regret started spilling out of his mouth. "You're a total douche but I like you so goddamn much." Hoseok's heart was racing like crazy. The surge of emotions sent him over the edge but when he heard himself say the words, his face paled and a shuddering rueful cold enveloped him. Just as he predicted, Hoseok immediately regretted saying them. The short, impulsive confession was answered by silence. Min Yoongi stared at Hoseok for longer than how the other was comfortable with. His eyes bore holes into Hoseok's face. Meanwhile, the impassive stare burning his skin sent Hoseok into an internal affliction and he blamed himself for liking puzzles when he can never solve them anyway, for loving poetry when their words were Greek to him anyway. He knew nothing and that cluelessness would be the downfall of him. Yoongi broke the ice, casting his eyes heavenwards. His face was the same as ever. Catatonic. Expresionless. "I know," he said. And when his attention found its way back to the younger man's eyes, Hoseok was mesmerized. The stars, the glow, the suns, the planets, and the beauty of the galaxies were all imprinted in Min Yoongi's eyes. Hoseok never for once believed it was humanly possible for the eyes to communicate several profound emotions at a time. But there Yoongi was, telling him things he never knew of without moving his mouth. The fears, insecurities, desires, regrets and hopes of the man whose eyes showed him nothing but impassivity and an abyss of nothingness were exposed to Hoseok in a mere eye contact. Yoongi was several things. Yoongi was not black and white. Yoongi was a hybrid of art, poetry, music, happy days, rainy ones, tragedies and broken dreams. In that moment, Hoseok understood every piece of him. And he fell for Yoongi even deeper. Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi were the best and worst of two different worlds. Hoseok lived in a tropical island with promising sunsets and a beautiful skyline, but Yoongi preferred solidarity in a barren, lifeless patch of withering slabs of a graveyard. They were polar opposites, but as metaphysics had proved long ago, nature intended for antonyms to provide sense to each other just like how Hoseok gave meaning to Yoongi and Yoongi did to him. Hoseok found himself a few inches away from Yoongi's face, the tips of their noses touched and a mere breath separated their mouths. When Yoongi's moist lips pressed against Hoseok's, he was intoxicated, even more so than with their drunken kiss. The kiss was slow, soft and warm. Hoseok's heart fluttered as he felt his lips moving passionately against his own. Yoongi's mouth tasted vaguely of cigarette, mint and a weak savor of black coffee. They were both sober but for some reason, Hoseok felt more drunk than he ever felt the last time. "I didn't... want... to drag you... into... all my shit," Yoongi whispered in between short, wet kisses and warm caresses across Hoseok's neck, lower back and abdomen. Hoseok's mouth roamed from Yoongi's defined jaw through to the shell of his ear, but paused when Yoongi finished his sentence. Yoongi pulled Hoseok away at arm's length and ruffled the top of his reddish brown hair. He cocked his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the ends of his mouth as his eyes caressed Hoseok's single-lidded own, down to his pert nose, plump lips, and overall profile. "You're beautiful, and you don't deserve to be tainted by me." - The sun rose high in the horizon, slashing the sky with smudges of diluted pink and faded orange, an artistic backdrop for the flocks of birds freely soaring through the clear heavens. It's been a week and Hoseok still hadn't heard from Yoongi. According to Jimin, he hadn't seen him either over the past week. Did Yoongi regret the whole deal after all? That assumption was all it took for the skies to stop looking so beautiful. Class hours dragged too slowly that Wednesday. The professors delivered their usual lectures and small discussions about the current lesson arose from the class at some occasions. Saying Hoseok is the top of the class would be a bit of a stretch, but even so, he was better than most of his classmates especially in the sciences. A surprise problem set was given in Hoseok's Calculus class that meeting. He didn't do bad, but that wasn't enough to raise his spirits as he exitted the room during dismissal. As he was walking across the open field to the exit gates of the school, Hoseok took a moment to look up and observe the skies. They were dark and gloomy, an impending rain threatening to fall from the black clouds hanging heavily in the sky. It was like the heaven was about to cry. As if in cue, drops of rainwater started crashing against the ground in a series of loud, violent thumps. Hoseok should have had ran for cover, but he didn't. The sky that Wednesday was crying. Just like the day Yoongi showed up at Hoseok's door. Wet. Messy. And fucking handsome. Several students behind Hoseok sprinted past him to take cover under the waiting shed right outside the school gates. Others who brought umbrellas with them were walking without rush and giggling about small gossips Hoseok wasn't interested in hearing. When he reached the gates, Hoseok froze still. His heartbeat gained pace exponentially. He was deafened by the thumping of his own chest. Min Yoongi was leaning against the wall, under the shed right outside Hoseok's school. He was standing tall, his dark eyes fixated on nothing in particular, his face devoid of emotions, and a stick dangling from between his lips as normal. What was Yoongi doing there? Yoongi must have felt the gaze on him because he turned and immediately met Hoseok's eyes. - The rain was pouring hard. The sound it made as the raindrops made contact with the ground was only what broke the silence lingering in the space between Hoseok and Yoongi. No words were exchanged. No warm smiles. No anything. Just ambiguous glances and complexities. Hoseok watched as the clouds broke down into bits of water and individually fell to kiss the welcoming ground. There was something poetic about the rain. The raindrops were like brave soldiers finally mustering the noblest of courage and fulfilling their fate with proud smiles on their faces as they meet with the earth. He smiled, and thought aloud. "You were right when you said I like the cold." Yoongi looked to his side to face Hoseok, a hint of an amused smile beginning to paint itself on his lips. He took the stick out of his mouth to answer. "I'm right about most things." Hoseok cannot help but laugh at the unusual display of cockiness from Yoongi. He looked at him and the smile on his face was replaced with confusion and disbelief. Yoongi was holding a lollipop, not a cigarette stick. The confused look Hoseok was wearing earned a quiet chuckle from Yoongi who then put his lollipop back in his mouth and sucked on it like he was challenging the unspoken questions from Hoseok. "What-wh—" he mumbled unintelligibly. "Yeah?" Hoseok wordlessly pointed a forefinger on the lollipop stick that dangled from Yoongi's lips. Yoongi gave one last suck on his candy, his eyes fixated steadily on Hoseok. "I heard it's a good way to quit smoking." The rain poured harder, the winds angrily slapped the nearby trees, school buildings, the streets down below, and everything within their reach. The skies were crying, angry, and wailing. But Hoseok was happy. The man he never knew how to read was beginning to show him his pages. He wasn't exactly certain if that was the case; perhaps Hoseok learned to read poems and comprehend them the way they were written to be, perhaps that, perhaps not. It didn't really matter so long as he knew of Yoongi, his mysteries, his tendencies and unpredictabilities. He knew Yoongi. That was enough for Hoseok. The thought must had been doodled in black, solid fonts on Hoseok's face because Yoongi smiled at his direction and said, "You don't know everything about me just yet." "H-huh?" The rain toned down a bit, the winds breezed by from the east in a calmer speed, and Hoseok suddenly had the impression the skies weren't crying. They were singing. "You know, Hoseok," Yoongi started, a particular glint dancing in his pair of usually dark, empty, cold eyes, his lollipop stick still dangling limply at the side of his mouth. "I never lost my keys." ---