#cord that’s good and sturdy the same way. it didn’t fray for like over a year and even then it wasn’t too bad of fraying

[trollbreak]

On one hand: I really don’t need another character I’ve got plenty. But on the other hand: ex-coworker friend of Loser’s that makes pins. Do u see the image

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 2

So much love to @theobscurepotato and @peregrinealpha, you guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support, it means the world to know that I’m not the only one excited for this! <3

I have no excuse for this one. Pretty sure this is the purest definition of an id fic, because it just kinda wrote itself, and when I was done and went back to read over it the front of my brain was like ‘what the hell did I just create’ and my lizard brain was purring ‘yesss, good’ like goddamn Palpatine. This is definitely not a scenario that I think would actually have happened in canon, but apparently it’s a scenario my brain wanted to play with, and I definitely do blame it on Gerald canonically having way too much fun needling Damien for no obvious reason other than for the sake of winding him up. 

Much like day 1, this is right in the grey area where I wasn’t sure whether to tag it NSFW or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution because I’d rather be overly conscientious than not. I also wasn’t entirely sure how to word the content warning tags, so I tagged it for general self destructive behaviour, because uh - what Gerald is doing here is not how to have a healthy relationship, kids. This is ‘personal experience with adolescent trauma’ meets ‘horrifically bad coping mechanisms’ with a dash of ‘really really warped views on intimacy’. This is also a consent nightmare, because Damien is not aware that Gerald is intentionally provoking him. Please do not try this at home. 

Day 2 - Theme Chosen: Choking

Gerald Tarrant wasn't above using deception to further his own interests, but he preferred evasion to direct falsehood, and he certainly wasn't in the business of lying to himself. Thus, he was well aware of why he was engaged in his current endeavour – that being, inciting yet another argument with his companion, intentionally goading the priest he'd spent the last few months travelling with into a heated debate over the fate of the little girl they'd unintentionally absorbed into their group after encountering the Terata. The part of his mind that was coolly analyzing his actions, though, was smaller than the part which was focusing on the argument itself.

Both of those part combined were smaller still than the part of his brain that was fixated on what the priest's hands would feel like closing around his throat.

“For the last vulking time, I am not just abandoning her!” The Knight's fraying patience finally snapped, and the bulkier man took a step toward the adept, his eyes blazing. He was only letting go this much because Jenseny was well away from the cave that was currently their refuge, gathering sticks with Hesseth to make a fire; the rakh-woman had sensed the building tension, and had deliberately taken the girl out of the way so that the two men in the group could clear the air.

“I don't care if you think it would be easier, I promised to keep her safe -”

His hands were clenched into fists at his side, the force of his indignation expressed through the whitening of his knuckles, the corded tension in his arms as he held himself back from violence. Gerald fired back a retort on autopilot during an appropriate pause in the priest's rant, his own manner cool and detached, his mask of indifference firmly in place despite his mental preoccupation. God, the strength in this man – Damien Vryce was a fighter, and the proof of that was in every line of his body, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the thick muscle that layered his naturally-sturdy frame. His hands were large and strong-boned, the skin tanned and weathered by years of travel, thickly calloused by the tug of leather reins and the hilts of weapons. Fae-augmented healing or not, if Vryce hit him, it would hurt. It would leave a mark, at least for a while.

It would feel real, in the way things rarely did now, isolated as he was by his own carefully crafted cocoon of power.

The words of a past lover drifted through his memory, that long-gone voice dripping with disgust. You're pathetic. So desperation for attention, you don't even care what it looks like. I could make you bleed and you'd say 'thank you', wouldn't you?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Gerald snapped back into the present moment fully, his unnaturally slow heartbeat accelerating a little as he registered the building fury in Vryce's voice. His lack of attention had been noticed, it seemed, and the priest's handsome face was turning an alarming shade of red as his temper swelled. Pride simmered in Gerald's chest at the reaction he'd provoked from the normally level-headed man, satisfaction slithering through his veins even as he replied in a deliberately bored tone.

“It's not as if you're saying anything you haven't said before, Reverend. Given the intensity of our pursuit, the girl would likely be safer out of our presence than in it. Regardless, though, it comes back to the same point; our goals are too important, we can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked by one insignificant chi-”

He read Vryce's intentions through the fae before it happened, the sudden resolve bleeding off the priest in an unmistakable wave of crimson, but his own surprise at finally eliciting such a concrete and visceral reaction kept Gerald from responding in time – not that he knew, necessarily, what response he might have tried to make. In a single smooth movement, the Knight grabbed Gerald's shoulder with one hand, shoving him forcefully backward while the other settled around Gerald's neck. As the Hunter's back slammed into the rough stone of the cave wall, Vryce pinned him there, leaning in as he snarled out his words in a voice gone guttural with rage.

“Don't you dare call her insignificant.”

The vitriolic reply he would have given in any other situation died unspoken as Gerald's usually turbulent mind went utterly, blissfully quiet, only a single line of thought remaining to him.

Yes. That's it. Do whatever you want. Hate me.

Hurt me.

Just don't let me go.

A dark and twisted lesson it might have been, but Gerald had learned one truth of human nature early in life, and had never forgotten it even as centuries passed. People were more than happy to lie and cheat their way through life, and would deceive you at every turn; you could so rarely be sure of  where their real intentions, or attentions, might lie. They could talk, laugh, eat, fuck, and at every moment their thoughts could be elsewhere – but not when they wanted to hurt you. If they were that angry at you, no distractions existed.

Once you drove them over the edge enough to put their hands on you, you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Gerald tipped his head back against the unyielding stone behind him, just to feel the way Vryce's hand was clenched around his neck a little better; he didn't technically need to breathe to sustain himself, but he was reeling and lightheaded nonetheless, from the heady mixture of triumph and adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sensation of mingled horror and satisfaction, so deep it made him nauseous, made him swallow reflexively against the way his mouth flooded with saliva in response – and then swallow again, when Vryce's grip tightened on his flexing throat, strengthening the whirl of emotions in his mind until Gerald felt a very real stab of fear that he might actually faint.

All of it lasted, however, for only the briefest moment.

He could see it as the Knight came to his senses; their faces were only inches apart, wide grey eyes staring into burning hazel, and he saw the exact instant that the blind haze of fury fell away and Vryce realized how far he'd lost control. A wave of horror doused the smouldering blaze in those warm green-and-brown irises, and Vryce wrenched himself away, his hands going lax and falling back to his sides as he stared at the Hunter in horror.

“I'm – I didn't mean – hell!”

Gerald drew in a ragged breath, now bracing himself against the cave wall intentionally as his head spun; there was a vague sense of loss echoing in his mind, but far louder was the roar of victory, the greedy hunger in his chest transmuted to a throb of purring satisfaction.

Yes, I can hold you, I can draw your focus, I can make you care...

Careful this time to show nothing of the emotional tempest in his mind, Gerald lifted one hand to rub lightly at his no-doubt-bruising neck, casting the Knight a sardonic glance.

“Don't flatter yourself, Reverend,” he muttered, with a icy steadiness that he most certainly did not feel. “I assure you, if I felt you posed a genuine threat, you would never have gotten that close to me. You couldn't truly hurt me if you tried.”

At least, not when I can make you look at me with that much fire in your eyes...

Vryce seemed to have registered his words as the subtle threat Gerald had meant them to be taken for, though, if the priest's thoroughly shaken expression was anything to go by. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply conflicted and vaguely sick. Finally, he shook his head sharply, and bit out a curt few words.

“It won't happen again.”

With that proffered statement – surely meant to be reassuring, or perhaps pacifying, for no doubt he assumed the Hunter was furious about Vryce's presumption in laying hands on him – the priest turned and strode hastily out of the cave. Gerald stayed where he was, hands splayed out against the cold rock behind him, feeling his pulse beating forcefully in his throat as he closed his eyes.

Oh yes, it will. If that's the only way I can have your hands on me, I'll make sure it does.

[lordofcrowns]

DRUNKEN SAILOR  //  ARCHIVE LINK

Despite the encroaching night, the docks were still bustling. Burly workers milled about, sailors and merchants alike going about the last of their business for the day, the latter hawking wares and seeking to crack open the coin purse of any passerby they could convince.

This far north, the leaves on the trees grew a medley of color ranging from rich indigo to bright cobalt blue, now dusted with a sugary coating of peach and amber sunset lighting. Speckled between the deep blues were flames of orange, brightly burning street lamps that marked the way up the cobblestone steps from the docks into town. Thick clouds hung over the shore, tinged the same colors as the sunset, save one heavy grey cloud that threatened rain. A watercolor painting, all reflected in the mirror of the sea.

On a cliff overlooking the scene was the local inn and tavern. Oil lanterns and tattered banners swayed in the wind, beckoning travelers and locals alike inside, out of the biting cold. On an icy northern night like this, few could resist the comforts of a warm hearth, strong drinks, and good company.

[ MUSIC // AMBIANCE // ARCHIVE LINK ]

Unsurprisingly. The tavern itself was seething with activity. After all, any who were willing to keep the peace were welcome here. Many even hung their weapon belts at the door - trusting the town guard to see to their safety. Red cherry wood was stained purple, drenched in the shade of the cool evening. The building was old - a big, open space with two floors and several hearths, built of stout timber and set upon a sturdy stone foundation. Rugs covered the stone floor, thick curtains kept the draft out, and soft furs were draped over furniture.

In the center of the main hall, down from the ceiling grew one of the local trees, a great spectacle of vibrant blue foliage and inky black branches - limbs that stretched down and had been tied and trained to hold the many, many lanterns flickering brilliant gold and crimson through old, smoke-stained glass, that together made a chandelier. A blend of different tongues, all overlapping and fighting to be heard over one another, caused a din that made it difficult for the innkeeper and her customer to hear themselves.

“Iyrngybet… what you’ve given me here is not even half of what you owe.”

“Aye… that is the right of it, lass.”

The burly Roegadyn man awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and avoided the eyes of the innkeeper. The woman was smaller than him practically by half, but her no-nonsense air had him shuffling his feet and pouting like a schoolboy being disciplined. She sighed at him with rather evident disappointment, but did not seem angry.

“Well… I have horses that need grooming and stalls that need cleaning.”

The Hyur woman hardly had the time to finish her sentence before the brawny man was wrapping his arms around her and picking her up in a tight bearhug. Luckily for her, the rafters in the ceiling were high, so she did not risk hitting her head despite the way he twirled her around.

“Oh, yer a gem, Maude! A right gem!”

“Yes, yes…” Maude did her best to sound exasperated, but the laughter in her voice was palpable. “Put me down, please.”

“O’course.”

He very gingerly set her down, and the freckled woman brushed her skirt free of the many wrinkles the unexpected hug had put in it.

“I will expect you bright and early tomorrow morning, sixth bell. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly!”

Maude, the innkeeper and tavern’s owner, felt a good deal older than her twenty and six summers. A hyur woman with a sharp wit but a kind heart, she opened the tavern and inn to any who would keep the peace, and who agreed to comply with the local guard who watched her door.

Her dress was a layering of mismatched petticoats, cream linen, and an old, many times mended hempen bodice, laced haphazardly with fraying jute cord. Her auburn brown hair was tied back in a long, loosely plaited braid that reached her hip in total length, wrapped about her temple and tying underneath her long hair was the one fine thing she owned - a vivid blue silk sash.

As the tavern’s sole proprietor and the only staff she could truly afford, Maude had her hands full filling and refilling drinks, fetching dried meat and loaves of bread, and assigning rooms to the sailors and travellers as they came and went.

She didn’t mind, though - she liked to be kept busy, and in her handful of years living here, she had grown to love the town, the tavern, and its people. The majority of her customers were regulars she knew by name, the other sailors she vaguely recognized when they passed through during certain months.

There was, however, one figure present this evening she did not recognize at all. He was mild-mannered, unobtrusive - he spoke to the guard before entering and even agreed to leave his sword belt at the door. And much to her delight he paid his coin without hesitation, excuse, or flimsy attempts at bartering. He was garbed in a dusty matte black coat, layered over a simple leather doublet and creamy, low-cut white shirt. Brass buttons had been worn down over time, seams stretched and quilted lapels scuffed from wear and tear. He had introduced himself as a sailor, and he had the look of one. He had thick brown hair and one piercing, gold eye, the left - the right was covered with a leather patch, a relatively common feature amongst sailors. His skin was tan, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, but only in a way that really showed when he smiled.

There was little unnatural or unusual about the Miqo’te, save perhaps a certain lazy grace with which he moved and carried himself. As the evening carried on, she found herself paying him more attention. There was a brooding expression on his face, an almost alarming focus that furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw, that with a suave charm was instantaneously covered once he felt eyes on him. It took him no time at all to warm up to the locals and join in with the drinking.

He held aloft a full tankard, by nature of his height towering over most of his newfound company. He had a gruff, guttural, but still somehow charming singing voice.

“Hey ho, to the bottle I go! To heal my heart and drown my woe. Rain may fall, and wind may blow, But there’ll still be many malms to go! Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain, And the river that runs from hill to plain. Better than rain or a rippling brook, Is a mug of beer that brings me luck!”

This unfamiliar sailor had enough of a boom behind his voice that it filled the room right up to the brim, but even it threatened to be drowned out by the laughter and chorus of voices that joined in alongside it to sing the familiar diddy. A beat rose up, a mix of boots stomping against the wood and fists slamming into tabletops. Maude was sure she had never seen the tavern so full, or so lively.

Iyrngybet was perhaps the loudest and rowdiest of all those drinking, though despite this he always handled himself well. He was the friendly, rambunctious sort - even without the drink. And much to Maude’s relief, he and this new stranger seemed to get on rather well. They were clapping each other on the back and toasting tankards together between verses. The last note of the stranger’s song faded out to thunderous applause and hollers. The Roegadyn wasted no time then in striking up a new rhythm and bellowing out the words to a new ditty. Another popular song, an age old warning about pirates and thieves, the ones that come for naughty children in the night.

“My mother said he listens  My father’s seen him walk  Stay in bed, asleep at home  Be spared the slaver’s lock.

 With whip he’ll bind your ankles  Blind your eyes with sash and cord  And if you cry out in the night  Alone he’ll take you aboard.

 The slaver snake, he waits  With coiled whip and black clad hand  Beware the viper's bite, my son  Fear Captain Stacy's brand!”

Iyrngybet drained the last of his tankard amidst many cheers, and resounding boos for the pirate in question that the song had referenced.

“Haven’t heard that one since I was a wee child, eh?” A patron said to her as she refilled their proffered glass.

“Indeed,” She replied. “I fear much to his dismay, dear Iyrngybet ages himself by nature of his song choice.”

Though her feet ached and she longed nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a moment’s quiet, Maude couldn’t help but smile and readied herself to pour another round of drinks. At the very least, this stranger and his charm with the crowd made for good beverage sales.

Still, his charm left her with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She brushed it off as the excitement of having a new face in town, for after all - it was a rather rare occasion.

Down on the docks, five score sailors were disembarking an unmarked sloop, leaving behind the now pitch black sea and heading up the hill towards the wintery blue forest, and the tavern itself. They moved swiftly and silently, light footsteps barely seeming to touch the ground they tread upon. They wore matching colors of black and gold, and not a word was spoken between them. Hand signals were made, and packs began to peel away, moving through the town and into the woods. All the while, that grey cloud still lingering in the midnight sky grew darker and darker. A storm was imminent.

“Hail to you, good ser. If you seek accommodations for the evening, I have beds for rent.”

The Miqo’te leaned gently from one side to another, fighting to keep himself even slightly upright, before simply nodding. Maude bowed her head and made every effort not to smile at his drunkenness, lest the stranger take offense.

“A room is five-hundred gil. Have you the coin to pay?”

Before she’d even fully finished her question, the Miqo’te had set down a small leather satchel of gil on the bar. Maude pulled the coin purse towards her, counting out what was owed to her swiftly and returning the excess, as well as the pouch, to their owner. She tucked the gil away in the safe kept beneath the counter before straightening up and tossing her scarf back over her shoulder.

“Right this way, then…” Maude used a small key she kept on her person to open a wide, flat drawer beneath her bar, within which were nestled many similarly shaped keys. She selected one and extended her arm.

“I will show you to your room.”

The man simply nodded, pushing himself back a pace from the bar before falling in behind her. He wobbled precariously now and then, after a time deigning to reach his right hand out to trace fingertips along the wall in an effort to steady himself. They ascended a flight of steps, walking at a leisurely pace around the upper level of the atrium of the tavern, where the Miqo’te had to transition to leaning against the wooden banister to keep himself upright. Maude walked slowly, leaving her guest ample room to catch up without rushing him, and meanwhile glanced down at the still drinking and dining patrons below. Laughter still bellowed upwards towards the rafters now and again, but a few - like the Miqo’te she now escorted - were content to begin finding their ways to their beds.

Along the balcony of the atrium they walked, to the far side of the brilliant chandelier and blossoming tree branches, and down a hallway that provided some small shelter from the loud volume of the guests, was the available room she’d chosen for him. She unlocked it and pushed the door open, stepping back and meaning to hand off his key to him. But when she turned around, she could only stifle a small chuckle. He had stopped perhaps five fulms behind her, and was now leaning with his elbow against the wall, head nestled into the crook of his arm. She cleared her throat, swallowing her laughter before addressing him.

“Ser...?”

Maude’s voice trailed off as she noticed he seemed to be very quietly humming yet another drunken ditty. His mumblings could hardly be considered lyrics, but she recognized the tune as one of the ones sung earlier in the night.

“My mother said he listens  My father’s seen him walk  Stay in bed, asleep at home  Be spared the slaver’s lock…”

She smiled to herself, thumbing over the key in her hands and simply hoping the man would find himself just enough to make it to the room he’d paid for. His voice replying to her snapped her out of thoughts.

“How old were you the first time you heard that song?”

“Hm? Why, I suppose I was just a girl when I-”

Maude glanced back up towards him, eyeing him curiously. For perhaps the first time the entire night, she stopped and truly looked at this sailor. She noted the cleverness present in his face. The odd, unsettlingly crooked smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, the dangerous alertness visible in the one, glittering eye she was permitted to see. The way his body wasn’t shaking or swaying at all anymore.

He had been deceiving her all night. This man was not drunk at all.

Now that she was up close to him, Maude couldn’t help but squint at the way she could swear his entire presence seemed to flicker. His thick brown hair seemed to catch the lantern light in bright flashes of turquoise blue, the dusty brass buttons of his coat giving way to brilliant gold.

The longer she studied him, the colder Maude felt. But he just smiled at her, slowly straightening up to his full height. Having regained control of her tongue enough to stop staring dumbfounded, she took a respectful step back, once more offering his room’s key to him. It took every ounce of strength and self control not to stutter or give away her discomfort. She didn’t know who she was dealing with, or why he would lie, but it made fear grip her cold. She knew to be careful.

“You make strange conversation, ser. I think bed rest would do you well. If you need anything else, you need only ask.”

“Or perhaps you are like me.” Though she attempted to change the subject, the Miqo'te overrode her. “Placing little stock in such fanciful tales.”

He spoke slowly and softly, but this did little to dissipate the Hyur’s nerves. She realized immediately that this man had her backed into a corner, and out of the line of sight of the other patrons for the moment.

“Pray, rest easy.”

His voice was like a purr. A quiet rumble deep in his chest. It was as if he’d read her mind, or perhaps he had seen her eyes flick momentarily over towards the hallway behind him.

“I do hope you will forgive my belated introduction.”

Something translucent like scales seemed to ripple and fall from his body as the glamour dissipated. Brown hair instead shone a seafoam teal, worn long save for the short buzz on either side of his temples. The dusty, worn-in coat was now shed for a clean, elegant looking black and gold uniform. There was not a single seam or wrinkle out of place. Polished gold at his shoulders emblazoned with a calligraphic “S” denoted his rank. His hands were covered with a pair of oily black gloves, and adorned with gold rings. One such hand went behind his back, the other in front of him, as he gifted the innkeeper a formal bow, still smiling.

“Captain Cyril Stacy, a pleasure to meet you.”

The Hyur caught her breath a moment, eyes tracing over the man now before her, unsure if they could even be called the same person. As was quite common among some Miqo’te, his breeding was written practically in ink along every sharp line of his face, in his imposing silhouette and broad shoulders. And, despite his casual, perhaps almost jovial demeanor and the superficial camaraderie among the tavern folk earlier in the night, his voice had the immistakible, careless authority of someone wholly accustomed to being obeyed.

She knew the name, she knew the song, she knew the stories. She knew exactly who this man claimed to be.

“Are you mad, or brilliant?” She whispered. “Drawing attention to yourself all evening like that, my good Captain…” She spat his title at him with contempt crisp against her teeth, a mixture of mockery and disbelief. “Among my patrons there is no shortage of bounty hunters. Adventurers who would be eager to claim the prize you proclaim yourself to be.”

Cyril merely chuckled quietly and shook his head.

“You think me more reckless than I am, love. Your patrons will hardly remember the evening.”

Confusion was plastered all over the innkeeper’s face until she took a few moments to listen carefully. It was quiet. The laughter, the chatter, it had all died down.

“What have you done?”

Worry boiled over into panic and Maude picked up her skirts, shuffling sheepishly a few steps aside from Cyril. When he made no move to stop her or block her path, she darted back towards the atrium. She grabbed the banister and leaned over worriedly, taking in the disturbingly quiet scene before her.

A lucky few had made it to the comfortable, fur-draped chairs that surrounded the crackling hearth. The others dozed at their tables, slumped over with heads resting atop folded arms or even one another. A few of the most unfortunate simply collapsed, sprawled out over the bearskin rugs or slumped down in a heap against the wall. It was as if they had been put under a spell, none of them so much as twitched or shuffled in their sleep.

Heavy, slow footsteps behind her alerted her of Cyril’s approach, followed closely by his still quiet voice. As he stalked up behind her, he pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sides of his neck clean of the rum he’d splashed on it to make him smell intoxicated.

“Rest assured, they are not harmed.”

These were her patrons, her people - when they came to her establishment they were in her charge. That this man had so easily weaseled his way in and drugged every drinker was a thought both terrifying and humiliating. Anger boiled in her blood, and without thinking she whirled around and pulled her hand back to strike the man in the face. In the middle of her motion she seemed to realize what she was doing was unwise, and in that split second of hesitation, Cyril reached up and grabbed her wrist before she had the chance to slap him. He still spoke softly, even as he threatened nonchalantly to crush her arm in his grip.

“You ought to be thanking me. I may very well have rescued your floundering business from the softness of your heart.”

Maude grimaced and attempted to tug her arm away, to no avail.

“I beg your pardon?”

In one fluid movement, Cyril spun her around - holding her arm behind her as he marched her back over towards the railing. He reached his arm about her and rested his free hand on the banister while he directed her attention to the dozing patrons.

“Look at the sorry lot of them. Drunkards and beggars. Doubtless, some wretched sod lies in a heap behind the building, threatening to drown in his own vomit. Those that can stand up leave the next morning without paying what they owe, to return again the following eve. Such people are worthless if left to their own devices.”

Maude’s bright eyes darted from one sleeping form to another - Iyrngybet, Damien, Eliza, Ihri'a, Bardi, Oshonne… She knew them by name! They were her townspeople, her friends, her family. And to hells with it if they couldn’t always pay in coin! They paid her back in other ways, helping her tend to the establishment. To her, that was more than enough.

“Rapacious man! Does your black heart beat only for coin? A man drowned in the drink is more honorable than you’ll ever be.”

“Oh, my darling. You wound me with such harsh words. I am not an evil man. You should know...”

As he spoke, his hand left the bannister, gloved fingers sliding up to caress and curl about Maude’s bare neck.

“I do this for you.”

Maude snarled and wrestled herself free of the Miqo’te, scrambling a few paces away from him and whipping around to face him. Again, he made no move to hold her in his grasp, nor to stop her from wriggling free. And even as she glared at him with fire in her eyes, she was well aware her efforts to free herself of his hold were only successful because he allowed them to be.

“Wh-what in the world? How dare you insinuate I would do business with your kind!”

“Abandoned by an unfaithful husband.” The pirate began. “A beloved sister, dead so young.” He took a step towards her as he spoke. “Aging and ailing parents, to whom you send every small amount of coin you can spare…”

Maude’s heart was racing. How much did this man know? So beside herself with shock was she, the innkeeper didn’t realize she’d been shuffling away from him until her back hit the wall. He brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, tracing his hand along her cheek to her chin and tilting her face up to look at him.

“And a kind heart. One far too soft for business. But you need not worry any longer. I will look after you.”

He smiled softly at Maude, keeping his one eye on her as he brought his other hand to his ear just long enough to tap the receiver of his linkpearl.

“Move in.”

There was a bright blue flash of light and almost instantaneously a resounding boom as what was surely lightning split the sky above the tavern. The door to the tavern flung back on its hinges, the guard that should have been watching it absent from his post, as uniformed sailors filed into the building. Maude yelped and shrunk back in surprise. Through the glass windows she could vaguely make out the silhouette of a massive airship, shrouded in a thick, unnatural fog that it seemed to use as a cover, teetering precariously close to the cliff.

And at the sixth bell of the next morning, Iyrngybet - like so many others - was nowhere to be found.

[its-love-u-asshole]

Corresponding [fic]

Summary: Kuroo can't help but fear his own weakness, and more than anything, he fears that Tsukishima won't understand the broken parts of himself which Kuroo tries so desperately to hide. However, maybe Kuroo needs to start giving the blond the benefit of the doubt.

Rating: T

Tags: Pacific Rim AU, lots of sappiness, very light angst, mentions of abusive parents but nothing major 

Note:  Hello! This is a sequel fic in my Pacific Rim series, so if you haven’t read the first installment I highly recommend you do so, or you won’t understand much of what’s happening lol. I’ve had the idea for this sequel for a while but I finally got to sit down and write it out, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over! 

AO3

The phrase ‘adorned in polycarbonate’ would probably strike most people as odd, and was by no means a traditional observation. However, it was all Kuroo had to describe his co-pilot in that moment.

Tsukishima's footsteps echoed against the floor's railing, the dim lighting of the jaeger cockpit casting a gentle glow on the other's already luminous figure. Kuroo briefly wondered if only he saw Tsukishima in this way, as a beacon, and found that he'd gladly spend his life convincing others of the phenomena if he had to.

Everyone should see how much the other shined, like he'd done for Kuroo in more than enough ways, illuminating the ever-present darkness.

For now though, it was just the two of them, taking each other in. The noises of heavy machinery and diagnostic checks faded into nothingness, and all Kuroo could comprehend were honey brown eyes and that suit.

Kuroo was shameless about it as Tsukishima stepped forward, completely free from the shadows, eyes roaming over the sleek charcoal clothing which only intensified the blond's brightness.

A jaeger pilot's drivesuit was as jarring as it was necessary. The glorified wetsuit was covered in "armor," or hard plates made of polycarbonate fibers which protected the chest, legs, and spinal cord.

Kuroo had a matching one, black and sturdy, but he was less impressed with himself in the mirror than he was with how Tsukishima looked right then.

The armor hugged the blond's lean but muscled frame, accentuating every curve and ridge. The bulky attire wasn't meant to look so beautiful, but Tsukishima made it work. More than anything though, it showed how downright powerful Tsukishima was. The new look commanded the same authority which the blond had exhibited in the cafeteria on Kuroo's first day, only this time it was ready for more than just fighting words.

Tsukishima looked ready for battle, ready to pilot. A chill raced down Kuroo's spine, like he couldn't possibly keep all his satisfaction in if he tried.

He'd never felt more honored to stand by someone in his life.

"Done staring?" Tsukishima's teasing lilt made Kuroo smirk, his eyes flashing with fondness which had only taken a few days to fully cultivate. How much more could he be pulled into Tsukishima's orbit? How much more could he pull Tsukishima into his own?

He didn't want to wait to find out.

"Not yet, give me a good...twenty...years?" Kuroo said, and Tsukishima promptly tossed a helmet at his face. It didn't stop Kuroo from catching the flush on the other's cheeks, the color amplified by the midnight garb. Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but smiled, and Kuroo's heart stalled, as expected.

It was becoming quite common.

Tsukishima turned away, eyeing his reflection in his own helmet's visor with unmasked vulnerability. "I bet you would say that to all your co-pilots."

Tsukishima huffed a small laugh, waiting for Kuroo's playful reply or stupid pick up line.

But Kuroo didn't want to do that. Maybe it was the overwhelming nostalgia which came from standing in the Nekoma's control pod, about to drift again for the first time in years. Or maybe it was all those happy tears he'd shed the night before, or the ones which threatened to leak out even then.

Overall, Tsukishima stood in front of him, open and proud to be there, and ready to follow Kuroo down his dream's old path. Kuroo didn't feel like lying to him about anything in that moment, nor would he brush the truth away.

When they were in a jaeger, there was no need for pretend.

"No, I really don't. It's just you." And Kuroo hoped it was just him for Tsukishima too.

His copilot turned to him, surprised at Kuroo's serious tone, and for a second, only the beeps of the jaeger's machines passed between them. Anxiety and excitement reflected back from Tsukishima's eyes, and once more Kuroo didn't question why they were so compatible. At the root of things, they were the same.

They stared for a while, and Kuroo clutched his helmet, breathing in time with the Nekoma's vitals. To him, the jaeger had always been alive, an extension of himself, and now an extension of Tsukishima too.

With Tsukishima at a loss for words, Kuroo shrugged, grinning lazily. "But yeah, you look really good."

Tsukishima blinked, startled, and then his brain caught up to him, and he laughed, light and real this time. Kuroo drank up the sound, using it as a natural stress reliever as the time of their test neared closer and closer.

Yeah, they'd be fine.

"Hey Kuroo," Tsukishima said, fixing his helmet to his head.

Kuroo perked up, like a cat, his head tilted slightly as he snapped on his own helmet. "Hm?"

Tsukishima turned away, avoiding Kuroo's gaze as his voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "You look good too."

Somehow, the innocent compliment had Kuroo's brain ready to explode, and he didn't try to hide the color blooming on his cheeks.

They exchanged one last smile before their coms filled with static, and Ukai's voice filled their ears. "Pilots, prepare for neural handshake. Two minutes."

All of a sudden, the mix of nerves was back, but instead of making Kuroo sick to his stomach, it sent him flying into action. He and Tsukishima shared one last grin before stepping into position, linking up their limbs with the correct attachments on the jaeger.

Man, it's been a while....

Kuroo hadn't drifted in so long, he probably would be in for a shock. Having his memories, painful ones and all, flowing through his mind at the speed of light into his partner's, and seeing Tsukishima's in return. He remembered how overwhelming it could be, but part of him was excited to finally get to share all of himself with the blond.

He pushed away the insecurity as much as he could, not wanting to think of all the struggle and strife which Tsukishima would no doubt witness. Kuroo had gone through a lot of low points in his life. He'd been stepped on, cast out, forced to wander and work meager jobs not at all fitting of his skills. Pathetic, pitiful.

Kuroo knew there was a crowd gathered around the jaeger too, on the outside. He couldn't see them but he felt the stares, the judgement, the complete lack of faith and trust in him. Maybe he deserved some of it. He could picture Daishou's smug face and the crew's bated breaths.

They were waiting for his show to flop, and Kuroo wanted nothing more than to prove them wrong. Regardless, the fear sat in his gut, deep rooted.

But one look at Tsukishima, with his calm face and unexpected tenacity, Kuroo could put some faith in him.

Please don't be disappointed in me...

That was his last thought.

"20 seconds. Get ready to drift boys." Ukai at least sounded supportive.

"Ready to be inside my head?" Kuroo said, laughing off the tremors of apprehension inside him as he heard the machinery around him power up.

"I thought I already was," Tsukishima said with a shrug, and yeah, Kuroo could not argue with that. Then, the blond's smile fell, and his eyes filled with the same genuine concern which Kuroo couldn't get enough of. "Stay with me."

Don't get lost in a memory.

Kuroo exhaled shakily, nodding once. "You too."

He didn't mind that it sounded like begging, he only hoped it wasn't drowned out by the whirring of the Nekoma around him, his nerves sparking like fire.

"Neural handshake initiated."

.

.

.

The thing about drifting was it was such an intimate experience that eventually, it became hard to tell his own memories apart from his partner's. The visions, the feelings...they blended together and collided, split in half then reformed all in the same split second. Memories were powerful things too, showing someone's weakest and most sacred moments.

Witnessing the milestones and mistakes of someone's life...the first time it was too much. Too personal.

Now of course, Kuroo didn't mind the sensation as much. The cold chill and the mind numbing tremble of watching everything pass by in mere seconds. Well, it was technically a few seconds. For pilots it felt like hours, years even, trapped in some nostalgia driven world which was separate from the rest of humanity.

Just the two of them.

Kuroo opened his eyes at the sound of static coming from an old television set, and immediately saw the grainy image of a news report playing on it. The surrounding living room was littered with toys and discarded items. Picture frames, candles, console remotes...

Everything was in disarray, as if a tornado had swept through. Immediately, Kuroo's first thought was the aftermath of a kaiju attack, but things weren't destroyed quite enough for that conclusion to make sense. The roof was intact, the power was on, and no sound came from outside. Right then, the only sound came from the news report, detailing an ongoing kaiju attack in one of America's coastal cities.

It was obviously one of the bad ones too, before the jaeger program had really come into effect. The information bar at the bottom told of numerous fatalities and futile military efforts.

Strangely enough, as intense as the broadcast was, no one sat in front of the television watching it.

Kuroo squinted, eyes roaming the space around him over and over, trying to remember. The frayed edges of the home's walls told him he was in a memory, but nothing seemed familiar to him. Anxiety bubbled up inside him before diffusing completely, some sick form of relief.

He thought he'd be the one to become caught up in an old memory, an old tragedy.

But this memory wasn't his.

He wasn't the one who was stuck.

At the realization, Kuroo's relief shattered, replaced with concern. Before he could even think to call out for Tsukishima, a crash startled him. Suddenly, two small boys came darting out of the kitchen, just as plate hit the adjacent wall, breaking into shards.

From the kitchen, he could hear more things begin to break. The toppling of chairs, the kicking of cabinets...

But Kuroo's focus wasn't on the commotion, only the two boys in front of him who were desperately trying to crawl under the coffee table. Panic from the news report kept playing, but it was far less important then.

Tsukishima looked so small, probably only about five or six, tripping over his hand-me-down pajama pants while he scrambled after his brother. He clutched the fabric of his hoodie as he brought his knees up to his chest, eyes darting towards the kitchen in fear when he heard something else break. He flinched, like somehow, they'd be next.

Tsukishima Akiteru was older than his brother, and his face was one Kuroo knew well. Who didn't? His face had decorated magazines and talk shows ever since he'd made it big as a jaeger pilot. But as Kuroo watched him, Akiteru didn't look anything like the bronze statue they had built of him in Tokyo's museum. The heroic bravery was absent, replaced with trembling hazel eyes and the barely held in tears of a twelve year old trying to shield his brother.

Kuroo's chest tightened just looking at them, and he still couldn't bring himself to call out, but he had to. He had to get Tsukishima out of this.

Akiteru held his brother tight as the voices from the kitchen rose to screaming. Carefully, Kuroo walked the small distance of the living room until he could kneel down next to his co-pilot's younger self, wishing he could cradle him in his arms.

"Stop!" A woman's voice shrieked from the kitchen as Kuroo watched the young Tsukishima tremble beneath the coffee table.

A rugged, drunk voice came from a man a few seconds later. "I told you to shut the hell up!"

Kuroo glared at the shadows of Tsukishima's parents, and wondered how none of the neighbors had called the cops or interfered yet. The screaming match was brutal, bouncing off the small home's walls.

Kuroo heard Tsukishima sniff, his eyes shut tight and his hands clasped over his ears to block out the noise. So small, so helpless.

And again, Kuroo couldn't help but notice the violent kaiju attack coverage playing on the T.V. screen, completely unnoticed. But yeah, made sense. He guessed that not even a kaiju could be this scary, not in a million years.

"Tsukki, Kei, you gotta snap out of it," Kuroo said, strong and firm. The noise from the kitchen threatened to drown him out, but he reached forward, making sure Tsukishima's focus would be solely on him.

At the sound of another crash, Akiteru was gone, and Tsukishima was no longer a child. And as fucked up as the situation was, Kuroo had to remind himself to breathe, seeing his co-pilot next to him again in all his beauty.

But no, this wasn't the Tsukishima he'd grown to know.

The blond was shaking, afraid, despite his pilot uniform. His body shivered under Kuroo's touch, and his eyes opened to reveal the same fright his childhood self had expressed. The blond's sassiness, his control...it was gone.

Despite Kuroo's desire to shelter Tsukishima in any way, he felt himself smiling at such childishness, at how much he and Tsukishima were alike after all.

To think all this time, he'd been so worried about his own shortcomings...

Tsukishima was meant to be his partner, he was meant to understand. Kuroo should've had more faith from the start.

"Hey, I'm here now," Kuroo said, jostling Tsukishima a bit with his hand. "This isn't real. This...it's not happening anymore. I need you to come back to me alright?"

Tsukishima whimpered, but he tore his gaze away from the kitchen, landing on Kuroo's comforting gaze. The shouts continued in the background. "K-Kuroo?"

"Yeah! Yeah, it's me," Kuroo said, heart expanding. Tsukishima's eyes softened, but he flinched again at the sound of a chair behind overturned. The shadows in the kitchen grew, as if getting closer...

Tsukishima's breathless tone had Kuroo's eyes snapping back to him. "I...I'm scared, why am I scared?"

Immediately, Kuroo thought of his own terror. The risk of fucking up, of ruining both of their careers, of endangering lives...he'd always beaten himself up so much for all of it. Now though...now he understood a little better.

"Well," he said, sighing to himself. "Because you have the right to be."

Whether it be kaijus or abusive fathers, neither were without dread. A lot of things were scary, and maybe he didn't have to give people shit for it, especially not himself.

But Kei, I'm here now. We're both here. We can fight and be afraid together.

"I feel like I'm always scared," Tsukishima admitted, his voice no louder than a whisper. The words were much to Kuroo's surprise, given Tsukishima's usual demeanor. The blond was glaring at his own feet, like the confession itself pained him. It probably did, someone as prideful as he was...

"Me too," Kuroo said, and Tsukishima's brow furrowed, like he was surprised or something. Even though Tsukishima knew better than anyone else how terrified Kuroo could get. It made Kuroo adore him twice as much.

Looking at Tsukishima like this now, with tears in the blond's eyes, a lot of other things became clearer to him.

"I'm sorry," Kuroo said then, compelled to do so, and bowed his head. It was necessary in his mind. He had to come clean here and now.

They had a test to run.

Tsukishima blinked, wiping away the few tears he'd accidentally shed. The shouting in the background began to fade into nothingness. "Wh--how come?"

Kuroo smiled softly, and he threaded their fingers together, his heart finally at ease. "I guess I sort of put you on a pedestal. Not that you don't deserve one but...I kinda felt like I wasn't good enough for you. That you'd eventually realize that I wasn't a great partner or...I don't know. That you'd realize how weak I can be."

Kuroo swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and Tsukishima's eyes stayed trained on him. The least Kuroo could do was look back. "But, I know now that you're...you need my help too. That we're both a little weak. Seeing you here like this, it made me want to protect you."

Like you protect me.

"You don't have to be strong for me 24/7, because I definitely won't be strong all the time. But when it counts, I know you'll fight with me, so..."

Kuroo's voice shook, and he closed his eyes, feeling Tsukishima's other hand come up to clasp his own. There was no noise now, not even the television. Tsukishima's mind was calm.

The blond shifted next to him, untucking his knees, and Kuroo dared to look up again. He watched as Tsukishima rose up, pulling Kuroo to his feet. His breath came out shakily, like he hadn't completely forgotten the echoes of broken plates, but he just clutched Kuroo's hands tighter in the face of the fear.

That's all Kuroo could ask for.

"And...I know you'll fight with me, so..."

Kuroo laughed, grinning as the rest of their memories began to flow together again, unfrozen now. He saw and felt the rest of Tsukishima's mistakes, the moments of frailty, and embraced them all as he shared his own.

As his mind began to scramble, he looked at Tsukishima one last time, finding no judgement.

The blond stared at him, and the tear stains had dissipated, his eyes catching fire. "So...let's go be afraid then. And kill some kaiju of course."

Kuroo returned the grin tenfold, and knew he couldn't have said it any better.

.

.

.

"Right hemisphere calibrated. Left hemisphere calibrated. Ready to active the Jaeger."

Kuroo's entire body jolted, and he was back in the Nekoma, Tsukishima at his side. The Jaeger breathed to life, moving as Kuroo raised his arms. He smirked, looking to find that Tsukishima was doing exactly the same.

For the first time in a long time, Kuroo was energized, and he remembered what pushed him into a Jaeger in the first place. I was born for this.

The world seemed brighter almost, though the cockpit was dim, only the machinery and digital screens provided any light. Still, Kuroo felt exhilarated, raising his hands along with Tsukishima. Their movements corresponded exactly, totally in sync.

It was like a dream.

Ukai's voice spoke into their coms, cementing their lives in reality, and Kuroo could hear the pride in the commander's voice. "Nice job on a successful test, boys. You're ready to go."

Ready to fight.

Kuroo couldn't help but laughed, and man, he hoped everyone outside felt damn stupid for doubting them now.

Kuroo held in his emotions, overjoyed to let the Nekoma come alive once again, and vowed he wouldn't let it down again. No matter what mistakes he made, he'd return to it, time and time again.

And whenever the next kaiju attack hit, he and Tsukishima would be there, totally united.

They were met with applause when they exited the cockpit, both from the staff and the band of observers. It was strange and out of place, as if they'd killed an actual kaiju instead of simply drifting for the first time, but Kuroo would take it.

He hadn't felt so proud in a long time.

He pulled Tsukishima into a tight hug, and to his shock, the other reciprocated in full. Kuroo could definitely get used to this.

"Thanks...for staying with me," Tsukishima whispered, and Kuroo hugged him tighter, knowing none of his words would do the feeling inside him justice.

I think it's me who should be thanking you.

But there would be plenty of time for that.

They separated, and Kuroo looked up to the onlookers on the railing, eyes finding Daishou easily. It was weird, the split second of tension Kuroo felt, not knowing whether he'd receive some congratulations or a sneer. In all honesty, he was prepared for either. Nothing could ruin his resolve now.

But Daishou had ways of surprising him. The other nodded respectfully, genuinely, a sharp smirk on his face.

The kind of look which said "I'll see you out there."

Somehow, Kuroo wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Nice job you two!"

Both he and Tsukishima turned to the voice, finding Semi Eita standing there with his less than enthused looking partner. Kuroo had never met him or Shirabu Kenjirou before, but something told him Shirabu always looked like that.

"Thank you," Kuroo and Tsukishima said in unison, bowing slightly.

"It'll be good to have strong pilots at our side again," Semi continued, his grin fierce, and his eyes filled with fury. Huh, Kuroo thought he looked a bit tame before, but that was far from the truth.

Semi was as insane as the rest of them, but Kuroo would be honored to battle alongside him.

Kuroo watched them walk off, noticing as their fingers brushed together ever so slightly. A real bond, no doubt about it, strengthened by many fights.

Kuroo hoped he and Tsukishima would be as successful. That's the other thing he feared, losing Tsukishima. But as he watched the blond bask in the glow of their small victory, he knew he shouldn't worry.

Tsukishima would claw and bite before he went down, and Kuroo would too.

They'd go down protecting the people of the world, and each other.

After all, that's what made them perfect partners.

As if sensing Kuroo's train of thought, Tsukishima turned to him, grinning in that subtle, secretive way which Kuroo was beginning to fall in love with.

The 'we're going to kick ass' smile suited the blond well. And of course, he was one hundred percent correct.

Kuroo looked up at the dormant kaiju sirens bolted to the walls, knowing soon they'd be ringing loud and menacing, signaling their first fight.

Tsukishima grabbed his hand, and Kuroo knew he had followed his gaze. With a smirk, Kuroo intertwined their fingers together.

Bring it on.

[elizabethchapman-blog1]

First day of placement

07/05/19

The first day at Leigh Hetherington Bridal Boutique. I was shown around the shop, workshop and went through all the health and safety risks.

My first task was to gently take out strands of fabric to fray the fabric so that it could be attached the bottom of a jacket. The client was hoping for a chanel like suit.

21/05/19

Throughout the week I have been helping out with the ‘chanel’ look alike suit. I have traced off pattern pieces and altered them. Then, I cut the fabric and lining out. I have been sewing up the lining and have been taught how to hold the bottom of the lining connected to the jacket with tiny stitches going through the lining once every inch. 

once the jacket was finished it needed one last finishing touch. I placed the black embellished cord around the edge of the jacked and sewn it into place. 

26/05/18 

I learn how to make buttons today! 

Leigh gave me a circle shape stencil to draw around to cut out the white satin. I then had to cut the lace to place on top. I placed the material into the machine with the top of the button facing down with the plastic fastener on top. I then pulled down the lever on the machine hard enough for all of the parts to come together to create a button.

30/05/18

Today I was given the task of cutting out a pattern on calico and sewing up the corset toile. I pinned the pieces into place matching the notches and sewed a 1.5cm seam allowance. Not only did I learn how to make a corset, I was taught how to put the bones in correctly and how to cut and press the seams. When there was a curved edge you would cut the seam right down to the stitch line every few centimetres. At the front of the bodice you would cut the outer seam around the curved bust but leave the seam underneath. This allowed the seam to sit nicely on top of the bust also making it easier to steam and sew the bones in. I cut the bones to fit the seam and placed a small triangle shape of calico in half at the top and bottom of the seams (to make it sturdy) and placed the bones inside and sewed around the bones and calico. 

Once I had learnt how to make the corset I was then moved on to cotton. This was the bodice that was getting placed inside the dress.

05/06/19

Today Leigh was needing help to get a dress finished. The other intern and I have spent the day sewing through beads of a Gatsby style, vintage dress. We needed to sew through the beads so that when Leigh cut the back of the dress all the beads wouldn’t fall off.

01/06/19

Once we had removed the unwanted beads from the dress and sewn through the others so that they didn’t fall off we checked over the dress to make sure no other beads had come off. Once we checked over the dress we then sew the beads back onto the back of the dress with a double thread so that the same pattern on the straps smoothly flowed from the straps all the way around the edge of the back. We soon realised this was a lot harder than it looked. We needed the beads to go straight, however once you had sewn a line of beads they soon moved out of place. As soon as we realised this we asked leigh if there was anything we could do to prevent this. She then showed us a better technique to sew on the beads where you sew through the fabric then back through the beads and then back through the fabric. This task was extremely time consuming.

03/06/19

We finally finished beading the outline of the dress however the beads still wernt perfectly straight due to some being too tight which causes some beads to push out of place. Once Leigh had checked the dress over she asked for us to go through all of the beads again the straighten them out. This helped the problem a lot.

04/06/19

Due to previous beading, the intern and I were allocated onto another dress that a woman had brought in. The dress was brought in by a woman for leigh to alter It. However, the dress wasn’t made to a high quality standard and a lot of the beads had fallen off, therefore, Leigh asked us to sew them back on.

10/06/19

I have now been at the boutique over a month and im trusted to do things a lot more. Leigh is currently making a dusk pink lace dress for a woman. Today she asked me to cut out different shapes of lace and pin them onto the dress to then sew. A few hours passed and I had pinned the bottom half of the lace. Leigh then messaged the woman with a photograph of the dress to see if she was pleased with how the lace was placed onto the dress.

11/06/19

The customer had got back to leigh and wanted the lace spread out further and to look less symmetrical. We altered the lace and once we had come to a final result I began sewing the lace on. Leigh told me to sew tiny stitches through the lace then to go through the tulle but to be careful not to sew through the under skirt.

12/06/19 

Today I moved onto a new dress. A bride was wanting a fishtail dress that had pleated/ruffled tulle on the bodice. Leigh told my to hand stitch down both edges of the fabric with about 2 inches apart and to then pull the fabric to create the please. I then had to pin the fabric onto the bodice securely forming lots of different sized pleats. I really enjoyed this task as I enjoy working on the mannequin and I felt like this was a very high role being in charge of someone’s wedding dress.

20/06/18

Due to a previous injury I had at work, it now had healed and I could work back on the machine making corsets. Today I made another one in calico.I only needed to bone half of the corset as this task was now becoming easy for me. Once I had made this corset I moved straight onto doing it in cotton.

21/06/18

Today I cut out a dress in calico and sew all the parts together. Once I had sewn the dress I then needed to cut the curved seams and press them the same I would for the corset. I then placed bones from the top to the waist. The front of the dress needed to be double boned as the woman wearing the dress has a large bust.

23/06/18

Today I was set a task I had never done before. I made a bodice to fit the customer. Leigh gave me a draft corset pattern and told me how much needed to be taken off to make the bodice smaller. Leigh told me when to take off the measurement and how much needed to be took off. I then curved it out with a set square. After this I we realised that the corset wasn’t going to flow smoothly along the top. I needed to cut off some of the top allowing it to flow nicely. I then needed to measure the distance between the notches to make sure they all fitted correctly, however some were out by a few mm. This is common to happen after changing parts of the pattern. Leigh then told me all I needed to do was rub out the ones that were wrong and put in my own. after this, I then traced off the pattern and cut them out.

 After this, I then cut the corset out of cotton and began sewing the pieces together. 

Once I had sewn it all together the corset fit well together and the edges ran smoothly. After checking it over with Leigh I then begun to place the bones in.

The toile corset fit the customer perfectly. I was then able to make to corset for the actual bodice for the wedding dress so everything had to be perfect! 

04/07/18

Today I made another corset, however, today I had to make it slightly different. Instead of the bones being put in at 1.7mm from the edge they needed to go all the way from the top and bottom double layered so it was more sturdy. This was because it was going to be placed inside a dress. 

06/07/18 

My last day at Leigh Hetherington Bridal

My internship has come to an end! Today I was running errands and helping finish things in the workshop before I left. I was sewing up hems to tacking dresses that needed to be taken in or up. it was an eventful yet busy last day. 

it was very sad to say goodbye to my colleagues and boss. I had an amazing experience on my placement and enjoyed everyday, I will miss it and the people! I was set many different tasks throughout the months I was there and learn many new skills and techniques that i’ll take on and hopefully use in the future. I also gained great experience as I was able to see many garments grow from start to finish and getting a gathered an insight into how bridal boutiques are ran. 

Due to tasks on many garments needing to be finished in time for fittings and them needing to be complete in time for someone’s wedding the company was working in a fast pace. This meant that I needed to complete my tasks promptly but at a professional manor. Whether it be hand beading or finishing a garment, creating toiles or bodices. This helped me with my time management, which is crucial to have good time management not only in my studies but in the future to make sure i meet my deadlines and don’t rush anything. It also helped me get used to working in a fast paced environment. 

Working with Leigh helped me become more confident with pattern and toile making, which i needed more help with. I learnt how to alter patterns to make made to measure garments along with what measurements you need to take from a customer to help make the patterns. Leigh also taught me the best ways of cutting certain fabrics and hot to be cost efficient using lay planning. I also learnt great embellishment skills such as hand beading and sewing lace along with making embellished flowers and applying them to a garment. I also found making buttons interesting as it was something I had never done before!