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ofstarsandflames · 26 days

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Hello all! Once again I have returned to my Teen Titans AU, or as I like to call it, "X'Ori Universe". You'll all see why in the future ;).

With yet again another edited rewrite, here is my AU's version of the episode "Sisters".

Hope you all enjoy!

Sisters

“You sure you’re alright?”

Though she was still rather shaken by what happened earlier that night, Starfire tried her best to push it to the back of her mind. Lest her friend continue to worry for her well-being.

“Everyone, please. I assure you, I am, as you say, “All Right”.”

The reactions of the others were rather mixed. Beast Boy and Cyborg looked toward the other, not exactly sure, while Raven looked as if she were contemplating the truth behind her words. Robin, the most visibly concerned of them all, did not say anything.

“What even was that thing that attacked you?” Beast Boy asked.

“Maybe it’s another attempt to capture you by those “Gordanian” aliens.” Raven chimed in.

“Doubt it.” Cyborg remarked, showing the others his arm scanner. “It was definitely alien, but didn’t match any of the tech those lizards used.”

That.. was not a pleasant fact. Though she was glad to know it was not the terrifying Gordanians, to know another alien faction wished to capture her sent chills down Starfire’s spine.

Who was she? What had she done in her past to be targeted by so many different people?

No, now was not the time to think of that. She was safe, thanks to the help of her friends.

“Please, my friends. Do not find yourselves troubled by the strange creature. I am safe, thanks to you all.”

“Alright, Star.” Robin said, though the edge of worry was still in his voice. “But make sure to stay alert. We don’t know if that thing acted alone.”

Starfire nodded, content with how the conversation ended.

Robin inputed the security code that protected Titans Tower from intruders. Raven, Cyborg, and Beast Boy, all eager to return to their rooms after a day of excitement, were first to make their ways through the main doors. Starfire, being the last to enter, was obscured by her friends to anyone who would be in the common room.

Normally that would not an issue. However, today was anything but normal.

“Well, well. I was curious to know the faces of my saviours.” A female voice called out from the sofa. “I am pleased to see you all do not disappoint.”

The group immediately tensed upon seeing a stranger in their home.

Robin pulled out his staff, Raven’s eyes began to glow, Cyborg powered up his arm canon, and Beast Boy thought about what animal he should turn into.

(‘Bull? Nah, too big. Bear? Nah, might mess up the T.V. Boar? Nah, she’s too hot.’)

Curiously, Starfire was the only one not to react. Still obscured from the stranger’s view, a headache form from the moment she heard the stranger’s voice.

‘That voice… Where have I heard it…’

“Who are you!?” Robin demanded of the stranger.

The stranger, a tall, attractive young woman, crossed her arms and looked at the group with amusement.

“Oh, is this how the heroes of you planet comfort their victims?”

“Victim?” Raven questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“Why, that tentacled contraption of course.” The woman spoke nonchalantly, as if what what she said was supposed to be obvious.

“Wait, that thing was after you!?” Beast Boy asked, his obvious blush never leaving his cheeks.

“Yes, troublesome little creature.” The young woman said with a snide tone. “Though I must admit, I was confused to see a group of strangers destroy it for me. Still am, honestly.”

“We didn’t even know it was after you.” Cyborg answered, being the first to relax from his battle stance. “It must have confused our friend for you.”

“Your friend?” The young woman inquired, her confusion very much displayed.

Seeing as the topic now turned to her, Starfire flew over her friends and stood before the mysterious woman.

“Hello!”

The young woman tensed, her smile quickly disappearing. Though the mood in the room was by no means relaxed, the shift in the woman’s demeanor made the air so thick and filled with tension it needed to be hacked.

“Um, my name is Starfire.” Starfire grew nervous under the woman’s intense stare. “What is-”

“You’re alive!” The young woman suddenly cried out, startling all 5 teenage heroes.

“Y-yes! I am very much alive!” Starfire said in a cheerful voice, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work.

The young woman stared at her as if she were a ghost. Starfire watched as the young woman’s eyes adopted a strange, almost hostile look, as if she were trying to decipher how that could be.

“Um… it appears you recognize me.” Star said in a coutious tone. “Have we met before?”

Starfire’s little plan worked partly as intended. On one hand, the young woman no longer looked to be tense or even hostile. On the other, the look was replaced with something akin to amazement.

“You… you really mean that…”

As the young woman continued to stare, something in the pit of Starfire’s stomach begin to burn. It was anxiety.

‘But why?’ She thought to herself.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Morganite eyes bore deeply into emerald ones. It looked as if the young woman was in a state of disbelief, as if she wanted to hear the words coming from Starfire herself.

Starfire was surprised to realize something small from within her wanted to refuse to indulge the young woman’s request. However, there was no logical reason as to why she shouldn’t reveal the truth behind her memories.

“No, I do not.” Starfire finally confirmed to the young woman.

So many emotions visibly ran through the woman’s eyes. Realization, confusion, rage, the list went on.

“This…” The young woman sputtered. “This is…”

Out of nowhere, a smile flashed on the woman’s features. The emotions displayed in her eyes were quickly masked with some form of delight.

“This is fantastic.”

Quicker than she could register, Starfire felt the young woman’s arms around her. She was pulled in for a hug.

“Why, I thought I would never find you again.”

Shocked, Starfire looked over her shoulder. She wasn’t the only one confused with the sudden turn of events. Her friends watched the scene before them with either wide eyes or slacked jaws.

The hug was quick to turn uncomfortable. The young woman held her tight, painfully so, as if she were trying to both break Starfire’s ribs and remove her breath.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt.”

Starfire was grateful for Robin’s interjection, as the woman was (reluctantly) forced to release the red-haired Titan.

“But I think explanations are in order.”

“Oh, but of course. My name is Blackfire.” She paused for dramatics. “I am Starfire’s elder sister.”

“Sister!?” 4 voices called out simultaneously.

“I have a sister!?” Starfire cried out.

“Yes, sister dear.” Blackfire answered, again as if it were supposed to be obvious. “I simply can not believe you’ve forgotten me. Honestly, I’m quite hurt.”

“M-my apologies.” Starfire quickly remarked. “I did not-”

“Well, I shall forgive you this time.” Blackfire interrupted. “Since I suppose it is not entirely your fault.”

“Whoa, I can’t believe Star has a sister!” Beast Boy exclaimed.

“How’d you get in the tower?” Cyborg asked, curious as to any possible flaws in his security system.

“Your security let me in after scanning me.” Blackfire answered. “I was confused at first, but now I know it assumed I was my lovely little sister.”

“Really?” Robin asked, knowing he would talk to Cyborg later about fixing up the system.

“Well, yes.” Blackfire looked as if she was tired of answering questions. “Isn’t it obvious.”

“Not as obvious as you think.” Raven said, blunt as always.

Looking at the girls side by side, it was easy to see Raven’s point. Though the sisters had some obvious similarities, their faces being nearly identical to each other, their differences were much more clear.

While Starfire had auburn red hair that formed itself into natural, bouncy curls, Blackfire’s hair was straight and black. Whereas Starfire had big, green eyes, Blackfire’s eyes were naturally narrowed and pink. Starfire’s skin tone was a warmly tanned mix of brown and gold, while Blackfire was of much lighter tone.

“Same mother, different fathers.” Blackfire said in rebuttal, though she looked reluctant to share this information. “But enough about me, I want to know all about you.”

Though Blackfire looked at the rest of the Titans as she said this, her eyes landed on Robin in particular.

Suddenly, a jovial giggle erupted from Starfire.

“This is amazing!” Starfire exclaimed happily, grasping Blackfire’s hand in her own. “There is so much I wish to ask you, so much I wish to know!”

“Please tell me, where are we from? What are we? Who is our mother? What of my father? How did I separate from you-”

“Starfire, please.” Blackfire feigned exhaustion. “I’ve had such a long journey. Let me acquaint myself with your friends, give me time to relax. After, we can discuss the past.”

“Oh, o-ok…”

“Thank you.”

Blackfire sat on the couch, engrossing the boys into one of her stories.

Starfire tried not to let herself feel disheartened. After all, Blackfire was right. Who knows how long she’s traveled.

Star would simply have to ask about her past another time. Surely Blackfire would be happy to help her. After all, they were sisters.

The roof of Titans Tower really is a hidden gem.

It had a view that encompassed the beach and ocean, reflecting the sky’s image in such a way it took the breaths away of anyone who had the privilege to see. Depending on the time and day, one can hear either the laughter of Jump City’s people enjoying the lively atmosphere of the bay, or they can relax to the sounds of waves and nature as the quiet ambience lulls the recipient into a state of peaceful mind.

Starfire was thankful to be experiencing the latter.

She needed a space to think, to process all the events and emotions of yesterday.

At first, she was overjoyed to have discovered she had an older sister. However, anytime Star tried to ask Blackfire a question regarding their past or her lack of memories, Blackfire would either ignore or subtly dodge the question.

That, paired with how well Blackfire was getting along with the other Titans, Starfire couldn’t help but feel like an outcast.

Of course, it was all revealed to be a lie once the aliens who called themselves “the Centauri” revealed Blackfire’s true nature.

While the Centauri had revealed what she is, an alien called a “Tamaranean”, they also let slip that the planet Tamaran had been destroyed. As the cosmos saw it, Starfire and Blackfire were the last of the Tamaranean race.

With the knowledge that Starfire and Blackfire were the only ones left, the younger had tried to appeal to the elder’s better nature; If not to learn more about what they are, then maybe to find out who she was before her friends found her.

Unfortunately, Blackfire’s last words to her were crystal clear.

“You are a fool if you think I’ll help you remember anything! I will get out of jail, little sister, and I will get even!”

Starfire let out a heavy sigh. Though she tried assuring the others that she would be okay, the alien knew they were not convinced. And how could they, if she could not even manage to convince herself.

Starfire was forced away from her depressing thoughts when she heard footsteps approaching her. Somehow she had a feeling right away as to who it was. Sure enough, Robin came into view from the corner of her eye.

“Hey.” He sat beside her. Though she couldn’t see it, she knew he was giving her a look of concern behind those masked eyes. “How are you doing?”

Starfire’s eyes never left the view before them, the bay’s waters sparkling a brilliant blue hue. The sun bathed her in a soft glow as a gust of wind blew through the air, tussling her already messy curly hair.

“I…” She didn’t know how to describe her feelings, and so settled for the simplest explanation. “Do not know. Though she lied to us and tried to betray me, she was the only chance I had to recall my past.”

She momentarily flashed back to the moment her and Blackfire first reunited; even if Blackfire had tried to cover it up, Starfire knew her sister was genuinely confused to see her alive and well.

Despite that, Starfire chose to ignore the “flags which are red”.

“Even if she never truly wanted me, I am still sad for her.”

Starfire let out another sigh, rubbing a lock of hair with uncertainty.

“In any case, I am just glad that the truth was discovered before I was replaced.”

Robin’s eyes widened, confusion evident in his features.

“What are you talking about?”

Uh-oh. She… wasn’t supposed to say that last part.

“Well, you…” Starfire’s gaze was no longer on the ocean. Her eyes were filled with anxiety, their full attention on her leader. “Everyone was having such fun with her, and then Cyborg said-”

“Look. Your sister was interesting, but she could never take your place.“

Robin’s lips curved into a warm smile, his tone of voice adopting that gentleness reserved only for her.

“No one could ever take your place.”

Starfire eyes widened ever so slightly, her cheeks rising in heat as a faint color rose to her cheeks. The despair in her heart did not linger any longer, replaced with an emotion that can only be described with one word: Safe.

Star returned his smile with one of her own, her gratitude and happiness evident. No more words were exchanged between the two teenagers, but they were no longer needed anyway. Comforted by each other’s presence, they both opted to watch the brilliant hues of the rising sun.

#teen titans #teen titans 2003 #canon rewrite #my universe #my fic #starfire #robin #beast boy #cyborg #raven #blackfire #hints of robstar #X'Ori Universe

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margridarnauds · 1 year

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What would you recommend to an aspiring Celticist for a tattoo? My sister wants to get matching Celtic tattoos, and while I’ve started to study Celtic mythology, I’m definitely no expert lol. I know a lot of symbols you’d find on the internet are bullshit, and a lot of the real ones have a ton of baggage associated with them (literally the first thing I told my sis when she brought this up was that we had to be careful & do our research when picking these out bcs the nazis looove that shit). But what would you recommend? Is there anything we should definitely steer clear of? Thanks!!

I'm going to either be really helpful or really non-helpful: A lot of this will depend on you and your sister.

Like, for me, when I've thought of Celtic-inspired tattoos, they're always things that are very personal to me. Like, for example, Bres' name in Ogham on my wrist, since it's always been him and me surviving this together, the Children of Lir, because that's a personal good luck symbol (yes, the most notoriously UNLUCKY story in the Mythological Cycle -- I have a Children of Lir necklace that I wore when I was giving my Capstone Presentation in my undergrad, and I've worn it to every talk I've ever given, even to my interview with my current program), an image of an owl (for Blodeuedd) or something like the Pictish Beast, since I love marine animals and waterhorses in the folkloric tradition. So, I'd look at what appeals to you and your sister, your relationship, shared interests, etc.

There's only one Celtic image that's formally been designated as being a potential white supremacist symbol by the anti-defamation league, and that is the Celtic Cross.

This is the image that most white supremacists will use, you'll notice that it has very short ends.

This is the more traditional Celtic cross -- you'll see these in just about every single tourist shop in Ireland, as well as in cemeteries. I'd be lying if I said that I don't still feel a bit of a jolt whenever I see the regular one in a tattoo; it shouldn't, because it's an image that is emblematic of Irishness and Irish heritage. And I don't feel that way about, say, a necklace, but a tattoo is much more different to me. It's permanent, it's...intimate. So I would suggest staying away from either version, even though the one at the bottom is NOT the one that has been appropriated by white supremacists.

I also tend to be distrustful of people who have like....mixed Celtic and Nordic symbols. Like, the Vikings did settle in Ireland, some Irish words are based in Norse terms, Cork, Dublin, and Waterford are Viking cities originally, there are a lot of folktales in common between Ireland and Norway, there are historic links there. That being said, anyone who treats them as being interchangeable (the term "Nordic-Celtic" makes me shudder whenever I see it in an organization's name and, no, I do not give a single fuck if you say that you aren't THAT kind of Nordic Celtic) raises my fight or flight response. Like, they're both part of this implicit idea of White Warrior Male Culture. But that's not a problem unless you're getting multiple tattoos. (Tbh, if I see a random Celtic knot on someone...I might think 'white supremacist' or I might think 'Irish American', it depends on everything else.)

...also a Celtic knot world tree symbol. Not because they're white supremacist, but because it isn't really based strongly in the Irish tradition.

Quite a few people in the field will get ogham tattoos, especially in Modern or Old Irish, possibly using a word or phrase that's important to them. One friend of mine has one that is a phrase that is related to their health problems and reflects their fortitude. You might get an image based on a particular story (I might actually choose the Children of Lir, just because, everything else about it aside...it does contain a really strong sibling relationship.)

Basically: Why do you want a Celtic-inspired tattoo (from any of the various Celtic cultures?) What are you interested in? What speaks to you as people?

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notomys-mordax-blog · 8 months

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Finish Anything Jam - DevLog#2

As I mentioned, at the end of 2024 I am going to be releasing ... something. One of my big challenges is that I have a few different WIPs and enjoy ... rotating between them.

While I was fairly focused in December on a project called "Eyes of the Pines" that focus shifted a bit during January.

Here are the projects I currently have cooking.

Eyes of the Pines: Southern gothic horror-light focused on an amnesiac young man who uncovers the secrets behind his past.

51ur8-90: A queer space opera featuring a mechanic in a backwater space colony who inadvertently ends up playing a bigger role in the conflict unfurling around them.

(no logo yet)

Broken Thread: The world of Azaria has been fractured by the Dread Lord of the Night Eternal. A small band of heroes prepare for their final confrontation with the dark wizard. For them, the conflict is personal. Before he became the Man who Stole the Sun, the wizard had been their trusted companion and treasured friend and for their leader, he was something more.

This is what I got done this month:

51ur8-90

This is an old project that I'm picking up again. The script is complete, but one of the challenges with the script is that it's not very well formatted and there are a ton of different permutations (most of the LIs scenes can be played at several points in the story, with slight variations depending on when the scene is ready) -- I took the script and began untangling this and mapping it into twine. So far I've gotten this done for chapter 1.

Decided I'd give creating updated sprites a try. As I mentioned earlier, while I have a beautiful full set of sprites there are two problems that I'm grappling with: one is matching the CG art with the sprite art, and the other is that I've developed a taste for including more animation (blinks, flip flaps, etc) in my VN art.

Made a new base sprite for femmeMC. Resisted the urge to give them the option of masculine and feminine costume outfits. For now. One of the design choices of this game is that you can pick the gender presentation of all fo the characters, I'll probably stick with one version to start, and then finish.

Made a new base sprite for femme Shay.

Sat down and really considered some design principles. Decided to stop being a coward and actually uncomment out the 18+ scenes. While it might impact how I have to think about some of the more explicit scenes (to allow for a diversity of bits without completely blowing up the art budget) ... I think this is important to one of the design goals of the game.

Same with the polyam aspect of the game. You can date the rebellion ace pilot. You can date the space pirate. You can be both at the same time.

In terms of scripting, I am going to follow the approach where I go through one "path" at a time. The ending routes essentially consist of a combination of Bo's primary political affiliation plus which relationships they've developed with the other characters (like any good melodramatic space opera, it's possible to romance Rebellion Ace while choosing to enlist in the Federation).

For what it's worth, the bad endings occur when Bo chooses not to trust the bonds they've made with people on 51ur8 -- so in the above-mentioned scenario, it's possible to end up with a happy ending to your romance, as long as you trust in Kai.

Whichever character other than the route character Bo is closest to. I'm going to knock out the route where Bo joins the , while being close to Kai.

Eyes of the Pines

Art:

Added some more expressions to Elian.

Created a logo, I don't love it, but it's fine as a placeholder

Create a main menu art.

Thought about how I want to structure my sprites.

sat down and played with a mirror and faces, really studied the expressions and did some sketches for my characters to play with what their expressions look like

Thought about lines - since this is a year long, I do what I want jam. Get excited about cross hatching.

Built out the file structure for an Jonah.

Redesign Jonah to better reflect his character

Tweaked Saul's pose so he's facing the camera.

Sketched a headshot.

Started Vivian's portrait

Realized I was getting way too ambitious with the numbers of animations/etc.

Misc:

Start up the dev log

Think about social media presence, decide that's a later problem.

Got a bluesky. Now I need to figure out how to use it.

Started a game design documentation.

Vndev confl

Coding:

Began coding a second scene (this one is ... Much more complicated than the first). Coding is definitely going to be a long pole, although I might get faster as I get more comfortable with ATL and have more built ins.

I added a choice menu that will let me jump to a certain scene for debugging.

Writing

2.1 - 2.9

I'm essentially writing one "leg" of the story at a time, this will let me get the overall flow of the scenes as they come together.

I'm doing Saul's route first (to his 'special' ending). I'm not sure what I'll do second, but I'm leaning towards Saul's "default" ending, then I'll tackle Jonah's routes (which will complete the "tower" path)

I'll put this in writing, but I put together a playlist, this helps me focus on on the vibes that I'm aiming for.

#devlog #vn development #indie vn #notomys #51ur8 #eotp

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the-atlas-sister · 3 years

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The First Date (Damian Wayne X Reader)

So in this, you are the daughter of Green Arrow, Oliver Queen (NOT THE ARROW VERSION!! THE ANIMATED AND COMIC VERSION), and Black Canary, Dinah Lance. Also in this Dinah is dead and you have taken on the role of Black Canary

"Done!" Abby (moi!!!) exclaimed, tying the hair tie in my hair. "Aw, you look so good!" She backed up, admiring her work.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, smiling slightly. "I mean, I usually look beautiful but now I look even more beautiful," I joked.

"I know," Abby said, making me chuckle.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "What time is it?" I asked.

"Six on the dot," Abby said, looking impressed. "Wow."

"It is Damian," I shrugged before my eyes widened. "I'm going on a date with Damian Wayne."

"Chill," y/b/f said, noticing my panic. "You asked him out, remember?"

"But-"

"Hey Damian," y/b/f said from the living room.

I looked at Abby, a panicked expression on my face. "You're okay," she whispered before leading me out of the bathroom.

Damian looked at me before mumbling something in Arabic. I was rusty when it came to other languages but I thought I caught "Beautiful..." which was enough to make my entire face turn red.

"Hey," I said, putting on a confident face. "You look good." My eyes scanned him. He wore a pair of nice black jeans and a matching skin-tight turtle-neck.

"You look..." His eyes scanned me.

"Gorgeous? Beautiful? Sexy?" I guessed, smirking at Damian blushed.

"Yes," Damian said, making me blush.

"Okay... well," Abby said, pushing me forward. "You two have fun," she said as I slipped on my shoes. "But not too much fun." She eyeballed Damian in a very best friend way. "And have her back by 10."

"And be safe!" Myloh added.

"Bye guys," I said, quickly ushering Damian out the door before closing it. "Sorry."

"I had a similar conversation with my brothers before I left," Damian said before cringing slightly. "Although it was a bit more-"

"I don't want to know," I said, shaking my head. "So, what do you have planned, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, walking down the apartment hallway.

"That's a surprise," Damian said with a stoic face.

"Not a huge fan of surprises," I said as we reached the elevator.

"You'll like this one," Damian stated matter-of-factly, pressing the button to the last level.

"Is that a fact?" I challenged as the elevator lowered.

"Yes," Damian stated, making me tilt my head. "I did some research and I'm sure you'll enjoy this."

"I don't know if that was meant to be sweet but it came off as creepy," I chuckled, leaning on the elevator wall.

"I just meant- I asked Abby what you're interested in," Damian explained, slowly going pink.

"What'd she say?" I asked, both worried and curious.

"She explained your love of movies, books, the stars, and food," Damian stated as the doors slid open.

"So, which did you choose?" I questioned, walking backward out of the elevator.

"Still a surprise," Damian smirked, following me.

"Mhm, game on Mr. Wayne," I said, turning around and walking out the apartment building's front doors. My eyes widened a bit as I saw Damian's motorcycle parked in front of the building. "Seriously?" I asked, looking at him as he stood next to me.

"Complaining?" he asked, looking at me sideways.

"Not as long as I get to drive," I chuckled, approaching the motorcycle.

"No," Damian said, standing next to me. He grabbed one of the helmets before handing me the second one.

"I know how," I frowned.

"No," Damian repeated before blinking. "Strange, that felt familiar." He then shook his head before getting on the bike. "Come on," he said looking at me. I rolled my eyes but climbed on the bike behind him. "Hold on," he said before putting on his helmet.

"You sure you don't want to drive as a way to get me to hold on to you?" I teased, resting my head on Damian's shoulder. Damian tensed up, making me chuckle. "I was kidding," I reassured him, putting on the helmet and grabbing his shoulders.

Damian cleared his throat. "I-I respect you, but for your own safety, I suggest you put your arms around my waist."

I blushed, wrapping my arms around his waist. Damian started the bike and drove out of his parking spot. My grip tightened as Damian sped up and we reached the highway. I grinned under the helmet as the adrenaline rushed through me due to the speed.

***

"You have to take me on your motorcycle more often," I said, letting out a breathy laugh and taking off my helmet.

"It's not really mine," Damian corrected, taking off his helmet and getting off the bike.

"But with Promythous-" I furrowed my brows, placing the helmet on the bike's seat.

"That was Robin's bike," Damian explained, leading me to the secret destination. He had parked a block away from the surprise place, just to keep the secrecy. "Damian Wayne does not have a motorcycle."

"Who's-" I continued, getting into pace next to Damian.

"My brother's," he shrugged with a small smug smile.

"You stole your brother's motorcycle?" I asked, laughing slightly.

"He told me, women love men with motorcycles," Damian said. "So I took that as an invitation for me to 'borrow' his." He smirked to himself at the thought. "Also, my other brother said I should. I'm not one to listen to him but, I did enjoy the idea of stealing Jason's bike." I smiled at his mini-rant. He seemed to notice. "I'm sorry for oversharing," he said, his face returning to it's neutral state.

"No, it's fine," I reassured him as we turned a corner. "It's nice hearing you talk more."

Damian blinked, obviously surprised by my answer. "What... would you like to talk about?" he asked slowly.

"You," I said. "I don't know much about you."

"O-oh," Damian stuttered, which was a rare sound. "I grew up with the League of Assassins."

"The group your father trained with?" I asked, interested to learn more. "Lead by Ra AlGugl?"

"My grandfather," Damian confirmed. "When my father was training, he met my mother. She- she tricked him into having... intercourse with her. That's how I was created. My father left before I was born and I was raised by my grandfather and mother. I was trained from birth to be the master assassin. I was supposed to be the best. There was no room for error."

"That doesn't sound like a fun childhood," I said.

"I suppose not," Damian hummed. "I loved my grandfather very much, or more admired him. He told me we would destroy the world and rebuild it in our own image." He scanned our surroundings, almost as if he was imagining how he could make each detail superior.

"That's still partly your mindset isn't it?" I asked, making Damian's gaze turn to me. "You see the world and people and just imagine how you can make them better." Damian blinked. "You even yourself believe you're better than everyone. You think you'll be a better Batman, a better hero."

"I don't-"

"I'm not critiquing, just observing," I stated. I blushed under Damian's intense stare. "I-I interrupted, I'm sorry. What about your mother?"

"She's dead," Damian said.

"Oh," I said.

"She wasn't a mother anyway," Damian continued. "Last I saw her she tried to create an adult 'perfect' clone of me and killed him."

"And I thought my dad was hardcore," I mumbled. "How did she...?"

"Helicopter crashed after trying to kill me, my father, and Grayson," Damian said almost casually.

My eyes widened. "You didn't deserve it," I said as we turned yet another corner. Damian turned to me. "You deserved a loving childhood. Not one with a group of assassins and Batman."

Damian's eyes softened. "I did get, what you call, a loving childhood with my father," he said. "He would set up movie nights. And my brothers are... overly loving, at least Grayson."

"He's Nightwing, right?" I asked, grinning a bit. Damian nodded. "I've met him. He has a bit of an older brother feel. And I'm sure he understands how hard it is to grow up with someone like Bruce."

"He has made it very clear he does," Damian scoffed. "As had Todd." I gave him a questioning look. "Red Hood."

"Oh, never met him," I mumbled.

We walked in comfortable silence for a minute.

"Here," Damian said, stopping in front of a small and quaint ice cream shop.

"Ice cream?" I asked, giving him a lopsided grin. "On Friday."

"You said you and your mother used to always had ice cream on Fridays," Damian said shyly.

I let out a small laugh. "You- this is really sweet," I said, a bit surprised. I remembered when I told him that detail about my childhood.

***Flashback***

"Tell me more about your mother," Damian said after a while of silence. "I assume she's where you got your power?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. "She was- awesome. She was the first Black Canary. Trained in thousands of martial art styles."

"You're telling me things I already know," Damian stated, making me look at him.

"She was a pretty cool mom," I chuckled, crossing my legs on the bed. "She couldn't cook though. That was something she wasn't taught. She'd always make time for us to have an ice cream night. Every Friday." I smiled at the memory. "Sometimes she'd come back from patrol at midnight then wake me up, just so we could still eat ice cream."

"Do you still do it?" Damian questioned, turning to face me fully. "With your father?"

"Not usually," I stated, trying not to sound bitter. "He's usually busy with the Justice League and his company."

"How did she die?" Damian asked softly, making me go stiff.

"I was thirteen," I recited. "She and my dad went to face Prometheus. It was just in the early stages of my training-at least for the Canary cry, so I wasn't allowed to go. I- I remember my dad calling the house. He told me he'd be home soon, but something happened to Mom. Apparently, Prometheus slit her throat. She didn't want anyone to find out her identity so she insisted that only Martian Manhunter or Batman operated on her."

"But it was too late," Damian assumed. I nodded.

"Dad and I hardly even spoke after that," I sighed. "It hit us both- hard, but after a year, we got through it. He's still protective though."

"What about your powers?"

"I don't use them," I stated. "My mom died before we got far in training."

"Why don't you continue?" Damian asked. "I assume the league would be open to help or your friends."

"I can't," I sighed. "My vocal cords are too old."

"That sounds like an excuse," Damian stated. "I was unaware you were a quitter, Queen."

***End of flashback***

"I just figured you'd enjoy it," Damian shrugged, turning his head to the side to hide his smile.

"I do," I chuckled. "Although this is very cliche."

"I have seen as such in many of the movies Grayson forced me to watch," Damian admitted.

"Thank you, Damian," I smiled before rushing towards the outside counter, Damian following. "Hello!" I said to the person at the counter.

"Hello," the person said. She was a pretty girl, seemingly teen age with flawless makeup. She looked like she belonged at Dutch Brothers.

"I would like two scoops of y/f/i.c (your favirote ice cream) in a cup, please," I said before turning to Damian.

"Awesome," the girl said. "And you?"

Damian glanced at me. "None for me," he answered.

"You're not going to get anything?" I asked.

"I've never had ice cream," Damian admitted.

"Never?" I asked in shock.

"No," Damian said, his face showing me he didn't understand the problem. I scanned his face before turning to the girl.

"He'll have one scoop of almond in a cup," I stated.

"Alright," the girl smiled. "Be right with you."

"I said I didn't want any," Damian said, looking at me.

"You've never had it and you can't just sit there watching me eat," I protested. "Plus, I think you'll like it."

"Why is that?" Damian challenged.

"I'm an observer of people and you seem like an almond guy," I summarized.

"Explain your thinking Miss Queen," Damian said.

"Well, almond is more of a traditional Arabic ice cream flavor (please correct me if I'm wrong, I got this off the internet), and knowing you, you prefer salty and savory over sweet," I explained before leaning back and spreading my hands like I was presenting an amazing discovery.

"We shall see," Damian just said.

"Here," the girl chimed in, interrupting our discussion. She handed us our ice cream.

"Thank you," I said. I placed my ice cream on the counter before pulling out my wallet, but Damian had already paid. "I was going to pay," I said as he handed me my ice cream.

"It's proper etiquette for the man to pay," Damian said, leading me away from the ice cream shop.

"But it's not required," I chuckled. "Besides, we're both the children of billionaires." Damian didn't answer as he led me to a small park beside the shop. "I'll just pay next time."

"Next time?" Damian asked, stopping in front of a blanket with a projector on it.

"Yeah," I smirked. "If I haven't scared you away."

"Not at all," Damian said, sitting on the blanket. He motioned for me to sit down and I obliged.

"Try the ice cream," I said excitedly. Damian glanced at the tan-colored ice cream before taking a scoop and eating it. I stared at him, waiting for some type of reaction. His eyes widened before he took another scoop. "I told you!" I smirked.

"Coincidence," Damian scoffed but took more bites.

"Mhm," I hummed, leaning back on my free hand. I looked around, noticing a screen across from the projector. "You set this up?"

"Pennyworth did," Damian corrected. "Although I choose the film."

"Oh really?" I asked. "What'd you choose?"

"y/f/a/m (your favirote animated movie)," Damian stated. My face lit up. "Abby told me it was your favorite. Although I don't understand how or why a film made for children would be your favorite."

"You've never seen it have you?" I asked. Damian shook his head. "Then you'll figure out that it's not really a children's film. And you'll discover the superior soundtrack."

#damian #damian wayne #damian x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #batman #first date #robin #dc #green arrow #black canary #dinah lance #oliver queen #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #author #alfred pennyworth

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years

Text

Hidden Panthers

Summary: Soulmarks aren't rare, and neither are soulmates, but what is rare, is a person who doesn't want to meet their soulmate, but Toho Academy has two.

Or: Five times Aomine was curious about your tattoo, and one time he saw it.

TW: a small amount of angst, I suppose one part might be comparable to a panic attack, and some swearing, but I promise it's mostly fluff.

A/N: I had an idea! Since I have no requests currently in my inbox, I thought I would jot it down before I forgot about it.

"You guys do realize that you should be practicing, right?" you asked when you walked into the gym and the boys were all shirtless, showing off their soulmarks.

"They're trying to prove who's is the biggest," Momoi informed you, making you snort.

You were almost one hundred percent certain that you had them all beat, except for maybe Aomine.

Your soulmark was a special image somewhere on your body, and animal, a place, something like that. They were colorful, and looked like tattoos.

The mark on your body corresponded with the one on your soulmate's body.

You knew that Aomine had your matching tattoo, not that he knew that, and that was okay.

The black ink of his tattoo was stark against his tan skin, but you knew that he wasn't showing it off with pride, it was him just proving a point.

Top dog on the team, biggest soulmark, he was unbeatable.

Aomine had made it clear that he didn't appreciate the thought of soulmates, that he was fine with not knowing who they were, not knowing who you were, in your case.

"What's yours (Y/L/N)-kun?" one of the boys asked and you snorted, a hand flying to cover your mouth, sometimes you hated hanging around teenage boys all the time, it made your mind go to weird places sometimes.

"Sorry boys, you don't want to see my mark, trust me," you muttered, touching your shoulder softly.

Aomine's eyes were on you, burning a hole through your body, but you ignored him.

"What is it?"

"None ah," you said.

"None ah?"

"None ah ya business," you replied, dropping your bag by the bench.

The boys peeled off into laughter, and Momoi gave a small giggle.

You smiled softly, tugging your sweatshirt off.

The boys were getting to practice, though Aomine was still watching you, watching you with those startling blue eyes.

"Are you going to practice or are you going to just stare at me like a creep?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Nah," he muttered, moving to head out the door, but you moved in front of him.

"Nope, you're here," you told him, throwing your arms out. "If you're here, you're practicing, even if that means you have to practice with me."

Aomine squinted at you, and you were 99% certain that he was going to try and shove you out of the way, but he sighed, heading back to work in drills with the other boys.

Momoi was watching you, eyes glinting in the way they did when she watching a game and her data was proved correct.

"Momoi-san," you said, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's just a hunch," she murmured, wandering off to watch Aomine play.

You frowned after her, wondering what the hell she was talking about, but you shook it off.

Those two were weirdos.

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

"So, (Y/L/N), what's your soulmark?" one of your friends asked, and you sighed.

"It's nothing all that impressive," you lied, flipping the page of the textbook you were skimming through.

"But what is it?" she persisted.

"A pain in my ass," you muttered, touching your shoulder lightly again.

"(Y/L/N)-kun," one of your classmates said, "one of the basketball boys is waiting for you outside."

"Thanks," you replied, gathering your stuff up.

You were a back-up manager for when Momoi was away watching other teams play.

You were surprised to find Aomine leaning up against the doorframe, practice clothes on.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself. Are you actually going to practice again?" you asked, hauling your bag over your shoulder, wincing at the weight.

He made a small noise, which made you think that that was his version of a yes.

"Why don't you show off your mark?" Aomine asked.

"Why don't you?" you replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Soulmates are bullshit," he muttered. "I don't like being told what to do. I hate being told who to love even more."

"My soulmate doesn't want me," you admitted after a moment of walking, readjusting your bag on your shoulders. "No point in showing off something that symbolizes someone who hates that I even exist."

Aomine paused, running his eyes over you again, and you glanced back at him.

"What?"

He didn't answer, he just stood there watching you. He had been doing that a lot, and you were a little worried about it.

"Are you coming or what?" you asked, heading for the gym.

He followed behind you, eyes boring into your back.

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

"What's your soulmark?" Aomine asked.

You had gone to the roof to tell him to get his ass to practice. He had been coming more and more often, but he had been staring at you for most of it, despite urging from both you and Momoi to actually practice.

"Nothing important, not like you practicing," you deflected, standing in front of him with your arms crossed.

"Snippy," he quipped. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Perv," you muttered. "And I've already seen your mark."

"Yours is on your shoulders, right?" he asked. "You keep touching them whenever someone brings them up."

"Yeah, it's a pretty big one," you admitted, reaching to touch your shoulder absentmindedly before you registered that you were doing it. You dropped your hands to your sides again, frowning.

Despite the fact that you already knew your soulmate, and how he felt about the whole thing, the mark was still comforting to a degree.

Aomine was still watching you, he had been doing it a lot, though you weren't entirely sure why. Every time he did, it jump started your heart, making you wonder if he knew.

He made a small noise, then dragged himself to his feet.

"Gotta go to practice," he mumbled, bumping shoulders with you as he headed down to the gym.

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

Aomine started appearing more and more after that. He wasn't following you exactly, but it was almost like your schedules had overlapped.

Then you had gotten assigned to do a group project together.

"Nice place," he muttered when he walked through the door into your home.

"Thanks," you said, shutting the door. "I'm telling you this right now, Aomine, I am not doing this entire project by myself, and if I do end up doing it by myself, you are not getting your name put on this. Do you understand me?"

"Yes ma'am," he muttered. "Do you have any bread?"

"What?" you asked, then you remembered his weird carb obsession. "Uh, yeah, just . . . give me a minute," you said, setting your things down on the couch before you headed into the kitchen.

Snacks were something you could do.

You got him a drink too, and when you set a plate and a drink down in front of him, he glanced up at you appreciatively.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," you told him, sitting beside him on the couch.

"What are we doing the project on?" he asked.

"I have no idea," you muttered. "It would be easy to do a keynote or something, but there are going to be so many people doing that."

You pulled the project requirements out of your bag, your eyes flitting over it.

"What if we did like a . . . a soulmark examination?" you asked. "We were reading a book about how people think soulmarks mean something to the pair that share it instead of simply being an indicator, right? All we would have to do it take a picture of one of our soulmarks and make up some sort of metaphorical bullshit and make it look pretty when we present it."

"We should do yours," Aomine immediately suggested.

"Why mine?" you asked, panic starting to float into your veins.

"Because I want to know what it is," he replied, grinning at you.

"How about we do yours? You have your own fan club and I'm sure they'd be ecstatic to know what it is. Besides, yours is easier to do than mine," you told him.

"How so?"

"Mine is across my back," you informed him. "That means that I would have to take off my shirt and my bra for us to get a picture, and there are so many things that could go wrong with that. Besides, it's not like anyone in the class hasn't seen your back already, it's not new information."

"Fair enough," Aomine said. "But, when I get fakers pretending to be my soulmate, you have to be the one to fight them off."

"Deal," you said, holding your hand out to him.

He took it, shaking it firmly once, before he tugged his shirt over his head.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, curling his shoulders forward so that you could get a clear picture of the black panther lounging across his shoulders like it was a tree branch.

You snapped a couple photos from different angles, and resisted the urge to touch it.

It was the same as yours, and you wondered vaguely if you had ever found your tattoo as beautiful as you found Aomine's.

"We good?" Aomine asked.

"Yeah, we're good," you croaked, then cleared your throat as he pulled his shirt over his head again.

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

Your project had gotten a great grade, and you were both proud of it, but now Aomine seemed to be hellbent on figuring out what your mark was.

"Just show me!" he'd whined.

He'd been up on the roof again, and you had been charged with getting him off the roof and down to practice.

"No, Aomine. Now get off your ass and get down to practice," you told him, arms crossed.

You had been in this position for the past couple of weeks, and it was almost routine now.

"I won't even be a dick about it," he had promised you, his eyes looking almost sincere as he pleaded with you. Almost.

Aomine, you had learned, had adopted you as a friend, in the last few weeks of being stuck around him.

You and Momoi had started walking to class together, and Aomine had started trailing behind like a lazy guard dog, much to the chagrin of Momoi's many suitors.

"He really likes you," Momoi said one morning.

"Oh yeah?" you asked, chuckling.

"He hasn't liked someone like this in a while," Momoi told you. "He's a long time basketball junkie, so seeing him take an interest in someone that doesn't have much of a connection to the game is a relief to me."

"Momoi, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't profile me," you told her, giving her a small smile.

"I can't help it," she whined, taking a hold of your arm. "You have to tell him (Y/F/N)!"

"Sorry Momoi-san, I can't do that," you replied. "He doesn't want that."

"How do you know if you won't tell him?" she asked, pouting.

"Momoi-san, he's made his stance on soulmates exceedingly clear, and he likes me now because he doesn't know. I want it to stay that way. I'd rather be a friend than anything else. Besides, he doesn't like me like that," you informed her.

"I've been friends with him since we were kids," she said, glancing at you with those eyes. "I think I know when he's interested in a girl."

You snorted, but your conversation tapered off when Aomine joined you again.

"Seriously, what the hell is your soulmark?" Aomine demanded. "I have asked literally everyone I can think of that might know. No one in this entire fucking school seems to know what it is."

"Sorry Aomine," you said, slipping into your classroom, throwing a grin over your shoulder at him. "A girl needs to keep her secrets, besides, you aren't the only one with a soulmark thing."

His growl resonated into the classroom and you chuckled lightly as you sat down at your desk.

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

Of course, the one time the teams tries to do some team bonding they chose to go to the fucking beach.

Of course, Aomine had also been the one to suggest the beach. The others thought it was because he wanted to see girls in bikini's, but he had glanced at you and winked.

He wanted to see what your mark was.

"I hate you," you snarled, cornering him, before he left for his house. "You scheming son of a bitch."

"Such vulgar words," he teased, giving you a dark look. "And I have no idea what I could've done to make you hate me, baby girl."

"You know exactly what you did," you growled, ignoring the pet name. "The whole beach thing was your idea."

He grinned, and you suddenly understood why your mark was a panther.

Something flashed through you, and your let your own grin show through.

"You want to play games Aomine-kun?" you teased, keeping eye contact with him. "Fine, then let's play."

"What do I get if I win?" he asked.

"You'll have to choose that for yourself, if you win," you told him, storming out of the doors.

When the day came to go to the beach, nothing was out of the ordinary, save that the boys had decided that one of them had to be with you and Momoi at all times.

"You guys don't need to babysit us," you chided when you climbed onto the bus. "We tend to stick together anyway, and pervs, unless they're in groups, tend to pick the girl that splits away from the pack. Momoi-san and I can stick together and reduce the risk. This is more for you guys than it is for us anyway."

"Yeah, we don't need a guard dog," Momoi agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'll stay with them," Aomine offered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and Momoi's, and you rolled your eyes.

"You just want to know what my soulmark is," you told him, glancing up at him.

"Wait," Sakurai murmured, "even Aomine doesn't know what your soulmark is?"

"Nope," you said, popping the 'p'. "He's been trying to figure it out for weeks now. That's why he suggested going to the beach."

"You clever son of a bitch," the captain said, and you shrugged.

"He and I have a small little wager going," you admitted, shrugging his arm off your shoulders. "If I can keep my soulmark hidden from him for the whole day today, he drops it."

"And if he wins?"

"She's being cryptic about that," Aomine said, and his eye twitched lightly.

"If he sees it, he can decide what he gets for winning," you told them. "He'll understand if he sees it."

And so the game began.

"Are you going swimming, (Y/F/N)?" Momoi asked you.

"Are you?" you asked her.

"No, I want to work on my tan," she admitted, waving a small bottle of tanning lotion.

"Then I'll stay with you. I have some reading I need to catch up on anyway. Besides, I want the sunscreen to sink in, I burn easily," you admitted, having applied it as soon as you got to the beach.

You were wearing a one-piece bathing suit (since it was harder for something to happen with one on), but you had thrown a thin white crop top on over it to cover your shoulders.

After Momoi asked you to get her back, you settled onto your towel, pulling your assigned literature book out of your bag, finding your page.

"Seriously, why don't you just show us what the damn thing is?" Aomine asked, settling down next to you forcefully.

"Because it's a part of my body, meaning I can show it off when I want, or cover it up when I want. Besides, I told you earlier, my soulmate doesn't want me," you said, flipping your page leisurely. "Don't need them hating me more than they already do without knowing my identity."

Aomine was clearly displeased, but it wasn't like he could argue with you about it, soulmarks were a very personal thing to some people.

"You're at the beach," he began a few minutes later, tone incredulous, "and you're reading a book. What is wrong with you?"

"A lot, which issue are you referring to?" you asked nonchalantly before he scowled at you. "I don't feel like going into the water," you told him, glaring at him over your sunglasses. "I have work to do, and this is a good time to catch up on it. Besides, shouldn't you be with the rest of the team? This was for you guys."

Aomine scowled, but stood up, heading for where the team was playing a game of beach volleyball. Or, they were attempting, none of them seemed to be having much luck with it.

"You know, not very many people can keep Dai-chan at bay as much as you're able to," Momoi said, making you snort.

"You just have to know how to deal with it. You can do it."

"But not for long, and not once he makes up his mind about something. You've kept him at bay for months, I've never been able to do that. My top score is a week."

"Does it bother you?" you asked quietly.

"No, not at all," she said, a little too quickly. "Okay, well, it bothers me a little. I've known him since we were kids, and you can handle him better than I can just after a few months, but I know why."

"Honestly Momoi, I don't think it's because we're soulmates, because he doesn't know. I think it's just I refuse to let him win at all."

"You two are definitely two of the most stubborn people I have ever met," she agreed, rolling over onto her stomach.

"I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or not," you muttered.

Momoi giggled and you smiled. It was nice, hanging out with her. It was nice to have a female friend.

"I'm a little peckish, do you want a pretzel or something from the concessions thing?" you asked, gesturing to the snack shack type thing that they had set up a few meters away.

"No, I'm all set, thank you though," she said.

"Alright, just thought I'd ask," you told her, standing up, wiping sand off your legs as you headed over with your wallet.

You dodged a pair of kids that looked like twins, who were trying to splash each other with water, and you laughed as one of them tackled the other.

"Idiot, you can't just wander off," Aomine chided as he sidled up next to you.

"I didn't," you pointed out. "I told Momoi where I was going."

Aomine frowned, glaring at a guy that stepped too close for his comfort.

"The point of this trip was so that the team could bond," you told him, "so that means that you should be over there with the team."

"You're a part of the team too right?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at you.

"Technically, yes, but I'm talking about the part of the team that plays on the court. I just tend to make sure that your ass shows up."

You glanced at Aomine, who was frowning.

"Out with it," you demanded, glancing around as you walked to make sure neither of you bumped into anyone.

"Does your mark make you uncomfortable?" he asked, carefully choosing his words.

"No," you admitted. "It's comforting actually, but there's no point in showing it off. Besides, it makes my back really hot when I'm out in the sun. That makes me uncomfortable."

You placed your order, which consisted of a fruity drink on ice and a small snack that would hold you over until lunch.

"What have you eaten today?" he asked.

"Nothing. I had coffee this morning and then left the house. I don't normally eat breakfast," you told Aomine.

"How are you alive?"

"Have you taken health classes?"

"Not what I meant, asshole," he snapped. "You're gonna run yourself into the ground."

"Aomine, I'm fine," you assured him. "Besides, I'm drinking plenty of fluids."

He frowned, but he seemed to realize it was useless to argue with you about it.

"Go back to the team, Aomine, I'm fine," you told him, shoving him towards where the boys were sitting in the sand.

You tossed your snack wrapper in a garbage can that was placed strategically, glad for the little bit of food in your stomach.

But then the kids ran by again, and one of them got you instead of their brother.

"Sorry!" he called, darting away.

Normally you wouldn't have minded, the water felt nice against your skin, but you knew that your cover-up would start to be see through, and with the breeze blowing off the water, it was sticking to your back.

You sighed, slipping it over your head as you headed for your towel.

After drying your shoulders off, you set your shirt out to dry, then began rooting around in your bag for your backup, before remembering that you had forgotten to put it in your bag before you left.

"Fuck," you muttered, glancing at where Aomine and the other boys were chatting.

You supposed that it was fine for now, but you would have to be careful if they came back over.

"Momoi, please, for the sake of our friendship, you can't say anything to the boys about this," you said when she looked over and saw your back.

"Why are you so worried about him finding out?" she asked, carefully running a hand over your back, tracing the lines of the mark.

"Because, he might be a dick, but he's a friend, and I don't want to lose that friendship because of some dumb cosmic presence that decided we were meant for one another."

"Do you love him?" she inquired.

You licked your lips, then pursed them.

"Do you love him?" she repeated.

You waited for a few moments before you confessed, "I might. Whether it's love or a crush, I can't say for sure."

She sucked in a breath.

"What?" you asked.

"You know that he likes you back, right?" she asked quietly. "You know that it has nothing to do with the Mark. It's not like he's seen it and knows that you're the woman he's going to marry."

"He'll hate me if he finds out."

"No, he won't."

"I think he will."

"How long are you going to keep this from him?" she demanded. "He at least deserves to know that you're an option!"

"I'll wait until he's married if I have to," you snapped, making her rear back. "Satsuki, in the end, this is my choice to make, and I've made it. He can't know."

"It's his decision too," she reminded you. "This isn't a one way street!"

"Right now, it is," you snarled. Then you softened your tone. "If I'm ever put in a situation where he finds out, I will let him make his own decision, but right now, it's my decision, the ball is in my court so to speak, and this is the move I'm making."

"I think it's the wrong move," she whispered.

"Luckily, it's not your move to make," you replied. "I don't mean to be cruel, Satsuki. I want him to be happy. I just don't think that he'd be happy with . . . me."

"How are you so sure?" she demanded, looking close to tears. "How are you so sure that knowing you're his soulmate would make him miserable? Why can't you accept the possibility that maybe him knowing would make him love you even more?"

You remembered all the times he had raved to you about how soulmates were bullshit. You remembered every vehement denial that he wanted to know who his soulmate was. Every venomous word and the pure hatred in his eyes.

If he looked like that just because of the idea, how would he react to the real thing? Something physical he could take his anger out on?

You highly doubted that Aomine would ever physically hurt you, but the idea still sent a shiver up your spine, despite the warm weather.

"Call it a gut feeling," you murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"I just want you both to be happy," she whispered.

"I can't speak for him," you told her, "but I'm content with the way things are right now."

"Content and happy aren't always the same thing," she argued.

Something in your eyes must've told her that you weren't in the mood, because she sighed, going back to her tanning.

You laid on your back, trying to think of ways to hide the mark, but it took up the entire expanse of your shoulder blades, there was no way to hide it unless it was completely covered with a shirt or you laid on it.

"Momoi-san, (Y/L/N)-san, do you wanna come play two truths and a lie with us?" Sakurai asked.

"Sure, I would love to," Momoi said.

"What about you?"

You paused, thinking it over, before you grabbed your shirt, throwing it over your head after beating most of the sand out of it, making sure that no one saw it.

It wouldn't do much, you didn't think, but it would make you feel better all the same.

"Okay," you murmured, wandering over to fit in the circle with the boys.

They had decided that the person to their right was going to have to guess which was the lie, and you despaired to find that Aomine was on your right.

"Since the girls have now decided to join, new score," the captain said and you winced.

"Ladies first," Aomine said, giving you one of those glances that made you want to kiss him and punch him at the same time.

You decided to find a good compromise and you pinched his arm, hard.

"Okay," you murmured, trying to think. "One: when I was six, I popped my elbow out of my socket throwing a tantrum. Two: I have more than five dresses in my closet. Three: my music selection has a disturbing amount of love songs."

The others started whispering amongst themselves, and Aomine squinted at you.

"Number two has to be the lie. I've seen your music selection, and you mentioned the arm injury when you first became the manager," Aomine declared confidently.

"Wrong," you told him, grinning. "I have six dresses in my closet. I wasn't throwing a tantrum when I popped my elbow out of my socket. I fell off the monkey bars at the park."

Aomine glowered at you, and you laughed.

"You're just shitty at paying attention."

The boys were surprisingly bad at this game, either that or you were just good at guessing when someone was lying.

"One: I hate cherry lip gloss. Two: I can play the guitar. Three: I've never had a celebrity crush."

"Every girl has a celebrity crush," Aomine muttered, but then glanced back at you, frowning. "I say one is the lie."

"Nope! I can't play the guitar. I was taking lessons until I was eleven but I can't remember any of it."

"Wow, despite how much time you guys spend together, you really don't know much about her, do you Aomine?"

"Shut up," he mumbled, cheeks flushing.

Momoi, who was situated on your left, seemed to be very concerned with how good you were at guessing hers.

"That's the sixth one in a row that you've guessed right!" Satsuki cried, and you laughed.

"Sorry Momoi-san, but you're just very transparent and I'm too competitive to lose."

Aomine hadn't managed to guess any of yours, and you could feel him simmering beside you.

"Alright, since Aomine sucks at this, and (Y/F/N) is simply too good, let's change it up a little."

Suddenly, they were all going against you.

"I take it back, we all suck at this," Imayoshi muttered a few rounds later when they had yet to get one right.

"Sorry guys, I'm just good at hiding things," you said. "Remember, I've been hiding my soulmark from you all since the beginning of the year."

"That's it!" Satsuki cried, pointing at you, making you jerk towards Aomine to get away from her. "If we can get one right, just one, then you have to show us your soulmark!"

You wanted to decline, you wanted to act your way out of it, you knew what would happen if you lost, but that glint in her eyes made you want to prove her wrong.

"Deal," you told her.

"Okay, think about your answers carefully," Aomine said.

"Shouldn't they be saying that to you?" you asked him as you thought of something to say.

After listening to the ocean for a moment, you said, "One: I sleep like a baby during thunderstorms. Two: snapping turtles scare me to death. Three: I have a college age reading level."

Everyone started deliberating, and you smiled, leaning back, soaking in the sun.

"We have an answer," Imayoshi said, and you cracked open an eye.

"Shoot," you told them, sitting up.

"It's number two," he said.

The blood drained from your face.

You knew that they had taken a wild guess, but you hadn't expected them to get it right.

You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and nodded, not trusting your voice.

You took another steadying breath as you stood up, brushing yourself off, trying to control the shaking in your hands that was slowly spreading up your arms.

You vaguely heard Imayoshi telling you that you didn't have to, that you had the right to say no.

You wanted to take the out he was giving you. You wanted to act your way out of it, you wanted to try and run, and you wanted to tell them that you backed out but . . . .

But you had been keeping this to yourself for a very long time. And you wanted to know sooner rather than later whether Satsuki was right or not. You wanted to know whether this was as terrible as your mind was making it out to be.

You got a firm grip on your shirt, and you were about to lift it off, but suddenly Aomine was in front of you, his hands covering yours as he stared you down.

His eyes were boring into yours, and his hands were firm, but gentle, in their grip.

He was telling you that you didn't have to, that as much as he pried, he wasn't going to let you feel pressured into doing this.

You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before you shook your head, lips pressed together in a hard line.

"You deserve to know," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking.

Aomine nodded, slowly moving his hands, before he settled back down where he had been.

You took one last, steadying breath, turning your back to your team.

You tugged the shirt over your head, pulling the straps of your suit to the side so that they could see the expanse of the mark across your back.

Your entire team was silent as they realized what they were seeing.

"Holy shit," someone breathed, though you weren't sure who it was.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't entirely sure who you were apologizing to.

Momoi was suddenly in front of you, pulling the straps of your bathing suit back up.

"(Y/F/N), you're shaking," she murmured.

"I know," you told her.

"He's gone," she informed you, and you collapsed into the sand, letting out a shaky breath you hadn't known you were holding.

"How pissed with me is he?" you asked her.

"I-I don't know," she confessed. "I've . . . I've never not been able to read him. He . . . he was completely blank. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," you murmured, staring at the sand in front of you. "I should have taken the out. I should have stayed home. I knew what he was trying to do. I knew that you wanted me to tell him. I knew how he would react. And a small, foolish part of me dared to hope that I was wrong. A small, naive, stupid, masochistic part of me believed that it wouldn't matter. I should know by now that I'm rarely wrong about this kind of thing."

"But I know him!" Satsuki said, looking close to tears. "I know how he looks at you! I see the little things! I don't why he . . . ."

"Don't worry about it Satsuki," you told her, standing up, turning to your team. "Sorry guys."

You headed for your spot, gathering up your things, making sure that you had everything that you had come with, just to give yourself something to focus on.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sakurai asked.

You saw that the whole team, save one member, was standing there in various states of shock, anger, and something akin to pity.

"I knew it would happen eventually," you murmured, then told them, "I'll survive. I'll be myself at practice on Monday, promise. Have a good rest of your weekend guys."

You dug your phone out of your pocket when you were far enough away from the team.

"Hello?"

"Taiga, hey, can you come pick me up?" you asked. "Something went down with Aomine."

"I'm on my way," he said. "Hold tight. Wait, where are you?"

You sent him your location, heading for the parking lot.

By the time Kagami actually found you, you were pretty sure you had cried yourself out.

You didn't remember crying, but Kagami had taken one look at you and wiped at your cheeks.

You had gone with Aomine when he had challenged Kagami at the street court, and you had stayed in touch with the red-head slowly becoming friends with each other.

He knew about your mark as well, though he had promised to keep it to himself. He hadn't told Kuroko either, which surprised you.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"He knows," you admitted, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders. "He saw it."

As you explained what happened, Kagami got quieter and quieter, and when you glanced at his face, you were surprised to see a serious amount of anger on his face.

"Taiga?" you asked quietly.

"I'll murder him," Kagami growled. "He's such a fuckin'-!"

"You don't have to murder him," you told the red-head, who looked shocked at your response.

"But-!"

"No, I knew it was going to happen. I knew that I would lose him, I was just trying to hold on for a little longer. He hasn't done anything wrong," you said. "I guess that means that I don't have to hide it anymore."

"He's an idiot," Kagami declared.

"I already knew that though."

"Did he even explain himself to you?"

"No. But he doesn't need to. I already know that he doesn't want me. I knew when he started pawing around about my mark. I knew, but I didn't stop him. I led myself to this point."

"Stop taking responsibility for him being a dick!" Kagami snapped. "Do you realize how many people would kill to have you as a soulmate? Or to have one like you?"

"That's not the point!" you told him. "The point is that the one person I want to want me as a soulmate, doesn't. And there's nothing I can do to fix that! Because he seemed to like me just fine thinking I wasn't anything special to him, but the moment fate steps in, I'm fucked. So unless there's a way to pretend like this mark isn't a permanent reminder that the guy that's supposed to be perfect for me, hates my guts, then I guess this is my life now!"

"Kuroko is so much better at this than I am," Kagami muttered to himself. "Look, have you tried calling him?"

"He made it pretty clear that he wanted nothing to do with me."

"Try it anyway."

"I think I'm good. My heart's been broken enough today, thanks."

"Seriously, this is fucking insane," Kagami stressed, opening a door for you. "From what I've seen, your the one person he actually listens to and hears."

"Because he didn't know what I was! I took advantage of that, and now I'm paying the price for it. I should have just told him and dealt with the consequences when I didn't want him! Now it hurts that much more and I have to watch us go back to being strangers. Maybe I should just transfer."

"Um, (Y/F/N)," Kagami said, tapping your shoulder.

"No, I'm serious! Why torture the team with our angst when I can just move schools? There are plenty in the area. Maybe I could move to Seirin. My parents-"

"(Y/F/N)!" he hissed, turning your head to look at something.

"Fuck," you muttered, locking eyes with Aomine, who had his hands thrown up like he had been using them to make a point to Kuroko, who was glancing back and forth between the two of you.

Kagami dropped his hands from your face and you took the opportunity.

You turned and bolted from the Seirin gym.

You should have been paying attention. You should have made Kagami take you home, you should've asked where you were going before.

Multiple people shouted after you, but you ignored them.

You had to get away from him, you had to make sure that he didn't think you were trying to-

Do what?

You slowed down with a sudden realization. If your life had been a cartoon there would've been breaking sound effects and skid marks behind you.

Why should you care what he thought when you had walked into that gym? He didn't care anymore, not now that he knew what you were, why should you?

Fuck what he thought!

If he wanted to let you go, who gave a fuck what it seemed like? You were friends with Kagami, and by default, Kuroko.

How were you supposed to know that he would go to Kuroko after this sort of thing?

Was it really that weird, that wrong, for you to do what you had just done?

You took a deep breath, letting yourself relax. You were probably over thinking things yet again.

A street court caught your eye and you stared at it for a few moments before heading over.

Someone had left a ball there, whether from pure forgetfulness, or a trust in humanity that someone wouldn't take it.

You pushed on it, checking the air, before you dribbled it around.

You could have gotten on a team if you had wanted, but after middle school, you had had enough of the inter-team drama, and had decided to give it up. So you had managed the boys team to be close to the sport without having to deal with a lot of the drama.

You practiced with them sometimes, when Momoi was managing and you had nothing better to be doing.

You made a few lay-ups, a few foul shots, and moved onto half court shots, soaking in the sound of the ball falling through the net.

The heat of the day was soaking through your t-shirt, soaking into the mark, and you touched it lightly, wondering what you were going to do on Monday.

You had promised the team that you would be back to normal, but would you be able to fake being okay well enough to fool them? How much would it take to fool Aomine into thinking that you were okay?

"Why him?" you asked yourself, tilting your face up to the sun. "Why did it have to be him? It could have been literally anyone else, and you chose the one guy that would never be able to love me for what I am, for what we are."

A breeze rustled the trees around you and you breathed it in, moving to leave when you caught sight of him standing in the entrance of the court.

"Shit," you muttered, looking for another way out. There was no chance that he hadn't seen you, even Aomine wasn't that much of an idiot, but you were seriously considering climbing the fence to get away when he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he started.

"No, stop, I don't want your apology," you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself, not able to look at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. I knew when I made that damn deal that I was risking our friendship, I was just tired of having to hide the damn thing. You of all people realize how much of a pain in the ass it is to cover up. And now that I think about it, it's probably better that this happened now. I can't imagine how badly it would've been if I had gotten even closer to you.

"Besides, now you're free to make your own decision. Satsuki got what she wanted in the end. Go figure, I guess. Anyway, you don't have to worry about it. You won't have to worry about me doing anything now that you know. And I already told you that if you won you would get to decide what you got for winning. You won't have to deal with me after this, I promise. I'll disappear since that's what you want."

"So when you told me I got to choose, you were basically telling me that I could choose whether I wanted you or not?"

"Yeah, pretty much, and I shouldn't've. I already knew which one you were going to choose, I was just being naive."

"That's not how it works dumbass," Aomine said.

You screwed your eyes shut, turning your head away from him.

"I know," you whispered. "Why are you even here?"

"I was looking for you, obviously," he grumbled.

"Why? I already know that you don't want this, you made that abundantly clear with your stories and reactions to me at the beach. What are you trying to do here, Aomine?"

"Trying to tell you that I like you," he stated. "But you keep trying to push me away."

"Huh?" Your eyes flew open at the words, and you stared at him.

"Idiot," he murmured, walking over.

You backed up, trying to keep the distance but he backed you against the fence.

"Do you want me to be honest with you?" he asked softly.

You nodded, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"I might be in love with you, and not because you're my soulmate," he said, which made you cock your head in confusion.

"But . . . all that stuff you said about hating soulmates and not wanting to meet yours . . . ."

"I didn't think you were my soulmate moron," he murmured, reaching out to toy with your hair. "I'm okay with it being you. I'm grateful for it actually."

The look on your face must've said it all because he sighed.

"You should've told me sooner," he told you. "I want to go out with you. No secrets, no lies, no weird games where I'm trying to get you to take your clothes off."

"You had me until that last one," you muttered, taking the hand that was playing with your hair.

He laced your fingers together before you could take your hand away.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it," he told you, wrapping his other arm around your waist. "So what do you say? Go out with me?"

You watched his face as much as you could in the crappy lighting, waiting for any sign that he was joking, waiting for him to yell 'Psych!' and walk away.

But his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, and he seemed too busy watching you to question what was taking you so long.

"If I say yes, am I going to be the laughing stock of the school?" you asked.

"No, I may be a dick, but I'm not that mean," Aomine told you.

"Okay," you whispered. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

The smile Aomine gave you could've lit the whole court.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you realize that Kagami and Tetsu think we're both crazy now," Aomine said.

"They already knew," you told him, wrapping an arm around his neck. "You have to be crazy to put up with the both of them."

Aomine snorted, nudging your forehead with his.

"I'm sorry that I ran from you," he said. "I shouldn't have done that."

You waited, sensing that he had more to say, he was just gathering his thoughts.

"I don't know what I was thinking," he muttered. "I just had to get away from my own stupidity I guess. I should have guessed that I was your soulmate. You were so on edge whenever I brought it up, but when someone else brought it up it was more like you were sick of the questions. I know you enough to know that if you reacted differently to me that it was because of me. I just . . . I acted on instinct."

"You don't have to explain anything to me Aomine," you told him, burying a hand in his hair. It was softer than you had thought it would be.

"No, you deserve an explanation. I am the whole reason you're even at Seirin."

"I was at Seirin because I wanted to talk to Kagami and that was where we ended up. We could have just as easily gone to his place or to mine."

"Tetsu's been trying for years to get me into the whole 'soulmate' thing, so he was the first person I thought of that could me explain what the fuck was going on. I wasn't upset that it was you, I was upset because you hid it from me and that you thought I was going to flip out about it. I mean, I did, but just not the way you expected."

"I figured you would yell at me, maybe push me around a little bit," you confessed. "I didn't think you were going to run like your ass was on fire to go talk to Kuroko."

"I wouldn't hurt you, for multiple reasons, the main one being I like you."

"I know, but the mind is a strange thing, and mine has a tendency to think worst case scenario first."

He hummed, and you saw the tension melt from his shoulders.

"Come on, let's get out of here," you told him. "Maybe you could go practice with Taiga and Kuroko."

"I want bread, we should go to a coffee shop or something," he suggested.

"Actually, yeah, that's a better idea," you agreed. "I really don't feel like explaining to Seirin what this whole thing was about. I'll call Taiga and explain, how about you call Momoi-san and tell her that everything's okay, 'cause she was really worried when I left."

"Yeah, I got it," he murmured, digging his phone out of his pocket, but he didn't unwrap his arm from around your waist.

"Hey, Taiga," you said when he picked up his phone.

"Where the hell are you, idiot?" Kagami asked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you even more. Everything's fine now. Aomine kinda cornered me in a street ball court."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, we worked things out. You don't have to worry about it, I promise. We're gonna go to a coffee shop somewhere nearby. I'll call you when I get home so that you know that I got back safely."

"Alright, but if he starts being a dick again, just give me a call."

"I will, thanks for everything Taiga," you told him, ending the call.

It wasn't really explaining things, but you could always tell him about it later, which you were probably going to have to do.

"-fine, Satsuki," Aomine was saying, looking exasperated. "She wants to talk to you."

"Hi Momoi-san," you said when he handed you his phone.

"(Y/F/N)! Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Momoi-san, breathe," you ordered, laughing. "I'm fine. Aomine and I worked things out, I promise."

"Are you dating? Because if you aren't then that's not working things out!" she cried.

"Momoi-san, we worked things out," you assured her.

"So you're dating then?"

You pursed your lips and glanced at Aomine.

"You'll find out soon enough I suppose," you told her, hanging up before she could say anything else to you.

"I think she likes you more than she likes me," he said, and you could hear the repressed pout.

"Nah, you'll always be Dai-chan to her," you told him. "You're her best friend, I just happen to be someone she needs to like because of my affiliation with you."

"You make it sound like this is some sort of business thing," Aomine whined, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"I'm not used to you liking me, Aomine, you're going to have to let me adjust to this. I have been deliberately avoiding the fact that I like you all year."

"Fair enough," he muttered. "But don't expect me to be all conservative about this."

"What's this?" you asked him.

"Us, the fact that you agreed to go out with me."

"I retain all rights to pretend like I don't know you if you get too dramatic," you warned him, which made him scoff, like he wasn't expecting you to go through with it.

"Bold of you to assume that I'm joking," you said, letting his arm slip off your shoulders and he paused.

"You can't be serious," he muttered.

You kept walking.

"(Y/F/N)? You aren't serious right?" he called after you, slight panic in his voice when you didn't turn around.

"Right?" he asked.

#aomine x reader #daiki x reader #aomine daiki x reader #daiki aomine x reader #knb #knb imagines #aomine daiki #knb aomine #knb x reader

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astradis · 2 years

Note

For the match up thing

name: Audrey

Nickname: Blue or Sprout

Personality: INFP, Pisces. I’m pretty hotheaded and emotional. I can get loud when I’m happy or mad and only when I’m with friends. I’m an animal and plant lover. I hate PDA. When I’m alone I love cuddling and kissing. I love attention a lot. I always want to help people or find solutions to problems too.

Appearance: Glasses, brown eyes, hair. Shag Mullet, freckles, my arm has moles shaped into the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. 5’4, chubby face, curvy body, big boned.

Clothes I usually wear: Long Skirts, tank tops, Shorts, bell bottoms, button up shirt sleeves with patterns, turtlenecks. Always have brackets, necklaces or clip on earrings on.

Sexuality: Bisexual, +17 age range

i totally just fell in love with you btw. i’m pretty sure though… he would love you so much better than i can!

EDDIE MUNSON

aud, eddie would absolutely fall in love with you the first interaction you have. it would probably be a lot of him being an idiot and you trying your best not to show your very obvious internal cringe face.

you two would take a while to learn how to actually interact with one another, but the thing that sets off your friendship is eddie inviting you to his campaign. even though you hadn’t played dnd literally ever, something sort of lit up in you when you saw him play a whole new character. a part of you definitely wanted to see this happen a lot more, this new side was a lot more attractive to you than the normally awkward, but nice him. the usual version of him sort of annoyed you a little, but you did really like him. wait what? you like him? this is probably bad. it isn’t though, when you hear eddie talking about you to his club members.

“She is just- guys, you’re getting me, right? I’m not going insane?” Eddie had his hands on his head, gripping the hair in his fingers, hoping it would punctuate his point better.

“Well… yeah, she is great. But a girl? A girl in the club? You know what that could do to us, Eddie?” Gareth spoke next. By peeking in through the cracked door, you could see him with one hand on his chin and one gesturing in front of him.

“You guys had no problem with Lady Applejack. What’s it to you if there’s a girl I’m actually interested in for once?“ You rose an eyebrow at that. Eddie was interested in you?

“Wait- interested?” You walk in. “Who? Who are you interested in?”

All the club members turn their heads to you, and Eddie pauses in the position he stood in prior to you walking in before he stiffly turns to face you.

“Ah- Audrey!” He held out his arms. “There’s the lady of the hour!”

“Eddie, you’re kinda stupid sometimes,” you smirked. “If you were interested in me, you could’ve just said so. And… maybe not in such a public space?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were there.” He argued, crossing his arms, shrugging his shoulders. The room went silent, the boys at the table looking between the two of you for any sign of.. anything.

“Hey, wanna go out with me?“ Eddie says. It was a wrap from then on.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #st eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson matchup

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

It's Always Been You

Pairing: Semi x Reader

Genre: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (I swear it’s more fluff than hurt/comfort), Getting together

Summary: You’ve always known Semi was your first choice. Now you just need to convince HIM that it’s true. Easier said than done.

Prompt: “When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?”

A/N: This is my contribution for the HQHQ SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Also this is an AU where the boy’s and girl’s volleyball teams practice in the same gym. Just go with it. LOL Please and thank you.) Thank you for beta-ing @sawamooora~

There’s a certain sense of pride and anxiety that comes from being accepted to Shiratorizawa as a student athlete. Pride from knowing your athletic prowess has been recognized as being at least notable. Anxiety from not knowing if that’s all it’ll amount to, talent that’s forced to remain seated on a bench as other, even more capable athletes surpass and outrank you. But as wide-eyed first years, Semi and you don’t feel that full weight yet, not as you watch and learn from your senpais in awe, and it’s that curiosity, that love for the sport that brings you two together.

Semi’s always been on the quieter side, but when he sees you in the corner of the girl’s side of the gym all by yourself, practicing setting a volleyball against the wall, recognizing you as a fellow newbie from his class, he takes his chance. It’s an easy friendship, one that easily crosses from the court, to the classroom, to after school study sessions and hangouts. And even though it sucks to still be set aside on the bench, left to cheer on your upperclassmen while the both of you hone your skills, it brings both of you comfort that you’re not alone, that you have someone else cheering you on, growing and improving right alongside you.

It’s hard work trying to stand out among all the hopeful first years at Shiratorizawa, but the endless hours of hard work and encouragement you give each other, the shouts to keep on going, the careful bandaging of each other’s fingers before and after grueling practices, it all pays off. The two of you proudly stand side by side in your second year as your parents snap a photo of both of you donning your brand new team uniforms, marking you as starting players.

The adrenaline of the cheering audience, the exhilaration of being in a real game, it’s everything both of you have wished for and more. But through the excitement, a nagging worry tugs at Semi as he watches the new rookie setter, Shirabu Kenjirou, from afar.

There’s nothing wrong with Shirabu. He’s a smart kid, albeit a little short tempered and rude at times, but aren’t they all in high school? But it’s not his attitude, not even his shitty haircut that bothers Semi. It’s the ease with which he connects with the rest of the team, the natural skill and talent he possesses, the way Coach Washijou stares at the younger male with interest, that has Semi striving harder, his desire to stand out and prove himself only hindering him and the team more.

And reality comes crashing down around him one day as a shrill whistle jars him from his razor sharp focus, the paddle with his number being held up by Shirabu making his heart drop to his stomach as he’s subbed out, face heating with humiliation and embarrassment as his teammates eagerly high five and clap the younger setter on the court, welcoming him into the game.

Just like that, he’s been replaced.

It hurts, but he knows it’s to be expected. He had seen it coming, and acknowledges that it’s the better decision for the team. But that doesn’t make it sting any less. And he watches with steely eyes at how effortlessly Shirabu melds in with the team, the ball easily and smoothly connecting.

He thinks this is the worst of the heartache, vowing that he’ll just work harder, at least be a useful pinch server. He’ll be the best setter he can when he’s needed. But what he isn’t expecting is the lancing stab to his heart when he sees you rush over to Shirabu after the match is over, the way you’re practically bouncing on the soles of your feet as you fawn over the younger setter, congratulating him on his first game, complimenting him on a job well done, not even sparing a glance in his direction. In your defense, you do make your way towards him eventually, but he can feel the pity in your eyes, the way you approach him as if he’s a wounded animal, and he slaps your hand away before it can come in contact with his arms, storming off, leaving you gaping in his wake.

The situation was poorly handled and he knows he owes an apology at minimum, but those words get stuck in his throat when he spies you chatting one-on-one with Shirabu at practice the next day while the boy’s and girl’s teams share the same gym. It’s vaguely reminiscent of watching a horror film and despite the way he freezes, heart clenching, Semi can’t tear his eyes away as you demonstrate some setting techniques and drills to Shirabu. And when your bandaged fingers carefully wrap around the younger male’s forearms to adjust his posture, Semi rushes off, unable to bear watching how once again, he’s become irrelevant.

He wonders— hopes that it’s just a one off thing, that things will return to how they once were. But they don’t, and he watches as Shirabu and you laugh and joke, high fiving and cheering each other on as you help one another practice, time and time again. He tries his best to ignore it, gritting his teeth and using more strength than necessary in his practice serves, brushing off the concerned questions from even usually stoic Ushijima. But it all comes to a head when Shirabu is absent from practice one day and you cheerfully walk up to him like no time has passed, like you hadn’t turned around and instantly betrayed him for a better version of himself, grinning as you ask him to practice with you.

There’s a sick satisfaction in how quickly your smile disappears, the flash of hurt in your eyes when he sneers at you, thanking you for “gracing him with your presence”.

“Glad you could find it in yourself to make some time for me. Thought you’d skip out on practice to take care of your little boyfriend.”

“What-”

The whole gym stares at both of you as his harsh voice echoes throughout the area.

“When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?!”

Semi and you don’t talk to each other for the rest of that year, although not for quite the same reasons.

For Semi, it’s a completely burned bridge and, as good as seeing you feel some of the same pain he feels is, there’s an emptiness inside of him as he goes home that night. The belief that he’s ruined everything between the two of you heavily weighs inside of him.

For you, it’s a medley of hurt, shock, and confusion. You give Semi the time he needs to cool off, give yourself the time and space to ponder and think into the late and early hours of each night, wondering where everything went wrong.

Shirabu? Boyfriend? How could Semi possibly even believe that?

Being an upperclassman means mentorship and guidance. So when Shirabu had come up to you one day after he became the boy’s team’s starting setter, you had graciously offered up some tips, let him know that you’d practice with him if you were free, encouraged him. You had missed your easy banters with Semi, missed how in sync and in tune with each other you were. But how could you turn away an underclassman in need?

Yet, the more you think about it, the more you really try and understand Semi’s perspective, guilt gnaws at you, clawing at your heart.

Had you meant to neglect your closest friend? An emphatic no.

Could you see why he had felt abandoned? ...A begrudging maybe laced with remorse.

Do you want him back in your life? A resounding yes.

You know it’ll be hard work to regain Semi’s trust, know he has a stubbornness that’s hard to crack — especially when it’s been hot glued together by seeming betrayal. But you’re just as determined, just as headstrong, and to both the dismay and amusement of both your teams and classmates, you twirl together in a chaotic dance.

To say he’s caught off guard when you knock on his door one morning to walk with him to school is an understatement, but when realization comes crashing down on him, he scowls, and his parents watch while shaking their heads and hiding a laugh as you scramble to keep up with him while he pointedly ignores you and speed walks a few steps ahead of you.

His mom points out to his father the way their son slows down just the tiniest bit when you stumble in your haste to catch up.

Ushijima watches in uncomfortable confusion as you sit with them at lunch, plopping down in the empty seat beside Semi, chatting away at your old friend despite the way Semi resolutely stays silent, not even sparing you a glance.

But if the ace notices the way Semi doesn’t snap at you or pull his bento box from you as you grab a piece of fish Semi’s mom had cooked, he doesn’t say anything.

Shirabu pouts when you completely bypass him, fondly ruffling his hair as you stride towards Semi, volleyball in hand at practice. And both your teams watch in exasperation and fascination at the unintentional comedy show the two of you provide as you waddle after Semi like a baby duck following its mother, quacking your head off and never giving up even though Semi pretends he doesn’t see you in the corner of his eyes, mimicking every drill he does.

Coach Washijo and your coach wonder if they should slap both of you on the heads for this madness, but when they observe the way Semi painstakingly slows down and exaggerates his form when you struggle with an exercise, they roll their eyes, turning their attention to the other players lounging around.

Yet as amusing as it is, all shows must come to an end and your grand finale arrives with the devastating loss against Karasuno, the chances of going to Nationals again ruined just like that for the third-years.

Even for you, a bystander in the audience, just another spectator in the crowd, it’s a hard pill to swallow. Unshed tears glisten in your eyes when you see the years of hard work they’ve all put into the sport go down the drain, the slump of Semi’s shoulders as they walk off the court. You can’t even begin to imagine how the players themselves are feeling, don’t know a single word you could say to make this alright. Yet your legs are sprinting, wobbling and shaking in their frantic need to comfort your long-time friend, to try and soothe him, to tell him how proud you are of him, how this doesn’t change how you think and feel about him.

It’s more than a little awkward, panting to catch your breath as the entire dejected team stares at your sudden appearance in confusion. But Tendou’s always been a little quicker, a little sharper than the rest, and he grins, practically shoving Semi in your direction, playfully waving farewell at both of you before slamming the locker room doors shut before Semi can process what’s happened.

There’s a tense silence as you try and wrap your suddenly dry mouth around words.

“I’m sorry for your loss-”

You jolt at the cold scoff, the way Semi quickly spins on his heel, set on re-entering the locker rooms, turning his back on you.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Go comfort your little boyfriend. I’m sure our star setter would eat those sweet words right up-”

“SHUT UP!”

This time it’s Semi’s turn to clamp his mouth shut in shock, hesitantly turning around, eyes wide as you storm towards him, jabbing your index finger into his chest.

“I swear to God, if you mention Shirabu’s name one more time while I’m talking to you, I’m going to muzzle you until you can’t say ANYTHING.”

(If either of you hear Tendou’s giggle from behind the closed doors, neither of you mention it.)

“I came to talk to YOU because I miss YOU. I like YOU. And if you could take just a minute to get your head out of your ass, you’d know that you’ve always been and always will be my first choice.”

Your chest is heaving, blood rushing in your ears from the exertion of your passion. But the reality of your accidental confession comes crashing down around you and your face heats in embarrassment, heart plummeting at the way Semi just gapes at you, speechless. You turn to rush away, mortification triggering your flight response. But a gentle, but firm tug on the hem of your shirt keeps you still.

You brace yourself for the rejection you know is coming, nervously turning around, slowly lifting your head to meet Semi’s gaze. But your heart flutters at the hope and disbelief in his eyes.

“But I thought...You and Shirabu- OW!”

You roll your eyes, a satisfied smirk on your face at the way he gingerly rubs his head, shooting you an accusing look.

“I did warn you about mentioning him, didn’t I?”

But before he can open his mouth to retort, you gently peck him on the cheek, giggling at the flabbergasted and stunned expression on his face, cooing at the faint blush that radiates across his skin.

“Hurry up and get your things. You owe me a popsicle for being such an ass this past year.”

There’s a lot more cheering and celebration in the locker room than there should be for a team that’s just lost their shot at Nationals as Semi re-enters the space, his already packed bag (courtesy of Ushijima) shoved into his arms by a gleeful red-head.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #semi x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader

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badass-at-fandoming · 3 years

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Just Little Malkavian Things ~

Malkavians these days can do nothing but de-conceptualize, Dement, eat hot chip, and lie.

Since people seemed to enjoy the #JustLittleVentrueThings VTMB adventure, here's a matching Malkavian one. Though I'm gonna be real with ya here, I had less fun D:

I finally figured out why I have such trouble wrapping my head around depictions of Malkavians in VTM media. Books, Storytellers, and fans say it's like having a mental illness and being linked to a massive group chat. But, listen, I've lived around and with mental illness all my life. I've been in massive group chats. Being Malkavian ain't like that.

It IS like being an early-twenties English major in the midst of an existential crisis, over-worked and cross-faded outta your skull and watching horror movies to Cope(TM)

So it's like drugs. It's like you had too much weed and too much wine and are let loose on Los Angeles. Which. My friends and I have and we, coincidentally, also "fought" a stop sign. The Malkavian PC never really seemed like a character to me: she's like a collection of cliches and dude-bros doing blunts while watching slasher movies. I named her Liotta after the Psychic Shop owner, and I'm sad Liotta didn't really get to be a person.

I wasn't surprised by any of the dialog. It's a pattern. Alliteration, allusion, animal joke. Alliteration, allusion, animal joke. It lost its charm.

Often, I didn't know what the FUCK I was saying. Which is the Malkavian Experience(TM), according to Rosa.

Anyway

Nonsense time

Most characters have an extra paragraph of dialog to Acknowledge That You Are A Malkavian. Some get an extra conversation branch. For example, there's lots of new Bertie dialog and he was all impressed Liotta knows about Gehenna and Thin-bloods <3. The Anarchs characters, especially Skelter, get a lot more. Skelter, Ash, and Liotta totally vibe.

If you sneak around the Santa Monica drug house, they talk about Mercurio?? Hello?? Mercurio, you bent Masquerade by not getting beat up real good.

Zero pretense about Voerman. Yes, I have DID; yes, I am making it your problem.

When Liotta talked to Beckett, he said the DID was "something to look forward to." Goddamnit, Beckett. That's not how the Bane or mental illness works! >:-(

I've never sneaked before!!! Did you know that the Tong AND the American gang downtown have fakes in their suitcases??? Like, Full On, "it's just stuffed with newspapers, brah." They were going to kill each other over newspapers. For some reason the Tong brought the REAL suitcase along too, but I'm so past having VTM make any sort of sense. It's fine.

Accidentally pissed off Nines. I meant farmer (affectionate) and Nines thought I meant farmer (derogatory). :(

The Dementation powers are (a) pretty purple loop-de-loops, (b) not as effective as Dominate (reaaaallyyy missed a good AOE attack), and (c) oddly enough, gave more compassionate dialog choices. I mean. In the pen-and-paper version, Dementation isn't conflict-focused, so the devs had to jigger it to use as attacks. But I was touched when Liotta made Hannah believe she was Paul, so Hannah got to say goodbye. Making Samantha believe Liotta was a pet turtle was funny and spared her the pain of her friend vanishing a second time. Heather thinks her entire experience was a dream and returns to her life, more or less unscathed.

Boris?? Asked Liotta to kill Venus for him???? DUDE, WHAT. I didn't know he could counter-offer!! What happens if you take up his offer? Who controls Confession? Does it close down??

Pro Tip: don't trust the pale woman in a cowboy stripper outfit who comes out of your vent and tells you everything's fine.

I went through an ENTIRE Ventrue playthrough without puking and Liotta ate one (1) unhoused person and blew chunks. I didn't realize Diseased Blood was a threat. What happens if you skip the Plague-bearer quest? Should you just never chomp on the Downtown unhoused community?

Strauss called Liotta "young one" and I was like, sir. You're not Beckett, you can't trick me.

A rat dances in the Downtown sewers and tells Liotta that the grass is greener in someone else's asshole.

And also will take you places.

Do you know what it's like for a Capri Sun to suddenly start speaking and offer taxi services.

LaCroix: how did Bach find me??? also LaCroix: [names his company after himself] [lives in Ventrue Tower]

Liotta told Beckett that Kindred are a joke and I got extra EXP for being so sneaky.

DMP produced snuff films even before Andrei???!!!! I thought all the blood was from the lil geo-dudes.

Liotta agreed with Andrei that Caine is here and boot-scooting around in his lil Angst Mobile. :D

As bad as Liotta was in group fights, she repeatedly made bosses cower and stand quietly while she beat them to death. Andrei had a full on lay-on-the-floor temper tantrum in his war form and Liotta just. Smacked him until he exploded. She didn't even take damage!

Imalia's computer password is ALSO "cleopatra." Just like Tawni's! Dual reference to the Embrace type

IDK why I never asked this before, but, um, who does Mitnick share the bunk bed with? Barabus..?

I went back to the Empire Hotel Penthouse suite to fetch the educational book and the Russian mob dudes were still there?? Hello, sirs, your leader is dead. You can leave now.

Liotta heard the real thoughts of the Red Dragon hostess...and also some debate about the Dark Father's presence in LA, heehee.

I thought it was fun that one of the "take me away, Cabbie!" taxi replies mentioned riding in a car like father and child. :D

"Why is the Mandarin giggling at me" is a sentence that came out of my face.

With the different dialog options, sometimes it's impossible to be polite to NPCs. For example: Liotta could only call VV "dolly/doll/toy doll" instead of her preferred names; the Chinatown gun seller felt frightened, thinking we were Police or Immigration.

Some great fourth wall breaks in the dialog: "I don't want to get involved either, but tell that to whoever is playing me!" to Beckett after the Giovanni Mansion.

"You can't spell success without whatever the hell my name is."

"If I cannot win with effort, I will cheat my way to victory. I am gone." Funnily enough, this was my first run where I didn't hack in to boost stats.

"I just want it to end. I feel like I've been playing forever."

Some nice wider lore references: "I devour knowledge like the great worm devours the corpse of society" could refer to how Salout, in tapeworm form, is devouring Tremere's body and destabilizing the Clan and/or Kindred night society.

"They should have a channel devoted to you in my head" to Beckett. In his Diary, Beckett witnesses Malkavians devouring Malkav and may or may not join the Cobweb (PS check out this great fanfic where he does).

This made me stare into space for a minute and question my life choices. During the Sabbat massacre, Liotta didn't snack on any of the blood doll ghouls (ya know, the ones with the eyes gouged out). She had such high Inspection + Finance that she had $4k in her wallet and could buy blood. I wanted to test a rumor that if you don't feed on the blood dolls, you get extra EXP. You do. BUT anywAY, right before the Tremere miniboss, Liotta was sword-fighting some goons and the blood doll...attacked him for her? Like. He moved on his own. When the goon was dead, the blood doll asked if Liotta was all right. This might have been a glitch but...the horrific implications that those men are still conscious, still willful, still feeling. ACK. I hope they got out the next morning.

RIP Ming Xiao. Flamethrower right to the tiddies.

I stole @ryttu3k's idea and noclipped through the werewolf section. Liotta still killed the Garou, but I didn't want the stress.

Caine is very Caine. "Don't you get it? We've already been judged!"

Liotta went Anarch because what little backstory I came up for her was she considered Smiling Jack her sire. Nines complimented her ability to murder.

Sheriff got sooooo dizzy that he fell over right onto Liotta's sword 27 times.

Dancing werewolf ending! Seemed fitting. :D

#vtm #vtmb #vampire the masquerade #malkavian #anarch #smiling jack #sebastian lacroix #nines rodriguez #cuthbert beckett #ming xiao #andrei the defiler #text post #my vtm nonsense

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vavuska · 3 years

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CRUELLA, THE STORY OF A PUPPY SLAUGHTER (Part 2)

Here for part 1:

Part 1 - Summary:

In the previous part we saw how was originally described Cruella de Vil in Dodie Smith's 101 Dalmatians: a rich heiress, bossy, cruel toward animals, obsessed with fancy jewls, luxury and also fur coats. Cruella met Anita at school, they were in friendly terms, even if Anita described Cruella as a menacing student, expelled from school for drinking ink. Dodie Smith wrote that Cruella comes from a troublesome family: her ancestor was a serial killer, with the supernatural ability to summon storms and a tail (reference to Bram Stoker's Dracula and the devil). Cruella has strange eating habits (uses a lot of pepper, the Devil's spice) and is usually cold (as a corpse or a vampire). Cruella was so obsessed with fur to marry a furrier not for love but only for his job. Cruella's husband is weak and she is the dominant element in the couple, she also forced him to take her surname after their marriage.

We saw also the rapresentation of Cruella in 1961 cartoon version of 101 Dalmatians. Cruella is still a old friend of Anita. Her main colors are red (her loudy red car is the fist thing we see of Cruella) — expressing blood, anger, determination and passion — and green (she is always surrounded by nasty green smoke that comes from her cigarette) that rapresents envy, sickness and greed.

Her appearance is very particular, because she looks like a skeleton and her skin is very white - pale, very different from the healthy pink one of the other characters. She looks like a corpse, she looks sick in this 1961 version of 101 Dalmatians.

Her entrance is accompanied by a song, written by Roger, in which he anticipates the evil intention of Cruella and underlight the disturbing connotations of her surname (Count de Ville is one of Dracula's alias; Cruella de Vil is a pun name on “cruel devil”).

3 - Cruella in 1996

The 1996 live action of 101 Dalmatians the entrance of Cruella is anticipated by a sequence in which we heard a news London Zoo discovered the excoriated carcass of its prized 3-year-old female Siberian tiger, then the news reporter says that according to animal protection groups that monitor the international trade that a white Siberian tiger's fur is so rare that the offer of a pelt would surely draw the attention in contraband. And then the journalist ask “Who cold do something so horrible?”

Then enters Cruella. She wears veiled garment complete with Balenciaga-inspired extreme shoulders and floor-length black and white fur cape.

We saw this mysterious woman with veiled face and a long fur coat - we doesn't know she is Cruella yet - , exiting from her black and white 1974 Panther Deville, license plate “De Vil”. This version of the car is more closed to the book's one.

In Dodie Smith's book, Cruella's chauffeur-driven car is black-and-white striped, which Mr. Dearly describes as “a moving zebra crossing”, and Cruella boasts that it has the loudest horn in London, which she insists on sounding for the Dearly couple.

We saw Cruella shaking the ashes of her cigarette on the shiny and impeccable shoes of her vallet Alzonzo, while he tries to not look bothered by this lack of respect, and then we saw Cruella entering in a luxurious place called “House of De Vil”. Her red cigarette holder — switching from the turquoise the 1966 animated version favored — matched with her brilliant red lipstick, makes a great contrast to her black and white attire and also underlight the psychology of color typical of Disney villains: red is associated with malice, evil (hell and the devil), blood, danger, strength, power, determination and passion.

Now we have a sight of this long railway-like white hallway surrounded by exotic fur-clothes. Now we know she is a stylist and that she is maybe the one who cold be interested in the fur of the dead Siberian tiger.

A crowd of terrified / adoring employees hurry to greet the woman: “Good morning, Miss De Vil”.

Finally Cruella enters in her office and takes off her hat with veil, reveling her double-colored hair. She is Cruella De Vil in all her glory.

This sequence recalls openly the Devil Wears Prada.

This version of Cruella played by Glenn Close is much more human that the 1961 version. She is more charismatic too and also more fashionable. Her entrance is not as scary as the 1961 version, but shows her obsession for fur, her violation of the law and abuse on animals (also at those at risk of extinction) and her high level stylist house of fashion.

She isn't Anita's friend anymore, she is Anita's boss.

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While walking to her office, Cruella meets Anita, played by Joely Richardson. She spots that Anita is working on a new model (no more white tiger stripes, but dalmatian's spots). Anita's design catches her eyes and interest, as well as Anita's dog, Perdi: they had a strange chat about Perdi's fur. That, knowing already the plot of the movie and the news details Roger and Pongo were hearing in the previous scene, well, this conversation sounds a lot disturbing.

Cruella: “Anita, darling.”

Anita: “Good morning, Cruella.”

Cruella: “What a charming dog.”

Anita: “Thank you.”

Cruella: “Spots?”

Anita: “Yes, she’s dalmatian.”

Cruella: “lnspiration?”

Anita: “Yes.”

Cruella: “Long hair or short?”

Anita: “Short.”

Cruella: “Coarse or fine?”

Anita: “l’m afraid it is a little coarse.”

Cruella: “Pity!”

Anita: “But it was very fine when she was a puppy.”

Cruella: “Redemption! We need to have a little girl talk. Come to my office. Bring the drawing.”

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Ok. The next scene contains a very popular quote from this movie.

We are in Cruella's office: she has just invited Anita to talk about her design. Cruella wants a new coat and would love to wear the one that has just see at Anita's desk. Let's remeber she doesn't want to wear Anita's puppies already, for now is just an abstract idea about someone else's puppies, but they are still talking about Dalmatians' spots, compared with leopard ones and Anita seems to be perfectly fine. I don't think she knows already of Cruella's criminal way to obtain fur from animals at risk of extinction that her henchmen steal from Zoos, but Anita works for a woman who loves to wear REAL fur. I just can't imagine Cruella wearing any faux fur coat. This is not a crime, because it's legal wear fur coats made of mink, sable and ermine and such, but I found very weird that Anita is not having any suspect about Cruella's intention, because she is working on a model of striped tiger fur and Cruella lives for fur, worship fur. She just could not accept to wear faux fur.

However, Anita doesn't seem bothered at all by this strange talk about her dog's fur (yes, dog are not coats), but as a woman who works for fashion/fur industry and loves dogs she should know that in some parts of the world it is legal using cat and dogs to make clothes. I simply can't understand why she is not having any reaction at Cruella's strage interest about Perdi's fur.

Cruella and Anita talk about their work and Cruella makes lovely appreciation for Anita's drawings: she says she is talented and she doesn't want to risk to lose her pen.

That's now that Anita says she would not left Cruella's House for another job, she would left only if she decided to be a stay-at-home mother and wife. Well, no, she talks more genericly of "plans" with a hypothetical, for now, husband/boyfriend, and this could means everything, for example moving to another city, the assumption about marriage is an association made by Cruella that told us a lot of things about how producers would she looks, compared with the family-oriented Disney business plan. This is a very relevant issue we was also in her 1961 version: the losing comparison between Anita's family's oriented live choice and Cruella's — who is sigle, rich and indipendent — one. Cruella loves only her fur coats, while Anita have an husband, a simple house and also a lot of dogs. Cruella is alone, evil, ugly, wears a lot of make up, and not happy, while Anita is married, preatty but in a natural way and happy of her simple lifestyle with her husband and their dogs.

Cruella: “Now, darling, tell me more about these spots. l did leopard spots in the ‘80s. Well, dalmatian spots are a little different, aren’t they? Cozy. Classic.”

Anita: “Cuddly. Less trashy.”

Cruella: “Exactly! Do you like spots, Frederick?”

Frederick: “Oh, l don’t believe so, Madame. l thought we liked stripes this year.”

Cruella: “What kind of sycophant are you?”

Frederick: “Um, what kind of sycophant would you like me to be?”

Cruella: “Frederick… l’m beginning to see spots. What would it cost us to start again on next year’s line?”

Frederick: “Millions.”

Cruella: “Can we afford it?”

Frederick: “Well, yes--”

Cruella: “Pay it, darling. Now go away. l have to talk to Anita.”

(...)

Cruella: “Sit down, please. How long have you been working for me?”

Anita: “Uh, two years last August.”

Cruella: “And you’ve done wonderful work in that time.”

Anita: “Thank you.”

Cruella: “l don’t see you socially, do l?”

Anita: No.

Cruella: “And you’re not very well-known, despite your obvious talent.”

Anita: “Well, notoriety doesn’t mean very much to me.”

Cruella: “Your work is fresh and clean, unfettered, unpretentious. lt sells. And one of these days… my competitors are going to suss out who you are… and they’re going to try to steal you away.”

Anita: “Oh, no. lf l left, it wouldn’t be for another job.”

Cruella: “Oh, really?bWhat would it be for?”

Anita: “Well, l don’t know. Um, if l met someone, if working here didn’t fit in with our plans.”

Cruella: “Marriage.”

Anita: “Perhaps.”

Cruella: “More good women have been lost to marriage… than to war, famine, disease and disaster. You have talent, darling. Don’t squander it.”

Anita: “Well, l don’t think that it’s something we have to worry about. l don’t have any prospects.”

Cruella: “Thank God.”

Cruella makes a very cynical — but historically appropriate and also very sharable — critic about marriage. She was right, expecially because of what we saw about her 1960s version and how she is rooted in anti-feminism and in an open condamn of women's growing emancipation from the “traditional family role” imposed by media in the 1950s and 1960s, rapresented by 1961's Anita. However, Cruella is a cruel, evil villaness, so what she says to Anita is just a condamn made by Disney on women who choose career over family and love.

But, here, Cruella is not a friend of Anita who gives her a kind and appreciable life advice (if we ignore that Cruella is evil), Cruella is Anita's boss and doesn't want to lose a valuable and talented employee, so from this point of view her statement sounds a lot more controversial: women in the 50s lost their job if they got married, they were fired because most of the time bosses made them sign a contract with a marriage bar that allow employers to withdraw from the contract, so their contract would terminate on marriage, or said in a simple way: employers used to fire the soon-to-be wife, because it was clear for them that a wife should focus more on family and house care than on a career (that's because the soon-to-be wife is going to have an husband, the bread-giver of the family).

Nowdays, it's a bitter different, but women that want to have also a family are discriminated in workplaces: employers ask constantly in job interviews of they plan to have a family, if they have some relationships or if they are single. That's because employers would lose money paying for maternity leaves to their female employees that cannot work for some month. A young woman in fertile age with a stable relationship is a risk for a employer more than a young man in fertile age with a stable relationship. A newly mom is more closed to chose a lesser paid job or a part time one compatible to her family then a newly dad.

And also this quote, remember we are talking about the 90s, gives a clear flashback on women's unstable careers back then, but also puts in highlines some stereotypes about women who menage to balance both work and family: their quility of work is lower than before (this is said by Cruella to the new-mom Anita, we will see it below), they are not productive enough, they makes employers lose money, ecc. Nowadays, unlike in the 90s there is a constant svalutation of women who chose to put family first: they have no free time, they have no a social life (well, some shy single woman like Anita doesn't have a frizzy social life too), some kind of lifes are better than others (luxury and exotics vacation are better than reading books, dancing and going to bars with friends is better than playing sports or painting, ecc.) and if they dare to go out with their friends or take time for themselves and their hobbies, society is still ready to shame them for “not being good mothers”. That's not right: everyone should be able to live their life as they want, to have a frizzy social life or just enjoying a little time for themselves, without receiving criticism of any sort.

In the US the marriage bar, the practice of restricting the employment of married women was never explicitly eliminated by federal laws. Marriage bars were widely relaxed in wartime, during World War I and World War II due to an increase in the demand for labor in the assistance of war efforts (mostly because men were at the front).

Since the 1960s, the practice has widely been regarded as employment inequality and sexual discrimination, and has been either discontinued or outlawed by anti-discrimination laws. For example, in Italy marriage bar is declared illegal with law nr. 7 of 1963, that establishes the prohibition of dismissal of female workers for reasons of marriage (later extended also to male workers), and law nr. 1204 of 1971 prohibited dismissal of the working mother within the first year of the child's age (maternity bar).

The main reason of the bar is that married women were supported by their husbands, therefore they did not need jobs. However, marriage bars provided more opportunity for those whom proponents viewed as "actually" needing employment, such as single women or married men (needed to support the family).

Discrimination against married female teachers in the US was not terminated until 1964 with the passing of the Civil Rights Act.

Marriage bars generally affected educated, middle-class married women, particularly native-born white women. Their occupations were that of teaching and clerical work. Lower class women and women of color who took jobs in manufacturing, waitressing, and domestic servants were often unaffected by marriage bars.

However, some State law provides protection for people discriminated for their marital status. For example, in California, discrimination in employment based on marital status is against the law. Under the California Fair Employment and Housing Act (FEHA), it is illegal for an employer to discriminate based on an applicant’s marital status or perceived marital status.

Under the FEHA, it is an unlawful employment practice for an employer to treat an applicant or employee differently based on the employee’s marital status. This includes: Refusing to hire or employ, Refusing to select a person for a training program, Firing, bearing, or discharging an employee, Discriminating against a person in compensation or in terms, conditions, or privileges of employment.

Marital status could refer to whether an individual is married or not, has been married, or plans to get married. This includes: Currently married, Divorced, Married to a same-sex partner or opposite-sex partner, Engaged to be married, Married but separated, Married but seeking a divorce, Widowed, Annulled marriage, Plans to get married someday, Plans to never get married, Other marital states.

Forty years ago, on October 31, 1978, the Pregnancy Discrimination Act (PDA) was signed into law to prohibit discrimination in the workplace on the basis of pregnancy, childbirth, or related medical conditions. Since its passage, more women have been able to continue working while pregnant; they have also been able to work further into their pregnancies without being forced to leave their jobs.

Pregnancy discrimination involves treating a woman (an applicant or employee) unfavorably because of pregnancy, childbirth or a medical condition related to pregnancy or childbirth. The Pregnancy Discrimination Act (PDA) forbids discrimination based on pregnancy when it comes to any aspect of employment, including hiring, firing, pay, job assignments, promotions, layoff, training, fringe benefits, such as leave and health insurance and any other term or condition of employment. Pregnancy discrimination also includes perceived bias when expectant employees experience subtly hostile behaviors such as social isolation, negative stereotyping and negative or rude interpersonal treatment such as lower performance expectations, transferring the pregnant employee to less-desirable shifts or assignments or inappropriate jokes and intrusive comments.

Claims of pregnancy discrimination filed with the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) increased sharply in the 1990s and 2000s, and pregnancy discrimination remains a widespread problem across all industries and regions of the United States. Yet statistics show that in the last 10 years, more than 50,000 pregnancy discrimination claims were filed with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and Fair Employment Practices Agencies in the United States.

So, yes. Disney here touched a lot of points in about two levels:

Family is more important than a career (successful, unmarried stylist Cruella is the evil one) and if you, a working woman, put career over family you are wrong. Nowday, we know that there isn't anything wrong about putting career first, but also we know that there isn't anything wrong also on putting family first or find a balance between the two. The important thing we should remember is that if we have not equality in working places, we should have not real free choices about our dream life;

It's perfectly fine excluding women in stable relationships or women with children from workplaces, because their work would not be at the level of a single woman, that can sacrifice her free time working late (employers exploitation logic deny free time);

Only child-free single women should be allowed to work, but only until they meet a soul mate (reminiscent of the old Disney penchant for old traditional gender roles).

However, returning at the plot, after that Anita reassures Cruella that she has no marriage prospects on the horizon, Cruella asked to Alonzo to bring Anita's drawings to her and the two women start to discuss about Anita's work, because Cruella want to add a long fur stole to Anita's original model: “I look wonderful in spots”, says Cruella,“we could do this in linen. It would be stunning in fur”. Then Anita remarks that would not be appropriate wearing fur in April, so Cruella give her famous lines: “But it’s my only true love, darling. l live for fur. l worship fur. After all, is there a woman in all this wretched world who doesn’t?” and then makes a joke that anticipates what she will plan to Anita's puppies more over in the movie: “lt is rather amusing, isn’t it? (...) If we make this coat... it would be as if l were wearing your dog.”

Then Anita and Perdi meet Roger (Jeff Daniels) and his dog Pongo, they fall in love and get married. Cruella doesn't like this. Obviously. We see a very enraged Cruella, wearing a black cellophane velvet with black and white coque feather trim, screaming against Anita's “betrayal”, when she read Anita and Roger's wedding publication on a newspaper.

Her anger toward Roger for stealing her best employee, maybe envy for Anita's love (well, it’s Disney), are promptly consoled, when her two henchmen bring her a little present from Mr. Skinner (Nomen omen, this surname fits perfectly creepy scared guy that work as furrier): it's the Siberian tiger found dead and excoriated in the London Zoo at the beginning of the movie. It was Cruella that wanted her fur and at the end she obtained it.

This Mr. Skinner (John Shrapnel) is a sadic taxidermist that enjoys killing and skinning animals alive, just like he did to the female white tiger at the London Zoo. He doesn't speak beacause when he was young, a dog attacked him by tearing open his throat and ripping out his vocal cords in the process, leaving him with a bad scar on his neck and is a little based on Mr. de Vil, Cruella's husband in Dodie Smith's book, but with the difference that Mr. Skinner has a more strong and menacing personality, while Mr. de Vil was weak and totally dependent by Cruella's desires.

Near the end of the movie, we will see in a crescendo of more explicit references to animal abuse, this charming version of Cruella de Vill ordering Cruella De Vil to Mr. Skinner to kill the dogs, because she fells that the police's suspicion are mounting against her: “poison them,” says Cruella “drown them, bash them on the head. Got any chloroform? I don't care how you kill the little beasts, just do it, and do it now!”

(See here for references: X and X)

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In second relevant scene, Roger and Anita are out, walking the dogs, when Anita spots Cruella's car. In fact, as happen at the beginning the black and white 1974 Panther Deville is the first element we see in this scene and anticipate the entrance of Cruella. Recognizing the car, Anita runs to home and there she found Cruella. She welcomes in a very lovely way Anita in her own home, but she is very rude with Roger, who tries his best to be polite during the whole scene. Cruella then mocks Roger about his job (he is a videogame designer, a well paid job nowadays, but that in the 90s can just make snobbish people like Cruella turn up their noses, it's not the classical respectable professions “to make money”). Anita and Roger are just returned from their honeymoon and Creulla acts very nicely toward Anita, she says she missed her and their exchange of ideas, but she isn't happy when Roger announce they are going to have a baby, but Cruella remarks that “she has no use for children”, but she is very interested in Pongo and Perdi's puppies.

Unlike her cartoon version Cruella during the movie shows a lot of different, hiconic and fashionable outfits: at her visit at Anita and Roger's house, she wears a zebra coat dress with mink sleeves with matching Russian-inspired hat, red PVC boots that match with gloves in the same color and material (long fake red nails on each finger) and her red cigarette holder. Her dress also features a practical detail: a cigarette case paired with ammo cartridges as if they are military medals. The zebra stripes also give off the impression of bones or a rib cage for that extra goth vibe. Her lips are permanently stained the color of crimson, while her winged eyeliner adds to her high drama aesthetic.

Despite being set in contemporary London, everything about Cruella's closet defies a specific time period. It is as if she stepped in from the '60s of the original story combined with a century's worth of high fashion references. This is very logic: people have a lot of clothes and is natural for a very fashionable stylist to have and wear a lot of haute couture outfits.

Cruella: “And you must be Rufus.”

Roger: “No, it’s-- it’s Roger. And it’s a pleasure, Miss De Vil.”

Cruella: “What’s a pleasure?”

Roger: “Uh, making your acquaintance.”

Cruella: “Such a sweet thought. l wish l could reciprocate. Tell me, darling, you married him for his dog. Oh, darling, l’ve missed you so. l hate that you’ve taken leave.”

Anita: “But l’m still working. Um, you’ve been getting my sketches?”

Cruella: “Well, it’s not the same thing. l miss the interaction-- And what is it that you do… that allows you to support Anita in such… splendor?”

Roger: “l design video games.”

Cruella: “Video games? ls he having me on?”

Anita: “Oh, no, he’s very good at it. Um, and it’s a growing business.”

Cruella: “Those horrible noisy things that children play with on their televisions?Someone designs them? What a senseless thing to do with your life.”

Roger: “Oh, did Anita tell you the news? She’s going to have a baby.”

Cruella: “ls this true?”

Anita: “Yes.”

Cruella: “Oh, you poor thing! l’m so sorry.”

Anita: “We’re very excited about it, Cruella.”

Cruella: “You can’t be serious.”

Roger: “She is!”

Cruella: “Well, what can l say? Accidents will happen.”

Anita: “We’re having puppies, too!”

Cruella: “Puppies! You have been a busy boy. Well, l must say, that’s somewhat better news. l adore puppies! l’ll expect a decline in your work product.”

Anita: “Oh, l shouldn’t think so.”

Cruella: “Be sure to let me know when the blessed event occurs.”

Anita: “Oh, well, it won’t be for another eight months.”

Cruella: “The puppies, darling. l’ve no use for babies.”

Again here we have a remark of how horrible is Cruella as boss (she says to Anita she expect a decline in her work, and this would make her useless and less precious for Cruella's House) and as person: according to Disney people who doesn't like children are horrible and cruel, but there is a double meaning in Cruella's word: “Iʼve no use for babies” could mean both that she is not interested in maternity (that's perfectly legit, not all like children, are comfortable with them or just dream to have children someday) but also that she couldn't find any material use of babies, while for puppies we know she knows well how to use them: as material for a new fur coat.

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The next scene is a classical recall to the original Disney cartoon of 1961: it's a stormy night and during the lightning flash for a few frames only, we see Cruella as a complete silhouette while few second after she opens the door and enters in Anita and Roger's house, with a big menacing smile on her face.

Pattern clashing will not only stand, but it is also encouraged, as the tiger cape with a leopard lining reveals. Paired with a leather skirt and tiger bodice featuring claw clasps

Again there is the recurring joke about Cruella misnaming Roger (Rufus, Rupert, Roland), if it's intentional (and this version of Cruella doesn't seem to left anything casual) it's a clear remark about how she dislikes Roger, the guy that stole her best designer, if it's not intentional, shows how Cruella find him irrelevant for her purpose at the point she doesn't even bother to rember his name to flatter him. Cruella is not polite or kind to Roger as she is with Anita. She doesn't need Roger, she need Anita and hates Roger for turning down Anita's value for her interests.

In this scene Cruella uses the same words she uses in the 1961 version (“How marvelous. How marvelous! How perfect... Oh, the devil take it! They’re mongrels! No spots! No spots at all! What horrible little white rats!”), but with something new that shows her uncaring nature (“All right, put them in a bag. l’ll take them with me now.”) and again mocks Roger for his “strange” and not prestigious job, when he firstly deny her offer for the puppies (“Oh? You’ve come into some money, have you? Did you design some silly game… that will drive the delinquent kiddies into frenzies of video delight?”).

However, compared to her 1961 alter ego, this Anita is more assertive and talks for herself, saying a determinated “no” to Cruella. Anita also starts to be a bit suspicious about Cruella's intentions (“But, Cruella, what would you do with 15 puppies?”). Roger and Anita this time seems to be equally determinated to refuse Cruella's business proposals.

Cruella crescent rage is underlight by the sounds effects of thunderclaps and it is Anita who says the final “no”.

“All right, keep the little beasts. Do what you like with them. Drown them, for all l care! You’re a fool, Anita! l’ve no use for fools. You’re fired! You’re finished! You’ll never work in fashion again! l’m through with all of you! l’ll get even! Just wait! You’ll be sorry, you fools! You idiots!”

When Roger and Anita refused to sell the puppies, Cruella's rage exploded as happened in the cartoon version (she screams and insults Roger and Anita, she tears the check into a thousand pieces and throws them in Roger's face), but let's remeber she is Anita's boss now: she uses her power and fired Anita's too, now that Anita and Roger refused to Cruella what she want, Anita become immediately useless. In fact Cruella has yet the design for her new outfit, from Anita needed only the puppies and if she cannot obtain them with good manner, well, as happened in the cartoon version, she will steal them.

In the previous part we saw how in the 101 Dalmatians of 1961, the car was the alter ego of Cruella, well, in this 1996 live action, her personality and her obsession is channeled into her outfits. Before it all goes to hell for the fashion maven, her rotation of zebra, leopard, and tiger print reveal she wasn't bluffing when she exclaimed of her fur obsession.

The costumes as designed by three-time Oscar winner Anthony Powell (co-designed with Rosemary Burrows) take Cruella's love of all things animal print to the extreme, delivering jaw-dropping results.

Cruella's entire life is a performance supported by her wardrobe, makeup, and hair. Cruella increases the level of red (it's the outburst of her bloody determination to obtain what se want, it's her mad passion for furs that determinated her end) during the climax with her fur coat of choice, which will soon be ruined by some farm animals. That smell is going to be hard to get rid of, and there aren’t any dry cleaners in prison.

As we saw in the previous part, Cruella's change of luck is well rapresented by her ruined clothes: she is going to jail, her life and career are over, her clothes aren't perfect and fancy anymore.

This happens also in the 102 Dalmatians live action of 2000: red clothing anticipates Cruella's criminal climax, while her ruined clothes are the sign of her defeat.

Nearly at the end of the movie, when her plans are finally reveled, Cruella wears a very unique red “flames” dress: the bodice is organza and silk satin beaded, sequined with a beaded net collar. The skirt is silk satin and nylon net beaded and sequined, lines in ostrich feathers. The headdress is tiered flames made of mirror, metal and painted glass. While her attire during her final metch with the Dalmatian is a black dress with large shoulders that recall Balenciaga, a black lather waist belt and a Gothic necklace with rubies, pearls and diamonds. The fur coat is floor-length black and red, while her headdress is a little hat with black and red feathers.

(See here for references: X and X)

4 - Cruella in Once Upon A Time

More recent version of Cruella can be founded in the ABC TV show Once Upon A Time. I will not make a summary of the themes of the TV because it has a very complex plot and that is not relevant for our comparison. So, let's say only that is a show who feature the adventure of Emma Swan, Snow White (Ginnifer Goodwin) and Prince Charming (Josh Dallas)'s daughter, and her biological son Henry (who was adopted by Regina Mills, the Evil Queen, now mayor of Story Brook) to break the magic curse that turned Enchanted Forest to a modern day Maine town called Storybrook, in which live all the characters from the popular fairy tales we know from Disney adaptations, unaware of their true identities.

Cruella is introduced in Season 4. The evil Rumpelstinskin (Robert Carlyle) recruited her and some other evil lady to regain his Dark Lord magic powers and take his revenge on the people of Storybrook as well as his happy ending.

The first we saw Cruella is at her ungodly hour: she is divorcing from a guy called Mr. Feinberg, strongly in debt and FBI is repossessing her husband's belongings, including her fancy fur coats, her big mansion in Long Island, New York, and her other goods. (See here for references: X)

Cruella plays little importance in the plot, until the Author is released from the book; unable to kill him herself, she pretends to threaten Henry Mills's (Jared S. Gilmore) life to force Emma (Jennifer Morrison) and Regina/Evil Queen (Lana Parrilla) to do so. However, Emma confronts her, not knowing the restriction the Author placed on Cruella, and magically blasts her off a cliff to her death.

The actress chosed to play Cruella de Vil is Victoria Smurfit and her appearance recalls more the 1961 version than Glenn Close. She wears a black night gown with paillettes or little pearls, long red PVC gloves and a white fur coat, but drives her black and white 1974 Panther Deville. However, during the show she is seen also wearing leather black pants, red boots matching with her gloves and several different types of fur coats. Cruella's phone case has dalmatian spot patterns.

Rumplestiltskin/Mr. Gold snarkily remarks that he recognized Cruella's scent as “desperation and gin”, somewhat suggesting or implying that Cruella is an alcoholic of sorts. Cruella later confirms this, having blamed her misfortunes on “bad judgment and gin”.

Unlike her other version, this Cruella has some a very limited magic powers, and has only been known to accomplish a few specific spells. Her most remarkable power is the ability to control any animal, whether it be a Dalmatian or a Dragon. The green smoke that comes out of Cruella's mouth when she uses persuasion magic on animals is designed to reflect Cruella's green and yellow cigarette smoke in Disney's 101 Dalmatians.

Her other main power is a very limited telekinesis: Cruella is able to enchant her car to drive itself around.

In the 5 Season, after her death, Cruella ends up in the Underworld, a purgatory run by the deity Hades (Gregory Germann). She makes a deal with Hades, who offer her to rule Underworld in his absence and help trap the heroes there. Delighted with the idea of getting to torment souls for eternity, Cruella agrees to the deal. This makes even more evident the similarities with the goddess Hela from Norse Mythology, as both ruled the underworld and have half-black half-white hair.

However, the most important episode about Cruella is “Sympathy for the Devil”, in which we learn about her true story.

"Sympathy for the De Vil" Season 04, Episode 18

In 1920s England, a young and blonde Cruella De Vil (played by Milli Wilkinson as child and Victoria Smurfit as adult) is being mistreated by her mother Madeline (Anna Galvin) as she instructs her Dalmatians to chase her daughter, and is locked in the attic in the same setting that resembles the 1979 Gothic novel Flowers in the Attic by V. C. Andrews. The room where Cruella is locked up is filled with her mother's dog statuettes and dog show trophies. Fast forward to several years later, and that a reporter, who is revealed to be the Author (Patrick Fischler) but is using an alias by the name of Isaac Heller, is paying a visit to the home pretending to seek out a story after having seen Cruella from the attic, only to have Madeline warning him to stay away. Isaac returns and helps Cruella escape from the attic. He then takes Cruella out for a date that includes dinner and dancing. Cruella reveals to Isaac that the reason she was kept in the attic was that she witnessed her mother kill her father and her succeeding husbands; Isaac then reveals to Cruella that he was more than just a reporter and has the ability to use his pen and ink to create magical stories. Isaac proposes that they run away together, and uses his quill and ink to give Cruella her persuasion powers to control animals.

(See here for references: X, X, X and X)

However, for Isaac, his future with Cruella would later take a unique twist that will put his future in danger. When Madeline pays a visit to see him, she tells him that Cruella had lied to him about what actually happened to her husbands: as child Cruella killed her own father, Madeline's first husband, by putting a poisonous flower in his tea. Cruella was a troubled child and her parents had hoped she would grow out of her disturbing behavior. But after Cruella murders her father, her mother fears that Cruella's murderous tendencies will get worse and will become a full fledged serial killer. Not wanting anyone else to get hurt or killed by Cruella and not wanting her daughter to go to prison, Madeline had no choice but to lock her Cruella away from the outside world and keep her close to try to snap Cruella out of her disturbed mind. However Madeline's intentions were in vain as Cruella ended up poisoning her next two husbands. Terrified that Isaac will set her daughter free and start killing more people, Madeline warns Issac to stay away from her, because she is dangerous and can not be saved, while Isaac doesn't believe her, Madeline tells Isaac that Cruella takes everything someone loves and destroys it and tells him to stay away from her or he will suffer the same fate as her two husbands and lose all he holds dear.

(See here for references: X)

When Madeline returns home, Cruella was ready for her, and eventually kills her mother by controlling her Dalmatians and commanding them to attack her.

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Afterwards, Isaac discovers that Cruella has stolen his pen, and goes back to her house to find out that Cruella used her ability to control animals to make her mother's pet Dalmatians turn against her and rip her to shreds, before Cruella herself slaughtered the Dalmatians and made a fur coat out of them.

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«Some people struggle not to be drawn into the darkness. But ever since I was a little girl, I've said... "Why not splash in and have fun?"», says Cruella to an astonished Isaac.

Horrified, Isaac makes a dash for the pen to stop her, but during a struggle the magic ink is spilled onto Cruella. She accidentally ingests some and the ink shows her true colors. As Cruella is about to kill him, Issac uses his powers as the Author to make it so that Cruella can never kill anyone ever again by writing it down on a piece of paper "Cruella De Vil can no longer take away the life of another." As he leaves, Cruella tells him she's not done.

Cruella kept this secret, as intimidation would still work for her needs.

This episode have a lot of Disney reference to the old 1961 version of 101 Dalmatians:

Madeline's car is similar in design and color to Cruella's car from One Hundred and One Dalmatians.

The song that Cruella hears on the radio is a jazz instrumental version of the song "Cruella De Vil", from One Hundred and One Dalmatians.

Ink spills on Cruella, just like Cruella spilled ink on Roger Radcliffe and Pongo in the movie. (One Hundred and One Dalmatians, 1961)

When Cruella uses persuasion magic, the magic comes out of her mouth in the form of green smoke, which is designed to reflect the green and yellow cigarette smoke that Cruella puffs in the movie. (One Hundred and One Dalmatians, 1961)

This 1920s version of Cruella de Vil we see in Once Upon a Time is inspired by Zelda Fitzgerald, the wife of writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. Interestingly, in "Sympathy for the De Vil", Isaac can be seen reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel The Great Gatsby. While he is captive in Mr. Gold's cabin, Isaac reads F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. And largely recall what we already saw of Cruella's original version in the book by Dodie Smith: Cruella is a cruel serial killer. She is smart and manipulative, shows no empathy and emotions and uses people for her own needs. She uses Dalmatians as her own weapons to take her revenge on her mother: she turned her own dogs against her and finally removes the last obstacle to her own freedom. Is important to notice that Cruella slaughters and skins the Dalmatians to create a new dalmatian fur coat for her own, that wears victoriously under Isaac horrified eyes. The Dalmatian fur coat is her trophy. Killers like to take trophies and souvenirs from their victims. Keeping some memento — a lock of hair, jewelry, piece of clothing, newspaper clips of the crime — helps prolong, even nourish, their fantasy of the crime or to relive the crime over and over in their minds. Cruella at the end fully reveals herself as the serial killer she is.

When Cruella drinks accidentally Author's ink that transforms her hair black and white, is another reference to the novel The Hundred and One Dalmatians by Dodie Smith, in which is said that Cruella used to drink ink as a child. The dress Cruella is wearing at the jazz club is the dress Bérénice Bajo wears in the the famous 2011 comedy-drama film The Artist. Also the dancing scene between Cruella and Isaac recalls the one between Bérénice Bajo and Jean Dujardin, when play the role of actors Peppy Miller and George Valentin filming a ball scene for a mute movie.

Conclusion

As we saw, all the version of Cruella that were developed time by time, still share the characteristics of a sadic, cruel villaness.

Glenn Close version of Cruella doesn't care about animals' lifes, doesn't care about workers rights or other person's life projects. She uses creepy hanchmen to obtain what she wants, she steals and plot the death of even rare animals for their fur. She uses and manipulates people.

Victoria Smurfit's Cruella is a real serial killer. She is selfish, cunning, manipulative and the violence against animals is just a moment on her murderous revenge on her mother: she used Madeline's pretious dogs to kill her and then kept their skins as souvenir, as serial killers do.

There's no doubt that all those versions of Cruella are evil and Disney simply can not create any positive emotional connection with a woman who murders dogs. It's simply impossible to explain why Cruella hates dog in a way that can justify abuse toward animals. That is why this Cruella movie with Emma Stone is a huge mistake.

As conclusion, I will borrow again the words of composer Bill Lee from the 60s animated version of 101 Dalmatians to say what I think of trailer with Emma Stone as Cruella:

This vampire bat, this inhuman beast

The world was such a wholesome place until

She ought to be locked up and never released

Cruella, Cruella de Vil

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magicmanias · 3 years

Text

The Wanderer

Episode 2 of Polaris

[per - uh - jee] (n). Astronomy. the point in the orbit of a heavenly body at which it is nearest to the earth

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: A fugitive out of time + interdimensional space travel + a love story. Always on the run, and while Loki might be able to escape the TVA, he always gravitates towards you. Not even bending the fabric of space and time itself can cut his heartstrings.

Occurs after the events of Endgame. Replaces Loki mini-series timeline.

Warnings: You know it’s gonna be angst. You just know. Come on now.

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I have exams coming up, so I’ve been having to study for those a lot. Once exams are over at the end of May, you know I’ll be writing like a maniac. Also, the word count will definitely increase as the chapters go along. It's been a bit short, but right now, we're just building traction! And yes… You will come across a part that is vague and opens up more questions about the reader who I have named Goddess Divine.

<- Previous | Next -> (Coming soon)

“Thank you.” Loki rubs his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“You—My husband taught me,” you said. Loki nodded but offered nothing in response. “We need to leave here. I know a way.”

“Hey, hold on.” Loki reached out to grab her wrist, but lowered his hand once he got her attention instead. “We don’t have the Tesseract.”

“There are other ways to leave this planet.”

Loki scoffed. “I don’t think you understand how powerful that thing is.”

You turned fully to face him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know more than you. Trust me. It’s better if you forget about it.”

The children are constantly at the forefront of your thoughts even as you searched for an escape in the caverns under Asgard. Memories of posies in hand and your old, favorite pink dress drew all your attention from the damp halls illuminated by enchanted flame. This place… this time that you’re in was all-too-well ingrained in the core of everything you remembered of your home.

Your calves started to strain and it took you some time until you realized that you’ve been trying to sync your steps with Loki’s, an unconscious effort you would always put in walking alongside your husband. The difference was that his doppleganger didn’t take care to shorten his strides to allow for you to keep up.

“We’ve fallen into a past timeline of yours.” Loki glanced at you over his shoulder. “Those children were you and… your husband.”

“Yes.” You give up on trying to keep up and let him take the lead. “I remember why we were up there. Today was the Perigee.”

Loki was curious. He’d never heard of such a thing. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

You made a confused look on your face, but then immediately understood. “I suppose you don’t observe that in your world.”

“No, I can’t say that we do. Is it a celestial celebration? We only commemorate the coming of the seasons.”

At the end of the hall, you finally arrived at the center of the caverns, a chamber of nine interconnected murals telling the story of creation. You and Loki used to play under these paintings, waiting until Thor would find you at last.

“The Perigee is not of Asgard. It exists on Midgard, the mortal planet, when the moon is at its closest point in orbit to the earth. It happens so often there, but we hold the festival when Asgard, too, is at its closest point with Midgard.”

“That seems a bit arbitrary,” he commented, now gazing at the murals of his father above him. Odin was painted in a beautiful light as he constructed the world. Ymir simply seemed to disappear from the artwork, but the muralist failed to convey that Odin slew the giant and used his body to form the cosmos.

“There is a story behind it, like all great Norse holidays have. It tells the story of Gaea and Máni. A tale of forbidden love. Lofn loves to tell the story for all the children at each festival. She claims that without her, they would never have ended up together,” you laughed, “I remember pulling Loki from his books so we could make it on time.” You giggled at the memory.

“Máni? I haven’t ever heard of him retiring from pulling the moon. And Gaea has been sleeping for eons.”

“Our history is different, perhaps. I do not exist in your Asgard, yes?” You continued to walk, choosing the fourth passage from the left that led to the waterfall beneath the palace.

“No. No, I’m afraid not.” Loki paused in thought as he contemplated your assumption. Surely you must have existed somewhere in his world. “So what was so forbidden of their love?”

“Where I come from, Gaea was truly the first realm to exist, made of the blood and dust from a time even beyond her. In an empty universe, she was lonely, though she was a goddess of life itself. So she collected more dust in the reaches of space and breathed life into Máni. He was born, bright like the stars and light in his heart. He was grateful for life, and in return, he gave her his love… and her children. The mortals. But when they came close to embrace one another, he came too close and scorched the earth, burning her children. Gaea mourned, crying until Midgard flooded with her tears. From the water, the plants regrew and the animals emerged, but still, she missed her children. Máni couldn’t bear to see his love so saddened, so he sacrificed almost all of his power to breathe new life in the mortals. He grew dim and small, no longer so mighty without Gaea’s magic. Now in a realm of eternal darkness, Sol had finally caught up to Máni. She was born with the duty to bring light to the mortals, but Odin also tasked her with the job to separate Gaea and Máni when they became too close. Every day, she shines her light on the earth, but when she goes to rest, Máni returns to see Gaea before Sol wakes up once again to warn Máni. Yet sometimes, Máni can’t help but to come a little bit closer to Gaea—the rising tides his only warning. We call it the Perigee.”

“And what of Lofn? How did she contribute her skills in this forbidden love?”

“Oh yes. Lofn told us that she was the only being to give her consent to their love. The rest of Aesir vehemently rejected the bond. She used to try and match all the children up in the village and she would host all the play weddings. We must have been married by her hundreds of times. She could never resist the idea of the God of Mischief with a maiden Vanir.”

The sound of water crashing down into the abyss grew louder and louder as natural light started to creep into the passage.

“What is your role?”

“My role?”

“Yes, what do you do? What do you reign over?”

“Oh, I’m really no one. I don’t even think the Midgardians are aware of me. My role is quite insignificant compared to the likes of your brother or even the infamous trickster.”

“What is your role, Goddess?” he pushed once more.

“Seidr,” you shrugged, racing your finger along the stone wall.

“I would hardly call that insignificant. The power of prophecy is a force to be reckoned with.”

“I was born with a divine title, but I can’t even perform a healing spell,” you admitted.

“Your husband never taught you?” Loki smirked, the tease hanging loose from his lips.

You frowned. “No, he couldn’t.”

A rumble of footsteps approached and neither you nor Loki hesitated to make a final run towards the end of the tunnel. As you started to gain some speed, you suddenly froze, completely still as a hazy orange light encased you. Loki’s hand glowed green, battling against the force that trapped you, but just as quickly as he tried to free you, he was captured.

The TVA launched you through the exact same process as the first time. Long lines, an infinite number of signatures on documents you didn’t understand, and a maze of doorways. You didn’t see Loki again for a long time. It felt like days, but in a place as distorted as this, you couldn’t keep track of the hours.

Another agent guided you into a holding cell. It looked strange—more like an inn room more than a jail. There was a bed, a tiny washroom, and a square box that showed what looked like a play for children. The characters chattered silently while their simple dialogue was scrawled in the glass. The door opened.

“It appears we’re roommates this time.” Loki strolled into the room and the agent closed the door behind him, the lock clicking in place.

The box flashed and the program changed to the man you had just become acquainted with before your escape. “Well that was fun, wasn’t it? Unfortunately, we will have to keep you here since you didn’t seem to enjoy the more open kind of hospitality we offered you last time. Just until everything is processed. You know how bureaucracy is. I’ll see you in a few.” Mobius winks and the moving picture contraption clicks off with a warm hum.

“Tell me about myself.” You looked up from the book provided by your captors. Loki leaned back in the desk chair with his legs on the table. He fiddled with a glass cup, tossing it in the air and catching it.

You dropped the book in your lap, still open. “I’m sorry?”

“Well you were married to an alternate version of me. He’s lived more life than me. Surely you must have something to tell me that would be of use.” He shrugged, not bothering to drag any more of his attention away from the glass.

You were sure you looked surprised as he followed his answer with, “Am I so different from him? Come on now, he must have been at least half as charming.”

“Oh… He was charming.” You closed the book and placed it on the table next to the bed. The edge of the sheet rubbed between your fingers while you considered what to tell him. “He was my best friend in childhood.”

“Tell me about the children. The younger versions of yourselves on that day. What were you doing?” Loki placed the cup on the desk and crossed one leg over the other.

It was so easy to answer. In all the years, you never forgot that particular celebration. “It was my idea to climb the hill. To pick flowers before we watched the Perigee. Lofn had paired us up for her little wedding ceremony to host in front of the children and I wanted a bouquet… for the morning gift. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but I figured it could be anything.”

“Aren’t morning gifts usually given to the bride? And… in the morning?”

You tossed your head back in calm, tired laughter. “Yes, but that wouldn’t have stopped me anyway. I think I gave them to you after we said ‘I do.’ We were… eight at the time.”

“Goddess Divine…” He kissed her hands. The red skyline fades into purple as the water at the dock darkens below. “Never doubt my love for you. Will you miss me?” said he.

“As much as there are stars in the sky.”

“Always the poet’s tongue,” said he.

“Well, I had some inspiration,” said she.

He looks wearily past the Goddess, but smiles warmly once more. “I’m afraid our time has come to an end, Goddess. I love you.”

“No resurrections this time...” No. It was supposed to happen like this. Thanos. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It’s happening all over again.

“LOKI—”

Warm water tickled your cheeks and then you were enveloped in a pool of water. Your husband’s arms wrapped around your waist as the water climbed the walls of the tub. No, this wasn’t him… It wasn’t him. It wouldn’t ever be him. “Goddess…”

“Let me go! Let me go… I want to go.” You grasp desperately at the edge of the tub, wringing yourself from Loki’s grasp. You fell onto the tile floor of the washroom, your wet clothes heavy on your back.

“Wait, just—” Loki cuts himself short when you stumble into the bathroom doorway and pull the knob to the bedroom.

“Shit—Loki…”

“You need—”

“Don’t tell me what I need! You don’t kn—know.” Your body felt weak. The walls felt like they were closing in on you. No matter how hard you tried, it seemed like you could never get enough air.

“I know being alive is certainly better than suffocating in space.”

“Is it!? I can’t even grieve for him! Be-Be… Be—cause I… Becau—se I ke-keep…” You choked, breaking out into a violent sob. Your legs buckle underneath you, but you managed to catch the ground under your hand. Tears stained the fabric covering your lap as you struggled to breathe in between your bawling, forcing you to hiccup only further fueling your frustration. “Why am I here?”

Loki knelt down and watched as you pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your head in the space between. “Heartbreak is… a sorrow that I am all too familiar with. The feeling of your chest burning and freezing and being crushed all at once. But I didn’t give you a moment to simply… catch your breath after I, admittedly, forced you to escape with me. And I will never understand what it’s like to have to look at the face of your husband every minute of every day, but I do know this…” Loki let out a steady breath. “I will never leave you behind. Ever. Until I am able to fix this mess that I have brought upon you.” Loki lowered himself onto his knees. “That is my vow to you, goddess.”

He placed a hand over yours. It was a small gesture, leaving you wanting more. You tugged on his hand, manually tucking his arm underneath yours. He leaned into your motion, sitting on the floor behind you and pulling you close between his legs. Your eyes pierced him like venom, toxic but more addictive than the sweetest wine. A Goddess Divine.

Loki grew older in recent years, but his eyes had never changed. A sea of chaos and calm. He was there, your husband. Right in front of you, holding you.

“I always liked your eyes,” you murmured. You dragged your finger across the top of his cheek, tracing a line under his eye.

And I, yours.

You slid your finger up and cupped his face in your palm. Your husband. “I love you.”

Your lips swept gently along his; hesitant, yet your hand dragged through his hair, pulling him closer. Loki held still, but made no move to stop you. Your breaths grew harder as you grew more persistent. Even though you knew you would never be able to utter a word about this after, the need for him overcame you. In the sickest of ways, he was your only chance at truly saying goodbye to your husband.

Never doubt my love for you.

Your lips were soft. As irrational as the better part of him knew it was, he couldn’t help but think this felt almost habitual. He knew he should have pushed you away or reminded you of who he was. But when your fingers glided through his hair, Loki lost all sense of what was proper. He leaned into your touch, letting you relax in his lap as you continued to kiss him… eyes clenched shut. Loki wished he could look at your eyes and pretend he was the man you were pretending he was.

“Thank you.”

The agents dragged Loki to a door labeled “INTERROGATION ROOM #603521.”

An agent walked into the room, reviewing several documents attached to a clipboard.. “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Laufeyson?” She didn’t bother to look up from the papers as she sat down in the seat on the other side of the table.

“Where is she?”

“I’m afraid your questions will have to be saved for the end of this, Mr. Laufeyson. Please comply.”

Loki lifted his head lazily, shifting his legs wide in the metal chair. A grin curled at his lips. He didn’t know how they were going to escape this hell. Running from an infinitely powerful force existing beyond time. It would never end… Was he ready to drag you through eternal hell with him?

Yes.

He would rot in hell for all he cared, but the TVA was no more than a joke—a circus of clowns playing their parts… and he would find you.

“I’m going to burn this place to the ground.”

“Never teleport me again. This is worse than the Bifrost.” You placed a clenched hand to your forehead and winced. The pounding in your head was ceaseless, though you were too cold to be completely tortured by it. The TVA was left in shambles, subjected to Loki’s wrath after he found you freezing in the depths of space. He hadn’t said a word to you since he discovered you, nearly lifeless. The ice burned your skin and your vision was useless for the time being. You could hear the crackles of flame and stone beneath your feet. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, but we need to heal these burns before they scar.” Loki carefully lifted your hand, examining your wounds. “Are you in pain?”

“I can’t feel anything. Just cold.” You inched your feet closer to the heat of the fire. It wasn’t as painful as you had expected it to be. Dying in space wasn’t such a bad way to go… You only wished Loki had anything else less painful.

He hummed in response. The burns begin to warm. A peculiar feeling tickles your skin and makes its way down your torso.

“Seidr?”

“My mother taught me. I can teach you.”

“What?” Loki placed more wood on the fire. Perhaps Thor’s boyish interests were good for something…

“You need to learn how to use your powers. A seidr goddess is no goddess without seidr.”

“I told you. I don’t have it. I’ve tried. You’ve tried.” Loki didn’t answer, but footsteps fell away from you.

Loki watched the asteroids floating in the foggy atmosphere. Odin once told him stories of how he acquired all his wisdom. Life itself is knowledge, he would say. War, politics, distant planets. They all have something to offer, but there is a place where wisdom flows like water in the roots of the Tree of Life. “The Allfather once traveled to the roots of Yggdrasil to attain knowledge and guide his reign. Perhaps we can go there.”

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nestasgalpal · 4 years

Text

Your precious High Lord [Nessian fic]

Masterlist | AO3

Sinopsis: So this is a fix-it fic where I give my version of the scene where Nesta calls Rhysand an asshole and Cassian defends him and tells Nesta that everyone hates her 🤡🤡 The idea is to just fix the scene, so everything else (aka Cassian telling her that and Nesta leaving the room etc) stil happens. I just want Nesta to verbalize why she doesn’t like Rhysand, since nobody seems to understand her reasons.

Tagging: @gwynriel @rhaenystargaryn @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron @ko0mbayamylord @poisonous-bloom @jemstan300

I might fix the Amren confrontation scene too, so let me know if you want to be removed or added to the tag list ^^

Azriel was having lunch with them, giving Cassian the details for the mission he was going into. Nesta maintained her silence as she slid into her chair, picked up her fork, and dug into the fillet of beef and roasted asparagus.

Cassian cleared his throat and said to Azriel, “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” The shadowsinger’s eyes bore into her before he added, “Vassa was right to suspect something deadly amiss. Things are dangerous enough over there that it would be wiser for me to keep my base here at the House and winnow back and forth.”

Curiosity bit deep, but Nesta said nothing. Vassa—she hadn’t seen the enchanted human queen since the war had ended. Since the young woman had tried to speak to her about how wonderful Nesta’s father had been, how he had been a true father to her, helped her and won her this temporary freedom, and on and on until Nesta’s bones were screaming to get away, her blood boiling to think that her father had found his courage for someone other than her and her sisters. That he’d been the father she had needed—but for someone else. He had let their mother die in his refusal to send his merchant fleet hunting for a cure for her, had fallen into poverty and let them starve, but had decided to fight for this stranger? This nobody queen peddling a sad tale of betrayal and loss?

That thing deep in Nesta stirred, but she ignored it, pushed it down as best she could without the distraction of music or sex or wine. She took a sip of her water, letting it cool her throat, her belly, and supposed that would have to be enough.

“What’d Rhys say about it?” Cassian asked around a mouthful of food.

“Who do you think insisted I not risk a base over there?”

“Protective bastard.” A note of affection rang in Cassian’s words, though.

Silence fell again. Azriel nodded at her. “What happened to you?”

She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it’d be gone entirely. “Nothing,” she said without looking at Cassian.

“She fell down the stairs,” Cassian said, not looking at her, either.

Azriel’s silence was pointed before he asked, “Did someone … push you?”

“Asshole,” Cassian growled.

Nesta lifted her eyes from her plate enough to note the amusement in Azriel’s gaze, even though no smile graced his sensuous mouth. Cassian went on, “I told her earlier today: if she’d bother to train, she’d at least have bragging rights for the bruises.”

Azriel took a calm sip of his water. “Why aren’t you training, Nesta?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Cassian muttered, “Don’t waste your breath, Az.”

She glared at him. “I’m not training in that miserable village.”

Cassian glared right back. “You’ve been given an order . You know the consequences. If you don’t get off that fucking rock by the end of this week, what happens next is out of my hands.”

“So you’ll tattle to your precious High Lord?” she crooned. “Big, tough warrior needs oh-so-powerful Rhysand to fight his battles?”

“Don’t you fucking talk about Rhys with that tone” Cassian snarled.

“Or what?” Nesta snapped. “Rhys is an asshole. He is an arrogant, preening asshole.”

Azriel sat back in his seat, eyes simmering with anger, but said nothing.

“That’s bullshit,” Cassian spat, the Siphons on the backs of his hands burning like ruby flames. “You know that is bullshit, Nesta."

“I hate him,” she seethed.

“Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.”

Azriel let out a long, long breath.

Cassian’s words pelted her, one after another. Hit her somewhere low and soft, and hit hard. Her fingers curled into claws, scraping along the table. Rage emerged, boiling in her veins. She tried to contain herself, but after months of drinking herself into oblivion, using alcohol to chain her feelings, her emotions, her nightmares, she was having trouble containing all the thoughts that were coming up her throat now that only water filled her cup. Nesta sensed her own anger rise to match Cassian’s.

“I’m done with you and your problems.” he finished.

The words rumbled between them. Nesta blinked. Azriel tensed, as if surprised.

Cassian aimed for the door, his pounding steps fading down the hall.

Nesta had never in her life tried to use her issues as an excuse. There was not one flaw in her character she didn’t know about. She was terrible to be around, and she was aware of it, but she had never expected people to try to understand where it all came from. On the contrary, she used it against every person that crossed her path, so they couldn’t get to see her aching heart. She wore her issues as an armour, so people never wanted to come closer and see why she was the way she was. Nesta had used her anger against almost every person she knew, but not once had she tried to use the cause of that rage, that infinite void in her chest, as an excuse.

But she was so sick of them, their patronizing, them projecting their own issues into her, that the seal that contained her darkest thoughts broke, and the words came out. Because if after everything she had given to them she still hadn’t made it up to Feyre, then there was absolutely nothing else for her to do. She had nothing left to give.

She wanted them to know what their victory cost her. If Cassian didn’t want to see on his own, she would make him.

“I gave my life for you. For all of you” Cassian halted in the archway of the door. Azriel’s eyes were fixed on her, even if her own stare had followed Cassian. “Even before the war, I tried to make it up to my sister for the four years she hunted for us.” Cassian’s body was almost lost in the shadows coming out of the hallway, but still close enough to the door that she could see his back, his wings, the tension in his muscles under his shirt.

“Your High Lord likes to pretend I’m nothing but a burden, but I’m only what you’ve made of me” When none of the illyrians interrupted her, Nesta felt seen for a moment.

Then, she realized the temperature in the room had dropped, her nails had left marks on the table, and Azriel’s shadows were ready to strike if needed.

Cassian was also still, ready to move.

They were not listening to her, they were waiting for her to attack. Like a wild animal. Like Rhysand in his studio, using his power on her to make her sit.

They expected nothing better from her than that. They expected her to unleash her wrath on them, and that’s what she was going to do. She didn’t care.

“To have any kind of contact with fae is a crime in the Mortal Lands. Did you know that?“

She wanted himto know she was talking about a time prior to their last day in the battlefield, because her sacrifice had not been only physical. No, she was talking about the things she did before, favours to help her sister’s cause. Their cause.

“I did everything you lot asked me to do. I sent the letters putting my neck on the line, and risking Elain’s future. I held the meeting at my house and let you come and go as you pleased.”

“Her future with Greysen would have made her miserable” Azriel’s icy tone surprised her. She merely blinked in his direction. His graceful face was covered in shadows of anger, too.

“That was the future she wanted. The one she chose”.

Azriel fought back “He came from a family of fae hunters”. Nesta wasn’t sure why he had gotten caught up on that detail, but she insisted. Now that she was a fae, she wanted to stay away from people like Greysen, but back then, his family and her money combined offered a safety she had desperately wanted.

“Which we both thought was a good thing. We thought Feyre had been killed by fae. We gave her a funeral” Cassian shuddered, his wings reacting to her words, tucking in a little more.

Nesta felt the cold of the room on her bones.

“I still let you into my house. Have you even considered how scared I was to let you in? Do you have any idea of the stories I grew up with about faeries and their tricks, their bloodthirst? I’ve met people who were taken by your kind… my kind, now, I guess. And I still helped you.” She didn’t tell them Rhysand was the one murdering her friend Clare and her family.

“Those stories are about faes like the ones in Hybern, of wild creatures near the Wall. Not Prythian’s folk” Cassian answered. His tone was dark and low, angry, insulted. But he was not screaming now.

“And how was I supposed to know?” She shouted. How was she supposed to know? His words almost made her doubt, thought. In the middle of her rage, his words almost made her doubt herself, like she might be overreacting, like she had gone crazy, maybe, paranoid. But she didn’t fall for it. She hadn’t been careful enough with them, their promises, their requests. “The only explanation I received when my sister came back after months with a new male in her arm -a male she had warned me about before her departure- was that the mortal realm was about to be destroyed by war, and she needed my help. So I helped her.”

It was not only anger or rage, but pure wrath what tinted her words. She could take the blame for all the things she did wrong -she would. She wanted to. But she was tired of them using her mistakes as an excuse to never acknowledge that fact that she had tried. Nesta had given them everything they had asked from her.

Azriel’s shadows were dangerously still. Nesta wasn’t sure if she had ever seen them like that. Cassian hadn’t moved either.

They were listening now.

”I know Feyre risked her life for us. So for her, I risked mine too. And Elain’s. The difference is that I actually died and became this,” she pointed at her own body, everyday stronger, gaining back the absurd beauty that belonged only to creatures from that side of the Wall. She hated it ”while Feyre found happiness. My sister chose to come back to this awful land full of monsters, I was dragged out of my bed and taken.”

“Nesta-” The shadowsinger didn’t move, but his tone had a cautious note to it. She knew her eyes were now quicksilver, flames dancing in them. She had seen herself in the mirror when that happened. She would be cautious too.

Nesta didn’t let Azriel finish. She wanted Cassian to hear the rest. Cassian, who had promised her a future and then vanished. Cassian, who would still defend his High Lord even when he physically threatened her. Nesta wanted him to hear her words until the end.

She wanted him to be as hurt as she was.

Something tucked in her stomach, warning her that both of them would regret it later if she went on, but her blood was boiling, so she did it anyway.

“Your High Lord of friend or brother or whatever he is to you, promised we would be guarded.”

Nesta let the words resonate. She didn’t need to remind any of them what had happened next. They knew. They had suffered from Hybern too that night.

She wanted them to remember. It wasn’t fair that they got to live their happy ever after, but she had to be consumed by it and left alone because she didn’t warm up the room with a smile like Elain did. It wasn’t fair that after everything she went through so they could live this perfect life, they still got to lock her up in a tower and make her the villain.

Nesta didn’t need to look into Cassian’s eyes to know he was remembering the same moment she went over and over in her nightmares every night. The moment she was dragged into the Cauldron. His body in the ground, covered in blood. His shredded wings. Her screams echoing in the hall.

“So the next time I call him an asshole -and I promise it will happen again- don’t you dare using that tone with me.”

There was a long silence. Silver fire remained in her eyes, but Cassian didn’t turn to meet her gaze. He only said “I won’t”, and stalked out.

Alone with Azriel, Nesta bared her teeth at him.

Azriel watched her with that cool quiet, keeping utterly still. Like he saw everything in her head. Her bruised heart.

She couldn’t bear it. So she stood, only two bites taken from her food, and left the room as well.

She returned to the library. The lights blazed as brightly as they had during the day, and a few lingering priestesses wandered the levels. She found her cart, filled again with books needing to be shelved.

No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one as she began to work, with only the roaring silence in her head for company.

#fixing acosf

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gallickingun · 4 years

Text

moving target

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki’s reputation needs a little work. His manager suggests he take a job as a personal bodyguard to one of the donor’s daughter to try and increase his social standing. Bakugou agrees, reminding himself that whoever he’s babysitting is nothing more than a glorified paycheck, a stepping ladder to get closer to surpassing even All Might in hero status. But, when you’re kidnapped, he has to face the truth that you might mean more to him than he planned.

Rating: T for Teen Warnings: language, a little graphic violence, a creepy scene there for a second, a semi-spicy scene, etc.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count: 12,310 (because i have NO CHILL!)

request more from this prompt list!

“Absolutely not,” Bakugo huffs, kicking his boots up on the glass table in front of him, “I will not be some brat’s babysitter.”

His manager huffs, stepping forward, “Listen, your PR ratings are low. Helping out a big donor, being in the public eye actually helping will boost your ratings. Higher ratings mean more screen time which means more money, and eventually, a better gig.”

“...fine.”

As much as he hated to admit it, he was slipping through the ranks. Bakugo found it easy to rescue people, to punch out bad guys, but the press bit was where he severely lacked any and all prowess.

It only took one wrong encounter with a news reporter for Bakugo’s ratings to tank, which meant he was getting fewer sponsorship agreements and even less screen time on the nightly news. He needed this.

He hated this.

The way the suit clung to his shoulders reminded him of Ochako’s original hero costume from high school. All he had to do was send in his measurements, and the agency had five freshly pressed, perfectly tailored suits delivered to his apartment by the next morning. Still, he wished he was wearing his gauntlets and face mask instead of this silken suit.

His eyes wandered over the mansion he was currently standing in front of, the multiple stories forcing him to crane his neck to take it all in. Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes as he steps out of the dark SUV, stepping up the flight of stairs to the large, intricate front door. He barely has time to knock before an older gentleman is opening the door, greeting him with a shrill accent.

“You must be here for the lady,” he makes way for Bakugo to walk in the door. The other two security guards are stalking around the homestead, securing the borders, so he walks in alone.

He can make out your figure sitting at the kitchen table, back to the foyer where he’s making his entrance. He read your file, studied your photos. You’re every bit as bratty as he assumed you would be when he was first offered the position. Your father was such a high contributor to the agency, and yet all of those dollars spent meant nothing. You were some version of a hedge fund baby - you went off to school with not a care in the world, money no object as you blitzed through life.

Bakugo despises everything that you and your family stand for. He came from nothing, built himself from the dirt up. Once he got his quirk, he swore he would never let anyone look down on him again, especially not those who were born endowed.

The older man calls your name and your head bobs at the sound before you turn in your chair, “Oh, is the next one here already, Miles?”

Next one? Bakugo thinks to himself. He didn’t hear about anyone before him. There were other bodyguards?

Miles, the butler-esque man standing in between you and Bakugo, chuckles, turning his head to slyly gaze at the young man in the foyer, “Ah, yes. The next one is here, ma’am.”

You laugh and slowly make your way across the room to inspect your newest victim. He’s wearing a dark suit, in contrast to his pale hair and light eyes. You tug at his tie and he snatches you by the wrists, “It’s expensive. Don’t touch.”

Raising a brow, you circle around him, “My daddy could buy you, hero, so don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Bakugo decides he doesn’t like the way the word ‘hero’ comes out of your mouth; like acid dripping from your tongue. He feels sweat begin to gather in his palms and he has to wring his hands out so a fireworks show doesn’t start on day one. God, he’s never wanted to wear his flashy costume so much in his life. Anything to get your eyes off of him.

“More of a briefs guy myself,” he offers after a beat, looking at you over his shoulder.

You’re smirking, the start of a giggle on your lips, “Oh, I’m gonna like you.”

Something other than nitroglycerin bubbles in his belly, and Bakugo isn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that you were a handful and a half.

You never tell him where you’re going, you refuse to keep your phone on anything but silent, and he swears that you’re trying to evade him everywhere you go.

“Dammit,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as you slip away from him in a crowd.

Bakugo flanks off to the side, barely able to make out the top of your head as you push your way through the marketplace. He memorized your outfit - a pretty sundress and a pair of sandals, purse slung over your shoulder - so he should be able to spot you amidst the others.

He finally makes out your profile, but you’ve changed. There’s now a jacket covering your shoulders, a sun hat on your head. Bakugo narrows his eyes, but despite his rage at losing you, a small smirk works its way on his lips at the fire you have within yourself to try and escape him despite the circumstance.

You’re turning down a side street when you feel your body pressed against the brick wall. A gasp barely leaves your mouth before you lean back and jut your elbow into his solar plexus, stepping on the inside of his foot. A grunt leaves his mouth and you swivel to knee him in the groin, but your knee is caught between a pair of strong hands just as your knee cap brushes the fabric of his suit pants.

“Very funny,” he mutters, hooking his palm around your thigh to ensure you won’t wriggle free.

You push at his shoulders and he’s surprised at the fiery expression on your face, your nose scrunched and brows furrowed, “Get off me!”

Bakugo releases your knee and your foot stomps on his toe again, a bruise already forming. His nostrils flare as he glares down at you. You’re quick to straighten your spine, matching his stare with one of your own.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Bakugo uses his thumb and index finger to tilt your chin upward, “Gonna try to play me like a little shit?”

You’re slapping him before he can process it, “I don’t need your protection. I’m fine on my own.”

Your answer surprises him, but the action of being slapped pisses him off. He growls down at you, “You ungrateful little…”

“Go ahead,” you shrug, pushing your way out of his hold, “leave, just like all the others.”

Bakugo follows behind you, muttering something into his earpiece that you can’t hear. Frustrated tears cloud the edges of your vision, but the sunshine clears your mind as you step back onto the street.

“You forget,” he sidles up next to you, “it’s my job to keep you safe. You run off, I don’t get a paycheck.”

The laugh that parts your lips makes him look down at you, the hat hiding part of your face so he can’t quite make out exactly what you’re feeling. He's never been a bodyguard before, but something tells him that this is going to turn out much different than he expected.

"Good to know as long as my daddy is feeding you money, you'll stalk me like an animal." You sigh, crossing your arms over your body as you walk toward the bridge overlooking the city. "You're lucky, then, all my father knows how to do is shovel money at people."

Something twinges within Bakugo's chest, like an organ begging to pop within his body. He watches as you lean forward against the bridge, your hands wafting in the wind as you wave them around.

If he had to say it, Bakugo would agree that you were pretty. Your frame was perfect, the profile of your face made for a beautiful shadow. Your eyes lit up even underneath the shade of the brim of your hat, and he wants to smack himself for noticing.

"Sorry," you break him out of his trance, "I don't mean to bore you, I know you're not here for my life story. Paycheck only."

There's a hint of hurt in your voice and he becomes curious - is this your normal? Are the only people in your life those who wish to drain your family bank account dry? He certainly can't relate; his family was never wealthy and even now, starting his pro hero journey is far from glamorous. The only reason he has a rooftop apartment is because the agency sponsored it, and Kirishima shares it with him.

Bakugo leans against the bridge, back to the water so he can watch for any threats behind you, "I'm your new best friend, sweetheart. Your daddy pays me to be all up in your business."

You reach out to smack his arm, but this one has much less force than the prior one you landed to his face. He winces dramatically, scrunching his side as if absorbing the impact. You can't help but snicker, tucking your nose against your shoulder.

Bakugo basks in the warmth of the afternoon sun, taking in the golden hour. There are times he wishes he could be fully decked out in his explosive gear, and then there are other times, when his restless heart finds tranquility in the quiet of the mundane.

People pass, wind blows, and yet his body remains at peace.

You’re drunk.

Bakugo hates when you’re drunk.

You’re sloppy and messy and handsy, oh god are you handsy. He’s watching from the bar, paying attention as you slur your words to the bartender and giggle with your best friend beside you. Every instinct in him tells his body to drag your ass back home, but he knows you’d put him through the ringer for it. Plus, that’s not his job anyway. His job is only to keep you safe.

So, as long as you don’t kill yourself stumbling out of the club, he’ll still get paid.

You’re touching his waistline as you pass him, laughing up at him with those bright, glassy eyes you always get after vodka hits your veins. You curl your fingers into his waistband and he has to push every instinct of his deep down so he doesn’t flip you over the bar.

“‘Suki?” you drawl, leaning your body into him so the person behind you can pass.

He tilts his head, acknowledging you in silence. You tug on his belt loops, “Gonna go to the bathr’m, okay?”

You know this means he has to follow you - he has to follow you everywhere.

You slip your hand into his, a habit you’ve picked up when you’re on the other side of sober, and squeeze his palm before tugging him towards the bathroom. You release him before you slip in the door, allowing him to stand guard like a good dog does.

Bakugo counts the seconds in his mind, coming up on six minutes makes his heartbeat a little faster. Once he’s gotten to nine, his palms are sweating. Small fireworks echo on his fingertips, the air scenting of ash as he starts to become worried.

He calls your name, knocking on the door three times consecutively. There’s no response from the other side, save a muffled sound that doesn’t resemble your tone. He crosses his arms over his chest and stamps his foot into the ground, his palms itching to slip into his gauntlets; he’d make much better use of the nitroglycerin collecting on his skin then.

After eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds, Bakugo pushes the door in.

There’s no sounds of wretching or of peeing, so he’s at a loss. All of the stall doors are open, and your body is nowhere to be found. Bakugo presses his thumb against the small transmitter in his ear, asking the others if they saw you leaving the building.

As he turns, he notices an employee-only door. His feet are carrying him before his mind can catch up, muttering something into the communications unit before curling his palms to fists. He kicks the door in and just barely catches the sight of your body being dragged out the other side, eyes wide as you reach for him.

Bakugo is propelling himself forward with his blasts immediately, a shockwave rippling through the small employee room, but he doesn’t care. Somehow he manages to compose himself long enough to alert the rest of the team.

All he can see is red as he busts down the door. You’re his mission, the one thing that he needed to protect, and his whole being quivers at the idea that he’s failed.

Your voice is muffled but he can still hear you as they drag you down the alleyway. He’s got to make a precise blast so he doesn’t burn you, but still manages to knock the bad guys off their feet.

“Fuckin’ suit,” he mutters, praying to whoever is listening that he’ll be able to wear his suit, or at least some version of it, when he’s on guard duty going forward. Bakugo burns through the sleeves, the cloth turning to ash as he ignites his power.

He smirks, “Hey, dipshits!”

The two holding you turn at the sound of his voice, their faces covered by masks. Bakugo continues to push forward, bright flashes of orange and yellow lighting the alley behind him. He’s laughing maniacally now, because this is what he came for. He came for the bloodlust, he came for the mission. He came for the villains.

“Got ya,” Bakugo mutters before turning his palm to face the guy on your right who's much taller. The explosion knocks all three of you backward, incapacitating the one he targeted. The other scrambles to his feet, yanking on your body to try and drag you toward a black SUV parked on the side of the road not too far away.

You’re fighting back, Bakugo notices. You’re thrashing and screaming, trying to kick him in the shins from your position on the ground. Your whole body is like one big firecracker, arms and legs wailing at the guy. The hero can’t help but feel a swell of pride.

He propels himself forward, flipping in the air to stand tall on the opposite side of the perpetrator, hand held directly in the guy’s face - a threat, not a warning.

Bakugou chuckles, “Where you goin’, shithead?”

There’s a loud crunch of his bones when Bakugo lands a perfect strike between his eyes. He shakes his fists, thinking to himself that he should probably pick boxing back up, and turns to look at you.

The sight of your face smeared with tears, body shaking as you try not to cry. Your chest heaves with emotion as you try to sit up in the alleyway, your body a mess of limbs.

“Hey,” he’s surprisingly gentle as he squats in front of you. “Let me get that thing off you.”

He’s talking about the tape on your mouth. You stop squirming for a moment and he peels the sticky substance away from your mouth. You wince as he yanks it from your hands and feet, throat tight while you wait.

Secure the payload, Bakugo thinks, remembering All Might’s lessons from back at U.A. He let Deku get the better of him back then, but now he’s much more focused and precise. There is less collateral this time.

Bakugo helps you to your feet, holding your hands as you clamber to stand upright. Your spine straightens and he didn’t realize you’d lost your shoes sometime in the struggle, bringing your height below his.

There is a tiny thing within him that twinges at the sight of you, all in disarray.

He goes to ask you how you’re feeling, how you’re holding up, but something in him catches the words like a fish hook in his throat. It reels his concern back in, pulling it to the acid of his belly so it can die there.

Secure the payload.

That’s all you are to him - a paycheck, a payload, a mission.

“Just get me the hell home,” you manage, shoving yourself past him. “I’m sick of this place.”

“The hell?!” Bakugo is shouting now, hands booming at his sides, “You didn’t think that was something you should’ve told me before we started this job?!”

His agent sighs from the other end of the receiver, “Our officers are on a tight leash, they can’t give us any information that might leak.”

“You think I'm a rat!?” Bakugo snaps, his spine erect as he wishes his quirk were warping so he could whoop someone’s ass for keeping this from him.

“No, but if you were tortured, it was possible. These are big syndicates after their family, specifically targeting the daughter.” She takes a pause, waiting to see if the hero might retort. When he doesn’t, she breathes in audibly and continues, “Those were low level thugs at the club a couple of weeks ago. They have no connections, and they weren’t high enough on the food chain to have any information they could give us. Everything was nameless and faceless.”

“I swear to god,” Bakugo paces, ripping his hands through his hair, “I still can’t believe you didn’t think this was something you should’ve fucking told me! I thought I was just looking after some spoiled brat, and now you’re telling me this?!”

He hears his given name called out from your bedroom a few halls over and his attention spikes. The feel of sweat on his skin leads to the expelling of crackling explosions as he turns to walk towards your room.

“You better give me everything,” he seethes before hanging up.

There’s a sarcastic remark sitting on the tip of his tongue as he enters your room, but he’s shocked to find you still asleep. Bakugo steps closer, just to be sure, and something tightens in his chest at the sight of you curled in on yourself, brow tightly knit as you whimper under your breath.

Bakugo turns against any and every instinct in his body as he crouches next to your bed, his palm brushing gently over your back. He can hear Kirishima in his head, mocking him for being soft.

“The great Bakugo Katsuki, brought to his knees by a mere mortal!” Kirishima laughs, throwing his head back. He removes his face guard and boots at the table, his hands on his hips as he stares across the space at Bakugo, “You’ve changed since you started this job, man. I gotta say, I think you caring about others is really great. You’re manning up, dude!”

Bakugo accepts the high five from his friend, but not without a few miniature explosions popping off between their hands as he does so.

Kirishima is stuck clutching his palm to his chest as Bakugo swaggers away, a smirk on his face.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Kirishima sighs, “Maybe you haven’t changed a bit.”

Your bleary eyes bring him back to reality, your hand reaching out to touch his face. You blink slowly, a sleepy grin on your face.

“‘Suki,” you mumble, your cheek pressed into the pillow.

If you were awake, he wouldn’t let you touch him like this. He would keep you at an arm’s length, crimson irises focused on your every move. However, you won’t remember this in the morning, and maybe that’s the only reason that he’s actually leaning into your palm.

“Nightmares again?” he asks.

The phone call from earlier still rings in his head, his agent’s voice reverberating around. He looks at you a little differently now, he thinks, although he’d never admit it aloud.

You’re pouting, your hand falling from his face to tuck back under your chin. You nod and mumble something under your breath that he can’t quite make out, so he shifts closer. Bakugo sighs, “I’m here, all right? No need to have nightmares.”

You nod and pull the covers back to your chin and close your eyes, “Alright, ‘Suki.”

He stays squatted next to you until you’re snoring again, chest rising and falling consistently. He’s not sure why his body does what it does, but he reaches out and smoothes his thumb over the creases in your forehead until your face relaxes in your slumber.

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” he mutters with a grin, pushing your hair away from his face.

As he stands to his feet, he catches the sight of his dumbstruck face in your mirror, and he’s appalled. He’s not scowling, but instead there is the trace of a smile on his lips. Bakugo isn’t sure of the last time he genuinely smiled at something other than the breaking of bones.

Heat gathers in his hands and he has to force himself from blasting the mirror to shards, “Fuckin’ dumbass.”

“Can you find her?”

“No, have you seen her?”

“Last time I saw her, she was headed to the library.”

“And you didn’t think to.. Follow her?”

“Well-”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Bakugo pushes past one of the other bodyguards, shoving towards the direction of the library.

He’s slipping through the doorway to check around the bookshelves for your body. He’s getting ready to call for you when he hears your voice.

“If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask.”

“Tch,” Bakugo narrows his eyes, looking up.

You’re curled up in the loft, your body wrapped in a blanket with a book in your lap. There’s a small breakfast nook-like area looking out onto the lake in the center of the back lawn, moonlight filtering in through the etched glass.

You tuck your feet underneath yourself and pat the open space next to you, gesturing for him to take a seat. He mutters something into his ear piece before climbing the ladder to join you in the loft. He’s sitting opposite of you, his arms crossed as he looks down at the ground below.

“This whole escaping thing is getting on my damn nerves,” Bakugo snaps at you, nudging your thigh with his boot. “Would it kill you to stay in one place for more than a few seconds?”

Shrugging, you rest your arm on his leg, palm cupping his calf, “But then where would the fun be?”

“I’d love to not have to chase you around for one damn day in my life.” Bakugo licks his lips and rests his head back against the wall, eyes tracking over every square inch of the backyard as he looks out the window. His palms crackle in his lap, itching to be let loose on the world.

“Why did you take this job?”

The question comes out of nowhere, something he wasn’t prepared to have to think about. Bakugo’s voice is gruff when he speaks his answer, “My agent told me my reputation needed some work. Apparently I’m not a fuckin’ icon, or whatever.”

Your laughter doesn’t piss him off as much as it used to. You squeeze his calf and tilt your head back so you’re leaning on the wall, “Oh, you having a little image problem, Sparky?”

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no intent behind it. He sighs, “Your dad donates a lot to our agency. My manager told me to take it. Nothing else to it.”

“You miss the fight, though, don’t you?” Your eyes are swirling with some mixture of curiosity and something else he can’t quite make out. You curl your free hand into a fist in your lap, “I’ll bet beating guys heads in is the best feeling, isn’t it?”

If he wasn’t expecting your initial question, he really isn’t expecting those words when they tumble out of your lips. And he really wasn’t anticipating the utter excitement in your tone, either. A pristine girl like you, fantasizing about bashing villains?

Either you were faking it, or you’re too good to be true.

You chuckle, “I’ve always loved your fighting style, at least what I could see of it. Your quirk is so cool, so useful.”

Your voice is almost wistful now, the edges of your lips upturned in a grin. You’re biting your lip in consideration and his leg feels cold when you remove your palm from it, wringing your hands together in your lap.

The hysteria on the cusp of your voice reminds him of his own mania in battle - the way he bares his teeth when he lets his gauntlets loose; the way his palms crackle as he approaches another guy from behind; the anticipation settled in his chest every time they suit up.

Bakugo tilts his head, “What’s your quirk?”

“I-I don’t have-”

Your voice is too nervous, too high-pitched. He wants to laugh at your obvious lie, but instead he holds up his palm and lets loose a few explosions, sparking the air between the two of you with orange and ash.

The lingering scent in the air reminds you of marshmallows over a campfire, and you realize it’s what you’ve been smelling on him for months. You never paid much attention to how his quirk works, all you’ve ever known is that he has an explosive ability that matches his hot-headed personality.

“My sweat contains nitroglycerin,” Bakugo explains when he notices your look of bewilderment. He finds his face smoothing into a smile as you reach out and grasp him by the wrist. “It’s explosive, obviously. I use my gauntlets in my hero suit to store it so I can use larger impacts to take down buildings or bad guys, or both.”

You brush your thumb over the bumps of his palm, up over his fingers. Quirks have always fascinated you, mostly because your father indulges in every aspect of them save for having one.

“Wow,” you say finally, voice faraway.

He swears your eyes are glittering with the way the moonlight refracts off of the glass of the window. His chest heaves as you push your way closer to grab his other hand out of his lap. The way you trace over the lines in his palms as if they have all the answers makes his shoulders perk with pride.

“When did you get your quirk?” you ask.

“I think I was like, five, or some shit, I don’t remember.” Bakugo can feel himself retreating, his walls shrinking in fear as you get too close. Your body heat mixes with his own and his eyes almost cross at the dizzying feeling of your proximity.

You are chewing on your lower lip and his mind slips in the fog to wonder what it might feel like if you tugged on his mouth like that.

He’s about to stand up and walk away because he can’t- no, he won’t- feel these things for you. You’re a paycheck, an objective, nothing more. Just like the weapon from his U.A. classes - all he has to do is protect you, and his ratings will rise and he’ll be able to fall back into the higher ranks of heroes. And then he’ll be able to leave.

“My parents don’t have quirks,” your laugh is dry, much unlike your giggles from earlier. You are smiling but it’s not making your eyes wrinkle at the edges like usual, “I think that’s why my dad invests so much money into them; maybe he’s projecting. Or maybe he’s living vicariously through his investments, I’m not sure.”

Bakugo hears you suck in a breath and there’s a pain in his chest at the sound, “When I got my quirk, my dad was so scared of me. As soon as it started showing, he built me my own wing in the house and brought Miles in to take care of me.”

Your hands fall away from his, tucked into your midsection so you can worry over your shirt as you speak. “I don’t think I’ve had a real conversation with my dad since I was little, not anything that mattered, anyway. When he shipped me off to college, he would call every now and then, but all we talked about were the heroes he was betting on.”

You lick your lips and laugh again, this one turning dark. Your chest is caving in as all of the memories of your father’s distance play on loop, threatening to pull you under again.

“No one knows I have a quirk,” you admit breathlessly, finally looking him in the eyes. “I think it’s his twisted way of keeping me, and everyone else, safe.”

Bakugo wants to hold you, any part of you, but there is a pin still in his body’s grenade, keeping him from you. He swallows the growing lump in his throat and tries his hardest to control the sweat in his palms at your story. He’s never heard your voice this chilling before; normally you are a sunbeam incarnate, walking around brightening everything you touch, even if you’re a bit mischievous sometimes.

“I can manipulate organic matter,” you say. “Anything living.”

The reality of what all facets of that statement can mean makes Bakugo’s muscles ache.

You’re chuckling at the expression on his face, “Yeah, exactly. Of course you’d want to keep me hidden away.”

“No,” he shakes his head.

As if to prove to him that you’re nothing more than a liability, you raise your palm in the air and summon the flowers sitting in the vase just a few feet away from you forward. The budding floral prongs are twirling in tandem with the motions of your fingers. In a display of your power, you make the flowers walk as if their stems were legs, up Bakugo’s thigh and over his knee, all the way down to the toe of his boot.

Once they’re close enough to you, you levitate them in the air again, the pink and yellow petals beautiful even in the shadows of the night.

Bakugo’s eyes go wide as the flowers begin to lose their color, the shades of spring colors beginning to desaturate until they’re nothing but brown, wilted buds. You curl your hand into a fist and the flowers ball up accordingly, mushing together until they are no longer recognizable.

“Holy shit,” Bakugo’s eyes track the object as you release your control over it and the squashed flowers drop with a thud into your palm.

You’re waiting for him to become frightened of you, to look at you with wide eyes as he fears for his own life. That’s what your father did when you showed the beginning signs of your quirk. He shoved you in a box, frightened you’d turn out something fierce, something evil.

“Do it again.”

Your voice catches in your throat, a short gasp parting your lips, “Wh-Wha-”

“You’re a fucking badass,” Bakugo shifts closer to you, the personal space he usually keeps between the two of you forgotten. “Can you do it again? With something else?”

“Y-You want me…” Your eyes are wide, pupils dilating as you gaze up at him. He’s smiling like a madman but it makes your heart light on fire, “Sure.”

You spend the next hour or so grabbing different living things from around the room, twisting them and manipulating them. Bakugo’s eyes follow your every movement, every motion. His jaw hangs slightly open as he watches on in fascination, your quirk a new experience for him.

You turn to look over the balcony, wondering if there might be anything you can grab from down there, when you feel his chest press against your back. He’s just leaning up to scout the area, but his chin might as well rest on your shoulder with his closeness. You pinpoint a basket of fruit at the bottom of the stairs near the entryway and you concentrate to see what types of fruit there are.

“Apple or pear?” you ask, turning just enough to look him in the eyes beside you.

He tilts his head, “Pear, why the hell not?”

You tug two pears up over the railing, dropping one of them into his hand, the other in your lap. There’s a crunching sound as he digs his teeth into the fruit, some of the juice landing on your shoulder. It tickles, and you go to wipe it off, but Bakugo beats you to it, brushing his thumb over the exposed skin.

The realization that you’re practically in his lap makes your chest constrict. You swallow and reach down to pluck the pear from your lap, turning the fruit over in your hands as a distraction.

“So, your dad was scared of you?” he asks, resting his chin on his palm so he can get a better look at you.

You take a chance and lean yourself back into him, his shoulders thudding against the wall at the impact. Your head tilts upward so you can look at the ceiling, the feel of his collarbone behind the crown of your head somehow comforting.

“He thought I would go on a killing spree or something,” you shrug, your thumbs busy with the pear in your hands. The memories you have of your father are not pleasant, what little you have.

Bakugo hikes his leg up so you can get more comfortable, giving you more space between his thighs. He tells himself that this is just part of the mission - he needs to get to know you so you’ll trust him, so you’ll stop running away. It'll make his job easier. That’s all this is.

You turn the fruit over, inspecting every speckle, “Just like with the flower, I can manipulate the life force inside of a person. I could kill them, if I were strong enough."

"Strong enough?" he echoes through his chewing. "What the hell does that mean?"

You laugh, cradling the pear in your palm like a child, "I was never trained on how to use my quirk. My father was so afraid of me that he forbade me to use it in front of others. I cared enough about him to respect his wishes; I wouldn't have forgiven myself if he lost business over my weird quirk."

"Your quirk isn't weird, dumbass," Bakugo's hand smooths down your hair from the back.

You laugh and look up at him, turning your body to lean against his thigh, "Thought I was a badass?"

He rolls his eyes, "You can be both."

You're tugging on his hands again, circling your fingers delicately around his wrists before yanking them forward. A strangled sound comes from the back of his throat at the sudden contact but you don't seem to notice.

Holding his palms outward, you rest your hands so the backs of yours are pressed to the insides of his hands, his much larger anatomy dwarfing your own. You're smiling but he's not sure why.

"I've wondered what it's like to be you," your voice is quiet now, the wonder giving way to sleep. "It must be amazing."

So Bakugo details all the stories he can remember. Eventually, after a few lines recounting the battles he's been in, your hands drift down from hovering in midair and he finds himself following suit. Your fingers are cold and for a moment he wonders if it's a side effect of your quirk.

He curls his fingers around yours when he isn't using his hands to tell you about a mission, the warmth from his palms leeching onto your own hands to keep you from freezing over.

It isn't too long before he hears the change in your breathing; it's slower, heavier now. Your body is more slumped against him that it was before and he knows that you've fallen asleep.

"Quirk must take it outta ya, huh?" Bakugo brushes his thumb down the length of your forearm. He sighs and looks down at how your body just so perfectly lines up with his, "Fuckin' hell...what're you doing, man?"

The last bit of his resolve crumbles when a small sigh parts your mouth and you turn so your cheek is pressed into his pectoral, one hand coming to curl around the fabric of his shirt and the other keeping his palm captive in your tiny grasp.

Bakugo can tell how much smaller than him you are; he could easily overpower you to get out of this situation, he knows he could. But for some reason, he doesn't want to.

For once in his life he really feels like he's doing something good, something wholesome. His body enraptures you like a cage and he keeps his eyes on the back yard, ready to act if there are any intruders. A fierce feeling prickles at the skin on the back of his neck and he wants to bare his teeth for some reason, but he tames the feral instinct before he can dig his hands into you to make sure you're safe.

Bakugo, for the first time since he met you, starts to wonder if maybe this could be more than just a mission.

You’re sure you’re not supposed to overhear his conversation, but he told you to stay close. So, really, you’re just doing as you’re told. Which is a pretty big achievement for you.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding, right?” Bakugo is laughing sadistically into the phone receiver, tossing his head back. You’re sure his laughter is to combat the growl that’s sitting in his chest. He’s hushed as he speaks, “You can’t pull me from this assignment now. There’s two international events in the next month and she’s got public outings. You won’t be able to train anyone new-no, I said no. You can’t-listen...I swear to god…”

The slamming of his phone shut startles you, but you’re able to cover your mouth with your hand before your squeak tumbles out. You press your back into the wall so he can’t discover your sneaking. When his loud footsteps come closer, you try to shrink down the hall, pretending like you’d just started to wander this way.

Bakugo steps out of the room and really, did anyone ever consider just how attractive he was before they assigned him to your team?

He’s tall, much taller than you, and built with dense muscle and thick sinew. His shoulders trim down to slimmer hips, but that is only misleading as his pelvis gives way to full thighs and rounded calves. You’re thankful they allowed him to stop wearing suits after his first couple of weeks - now he’s in a more relaxed outfit - black long sleeve t-shirt with a pair of jeans that lead into his signature black combat boots.

“Katsuki!” you call, stepping forward.

After that night, falling asleep against him in the loft, things have shifted. You’ve noticed that he’s more physical with you - whether it be with closeness, or with touch. He’s not afraid to brush up against you, and he doesn’t recoil when your body comes into contact with his own. Instead, it’s almost as if he’s welcoming it.

It’s a gentle hand guiding you towards an exit, or his palm squeezed in yours when you’re on the wrong side of sober and trying to get out of a bar. In the car, on the way home, he doesn’t mind if you fall asleep against his shoulder.

His brows perk when he hears your voice, crystalline eyes snapping up from his phone to make contact with your gaze. You swear the beginning of a smile touches the corners of his lips.

“Do you think we can go to the market before we get ready to go out of town?” you ask, pouting just enough to make him consider.

Bakugo puffs a breath out of his mouth, his jaw hanging open slightly. You reach forward and wrap your arms around his back, running your hands up his shoulders with a bright grin on your face, “C’mon! Live a little.”

He’s rolling his eyes but walking forward with his arm slung around your shoulder, “Whatever. Better buy me somethin’ real nice.”

“Of course!” You bob up on your toes to kiss his cheek, “Anything you like.”

His face is bright red, but you’re too busy thinking about the market to notice. As soon as you walk into the common area, his arm retreats from your form and his spine goes rigid. You know that things have to be more strict in front of your father’s staff and his coworkers. They have a short conversation before the others are grabbing their weapons and communications units, stepping out the front door to load up the SUVs.

It’s not long before you’re walking the cobblestone paths of the market, very reminiscent of your first escape attempt. The breeze is blowing, clouds offering some shade but not much. You’re in another one of your brightly colored sundresses, hair flowing freely in the wind. You twirl in front of him, “Hey, ‘Suki, do you think you’d ever do this full time?”

He tilts his head in silent questioning, and you elaborate, “I-I mean, if my daddy could pay you enough, do you think you could be my bodyguard for a long time?”

The color in his face drains just enough for you to know that what you heard on the phone earlier was true - he’s leaving you.

“Listen,” his voice is gruff, “I’m working to be a pro-hero, alright? I don’t have time to fuckin’ babysit for the rest of my life.”

Your heart twists in your chest but you force a smile anyway, “Yeah, that’s what I figured. I know I can be a handful, and not nearly as much fun as blasting villains.”

The slight downturn in your tone makes his chest feel hollow. Bakugo knows that he shouldn’t phrase things the way he does, but he’s on communication devices with the others and he can’t have them knowing that he’s fallen complete hook, line, and sinker for you.

You’re walking down the side of the road when an idea comes to you - you know just what to do to cheer him up, for old time’s sake. It’s been a while since you’ve tried to evade him for real.

Throwing a teasing glance over your shoulder, you wink at him before slipping away from him, blending in with the others around you. You manage to grab a ball cap off of a vendor table, leaving them a large bill to take care of the cost. A quick stop at a food vendor leaves you in the wind as Bakugo walks past your body, eyes high as he steps through the crowds to try and find you.

Katsuki is frantic - it feels like someone has just pumped ice water into his veins. His feet can’t carry him fast enough. If it weren’t for the phone call earlier, he might not have allowed fear to clutch at him like a vice, but the words of the officer on the other line ring loudly in his head.

“There have been talks in the underground of a possible kidnapping attempt. Soon.”

His saliva collects like a ball of tape in his throat and he can’t swallow it down. He speaks into his comms but he’s not sure he’s talking in full sentences or syllables. His body carries him down every alleyway, every side street, until he catches a glimpse of the tail of your dress curving down a street across the market.

Relief floods his body and Bakugo jogs to the dead end road, a sarcastic retort on his lips about how you almost got a rise out of him when his eyes catch onto something at the end of the alleyway.

There, pinned to the wall by a nail, is a swatch of your dress, covered in blood with the words don’t come looking written in crimson liquid.

Acid churns in his stomach. Heat settles behind his eyes. Explosions echo off of his hands.

“Wrong fuckin’ move,” he grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes as he snatches the cloth in his hands. He looks up to the roof where he’s sure some villain with a quirk has escaped with you, “Holy shit, wrong move.”

The past few hours have been nothing but a painful blur for you. There’s crusted blood on your head from where someone has slammed a blunt object to knock you out. Your wrists and ankles are burning from the cuffs wrapped around them, the chains echoing in the warehouse-like space. Your throat is parched from trying to scream through the gag in your mouth and the sobs that rack your body.

It was just supposed to be a game, something to cheer up his spirits, your running off. You never intended for it to turn into something that’s probably spiking his blood pressure and getting his ear chewed off. Another bout of tears sweeps through your lids when you realize that Katsuki is going to get in trouble due to your immaturity.

Someone has brought you a pale of water, but it’s so demeaning that all you can do is kick it across the warehouse. You’re surprised they’re allowing you to have your vision, given that they’ve taken everything else from you.

“We’ll get a hefty ransom for her,” a thug off in the corner mutters to his counterpart. They stare over at you and you feel violated just by their gaze. You curl yourself inward, trying to hide as much of your body as possible.

The taller of the two slaps the original speaker on the back of the head, “You touch her, you’re dead. You heard what the boss said. No nasty shit.”

Your jaw quivers as you think of what they could do to you, all tied up like this. You’re helpless. The realization multiplies the well of tears settled in the brim of your eyelids. They laugh at your tears and you want to kick each of them between the legs until they beg for mercy at your hands.

If Bakugo were here, he’d have already freed himself. He would have never gotten captured in the first place. Now you want to kick yourself. How could you be so careless? You were too wrapped up in your childish, foolish game to realize you were being tailed. Katsuki would be disappointed in you.

“The fuck you cryin’ about?” the taller thug asks. He cracks his knuckles before stepping to you, squatting down. He tucks his hand roughly under your chin to pull your attention up so you’re looking him in the eye. He smirks, “Gonna give you somethin’ to cry about, bitch.”

A set of slaps resounds in the empty room, both of your cheeks stinging at his harsh motion.

Your immediate reaction is to whimper, but you stamp it down in favor of being seen as strong. You grit your teeth together and snarl up at him, eyes hard as you glare. He chuckles, gripping you by the throat until your eyes bug out of your head, “Oh, you stupid bitch. Quit your whinin’.”

He slings you to the floor and your wound pounds in pain, reopening and leaving a gateway for a fresh stream of blood to trickle down your neck. You want to cradle the spot, do anything to try and dilute or soothe the pain, but your hands are stuck behind your back.

The two thugs are arguing about something, but the last thing you see is the two of them looking down at you as your vision fades to black.

The next time you wake, your body is in a chair, apparatus attached to every part of your body. Your mind is foggy and you hear someone calling Katsuki’s name so you start to search for him. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when you realize that it’s your voice.

“Shut up or I’ll gag you again,” a brute voice hovers over your shoulder.

There are still black spots covering most of your vision, so you can’t see who's speaking to you. Your nose itches and you try to move your shoulder only to find your neck is locked into a metal casing. You swallow, your throat bobbing against the cold metal.

A man in all black, face hidden behind an intricate, colorful mask, stands in front of you. His demeanor is nothing if not calm and collected, a gun attached to his hip although you suspect he has some sort of quirk as well. He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks you over, as if he were sizing you up even though you’ve not managed to put up any sort of a fight this entire time.

“How much do you think your daddy will pay to have you safe?” he drawls, squatting down so you can look down at him.

He swivels a knife out of his pocket, turning the blade over before pressing it to his tongue, “I’m thinking a fat stack of paper will keep you alive. Don’t you agree?”

“Go to he-ah!” You’re stopped as the tip of the knife presses to the inner part of your thigh. Your nostrils flare and you glare down at him, shifting in your seat to futilely pull away from his weapon.

“I heard your bodyguard is kind of sweet on you,” he smirks, twirling the blade so the point stays connected to your skin, “and I’m sure he wants to see you safe.”

Your teeth chatter but you bare your canines anyway, “You’re going to wish you’d never been born when Katsuki gets ahold of-”

“Katsuki, huh? You’re on given names now?” The man stands to his feet, slinging the blade around before tucking it back into his belt. He chuckles, “You pregnant with his kid, too?”

You spit on him as he bends over in front of you, face mere inches from your own. It pisses him off to the point where he snatches you by the hair, pulling you forward so your esophagus is crushed by the metal chain around your throat. You can’t breathe, choking at the sudden impact. You see stars and you can’t do anything but thrash in the chair, arms and legs bruising on contact of the latches keeping your body as still as possible.

The one thing that you can make out above everything else is the coolness of metal pressed to your temple. It is not sharp, so you have to assume that there’s a gun to your temple. His voice is in your ear, low and slithering, “I’ve already taken photos of your living body, so I don’t need proof of life anymore. I’m being a gentleman by keeping you alive, you see? So don’t piss me off.”

“That’s not bein’ a fuckin’ gentleman.”

A gasp parts your lips and the thug turns to see Bakugo Katsuki standing in the doorway, a littering of unconscious bodies in his wake.

He glares with his ruby red eyes, tilting his head in a way that almost feels patronizing. You want to claw at the hand around your throat but your wrists are still tied down. Your face is damp with a mixture of tears and sweat, your voice trying to project despite the pain of your esophagus.

“S’okay,” Katsuki looks you in the eyes and you believe him.

“You take another step closer and I swear I will blow her brains all over the side of this place,” the man seethes from behind you. As the gun digs deeper into your temple, you whimper, a sob shaking your shoulders.

Bakugo lurches forward at the sound, hand outstretched, “You fucker! Let her the fuck go before I kill you right here!”

The villain smirks, “I thought you were Ground Zero, a pro hero?! You’d dare to taint your pristine record with little ole me? Wow, I’m flattered.”

You shake your head just enough to tell him to back away, and he does so by putting both of his feet on the ground, hands in the air. He’s making eye contact with you again, irises desperate, “You remember that night in the library?”

You blink a few times, taking in what he’s said. What was so significant about that night?

“Remember what you told me?” he leads you, his jaw quivering under the stress of his teeth. “About what your father was afraid of?”

“Oh please!” The man laughs maniacally but you’re not focused on him anymore. Your brain is trying to work, albeit a bit slow, to recall the words you spoke that night. Your eyes track over his face but his mouth is set into a hard line, “The flowers, baby, remember the flowers?”

The villain is mocking Bakugo again, but his voice cuts off in his throat when he feels the tips of his extremities begin to go numb.

Your lower lip is quivering, blood seeping out of your nose at the strain. Tears sit still in your eyes as you manipulate your fingers to try to find the source of the organic material you want to manipulate. You take a gasping breath, eyes straining in your sockets as you pull pressure closer towards you.

“What the-”

Your other hand twists and you hear the crushing sound of his esophagus as you manipulate the blood pumping through his veins. Your body is so unused to the stress of using your quirk that it makes your mouth hang open in hopes of getting enough oxygen to your brain, your bones grating against one another.

In trying to turn his hand holding the gun away from you, you have to dig deep, imagining the cells in his body so you can manipulate them. The chipping of his bones resonates in your ear, but the pressure of the gun is released from your temple. In turn, you feel a new bout of blood leak from every orifice of your face - eyes, mouth, nose.

Your vision goes black and your ears ring with the sound of an explosion. There are screams in the back of the room, but a quick thud tells you that someone has been rendered helpless.

“Hey,” the voice is calm in front of you, but you can’t turn it off. Your body craves the manipulation of something else, your quirk swirling around you like a dark shadow, begging you to hurt somebody else.

A pair of hands presses to your cheeks and your jaw drops at the contact. You turn your hands and you feel a new patch of skin ghosting under your fingers. The blood pumping through this one is hotter, faster. Your jaw strains as you grind your teeth together in concentration.

You hear Bakugo cough and your vision clears enough to realize that it’s him you have in your quirk’s grasp. Your hands fall to your lap as you relent, a cough parting his mouth as he lurches forward.

Katsuki uses his fingers to wipe the blood off of your face, “Holy hell. You really are a badass.”

You barely have time to register the words before your body passes out from exhaustion.

This time, when you roll your head, you’re still held in someone’s arms. You lean your head back and blink blearily, “K-Ka-Suki?”

You hear his voice, but he’s not talking to you. He’s angrily whisper-shouting at someone else you can’t see. You try to raise your arm to touch his face, slap him, whatever it takes to get his attention. Your whole body aches and you just want to go back to sleep.

“I don’t care what you have to move, just fuckin’ move it!” is the last thing that you hear before the silence returns.

You try to call to him again and this time you’re able to make out his eyes as he looks down at you. He’s carrying you somewhere, that much you know, but you’re not quite sure where you’re going. The relief that floods his irises, lightening them, makes your heart flip in your chest.

“Where’re we?” you ask in a slur.

Bakugo chuckles and you hear a door shut, “We’re back home.”

“Home,” you murmur, your head lolling into his chest. What does home mean to you now? Surely it doesn’t mean that big mansion that you’ve been a prisoner in most of your adult life.

You force your hand to inch upward from your lap to his chest, your palm seeking the heat of his body. Sniffling, you breathe in the scent of a fireside and you desperately want to be on a beach, in a hammock, as he holds you tight. Your fist curls around his shirt and he looks down at you again, taking in the pallor of your skin and the way your breath comes in short bursts.

Your body shifts in his arms and you whimper at the loss of contact as he displaces you onto a bed. Your head hits a pillow but you’re trying to sit up right after, grasping in thin air for something of his that you can hold onto.

“Lay down, idiot,” Bakugo grunts in annoyance, pushing you down by the shoulders. “You’re fuckin’ spent. You need to chill.”

Your eyes finally open as you feel your shoes removed from your feet. The way your ankles try to swivel sparks pain behind your eyelids, the raw splotches of skin from struggling against the cuffs more prevalent now than before.

“I told you to fucking chill.”

You do as he says then, your body unable to fight back any longer. You are more focused on trying to keep yourself from becoming a blubbering mess in front of him. Using your quirk took a lot of strength and focus, but now all you want to do is curl into a ball and cry yourself to sleep.

Bakugo’s palm is against your cheek, “I think you need a bath.”

“Mhm,” you can feel the crusted blood on your face and neck, sweat mixed in so your dress sticks to every part of your body it touches.

He chuckles, “I’ll go get Miles.”

“No,” you snatch him by the sleeve, “p-please, don’t go.”

You wince at the exertion of your muscles but the pleading look in your eyes must do it for him because he buckles, “I’ll go run the water.”

It’s another few minutes before he emerges from the bathroom suite to help you to your feet. You sway a little as the warmth from the steam in the room hits you directly in the face. Your eyes cross and he has to steady you with his palms on your waist.

You go to step into the tub still fully clothed when he stops you, “Uh, don’t you think-”

Your eyes can’t focus on anything, so Katsuki presses his palms to both of your cheeks and forces your eyesight to zero in on him. He says something and you reach out to grip his shirt in your hands, fisting the fabric as tight as you can manage in this state.

“D-Do you want my help?” he asks, cheeks burning. You nod, turning so the ties of your dress are where he can reach. You don’t think anything of it as his fingertips hesitate at your back, his palms threatening to burst with nitroglycerin.

Eventually, your dress falls away and you’re left bare in front of him. He takes you by the hand to guide you to the huge tub in the center of the room, full to the brim with warm water and bubbles. You wince as you step into the water, the heat from the bath making your open wounds twinge with pain. Swallowing, you submerge yourself entirely, only your nose to the top of your head remaining visible.

“Shit,” Bakugo swears as the water immediately tinges red with the blood that coated your body. He picks up a rag and gently swipes over your skin.

Bakugo has never considered himself soft. He is not gentle, he is not kind. However, all of his inhibitions about himself completely fly out the window when you’re involved. He’s sure he’s never been this caring with his own body. He winces when he has to scrub particularly hard at certain spots, the mix of blood and sweat cementing patches of red to your skin.

After he’s done with your body, he starts to work on your face. He has to use a new rag, one unsaturated with grime. His fingers are timid as he brushes under your eyes and around your nose and mouth. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, his palm flat against your neck.

Your eyes are wide, pupils blown as you glance up at him. He shakes his head, “I can’t believe you.”

Bakugo has to grab the shower head to work on your hair. You feel his fingers nudging through your tresses for a while before the water turns off and he unplugs the tub. The water retreats from the bath and your shoulders go cold.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, eyes on your face as he helps you stand.

He pats you dry and you fumble around your room for a new set of clothes. As he pulls the shirt over your head, his palms brush your arms and you find yourself wanting to melt into him. You have to fight the trembling of your lower lip when he takes a step back from your; your body is empty at the loss of his touch.

Katsuki grunts, shaking his head, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you’re able to manage words, your voice hoarse from disuse and exhaustion. You swallow and reach out to him, but he backs away from you.

“I had one job, one thing to do, and I fucked it up. I failed at keeping you safe.” His fists curl up tight in front of him, but you still see the explosions muffled in his grip. He turns his head, “I’m leaving tonight.”

A single tear slips down your cheek and you cradle your arms to your chest, the bright red rings of raw skin easy to see in stark contrast to your dark sleep clothes. Bakugo gets just enough of a glimpse of them and knows that he can’t be here any longer, he can’t watch his failures play on a loop in front of him in the form of you.

“I ran away,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. “I-I did this.”

You allow a sob to break the seam of your lips, your body shuddering so hard that you fall to your knees. You cover your face with your hands, “I’m so sorry, Katsuki. I-I’m so stupid. You’re right, I’m nothing but a dumbass.”

“Hey,” he cradles you at the elbows, “no, don’t do that shit.”

“It’s the truth, and you know it!” You shove at his shoulders meagerly, falling back from the force of your own push. “I should have never run away. I should have listened.”

Katsuki tugs your head forward, cradling your body against his own, “Damn right you should’ve listened to me.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Suki,” you murmur into the skin of his neck.

He tilts your head upward with the gentle tug of your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Bakugo’s mouth is pressed into a fine line as he takes a short breath, “Me too. I shouldn’t have let you get out of my sight.”

A silent pause stretches between the two of you as you look into one another’s eyes, short breath passing through your lips. Katsuki’s hand threads into your hair and his eyes travel to each feature of your face as if he were memorizing it. You turn your face to flatten your mouth against his wrist, his pulse thudding solidly under your lips. The warm aroma that results from his quirk makes you dizzy in the best way; you could get drunk off of the sweet, fiery scent if you let yourself stay this close for too long.

Your eyelashes flutter when he slides you with a hand on your hip so you’re completely in his lap, your knees on either side of his body. He is warm and it is welcoming, your still damp hair sending chills down your spine as the cool breeze of the night sweeps in through the barely open window.

Finally, his voice breaks, “I-I thought I lost you.”

“Katsu’...” you shake your head and tears well up in your eyes.

You can’t take it anymore. You tilt your head further upward and press your lips to his. As soon as you arch into him, Katsuki is wrapping his arms around your body, bruising your mouth with the intensity of his kiss. His palms hold you steady - one on the back of your head and the other splayed out across the center of your back.

It is painstakingly quiet, the only sounds echoing off of your walls are the gentle smacking noises your mouths make as you part only to come back together. Your hands can’t get enough of him, searching the planes of his shoulders for somewhere to dig your fingernails into. You gasp as his tongue presses to the seam of your lips, leaving you wide open for him to invade your space.

His whole body is hot, steaming, as he palms at you to keep you close. Your cheeks heat, bright red at the proximity of him. Bakugo angles your head so he can thoroughly map out your mouth with his tongue and teeth.

You pull away just enough to breathe, “I never doubted you, not for a minute.”

Katuki’s eyes are wide, irises blown to hell when he hears those words fall from your lips. His chest constricts and the threat of an explosion curls in the palms of his hands. He has to stamp it down, because he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you do feel the increasing heat on your back.

“I knew you’d find me,” you brush a hand over his cheek, pushing his hair away from his face. You have tears streaming down your face, but he’s sure you’ve never been more beautiful to him than you are now, in this very vulnerable moment.

You chuckle, “You’re my hero.”

A growl opens his lips and you barely get a moment to suck in a breath before he’s devouring you again.

He’s been labeled a hero by his school, by the media, by a costume designer. He has an agent and a PR team and a set of sidekicks he’s training. He’s getting money, fame, and yet - in this moment, you uttering those words, releases something primal in him. The need to protect you washes over him like a wave - how did he think he could ever trust anyone else with your care? Would any of them try to keep you safe as ferociously as he would?

“I’m not leavin’ your fuckin’ side,” he mumbles as his mouth trails over your jaw, fingers tugging on your hair gently to get you to bare your throat to him. His tongue swipes over your jugular and your eyes screw shut, “No one’s taking you from me ever again.”

Your mouth hangs open, pants of needy air puffing out of your lips. You hold him by the back of his head, fingers wound in his hair, egging him on. You whimper when he bites the curve of your shoulder, but the way your hips roll forward affirms him that he’s doing something right.

“Fuck,” Bakugo mutters, picking you up with his arms around your waist, “fuckin’ hell.”

Your eyes are trained on him as he walks you to the bed. You watch his eyes dart over the space behind you so he can be sure he’s not bumping you into anything, keeping you safe even now, even as he wants to raw up your little body with his own set of bruises. Your legs stay latched around his waist, tugging him closer to you when it feels like he may pull away.

Kastuki shakes his head, “I’m right here.”

Tears well up in the corner of your eyes from the softness of his voice alone; you don’t know what you would have done if he hadn’t been the one to find you. Your hands palm at his face, thumbing over his cheekbones to try and memorize the layout of his face like a blueprint.

“Shh,” he hushes you, leaning down to kiss either of your eyelids, “stop cryin’, dummy.”

“You were right,” you shake your head as the realization dawns over you. “You can’t stay. You have other, better things to do. Your job isn’t to babysit me, Katsuki. You need to be a hero. You ne-”

Another kiss cuts your rambling short, his mouth harsh when he tugs on your lips. His teeth nip at your lower lip, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Both of his palms slide under your shoulders, pushing you with the heels of his hands so your chest is pressed completely to him, his body aching to feel your own. He kisses you until your mouth is aching, your chest begging for breath. Your wrists and ankles start to burn, the reminder of your eventful night biting at your skin like an animal.

You wince and Bakugo pulls away, searching your face for the reason of your sudden movement.

“Oh shit,” he lowers you back to the mattress, tugging on your arms so he can unwrap your bandages to inspect your wounds.

Once he sees the injuries, his body begs to light on fire again, his rage bubbling like acid in his stomach. His lip curls into a snarl and he squeezes his eyes shut, your bloody body projected onto the backs of his eyelids.

“Will you stay with me?”

Your request interrupts his self-deprecating thoughts. He can see the glistening of tears on your face, feel the quivering of your body as your nerves get the better of you. Bakugo wants to protest, he wants to tell you that he needs to blow off some steam, but with the gentle pout and quiver of your lip, he’s completely forgotten his desire to blow a hole in every bad guy he can find tonight.

Katsuki wraps your wrists back in the bandages, taping them securely before leaning back, glancing over you as if it were the last time he would ever see you.

Before you can protest or start rambling again, he lowers himself down to curl around your body, holding your head to his chest. You cradle your arms between the two of you, looking down at your fingers.

“My father was right,” you swallow, curling your hands to fists. “I-I wanted to kill that guy. I...I almost hurt you.”

Bakugo nudges his knee against your thigh, “As if, I just didn’t want to blast your head off.”

You want to laugh, but the sound is stuck in your throat. He senses your hesitation and tilts your head back with his thumb under the sensitive patch of skin just beneath your chin, “Hey. You did what you had to do. Power is hard to control sometimes.”

He kisses your forehead, your skin smoothing under his warm mouth. You attempt to keep your lips from quivering with the threat of tears, “My quirk is scary, Katsuki.”

“Everything is scary if you let it scare you,” he mumbles, nudging his nose over your own. Your eyes flutter shut and you turn so you can kiss him again. He chuckles against your lips, “You scare me, sometimes. Or rather, the idea of you.”

You know that he’s just affirming what you’ve said - of course you’re scary. You have a quirk that allows you to manipulate a person’s body. You can snap someone’s neck with a simple twist of your wrist.

“Not like that, stupid,” Bakugo nips your jaw to keep you out of your own head. He takes a deep breath and slips his palm between yours, curling his fingers against your knuckles. “I mean, you hold me so high, when you look at me, I get scared. I can’t live up to this idea of what you think I can do. I’m not this perfect hero, I’m not this great guy.”

He licks his lips, “I want to burn everyone I’m with so they’ll stay away, but you’re different. And that scares the shit out of me.”

Your mouth parts at his declaration, words hanging on your tongue. You’re not sure how to respond. Bakugo loved seeing your quirk when it was being used on flowers and fruit, but now that it was used on a person - how did that not frighten him? How was it the way you looked at him that shook him to his core, and not the reality that you could snatch his blood vessels from his body, that you can control his muscles that sit under his skin?

“I told you, baby, you’re a badass. Okay? How could I ever get scared of someone who pushes me to be better?” Bakugo is smiling now, genuinely grinning, and that takes all of your nerves and pushes them away. You mimic his expression, squeezing his palm with gentle pressure so as to not aggravate your wounds.

“Now, c’mon, you little shit, close your eyes and get some sleep.” Bakugo tucks your head under his chin as he toes off his boots, kicking them off the bed. His mouth is in your hair, muffled as he speaks, “Or else I’ll knock you out myself, got it?”

“Sir yes sir,” you say through a yawn.

His body tenses under your words and he seethes, “Careful with that.”

You smirk, nipping your teeth against the thin skin of his neck just over his jugular, “Yes sir.”

“Ah, fuckin’ hell.”

a/n: lol i am so mean i’m sorry! also.. if you would like a part two, lemme know and i’ll consider it :-)

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