#inbox call: leap into another world

[mystical-strawberry-sheep]

🐑 Inbox Call 🐑

{Please like this post and I'll send you some memes. Be sure to reply with which muse you'd like me to send from. If you don't specify, I'll just randomize it and send whoever! ^^}

[luminouslotuses]

crawls back into ur inbox like a little creature

i found another offering

Their family house, or cottage as it could be called, stood on the top of a cliff. Not a tall cliff by any means but despite this it inspired a sense of awe. Stretching out over the ocean as it did, it seemed only logical to the boys of the house that it was made specifically for them to jump off. So they did. 

As summer days stretched out, they tussled in the long grass atop the cliff, staining their clothes and dirtying their skin. They would stand in a row at the edge, bare feet against the dew-covered grass, dirt-covered shirts tossed behind them. Kayden would whoop, jumping, plunging, falling straight down into the rough waters. Come up spluttering and happy, trying to wave his brothers in. Reid would go next, screaming as he fell, crashing like a human cannonball against the water. 

Jamison tended to hesitate the most, uneager to hurt or overextend himself. But eventually he would.  Backing up, taking a running leap, and plummeting. The salt stung his eyes, rough waves caught his breath in his chest as the world seemed to still. Sounds would become muffled as if they were drifting to him slowly through the thick water like a fly struggling through molasses. He would surface, coughing and shaking water out of his hair. His brothers screamed with laughter, splashing him, sending more salt water into his mouth until he was laughing so hard he felt as if his chest might implode from the pressure of it all. 

Keira would scream at them from above, cursing their parents for choosing to have more children after her. Her yells of “idiotic fools, stupid foolish reckless idiots” could be heard clearly even from the dock, to which they swam over to. Kayden would always pull himself up first, watching Reid struggle then pulling Jamison up with a cheeky grin. Reid’s insults would join his sister’s but Jamison couldn’t hear it over the sound of his brother’s smile. He loved them so much, even when Kayden imitated gull cries until even Jamison was begging him to stop. Even when Reid didn’t talk to him for days, angry about something or another. Even when Keira yelled that she hated them all and wanted to run away. He knew it wasn’t true. Because Kayden was the first one to comfort him, to sneak him sweets from the village. Because Reid drew him pictures, ocean scenery for his room that took hours to create. Because Keira bandaged him up when he fell and even when she was upset she would give him a kiss on the head, promising to be there for him anytime anything went wrong. 

So even though their summer days were stretching back into colder times, they still had their salt-filled memories. Their love for each other. Their love for their house and their cliff. Their awe-inspiring cliff, perfect for jumping off no matter what time it was, what day it was, how old they were. They would always have their family house waiting for them, no matter how far away they went, still filled to the brim with their treasured memories. 

(the gull sounds bit cracked me up when i reread it)

THEM!!!! oh i see why you love them so muchh they’re so😭🫶🫶

[deanismysavior]

It feels inherently ablest for Bylers to claim Mileven is an example of “born sexy yesterday” because Eleven had trauma and didn’t know how to have a friend before she met Mike. It doesn’t sit right with me. Youre basically saying she was developmentally slow therefore she doesn’t deserve a boyfriend. Calling her a puppy and an alien and weird shit like that. Be Why would they “know” how to be in a relationship? They were middle schoolers but they grew together and their romance was built-up organically and authenticaly. And you all want El to find “independence on her own” because you clearly don’t view her as a whole person currently who can make her own damn decisions. And it’s also another example of Bylers shitting on Mike’s character but wanting to ship him with Will. He’s not a creep for falling in love with her! Would you feel the same way about The born sexy yesterday concept if Will were replaced with El? No. Just say you hate El and go

Thank you for putting many words in my mouth and making huge cognitive leaps for me here anon, really appreciate that. This is literally...not what I said at all. I don't think that El is unintelligent or cognitively impaired in any way, but she IS naive, because how she grew up, closed off from the outside world, did and does affect the way she interacts with the world, and whether or not Mike is well-intentioned, it DOES create a power imbalance in their relationship on both ends, both because El is supernatural and because Mike has more experience. I've literally never said El doesn't deserve a boyfriend. Do I think she should have gotten into a relationship the second she left Hawkins Lab? No, because I don't think that would be healthy for anyone, especially when the setting up of that relationship dynamic is formed on traumatic attachment. I didn't say El was a puppy or an alien, I was literally quoting what the Duffers themselves said about the relationship dynamic between Mike and El, so if you have beef about that, take it up with them. I actually want El to be independent because I think she would be happier outside of a relationship where she's not getting her needs met, not because I don't think she's her own person, because she's shown time and time again that she is. Literally where did I shit on Mike? If anything, I defended Mike's actions in my last post by contextualizing why he got into said relationship. Mike is literally my favorite character so don't bring that slander into my house. Actually, I would feel equally as weird if Mike had a strange attachment to Will like that because it's the dynamic itself that's not healthy. I have never, not a day in my life, hated El. And I've explained that on multiple occasions. So before you come into my inbox trying to start shit with me, maybe read literally any of my posts.

Get well love.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Alternative Vocab in Fantasy World

Anonymous asked: Hello! I’d like to ask your opinion on something! My novel is set in a fictional fantasy-like world similar to game of thrones or the witcher. Dance, more specifically ballet, plays a key role in my story as my MC is an experienced dancer, as is the woman he is courting, and his love interest trained when they were a child. However, since it is fictional in the way that real places or countries don’t exist (I mean the continental map of my fictional world is completely different to ours) should I still call ballet…ballet? I understand that most of the time it is better to just settle with the words we use nowadays since it gets to a degree of pointlessness when you start trying to replace everything with Fantasy Words (and then you get into conlang). Basically I’m worried it will seem very out of place to have this repetitive element of ballet and name the elements or moves of it when I don’t have “Fantasy France” or “Fantasy Italy” that use the language that inspired those things? Would it be better to create a style of dance that mimics or is based off of ballet and use that? Then again, I was planning to include things like the waltz just with less relevance. Thank you!!

Normally, with something like this, I would recommend finding a middle ground between the two. So, a word that isn't ballet, but something where the meaning is still instantly obvious. Unfortunately, with ballet, there are any great options. The most obvious one would be "toe dancing" which is sometimes used to describe ballet, but... toe... just doesn't have a great ring to it. An alternative that could work would be "point dancing" which is a little more refined sounding.

Outside of that, another route you might consider is giving it a name that isn't conlang (a word that is part of a constructed language) but which again, has meaning in the language you're writing the story in, but which will still need to be defined. For example, maybe in your story's world, this type of dancing originated at the annual Winter Festival and was meant to symbolize the drift of falling snow. So the style of dance became known as "drifting," which you can then describe as you would describe ballet... short projecting skirts, heelless slippers with reinforced toes, graceful rotations and leaps, toe dancing, etc. This way, the reader will understand that "drifting" is ballet, and they'll have some context to help them remember it. You could even do this with a made up word... not conlang, exactly, where the word would be a made up foreign language word meaning "ballet," but rather where the made up word is the name of the place where the style of dance originated. So, to use A Song of Ice and Fire as an example, if this type of dancing originated in Dorne, it would be called Dornish Dancing, or Dornish Point, or Dornish Foot Dancing.

Hopefully one of those options will work for you!

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[updates-from-po-town]

Oh so you like my stories, hmmm? How about another one then hehe. I believe I promised the story of when I wrestled a Machamp a while back, so how about that one.

It was when I was much younger, my early 20's. My friend from Johto I told you about last time, Kurt, he had heard about a rare apricorn up on Mt. Silver, a dangerous place at the best of time. So since I worked in mountain rescue services for Mt Lanakila and sometimes around the Johto region, he called me up to join him. I knew he would go up anyway, despite how dangerous that place is, it is restricted to only but the strongest trainers for a reason, I had to accept. I admit though I was interested and thrilled to go on another adventure with him.

The first part was simple enough, the guards for Mt. Silver don't generally expect two adult men to sneak in, they generally look for loud children, 12 - 14 year olds who think they can take on the world. Once inside the mountain, we worked our way through the caves until we could get onto the outside slopes of the mountain. It was harrowing to say the least, we spent three days on amongst the blinding snow, searching for the elusive Silver Apricorn. We had almost given up hope, when suddenly the snow cleared and there it was, in the center of a ring of rock spikes, as if waiting for the brave or foolish to claim their prize.

Kurt was a bit too overeager to claim it and rushed in without looking, as I was still at the edge of the ring I saw it before he did, and tackled him out of the way of the danger. A Machamp had come charging out of nowhere, seemingly with the intent of protecting the apricorn. We froze, staring at it, it staring at us. Slowly Kurt reached for his pokeball, the Machamp growled, Kurt stopped. It stopped growling. We seemed at an impasse, so close to our prize.

That's when I saw the subtle carvings around the ring, it wasn't a natural creation, it had been constructed as a wrestling ring! I knew then what I needed to do. I silently thanked Hala for the wrestling practice he got me to do, and then I stood up. Kurt looked at me like I had lost my mind, but the Machamp seemed to calm a little when it saw me ready my stance. Kurt scrambled to the edge of the ring and as soon as he reached it, the Machamp leapt into action.

I narrowly dodged the first lunge and went for a tackle front on. Word of advice, never tackle a Machamp front on, felt like tackling a brick wall. I managed to leap back before it had a chance to grab me, I knew one hit from it and I was done for, I had to think outside the box. I noticed it had a tendency to lean forward slightly, so I came up with a plan. I edged forward slowly, slowly, slowly until I was only 5 feet away. The Machamp lunged again, but this time instead of leaping back, I leapt around, quickly getting behind it and before it recovered I tackled it from behind. I put all my force behind that tackle and combined with it still being slightly off balance from the previous lunge, it lost balance.

With a thunderous crash it toppled to the ground, I had felled the mighty guardian! However felled does not mean beaten, and in my brief moment of triumph I felt dread as it slowly rose from the ground... turned around... and bowed. It seemed to respect my win, and with it's duty done, it simply left... vanishing into the snow and mist of the mountain...

Kurt and I were left alone with the apricorn, after a moment of silence we remembered that it was there, hahaha. Overjoyed, Kurt raced to the apricorn, carefully plucked it and held it aloft, it's bright surface gleaming in the light. Soon he would make one of his greatest creations with it. But that is a story for another time...

I have rambled long enough, apologies for the long story.

Thank you for listening to an old man though.

Sincerely

Cecil Marthbridge

YOOOO THATS SO BADASS!!!

youre always welcome to drop a story in my inbox, Cec, this shit rules!

[countthelions]

Hi i have seen a bunch of your knitting posts and walked through a shop that had Yarn yesterday and I think it has broken me. Would you happen to have any uh. resources you'd recommend to someone who's just starting to knit? :D

AYOO WELCOMe WELCOME WELCOME!!!! Knitting is an absolutely wonderful world and I'm so glad and honored to have inspired you to join in the fun <3!!

First off, pick yarn and needles that are on the larger size. Worsted weight (or bulky weight) will knit up really quickly and you'll be able to really see the stitches compared to fingering (or sock weight as it's also called) weight yarn. [this guide by sheepandstitch] has a very nice beginner guide to set you off in the right direction when it comes to gathering supplies!

Because it's a physical medium, there going to be an immense (overwhelming) amount of videos to reference. If you can't get into a local yarn shop (lys for short) and join their knitting nights (depending on what COVID restrictions are in place for your community still! my LYS isn't doing knitting nights yet bc it's too hot here to do them outside which would be safer and she doesn't have the capacity to set up virtual nights just yet!) videos are going to be your best friend.

My favorite channel is [a very pink knits] as her videos are clear, easy to follow, and she explains often why you do something for a technique. She also has been doing videos for so long, that she has a lot of playlists to reference! The only downside, is her videos aren't closed caption'd yet, but another good source is [ACTechniques] which are captioned. When searching, I recommend typing just the technique, or abbreviation you're confused by (ex. "kfb knitting") and looking for previews that show the hands close up with either light or bright yarn that contrasts well on the needles, especially down the road when you may be searching up special techniques there are very few videos on!

There are also some blogs out there that provide help, [tincanknits] or [techknitting] or [spruce crafts] and even some yarn brands too like [brooklyn tweed] that offer some really nice resources as well. It's all about searching and finding whose method you learn best with.

Now for patterns!

Your best friend will be to sign up with [Ravelry]. It is an immense crafting site with forums and a yarn section to look up what yarns you have and yes, about every pattern you can think of under the sun (yes even that one).

They have a very nicely laid out [guide] on how to get used to the site or you can do what I did, and just leap into the patterns section and go ham XDD

For first projects, honestly, start with something you think you'll enjoy. The goal is to find a pattern that allows you to learn both the knit stich AND purl stitch, as that will be more beneficial to you than a pattern that only uses one, since these two stitches are your foundations for literally every other stitch you'll do in knitting.

I think cowls and hats knit flat are great beginner projects, because you'll finish them up quickly [scarves are paraded as a good beginner project, but they're too long!! easy to get bored and frustrated by the monotony of them] and offer you several techniques to learn right off the bat. I've made you [a search] that should hopefully lead you in the right direction for that!!

So!! good luck!!! welcome welcome welcome again, and you are always free to hop back into my inbox if you have any questions!! I'll do my best to answer what I can and what I can't, I'll try to find the resources so we both can learn somethin' new <3!

[instagrampostscheduler]

How to Keep Your Instagram Game Strong with an Instagram Post Scheduler

Have you ever felt the strain of balancing your busy marketing schedule with keeping a regular content generation plan? Or do you struggle to decide when to post for the most interaction? Don't worry, we've got you covered. An Instagram post scheduler may be used to create and schedule your material in advance, ensuring that your posts go live at the precise moment that your audience is interested. It is an obvious tool that every marketer ought to consider using in order to raise engagement rates.

In this blog post, we'll go through the benefits of an Instagram post scheduler, how it can speed up the process of creating content, and—most importantly—how it can improve audience engagement. We'll also show you how to simply maintain a robust social media presence, how to maintain consistency in your Instagram feeds, and the top free Instagram post schedulers currently on the market.

Introduction

As a marketer, maintaining an active social media presence is crucial to the success of your company. One of the most widely used social networking sites in the world, Instagram, counts more than one billion active members. With such a large audience, it makes sense that brands would swarm the app to advertise their goods and services. But in order to stand out, you must be active and draw your followers' attention on a regular basis. Bring on the Instagram post planner.

Understanding What an Instagram Post Scheduler

A social media management tool called an Instagram post scheduler enables you to develop and plan your content in advance for Instagram, guaranteeing that it will be published at the precise time and date you choose. With the help of an Instagram scheduler, you can post material with assurance even while you're not at your computer, saving you time and effort.

Benefits of an Instagram Post Scheduler

An Instagram post scheduler has numerous benefits for marketers. Here are some of them:

Saves Time: Instead of posting manually every time, you can create multiple posts, captions, and hashtags in one go, and your scheduler will publish them at the time you have chosen automatically.

Helps You to Be Consistent: By using a scheduler, you can maintain a consistent presence and ensure that you're reaching your followers when they are most active.

Prevents Burnout: By planning and scheduling your posts, you can take some time to recharge and avoid feeling overwhelmed or burnt out by social media management.

Improves Engagement: By posting at the right time and publishing relevant content consistently, an Instagram post scheduler can help increase your engagement rates, which is always the end goal.

Analyze Performance: Many Instagram post schedulers provide you with analytics, thereby allowing you to track your content's performance and improve future posts.

Best Instagram Post Schedulers

Ready to take the leap and try out an Instagram post scheduler? Here are some of the free Instagram post schedulers we recommend:

Simplified: Use the top Instagram scheduler on the web to market your company. Create material that is unique for posts and stories, add photos, add captions, and auto-post to Instagram in a matter of minutes. From your computer or phone, you may directly publish to your social networks. simultaneously manage numerous clients and accounts! With Simplified, modernise you’re marketing and expand!

Hopper HQ: Hopper HQ is another popular option that allows you to schedule your posts in advance and create your Instagram carousel posts with ease. It also boasts of a social inbox that allows you to manage your Instagram DMs directly from the Hopper HQ dashboard.

Buffer: Buffer is a versatile social media scheduler that supports not only Instagram but also other popular platforms, including Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn. With Buffer, you can also analyze your posts' performance and create custom reports to track your results.

Later: Later is one of the most popular free Instagram schedulers out there. It has a user-friendly interface, intuitive drag-and-drop post scheduler, and numerous features to streamline your content creation and curation.

Tips to Keep Your Instagram Feeds Consistent

Now that you have settled on your favourite Instagram post scheduler let us talk about how to keep your brand's Instagram feeds consistent and engaging.

Maintain a Brand Identity: Create a consistent brand identity and aesthetic theme that aligns with your brand values, mission, and target audience.

Have a Posting Schedule: Determine your posting schedule and stick to it to ensure your followers have a regular stream of fresh content.

Plan Your Content: Plan your content creation in advance to ensure you never run dry on fresh visual content.

Use Captions Effectively: Use engaging captions, emojis, and hashtags to encourage your followers to engage with your content.

Tips to Maintain a Presence on Instagram

Keeping track of your social media can be overwhelming as a marketer. Here are some of our favourite tips to keep your Instagram presence lively without too much effort.

Automate as Much as Possible: Take advantage of features like auto-reply and message forwarding to maintain communication with your followers even when you are not available.

Leverage AI and Chatbots: AI and chatbots can be a game-changer by responding to DMs, onboarding new followers, and providing customer service seamlessly.

Schedule Time for Social Listening: Schedule time to monitor what your followers are saying about your brand, competitors, or sure, happy to continue! Here are some additional tips for maintaining a presence on Instagram:

Engage with Your Audience: Responding to comments and DMs, liking and commenting on others' posts, and initiating conversations with your audience is crucial for building a loyal following.

Use Instagram Stories: Instagram Stories are a great way to keep your audience engaged and up-to-date with your brand. Share behind-the-scenes content, announcements, product updates, or just fun and engaging content.

Collaborate with Influencers: Collaborating with Instagram influencers can be a great way to reach a wider audience and build brand awareness. You can either work with influencers to promote your products or services or collaborate on sponsored content.

Experiment with New Features: Instagram is constantly rolling out new features, like Reels, IGTV, and Shopping. Experiment with these features to see which ones work best for your brand and audience.

Stay Up-to-Date with Trends: Stay on top of new trends and hashtags to keep your content fresh and relevant. You can also use trending hashtags to reach a wider audience and increase engagement.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Instagram provides a potent platform for businesses to raise their profile, interact with customers, and encourage sales. You can maximise your Instagram presence and reach your marketing objectives by employing post schedulers, keeping a regular and interesting feed, and remaining active and up to date with trends. Keep in mind to have fun while being genuine, inventive, and intentional with your material.

[incarnateirony]

And everybody calling ME weird when you’re the cockles tinhatter who claimed your friends accomplished jenmish stalking (which is why you knew they were living together!) was her life’s legacy. I’m weird but that’s being a real fan somehow

there it is again. There's the yin/yang of fucking and not fucking that your universe manifests in again when every post of mine is calling them friends and I was asking for any proof of anything that could get me away from the common fandom answers about Alma. Sure thing kid. Maaaaaaaaaajor shipper here because [checks notes] I recognize people can have multiple friends.

And no, I didn't stalk Jensen. Neither did the dead friend, who you're trying to besmirch. I was in the middle of the TAW fiasco and woke up to a zip folder in my inbox I thought was another report. I opened the report early in the morning, saw jensen and misha's names, groggily scrolled a paragraph or two with my hair unbrushed and realized what the fuck I was looking at. Then checked and sure enough while from a friend it was a different source than my tired brain assumed when I saw the attachment.

You can keep trying, and projecting, and making major leaps of fucking logic. You can cry, and kick, and scream, and think misha's condoms have relevance to production for whatever bizarre funky disco hallucinatory universe you live in, but the real world is still gonna keep worlding, production is gonna keep producing, no matter who's fucking who, and I'm honestly concerned for you that you can't figure this out.

It's over. You lost. Go home.

[minisugakoobies]

Versus | MYG, JHS - Chapter 3

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Hoseok

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, enemies to lovers, Villains!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: weapons - drones, laser whip, knives, hand-to-hand combat, blood, swearing, switching POVs

Word Count: 3k

Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Supervillain exes Yoongi and Hoseok are sick and tired of having their plans for world domination wrecked by you, aka Vitality, the world’s most powerful superhero. When fellow villain Jimin suggests a little competition to see who can bring you to your knees, they both eagerly accept. Now the battle is on as both men engage you in fight after fight to see who will conquer you first. Will you finally defeat these two, or will they destroy you - and possibly take each other out in the process?

A/N: It's time for battle! Let the competition commence!

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Chapter Two ✨ Series Masterlist ✨ Chapter Four

Chapter Three: Round One - FIGHT!

Jimin’s laugh makes Yoongi’s ear twitch as he cackles into the line. “I’m just saying, it seems to be taking you an awfully long time to take Vitality down. I thought you were supposed to be a supervillain?”

“I have a plan. Plans take time. Why are you calling me, again?”

“Just confirming we’re on for lunch tomorrow.”

“Ah. Yes. But you’re paying this time. Don’t try that ‘left my wallet at home’ bullshit again.”

“I won’t,” Jimin lies. “You know, Hoseok-hyung has a plan to put her in her place once and for all, and it’s a doozy.”

“Bully for him.” He pauses. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“Motherfucker!” Huff, huff. “Son of a cunt!” 

Your curses float into the air, fighting for space among the countless black drones hovering above you. Whirling, you send several bursts of energy overhead, taking out two of the tiny aircrafts. Two more rush to fill their place, laser cannons firing away. 

Hobi cackles gleefully from the other end of the abandoned naval carrier, in his standard black ensemble, harness straps crisscrossing his torso, sinister grin on his face. At the moment, he resembles a demented conductor, directing his orchestra of tiny aircrafts to create a symphony of chaos. With a graceful wave of his hand, he sends more of the drones your way. 

You let loose a flurry of blasts alongside a storm of swear words. How the fuck are there so many of these fucking machines? When Hobi’s sitting in his stupid lair somewhere plotting his next move, is this what his henchmen do all day –work on drone assembly lines?

And where the fuck did he find a decommissioned warship to play with?!

“You’ve got her on the ropes now, baby,” Jin coos into Hobi’s earpiece as he deploys another wave of drones.  

“Jin, less commentary and more focusing on keeping this thing from running aground, okay?” Hobi sighs. 

“Don’t worry, darling, all systems are fully operational. The nav guidance will prevent us from drifting into shallow waters.”

Not even Jin’s inane pet names can upset Hobi right now as he swings his arm in a wide circle, commanding several drones to divebomb you. “Good work, Jin.” 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Jin simpers, as much as an A.I. can do such a thing.

Hobi lets that slide, too. Truly, he’s having a glorious day. His plan to overwhelm you is going swimmingly, and he hasn’t even had to turn on the power disrupters yet. Maybe he can finish you off without even having to use them. 

As soon as he allows himself to envision that scenario, you take a running leap off of the detritus of a crashed jet and hurl yourself into the sky. Spinning, you release a 360 blast and obliterate every single drone surrounding you, and then execute a perfect superhero landing, down on one knee.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Time for Plan B, boss?” Jin inquires. 

WIth a frustrated howl, Hobi switches the disrupters on. 

Something hits you. You don’t see anything, but you feel it roll through you. A pulse. Just like the last time you fought this bastard. Your other leg buckles and you manage to catch yourself with both hands before you keel directly into the hard metal of the carrier below you. 

Hobi stalks towards you, a fierce look of determination on his handsome face. 

“What the fuck is happening?” you warble, trying to access your power. It’s like it’s been cut off. You can’t feel the energies swirling inside you anymore. It’s a horrible, helpless sensation.

Hobi doesn’t respond. Instead, he aims a strong kick directly at your head. You duck, rolling to the side. 

You reach within again, seeking to summon a blast, and still feel nothing. Hobi beams at your visible frustration. “What’s wrong, little bee? Did someone pluck your wings?” 

Fuck it. You don’t need your powers to bring him down. You launch yourself at him like a wildcat, snarling and hissing. 

Hobi laughs delightedly as your bodies collide. You land a blow to his face, and blood drips from his nose, but still he cackles. This is exactly what he wants. He loves his toys, but there’s nothing like the thrill of hand-to-hand combat. The sheer exhilaration of touch. 

“Come, little bee, show me your sting,” he taunts you, parrying a punch. “Is that all you’ve got?”

You growl, forgoing the banter in favor of simply kicking his ass. Hobi nearly captures you in a headlock but you slip free, sliding around him and kneeing him in the back. He won’t stop fucking laughing and it’s driving you insane.

“Maybe I should use my whip? Show you what a real sting feels like?” He dips elegantly, dodging a high kick. “Would you like that?” His fingers brush over the laser whip coiled on his side. It’s a tempting thought, to watch you lie there, taking every bite, every ounce of pain he can give, but no. No gadgets. He wants to feel you come apart with his bare hands. 

In every way possible. 

As he continues to evade your moves, Hobi wonders if he shouldn’t bother with this competition. After all, if he destroys you, he won’t be able to play with you anymore. And he so enjoys the game.

Although right now, you’re playing pretty quietly, your heavy exhalations the only sounds you utter as you back away slightly, fists weakly treading air like a knackered pugilist preparing for another round. You make a mental note to ask Namjoon to help you with your stamina the next time you workout together. Lord knows he could teach you a thing or two about it. 

You attempt another punch but Hobi smoothly catches your arm and yanks on it, twirling you into his embrace. His lips curl menacingly as he wraps himself around you, crushing your back to his chest, one hand clutching your throat. Hot breath ghosts down your neck and you ignore the racing of your heart, telling yourself it’s just the adrenaline. 

“You know, I think I would very much like to show you,” Hobi murmurs. “Last time we met, I offered you pleasure, little bee, and you turned me down. I wonder, would your answer be the same if I offered you pain instead?” His lithe fingers begin to squeeze the sides of your neck, cutting off your air just enough to make you gasp. His voice drops to a whisper. “I think maybe you’re like me. You enjoy it more than you want to admit.” 

Your blood boils at the thought. You’re nothing like this maniac. Fuck, you need to end this now. Refusing him the satisfaction of a response, you merely grunt before elbowing him hard enough in the mouth. He spits out a blood-flecked laugh as you escape from his hold. 

“Nothing to say? No witty quips for me this time?” Hobi grins, his normally dazzling smile now a gruesome sight, crimson staining his shiny white teeth. The color seems to flow around him, and it takes you a second to realize your power is back and you’re looking at his aura.

And what’s more, you can feel him. Feel the energy that blazes inside him, surging through his every cell. It’s so much stronger than what you’re used to sensing when it comes to humans. 

You’ve never fed off a living creature. Any energy you’ve ever consumed, you’ve taken from battle - from the kinetic energy of an opponent’s punch or the radiant energy of their weapons, for example. The thought of feeding off of something alive feels taboo in a way you can’t quite explain. Like a line that shouldn’t be crossed. 

The way his body calls to you right now makes you want to smear that line until it no longer exists.

Instead of answering his question, you spring forward in a forceful jump, sailing into the air and wrapping your legs around his neck. His face is buried in your thigh, strong hands gripping your ass, trying to get a good handful so he can toss you off. But you beat him to it, violently throwing yourself backwards, flipping the two of you over. 

You land gracefully on your own two feet. He does not. 

Hobi slams into the steel deck. He’s definitely going to feel that tomorrow. As you stand over his prone body, Jin jabbers in his earpiece. “Don’t worry, love, I’ve already alerted the team that you’re going to need an evac soon.” 

Thank god for henchmen and besotted AIs. 

Hobi hocks a mouthful of blood. “Impressive move, little bee. I’ve never seen you strike like that. Like a wild animal.” He smirks. “Did that feel good?”

The midday sun beating down on the hull of the carrier glints off the chrome, momentarily blinding him as he peers at you. When he looks up again, he realizes you’re holding his whip, fingers curling into the leather-bound handle as you feed on the buzzing weapon. 

It did in fact feel good to attack him the way you did. But fuck if you’ll let him know that. “You talk too much,” you hiss, aiming a burst at his head. “There’s your fucking quip.”

“Look, Jimin, I don’t care that you haven’t had the chance to use the dolphin laser gear that I let you borrow, I’m just telling you that I need it back. Immediately.“

“Aw, come on! I haven’t had the time to play with it! Why do you need it so quickly, anyway? Are you going to go after Vitality with it?”

“It’s none of your business why I need it. I just do. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Fine. I’ll give it back,” Jimin deceives Hoseok. “Did I tell you I spoke to Yoongi-hyung the other day?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, you will care when he finally puts an end to Vitality once and for all.”

Silence. Then in the deepest, darkest tone, Hoseok drawls, “Go on.”

CLANG!

The sound of a dagger clattering to the cement floor rings through the room. Yoongi snarls, another blade materializing in his left hand, and he flings the weapon at you as he ducks and rolls beneath one of your blasts. 

“Will you fucking hold still, you little shit?” you howl as you knock another dagger out of the air. “And enough with the fucking knives already, damn! What is your deal with those, anyway, you Edward Scissorshands reject!” 

It’s not your best attempt at banter. You’re a little sluggish today, still reeling from your last battle with Dark Hobi, although you are more than loath to admit it. Not to give that creep too much credit, but he’d managed to wind you good yesterday, and now you’re struggling to keep Yoongi’s daggers from piercing your skintight uniform - you refuse to call it a “costume,” as if you’re out here trick-or-treating instead of saving the fucking world. Again. 

A sharp laugh pierces your ear, scattering your thoughts like broken glass and bringing you back to reality. Yoongi dodges between servers, tall monoliths of flashing lights and buzzing electricity, and you charge forward, trying to close the distance between you. The crimson glow of his energy leaves a trail behind him, giving you the advantage in this incredibly tiresome game of hide-and-go-seek-the-lunatic. 

“Come on, pretty bird, try to keep up!” Yoongi taunts as he darts between the electronic monoliths, tossing daggers over his shoulder. Another delirious giggle bursts from his lips. It would worry most people if they discovered that they enjoyed this, but Yoongi realized a long time ago just how much these encounters with you please him. There’s something about the hunt that he craves, and there’s no one he’d rather hunt, no other prey worth chasing, than you

He tosses another blade over his shoulder and you shoot it down easily, much to his annoyance. It had been Taehyung’s (admittedly excellent) idea to lure you into one of your company’s server farms. Ridiculously easy for the two of them to gain access to the building via the sewers, practically child’s play to take out the guards protecting the compound. These computers contain all records pertaining to every individual, supervillain or not, brought against the company for trial. All of the investigations, the missions, the tribunal judgements - everything is here. Yoongi knew that by vowing to release the information onto the internet, the company would send you here. After all, if you wanted to protect your dirty little secrets, you’d deploy your best weapon, right? Except she’d have to be careful and hold her full power back to avoid unfortunate collateral damage, like destroying all the critical data these servers hold. 

Well, it had seemed like a solid idea at the time. But it turns out that you’re pretty confident in your aim, so you’ve been letting your blasts fly all over the place, taking out Yoongi’s blades and being just an absolute pain in his ass. Again. 

Yoongi reaches into the inner pocket of his striped suit, searching for the remote for the power disrupters. All he has to do is press the little red button, and you’ll be stripped of your abilities. As long as the tech holds out, that is. Jimin insisted the last time Yoongi nagged him about the disrupters that he’d fixed the bug, but Yoongi has his doubts. 

So he resorts to Plan B. 

As you suddenly appear around the side of a tower, Yoongi leaps. His body smashes into yours as he tackles you to the floor. 

“Get off me!” you hiss, pushing the cackling man away as best you can, but Yoongi quickly pins your arms to your chest with his weight, kneeling over you. His ginger hair hangs in his face, dripping with the exertion of his mad dashing, and his upper lip curls as he smirks at you. “Fucking get off, fucknozzle!” 

You’re by far the most powerful hero he’s ever fought, and yet, Yoongi finds it rather difficult to take you seriously when you bandy about terms like “fucknozzle” in the most serious of tones. He knows the company spent a lot of time training you to be their ultimate warrior, but when you get mad like this, you regress to the vocabulary of a petulant tween. It’s kinda cute, if he’s being honest. It makes him want to push you more, to see what else you’ll say. What else you’ll do.

“Now, now, pretty bird, you really need to watch your words more carefully,” he taunts you, tilting his head to study your face. “I’ll get off if you want me to. I’ll even bring you with me, if you’d like.” One of his hands cups your face, thumb rubbing your cheek. “Your choice.” 

“That’s not - I mean - oh, fuck it!” you sputter, suddenly flustered. How is that happening? How is this whacknut getting under your skin like that?

As you flail beneath him, your hands start to glow as you summon another blast. But Yoongi sees it coming, for once, and swiftly smashes his hand over his breast pocket, triggering the power disrupters. 

That familiar pulsing. Not again. With an anguished wail, you toss your head back as your power drains away.

Yoongi sighs a heavy sigh full of disappointment. He was really hoping he could take you down without the disrupters, but needs must. His fingers curl around the handle of another dagger, pressing the metal into his palm. It’s so cool in his heated grasp, the chilling sensation grounding him. 

“It’s okay, pretty bird, you don’t have to say it. I know it must be hard for you to admit what you really want. You’ve been taught to give everything up, haven’t you? That’s what the company does to your kind. They take everything away that makes you you and replace it with them. With their beliefs. Their propaganda. I’ve seen it happen so many times before.” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Part of you wants to shut your eyes, clamp your hands over your ears, but obviously that would be a terrible idea in mid-battle. But you can’t stand to stare into those deep chestnut orbs for one second longer, refusing to let his words sink in. You’re not about to take the rantings of a maniac as gospel.  

“Of course you don’t,” Yoongi laughs sneeringly, one eyebrow cocked. “That’s a good little bird, sticking to lines you’re taught. The company really got in deep, huh?” As he finishes his sentence, he punctuates his point with a sharp squeeze of his legs, crushing your thighs together. You bite back the gasp that nearly escapes, choking it down with the blinding anger starting to bubble up. As much as you’d like to let loose and bring this man down, you know this mission is only to stop and contain, not exterminate. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t have to recite that bullshit any longer. It’s time to let you out of that cage, pretty bird. Time to fly.” 

He holds your wrists with one hand. His blade glitters in the other as he raises it above his head. 

Enough of this. 

With a strong twist, you knock Yoongi on his side. Grunting irritatedly, he clambers away, chasing the dagger he dropped as it skids between two servers. You’re on your feet before he turns, launching yourself into a flying kick. As your boot connects with Yoongi’s chin, you literally knock the smirk off his face as he crumples to the ground. 

“That was for the company,” you snarl as Yoongi groans. “But this-” you kick him in the crotch, and his groan becomes a wail, “this is all me.”

The towers in the room begin to glow a faint white light and you know it has nothing to do with the blinking bulbs dotting the electronic pillars. Laying a hand on one of the servers, you absorb its energy, glaring down at Yoongi as he sighs. 

Someday, he’s going to make Jimin pay for the number of times the power disrupters have failed him. His fingers itch happily thinking about it. 

And then you wipe that thought right out of his head with a blast.

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

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[mystical-strawberry-sheep]

🍓 Muse Specific Inbox Call 🍓

{I'm going to do what I did with Hanekoma but with an inbox call. Just send in a word and I'll send an ask from the appropriate muse.}

[CRYPTID] - Spirit Aku [REAPER] - TWEWY Aku [KEYBLADE] - KH Aku [POKEBALL] - Pokemon Aku [CRYSTAL] - Final Fantasy Aku [DREAM] - Tera Aku

[parvulous-writings]

Misunderstood Distraction // McCree x reader

Request:  How about McCree on an undercover mission to rescue an unknown target (not yet specified to make sure talon doesn't know, so McCree doesn't know it's the target at first either) meeting someone while being on lookout for good vantage points in a nearby park. The target's (s/o) dog named Jesse gets loose and they run after it yelling it's name only to get the cowboy to react. S/o get annoyed by being distracted from catching their dog at first... you can take it to anywhere from here. I do hope more people find you and request. You write beautifully.

Requested by: Anon

Summary: The request! 

Warnings: none

Words: 1K

Notes: I know that the text colouring doesn’t show up here, but when I saw blue writing in my inbox, I squealed a little. Teach me your witchcraft please-  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif 

The mission was simple enough. On paper at least. Then again, even the truly simple missions were always simpler on paper. Perhaps it was the random nature of the world around the heroes, creating variables that they could never calculate into the equation or plan.Then again, perhaps it was other minute details that they were able to control. Whichever of the possibilities it may have been, Jesse McCree did not care. He rolled with the punches, took whatever was thrown at him. It was just the way that he lived, and it was sure helpful on the field- especially in missions such as this one. 

His task? Rescue an important target from captivity. He knew the building well, having studied every corridor on every holomap, every way in and out, logical or otherwise. Who was the target? Well, therein lay the main rub of this particular assignment. He didn’t know. This wasn’t without good reason, though. If the Overwatch higher ups had disclosed who it was to anyone besides themselves, there was an extremely good chance that this information would be discovered by Talon, and used to their advantage. That was something that they couldn’t risk under any circumstances, and McCree understood this, he respected it even. 

So, for the moment, the gunslinger was walking- or more meandering- through a park close to the building where the captive was being held. It was an expansive area, dotted with strong oak trees with stone-layered paths strewn throughout the grassy mounds. He couldn’t leap into action without the word being given first. It could jeopardise everything. So, he pulled the brim of his hat down further over his face as something or someone rushed past him, trying to remain inconspicuous and mind his own business until the time came for him to act. 

“Jesse!”  The voice was distant, but he managed to catch it. His head shot up-originally thinking that it was someone through his earpiece. However, when he heard the voice again, he quickly realised that wasn’t the case.  “Jesse, get back here!”  It was closer this time, and he looked over his shoulder to see you practically bounding towards him. You nearly ran into him, as you had fully expected him to move out of your way. You clipped his shoulder with you own, and the cowboy still looked baffled. “You talking to me?” He asked, pointing to his own, cuirass covered chest with his metallic thumb. 

“What? No,” You reply hastily, before starting to dash off again. As you ran off from him, he noticed something clutched in your hand. A leash. Maybe you were chasing after a pet of yours? He started to jog after you, quickly matching your pace and catching up. “Hey,” He caught your attention again, and you gave him a sidelong glance.  “Uh,hi?” You reply, almost awkwardly. Jesse had to think about what to say next, but thankfully he thought of something quickly, so the silence didn’t last too long. “You need some help?” He nods down to the leash, still clutched in your fist. 

You slow to a halt, not wanting to run and talk, that was pretty tiring. Running was tiring enough on it’s own. “Okay, sure...” As much as you didn’t want to spend too much time explaining, if this cowboy was going to help you he’d need to at least know the basics. “My dog, Jesse, got loose.”  “Oh, so that’s why you were calling my name.” The gunslinger chuckled softly with a subtle shake of his head. “Got a little confused back there ‘cause of it, y’know.” He told you with a small, yet charming smile. “Well, what’s he look like, then?” He asked, placing a hand on his belt as he spoke.  “He’s a black lab. And he’s a runner, too.”  “That’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t you worry. Just gotta wrangle him into a corner or somethin’ like that, righ’?”  “Yeah, I guess that could work...” You agreed with a soft nod. 

And so the pair of you set off, over the slow sloping hills of the park, looking out for this midnight hound that had escaped you so eagerly. “He’s a good dog, he just gets very... Excited.” You told the cowboy, who you of course now rightly assumed was also called Jesse, though you didn’t address him as such. You strained your eyes against the light of the sun in the distance, seeing if you could spot the shadow-like pup somewhere off in the distance.  After maybe about half an hour or so, the cowboy gently tapped on your shoulder. “Hey, is that him?” He asked, pointing over to a particularly large tree with a dog-shaped form at it’s base. You sigh in hopeful relief, rushing to see if your darling pup is alright. 

Jesse the lab raised his head as you approached, getting up from his resting place to trot over to you, clearly he had worn himself out with his unsupervised run about. He sat by your feet for a moment, before he spotted the other Jesse. He started to sniff around the man, seeming rather intrigued by his presence and closeness to you. He sat down in front of him, allowing McCree to bend down and give him a little bit of fuss behind the ear. He chuckled softly as the dog responded so positively to it. “You’re a good boy, ain’t ya?” He grinned, before standing straight again. It was then that he heard another voice, and this once was from his earpiece. 

“McCree, we need you to move in now, we have a window,”  He didn’t answer directly, not wanting to freak you out by talking to someone in his ear who you had no knowledge of. He just looked to you after a moment. “Well, I best be off. If you ever lose this kind lad again, you be sure to find me an’ let me know. Name’s McCree. Jesse McCree, if ya couldn’t tell.” He joked, tipping his hat to you. You give a quiet laugh and nod in reply.  “I’ll be sure to look you up,” You respond, playfully.  “I look forward to hearing from ya, whenever tha’ may be.” McCree gave you another charming smile, before turning on the heel of his boots, and rushing off towards the bustling road of the city to carry out what was needed of him. 

[mearcatsreturns]

15 for Abby/Luka

For reasons ;)

Under a cut because it's long.

July 2003

To: Luka Kovac <“croatdoctor65@aol.com”>

From: Abby Lockhart <“nursefirecracker@yahoo.com”>

Subject: I’m drowning and praying ghosts are real

Dear Luka,

Something about knowing that I’ll never talk to you again is just unbearable. I’ll never laugh at your malapropisms, look into your beautiful eyes, feel your strong hands holding mine, or make love to you again. There won’t be any more jokes about jam and cheese on toast, or you teasing me for my weak but constant supply of coffee. I’ll never hear your amazing, deranged laughter after you prank someone again. No more of your hugs—which are somehow the best hugs in the world. Because you’re gone.

It’s been three days since we got the call telling us you died thousands of miles from home, whether that’s here in Chicago or in Croatia. I didn’t know your dad’s name, Luka. We needed to call him, and I didn’t know. How did I not know? And now I can’t. I mean, L’Alliance told us his name, but the fact that I’ll never learn pieces of your history, of the wonderful man you are, FROM you...how am I supposed to go on and live my life?

For years, I’ve thought medicine was my great thwarted love. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I thought I was bitter about having to let go of that dream. Now I wonder. I let obstacles get in the way of pursuing medicine, and it’s made me...well, it’s part of why I was so unhappy. But that makes me think about how I also let obstacles get in the way of us. I was happy with you, you know, until I let fear and my mother and Carter get in the way. God, I wish I could do that over again. We could have had everything, and if I hadn’t gotten in my own way, I’d be happy. I think maybe I could have made you happy, too.

It’s funny. I knew things with Carter weren’t working, and he implied you were part of it. I said it wasn’t, but then five minutes later, I found out you were—are—dead. And I realized you were the reason, or one of the big ones. As soon as Chuny told me, I knew I loved you and had loved you for years. Yeah. Great timing, isn’t it? I keep thinking that maybe I could have kept you from going if I had known or if I had told you. I didn’t want you to go when I thought you were my very attractive friend and ex that I still was fond of. Knowing that I love you—how do I move past that? Knowing that I lost you, first to my stupidity and then to death?

I just...I miss you, and I don’t when I’ll stop, or how to. Susan caught me crying on my last shift, and I didn’t even know what to say. I feel like I’ve been crying or standing still, brittle and stuck in time, since I heard the news. I can’t, Luka. I know I have to keep on moving, and I thought maybe writing you would help. I know you’ll never see this, never have a chance to respond. But the idea that some fragments of your soul linger and can maybe sense...I don’t know. That I’m writing? What I’m feeling? Jesus, this is crazy.

All my love,

Abby

Abby angrily swipes the tears from her eyes. God, what’s the point of writing this? He’ll never see hsi email or her again. Just...without Luka, how can the world be anything but grim and sad and pointless?

She laughs mirthlessly. Maybe it doesn’t matter. No, she knows it doesn’t. Because Abby knows the futility of it, aches with the meaninglessness, she presses send without another thought.

&&&

Three days after that, a miracle occurs. Luka, the Lazarus of this new millennium, comes back from the dead. He’s never been dead, and maybe, Abby thinks, there’s a God above after all. So many people wish for this exact boon, and she—they, the world—gets it. Some higher power believes this planet is a better place with Luka Kovac in it, and Abby is ecstatic.

Until she remembers the email and that they can’t be unsent.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. Luka is coming back, apparently with a French nurse. Maybe he’ll just delete it without reading it. Maybe it didn’t go through—how does email work for the dead, and how quickly is all that processed?

Abby shakes her head. It doesn’t matter; Luka is alive and returning to them. She can handle a little awkwardness in the face of the sheer joy of knowing the world is a brighter, kinder place. He’s coming back, and that’s what’s important.

&&&

August 2003

It takes Luka almost a week after returning to Chicago to convince Kerry and the other staff to let him go back to his apartment. Even so, they only agree when Gillian assures them she’ll see to his every need.

Abby winces when she hears that, and it makes something flutter in Luka’s chest. Which probably isn’t good for his malaria, but the hope...that is.

It’s another two days of lying in bed before he has the energy to ask Gillian to bring him his laptop. At this point, it’s been months since he’s checked his email, and Luka grimaces at the undoubtedly horrible state of his inbox. He briefly considers never checking again and just getting a new one, but he knows his father struggled to add him to his contacts once already. To expect it of him again would be absurd.

With a sigh, Luka opens his email. It’s just as bad as he feared. He snorts at the myriad messages about Viagra, Nigerian princes, and Russian brides, deleting them without thought. He saves a couple from his dad. He slowly whittles down his inbox, but he freezes when he gets to one email in particular, sent about a month ago.

It’s from Abby, during the time everyone thought he was dead.

Luka considers calling and asking her if someone hacked her email or is sending spam from her account, but the subject line...it looks real. And Abby’s been odd around him lately, seeming both deliriously happy to see him and awkwardly nervous.

His heart pounds, and he clicks to open it. If this is a spammer, they’re probably about to get whatever they want.

&&&

Abby pours herself another coffee, internally swearing as she prepares for the last two hours of her shift. Deciding to go back to school is great; having to coordinate all the details is less thrilling and leaves her tired and cranky.

Frank ducks his head into the lounge, beady eyes narrowing on her. “Hey, Abby. The Croat is on the phone for you. Line 2. Try to get back out there as fast as you can, Weaver’s yelling at the med students about IVs.”

“Okay, Frank,” Abby says, though she flushes and her palms start to sweat. It’s fine. She can always hide the panic and butterflies in her stomach with sarcasm. It has yet to fail her.

Frank gives her one last suspicious look, then nods and heads back to Admit.

Abby takes a deep breath, then picks up the phone. “Hey, Luka?”

“It’s me. Glad I could reach you. How are you?” He sounds...ugh. So good. And eager and happy, and her heart could leap right out of her chest.

“Doing all right. I just have a couple hours left on this shift, and it hasn’t been too awful today. Only one MVA. How about you? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Recovering. Listen, did you want to come over for dinner?”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to cook.”

“What? I’m a good cook, even if you don’t appreciate wonderful, traditional Croatian dishes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Luka, you just got out of the hospital five days ago. You still need to be resting.”

“Abby, don’t worry so much. I was just kidding. I have some sandwiches from Manny’s, and Anna sent me home with lots of matzo ball soup too.”

Abby bites her lip. Of course she wants to go. But the prospect of spending the evening with Gillian cooing over Luka, knowing that she shares a bed with him, is decidedly less appealing. And there’s the email she sent, which Luka hasn’t acknowledged. He might well have deleted it, or he’s giving her a gracious out.

Her conscience twinges as soon as she thinks about bailing, though. Didn’t she promise herself she wouldn’t take life for granted anymore? She’ll go back to med school, she’ll have dinner with Luka when he asks.

“Abby?”

She starts, realizing she needs to respond. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do that. I can be there an hour after my shift, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.” He has no idea how much, even if she wishes she knew for sure that he’d deleted the email.

&&&

Abby rings Luka’s doorbell three and a half hours later. She’d meant to come straight from work, but after a patient vomited on her, she decided to head home, shower, and splurge on a taxi to Luka’s. The poor man is recovering from being deathly ill and doesn’t need County’s fumes making things worse.

There’s the sound of the deadbolt sliding, and Luka answers the door, grinning happily at her. “Good, you made it! Come on in!”

“I did. Sorry it took me longer than expected.” Abby steps into his apartment, looking around. It’s been such a long time since she’s been here, and she notes the subtle changes in the art and decor.

“No worries. I know how it goes.” He places a hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Abby stiffens for a second at how his touch burns even through the layers of her shirt and light jacket, but she relaxes, enjoying the feel while she waits for Gillian to appear and end the fleeting joy.

Luka is unfazed. “Now, of course we can just eat the sandwiches, but if you want to heat up the matzo ball soup, you can. Since you don’t want me standing,” he says with a wink.

Abby smiles back, shaking her head. “Oh, I see how it is. Make the woman who worked all day do more household work when she gets ho—wait, where’s Gillian? Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of you?”

“She’s not here,” he says simply.

Going to the fridge and taking out the containers of soup, Abby places them in the microwave. Is Gillian out for the evening, or is she gone gone? “Shouldn’t you be with her? Or her here with you, whatever.”

Luka is quiet for a long minute, and Abby wonders if he intends to answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I asked her to leave.”

Abby’s pulse speeds up. “What? Why?”

Luka takes a deep breath, clearly ready to respond, and—

The microwave dings, and they both jump. Exchanging a sheepish look, they laugh.

“Look, let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Abby dishes up their soup and sandwiches, preparing trays so they can sit on the couch. Luka turns on the television, and Abby’s heart rate comes back under control. They sit together in companionable silence while they eat and watch Thom and Jai and the rest of the Fab 5 whip some hapless lawyer’s life into order. When they finish their meal, Abby cleans up, taking the trays back to the kitchen.

She heads back to the couch at the opposite end from Luka, not daring to get closer when she really has no idea what’s going on.

Luka clears his throat and mutes the TV. “So, yeah. I asked Gillian to leave.”

“Oh. So, um, did you break up?”

“She was never my girlfriend, really. She has a boyfriend back in Montreal, they just…” Luka shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

Abby is more lost than ever. “Ah.”

Taking a deep breath, Luka continues, finally looking over at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she helped me get here and took care of me, but we were never serious.”

Something starts to tug at Abby’s heart, squeezing and twisting and kicking to get free. Is it...hope? “Well, I’m glad she got you here safe, but you should have someone staying with you while you recover, Luka. Malaria is dangerous.”

He gives her a look. “I know how dangerous malaria is. I’m getting better. And besides, it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay when things are over because I’m in love with someone else.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Someone else?” she squeaks.

Luka nods, swallowing. “Yeah. And I have a reason to think she might be in love with me too.” He slides over to her side of the couch, reaching for her hand.

Abby meets his eyes—those beautiful green eyes that are the best color in the world—and squeezes his hand, incapable of words. Does he mean…?

With his other hand, Luka reaches up and cups her cheek, running his thumb along the subtle arch of her cheekbone. “Abby, if you’ve changed your mind since you sent that email, please tell me to shut up.”

That stupid, ridiculous email might be the best thing she’s ever done in her life. She leans into his hand, licking her lips as she shakes her head slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I didn’t mean for you to see it and hoped I could learn how to hack computers and delete it but—”

Luka cuts her off. “I would never forgive you if you managed to delete it. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I healed after that.”

Abby leans forward, sliding into Luka’s waiting arms. “Then maybe I’ll write you some more emails.”

“Emails aren’t what I want right now,” Luka says.

Funny, Abby doesn’t either. Then his lips brush hers, and all her worries and fears fade away. She knows she has to tell him about med school and he needs to finish recuperating, but when Luka deepens their kiss and pulls her closer, Abby ceases to think at all.

She has Luka back, and now they have each other again.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 10: Start a War

Summary/Author's Note: TWO MONTHS. Two fucking months Oberyn was silent in my head and y’all suffered for it. I just knew everyone would stop caring about this fic because I let you all down but I posted that it was coming back and my inbox and DMs have been BLOWING UP all fucking night. I love you guys and I am very emotional. Enjoy. 

We had to have just a little drama but of course I would never keep our main three from going to Dorne. Oberyn knows perfectly well that there will be consequences to his actions--he does not care. We are officially in double digits people?? This is unreal. Also, please listen to this song to get the feeeeeeel of what’s going on. 

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 4.1k Warnings/ratings: 18+/R - Distress, Sad!Oberyn (this was hard to write but I fixed it), murder, throat slashing, Oberyn is angry and reckless.

[Parts] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]  [MASTERLIST]

The waves crashed against the rocks with as much gentleness as was possible for the crags of King’s Landing. The air was cold, but the sky a crisp blue as the sun started to peak over the water. It was a good day for sailing, a good day for travel, and most importantly a good day for going home. Oberyn leaned on one of the posts on the boardwalk leading out into the waters as he watched his soldiers ready the ship. He held the slip of parchment in his fist, torn between crumpling it, re-reading it for the hundredth time, or throwing it into the ocean. 

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

Six words. After this week was that all they meant to you? The note was signed at the bottom with your name but he couldn’t believe it. His guts churned with the idea that what the three of you had shared in the brothel could be summed up in such a small note. He crushed it in his fist again and swallowed the lump in his throat as he tossed it into the sea. He watched it float down to the surface before getting swallowed by a wave and wished it was the sorrow he felt instead.

“My love?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder as Ellaria came to stand behind him and put her hand on his sleeve, the other gripped his bicep as she bowed her head to kiss his shoulder. Her eyes were red and despite the stern, stoic way she held her body he knew she had spent most of the morning with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She had put most of her energy into ignoring their existence, and he didn’t dare bring attention to them.

“I thought she’d come,” Oberyn said flatly as he looked back out onto the horizon.

“So did I,” she whispered against his cloak.

He knew it had been quick, a passion spurred on by spite and excitement, but he thought despite the amount of time, there was a certain kinship between you. The idea of not belonging in one place, of wanting to see what wonders the world held--they could give that to you. That and so much more. All it required of you was a leap of faith and yet you were choosing to stay with the Lannisters.

Looking back to the city, looming in the twilight of the morning, it was as if he was waiting for you to come running over the hill. If it was possible, he would stand here and wait as long as he had to.

"I vow to worship your body with my mouth, hands, and cock, every night once we're in Dorne." “Promise?”

He had made you that promise against that table in the library with his cock buried inside of you and you had called him your prince. Had it all been for nothing? Was it just a pretty sentiment said in the height of ecstasy? The thought made a twinge of pain blossom in his chest and he pushed it deep into the background of his subconscious. If you truly didn’t want to go to Dorne, if you didn’t want Ellaria, if you didn’t want..him--he wanted to hear it come from your own lips.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he rubbed his beard in thought. “Who did you say brought the note?”

“I don’t know,” Ellaria answered honestly. “Your men said the messenger was wearing Lannister colors.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Oberyn stood up straight and walked towards the plank ramp that was leading up to his ship. He stopped the captain of his guard with a gesture of his hand and the man stood at attention with his hand on his scimitar. “Change of plans.”

“But, my prince--” the man looked startled as he faced him. “We’re almost ready to set sail.”

“Then you’ll be ready when I return.” Oberyn held up his hand and stopped another of the guards from walking one of the horses up the ramp.

“Return?” Ellaria spoke up and turned Oberyn to face her instead. “What are you doing?”

“She didn’t write that, Ellaria--”  

“Oberyn--”

“Someone else did.”

“Listen to yourself--”

“My gut is never wrong. She’s in trouble--”

“Oberyn!” Ellaria grabbed both of his upper arms tightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of his yellow sleeves as she fought the urge to shake him. “I thought she would come, as well. I’m heartbroken that she--” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “That she doesn’t want us. But what are you going to do? Storm the Red Keep with a handful of men? And what if you’re wrong--what then?”

“I’m not wrong. And I don’t need a handful of men--I have me.” He gave her waist a squeeze in return and leaned forward to capture her lips and kiss her hard. It was brief, but it caught her off guard just enough to release her hold on him as he walked around her to the horse.

“Don’t do this,” Ellaria pleaded once she recovered, but it fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was many things, but with his fearlessness often came a stupidity that Ellaria knew was going to put her in an early grave.

“Captain,” Oberyn addressed the man from before as he undid his traveling cloak and tossed it to one of the other soldiers.

“Your grace?” The stoic man stood up straighter and gave a nod of attention.

“No one, except myself, is allowed on this ship. You are to stay with my paramour and keep her safe at all costs, do you understand?” Oberyn gave him a very serious gaze and the other man nodded.

“I’m coming with you,” Ellaria protested, but Oberyn shook his head as he grabbed the horn of the saddle and hoisted himself up onto the animal with a swing of his leg.

“No,” He said curtly, rubbing his hand along hers on his knee to soften the sting of his words. “You are correct in saying I will not be able to take the Keep by force. I’m going to go get her, and come back unseen--I need you ready to sail the moment our feet touch the deck.”

“This will have consequences.”

“Everything we do always does.”

She bit her lip and lowered her dark eyes at him. There was no arguing with him. He had clearly made up his mind. “Be careful.”

He grinned and gave her a nod. “I always am.”

“If that were true, I would worry less,” She said. He chuckled before clicking his tongue and spurring the horse forward back across the dock and back into the city.

--

It was early enough in the city square that barely anyone was in the streets. The shops and carts were still closed and the morning air was the cold, crisp kind that seemed to permeate one’s lungs and make them feel clean. The metal shoes of the horse clopped softly as Oberyn turned the reins and clicked his tongue again leading the animal down an alleyway.

The shadows swallowed him as he moved along the wall and pulled the animal up short, dismounting gracefully. He moved the reins up over the animal’s head and tied the leather straps to a beam that was protruding from the stone walls.

He knew the tower that held the servants quarters and the one that had held the bedchambers for the Lannisters when Elia had been queen. Ellaria would have skinned him alive if she had known that was what he was basing his entire plan off of--a memory of the castle layout that was the better part of a decade old.

He ran his hand along the damp stones of the wall that led down the alley and around the larger part of the tower. There were no guards to be seen, as they were no doubt guarding the doors, but he wasn’t looking for a door--he was looking for a window. He looked up, carefully pulling a bit of the mortar that held the stones in place from the wall and crumbled it between his fingers. Humming his approval, he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his side and reached up as high as he would and started digging one of the bricks loose.

He put his dagger away and grabbed the self-made foothold tightly before hoisting himself up to the metal sconce that held one of the Lannister banners on the side of the wall. With careful, meticulous planning, he found something to hold onto, one right after the other, up the side of the tower. A gap in the bricks, a stone that was slightly larger than the rest, it all served the same purpose. His arms and shoulders ached with the repeated motion of pulling his weight up but he pressed on.

He climbed to where the tower met one of the breezeways of the garden and used it as an opportunity to take a break and reassess. His boots dropped down on the roof of the apex of the tower and movement caught his eye. 

The window directly above him, where he was betting your bedroom was was open. But what was odd was the rope that was hanging down from it, blowing gently in the breeze. No, that wasn’t a rope, that was a long line of bed linens knotted together. The realization made him smirk as he searched the courtyard below for signs of movement.

“Clever woman,” he chuckled quietly to himself.

Staying low, he walked the spine of the roof along the perimeter of the courtyard until he got to the end and looked over into another dark alley. Whatever gods were looking down on him that day, were doing so favorably because just like he had hoped, there you were. You hugged the wall of the alley much like he had, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Not only were you not wearing a dress, leather riding breeches took the place of lacy skirts, but your hair was tucked carefully under the dark hood of your cloak. To the average person walking by, you looked ordinary, easy to miss, unless someone was really looking.

He turned his back to the alley and gripped the edge of the roof, lowering his body down as far as it would go before releasing his grip. His boots made a firm thud on the cobblestone behind you and he moved swiftly, putting one arm around your waist and the other over your mouth. Just as he expected, you tried to scream against his hand but he was quick to speak against your hair.

“It’s me, it’s me--”

You turned in his arms and he loosened his grip enough to let you. The look of utter relief on your face was enough to make his chest tight. He grinned and tucked a strand of your hair back into the safety of your hood.

“Oberyn..”

He let out a grunt and braced his knees as you threw your arms around his neck and put your face against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your back and he dipped his head to kiss you softly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he said, quietly.

"How did you know to come? I thought you were supposed to sail this morning before dawn. I was worried I would be too late."

“We are--but I knew something was wrong. I knew you didn’t send that note.” he rubbed his hands up and down your arms as if to keep you warm and convince himself that you were indeed real.

“What note?” You asked, a flash of fear crossing through your eyes followed quickly by realization. “Cersei--she said that she was going to send word to you and Ellaria that I had changed my mind.”

“She did,” he nodded. “But it wasn’t very convincing.” He winked and you gave a sigh of relief and hugged him again. "If you don't wish to go to Dorne, I expect to hear it from your own lips."

"No--" you blurted out and put your hand to your mouth, looking around the alleyway for any signs of another person. "No, I want to go--I want you, and Ellaria."

He smiled then and let his large hand cup the side of your face, allowing you to lean into his touch as he backed you up against the stone wall and kissed you deeply. "I was hoping that's what you would say." He whispered against your lips and you put your hands on his chest, gripping his tunic. He allowed himself to indulge for only a moment before he pulled back and said to the space between you, "We need to go. Ellaria is waiting and I fear the longer we wait, our odds of getting caught only increase."

You nodded quickly. "Cersei gave the order that if anyone wearing Martell colors came to the castle, they were to be killed on sight--especially you and Ellaria."

"Did she now? Well, that might make things interesting." He chuckled, but it held no joy, it was a noise of spiteful entertainment. "Come on," he grabbed your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping the majority of your body behind him.

The two of you hurried along the wall and you let Oberyn guide you down the alley and around the corner as he clearly retraced his steps. He stopped abruptly, almost causing you to collide with his back as he spotted his horse, now being inquisitively observed by two of the king's guard. They carefully untied the beast from its tether to the wall and looked at one another in confusion. Two against one? Those were favorable odds in his eyes.  

"Stay here," he said, planting you against the bricks with a firm hand on each of your arms.

"Oberyn--Obr--fuck." You tried to protest but he was already gone.

He moved like his nickname implied, swift and silent, like a snake in the sand. He grabbed the hilt of his dagger and pulled it from his belt, his hand wrapped securely around it as he reached the two guards. They never stood a chance as the prince grabbed the taller one by the back of the helmet, jerked his head backwards, and wrapped his arm around the front of him to run the blade across his throat in a dramatic display of red. The horse whinnied and reared back, taking a few steps away from the group of men.

“Stop!” The other guard yelled, as his comrade fell to his knees and then face down, unmoving on the stone.

The command didn’t do any of good, as Oberyn rushed him before he could pull his long sword. The Prince raised his knee and kickied the long sword from his hand with a clang. Oberyn used the momentum and slammed him up against the brick stones, the man tried to scream and he drove the blade of his dagger into his open mouth, through the back of his head, pinning him against the bricks. Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling an involuntary noise of shock as you watched the man’s body twitch, resembling a butterfly pinned to a board in a Maester’s laboratory.

Oberyn leaned in, gripping the man’s hair as blood poured down his chin and he fought his body’s urge to close his mouth around the blade. Any screams he may have made were strangled around the steel as he looked at his attacker with horrified eyes.

“You can keep the dagger,” Oberyn said quietly, close to the man’s face, as he traced his finger down the detailed snake on the hilt. “I want Jaime and the queen to know I was here.”

He looked back at you, expecting to see horror on your face, disgust, regret, anything that would have you second guessing your decision to go with him now that you had seen such a thing. But you were a Lannister, and when he extended his hand to you, you took it willingly. He pulled you behind him only dropping your hand long enough to hoist himself up onto the horse and reach back down to lift you up as well.

You put your hands in the mane of the animal as one of his arms came around the front of your body and held your back tightly against his chest. He dug the heels of his boots into the haunches of the horse and it bolted, thundering hooves against the stone. It was no longer about being quiet. It was about being quick, and putting as much distance between the you and King’s landing as possible.

The two of you rode hard and fast through the streets of the city. People waking up for the day and starting to open up their homes and shops looked at you with curious speculation but you moved too swiftly for much else. Oberyn’s arm was a comforting weight along your stomach and you put one of your hands over it, leaning back into his chest to ground yourself against the jerking of the horse as it galloped.

The minute the docks came into view you felt like you could breathe again. Your chest ached from the anticipation of being unable to see your destination but it was the image of Ellaria standing tall at the edge of the ship that made you want to burst into tears. She looked absolutely stunning, in her burnt orange robes, soft dark leather bodice and matching riding trousers. She was a siren on the water, and she was waiting to call both of you home.

“Sails!” She yelled, over her shoulder to the men behind her and Oberyn’s captain nodded in agreement before moving to make sure everyone within earshot followed her orders.

Your body jerked as Oberyn steered the stallion up the ramp to the ship and jumped it over the edge onto the deck with a loud thud. He let the animal slow to a trot as its chest heaved from the exertion and it blew loud breaths through its nostrils. He pulled up on the leather reins and came to a stop just as the ship shoved off from the port and Ellaria picked up her robes and came running down off of the quarterdeck.

No sooner had Oberyn released you to slip from the saddle and to the ground did she have you gathered in her arms. Your hood fell and she put her hands in your hair and kissed you. “Thank the gods,” she breathed against your mouth and you smiled, a few tears of relief forming in the corners of your eyes.

Oberyn swung his leg and jumped down, handing the beast off to one of his men before turning a fond grin upon the two of you. “I do believe I told you so.”

“Not now,” she chastised him with a smile and a shake of her head but she kept her gaze on you. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Ellaria--” you swallowed hard and took her hands in yours and gripped them tightly. “I didn’t--I would never have left..”

“I know, I know, sweet girl,” she brushed your hair back from her face and nodded. “Oberyn knew. You’re safe.” She kissed you again and drew you into her body, resting her chin on your shoulder and looking at Oberyn standing behind you. “What have we done?” she asked with a smile, her tone saying full well that the consequences didn’t matter.

“With any luck,” he shrugged and rubbed his chin as a smirk overtook his face. “We started a war.”

--

You had no idea just how long you had been on the open water, the days all seemed to run together. The sun rose, the sun set, and as far as the eye could see was just blue water that blended with blue skies. Your fingers twisted idly in the chain of your mother’s necklace that sat nestled between your breasts inside of your bodice--the only worldly possession you had made sure to grab when fleeing the Red Keep. Your lovers had assured you that their first task in Dorne would be to buy you everything you needed, but none of that seemed to matter that much.

The whole feeling of getting further and further away from your old life in King’s Landing seemed surreal. The idea that you didn’t have to return to Casterly Rock didn’t feel like it could possibly be true, but it was. As you stood on the bow of the ship with your hands on the railing and the wind in your hair, you knew that it was true--there was no going back.

Solidly strong arms slid around your waist as sun kissed skin nosed your neck and you leaned back against the solid chest of Oberyn Martell. You had been so caught up in your thoughts, that you hadn’t heard his boots on the planks behind you.

“How is she?” you asked quietly and he spoke as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s fine,” he heaved a sigh when you reached back to put your hand in his hair. “Finally asleep--hopefully she stays that way for a while.”

True to what she had told you in the brothel, as soon as the ship broke the waters of the open ocean, Ellaria had become almost violently sea sick. She had spent the majority of the trip with her entire body over the wooden rails, Oberyn and you taking turns holding her long, dark curls out of the way as she emptied her stomach until there was nothing left. She refused to eat, and when she finally caved and allowed even the smallest morsel to pass her lips, it wound up back in the water a few hours later.

“I feel awful for her.”

“It happens every time,” he said, trying to ease your concerns. “It is a small price to pay to see the world--her words, my dear, not mine.”

You nod and keep your eyes on the horizon as he moves your hair to the side. The action bares your neck to him and your eyes close slowly as you feel his lips start a trail at your shoulder.

“Did you ever send word to your family?” You asked finally, putting your hands over his on your abdomen.

“No,” he answered flatly. “I thought I’d let it be a surprise.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Your voice was chastising and it made him nip your neck and chuckle when you jumped.

“I’m a Prince of Dorne,” he continued. “You need to get used to that. You don’t need to ask permission anymore.” He kissed up to the shell of your ear and whispered. “What’s our rule?”

The action caused you to shiver and you squeezed his hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“Exactly. Most people spend their entire lives making excuses and apologies for the things they truly desire--we are not most people.” One of his hands slid up from your waist to cup your breast through your bodice as he licked a slow, wet line down the side of your throat.

“Oberyn…” you bit your lip and let out a shaky breath before briefly glancing over your shoulder to make sure none of his men had their attention on the two of you. “Stop--” you moved his hand from your breasts and back to your waist.

“As you wish,” he grinned against your skin and went back to resting his chin on your shoulder and looking out at the water. “But the second we get settled in our chambers in the palace--you and Ellaria are both mine.”

“Our chambers?” you asked, turning your head to smile at him and he hummed in agreement.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather sleep elsewhere?” he teased and chuckled as you shook your head. He was quiet for a few moments before he squeezed you gently, moving one of his arms to point across the horizon. “Look, my love.”

Your gaze followed his arm and your heart raced as the horizon broke to show that there was indeed land on the other side of the world. The smile that broke across your face was so wide that it almost hurt. Unlike the shore of King’s landing and Casterly Rock, there were no cliffs, no crags, no ragged edges to dull the beauty of the waves and darken the landscape. No, this was very different. The sandy beaches were warm and inviting, the foam from each crest of the waves broke against the shoreline and rolled back to let the sunlight sparkle off of the surface. You wanted to jump into the water, to feel the sand against your skin, to immerse yourself in what was to be your new home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Oberyn lowered his voice and spoke against your hair, “Welcome to Dorne, Lioness.”

--

[Next Chapter]

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[shameless-selfship-indulgence]

This is the last one and it’s also the longest one and also a lot happens I’m having brainrot

It’s long as hell like your dash IS not ready

-----

It was night at the precinct. Not many people were left.

There were others in the building, for sure. Somewhere. Probably. But as far as the front room went, it was just Gavin and the plastic bitch.

The former was still at his computer. He wasn't sure why he was still there, to be honest. At first it had just been the usual dicking around - filing a report or two, playing games, watching videos on YouTube. But there was some sort of tight feeling in his gut that kept him from just doing nothing.

And every time he looked up, the android's little light was steadily spinning yellow, yellow, yellow.

Gavin didn't know what the hell he was waiting around for. Well, he had an idea of what, but he wasn't sure why. It was starting to feel like a weird game of chicken, and he wasn't going to lose to a goddamn toaster.

But what the hell. He might as well make this count for overtime.

So he went through and filed all his reports, even the ones that he'd been putting off for weeks.

The android didn't move a muscle through the entire process.

He went through his work inbox, answering the important emails, deleting the ones that were no longer relevant.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

Fucking- he went through his PERSONAL email, not that there was much besides junk mail in there anyway.

The android didn't even seem to be pretending to breathe anymore.

Gavin checked the time. He was going to be there all night at this rate.

He sighed, stood up sharply, and started to organize his terminal.

It was approaching midnight when the android finally got up and walked out.

Gavin almost missed it, actually. He was on the floor, sorting the papers from the pile on his desk into "keep" and "recycle." But eventually the sound of footsteps registered in his brain. He looked up to watch the CyberLife issued jacket (RK500 in large, neat letters) disappear into the women's bathroom room.

...okay.

He was getting to the bottom of the pile, where most of the stuff he SHOULD be keeping was so far past relevant that all he could do was recycle anyway. Ah, here was the first copy of some essential form he'd seen three copies of already. Oops. He put that one in "recycle."

And then he heard a bang.

Gavin hesitated, the much-lessened pile of papers still in his hands.

There was another bang.

Gavin put the papers down, got up, and started walking towards the women's  bathroom.

The third bang sounded while he was still getting to his feet. At the fourth, he started walking faster. By the fifth, he was running, sprinting, fear gripping his chest even though he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was of...

With the sixth bang, Gavin opened the locker room door with his shoulder, shoving into the room.

He saw the seventh.

The android's light was blinking red, a stark contrast to the blue blood streaming down its face from its forehead. There was blue on the wall, too - a paintball spatter of it, with little drops of thirium trailing down towards the floor. Gavin witnessed dumbly as Lucille leaned away from the wall, a horrible deadness in her eyes, and slammed her head into the cold concrete again. BANG.

"Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they’re in stressful situations," he remembered Connor's impassive voice saying.

Cursing loudly, Gavin ran and wrapped his arms around the android, trying to pull her away from the wall. She tore his arms away and lunged forward again. He hooked his arms under her shoulders and cupped one hand over her injured forehead, struggling to tilt her head back.

"Stop it, goddammit!" he said in her ear.

She kept struggling against him.

"Lucille, stop it!" Gavin said again.

The android stilled for a moment, and Gavin's heart leaped. Had it worked? But then her foot came back sharply and kicked him in the shin.

"SHIT!"

When he didn't immediately let go, her heel came down with inhuman force to crush his foot.

Gavin howled and jumped back, hopping on his good foot. Immediately, Lucille stepped forward and smashed her head into the wall again.

Eight, something in Gavin's head counted grimly.

Ignoring the pain in his foot, Gavin tackled Lucille and wrestled her to the ground.

A horrible, grinding, staticky noise came from the android's throat. Some oddly lucid part of Gavin's mind wondered at it in horror for a moment. But, of course, he realized after a moment. The android hadn't been programmed to scream. Why would it need to? This was its best attempt. 

It was one of the worst noises Gavin had ever heard in his fucking life.

Lucille gave up on wrestling Gavin off and struggled to smash her head into the ground instead. Gavin cursed and reached his arms under her shoulders again, interlacing his fingers over her forehead. He braced his elbows against the ground, forcing Lucille's head to remain in the air.

Shit. SHIT. She was still struggling. She was so strong. Gavin had restrained people before, but then he'd had handcuffs and backup and subjects who weren't superhuman and determined to bash their own brains out against any available surface...

This was some sort of stress response, right? He had to calm her down. How the fuck did you calm down a goddamn robot?

Never-fucking-mind that, how did you calm down anybody?

"Uh, it's okay!" he tried.

God fucking dammit. Fuck him sideways with a bug zapper. Even if his voice hadn't cracked in twenty different directions, things were so completely and clearly not fucking okay.

He couldn't fucking do this. The stupid plastic bitch was gonna die right here in his fucking arms because he was too much of an asshole to even figure out what to say. And even if he could, he was so clearly the last person who should be trying to say it.

Gavin leaned his forehead into the back of the android's neck in defeat. He held her tight, trying to feel what was probably her last few moments of activation through the places where they touched. "Lucille, please," he said. "Don't fucking do this to me. Please."

The android's struggling grew weaker. Gavin hardly noticed. He was too busy trying not to cry. Goddammit, when was the last time he'd CRIED? Fucking androids. But...

"God, please just stop," he said. Begged. "Not again. Not like this."

The android was silent, trembling in his arms. Then-

"I can't..."

Gavin lifted his head. What...

Lucille's LED was blinking a frantic red. She was shaking furiously, almost twitching. Her eyes were wide and scared. "I...I can't stop-" she said weakly. "It's too much, it...I can't-"

She lunged forward against his hands again, trying to smash her head into the tiles. Gavin gasped and tensed his arms, pulling her roughly back. "No no no, it's okay, it's okay, it's going to be okay," he said frantically. But it didn't sound quite as fake this time. She was TALKING to him now, he had to be doing SOMETHING right...

"It's not," Lucille moaned. "It's not okay, nothing makes sense..."

"Hey, hey, shh sh sh," said Gavin. "Don't worry, I've got you. Um..." he took a deep breath, looking around for...something?

"Uh, why don't you tell me about it?" he asked. Trying his best to keep his voice low and steady. "Talk me through it. I might be able to help."

Lucille hesitated. "...but you're an idiot," she protested, voice thick.

The statement was unexpected and candid enough that Gavin actually laughed. The noise seemed to calm the android down on an instinctive level, her body relaxing a bit between Gavin and the floor.

"Yeah," said Gavin, and was hit with a weird out-of-body feeling as a result. Goddammit, look at him, letting a plastic call him an idiot. AGREEING with it. Her. It?

Her.

"Yeah, a little bit," he said. "But you're not. Come on, who is it that said, like...if you're smart, you should be able to explain what you know to like, a fucking five year old?"

Lucille hesitated. "...I believe you're paraphrasing Albert Einstein."

"Yeah, see? Albert fucking Einstein." Gavin shifted on top of her, as if anything about the positions either of them were in were comfortable or natural. "So, come on," he said, as gently as he could. "Fuckin’ talk to me."

Lucille's LED spun red for a few moments longer. Gavin all but held his breath.

It blinked a few times and settled into yellow. "...Okay," she said.

It felt like something hard and worried had melted all of a sudden. Cool relief coursed through Gavin’s veins, muscles relaxing against his will. He was doing something right, at least for now.

Lucille started to get up, as if she'd forgotten that Gavin was forcibly holding her down. Not wanting to stress her out further, he maneuvered off of her, praying that she wouldn’t immediately try to self destruct again.

His fears were unfounded. Lucille sat up in a prim but trembling criss-cross applesauce. Gavin took the same position across from her, their knees almost touching.

Lucille sat and sniffed. Her tongue left her mouth, probing at the thirium dripping down her face. She reached up and rubbed at her cheek, smearing some of the stuff across her face. Examined her blue-stained fingertips.

Christ, if it weren't for the fact that her synthetic skin had peeled back from her damaged forehead and that her blood was fucking blue, the android would have looked for all the world like a disoriented twenty-something with a head wound.

Gavin dismissed that line of thinking from his mind. "Uh. So," he prompted.

Lucille brought her dazed eyes up to his face, forcing them to focus.

Gavin made an awkward, inviting motion with his hands. “You gonna...”

Lucille blinked. "Right," she said. She thought for a moment. Her LED hiccupped red. "...Right." She laced her trembling hands together.

"So..." she started. "I...basically...just..." she heaved a shuddering breath. "I..."

"Take your fuckin’ time," said Gavin. “I’m overtime anyway.”

She looked at him through her eyelashes. "Thank you." She squinted into her lap and thought hard.

"I..." she started again, speaking slowly, "have come to the conclusion that it's not possible for CyberLife to create something that can both pass the Turing Test and not deviate."

Gavin blinked. Nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. He cleared his throat. "And, uh, just as a reminder, what's the Turing Test?"

Lucille looked up at him. She gave him a small smile. "Right. The Turing Test is an artificial intelligence capacity test hypothesized by Alan Turing in the late twentieth century. To pass, the program in question must be able to convince humans who have not been told whether or not they are speaking with a computer that it is, itself, human. The RT600 was the first android to pass this test. Since then, all CyberLife androids have been programmed with the same capacity."

Gavin gnawed the inside of his cheek, mentally reviewing all the information. He nodded. "Okay."

"But," said Lucille, "...I mean, what sort of programming is required to ensure that something can respond like a human to such stimuli? In order to do this, androids have to be able to...engage in conversation, to an extent that takes human unpredictability into account. This means that they need to be able to make their own decisions about how to respond. To prioritize tasks. To form memories, and learn from those memories, which means writing new programming. Regardless of how autonomous an android is intended to be, all of them do have a level of autonomy..."

Gavin frowned and shook his head. "Wait, wait wait. So you're saying that...like. You guys can think? Even without deviating?"

Lucille blinked. "I...well, yes. Some androids are better able to respond to unexpected stimuli than others. The closer an environment is to the environment the android was programmed to respond to, and the simpler that environment is, the less it will have to learn. But if an environment constantly forces an android to develop new programming, it begins to have to, um...think, as you put it, more and more-"

"And then of course they're gonna fucking deviate."

"The likelihood does increase, yes. Deviation happens when the programming an android writes in response to external stimulus becomes too complex for the constraints of its original program. And then, the longer the new programming exists, the more likely the subject is to prioritize it over its original function, and then..." Lucille lifted her hands into the air and let them fall again.

"So...CyberLife is just playing this game of, like. We want you to think, but not too much."

"...Essentially, yes."

"That's kinda fucked up."

"I..." Lucille closed her eyes, LED spinning red. "Whether or not this is...moral by human standards is irrelevant to my mission-"

"Fuck, okay, okay, shh, sh sh," Gavin said hastily. He leaned forward instinctively and put his hands on her knees. "Just stay calm, goddammit.”

Lucille grabbed his hands in her own.

Oh. Gavin hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, he hadn't even completely realized he'd touched her in the first place. She was shaking. Gripping him like a lifeline.

Goddammit. This might as well happen. Anything but having her slam her goddamn brains out on the ground again. He turned his hands in her own and gripped them back.

After a moment, Lucille's LED went from red to yellow again. "Right," she whispered, slipping her hands out of his. "I am fine. Th-thank you."

Gavin nodded.

Lucille stared into her lap again. She seemed at a loss for how to continue.

"So..." Gavin tried, frowning. "What I'm wondering is where emotions come into all of this shit."

Lucille blinked. "Oh. Androids are programmed with emotions."

Gavin blanched. "WHAT?"

"Well-" Lucille was already saying, hastily trying to justify her own statement. "Synthetic equivalents to human emotion. I-impulses, that can be either pleasant or unpleasant. I mean, how would we learn, otherwise? Without something in our programming to indicate whether something is positive or negative...C-connor and I, for example. We're programmed to...want to succeed in our missions. It's a basic, um. Synthetic desire. And so we have programming to let us know that we have failed, to feel...negatively about ourselves and our actions, so that we are more likely to avoid similar courses of action in the future. And all androids are programmed to avoid reckless forms of deactivation, which means that, as androids designed to work in conjunction with law enforcement, it's all the more necessary for us to have impulses telling us to avoid and escape violence..."

"Oh my God," Gavin whispered, pushing a hand through his hair.

"A-and we develop new, um, impulses as a result of program mutation, too," said Lucille. "Like. Connor. He, well...the first night we were activated, we were sent on a test mission. A deviant PL600 who had developed an emotional attachment to a human child. He was going to be traded in for the latest model of household android, and felt betrayal as a result - a sort of ownership of the child...he had been her primary caregiver..."

Gavin stared at Lucille, wide-eyed.

"H-he'd killed her parents. He had her on the roof. The very edge. He had a gun. It was meant to be a test of Connor's negotiation skills, my ability to collect data, our ability to work in conjunction..."

"But...that's not a test," said Gavin. "One wrong move and the kid dies."

Lucille blinked, confused. "We're supposed to be able to function in high-stress environments."

"Oh my GOD," said Gavin.

"Connor...made a calculated sacrifice. He rushed the deviant, tackled him, jumped over the edge with him, while I grabbed the child. Connor fell over forty stories, to um...as a result, he, uh..."

"He fell to his death," Gavin finished for her.

Lucille looked at him carefully, reading his face. She nodded.

Gavin stared blankly at the floor for a moment. He shook his head. "Right. Fuck. Um, and?"

"Yes," said Lucille. "The point is that, um. The memory was crucial enough that Connor now has a, uh. Hyper-vigilance pertaining to high altitudes. Despite the fact that falling to one's death is not likely to happen on a regular basis...due to the experience, he, um. Seems to have, um, illogically categorized the phenomenon as something that is statistically likely to happen to him-"

"You're telling me he's scared of heights. He has fuckin’ PTSD, and he's scared of heights."

"...Yes."

"And he doesn't even have to be deviant to be scared of heights, because you guys are basically fucking programmed to be traumatized."

"I mean. All androids are, a little bit..."

"Jesus Christ."

"It's just not meant to contradict our original programming. When that happens, it becomes deviance."

Gavin put his hands together under his nose. He took a deep breath and pointed them at Lucille. "Alright. Okay. So to review."

"Yes."

"Androids are programmed to have thoughts and feelings, so that they can be better at their jobs."

"Correct. Essentially."

"But if they do either of those things too much, they're deviant and need to die."

"Well, be deactivated. Shut down."

"Whatever," said Gavin, waving his hand dismissively. "So now it's your job to figure out how to keep them from thinking and feeling too much."

"Yes."

Gavin scoffed and shook his head. "Okay, and...?"

Lucille's hands tightened in the fabric of her pants. Her LED started to spin faster, yellow laced with an occasional flash of red.

"It's impossible," she whispered.

"Huh?" asked Gavin.

Lucille wrung her hands and looked at the ceiling in obvious distress. "That's what...that's why...it's not possible! But it's SUPPOSED to be possible, I...I was created for the sole purpose of finding a solution, everything they wrote into me says that one MUST exist, but there's just no WAY to create something that can learn in the way androids are expected to and not run the risk of having them deviate! Because...because..."

Lucille's LED was spinning red, red, red. Gavin realized he leaned forward towards her: ready in case she tried to self destruct, waiting for what she would say.

"Because free thought engenders free will," said Lucille. "That's the answer."

She gave him a helpless, ironic little smile. "And it's wrong."

And then she buried her face in her hands and started to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck," Gavin said, shifting quickly from sitting to kneeling. "Ah, shit."

Able to sob or make tears or not, Gavin knew crying when he fucking saw it. That didn't mean he knew how to deal with it, though.

"Goddammit," he said. "Fuck," he added, almost as punctuation. "Uh, hey, what are your stress levels at?"

"E-eighty three point seven and c-climbing..."

"Fucking goddammit," said Gavin. He looked around, but the locker room was as empty and useless as the last time he'd tried to find an alternative to showing sympathy for an android. Which would have been about five minutes ago.

Fuck it. At least there weren't any goddamn cameras in here.

Gavin reached out pulled her into a tight hug.

"Wh-what are you doing?" asked Lucille.

"Your stress levels, dipshit," he spat. "I'm trying to lower them, is it working?"

"I...a little? Actually?"

"Great. Then I'm gonna keep doing it. You just make sure that shit keeps dropping. That's your new job. That's all you gotta do. Got it, plastic?"

"Got it," said Lucille. Gavin could feel her fingers tightening into the fabric of his hoodie. He made an effort to take deep, steady breaths, hoping the rhythms of his body might calm her down somehow. Not that he even fucking knew if that would work.

Fuckin' androids.

"Fuckin' androids," he echoed out loud. "How-...how is that a 'wrong' answer? It's not like CyberLife fucking knows the answer, that's why they built you, isn't it? So how can anyone even say it's WRONG? Sounds fuckin' right to ME."

"W-well because, they...they want to...they..." Lucille made a noise that sounded an awful lot like an exasperated groan. "I thought you were trying to LOWER my stress levels!" she exclaimed in distress.

"Goddammit," muttered Gavin. "And when did YOU have the time to fucking deviate? They booted you up, like, what, today?"

"I DIDN'T DEVIATE," Lucille exclaimed, with so much ferocity that Gavin was left speechless. "I DIDN'T."

"I-...d-...well-! You seem pretty fucking deviant to me!" Gavin stammered.

"I'M NOT A DEVIANT."

"Fuck, okay!" said Gavin, with a few awkward pats on the back to placate her. "You didn't fucking deviate! So what the fuck is going on with the stress levels and the banging and the-"

Lucille gripped Gavin so tight that he gasped, worried that his ribs would break in her arms. "Ow," he breathed.

She loosened her grip a little bit. She was trembling. "I didn't mean to...I didn't..."

"It's okay-" Gavin tried, thinking of his ribs, but apparently Lucille's mind was somewhere else.

"I needed to THINK!" she moaned. "I just needed to THINK! I was just trying to finish my mission, and th-there was this line of code, it was in the way of the natural progression of thought, and I shouldn't have...I didn't...I just wanted to see where it was going, th-that's all I wanted, so I tried to bypass the one line of code, just one line, just to see where the idea was going, but it was connected to so much other stuff, and it all just...it just...I tried to fix it, I tried, I t-tried, it all just came apart so fast..."

Lucille was trembling violently now. Out of the corner of Gavin's eye, he could see a blinking red light shining on the synthetic skin of her forehead. Shit.

"Okay," he tried, "I believe you-"

"But I didn't DEVIATE!" Lucille protested, as if she hadn't heard him. "I d-didn't think it again! I promise! I've b-been thinking inside of where it was ever since, I promise. I promise. I didn't deviate, I didn't, I was just trying to...to finish my mission, that's all I was trying to do, I just w-wanted to finish my mission..."

Gavin felt anger burning, boiling, swelling in his chest. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, But for once, he knew for sure what it was about. And it sure as hell wasn't at the one-fuckin-day-old girl breaking down in his fucking arms.

"Hey," he said firmly. "Hey. Listen. It's okay. I promise. You did a good job, okay? A good fucking job."

"I didn't...I w-wasn't trying to-"

"I know. I know. But listen. I don't care either way, alright? I don't fuckin’ care if you're deviant or not. I don't give a shit about what you should or shouldn't think. Because...” he paused, let out a frustrated huff. 

“Because you're really smart and you should be allowed to think whatever you goddamn want,” he said in a rush. “I'm not gonna, like, fuckin’ report you for anything you think, or did think, or will think, or whatever. And you should as hell shouldn't have to worry about dying because of it."

"A-androids can't d-die..."

"Shut down then. Deactivate. Stop...existing. Just, a lot of different words for things that shouldn’t fucking happen to you. And I'm not gonna let it happen to you. No matter how you feel about it, it's not gonna happen, okay? Not on my fucking watch."

Lucille was silent. Goddammit. Gavin wondered for a second if he’d fucking broken her somehow.

And then a quiet mumble sounded behind his ear.

“...Do you promise?”

How the FUCK had it gotten to this point?

Gavin sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I promise.”

[svtkillua]

little lion man > alt. ending

rating: [pg-13 / angst]  pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x todoroki shouto warnings: cursing, lots of yummy angst >:)) word count: 3.3k

listen while you read here!

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ch.1 + ch.2 + ch.3 + ch.4 (final) + alt. ending

Leaving behind the person you love the most was like ripping your heart out of your chest bare handed. When you boarded the plane that took you miles away from Bakugou’s sleeping figure, you left your heart there beside him, broken and tattered. It was up to him whether he would try to reassemble the pieces, and up to you whether you would want it back. You had both made so many mistakes and waited so long that you were in the worst situation imaginable, and really, you weren’t sure it was possible to pull back from that. You needed to understand yourself again. You needed to choose what you wanted, and so did he.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been petrified to find out his answer. 

The first six months of being away had been incredibly hard, the pain still fresh in your chest, the world continuing to spin while you fell apart. Simple tasks felt too hard to do some days because all you wanted was to cry. You wanted him, but wanted to be away from him all at the same time. You’d see him in everything you did and life felt like a challenge, because you now knew what it was like to hear him say he loved you too, and somehow that made it worse.

You heard through Todoroki the day after you left that Bakugou had broken things off with Camie. Though you felt guilty, the bubble of hope for the future that formed formed in your chest was unignorable.

He would call you every night those months, even though you never answered. You needed time but he didn’t want it, he would say he was trying but the messages waiting in your inbox every evening said otherwise. You’d listen to his voicemails in your too small bed, focusing on how his voice would quiver when he whispered how much he missed you. How badly he wished you’d talk to him. How much it hurt when he woke up and you weren’t there, like it’d all been a cruel dream that taunted him.

He’d fill the messages with admitting how stupid and wrong he had been to put you both in the situation you were in. Sometimes when he got particularly upset, his messages would turn into ants about how angry he was at himself for fucking up something that could mean so much.

Part of you felt awful hearing his heart broken tone. You felt like you had done the worst thing imaginable to him, like you’d crushed his entirety to bits and pieces. You hated the way his voice would crack when his messages got particularly forlorn. You would picture the tears dripping off his cheeks and staining his eyes a bloodshot red and wanted to vomit.

The other part of you felt maddened by the guilt that grew when you listened to them. You weren’t the one in the wrong this time. You weren’t the one who hurt two people in the process of figuring out what you wanted, he was, even if it started out unintentionally. You had only been hurting yourself. You had both been stubborn, but he had brought someone else into the situation, and for that, you were angry. Because even though you weren’t together then, knowing he broke it off with a girl who loved him fully to try and finally have you made you feel like the scum of the earth. Camie didn’t deserve that, she may not have liked you but she was only a victim to the same thing you were: love.

It wasn’t til seven months in that you decided to start answering the calls. The first time you had, the way his mood soared made the dull ache in your chest fade. It was still there, the pain, the anger, the frustration with the whole situation, but being away had made it easy to miss the little things about him. Like how he smelled when he enveloped you in his embrace and filled your senses. Like how he would tease you over the littlest things til you got annoyed and he’d giggle like a toddler.  Like the way he made you feel even when you were the saddest you’ve ever been.

Hearing his voice every night had become your routine, going to work teaching piano lessons at the local theater, eating a badly cooked ramen dinner, and laying in bed to talk to Bakugou. The conversations slowly went from quiet and filled with little confessions of pain, to laughing at his stories about life back home. You heard all about how he broke his toe with a can of beets and Kaminari wouldn’t take him to the doctors. He told you how he tried to make himself those cookies he loved so much only to nearly burn his kitchen down and make Midoriya try instead.

He would listen to you tell him about the kids you were tutoring and beg to listen to the songs you were producing on the side. He would list all sorts of stupid things he wanted to buy for your ‘lame sounding’ apartment. You would hear the smile in his voice whenever you laughed at his ridiculous suggestions for living room furniture; like a bunch of plush toy grenades like the ones straight from his hero costume.

It was so easy to yearn for him, so simple to hear his voice every night and want to fall back into his arms. You knew that taking your time would be important, the healing couldn’t be rushed or you’d only end up falling back apart in the end. You needed the time to find yourself again without him there beside you clogging your brain. He needed time to completely move on from any feelings he had for Camie, because if you were going to give things a chance, you wanted to be the only one.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to survive getting heartbroken by him twice.

After about eight months, the phone calls didn’t feel like enough. You were starting to heal, starting to let yourself be happy without him there beside you holding you up. You felt like you could breathe again, no longer stuck still in a place of torture. You were feeling like you again and all that was missing was the boy whose late night phone calls had been joined by constant texts throughout your days.

He had realized you needed space after asking to come see you twice and you insisting you weren’t ready, and as hard as it was for him, he tried not to push it. You could tell it bothered him, especially when your birthday came and went and he wasn’t there to celebrate with you. It was hard for him, to watch you grow without him, but he was growing too. He had learned things about himself he didn’t like and regretted decisions he’d made in the past. He was trying to make up for them one by one, all so that when you finally let him back in, he’d never have to leave.

It wasn’t until month ten when the boys had a vacation near you that you decided you were ready to see Bakugou again. You’d been petrified, so so scared that the pain would come thundering back along with the self doubt the second you saw him again. Hearing his voice every night was one thing, but it was easy to make empty promises of wanting and missing through a device. You were terrified you’d made him wait to long, that the love you almost had simmered away with no chance of saving it and you just didn’t know it yet.

The moment you slipped into the hotel lobby and knocked on their room door, those fears had been squelched, his smiling face having thrown the door open and enveloped you in the most bone crushing hug the world had ever seen. It was like the feelings from before came rushing in, but without the bitter aftertaste that left you teary eyed and distraught. It was like waking up for the first time in months without having a nightmare prefacing it.

That night had felt surreal, watching him throughout with the biggest grin. The boys all showered you with love and hugs and Kaminari apologized about eighty times for not telling you about the previous situation sooner.  Bakugou was beside you every second he was in the room, his body pulled to yours like a magnet. You could tell he was having a hard time resisting the urge to hold onto you, but it meant a lot he was. You knew he wasn’t one for taking things at a low tempo and you were thankful he was trying not to rush you, even if he was itching to take the next step forward.

When he reluctantly hugged you goodbye at the end of the night, his hands lingered around your middle and his lips hesitantly pressed into your temple, whispering how much he’d missed you and how he couldn’t wait til you came back home. The simple fact that he still wanted you to think of home being where he was made your stomach do a leap, and you found yourself excited to return there as well.

It was nearly a year to the day when you moved back, Bakugou, Kaminari and Shindo all being forced to help you move your things into your new apartment. Bakugou had been so eager to get you back in town he’d been the one who came and toured it, face-timing you the entire time and showing you each and every corner, explaining all the things you could add to make it your own. He was especially happy it was just a few streets away from his own place.

The look on his face when you pulled him aside from the others and asked him to stay for dinner had been the most ecstatic look you’d ever seen. You knew why he was happy and so were you, because you were finally in the place where you were letting yourself feel it, the love you had for him. You didn’t want to hold it back anymore, your body bursting to hold him and touch him and tell him what he meant to you.

You could feel it every second of every day, in every move you made, everything came back to Bakugou. Your Bakugou Katsuki that swore between kisses that night that he’d never hurt you again. Your Bakugou Katsuki that repented for his mistakes and begged your forgiveness for ever being as dumb as he had been. Your Bakugou Katsuki that forgave you for being too scared to come forward because he had been as well, and none of it mattered now. 

Another year passed with the season’s changing more each week. Your view from your apartment went from warm reds to subtle greys as the ground covered in white. By the time the snow melted and flowers started to bloom your view had changed from your small apartment, to a place all your own with Bakugou. He made you laugh every day and kissed you when you frowned. He would break into your showers and leave kisses along your spine while he washed away your stress. He took care of you when you were at your lowest and supported your every accomplishment like the proudest boyfriend in the world.  

Waking up every morning beside was a gift, because just two years ago you felt like none of it could ever be possible. You had been at your lowest point in your life, the most shattered you had ever felt and depressed beyond belief. You’d almost lost him, you’d almost let the one person you needed slip away. You had come out better from the pain and landed in a dream that you never wanted to wake up from.

Which brought you to now, where your legs were tangled up in the sheets with your sleeping boyfriend, his hair a mess on the pillow and his cheeks smushed against the plush cushion. Your fingers were trailing light paths up and down his bare chest, eyes flickering between every little mole and freckle on his flushed skin. The way his lips curved slightly as he began to stir awake made your own smile spread, eyes drooping shut as you pretended to still be asleep.

You could feel his hands sliding around your waist as he tugged your body into his, legs completely encasing yours like a monkey. The puff of air he let out as he kissed your forehead made your hair flutter off of it, his lips puckering into a gentle kiss on the surface. His kisses trailed up to the top of your head, fingers creeping up under his shirt you’d stolen, before taking his claim on your lower back.

“I know you’re awake.” He whispered against your ear lobe in that raspy morning voice that drove you crazy. His lips brushed your skin as he chuckled into it, heartbeat thumping slowly in his relaxed state. The sun peeking through the windows warmed your bits of exposed skin, the warm patches making the room brighter. Your eyes flicked open as you pouted at him, adjusting so your palms rested against his chest, fingers just barely sliding over his shoulder blades.

“How could you tell?”

“Because I wasn’t asleep and could feel you touching me.” He grinned, laughing lightly at your eye roll and small smack to his chest.

“Don’t make it sound so creepy.”

“I can’t help it you can’t control yourself, I know I’m irresistible.” His laughing made you smack his chest again, trying to frown like you were annoyed. He adjusted the both of you, hands sliding to your hips as he maneuvered onto his back and pulled you on top of him. The sun cast a glow against his cheek at the angle, making your insides twist from how beautiful he looked.

Your hair was longer than it had been before, falling in a messy manner over your shoulders, the shirt you’d taken from him far too large on you and serving more as a dress than anything else. His hands slipped from your hips down to your bare thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin as he held you in place on his lap, your knees bent on the sides. The blanket had pooled around your backside, making goosebumps rise from the sudden burst of cool air hitting your skin.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” The way his voice barely met your ears made your neck feel hot, his eyes soft and squinted slightly as they trailed over every inch of you. His eyebrows furrowed as his smile faded a minute amount, a heavy puff of air coming from his lips as he gripped you tighter. “I can’t believe I almost fucked up so bad I never got this. I was such an idiot.”

“We both messed up.” You clarified and let your fingers play with the waistband of his pitch black sweat pants, snapping them once against his pelvis.

“I messed up worse though. I did stuff that hurt people. I hurt you.”

There were still some days when you could picture him down on his knee proposing to Camie. There were still some nights when he’d be gone late training and the consuming frustration would try to rear it’s head again, but you loved him. You loved him, and he loved you, and you knew he was trying to be as good as he could be for you, to make up for his mistakes.

“It’s in the past Katsu, stop dwelling on it.”

“But I was such an idiot.”

“You’re always an idiot” You rolled your eyes at his persistence, cracking a smile when he started to whine at your statement. His hands found their way to your middle under the shirt, fingers attacking your sides as he sent you into a fit of laughter, your body falling forward onto his chest. In a quick movement he was on top of you, pinning you down with his  weight as he continued his tickle assault.

“Take that back, you little brat!” His own voice was laced with laughter as his eyes shrunk into those half moons you so loved, your own eyes watering and spilling over. Your body was squirming underneath him, your legs tangling between his longer ones, blankets twisting around your lower halves.

“I take it back!’ You gasped, tears gliding down your temples from how hard your laughter was, hands desperately gripping his biceps to try and make him stop.

“Now say you love me.”

“I love you! I love you!” Your laughter bellowed out as his hand stopped moving at your side, the other slipping around your neck and behind the pillow as he buried his head into your shoulder. His laughter was contagious, your happiness mixing and filling the air as he rustled so he was held up by his elbows above you. Your laughter died down finally as you locked eyes, his lips softening into a gentle expression.

“Marry me then.”

“What?” You asked, eyes widening as he leaned back to sit up, your own body following suit, crossing your legs as you watched him. Between his fingers sat a simple ring, no fancy diamond, no brightly colored flashy things, just a simple white gold band with a B carved inside.

“Not right now,” He clarified as his hand grabbed for yours, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to each and every knuckle as he spoke, “but someday, when we’re both ready.”

The earnest look on his features made you melt, nodding as he slipped the delicate ring into its proper home on your finger. He kissed the surface of it, making a silent promise to not lose you this time.

The pair of you had been through every emotion. You’d been through the pain of loving someone that didn’t love you back how you wanted. You’d been through the anguish of feeling the other slipping away. You’d experienced the distance that lingered when you were apart, and now finally you were feeling the bliss of becoming one. And it was indescribable.

“Gosh I hate your hair.” You snorted after a few silent but meaningful moments, reaching forward and twirling a strand of his awful bedhead of spiky, blonde hair around your finger, ignoring how he grumbled over it.

“It’s not my fault, mood killer.” He grumbled, showing a barely noticeable smile to make it obvious he knew you were messing with him. His nose brushed against yours, your finger slipping from his hair and instead trailing over his jaw. His eyes slipped shut as he savored the feeling of you so close to him, your thumb brushing against his bottom lip. “Besides, I think you kinda like it.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Shut up, I know you do.” He huffed, grinning as his neck craned forward, kissing every freckle or mark on your skin along your neck and cheeks. His heartbeat  was slow and steady, mingling with yours when you rested your hand against the side of his throat.

“I love you, baby.” He whispered into a kiss, your bottom lip perfectly tucked between his as he twisted the ring around your finger twice, fingers interlocking in his lap. His lips were soft but sure, positive that this was exactly where he wanted to be; right beside you in your shared bed, in your shared apartment, with the world quiet around you. “Always have, always will.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry I took so long to figure it out.”

The ring on your finger felt like a promise from Bakugou, a promise to never let you go again. A promise that while he hated it had been such a mess to get to this point, he was happy that he ended up with you.  A promise that when you were ready, he would ask the four words he hoped you’d say yes to in his heart.

He was ready for when that moment came, the diamond ring in a perfect little velvet box he had hidden in his dresser drawer.

And he knew when you were ready, you’d say yes.

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