#like that’s! a small detail in the grand scheme of the fic but the fact that sort of thing is commented on at all is like! FUCK.

[pepperpixel]

Some art of Tori from @misfitmccoward ‘s Naruto fic Plasticity! Because!! It’s such a good fucking fic…! I had to do fanart for it!! honestly after I first read it I was so fucking hype about it that I was almost like “omg.. I have to do an animatic or something for this. it’s SO GOOD” but. My ability to do animatics has kinda flushed down the drain recently ghghg- But! Still!! I had to at least draw some fanart for it…!

[restinslices]

I would love to request a fic of Ares x fem reader please? Maybe based of your post of being Ares favorite mortal lover and defending her or whatever idea you may have?

I think you and someone else requested this so COME GET YA’LL JUICE.

I made this sadder than it needed to be but it’s an illness at this point. Warning for a down bad Ares. Like, OOC type of down bad

Gods are typically very predictable when it comes to love.

It's usually temporary love and honestly a mortal is lucky if it lasts more than a month. They get together, have a baby then the god moves on before the baby is even born. It sounds heartless because it is, but that's just how it was when you were immortal. You got bored very quickly and chasing after mortals gave you something to do when life got too quiet.

That's what typically happens.

Sometimes though, the gods find very special mortals.

For Hermes, it was May. For Poseidon, it was Sally. For Ares, it was you.

Ares constantly watched over you and your child, even if you never knew. He couldn't be with you and he knew this, but that didn't mean he couldn't make sure you were ok and help out occasionally. Sometimes it'd be something as small as leaving you gifts to cheer you up, and sometimes it'd be something as big as delivering “bad luck” to your boss when he was being rude.

So imagine how upset he got when he watched your new partner continue to mistreat you.

Zeus made himself very clear.

Absolutely DO NOT commit any acts of violence against a particular mortal named Trent.

Ares thought about listening. Then Ares thought about the fact that he was willing to allow a war to happen between Zeus, Hades and Poseidon and he decided that since he's done a lot worse, a few felonies wouldn't be so bad in the grand scheme of things.

~~

The arguing made Ares pause before he could knock.

He heard your voice. “In my bed Trent?! Are you serious?!”.

The male groaned in annoyance, “If you can't accept that relationships have hiccups then maybe you don't actually care for me! I'll leave you alone right now if that's what you want! It's just fuck me, right?! After all I do?!”.

“What do you do?!”.

“I told you I had demons I was fighting!”

“Is the demon monogamy?”

He huffed and he swung the door open while going on and on about the so called demons he was fighting that you wouldn't understand, and if Ares had Hades powers, he'd send him some actual demons to worry about.

His eyes landed on Ares, “who are you?”.

You came into view right behind Trent and your eyes widened.

It was strange. Ares hardly paid attention to little details when it came to someone's appearance. After a while his eyes skimmed over people, and even if a mortal managed to catch his attention, he usually forgot what they looked like before the week ended. You were different though and if this is what Poseidon and Hermes felt then he understood why it was so hard for them to let their mortals go.

He wasn't necessarily an artistic guy but he could pick out the specific shade of your eyes, even if it was the most basic eye color. He memorized the shape of your hair and its color. He memorized certain mannerisms or habits you had, no matter how small. If someone blindfolded him, he was sure he'd still be able to find you just by hearing your laughter. He'd pat the area around him as he walk towards you and once he felt your hand in his, he'd know he was home. And sure, there was a mortal out there that had the same texture on their fingertips but he didn't care about them. He cared about you and even if you thought you weren't special, he would strongly disagree. Mortals didn't stay in his mind. You did. That meant something.

But Trent didn't seem to understand how special you were. He didn't understand that you were doing him a service just by standing near him and it made him angrier than he expected.

“This is Ares”, you said. It was embarrassing for him to admit how much he loved how his name sounded on your tongue, so he never admitted it. At least not out loud.

“Like the Zodiac Aries?”. He was going to correct him and make several snarky comments but you spoke before him.

“A-R-E-S. Ares. Like the God of War. Spirit of Battle. Mars for the Romans” you explained and the smirk that formed on his face further proved how down bad he was for you. The shit was embarrassing.

“I'm the father of her child” Ares added and Trent did not look pleased. He looked back and forth between the two of you and scoffed.

“You've been cheating on me, haven't you?”. He didn't even give you a chance to respond. “You're on my ass about what I did but you've already been whoring around. Just like I fucking thought”

“My kid is eight” you said simply. Ares hated that although you kept stepping back, he kept moving towards you. His shoulders were tall and proud, like he was trying to intimidate you into admitting something that wasn't true.

“I bet you're still sleeping with him or any other man that looks at you! I should've known better than to dedicate myself to a single mother. You're all just cheap sl-” his sentence was stopped abruptly when Ares grabbed onto his shoulder. At first Ares didn't realize how hard he was squeezing his shoulder, but once he noticed the sounds coming out of his mouth and saw his pathetic attempts to pry his hand off of him, Ares squeezed harder.

“She missed a very crucial part” his hand squeezed harder still and he pushed down, making the man hit his knees on the ground hard. “Ares, God of War. Spirit of Battle. Protector of Mistreated Women”, he glanced at you then looked back down at the man clenching his shoulder under him. “Have you been mistreating this woman?”.

Trent looked at you but all that did was fuel Ares’ with more rage. The nerve to treat you so cruelly for months then look to you for help. He yanked his shoulder towards him, earning a shout from him. “Don't look at her. Look at me”.

You placed your hand over his, “let him go”. You spoke softly as if you cared for this speck of dirt that probably wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire. Why? Why do this for him when there are millions of other men out there you could be with? Men that would treat you 100x better than Trent had. Men that would shower you with the praises you deserve and stand by you loyally and ask about your day and do whatever other bullshit mortals do that Ares would do with you if he weren't a god.

Trent had you but he didn't deserve you. Area didn't have you but he deserved you. The idea of Ares deserving something instead of just being given it was strange and foreign and even though gods couldn't get headaches, this is the closest he's felt to it.

“Let him go” you repeated slowly.

“I should get somewhere high before I do”.

“Hilarious” you said, although he wasn't joking. “You're gonna hurt him”. That was the plan. “I'm being serious, Ares. Let him go”.

“And then?”

“Then you leave”. But he stays? You were willing to let this man get away with all he's done within your months of dating and shoo the father of your child away?

“I should kill him anyway. He knows too much”.

He was right. Mortals that didn't have demigods weren't supposed to know about the gods existence, so technically killing him wouldn't be completely out of left field. Technically he somewhat had the right to. That's what his deluded mind was telling him anyway. And even if the man on his knees didn't know what he did now, he still deserved a form of punishment.

Your minds seemed to be linked, because you shook your head at him, like you were telling him “no. Don't do that”. You crouched down in front of Trent who was still desperately trying to free his shoulder. “You want him to let go don't you?”

“Well obviously!”. Ares didn't like the attitude and he was going to push down hard enough to dislocate his shoulder, but you put your hand back on top of his and shook your head again.

“He will. First you have to swear to something. Make an oath. Swear that you'll never come back here. Swear that you'll never talk to me again and you'll never mistreat another woman again. Swear on the River Styx. If you break this oath, something terrible will happen. Won't it Ares?”. You looked up at him, expecting an answer. Ares didn't know the answer though. He knew what happened to gods and demigods but regular average civilians? He assumed it was something bad, but he didn't know how bad. Since he didn't have a solid answer, he just voiced what he wanted to do.

“If you break your oath, I'll find you. I'll tear your legs off so you can't run, then your arms so you can't crawl away. I'll give you medical attention so you don't die and I'll make your pathetic form into a punching bag for when I get bored and trust me, I get bored often”. Ares couldn't see how he looked but he knew he looked scary enough by the way the guy shuddered and looked away from him. He even started to cry, which Ares found ridiculous. He wasn't crying earlier. He was on top of the world thinking punishment wouldn't come and even now he wouldn't truly be punished.

The guy repeated everything you said in between disgusting sobs. He swore on the River Styx and Ares was sure he didn't even know what that truly meant. He just wanted to be let go. Ares didn't want to let go but after some more coaxing from you, he let go reluctantly. Trent ran out the house, still sobbing and holding onto his shoulder.

“Thanks for that” you said when you rose back to your feet, but it didn't sound like an actual thank you. You sounded annoyed. “He'll squeal but no one will believe him about being attacked by a god. He'll drive himself crazy or get himself sent somewhere. He'll always check for you behind him. Is that enough punishment for you?”. Ares wanted some sort of physical punishment right then and there, but he'd either deal with him when you weren't looking or decide this will do. Depended on his mood later on.

“Why'd you do that? Now he won't come back!”

“You made him swear never to come back”, but you didn't seem to like him pointing out that fact. You rolled your eyes,

“Yeah, because I knew you'd break him next time you saw him”. Good point, but why did you still want him around?

“You deserve better”

“And what's better? Someone like you? Someone who pops in from time to time? Someone our child hardly knows? If that's what I deserve, well… I guess I must not deserve much. Maybe I did something wrong in a past life”. Your words cut deep. They cut deep because you had a point. Ares put you in a terrible situation. A lonely one. He made you a single mother and although he didn't talk to mortals often, he was still able to pick up on how mortals felt about single mothers. The unnecessary shame that came with having a child but with no father, even if it wasn't their fault. A large chunk of the mistreated women he protected were single mothers themselves. There was an unnecessary amount of shame thrown onto their shoulders. They could've left a terribly abusive relationship, but all of it was still their fault. They were questioned why they couldn't just stick it out, because surely a child with no father was worse than a child with an abusive father who could “get better” if they just “stopped making problems”. He hated it. Now it was hitting him that he helped place this shame on your shoulders. He never said anything but he still decided to have a child with you even though he knew he'd never be able to stay. He wanted to say he made a mistake, but could it really be a mistake if it all meant he had you in his life even if it was only for fleeting moments?

“You don't need him” he got out finally but you had a counter.

“I need someone. I need someone here. I-I… listen I know Trent can be a handful but it's better to have a handful than nothing at all. You have no idea how lonely it gets and even with him it's still lonely because I can't talk to him about any of this stuff. Do you know how exhausting it is moving a child from school to school? Some schools won't even take her! Says she has disciplinary issues and I should do home schooling but how is that possible if I have to work so we don't end up on the streets?!” your voice got louder and if this was anyone else he'd make them apologize for raising their voice at a god. He didn't interrupt you though. Each word was like twisting a knife inside him and he figured that you should be able to decide when to pull it out.

“Other moms don't want their children anywhere near ours. They think she'll be a bad influence. Some of them aren't bold enough to say it, but I can tell what they're thinking! They treat her like some terrible disease their children will catch and I can't explain why she is the way she is! I can't say 'oh well her dad is a god and the monsters she draws are things she's seeing on the street and you can't see it but honestly she's in more danger than you’. I have to say 'they're just pictures. She's just creative!’ ” You began pacing and rubbing your hands together. “I'm alone and sometimes I don't wanna be alone. Having another adult here keeps the walls from closing in. Ugh. What type of mother am I? I can't explain any of this to my child and I can tell how alone she feels too. I think… I think I'm her only friend. She hears what people say about her. She thinks something is wrong with her. She thinks she's a burden. What eight year old thinks like this?”, You sat on the couch and put your head in your hands. “I'm a failure…”.

“Sad” wasn't the word Ares would use to describe how he felt. Maybe not even “sorrowful”. There had to be a better word to explain how he ached watching you fall apart. Ares wasn't good at personal talks, but he sat beside you and spoke

“You are not a failure”. It was simple, but he hoped it worked anyway.

You looked over at him with an expression he knew would be imprinted into his mind for eternity. “Then what am I?”.

He could go on and on about what you were and how much you meant, but he knew he didn't have much time. Zeus probably already knew he was here. He was nosey like that and he'd do anything to make sure everyone followed his lead. He wished he could tear him apart but Ares knew better than to voice any of the malicious thoughts he had or to try and harm him. Maybe a time would come, but it wasn't now.

“You're doing your best with the heavy burden I put on you”

“She's not a burden” you said quickly. “I'm just not sure what to do anymore. Everything I do seems like the wrong choice”. Ares wanted to approach a topic you seemed to despise but either he was predictable or that mind link was a real thing because next you said “No”.

“That camp-”

“Your family will mold her into what they want her to be and respectfully your family… uhh…” he got it. The gods didn't take kindly to insults and he wouldn't be surprised if you finished your sentence and then was magically turned into a pig.

“She needs to be a warrior. Camp will attempt to make her a warrior”. You didn't seem pleased.

He hated your stubbornness. He didn't watch other demigods as much, but even he knew their mortal mother's tended to die because of their own stubbornness. They'd refuse to send them to camp and when their child realized who they were and the monsters came running… well… there was a good chance everyday struggles wouldn't be a problem anymore.

“She'll realize at some point and you can't protect her”.

“I know” you admitted. The defeat was all over your face and in the heavy breath you took. You laid your head on his arm and intertwined your fingers together. “She's gone for tonight. She's staying with my mother down the street. She's the only one that takes her in sometimes. Can you stay over tonight?”.

“What are you suggesting?”

“You're the furthest thing from funny. I'm not having one of your kids again, are you insane?”. Although you said he wasn't funny, and he wasn't joking in the slightest, you both managed to laugh.

“Seriously, can you stay?”. The sky was clear and sunny but thunder rumbled.

If Ares was granted three wishes from a genie, he'd use all of them to watch Zeus die a horrible miserable death over and over again. What harm would one night do?

Well… a demigod could come out of one night but if Zeus didn't like it, he didn't have to watch.

He knew that argument wouldn't work and he didn't have to speak for you to know the answer. You scooted away from him and you took a sudden interest in the floor.

“I would if I could-”

“I know. I understand”. Another thing he hated about you. You were too understanding. He wanted you to scream at him. He wanted you to scream about how much you hated him and how he ruined you. He wanted you to swear at him and tell him to never step foot near you again. Anything that would make separating easier.

“Ares” you spoke, breaking the silence that filled the room. “If I agree to having her sent to camp, will you watch over her? Can you send one of those- what were they again? Oh! Satyrs. Can you send one of those and make sure they both get to camp safely?”

He didn't have to think. “Yes”.

“And claim her. Maybe not too soon though. I remember when I went to camp people got jealous when their parents would send them letters. I know my camp wasn't a god camp but you know what I mean. I just don't want her to catch unwanted attention”.

“Of course”

“Oh and one more thing. I know I'm asking for a lot but can you give me to the end of the school year. I don't know if she'll want to come back home or if it'll even be safe and-”

“You want time”. You didn't respond but he knew the answer. He knew how hard letting go would be for you and the thought that meeting you was a mistake crossed his mind again. You deserved to have a regular family and a regular husband that you had regular conversations with. Not this.

Thunder rumbled again.

“You have to go” you didn't sound like you wanted him to leave and he didn't want to leave either but he knew he had no choice. He stood up,

“I'll see you again. I promise”

“You've made enough promises, you don't have to do that. You can…” the words seemed like they burned to get out, “you can move on”.

He wanted to argue and say that he'd never truly move on from you. That you were the most memorable mortal he'd been with and he had no plans on leaving you be, but then he realized how selfish that was. Damming you to a life of sitting and waiting until he had time to see you. The thought of you sitting home alone waiting for any sign of him, signs that he wouldn't be able to give as often as you needed made him feel an immense amount of guilt.

“You make me an oath” he started, “I don't know what happens when mortals break an oath they make on the River Styx, so swear on anything that's important to you that you'll find a guy who deserves and appreciates you. Not another guy like before. Not some guy to fill in the empty space in here. I mean a man who will treat you right until you become just a memory”. Knowing he'd never be that man filled him with a burning sensation he couldn't quite explain. Some people would say “I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy” but Ares wasn't like that. He'd only wish this on his worst enemies. Not someone he got into an argument with, or someone he didn't like. Only the enemies that made him spit when he heard their name.

“I swear on our daughter” was all you said and it was all he needed to hear. He didn't give you a kiss or hug you goodbye. It'd make it too hard to leave. He just left. He closed the door behind him like nothing had happened and left you behind.

There was a small part of him that selfishly wanted you to break that oath because that'd mean he'd get to see you again, even if it was only to commit violence. The bigger part of him knew that was selfish. You needed to keep true to that oath, even if it would destroy him to watch you call someone else the love of your life eventually.

This could’ve been a heeheehaha jokey thing but I’m an asshole so here we are. I hope it’s clear that I write requests in the order I get them btw. This isn’t towards the anon, I’m just saying to everyone if a request is taking a hot minute I’m either ill, busy, or working on one that came before yours. I also try to do one requests a day to keep things spread out. Posting all the requests on one day will upset me and my homegirls.

[tossawary]

Part of the problem with discussing how racism manifests in fandom and in fan organizations is that to present a nuanced and thorough take on a complicated problem, which actually consists of a number of different complex issues with lots of different potential solutions each, you have write really, REALLY long posts about it.

And people don't read long posts.

Or they read the first part and get stuck on one point they don't agree with or can't 100% agree with. So they get caught up in proving one point wrong instead of at least expressing sympathy or sharing the parts they do actually agree with.

(Or people make fun of you for caring about "people being mean in fanfiction communities" as an issue. Because caring is cringe, apparently. Racism in hobbies like book clubs and local knitting groups and kid sports leagues is also important, even if it's "not that big of a deal" in the grand scheme of things in your opinion.)

Which can have (unintentional or intentional) vibes of telling fans of color to shut up about racism. Which is rude and understandably upsetting to people who have experienced this kind of harassment. Saying "go make your own archive" implies that the affected fans of color have not been a part of building the OTW or in running AO3 and don't belong there as writers or readers, which is untrue and unkind.

Now, I know that people have a kneejerk defensive reaction to any form of "We Need To Ban The Bad Fic That I Don't Like". I have that too. And I won't deny that this is a conversation partly about content moderation. And I won't deny that within this broad conversation between lots of different people who want to do something about fandom racism, there are probably some people who are calling to ban everything they find even a little problematic. They're always popping up. I don't agree with those people.

I didn't reblog End OTW Racism's Call to Action post the first time that I saw it because my brain wanted to chew on the thoughts it inspired. I thought a lot about how exactly to write detailed policy that could explicitly ban the worst examples of fanfiction used as intentional hate speech provably for the purpose of targeted harassment, while still ensuring the protection of the queer content, the problematic darkfic, and the explicit kinky fiction that the archive was created to host (which EOTWR also cares about). I do want fans to be able to explore some disturbing and distasteful topics, even if they don't always write it well, without being censored. And yet I also thought a lot about the "Paradox of Tolerance" as a social contract and what it meant to be "Fair to Unfair Voices".

I also thought a lot about how AO3 volunteers can never review every single thing posted to the website (which was not being suggested). And about how this issue intersects heavily with the structural issues that leave some AO3 volunteers overworked and underappreciated. And the structural issues that leave some AO3 volunteers feeling isolated, neglected, ignored, or mistreated. And also how AO3 is shockingly enormous now for being the result of volunteer work on a budget that's small compared to other non-profit organizations.

And honestly, I was fucking exhausted from my job that day and I cynically thought to myself, "I'll read through the links later, but I don't really see how changing the names on a bunch of fics is going to inspire great change within an organization."

(And the people behind this online protest are pretty open about the fact that they didn't expect their awareness campaign - and that's what it is: it's just an awareness campaign - to do anything on the front of "Solving Institutional Racism Immediately".)

But then I thought to myself, "Okay, but I do believe in antiracist action. And even if I don't think some of these suggestions are workable with the current state of things, or that the OTW will ever agree to some things here, there has got to be something here that could be done right now to make things a little better."

I kind of like the idea of expanding the required archive warnings so that more well-meaning people will opt-in to tagging triggering material, which is a form of content moderation. Like the way that the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag works already. Major Archive Warnings are left up to the author's best judgement unless reported. And even if people repeatedly refuse to use any relevant warning tags when writing blatantly racist stories, when they get reported for not even using "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", then we'll be pretty sure that they're doing it to be a jerk, and AO3 volunteers can suspend or ban them for it.

I like the idea of expanding the abuse policy and clearly defining its terms so that Policy and Abuse volunteers can still retain some freedom of best judgement, but also be more consistent about recognizing when someone is being a racist jerk in the comment section or being racist by gifting violently racist fic to fans of color or otherwise behaving badly. And I like the idea of improving the reporting system while keeping potential misuse in mind. And giving PAC volunteers better admin tools and other resources.

Even if you believe that AO3 is largely run by well-meaning queer women, I personally don't 100% trust that every single volunteer will be great at recognizing the many varied forms of racism, or antisemitism, or transphobia, or prejudice against bisexual or asexual or polyamorous people, or against mentally ill or physically disabled people. And part of this discussion is about when individual members of the PAC team have failed to address malicious behavior that is already explicitly covered by AO3's existing anti-bullying policy. Or that can't be solved by just blocking and muting someone.

Like, this discussion is about racism, and it's worth caring about solely for how it affects fans of color, but optimizing the abuse policy and protocols against harassment would better protect everyone. (And also, please do not assume that fans of color are not also older fans and/or queer fans who care about censorship.)

Some of End OTW Racism's offered solutions are suggestions originally made by AO3 itself back in 2020. A huge part of this discussion is just some fans (they're only, like, 5 people) trying to make some noise so that the OTW will give all users a thorough update on their progress. They are trying to raise awareness to keep the conversation about fandom bigotry going and recruit people to show up to OTW Board meetings to ask what obstacles need to be tackled. They want volunteers trying to change things internally to feel supported and for some more transparency on this subject to externally hold people accountable to their promises.

And I also thought, "Fuck it. This post is worth reblogging if only to remind people that AO3 needs work, to educate new fans on the history and present of fandom racism in general, and to maybe make one person out there feel less alone and connect them with some new friends. Fans of color don't have to be perfect to be heard."

I believe that AO3 has gotten bigger than ever anticipated and management of the OTW has only gotten harder. And I think hiring a diversity consultant, as per AO3's own suggestion back in 2020, sounds like a good idea to curb harassment of all kinds and improve the working conditions of volunteers. Outside contractors have been hired before and these professionals have no effect on OTW's non-profit status. A temporary consultant's job would be to identify where the organization is getting stuck and give suggestions on how to fight bigotry, and the OTW Board can just pick the solutions they think will work in practice with their mission statements.

Honestly, I kind of think it might be a good idea to also hire a security consultant of some kind after some of the harassment of AO3 volunteers in recent years. And if hiring some programming contractors would help the coding volunteers build better admin tools and make tag blacklisting happen sooner, then I support that as well. But that's all up to the OTW Board. And I want the OTW volunteers to know that I support their original suggestion to hire some outside professional help, so that fandom can begin to address some of these ongoing problems beyond just acknowledging that they exist, even if it simply starts with AO3 explicitly calling for more volunteers to get the planned work done.

Saying that there's nothing to be done is defeatist. Saying that the affected fans of color and their allies sound too angry or too serious or too ungrateful, or that everyone involved just doesn't understand how hard these things are, is pretty rude. I don't expect perfect solutions on the first try. I don't expect them immediately. I expect some of these things to take the OTW... years, honestly. I don't always feel very optimistic. I find this entire discussion discomforting and depressing. I'm not ungrateful to the OTW and AO3 when the community has been an undeniably good experience for me personally over the past 10 years. I want people to be able to escape into fandom at the end of a shitty day.

End OTW Racism's awareness campaign is one small part of a much broader discussion and you don't have to agree 100% with everything that they say. Or with what other people talking about fandom racism say (and some people, including academics and journalists and media critics and video essayists, have been talking about fandom racism for a long time). And you definitely don't have to 100% agree with what I've said here.

You don't have immediately volunteer all of your time to the OTW to fix these problems to be a good person. We all have other shit going on in our lives. Just... keep some of the points being made in mind moving forward, yeah? If you have a moment, maybe listen to some of the frustrations with an open mind, and maybe show a little extra love to your fellow fans who are going through it.

And if you have the energy to tear down what you think just one of EOTWR's suggestions is as bad - and they are NOT calling for every single fic on AO3 to be reviewed for problematic tropes or racial slurs before posting, that would be ridiculous, and it's disingenuous to misinterpret them that way - are you also separately talking about and supporting any of the antiracist actions and other harm reduction policies that you think are genuinely viable?

[threewaysdivided]

So, in YJDW, Danny is still very much a solo-hero type. I imagine that's going to potentially cause some issues down the road, both with learning how to work as an equal with other supers and bonding with them since his own hero development is so different from the Team's. No mentor, the discomfort that the nature of his powers can cause, the mixed history he DOES have that's public knowledge, and the lack of real exposure to the rest of the superhero sphere of influence.

(Young Justice: Deathly Weapons)

So this is interesting because you're completely right; those are things that should complicate Danny's interactions (and potential integration) with established heroes and hero teams.

However, the specifics of Danny's circumstances and road to joining the Team in Deathly Weapons kind of alleviate or sidestep a lot of those potential issues. At cost of giving him a new catalogue of complexes to deal with but beggars can't be choosers.

I think we discussed a few of the particulars a while ago in this post thread with @doodly-doop, so I might gloss over some of those finer points here.

Suffice to say that, if it was a immediately-post-series Phantom, there's a lot of potential stumbling blocks to do with him already having ingrained instincts/ strategic impulses/ reflexes/ fighting styles that are specifically geared towards him being the lone powerhouse/ point guard/ tank in a group of otherwise Badass Normal support members. (Compare Superboy, who might be best suited to the specific role of tank/ threat management but who knows most of his teammates can take hits that would incapacitate regular humans). There's also potential for personality clashes given that Phantom is somewhat used to being the de facto leader in his own environment, and also the possibility for him to be carrying some resentment over being left un-mentored or having to deal with ghost problems entirely by himself if it becomes clear that the others knew something was happening in Amity but chose not to intervene.

If you want fic recs, Communication Issues (DP x YJ) by @nerdofspades is specifically about the resentment thing, and the solo-act-joins-team-operation issue is something that comes up in MirrorandImage's DP x TT fic Ghost of A Chance.

When it comes to Deathly Weapons, the details of the setup have kind of brushed aside some of those issues or reduced their severity. Danny's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad nine months of being a fugitive in between leaving Amity and finding Batman (which we will learn more about in coming chapters) has made him a lot more amenable to feedback and groupwork.

Rather than being fresh from overt frontline heroing he's spent almost a year in hiding; a time where he and the rest of Team Phantom had to work a lot more collaboratively, in situations where Danny was very conscious that the others' skills and connections were just as, if not more important than his powers (which at times were even a liability since they could potentially be tracked). Trying to pull a solo-act or otherwise splitting up the group is a really risky move when you're being hunted, and it curbed a lot of the impulses that might have led him to break ranks or otherwise deviate from a team plan without checking in first.

It's also worn down a lot of his pride in a few ways. First, simply traveling around America has made him much more conscious of how small scale he and Amity Park are, both geographically and in the grand scheme of heroism. It's something he thinks about in Chapter 15:

Everything here was too big for him - the manor, Gotham City, Batman and Robin, top-tier heroes... Sure, maybe back in Amity he'd been something special. Or at least, half of him might have been. But if months on the road had shown him anything it was that, in the eyes of the world, Amity Park was just another small, no-name town. Just like he was. Small-town. -Roads to Safe Places (Chapter 15)

There's also the fact that he's just... extremely tired. Being the de facto head of a group in a time of crisis is an exhausting level of responsibility, especially when you have no reliable fallbacks and prohibitively huge consequences for failure. In Chapter 8, Danny is very resistant to cooperating with Batman and Robin, but that's not pride that's survival mode: Danny and Co. endured the last nine months primarily by being aggressively self-reliant and not trusting other people. (There's also a little bit of grief and survivor's guilt in the mix: a sense that this is his torch to bear alone, and that it wouldn't be fair to pass the burden.)

Part of him desperately wanted somebody to step in, to take the load. But that wasn't how it worked. This was his mess. He couldn't just shove it off onto someone else because he wasn't up to the challenge. - Interference (Chapter 9)

Not only that but Team Phantom did not do well during their time on the run - they sacrificed a lot just to get out of Amity Park and were mostly met with more losses as they went - which Danny feels responsible for as the one who was supposed to be leading them. In some ways Phantom and his team went through their own nine-month equivalent to the Failsafe training exercise, and Danny walked away from it with a similar mindset:

I was desperate to be in charge. Not anymore. - Robin, YJS1 E17 Disordered

Once he accepts that he can safely take the help, the suggestion of being on a Team where Batman, Aqualad (and sometimes Robin) are ultimately the ones responsible for calling the shots is less likely to be met with a how dare you as much as an oh thank god.

On top of that, the Danny of Deathly Weapons has a touch of literal hero-worship going on. This Danny grew up with the cultural presence of heroes on Earth-16; from the history of the Justice Society, to living through the formation of the Justice League. By the time he had the accident that turned him into Phantom, Robin, Aqualad, Kid Flash and Speedy would all have been publicly active as proteges for at least 6 months. And in the absence of a mentor of his own, well... I'm going to share a sneak-peak snippet from the CH21 draft:

Maybe it hit harder coming from other heroes.  From the kinds of people whose stories he’d looked to when he was first starting out - that some young, secret part of himself had fantasised might meet and understand him some day. - Equilibrium DRAFT (Chapter 21)

In combination, you might be able to see how the Danny of Deathly Weapons has been shifted just enough to the left of canon!Danny to play better with others. If anything, he's uncharacteristically passive and submissive in their first standalone mission due both to his unfamiliarity with the situation and stakes, and to all that baggage squashing him down. This is a Danny who has new raw patches exposed, but whose experiences have sanded away some of the edges that would otherwise have clashed with a teamwork setting.

It also helps that he's being placed on The Team specifically. Unlike say, the Teen Titans or Justice League, this is a covert squad that's doubling as a proving ground for starting proteges. Between Superboy, M'gann, Artemis and Zatanna they're pretty used to assimilating a mixed bag of powers and skills from members who don't have a lot of direct exposure to the rest of the superhero sphere. And because they're a covert squad whose main advantage lies in being unexpected and underestimated despite how often their plans seem to end in arson, they have their own motivation to stay as publicly invisible as they can manage, which not only lets Phantom operate with lower risk of being personally discovered, but also helps limit them and the League's potential exposure to ectophobic public sentiment.

That isn't to say that this Danny doesn't still carry some resentment or bitter feelings about how he's perceived and what he's been through (especially if someone whose name may or may not start with Kid and rhyme with Dash was to specifically antagonise him about it) but he comes to it with an additional nine months of perspective that make him more likely to respond to collaboration with a quiet sense of relief. At least once you can get past the defensive prickle and general awkwardness about accepting help.

This is all stuff I'm looking forward to elaborating on across the story and especially in the upcoming Flashpoints/ Combustion/ Equilibrium chapter set (CH19-21). It'll make more sense after those releases but hopefully this explains well enough for now.

Thanks for stopping by! 💜

[the-writer-nerd-ro]

Back on my bullshit (Writing Sara Pena and Hunter Richardson fics)

I actually based part of this on my own relationship, I'll say which part in the tags if anyone is interested lol.

This fic is chock full of headcanons and most of them are my own but one of them is a widely overlooked detail from Hunter's generated bio because everyone was too focused on the fact that she was a vandal

You can find my other fics by clicking on most of the tags below I am too tired to link them

When I look at the stars I feel like myself

It was ten o'clock at night and Hunter Richardson did not want to be at work. But people die at all hours of the day and some of those people have wealthy families who insist on having their funerals planned pronto.

In between a dull discussion on coffins and floral arrangements, Hunter was texting her girlfriend.

Sara Pena had gone out for a late-night walk, so Hunter was swinging wildly between being jealous that she couldn't also be there instead of in a business meeting and being worried about Sara's safety. Of course, Sara was more than capable of taking care of herself, but Hunter was still always worried.

SP: The sky is sooo pretty tonight. Wish you were here :-(

H: Me too

H: Send a pic

"Excuse me, are my father's burial wishes boring to you?"

"No ma'am, sorry, just dealing with a personal emergency." That wasn't technically a lie, missing Sara Pena always felt like an emergency.

"Fine. Let's get back to the matter at hand."

They proceeded to talk about different types of coffin wood for the next 30 minutes. The only reprieve Hunter had was when she glanced at her phone and saw a pitch-black image.

SP: That's the best I could do sorry bb (^_^;)

Hunter almost snorted, but since she was about to seal the deal and get to go home she managed to stay silent.

Finally, she dragged her corpse onto the bus. When it wasn't dark out she usually walked home, but she did not have Sara's confidence about walking alone at night. When she got the chance, she took one more look at the blacked-out photo.

"Hm…."

She downloaded the photo, clicked edit, and fiddled with the brightness until small white pinpoints of light appeared. Then she saved it and attached it to a text back to Sara.

H: Fixed it

SP: Oh, yay! Are you gonna be home soon?

H: Yeah I'm on the bus

SP: I'll stay up, cya soon (^3^)/～♡

Hunter stared fondly down at her phone, ignoring the real sky outside the bus window, preferring Sara's shabby attempt at photography. She made the terrible photo her lock screen -Sara was already her home screen- and put her phone away since the bus was pulling up to her stop.

Sara was eagerly waiting for her when she got inside.

"Have you eaten yet? I made popcorn."

"Sounds perfect," Hunter said, exhausted after a long day.

"Sorry I couldn't have taken a better photo for you, I really wanted to. It was just so beautiful tonight."

"I didn't know you liked stars that much," Hunter remarked before taking a handful of popcorn. It was a little burnt, but Hunter didn't care.

"Yeah, stars make me think about life and my place in the universe. Sometimes they make me feel small but in the grand scheme of things I'm lucky to be a speck in a galaxy so large and majestic."

"That's how I feel when you spoon me," Hunter said, a rather lame response to the profound statement Sara Pena had said, but apparently the correct response.

"Well, then, I am lucky to be your starlight."

"And I am lucky to be your speck."

Hunter spent the whole next day thinking about that conversation, especially whenever she had to open her phone and she saw the photo she'd edited for Sara.

"We can definitely do better than that," Hunter finally decided, a plan cementing itself in her brain.

She had to wait a little while for her plan to fall into place since she spent most evenings either at work or with Sara. By the time a window of opportunity opened, Sara had probably forgotten their star chat entirely, but Hunter didn't forget things very easily.

Opportunity struck when Sara was hired to work a party. Her business, SaraPenaPartyForHire, catered to awkward party hosts who were desperate for overly-confident extroverts who would liven up their party. Sara fit the bill perfectly. Hunter, who spent most of her days talking to corpses and mourners, did not fit the bill at all.

Still, Sara always invited her, and sometimes Hunter obliged. But that day she had a perfect reason to say no.

"I'm working late," Hunter lied.

"Again?" Sara practically pouted.

"Sorry."

"It's fine, you'll just have to come to the next one."

"I will," that part was not a lie.

Once Sara was satisfied, Hunter got to work. She had to call in a favor or two to set her plan in motion, but the main part was actually extraordinarily easy.

She went up to the roof of the funeral home and waited for the sun to set.

Once it had, she pulled out her professional camera and began to photograph the sky.

Photography was still only a hobby for Hunter, but she'd taken every class she could on the subject and had hung onto her camera like it was solid gold. She'd met some people during those classes, and one of her colleagues was going to help her edit and print those photos so that she could make a framed collage.

This plan of hers only worked, of course, if she could get good photos of the night sky. If she could only get photos as good as the one Sara initially took then it would be a waste of time and money.

Fortunately, the night was clear and her hands were steady, so the photos turned out pretty good. Maybe she still needed a few more classes, but the photos were at least good enough to hang up in their apartment, and that was enough.

Hunter barely got home before Sara did, quickly hiding her camera when she heard the door open.

"How was the party?"

"It would've been better with you. How was the cemetery?"

"It would've been better with you."

Sara beamed.

"Did you eat at the party? I was going to make some ramen."

"Mmm, ramen."

While Hunter cooked, Sara chatted about what went down at the party, the music that was played, the people she danced with, and the outfits she planned to copy in the future.

And as Sara talked, Hunter imagined how excited she would be to receive her present.

The next few days, whenever Hunter had a spare moment she spent it assembling. The touched-up photos were beautiful. She selected four of the photos to frame, and as a finishing touch took a white paint pen to the black picture frame, writing the phrase "Lucky to be your starlight" on the top and "Lucky to be your speck" on the bottom.

Then, she just had to arrange the perfect time to present it.

H: Are you working tonight?

SP: Nope! Are you?

H: No, do you want to do date night?"

SP: Yeah! Where do you want to go?

H: Maybe we could get takeout and stay home?

SP: Oooh cozy, I love it. I'll pick something up after work.

Sara worked a series of part-time jobs when SaraPenaPartyForHire wasn't blowing up. This latest job was pretty close to a pizza place they really liked. So, with the date set and dinner squared away, Hunter just had to wait.

When Sara got home with their pizza and cheesy bread, she was surprised to find Hunter in the living room holding a beautifully wrapped gift.

"H? What is this?"

"I made you something," Hunter said, trading Sara for the pizza.

Immediately Sara tore into the gift, her eyes wide and sparkling like the stars she loved so much.

Sara gasped. "Oh, Hunter, these are beautiful, did you take these?

"I did. I wanted you to have a nice picture of the stars since you love them so much."

"I do love them," Sara agreed, reading what Hunter had written for her. "But I will never love all the galaxies in the universe as much as I love you."

Hunter set down the pizza, and Sara set down the stars, and soon they were holding each other. And when they were tangled up, so close that two forms became one, they were so much more than just specks in an uncaring universe. When they were together, they were the universe in all its glory.

[saltiestcoconut]

Aiyusa prompt request: Would it be ok to request a sort of related ficlet to ur prev fic? I liked the AU one where Ai was a dragon living on top of a tower, and would love to request for some cuddly fluff about them.

/dabs eyes damn its been over a year since I've written that little fic and the fact that there's still people who think about it????? Makes me so happy?????? Aaaaaaaaaaaa thank you nonny wjkdjsjdjd

You asked for cuddly fluff is story time close enough? It is now

I hope you enjoy~

The first thing Ai sees is a firefly sitting on light blue hair. Then, a face peaked out from the window ledge and climbed onto the window sill. The image of a firefly nestling on Yusaku's hair is adorable, and Ai keeps his eyes firmly on Yusaku in the hopes of searing the image onto his mind.

The firefly flies off, Yusaku's wild movements disturbing the insect as he climbs through the window. Ai leans against the window sill as Yusaku moves his legs to give Ai space. 

Ai dangles an arm and reaches downwards to pluck one of the white flowers. Clawed fingers gently pluck the flower's petals one at a time and send them tumbling down from the window. He's not looking at Yusaku, but from this close, he can tell Yusaku is taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Why does the vine shrivel up in the morning?" Yusaku asks, eyes watching the flutter of the discarded petals. 

"Hm? The vine dies during the day? I suppose that means it's tied to my magic, then, it's stronger at night."

"You… you don't know the vine is dead in the morning?" 

"No. That's when I sleep. I would be way too bored if I didn't." Ai turns to Yusaku, "what about you? Do you sleep during the day?" 

Yusaku presses his head against his knees. "Does it matter?"

Ai frowns. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't. Ai has been alive long enough to know such details aren't important. 

Ai grabs Yusaku's ankles and yanks them fast enough for Yusaku to nearly curl into himself. His legs jerk with the instinct to pull from Ai's grip, but he has no space to pull away. "What are you—" 

"Just because something isn't important doesn't mean it's not worthy of attention," Ai says firmly. He can hear Yusaku's heart pounding. Yusaku raises his head to look at Ai. "I think every aspect of you is worthy of my attention." 

Yusaku's eyes darted away. 

Ai lets go of Yusaku's ankles and drifts off to the other side of the small room. He carries his bench and sits on it to stare up at Yusaku. "Do you like romance, Yusaku?" 

"Romance? Can't say, it's not like I've tried to form a relationship with someone." 

"How about romantic stories? Have you read any?" 

"No. I've been too busy to read for pleasure." 

Ai pouts. "Then make one up. Tell me a story, Yusaku." 

Yusaku presses his lips together and furrows his brows. "Okay, sure. Once upon a time there was a tyrant king who ruled over a city with an iron fist. No one could do anything in secrecy because the king had a security force that kept watch over everyone. The king was married to a beautiful princess who was beloved for her compassion and radiant smile. She became so popular that she was eventually called the sun as she was a beacon of light for the poor people."

"But inside the castle, the princess was just as unhappy as the rest of the subjects. She loathed the king as much as everyone else did but couldn't do anything against the king. She wasn't alone, though, because she had someone else she loved— the head knight who led the king's security force. Through their time together, the princess fell madly in love with the knight, and they exchanged a vow. The princess would always remain by the knight's side, and in exchange, the knight would always keep watch over her."

"Even if the knight and the princess couldn't be together, they forced themselves to be content with what they had, even if the king was mad with jealousy."

Ai tilts his head. "If the king was so jealous, why didn't he kill the knight? Or why didn't the knight kill the king? If he loves the princess that much, he should just take her." 

"Maybe the king genuinely loved the princess and didn't want to make her sad. Maybe he just wanted to show off his power and didn't think the knight was a big enough threat to deal with."

Ai looks thoughtful. "But—"

"Are you going to let me continue the story?" 

"Sorry! Please continue." 

"So, um… where was I?" 

"The king was jealous." 

"Right. So the king was mad with jealousy and sent the knight away on a fake diplomatic trip. When the knight got back, the princess had a child and a plan to escape. She asked the knight to escape with her, and the knight agreed to help her. On the night they agreed to sneak up, the king found out about their plan and showed up to confront the lovers right before leaving the city behind."

Ai rests his head on Yusaku's belly and loosely wraps his arms around his abdomen and upper thighs. He watches him with vivid golden eyes, more reptilian than human. "And then what happened?" 

Yusaku blinks, all previous thoughts gone in an instant. "And then they died. The end." 

Ai's jaw drops. "Wait, what? They died? Just like what? Did the king kill them?" 

"Sure, why not." 

"That's a terrible ending, Yusaku! You promised me romance!" 

"There's nothing more romantic than dying alongside the one you love. That way neither of them have to live without the other." 

"Yusaku, that's so sad. You're awfully pessimistic." 

"Perhaps you're too much of a romantic." 

"Sorry for believing in love!" 

Yusaku's heart pounds against his chest— had been for a while. He grabs Ai's arms and peels them off of him. "I have to go."

Ai straightens his posture and pouts. "Already? You just got here!" 

"It's getting late."

Ai frowns, but then sits with his back turned to Yusaku. If he tries to force Yusaku to stay, there's a chance he won't return. "You’re right."

"I’ll see you tomorrow?"

The sound of metal dragging against the stone floor. Ai rests his head against his knees. "I’ll be here," comes his muffled reply.

Awkward silence swiftly drapes itself between the two of them. Ai doesn't want to watch Yusaku go, so he keeps his head on his knees. It's an awkward position, he's still not used to being able to curl into himself this much. Yusaku gives his head a few awkward pats, and for some reason, it makes him feel better about his departure. Then, he descended the tower.

[heliads]

Realizations

Based on this request for my 3k celebration: “a fic possibly jesper Fahey, based off the prompt ‘I have never admired anyone more than I do right now’”

masterlist

For someone who’s just heard about a grievous crime, you seem awfully happy about it. Technically, there’s no reason to mourn, not yet; not only is that strictly against the rules in the ungodly mess that you refer to with equal parts horror and satisfaction as the Dregs, this crime hasn’t been committed yet. In fact, you’re part of the team planning it out. One grand heist, another one to add to the books. It’s sure to be brilliant.

Kaz just finished the briefing a short while ago, and the scheme will be actualized in a matter of days. Right now, you’re heading back down the rickety wooden stairs of the Slat with your closest friend right beside you. Jesper Fahey seems just as thrilled about the prospect as you do, his eyes shining like a bullet. A wicked grin never leaves his face, especially not when he looks at you.

“This is going to be good. I feel it in my bones.” Jesper says, and you laugh. “You think so? Can your bones tell us any more details about how it’s all going to go?” Jesper smirks. “I don’t think so. The gift of prophecy strikes in strange ways.” It’s an absurd claim, but it just makes you smile even harder. The rush of adrenaline that only comes from hearing about another job runs through both of you right now, making you drunk on the thrill of it. You’ll have time to be serious later, but this is fun right now.

Your room is a few stories below Kaz’s office, and you pause by the stair landing to unlock your door. Jesper waits by the threshold, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what do you think? Want to take bets on how many things will go wrong?” You raise an eyebrow, turning back around to face him. “I know you love a good gamble, Jesper, but I don’t think we’re supposed to be joking about that sort of thing quite yet. Kaz will have both our heads.”

He sighs theatrically. “Oh, I’m sure he will. Not to worry, though, I’m sure we’re both pretty enough to make rather nice decor if he decides to decapitate us after all. Anyway, do you have any thoughts or not?” You maintain your look of incredulity for a second longer, then crack with a grin. “I think it’ll be splendid. Enough said.”

Jesper smirks. “I think you’re splendid.” He winks as he does it, the light spilling out from the hallway casting a glow upon his face as if he wore a halo. None of you have been saintlike in the least, but for a moment, you could believe it in him. You scoff, trying to push away the odd lump in your throat. “So do I, Jesper. See you soon.”

He raises a few fingers in a mock salute before he goes, closing the door behind him. You sigh quietly, listening to the sound of his footsteps disappear down the stairs, then speak again. “You can come out now, Inej. He’s gone.” A moment later, you are now longer alone, and the slight billow of the curtains over your windows are the only sign of the Wraith’s entry.

You turn in a slow semicircle, pointing towards the windows. “I thought I locked those.” Inej allows herself a small smile. “You did. I unlocked them.” You grimace, although without a shred of malice attached to the gesture. “I can see that.” Inej folds her arms across her chest. “How did you know I was there? I didn’t make a sound.”

For anyone else, that last sentence would sound like a brag, but not with Inej. She speaks the complete, utter truth. There was no sign of her presence at all, not even the scuff of shoes against roofing tiles. You spread your hands. “Maybe I’m just rather observant.” Inej arches a brow. “You gave no signs of realizing I was there at all until you said my name. How did you figure me out?”

You grin shamelessly. “Every now and then I say it when I’m alone. Usually, there’s a pretty good chance that you’re listening in.” Inej is starting to laugh. “And how many times have I not been there at all, and you say my name to an empty room?” You shrug. “Only a couple times. It’s hard to maintain the element of surprise.”

Inej laughs, tilting her head back slightly. “You’re absurd. I can see why Jesper’s lost on you.” You start to laugh too, albeit more incredulously than before. “I’m sorry, that was a rather dramatic change of subject. Why are we talking about Jesper?” Inej’s grin is ruthless. “Because he was just in here, flirting as hard as he could, and you didn’t even notice it. That’s why.”

You give her a look. “You’re making that up. Jesper is like that with everybody.” Inej tilts her head to the side. “Is he?” You fight the urge to sputter. “Yes, he is! Just yesterday, he pretended to propose to you with a ring he stole from a nearby shopkeeper, and made dramatic comments the rest of the day when you said no.” Inej smirks. “He did it because you were right there beside us, and he kept shooting you disappointed glances when you didn’t seem overly jealous.”

You cast around for something to say, yet somehow come up short of a defense. “That’s ridiculous. Maybe we joke around together, but it doesn’t mean anything.” Inej just shrugs, looking far too glib about the whole matter. “If you say so. I just think it would be excellent if you sorted the whole thing out. It would make trying to listen in that much easier.” You stick your tongue out at her. “Is that a sign that you perhaps shouldn’t be spying on your friends?”

Inej just laughs, heading back towards the window. “Try telling the sun not to shine, Y/N. I’d like to see you try.” She grins one last time at the look on your face before slipping back out, the gentle thud of the panes of glass closing again the only sign that she was ever there at all. 

The heist itself arrives sooner than you expect. It always does, like time itself runs faster just to see what happens on the day of the job. You find yourself getting into location with the rest of Kaz’s chosen crew. Today, you’re breaking into the house of one of the Razorgulls’ mercher contacts, trying to steal a few odds and ends of high value as a warning not to get involved in the gang fights. Just another day as a Dreg.

Inej and Kaz are entering the top floors together, canvassing the area for potential items in need of liberation, and you and Jesper are patrolling different parts of the mansion (as designated in one of Kaz’s many scheming sessions), keeping the area free of the stadwatch and any of the mercher’s personal guards.

The place is clear for the first half bell, as expected. The changing of the guards is the best time to strike, as most of the mercher’s hired guns are bored and used to standing for hours with nothing happening at all to pass their fancy. They’ve started taking longer and longer breaks in between shifts, which is perfect for Kaz’s mission.

You see your first guard on your second round, just as he starts heading up the stairs. You stick to the shadows, incapacitating him without making a sound and dragging him into a neighbouring room. He won’t wake for a while, in which time you can tie him up with the rest. Right now, the priority is to get rid of all the guards before they figure out that something is going on.

After completing a few laps of the bottom two floors, though, you only find three guards. This by itself is a problem- there should have been five, meaning that your other two are likely heading to the top floors with their friends, wasting time in between their shifts. Normally, that would be fine, except that means that many more people stumbling upon Kaz and Inej, and that many more people outnumbering Jesper. You swear under your breath, and leave your post.

You take the stairs two at a time, quickly heading up. You pass a few unconscious bodies, evidence that Jesper’s sticking to the plan, but there should be at least four more somewhere here. You move as silently as possible, searching every corner for someone to take down. At last, you hear a slight commotion through a nearby hall, and head there immediately.

You identify the source of the sound as echoing out from a locked door two down on the left. Just as you come to a stop before it, you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, albeit much quieter, as if muffled by someone’s body. Looks like Jesper has found the guards after all.

You make the choice in an instant, flinging open the door and throwing yourself through it. You take in the scene in a matter of moments- Jesper, scuffling with three guards at once, and one fallen man a few paces into the room, clutching the gunshot you’d heard earlier. You don’t even think, just act. It’s what you’re most used to, isn’t it? The rush of knowing your life is on the line.

You slam into the first guard, who stumbles to the ground, not expecting another assailant. You lift your leg and smash your boot into his head; two hits and he’s not moving. The blood clings to the treads of your shoe, leaving an imprint on the rumpled uniform of your next target. He tries to stab you with a military-grade knife, but a sharp rap to his forearm makes him drop it. You catch the blade before it hits the ground, slamming it into the man’s shoulder and shoving your free hand against his mouth to silence his cries of pain.

The guard tries to fight through it, but every time he moves, a shudder of agony rolls through his body from the stab wound, and eventually he slows down enough for you to knock him unconscious. The last guard looks downright terrified, but not enough to try and charge you anyway. You’re expecting it, and trip him up neatly, sending him falling on the bodies of his friends to muffle the sound of his body against the previously pristine floorboards. You bend down, punching him cleanly in the head, and he’s down too.

You straighten up slowly, taking note of the blood dripping from your knuckles. Your eyes meet Jesper, who’s staring at you in awe. His mouth moves silently the first time he tries to speak, but eventually he manages to pull himself together long enough to shape the syllables. “I have never admired anyone more than I do right now.” The words escape him as if pulled out by some invisible hand. You’re not even sure that Jesper meant to say it, but judging by the fact that he seems unable to look away from you, you’re fairly sure that he isn’t lying.

All of a sudden, it hits you, the truth of what Inej had said to you earlier. What if Jesper truly did mean all of his flirting comments from earlier as something more? A solitary thought appears in your head as if placed there by someone else, someone who can look between the two of you and figure out what’s going on. Jesper is in love with you. At the same time as you realize this, another discovery shocks you to your core. Jesper loves you, but you love him just as much.

Your adrenaline from the fight leaves you in a rush, and you stand motionless, unable to move. Jesper carefully steps around the fallen bodies of the guards until he waits before you, hands mere inches from yours. “Y/N?” His brow is furrowed; he seems concerned with something, although you cannot fathom what it is. You should do something, you think, maybe step away or make sure no more guards are coming, but for once you cannot spare another thought to the heist.

You don’t know who is more surprised when you kiss him, Jesper or yourself. You’re not even certain that the thought occurred in your head to do it all until it happened and you were standing there, kissing him. The second you touch him, Jesper stiffens like bone, and you start to panic, breaking away hurriedly. There’s a look in his eyes unlike anything you’ve seen on him, except for that one moment a minute or so before.

A terrible thought strikes you that perhaps Inej was wrong about all of this. She may be the Wraith, but that doesn’t make her a Saint, all knowing and all powerful. She’s just a kid, all of you are. Just convicts and cutpurses set loose on the city. How could you expect her to know Jesper’s heart, or any of yours, without cutting it open?

Then Jesper steps forward again, and all doubts and worries in your head are silenced as effectively as a blade. This kiss is not a test, or a question, but the answer, a rush that refuses to leave. He smiles at you at last, looking utterly delighted with what the two of you have to offer. “You know, you could have done that a little earlier. Maybe at a time when our lives weren’t in danger.”

You laugh. “Jesper, our lives are always in danger.” He shrugs. “Maybe so. Does this mean you’re going to kiss me every time we’re in a fight?” There’s a grin on his face, as proud as a king. You match it with ease. “Maybe so.” You cannot stay there forever in that room; the heist calls, it always does. Luckily for you, you’ll have plenty of time to revel in what just happened when you head back to the Slat.

requested by @thatfangirl42​ my beloved, thanks for taking part in the celebration!!

grishaverse tag list: also who i admire most @rogueanschel​, @deadreaderssociety​, @cameronsails​, @aleksanderwh0r3​, @story-scribbler​, @lxncelot​

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath.��

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

[roguerogerss]

Sorry is a Sorry Word

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Plot: Steve fucked up - bad. He doesn’t really know how, or if, he should say sorry, until Dustin gives him a pep talk.

W/C: 3.1k

A/N: Just now realising how long this is oops, sorry. My first Stranger Things fic! Finally. (watch this flop so hard lmao) Remember to like and reblog if you enjoy! It really helps me out. As always, requests are open and any and all feedback is appreciated <3

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"Dustin, Please, just leave me alone." She lay back on her bed, tears streaming down her face and hair amiss from where she'd run her fingers through it. "I'm fine, I just...give me some time."

"But, we tell eachother everything." Her little brother sounded so small and defeated that it almost broke her heart in two. She could hear him leaning his back against the door, the back of his head thumping dully against the wood a second later. "I feel like we're drifting apart. You don't talk to me anymore."

"Dustin-"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry." Dustin cleared the remnants of his upset from his throat, "We can talk later. I get that you need time."

And with that, he'd left. She could hear his muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor of the hallway, walking away from her bedroom and back to his own. She knew that she wanted to talk to him and vent about all of the happenings of the day, but she couldn't bring herself to let her walls down in front of anyone about her current situation just yet.

It was Steve. And it was bad.

They'd been together for a year and ten months. He'd been there for her through thick and thin. Whenever their mom went MIA, something that happened more often than not, during the days and weeks and months that Y/N was left to take care of her thirteen year old brother on her own with no notice whatsoever, Steve was there. And he'd take Dustin out to the cinema, give him free ice cream, play Dungeons and Dragons with him and his friends - even though Steve had no idea how to play Dungeons and Dragons. He'd sleep over, make her feel like she wasn't alone. It filled her with pride to see him taking Dustin under his wing, more like a dad than even an older brother.

When they lost Hopper, who'd become more of a parental figure than she and Dustin's mom was to her, he was standing by her side at the funeral, hand grasping her own smaller one with force and squeezing it every so often, just to remind her that he was there. He was there after the funeral, too, when they went to the cabin and went through Hopper's things. He was there when she found the birthday present that Hopper had bought for her, a necklace with, 'you're pretty cool, kid', engraved on it. Hopper's way of saying that he loved her. It came with a letter, one that she cried so hard while reading that she couldn't see the words on the page.

The point was, that Steve had been there through everything. And now that they'd had a huge argument over - of all things - Nancy Wheeler, she was unsure of whether or not she'd have Steve to lean on anymore.

It wasn't so much a stupid argument as it was a stupid mistake on Steve's end. He even admitted to himself that what he'd done was more than a dick move. Tina was having a party, a big one, for old time's sake. Y/N wasn't invited, having been socially considered as 'uncool' while in High School, while Steve was invited. He said that it wasn't a big deal, it didn't matter, he wouldn't go.

Except that it was a big deal, it did matter, and, well, he did go.

He'd gotten really drunk, so drunk, in fact, that he had no recollection of the night at all and managed to stumble to Y/N's front door at five in the morning.

He'd told her that he went to the party, that he was sorry. She'd been mad, but she was so tired that she said she'd deal with it in the morning and told Steve to sleep it off on the sofa. Before going to sleep, however, Steve had told Y/N that he 'thought he might've kissed Nancy' that night.

They'd argued about it the next day. She'd dropped him off at home, neither of them speaking at all in the car, and they'd screamed at eachother in Steve's living room. Little did either of them know, Steve hadn't actually kissed Nancy, he was just so drunk that he made himself believe that he had. And then, Y/N told Steve that they were done, and he'd said 'fine', and she'd left and cried in her car for an hour.

And now, she was here. Crying on her bed, little brother probably thinking that one of her friends had died or something.

She hated herself for blowing up and flying off the handle and literally breaking up with Steve. Steve, on the other hand, hated himself for even going to the party, hated himself for - possibly - kissing Nancy, hated himself for going to Y/N's front door and waking her up so early in the morning.

In the grand scheme of things, Steve Harrington had been an asshole. And he was all too aware of it.

It had been around half an hour since she got home when Dustin knocked on the door again. This time, she'd managed to calm down enough to allow him to come inside. She looked horrifying, hair messed up, tear stained face, cuddling a pillow and wearing one of Steve's shirts, but Dustin was her brother, he had no right to judge her.

The door swung open slowly, and Dustin was there, grinning and holding two pints of ice cream, spoons, and some movies. "Thought we could put a movie on and eat. And you can tell me about your problems and I promise I'll listen."

"Is the ice cream cookie dough?" Y/N asked, sniffling, and a watery smile crossed her face. Dustin laughed, happy to see his sister perking up at least a little bit, even if it was over ice cream, and turned the carton to reveal to her that it was, in fact, cookie dough.

"Only the best." He tossed one of the cartons and a spoon at her, and turned on the TV set that sat across from her bed. "Besides, I know it's the only one you'll eat when you're sad."

"You know me entirely too well." She hugged her knees to her chest and dug into her ice cream, relishing in the taste of it for a second, "Oh my God, I haven't had this in so long. And the Scoops cookie dough is so bad."

"Right? I know Steve thinks it's the best, but he is so wrong." Little did Dustin know, one mention of his name would make Y/N's meltdown begin all over again. Soon enough, she was crying hot tears into her ice cream, and she allowed Dustin to lay his head on her shoulder while she explained everything.

"Okay, I have to go somewhere." Dustin knew what he had to do, and Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as he got swiftly up from her bed. "I'll be like, maybe half an hour. But you can eat my ice cream if it starts to melt."

"Dustin! Don't leave me!"

"Watch the movie!"

And then he was gone, and she was by herself, with only some ice cream and E.T. to keep her company.

Meanwhile, Dustin had found Steve at work. He was insanely hungover - although, the headache and sickness had gone away thanks to Robin and her Tylenol, but the tiredness still remained - and reminded Dustin faintly of a particular zombie in Day of the Dead when he walked into Family Video to find him leaning on the counter. The grim look on his face wasn't so much because of the hangover, though, it was more to do with the fact that he and his girlfriend of nearly two years had broken up half an hour ago, and he'd been forced to go to work.

"If you're here to talk to Steve, I wouldn't. He nearly punched me when I asked him if he wanted Tylenol. And I'm a girl." Robin stopped Dustin at the front door, a serious look on her face, but he shrugged her off.

"It's fine. He won't do anything. Besides, I know what this whole thing's about. That's why I'm here." He tried to walk off again, but Robin grabbed his upper arm, tugging him back and making him elaborate.

"Is it Y/N? I think there was a fight between them or something. He’s never looked this rough.” Robin looked concerned, and she was. She’d never seen Steve so upset before. “He was crying when he came in.” She added.

Dustin shrugged, “Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. He’ll be fine tomorrow.” He decided not to give Robin any more information on the situation in case Y/N or Steve would've gotten mad at him for it.

"Henderson, hey." Steve said quietly when he noticed that Dustin had entered the store. He looked like he'd been crying, and Robin was definitely right when she said he’d never looked rougher. "If you're here to hang out-"

"I'm not here to hang out, Steve. We have to talk." Dustin crossed his arms sternly over his chest, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head in the direction of the store room. Steve grumbled and complied, unlocking the door and ushering Dustin inside.

"You have to apologise."

"Apologise? Apologise for - what exactly are we talking about?" Steve rubbed a hand exhaustedly over his face, leaning against a sealed box of movies that he was supposed to have put away by now.

"You know what for, Steve. Y/N. You hurt her. Like, really badly. I don't think I've ever seen her so upset." Steve already wanted Dustin to stop, but he continued, really wanting him to get the message of just how hurt his sister was. "She cried in her room for half an hour before she even let me talk to her, and now she's at home by herself, probably crying some more because you went to a stupid party. I mean, seriously man, couldn't you just have stayed home? What was so important about it?"

Steve threw his head back and hid his face with his hands, wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He knew that he'd been a dick, he knew that he'd hurt her, but, Jesus, knowing the details made his heart flip in his chest and his stomach hurt. He hated seeing Y/N upset at the best of times, nevermind when it was his fault.

"Yeah. Yeah, I should've just left it. Jeez, Dustin, I'm such an asshole."

"Yes. An asshole, you are. And what was that other shit? About you kissing Nancy?"

"I didn't kiss Nancy, okay? My drunk mind just kinda...made me believe that I did. I called her today just to confirm." Steve swallowed, suddenly having the nausea of his hangover coming back to him.

"Does Y/N know that?" Dustin had his arms crossed, back against the wall, looking unimpressed as Steve shook his head. "Seriously man? Don't you think that the first thing you should've done after finding out that you didn't actually cheat on your girlfriend, was tell your girlfriend that you didn't actually cheat on her?"

"My head's all over the place, Henderson. Cut me some slack, okay?"

"You have to come say sorry, you know that, right?"

"I will. I will, I promise. I finish in an hour, why don't you go home, I'll buy some flowers, take a shower and get changed, and I'll come chap on your door like none of this even happened." Steve had suddenly perked up, gesturing with his arms and almost getting excited to initiate his plan.

"Yeah. Sure. But it better be good, Harrington. You better make her happy."

Steve didn't even have time to respond before Dustin was running off, getting on his bike, and cycling back home to his sister. He promised himself internally that he'd do all it took to make her happy.

Y/N had finished her ice cream and Dustin's had started to melt by the time he got home. She hadn't cried any more, had been too focussed on the movie, and Dustin was relieved to see her laughing at something on the screen when he entered her bedroom.

"Hey." She smiled. "Your ice cream's melting, you'd better eat it."

Dustin smiled and bellyflopped onto her bed, sending her into a fit of laughter. They both laughed so hard, in fact, that they barely heard the doorbell ring, and Dustin almost got up to go and get it.

He stopped himself though, not wanting Steve to call him an idiot or something along those lines. "You should go. I have to eat my ice cream before it melts." He said sheepishly, sitting back down from where he'd jumped up. Y/N rolled her eyes and threw the pillow that she was holding at Dustin's face.

"Alright, make your sad sister get the door because you have to eat ice cream." She stood up even as she spoke, knowing that Dustin wasn't going to budge. "Nice one, asshole."

Y/N had left her bedroom before Dustin could retaliate, bounding down the stairs and realising that, if anyone saw her the way that she looked now, they'd probably never respect her again. The doorbell went again, and she sighed quietly at the lack of patience from whoever was on the other side.

She - stupidly - didn't even bother to look out of the window that stood next to the door to check who it was before opening it, and nearly closed it again when she realised who was standing there.

"Hey, woah, don't close the door yet!" It was Steve, his eyes widened from the possibility that he'd come all the way to her house so that she could slam the door in his face, holding white lilies and a box of chocolates, which was - in Y/N's opinion - the cheesiest apology ever. "Just...listen? For like, a minute."

She slowly let her hand slide off of the door knob, watching as Steve relaxed a significant amount even from seeing her do that. "A minute." She crossed her arms over her chest, chewing her cheek. "You have a minute."

"Okay, uh, yeah, okay." Steve began his rambling. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone to that party, I know I shouldn't have gotten so drunk that I managed to convince myself that I kissed Nancy. Did I already say that I didn't actually kiss Nancy? I called her, and she said we didn't even speak. Bottom line is, I'm an asshole. I know that, and I hate myself for hurting you. Dustin told me how upset you were and I...I couldn't even comprehend the fact that I did that."

He paused, looking down at his feet and waiting for Y/N to say something. Something that didn't come, she simply stood, looking at and biting her fingernails, trying to figure out whether or not she should give in and forgive him or not, so he stopped waiting and spoke some more.

"I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much. And I know that I fucked up, and I don't expect you to forgive me-"

"Steve." Y/N stopped him. He looked up at her, expecting that she'd look upset or annoyed, but she was smiling and shaking her head. "Come here."

"Seriously?" He already wished he hadn't said what he did before he'd even finished speaking. Seriously? What kind of thing to say was that? "I mean, you know-"

She was already hugging him before he could finish speaking. She knew that he'd ramble on for hours if he could, but she also knew that she already forgave him and didn't need to listen to his rambling. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd lost you, really, I did." He sighed into her hair, realising that he was probably ruining the bouquet of flowers with the way that he was crushing them against her back.

"Well, you were an asshole. You had every right to think you'd lost me." Steve had always loved her subtle sassiness, it was a habit that she often fell into unknowingly, but it made him chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I was an asshole."

She let go of him, finally, and stood back. He was wearing his light blue jeans, a black t-shirt and belt, with a blue jacket. It was an outfit that she'd seen him in before, quite a few times, but he never failed to look good in it anyway. His hair was slightly amiss, as though he'd gotten ready as quickly as he could - which was true, but she didn't know that for sure - but it still had his Steve 'the hair' Harrington charm.

"So, can I come in, or are you just gonna stand there and mock me?" He grinned and she stood to the side, allowing him to join her in the hallway. He went straight for the kitchen, taking out a vase and filling it up with water, then placing the flowers in it and leaving it on the kitchen counter.

"I didn't say you could-" She was trying to joke with him, but he didn't seem to care much, as he cut her off by dipping his head towards hers and kissing her passionately. He hated to admit it, probably something to do with the small part of his King Steve persona that he still carried around with him, but he'd missed her, and it had only been a few hours.

"Woah, easy tiger." Y/N laughed, pulling away when Steve's hands started to travel downwards. "We haven't even properly spoken yet."

"Yeah. Sorry." Steve said sheepishly. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiled down at the floor. "Do you wanna talk?"

She shrugged. "Not particularly."

"So, really, it's okay for me to do this," He closed the gap between them again, beaming at her while he searched her face for any sign of disapproval and admired the little flecks of contrasting colours that danced in her eyes. And then he kissed her again, lips soft against her own, gentle - something that wasn't widely believed, Steve Harrington was actually one of the most gentle people that Y/N had ever met.

"Well, yeah." She grinned, breathless. "But I'm sort of in the middle of watching a movie, wanna join?"

And so they spent the rest of the day, wrapped in the blankets on Y/N's bed and Y/N wrapped in Steve's arms, watching movies that Dustin fished out from the cabinet under the TV that Y/N didn't even know that they had.

She had to say, Steve's apologies were often cheesy and terrible, but this one wasn’t so bad as it was enjoyable.

[harringtonisms]

why is sharing your writing so humiliating... anyways. i started a jemily fic that's a rewrite of cinderella but i never finished it. i did write ab 2.7k words & i do like it and i was cleaning out my drafts so i decided to post it anyway. there are some grammar mistakes (like run on sentences & WAY too many commas bc i never know when to shut up) but i do hope you enjoy this little piece i wrote!!

•••

Once Upon A Time

Part One (discontinued)

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau X Emily Prentiss (not applicable) Summary: Cinderella’s stepmother didn’t liker her much. Emily’s stepmother didn’t like her either.  Warnings: Lots of Hurt/Little Comfort Word count:  2.7K A/N: I wanna give Emily the biggest hug. 

ONCE UPON A TIME in a grand manor on the outskirts of a small kingdom named Quantico, lived a young girl named Emily, and her parents. Her father was a prominent businessman, and his job called him away for weeks at a time so he could fund their lavish lifestyle. When he was home, however, it was rare to see him far from his daughter. Whether they were running wild in their large garden or making a mess in the kitchen, Emily was practically glued to his hip. Her mother was often sick, and couldn’t run around with them, so when he was gone again on his long trips, or Emily was tuckered out from a long day of playing make-believe and causing trouble around the manor, she’d curl up in her mother’s lap and listen intently as she’d tell her a story and braid her hair. Her stories detailed great accounts of brave warriors battling ferocious beasts, and long-lost princesses finding love, and Emily listened to every word until she fell asleep. 

As the years passed, her father got busier, and her mother grew sicker. She spent most days in bed with her mother, reading to her and holding her hand until she fell asleep. The only time Emily wasn’t by her mother’s side was when the doctors would visit. Eventually, her mother refused the doctors, wanting to spend her last moments with her daughter and not wrapped up in a hospital gown trying experimental medicines. Emily enjoyed the additional time with her mother but not too long after Emily’s thirteenth birthday her mother passed away. 

Her father cut his trip short once he heard the news and rushed to his home. He spent the next few weeks arranging the funeral, the hustle and bustle of vendors and maids making the mansion seem livelier than it was. It was only late at night, when the only people there were Emily and her father that you could hear the soft weeping from Emily’s room. It broke her father’s heart, and he was determined to find Emily a maternal figure to replace the one she’d lost.

 Not long after the funeral did her father return to work, leaving Emily alone in the house with the wait staff and her nanny, Erin. Emily filled her days with her studies and adventures in the garden with her nanny when her father was away. That’s how it was for the next three years, just Emily and Erin, waiting for father to come home. It was during his longest trip away from home that he’d meet Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss and her two daughters, Elle and Kate. He fell for her rather quickly and on his way home from his month-long trip, he married her. 

Sixteen-year-old Emily was out in the yard, gardening with Erin, tending to the pumpkins, when her father had arrived home. She rushed to his carriage, eager to greet him after his long trip, and was shocked to see the three new women in his carriage. Emily watched cautiously as they descended the steps of the carriage, waiting for her father’s explanation. He kneeled near his daughter before sweeping his arm out toward their company, redirecting her attention back to the woman and two girls.

“Sweetheart, meet your new mother, Ambassador Prentiss, well I suppose it’s Lady Prentiss now,” He chuckled and smiled at Lady Prentiss before continuing. “And your sisters. Elle is sixteen and Kate is seventeen.” Emily looked over them quickly and decided they seemed nice. She stuck out her hand to shake. Elle gave Emily a quick once-over. Emily’s hair was jet black and perfectly straight. Despite the fact that she was just gardening, not a strand was out of place, and it framed her face perfectly. Emily had deep, brown eyes, a sweet smile, and a few stray freckles littered on her skin. She stuck her hand out and when no one took her dirt-covered hand she pursed her lips before nodding in understanding. All three of the women had on white silk gloves. They just didn’t want them to get messed up with the dirt on her hand she assumed.

Elle glanced at her sister Kate before looking again at Emily and rolling her eyes. Emily decided to smile at them before introducing herself. Erin had walked over to Emily and stood behind her. 

“I’m Emily. Emily Lauren Reynolds, that’s my full name but Erin and Papa only call me that when I'm in trouble. Otherwise, they just call me Em.” Emily’s hands were crossed over her chest as she spoke. Erin stepped forward and bowed respectfully.

“Lady Prentiss, Ladies Elle and Kate. I’m Erin, the nanny.” She smiled at them before turning to face Emily’s father, choosing to ignore the disgusted look of the women. “It’s nearly time to start dinner, I let the kitchen know you all are here and get Emily cleaned up.”

“That would be great Erin, thank you. Please send Linda out here to show these ladies to their rooms, if you happen to see her.” Her father smiled, then walked to the back of the carriage to pull out the suitcases and wheel them up to the front door. Erin and Emily walked inside the house and Emily went off to wash up, and Erin went to complete her tasks. 

Two hours later, the new family was gathered in the never-before-used dining room. Emily normally ate with her mother and when she passed, she started to eat with the house staff. Emily wore a very simple dress, it was a deep blue with white ruffles around every hem. Her hair was in a low ponytail and on her feet she had a pair of white socks. 

Her father and Lady Prentiss sat at the head of the table, across from each other. Elle and Kate on one side, Emily and Erin (Emily insisted Erin joined them, she was basically family as well.) on the other. They enjoyed a nice meal and Emily got to know her new housemates. She was excited that she’d finally have someone to play with and talk to. Her only confidant was Erin, and Emily was practically boiling over with excitement at the thought of two girls, near her age who she could bond with.

The true colors of her stepmother and sisters weren't revealed until a year later.

It started with being ignored. Her sisters never engaged Emily at all, always running off with each other, hushed whispers and hateful stares were thrown Emily’s way. Lady Prentiss wasn’t any better. She’d braid Kate and Elle’s hair into intricate buns, and encouraged her daughters to try their hand at singing, even going out of her way to pay for an instructor with her husband's money once she learned the girls lacked the skill, and couldn’t hold a note if their life depended on it. However, when Emily asked Lady Prentiss to replicate the beautiful styles she’d do for Elle and Kate, or if she could sit in on their lessons, she’d be sent away with a harsh hand into Erin’s waiting arms. 

One day, the gardener was trimming the bushes and pulling weeds around the house, and as usual, Emily had accompanied him outside singing a lovely tune her mother had taught her so many years ago. They made their way around the house, the gardener humming along to Emily’s song as she danced around him, her melodic voice filling the air around them and flowing into the parlor through the open windows. Lady Prentiss was in there reading when she had heard the beautiful voice. She made her way to the window, shocked and ready to praise who she assumed was one of her daughters. Her face contorted in one of horror when she saw it was her stepdaughter singing. 

“Emily Lauren Reynolds,” Lady Prentiss said, her voice dripping with venom. She narrowed her eyes at the young girl, tension filling the air where her song once was. “You are NOT allowed to sing, ANYMORE!” Emily’s eyebrows knitted up in confusion. 

“I am not allowed to sing in my own home?” She quipped, arms crossed defiantly across her chest.

“Do not challenge me, young lady, I will make your life hell, I promise you that.” Elizabeth Prentiss slammed the windows shut and stormed away. Emily looked over toward the gardener, and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’ll show you hell,” Emily muttered, storming off toward the kitchen. Emily was tight with the wait staff, most of them having been there since before she was born and had watched her go from a rambunctious toddler to an even rowdier teenager. So when their sweet Emily asks them to help with her scheme, they agree easily. As much as they loved her, it was nice to not be on the receiving end of one of her practical jokes.

For the next few months, while her father was away, Emily pulled any and every conceivable prank on her mother and sisters, enjoying their shrieks and grunts of frustration, and denying endlessly the accusations claiming her involvement. 

“No stepmother, I didn’t do that.”

“I’m so sorry Kate, I knew how much you liked that necklace.”

“God Elle. My food has never been made like that.”

Emily was allowed to do as she pleased. Lady Prentiss couldn’t complain to her husband. She knew better, Emily was the daughter that the love of his life had given him. There was no lady, married or not, who came before his daughter. 

It had gotten worse when her father passed away. A year into his new marriage, just short of Emily’s 18th birthday, her father’s business partner, Jason Gideon, had knocked on their door. Emily’s heart dropped once she saw him, she already knew what he was about to say to her. Emily had only seen Jason once before, and that was when her mother died. He informed Emily that they were involved in a terrible carriage accident, and her father didn’t make it. Emily had crumpled onto the floor, tears falling freely from her eyes. The older man only offered her a pained smile before riding away, leaving the now orphaned girl to her grief. 

Emily sought out Erin once she composed herself the best she could, stray tears escaping when they could. She found her nanny setting the dining table as her stepfamily made their way to the table. Erin told Emily she should wash up quickly before dinner. When Emily didn’t move, Erin looked up from what she was doing ready to tell Emily more firmly to Get washed up before dinner and quickly. The words die on her lips when she finally looks up at Emily. 

A broken “Erin,” is all Emily can manage before the sobs stuck in her throat came rushing out, and she couldn’t hold her tears back any more. Erin caught Emily in her arms just before she collapsed to the ground, slinking down with her. Erin didn’t even know what happened yet, but she viewed Emily as her daughter, and each sob pained Erin to the very deepest parts of her soul. The older woman raked her hands through her pseudo-daughter’s hair, and rubbed her back gently. She looked up to Lady Prentiss and her daughters. They seemed disinterested in the reason for Emily’s breakdown and had sat at the table as they were served, sympathetic looks from the wait staff thrown her way. The clinking of silverware only stopped when Emily finally spoke.

“Erin, he’s dead. Papa’s dead, there was an accident, Erin, he’s gone,” Emily curled into Erin once again and cried into her shoulder. Erin’s heart dropped when Emily had said that. She looked toward the new head of house and opened her mouth to speak when Lady Prentiss simply raised her hand to silence Erin.

“Emily,” she said slowly. “How did you find out?” Emily steadied her breath and recounted Jason’s very quick visit to her family. She finally detached herself from Erin, glancing at the wet spot staining Erin’s uniform. She mumbled an apology, eyes welling with tears again. Erin shook her head at Emily, she wasn’t upset with her. 

“I’m going to get her washed up. I can get started with funeral preparations if that’s alright with you Lady Prentiss.” She forced her voice to remain steady, and swallowed her tears. She helped Emily up and didn't wait for her response, a maternal arm wrapped around Emily, leading her to the bathroom. 

“Erin,” Lady Prentiss called, just as she was about to disappear around the corner. Erin turned. “It’s Ambassador Prentiss now.” Erin was shocked at the lack of grief from the Ambassador, but just nodded her understanding.

In two weeks time there was a funeral, on Emily’s 18th birthday.  

Ambassador Prentiss played the role of grieving widow perfectly. Emily watched her walk around, accepting condolences and faking tears to gain the sympathy of the crowd. Emily had on a stoic face, ignoring every I’m sorry for your loss, and look of pity that was thrown her way. She sat alone in a corner of the parlor before she snuck away upstairs. She let her sock-covered feet guide her into her father’s room. She reached his dresser and pulled the drawer open. Her fingers dug around until she found what she was looking for. Photographs were very, very expensive, and this was the only one that existed in the manor. She turned the frame over, fingers tracing the intricate gold details as she admired the picture. It was a photo of her mother and father on the day she turned ten. Her mother wasn’t feeling very well that day so they were all piled up in the parent’s bed. Emily, with one parent on either side, all three faces looking at the camera, wide smiles on their faces. A few tears fell from her eyes and splashed on the glass encasing the photo. She tucked the photo under her arm and wiped her eyes. She made her way to her room and placed the photo on her own dresser and tucked herself into bed, allowing sleep to take over her. 

Ambassador Prentiss started changing things, slowly but surely as the weeks passed. She dismissed the wait staff one by one, until the only one left was Erin. She saved Erin for last, waiting until dinner one night to tell Erin that she no longer worked at the Manor. Immediately Emily jumped up in protest. Erin was all she had left. Ambassador Prentiss ignored her tearful pleas and continued to eat her dinner. That night when Erin had to leave Emily ran after her. 

“Erin please don’t go,” She whimpered, eyes lining with unshed tears. 

“Oh sweet girl,” Erin started, her own tears welling. She opened her mouth to offer Emily some encouragement but nothing came out. She simply held her in her arms and kissed her forehead. She rubbed her arm lovingly before turning and walking away. Emily could only watch as tears fell from her face, hand on her mouth to muffle her sobs as she fell to the ground. Ambassador Prentiss came up behind Emily, crouching and placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder. Emily jerked away from her. 

“I hate you,” she spat, glaring at her stepmother. The older woman only smirked at Emily. She place her hand on the side of Emily’s face before grabbing her chin harshly. 

“I promise you Emily Prentiss, you don’t hate me yet.” Emily’s face turned in disgust at the name. 

“That’s not my name.” She said, pulling Ambassador Prentiss’ hand off her face. 

“It is now Emmy. You weren’t 18 when your father died, so everything he owned now belongs to me. That includes you.” 

“My father never treated me as something he owned. I'm a person, not a piece of property.” Ambassador Prentiss only chuckled at Emily’s words. 

“Well your father and I are very different in that regard. To him, you were everything. But to me you are nothing. This past year you spent harassing Elle, Kate, and I? It’s time you learn a lesson. You’ve been served by other people your whole life, it’s time you did some serving. Everything was done for you, now it’s time for you to do everything for someone else. The cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, maintenance. You want to stay in my house, you’ll follow my rules.” Ambassador Prentiss had a wicked smile on her face as she watched the young girl scramble for a rebuttal, fingers pulling a loose thread on her socks.

“I’ll leave then.” Emily stated, wiping her arms. 

“And go where?” Ambassador Prentiss challenged, standing up. Emily had no answer. 

“That’s what I thought. I expect breakfast on the table by 9am Emily.”

[nautilusopus]

Why do you hate the remake? The ending?

AMONG MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY OTHER THINGS

AHEM:

the ending

the way everyone’s character is botched

this goes triple for poor cloud and tifa because they literally aren’t allowed to have either meaningful character interactions or character development because they CAN’T because this is the first five hours of the game stretched into 40 hours so we can’t get into nibelheim yet because we have to “save” it

the fact that this is the first five hours stretched into 40 hours and thus is largely padding

the handling of sector 7, where we go from watching actual people we care about die to seeing literally zero people die at all and also we evacuated the slums so it’s cool

especially egregious considering the game made us do so many stupid sidequests in the (way too clean and sunny) slums to get attached to these npcs only to kill literally zero of them

they still kill barret though so they don’t have to have him fight jenova with everyone else because he’s not a REAL character, let’s get him out of the serious moments. except they can’t kill barret so he’s back immediately due to time bullshit, great

on a related note, the complete and utter lack of any real stakes

the way aeris has fucking future knowledge

the way the vii universe, due to the addition of Fate, now has the judas problem. if the planet can literally fucking control fate why didn’t it just keep jenova from landing? why didn’t it keep shinra from becoming a thing? the only answer is that jenova and shinra are intended to do the things they do and thus are actually under the planet’s control and are not accountable for their actions

the fact that this is sephiroth’s motivation now or something, instead of the actual personality he used to have where he acted as a foil to cloud with his inability to accept unpleasant truths about himself and instead creating a grand narrative for himself where he has not been victimised by unfair and unglamorous circumstances and responded to this by making bad choices

the fact that fate is now a concept in this game at all and how completely and utterly fucking insulting that is and how much of a disservice it is to everything the original stood for on a fundamental level. a game that was literally about how there is no inherent meaning in some grand scheme, and that on a cosmic scale we are insignificant and the planet doesn’t give two shits if we live or die, so therefore we must create our own meaning, small and irrelevant to vast forces like the inevitability of pain and death as they are, and that the meaning we create with other small and insignificant human beings is nonetheless something with value, and that in fact it is harmful to try and pretend there is some vast cosmic significance to your actions and that there doesn’t have to be because your life having value to you is enough, especially in the face of something as absurd as the inevitability of death and pain, now has fucking fate in it. actually, cloud DOES matter on a vast cosmic scale! everyone’s deaths do! and in fact those deaths are unnatural and you’re going to prevent them! hooray!

this is yet another narrative, following in the footsteps of harry potter and the new star wars trilogy, that pretends to be about a nobody going on to defy odds anyway only to turn around and say actually lol no they were special the whole time.

cloud’s handling in general even outside of that. aforementioned lack of development aside, he’s simultaneously way too chilly and way too casual with everyone, with the most meaningful interactions he gets to have being shallow fucking flirting with tifa and him walking around making put upon faces with aeris

the fandom thirst over literal sex traffickers

the fact that this was marketed as a remake when it is AT BEST a series reboot that relies on you having played the og to understand what the fuck is going on half the time

* the utter lack of reading comprehension among the fans that still somehow think they’re going to get other “iconic og moments” remade. did you fuckers miss the ending somehow? about how we’re doing none of that actually? about how they’re going to Defy Fate? you aren’t getting those moments. period. the entire fucking game and ending is literally about that. about how we’re going to Prevent All The Bad Things

the fact that the above was done because they clearly started out trying to actually remake the gam, realised they bit off more than they could chew, and then went LOL NO PROMISES at the last minute with some kingdom hearts bullshit that would let them wiggle out of any long term plot commitments at any time (and also shoehorn zack in because of fucking course he’s here too)

pacing pacing pacing. aside from the atrocious padding problems, you’ve also got sephiroth showing up and mugging the camera every three minutes, because he has to, because this is the first five hours of the game so they need to cram him in there anyway regardless of what it does to the story or no one will buy their stupid game. also they drop the “cloud was never in soldier lol” WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too fucking early, jesus christ. good to know any kind of subtlety is just out the fucking window entirely now

what they did to poor sephiroth, easily the worst handled character in this whole mess. sephiroth sweetie i’m so sorry holy shit

whatever the fuck they were doing with cait sith

taking a big old fucking dump on any themes and meaning the original had in general which i won’t get into too much because it would take forever but you can read more about that here

how they handled shinra and avalanche, or rather how they didn’t handle it and made everything as black and white as possible

jessie’s thirst is extremely annoying and i’m over it

the fact that the fanbase keeps trying to simultaneously go “no it’s only the first chapter of course there’s no explanations” in response to pacing criticisms while also trying to go “no no they had to make it feel like a full game” in response to massive fucking story changes that only served to bloat the pacing

because they can’t bring up nibelheim yet, in this forty hour game (but still have time to go Zack Is Alive Now Also There Is Fate) tifa has no motivation or personality or connection to cloud and barret to speak of. also where the fuck is her anger, holy shit. she regrets joining avalanche? she isn’t

the fact that the fanbase is not only fine with all these changes, changes which again are being made directly in the name of profit to the detriment of good storytelling, but also are even pushing this as the “intended, fleshed out” version of the story they always wanted to tell but couldn’t

bad soundtrack, fight me

midgar and especially the slums look boring

the turks are good now uwu

no Trail of Blood sequence. again, pacing issues. this was meant to be your introduction to sephiroth to set the tone and establish how dangerous he was and how he was the REAL bad guy, but because we’ve seen him every three seconds at this point the whole sequence got cut and it was one of the best sequences there was

the fact that the interviews repeatedly indicate to me that they don’t seem to understand that not every goddamn irrelevant detail needs an explanation (a problem they seem to have carried over from crisis core so that’s great) but that they don’t seem to care about things that DO need explanations and that zero genuine thought was put into the worldbuilding

the way barret’s treated as a joke by the narrative when he’s literally fucking correct

the obsession with Realism (TM) to the point where it creates more tone problems than it solves at times (cloud can fucking fly in cutscenes but can’t hop over a two foot fence)

LET CLOUD BE A DOOFUS YOU COWARDS

about the only character that made it out with their personality intact was aeris and even she’s gone and had her motivations scuttled so it doesn’t matter, yaaaaaaaaay

i can’t fucking believe the remake has made me AVOID fics with jessie biggs and wedge in them. before it was a marker of quality. look what you’ve done.

cloud has an apartment now instead of living with avalanche in the basement. this is also done in the name of Realism but also kind of sucks away the charm imo and makes it that much harder to buy any of these assholes as found family

the timeline of all of this no longer taking place over like three weeks is once again a result of pacing issues. i’m sure this won’t bite us in the ass at all.

god remember when we thought roche was gonna be the worst addition? simpler times

also roche

and yeah the whole ass ending, complete with homage to the ending of ffvii period with the weird doctor who brain tunnel that makes no fucking sense to be here and is only gonna confuse people who don’t know this is supposed to be a callback, and even if it was why is it here, you can’t just fucking copy/paste Famous Moments with none of the emotional beats or writing to back them up or lead into them, context MATTERS did you fuckers learn nothing from the travesty of hollow writing that was ffxv and especially prompto?

the fact that people are looking at this fucking travesty and just assuming the og is like this too and not bothering to play it either because they loved the remake (for some reason???) or because they hated it and now wouldn’t play the og if their life depended on it, which breaks my heart most of all. “the original is still there!!!” is a meaningless overture if people refuse to engage critically with it on any level at all, which as we’ve outlined is absolutely what is happening. this is what people meant when we said the remake would erase the og, and on multiple levels, whether it’s people assuming the og was always meant to be like this, or seeing no reason to play it, or once again failing to recognise what the remake very loudly screams in your face it’s doing and assuming that of course we’re getting a vii remake with all those moments we care about, this is what has been happening.

i can’t even fucking imagine what the northern crater scene is gonna look like now, IF we get one at all. and that’s a big fucking if

i know i’ve missed a lot of them but i hope this helps

[hoffkk]

The Best is Yet to Come

A Brightwell Fanfic

Story By: @hoffkk

Prompt: Gimme a starting question, and I’ll give you a brightwell fic that ends with a kiss!

Question: What do you think I’m doing here? from @officerparker

Summary:  When Malcolm and Dani become engaged, his mother gets a little overzealous with the wedding planning. The couple is grateful but also annoyed and at a loss. How does one stop Hurricane Jessica?

**********

"Mother, what are you doing here?" Malcolm asked curiously. He wasn't expecting her arrival this morning, yet here she was just letting herself right into his apartment as classy and sassy as ever.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" Jessica retorted exasperatedly. Not waiting for a response, she quickly added, "I'm here to plan the wedding of course."

Sitting at the counter next to Dani drinking coffee, he shared a confused look with his new fiancée then flicked his gaze back to his mother and replied, "We literally just got engaged two days ago."

"Exactly. We're all ready a full day behind," She noted, moving forward with her designer handbag in one hand and a large paper shopping bag in the other. "and if this is going to be the event of the season, we must begin preparations as soon as possible. Speaking of... what season were you two thinking of getting married in?"

"We haven't really gotten that far." Dani told her.

"Oh, no matter, we should really pick the location first and then see what they have open over the next year," Jessica said with a wave of the hand. "which reminds me, I took the liberty of making a few calls yesterday to the trendiest wedding venues in the city and..." She continued to rant as she walked off toward the living room to put down her bags and get out her phone. Malcolm rolled his eyes then mouthed "Sorry" to Dani who just smirked and gestured with her head to follow. Heading down the hall with their coffee, they all sat down on the couch as Jessica looked at the notes on her cell and listed off the venues she had called and the dates available. After much discussion, they settled on the Tribeca Rooftop. It had the wow factor that Jessica wanted, and Dani liked the idea of an outdoor wedding, especially after looking at the pictures of the location in a wedding magazine that Jessica had brought with her. As for Malcolm, he was happy as long as both of the women were happy. With this decision made, his mother made a call to book the location. Next, Jessica grabbed the shopping bag she had brought and pulled out a fancy white board with white ribbons stretched across it, creating an elegant diamond pattern.

"This is the wedding vision board." She smiled as she handed it over to Dani.

"Vision board?" Dani queried with a quirk of the brow as she passed the magazine to Malcolm and took the board.

"Every time we make a decision, we add it to the board under one of the ribbons to create the perfect vision of the perfect wedding." Pausing a moment, Jessica grabbed the wedding magazine from Malcolm and her scissors from her purse. Then, after some tearing and cutting, she slid a small picture of the rooftop between two ribbons in the center of the board. "There. Brilliant." She went on, admiring her handiwork. "Now, let's talk about color scheme." The discussion went on for a couple hours as they talked colors, flowers, and food. The latter brought up the question of the head count for the wedding. When his mom was talking about inviting over 300 people, Malcolm knew he had to put an end to her madness but didn't know how. Then, like a miracle from heaven, his phone rang. Hastily pulling it from his pocket, he answered after the first ring, "Hey, Gil. Good to hear from you, buddy. What's up? A case? Uh huh, of course. We'll be right there. Bye."

"Malcolm, you can't leave now." His mother grumbled unhappily.

"If there's a case, we don't have a choice." Dani told her. "Don't worry, we will finish this conversation later."

"We better. The wedding is in 8 months, and we've got a lot of work to do." Jessica told them.

"Right. Why don't you head home and work on the guest list then? You make your own, and we will make our own, then we can cross reference them later this week." Malcolm suggested.

"Fine." Jessica huffed. "I suppose that will work. Oh, and I want to make an appointment at Kleinfeld 's Bridal, so you need to decide on the wedding party ASAP, okay?"

"Will do." Malcolm nodded.

"All right, go do whatever it is you guys do to get ready for work. I'll show myself out." Then, grabbing her purse, she gave a wave and an air kiss then called out, "Ta-ta for now, my darlings."

The couple stood and returned Jessica's goodbye as they watched her head back to the front of the apartment and out the front door. Once the door shut behind his mother, Malcolm sank back down to the sofa and breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh, thank god."

"What are you doing? We have to get going." Dani said crossing her arms and staring down at her fiancé as he ran his hands through his hair and leaned back.

Resting his feet on the coffee table, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away a small headache that was beginning to form. After second, he replied casually, "No, we don't. That was just Ainsley."

"What?" Dani questioned, feeling puzzled.

"I lied to get my mom to leave." He explained.

"Wow. Thats..." She trailed off, coming to sit beside him before finishing. "one of the sweetest things you've ever done. Thank you."

Malcolm felt her warm lips against his cheek and suddenly felt much better. Opening his eyes and dropping his hand, he inquired, "So, you're not mad."

"No." Dani assured. "Don't get me wrong, your mom was being very helpful, but she was also a little..."

"Intense? Neurotic?" He suggested.

With a smirk, she shook her head at him then amended, "I was gonna say overwhelming."

"Yeah, well, Jessica Whitly is nothing if not a planner, all the way down to the very last detail." Malcolm assured. "And when she sinks her perfectly manicured claws into a project, she really gets into it, especially if it involves me."

"Clearly." Dani retorted, staring at the nearby upholstered chair that currently displayed their vision board which was exploding with magazine clippings now. "I mean, knew wedding's were a lot, but Whitly weddings are A LOT a lot."

"Don't worry, I'll talk to her." He told her as he moved his feet back to the floor and threaded their fingers together."I'll tell her to back off and let us make the decisions. In fact, just say the word, and I can tell her we changed our minds about everything we decided today."

"No. Don't do that." She tossed back. "I like our plans."

"Really?" Malcolm challenged skeptically. "Because I know you, Dani Powell, and grand events aren't exactly your style. You can't really want a fancy rooftop wedding with over 300 people."

"The concept isn't terrible." Dani replied vaguely, not wanting to admit that he was right. "Besides, it made your mom so happy when I agreed with her suggestions."

"But this wedding isn't about her." He argued. "It's about us."

"I know." She nodded, pulling his hand into her lap and sandwiching it between her own. "But I also know your mom has been through hell ever since your dad's arrest twenty years ago and deserves to finally have something good to celebrate. You all do. So, let her plan her heart out and create an amazing celebration as big as she wants. She'll be happy, and it'll make everything much easier for us in the long run."

Malcolm looked into her warm brown eyes and smiled at how incredible she was. He never thought about the wedding that way, but Dani, as usual, was right. Happy occasions were in much shorter supply for the Whitly family than most. They had been since he was ten. So, now that these joyful moments were coming around more often, they owed it to themselves to make the most of them. Needing to be certain about her stance on this though, he asked in confirmation, "Are you sure?"

"Positive." Dani smiled back. "Honestly, this may not be the wedding I always pictured, but there is only one detail that really matters to me."

"What's that?" Malcolm questioned with a tilt of the head, trying to read her expression.

"You, waiting for me at the end of the aisle." She smiled affectionately, meaning every word. It was true. Jessica could do whatever she wanted... release 1,000 doves, dress her like a cupcake, invite all of New York City... it didn't matter. As long as the end game was marrying Malcolm, she'd be happy, truly, blissfully happy.

"Done." He beamed with pleasure before closing the gap between them and kissing her slowly and deeply to seal the promise.

Dani responded in kind, cupping the side of his face with her free hand. After a long moment, she pulled back and stared into his sapphire gaze as she stroked his cheek tenderly with her thumb. Not wanting the moment to end, Dani bit her lip then said, "You know, we should probably do that again... as practice for the big day."

With a cheeky grin Malcolm countered, "Or we could practice for the big night."

Her smile widened and amusement lit her eyes as she replied, "We could do that."

Without hesitation, Malcolm moved in one quick fluid motion, lifting Dani from the couch bridal style. She squealed in surprise and giggled in delight as he headed down the hall and across the threshold of the bedroom. If being engaged was this wonderful, Dani couldn't wait to be married. Starting a life with Malcolm was definitely going to be the best thing that ever happened to her. Yes, the best was definitely yet to come.

[randomoranges]

is it lame to do art or write fics for a character’s “birthday”? prolly. do i care? nah. Also guess the song referenced-ish in the title!

Party [For Three]

January 9th 2021

It would be silly to say that this plan had been in motion since late November, but the truth of the matter is that the plan had, in fact, been in motion, since the end of the month of November. On a day that Edward had been out on errands, Calvin had cornered Étienne between two classes to ask him whether or not he had given any thoughts to Edward’s birthday. Étienne had blinked, confused, and had reminded Calvin that Edward’s birthday was over a month away – they had time, but that yes, he had given it some thought in the vague sense that he was aware that Edward’s birthday was coming up, eventually, and that something should be done about it.

 Calvin had laughed in his face, patted him on the shoulder, and had then told him that he would e-mail him the Docs with his current brainstorming.

 Étienne had done the mistake of assuming that Calvin was kidding, but sure enough, ten minutes later, he had received a rather elaborate document titled “Brainstorm for Deadward’s Birthday – COVID LOCKDOWN EDITION 2021.”

 Étienne had – not been surprised.

 Therefore, he’d read the document and through it, the both of them had discreetly figured out what to do for their respective boyfriend for his birthday.

 Now, Edward never really bothered with his birthday. It was too close after the holidays and everyone was always tired from over-indulging and over-spending. It often went unnoticed and the post-holiday depression settled in on people. There wasn’t really anything to look forward to or to keep the moral up and so, Edward never really went out of his way, unlike some people he knew, to create a big bash or make a big deal of it. It was just another day, after all, and in his case, birthdays were highly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. On top of that, this year was even less than stellar, considering the current pandemic and the fact that nearly everything was shut down.

 Therefore, he planned to eat the, hopefully, last of the leftovers, sleep, spend a quiet day, do some cleaning and maybe watch a movie. Keep it lowkey and such.

 Still, he had to admit that the fact that both Calvin and Étienne were in town with him was rather nice. That was gift and indulgence enough. He’d had birthdays with Calvin, especially since they’d started dating, and Calvin always did do something special for him, which was nice, even if it always made him flustered. However, this would be the first time, in probably ever, that Étienne was here for his birthday – that they could celebrate it together. (He was partially to blame for that. He had never visited Étienne beyond a few days post New Year’s and he had shut down Étienne’s suggestion one year of coming back with him to spend the week until his birthday under the excuse of work and such. In his defence, he’d always assumed that Étienne didn’t want to come over or be with him for his birthday. Which, retrospectively was really stupid, considering the fact that Étienne always did something for him on their last day together for his birthday and then called him on the day of. Sometimes, he wondered if the drugs hadn’t actually affected his brain capacities at times.)

 What he failed to take into consideration, (or maybe he had and he was just playing along) was that both Calvin and Étienne would not stand for that and that they had, over the past month, developed an elaborate and full plan for his birthday. Cake included.

 Seeing as the possibility of activities was limited, Calvin and Étienne had agreed that they would focus on what they could do to make the day special. All chores and other such tasks were not to be done by Edward, regardless of what he said, no matter what, no questions asked. The cake would be delivered during the day by Edward’s favourite local bakery. They’d thought of baking something together, but with Edward around all the time, it would have been hard to hide the cake or the evidence. Even if they waited for him to be out of the house, Edward would most likely smell the cake upon his return and even if they hid the cake and made extra batter to say they had made cupcakes for fun, the risk of Edward finding the place where they would have hid the cake was too high. (Calvin had thought of all possible scenarios and Étienne had been surprisingly good into figuring out how Edward could find out.)

 Obviously, they could have made this easier on themselves by telling Edward that they wanted to plan something for him, but Calvin and Étienne had agreed that making this a “surprise” would be better and way more cooler. Plus, Edward would shoot the idea down and tell them both that he didn’t need anything special or something equally lame and boring and old man like.

 Hence, they kept to their secret document and tried to keep a low profile.

 “Y’know, the whole idea of birthday breakfast was for everything to be ready on time and for the food to be hot. How long does it take to make your parfaits? At this rate the French toast will be cold and the bacon will have coagulated!” Calvin complained for what felt like the seventy-third time since the sun had risen.

 “You can’t just rush art, McCall. Isn’t there some fancy “keep warm” option on that monster? It’s not my fault you decided to get up earlier still to get a head start. I told you to wake me up if I was still asleep!” Étienne tried to calmly retort as he added the delicate chocolate shavings on top of the parfait he was currently trying to finish.

 “Yeah, well, how the frig was I s’posed to know that your no-bake-super-fast-and-easy-parfaits would take literal hours to make?!” Calvin asked as he leaned over Étienne’s shoulder to observe his handy work.

 “I’ve been in this kitchen for less than twenty minutes. You’re the one who hogged the entire counter.” Étienne added as he nudged Calvin away so that he could reach over for the raspberries.

 “You said you didn’t need the kitchen!” Calvin whined.

 “Where the hell did you want me to assemble the parfaits; space?”

 “Well, that would’ve been interesting to see.”

 Étienne sighed and rolled his eyes, “Anyways, I’m done.”

 Their carefully constructed plan was to make breakfast for Edward. They’d established a menu, had gone over it more than once, and had had to find creative ways to put some of the ingredients on the grocery list without raising any questions. (Eventually, Calvin had gone out to get some of the things himself and had just hoped that Edward wouldn’t find them.) Their plan was also to make dinner for Edward but their collaboration wasn’t at its best. Still, they supposed it was the thought that counted and so long as the food was good and Edward liked it, they’d count it as a victory.

 The rest of the plan for the day could be summarised as “spend time with Edward” and “make sure he has a nice time” and “spoil him” and “give him gifts” and “make sure he doesn’t wash the dishes or do any laundry” and “do whatever it is he wants to do so long as it’s not a chore.”

 The stakes weren’t exactly very high, but considering the current situation, it was a pretty good plan.

 The bottom line was that they both wanted to do something nice for Edward and spend the day with him.

 The only problem that they hadn’t taken into consideration was the fact that their little discussion could have potentially woken up the one person they were trying to let sleep in for as long as humanly possible.

 “Ahem.”

 They both stopped their bickering and slowly turned in time towards the sound of the interruption, only to find Edward, sleep rumpled and small smirk in place, standing at the entrance of the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest.

 They blinked and looked at one another, trying to figure out how to solve this before their perfectly crafted plan fell to ashes and to smithereens.

 “Good morning, gentlemen, I hope you both slept well. I slept fine and I must say, that for as much as I did enjoy having a few hours to myself to hog the bed in any which way I wanted, I was a little bit disappointed to wake up and find it completely empty.”

 Calvin opened his mouth to say something, but Edward raised his hand to stop him, “I had been looking forward to at least one birthday morning cuddle on the day of my actual birthday, but even Mercury had abandoned her post. So, do enlighten me, what’s going on?” He asked with a kind smile that both Calvin and Étienne knew was entirely fake.

 Without missing a beat, the other two nodded and then Étienne stepped forward, “This is all a dreeeeeaaaaaammmmm,” He started, changing his voice and flailing his arms as if he were a ghost or something of the sorts.

 Calvin mimicked Étienne and did the same, “You are sleep waaaalkiiiiiiinnnnng. You have seen noooooothinggggggg.” He added, his voice low.

 Edward tried hit utmost best not to laugh at their antics.

 “Go back to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.” They finished off in unison as they walked towards Edward to shoo him back to the bedroom.

 “All right, all right, I’m going, I’m going. No need to be so rude, hallucinations. I’m gone.”

 Calvin and Étienne made sure that Edward was back in the bedroom, before they returned to the kitchen and slumped against the counter.

 “Well, that was close.” Étienne said as he stole a grape off the platter he’d been assembling earlier.

 “Think he actually fell for it?” Calvin asked him. They gave each other a look and then laughed, potentially knowing better. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

 They made sure to set everything on the table so that it was picture perfect, with every last detail accounted for, right down to the carefully folded napkins and the utensils placed the “proper way,” before going back to the bedroom to join Edward.

 --

 When Edward “came to”, it was to find Mercury using his chest as her personal pillow, Étienne with his legs sprawled over his own and Calvin sitting by his head, seemingly engrossed in his phone. Mercury was the first to notice that he was “awake” and proceeded to lick his face, despite his feeble attempts to gently nudge her away.

 “Good morning to you, sleeping beauty,” Calvin teased as he levelled with him to peck his other cheek.

 “So nice of you to join us,” Étienne piped in, grinning, as he slung an arm over Edward’s chest.

 Edward shook his head, fond and amused, and did his best to try to sit up, what with everyone seemingly draped over him in some way.

 “We have it on good authority that today is a special day, actually,” Étienne went on, his grin only growing.

 Edward played along and nodded.

 “Yeah, it’s Saturday! So we made brunch! Come with us!” Calvin added, before bounding off the bed.

 Before Edward had fully wrapped his mind around what was going on, he found himself once more in an empty bed, resigned himself to getting out of it, and followed them to the kitchen, he presumed.

 Edward padded after them and expected to find the table set with brunch, but he had failed to account for the fact that both Calvin and Étienne would most likely go all out for his birthday, again.

 “Surprise!” They shouted once he’d stepped in.

 Instead, he found the table covered with one of the nicer tablecloths. There was a painted banner that hung from the wall that had not been there earlier, the spread on the table was gorgeous and looked delicious, there were fresh flowers in the center of the table and there were even presents carefully stacked up together at the spot where he always sat.

 He was touched, moved, really.

 “Happy birthday!” Calvin said as he walked over to him to give him a hug he accepted without thought.

 “We love you,” Étienne added as he walked over as well and then added himself to the hug.

 Edward couldn’t quite form a coherent sentence, so instead he let both Calvin and Étienne shower him with hugs and attention for the time being.

 He would get his revenge, eventually – after they ate.

 It would be a shame to waste such a feast.

 FIN

[adoredontour]

every fic that left a lasting impression with me this year. sorted in order of when i read them!! 

buckle up lads, it’s a long one

nicotine by krisstylinson 32k

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

like candy in my veins by littlelouishiccups 31k @littlelouishiccups

Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for

worth dying for by whoknows

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

damn your love, damn your lies by ifthat

“Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”

“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.

No, Louis likes to annoy Harry. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.

“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop.

you came into my life by disgruntledkittenface @disgruntledkittenface

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

a thousand miles from comfort by littlelouishiccups 

In which Louis is a closeted gay actor and a recovering addict with a troubled past. Harry is the personal trainer who helps him get his life back in shape.

smaller than me by checkthemargins 

Harry's just finished his first year of uni on his way to becoming Dr. Harry Styles, Neurosurgeon. He's young, he has endless potential, three amazing best mates, a new love and the world at his fingertips. The fact that his new boyfriend may or may not be a sex-worker, of course, throws a wrench into the works. But it's not true. Really.

Probably.

It most definitely might not be entirely true. And that's all Harry needs to know.

escapade (i was late to the game shut up) by dolce_piccante

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

soft hands, fast feet, can’t lose by dolce_piccante

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

oh glory by alivingfire @alivingfire

Harry Styles is Team Great Britain's newest swimmer, and has spent his whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no distractions is tested when he's assigned to the same Rio apartment as Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry's childhood crush.

it’s all brand new because of you by supernope

AKA, Louis starts a new job as a summer camp counselor at the local aquarium and Harry is a biologist who really likes teaching people about the ocean.

this wicked game by cherrystreet @cherrystreet

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

do not go gentle by afirethatcannotdie @afirethatcannotdie

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

to brim with fright by hereforlou @hereforlou

The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.

have you coming back again by whoknows

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

i put a spell on you by bethaboo @bethaboolou

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

naked & proud by kiwikero 

In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

take me under the blue by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

paint the sky with stars by kiwikero

the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

truth be told i never was yours by justfortommo

(or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.) 

into the badlands

Louis is Q. Harry is a double-oh agent who thinks that making knock-knock jokes around foreign embassy delegates mid-mission is a good idea.

swim in the smoke by whoknows

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

resist everything except temptation by domesticharry @domestic-harry

The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

pray till i go blind by el_em_en_oh_pee 

Louis is (kind of) a preacher. Harry is (probably) a demon. Of course, nothing's as simple as that.

This is not a love story.

(your heartbeat) rang true inside my bones by flimsy @flimsi

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

i love your demons (like devils can) by ariadne_odair

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

alien roadtrip! by helloamhere @helloamhere

roadtrip with desert feelings, too much snack food, and empty motels. Harry is definitely absolutely not an alien. That would be ridiculous.

treat mothman with kindness by flowercrownfemme @lesbianiconharrystyles

In which Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn are amateur cryptozoologists and Harry is the creature they find in the woods of a small north-western town. ft. lots of glitter and shrieking and a whole shed full of lesbian cats.

just me, you, and this box of matches by tomlinsunshine

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.

close to nowhere by angelichl @angelichl

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting. 

magical soup by gloria_andrews

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown. Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea. As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

sainted taints and velvet vices by toomanytears

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

run like the devil by benzos

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

be with me so happily by briamaria

[aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months]

come together by bottomlinsons @bottomlinsons

Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven't talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that.

what this world is about by isntrio @bloubird

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

once upon a dream by thedeathchamber

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

forever and always by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom (again, thank you!!!!!!!)

OR the one where Harry’s neighbour is a crotchety old witch who hates vampires, Niall is the unsuspecting human who ends up inhabiting Harry’s body, and Louis is the caseworker who is assigned to swap them back. How it ends up a love story is anyone’s guess.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

tangled up in you by missandrogyny

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode 

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

Louis is thirty, single, and a bit of a workaholic. He's happy with his life, but then his mother decides to buy him tickets for a Singles Cruise. Appalled that his family thinks he can't handle his own love life, he steps aboard the ship determined to have a terrible time.

That is, of course, until a persistent brunet keeps offering him drinks.

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

bring out feelings in me i never show

“I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.”

“Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading.

I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

remember you well by fondleeds @fondleeds

“Um,” Harry starts. He looks out of place. Louis can’t really believe he’s seeing Harry like this, so unsettled, so unlike himself. He holds out his hands. “Should we–. Should I, um. Did you wanna, like, cuff me to the bed or something?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. Do I need to?”

i love you most by stylinsoncity

friends with benefits has always been enough for louis. until, of course, it isn't.

ready to fall by whoknows

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

[mattatouile]

I wish you would write a fic where Modern Jaime and Brienne are road-tripping

Killing 2 birds with 1 stone as an anon asked for the Only One Bed trope as well. 

Disclaimer as always: Unbeta’d. Ignore any grammar issues, please. I’m just a hot dummy doing her best.

—–

One of these days, she’s going to stop listening to Jaime. That she has made this vow to herself no fewer than thirty times is beside the point. 

It’s Jaime’s idea that they take a pre-grad school road trip. It’s also his brilliant idea to drive from Riverrun University to Tarth, to drop Brienne at her dad’s for a summer break visit.

Brienne noting that Lannisport is much closer to Riverrun than Tarth, and therefore it makes absolutely no sense for Jaime to drive her to Tarth before going home is met with him grabbing her tightly by the shoulders, an almost manic grin on his face, as he says, “You have no sense of adventure, Brie.”

Brienne’s reminder that Tarth is an island, and therefore, driving to it directly would prove difficult even for the Jaime Lannister fell on deaf ears. 

(There is a ferry from Storm’s End, but she wouldn’t be Brienne and he wouldn’t be Jaime if she didn’t rib him about his handwaving of finer details in his grand schemes.)

In fact, Jaime’s complete inability to focus on the finer details is exactly why Brienne finds herself staring at a single bed in a musty motel room somewhere between Stoney Sept and Tumbleton. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Brienne stares at the bed, covered in a dusty looking coverlet that may have been red at some point in the distant, distant past.

She looks over at Jaime to find him staring at it, a weird look on his face. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“I’ll take the floor,” he says, without even looking at her. 

Oh, for the gods’ sakes.  

“Don’t pull that noble shit,” she grumbles at him. “I’m not getting back in a car with you if you’re coated in fleas, or gods’ know what else is on the floor.” Brienne swallows, looking at the bed that would be a tight squeeze for two average-sized people, much less her and Jaime. “We’ll share.”

His head snaps around, a startled look on his face. “We’ll share?”

Somehow, his reticence just aggravates her further. First, he drags her on a ridiculous road trip when they could both afford the plane tickets. Then, he decides to ‘take the scenic’ route instead of just taking the King’s Road Highway like every reasonable person would. Then, he manages to hit a massive pothole in the road, blow a tire to smithereens and then not have a spare. 

The fact that now he wants to act like a maiden from an old tale, getting verily faint at the idea of sharing a bed with someone of the opposite sex while unwed is infuriating. 

“If the idea is that upsetting to you, we’ll just stick a bag between us,” Brienne snaps at him. “I would hate to offend your virtuous sensibilities.” 

A laugh escapes Jaime like it’s been punched out of him. He shakes his head a bit, as if clearing the cobwebs out. “You hate when I try to sit next to you on the couch, excuse me for thinking you wouldn’t want to share a bed barely big enough for two kids.”

Brienne curses herself for blushing, but she can feel the heat in her cheeks. She doesn’t hate sitting next to Jaime. She hates that he has absolutely no awareness of what it does to her when he smiles at her, and tries to cuddle up to her like he’s a needy puppy. Jaime Lannister. Just. Doesn’t. Get. It. 

He never will. Jaime has never had to pine for anyone in his godsdamned life. He’s beautiful, rich, charming, athletic–he’s everything Brienne is not. Well, except for the athletic part. They’re fairly well matched in that respect, but where his broad shoulders and taut stomach cause a wave of swooning in his wake, Brienne’s same broad shoulders and taut stomach cause only stares or outright derision.

People aren’t soft with Brienne. They don’t treat Brienne like they treat Sansa, or Margaery, or even Daenerys (who may be the scariest human Brienne’s met other than Jaime’s sister). Everyone except for Jaime.

It’s all a game to him, and she knows that. He thinks it’s funny to treat Brienne like she’s as gentle and petite as Elia Martell. He thinks it’s funny to drop a flower on her desk as he takes the seat across from her. He thinks it’s amusing to present her with a perfect, shiny red apple when he sees her in the quad. He thinks it’s hilarious to sling an arm around her and press a kiss to her temple when he plops down next to her at home games for the Riverrun Trouts. 

She knows he thinks it is, because he laughs when he does it, and if he doesn’t laugh, he can’t stop smiling. Because when he does it, one of their other friends rolls their eyes at him and he winks at them. 

The shittiest part, though, is that Brienne soaks it all up like a sponge. She’s a desperate, sad woman who accepts those illusions of romance because Jaime is truly the best friend she’s ever had. He may be a ridiculous flirt and clown, but he’s also kind and helpful and he did break his hand defending her against a group of assholes one time, so, he’s worth it. 

“Brienne?”

She blinks at the sound of his voice, refocusing on the bed and then his face, now lined with worry. 

“I’m taking first shower,” she tells him.  

She leaves him standing there, and barely restrains herself from slamming the bathroom door shut. 

–

Jaime walks out of the bathroom, skin still damp enough that his t-shirt clings to him in spots. 

Brienne’s seen him in less a million times before, but knowing that he’s about to crawl into a too-small bed with her makes her pulse beat as frantically as a scared rabbit’s. She’s going to have to try and sleep with his shower-warmed skin against her, his scent–even beneath the cheap motel soaps–surrounding her. She suddenly realizes what a terrible idea this is, but she can’t back out now, or he might know.

He hesitates at the side of the bed, finally giving up on scrubbing the excess water out of his hair and dropping the towel onto the ratty chair in the corner. He should have the decency to look ridiculous with his shaggy hair sticking in a thousand different directions, but, of course, he doesn’t. He looks sinful. 

She doesn’t know if he sees something on her face, because his own falls a little, a line creasing between his eyebrows. “I really will take the floor,” he offers. 

Brienne scoffs. “Get in bed, Jaime,” she makes a show of trying to scoot over to give him more room. “You’re not some knight in shining armor. You don’t need to sacrifice your comfort to prove your worth.” 

He doesn’t grin or flop onto the bed like she expects. Instead, he crawls in carefully, keeping as far from her as possible. That stings, for some reason. Maybe he’s so disgusted by the idea of being in a bed with her, that he can’t even stand to touch her, lest his pathetic beast of a friend get the wrong idea. 

Brienne swallows thickly and turns away from him, curling her arms around the pancake thin bit of fabric masquerading as a pillow.  She can feel Jaime shifting around, trying to get as comfortable as possible. She tries not to flinch away every time he brushes against her. 

She breathes a sigh of relief when he finally settles and doesn’t move for a solid fifteen seconds.

But, of course, just as she’s on the precipice of actual relaxation, he asks, “Hey, Brienne?”

“Yes, Jaime?”

He hesitates long enough that she rolls until she can see his face. He’s looking at her with a strangely heavy expression.  She would swear his eyes drop to her lips as he drags his lower lip into his mouth, scraping it along his teeth, leaving it shiny and deep pink. Her breath grows more shallow the longer he looks at her. 

“What?” she asks him, heart lodged in her throat for some reason, her voice trembling.

That seems to snap him out of whatever reverie he’s in. His eyes dart back to meet hers. 

“Goodnight,” he says faintly and lies down.

She blinks at him, his face so close to hers now. He’s close enough she can smell the mint of his toothpaste, and hear the soft sigh of his breathing. 

For a hung moment, she thinks about just doing it. She thinks about kissing him. Saying fuck it all, and at least trying. The worst-case scenario–well, the worst-case scenario is why she never will. He’s Jaime. He’s her favorite person. The best person she knows, even if he’ll never let most people see it. 

So, instead, what she says is, “Goodnight,” and rolls over.

It’s a while before she falls asleep, but she’s pretty sure he’s still awake when she finally does.

[quinlinkin]

take it from me ( i’d be lost without you ) ↳ Q’s twdg writing challenge

character(s): mitch, louis ship(s): louitch ( louis/mitch ) word count: 1749 author’s note: ahhhhh, so i finally fell behind. but hopefully only for these couple of days! either way, this fic is based around a short louitch comic i started making in xnalara a couple of months ago that i never ended up finishing. though i do hope to get it done soon, esp if this ship starts to make some traction?? who knowssss

have a lil preview of that comic anyway!!

[   ao3 link   ]

*credits to the wonderful @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale​​​​​​​ for creating this challenge! you can view the entire prompt list + further details here. happy writing!!

                                                          ― ☼ ―

                                     day fourteen ; night sky.

“Makes you feel small, huh?”

“Hmm…?”

“Like… the universe. When you really think about it, we’re just so- insignificant. A puny, meaningless speck that doesn’t keep everything else from existing. It wouldn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things if we all disappeared one day.”

Pulling his gaze away from the blanket of stars above them, Mitch quirks an eyebrow at Louis. It’s become somewhat of a routine for them to find themselves right here, seated upon the roof of Mitch’s house as they stargaze and talk endlessly. They’ve occasionally even stayed put long enough for the sun to begin to rise, peeking over the horizon as a startling reminder for Louis that he needs to get home before his parents wake up and realize he isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A crooked grin starts to tug at his lips, and he can’t help but to lightly tease, “Jesus… Deep, much? Y’know, I think you’d better quit that damn drama class before it’s too late, it’s obviously starting to get to your head.”

Louis rolls his eyes and scoffs, yet the unmistakable signs of his own subtle grin are plainly visible in the moonlight. “I’m just saying. When you put things into perspective, it’s pretty wild to think about.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mitch shrugs, green eyes flicking back up to the inky black sky. Truth be told, he hasn’t spent a lot of time contemplating their existence like Louis apparently has. It didn’t really matter to him.

Except for aliens, of course. Aliens were real, the government are hiding the truth, and he’ll gladly fight anyone who tries to disagree.

“Well… What do you think, then?” Louis asks after a beat of silence.

Again, Mitch gives an offhanded shrug. “I dunno. Not much, I guess.”

He can feel Louis’ eyes on him without having to look. It makes his skin crawl, his cheeks tingle.

“No opinions on life beyond earth? No theories about our existence? Figured you’d be all about the conspiracy theory life.”

“I ain’t Shane Dawson.”

Louis laughs. “No, you’re definitely not.”

Mitch gives a breathy chuckle of his own, his elbows shifting against the shingles. “Yeah, I mean- conspiracies are fun to think about. But I wouldn’t go as far as… whatever all that was that came outta your mouth just now.”

“What, you didn’t like my awesomely philosophical speech?” Louis retorts. Mitch can hear the smirk present in his airy tone. “I should be offended.”

Mitch is forced to redirect his attention back to Louis’ face, where sure enough, that classic Louise-esque smirk is spread across it. His eyes linger for longer than intended. “I think you’re better off leaving all that shit to Aasim.”

With another brief, joined laugh, they both turn their attention back to the sky. It’s not uncommon for them to fall into comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes, Mitch will light up a cigarette that Louis always decline to share. Other times, they’ll take turns with a bottle of alcohol snagged from his father’s liquor cabinet until their heads are warmly fuzzy and boundaries become just a little bit thinner.

Tonight, however, there’s nothing but the two of them, no distractions or obligations to be anywhere other than right here.

It’s also not uncommon for Mitch’s mind to wander during these bouts of silence. He wishes he only held positive thoughts for this odd, indescribable bond that’s formed between him and Louis.

He’s unable to understand why Louis would ever want to show up whenever Mitch decides to text him late at night, why he ever gives him the time of day or humors him when they have just about nothing in common. While it’s no exaggeration that Mitch could produce quite the lengthy list of reasons why Louis is so great and interesting, he’s yet to find a single reason why the opposite would prove to be true.

Mitch glances at Louis while his focus is directed above them. There’s a gentle smile on his face, his expression blissful and carefree. He looks positively at peace, and Mitch doesn’t get why.

He suddenly feels guilty. He’d called him out of bed at nearly two in the morning, after all, and while Mitch never dares to admit whenever there’s an underlying problem that prompts him to want Louis’ company, he suspects that Louis already knows.

Louis makes him feel better, plain and simple. Perhaps it’s his shining personality or his positive way of thinking, though whatever the true reason, Mitch never fails to feel his mood lifting from as early on as seeing Louis typing back a message despite immediately regretting sending his own in the first place.

“You don’t have to be here, y’know,” he suddenly tells him. Out of context, it’s entirely unprompted, yet in Mitch’s mind, they’re words that have to be spoken.

Louis immediately turns his head to look at him, his brows pulled together with a keen mixture of confusion and compassion. It’s more than enough for Mitch to be quickly looking away, that too-sincere expression tugging at his heart in a way that makes him feel queasy.

“I know,” Louis speaks quietly, steadily. Careful, as if saying the wrong thing will cause Mitch to freeze up and bolt. It wouldn’t be the first time. “But… I want to.”

The outward confession instinctively draws Mitch’s eyes back to his face, just for a second, before he’s forcing them away again. His eyebrows furrow, searching for words well beyond his grasp to say.

Naturally, Louis picks up on his uneasy silence. “Do… you not want me here?”

“What?” Mitch’s head snaps back towards him, eyes slightly rounded before he’s firmly shaking his head. “No, I - of course I do.”

While he hadn’t quite expected Louis’ response, he supposes he should have. With his standoffish, blunt nature, he can only imagine that he must come off as disinterested in Louis’ company from time to time. He curses his unapproachable demeanor, wishes it wasn’t so difficult for him to open up.

Apparently, Louis decides to push things a little further. Mitch doesn’t blame him for wanting answers, though once again, he’s no longer able to look at him as his expression grows more sympathetic. His voice is incredibly timid when he speaks up, and Mitch feels even worse.

“Then… why say that?”

Mitch sighs. “Ah… I dunno, I just- most people wouldn’t want to, I guess. Most people… wouldn’t care.”

He can feel Louis shifting closer, trying to crane his neck in order to meet his eye.

It doesn’t work until he speaks again, barely above a whisper. “Well… I do. I care.”

Mitch simply can’t control the troubled look that crosses over his face, displaying his every conflicted emotion and his perplexed thought for Louis to see despite the fact he doesn’t want him to.

There’s nothing he can do to stop himself from asking, “But… why? ”

Louis instantly falls quiet. For a moment, Mitch regrets asking, assumes that there’s nothing that Louis has to offer in response to his question. Of course there isn’t, his mind bitterly taunts. He only said he cares to make you feel better.

He’s proven entirely wrong in the next second.

“Because…” he starts, seeming to choose his words very carefully until they’re spilling freely from his mouth. “You’re worth so much more than you think you are. Yeah, you’re a little devious, and yeah, you’ve got this whole ‘tough guy’ act nailed down. But under all that, you… you have a good heart, Mitch. I can see it all the time. Even if you don’t.”

Mitch blanks. There’s nothing that could ever describe the whirlwind of emotions that instantly overtakes him, no amount of understanding that could hope to make sense of it all. Impossibly, he feels gut-wrenching sadness and heartwarming inspiration at exactly the same time, a melting pot of conflicting feelings coexisting with each other, relentlessly battling for the top spot within his mind.

Ultimately, sheer disbelief wins.

“I… think you give me way too much credit…” he mumbles, a rather pathetic reply to Louis’ meaningful expression of his self worth.

Louis doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe you just don’t give yourself enough.”

Mitch can feel Louis’ eyes practically boring holes into his skin as he grows distressingly silent once again, their shoulders brushing in a way that has him tensing up despite himself. Yet as undeterred as ever, Louis is piping up again before he knows it.

“I see you for who you really are. Whether you like it or not.”

There’s no denying the phrase sums everything up better that Mitch could ever express, himself. Yet he’s unable to think about it for much longer after those words are spoken, for in another, completely unexpected turn of events, Mitch can feel Louis shifting even closer.

A brief pause ensues, before Louis is leaning in the rest of the way. He kisses Mitch’s cheek, and Mitch is blown away how such as simple action can bring forth such an intense response. His heart ricochets inside his chest, his thoughts all but exploding inside his head. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

Then, he’s turning to gawk at Louis as if he’s grown at least five extra heads. Louis bears a similar expression, seemingly shocked at himself, leaving them both staring at one another like two deer within the glow of the same headlights. 

“I - I’m sorry, I-”

Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe the rapidly multiplying emotions within him take over, blinding him and masking all the rational common sense he already lacks.

Whatever the reason, there’s no stopping himself, no controlling his own actions. He doesn’t care if Louis regrets it, if he’s apologizing because he didn’t mean to.

Mitch closes the distance between them again, and kisses him.

Louis freezes, but for only a second. Mitch thinks that same emotionally fueled instinct must be taking over him, too, for faster than his mind can process, they’re quite literally kissing each other senseless. It feels as if a slowly cracking dam between them has finally broken, and with it, everything comes effectively pouring out.

He doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts. All concept of time becomes lost upon him, and the only thing that eventually separates them is the burning need for oxygen.

And, as they pull away, in some cheesy, embarrassingly cliche passing thought, Mitch swears the stars above Louis’ dazed, smiling face shine brighter than they ever have before.