#sorry to everyone who witnessed the uploading horrors.

[florbelles]

SOULS DO NOT HARVEST THEMSELVES.

they still love you, and they’ll still take you. had the absolute pleasure of working with the incomparable @minilev again to bring these two horrors to life. anna, i cannot thank you enough for your beautiful work capturing the beauty & malice & always illustrating the concepts i bring to you so perfectly. so powerfully, in fact, that hellsite forced it to be split into two images. please work with anna if you have the chance!!

[calciumcryptid]

Fuck it, We Are Internet Famous AU. Let's go-

After his grandfather passed, Q entered a major depressive episode. He was close with his grandfather, a famous artist, who taught him everything he knew. In a way, he was raised more by his grandfather than his parents (although they deeply loved him). Q retains his desire to paint, to make art, but now it is bittersweet and his grandfather's shadow hangs over every studio session.

He starts streaming to the core five group chat to try and get into the groove. Tan, perpetual recorder, recorded the streams. One night, while bored, Tan edited one with inside jokes and references the group found funny. After a collective viewing experience, Chain suggested uploading the video to YouTube and its how Q's YouTube channel (MaestroQ) was born.

Q has two channels. One is for edited down and planned content, while the other contains his live streams. He gains a bit of a reputation as a semi-anti Bob Ross due to his more sarcastic and snarky remarks despite remaining calm throughout. The live streams gain popularity because people use them to fall asleep, and the shorter videos are edited down down to a process-video and a condensed highlight reel. Art has become fun for Q again.

Meanwhile, Fang and Phum have become popular because they are rich and attractive young men who do some modeling on the side. It doesn't help Phum (accidentally) befriended royalty (Damn Beer) and a popular streamer known for gaming (Mick), which increased the brothers fame.

Matt is another popular streamer known for gaming and art streams, and Toey is his roommate who is known through association. The two have been roommates for years, and Toey crashes Matt's streams constantly (which lead to an iconic series where Matt makes Toey play horror games, except Toey is completely unaffected). Toey finds Q's painting streams relaxing and falls asleep to them.

Now where do the ships fit into this?

Simple: TanFang.

In this universe, TanFang met when they were adults, post-graduation. While I don't have the exact details, their first meeting comes about because Tan approaches Fang due to Fang being vaguely familiar to him. Naturally, Tan assumes Fang went to high school wit him and thought he should say hi. Fang didn't, and is displeased about being interrupted for the fifth time that week. Naturally, this leads to some punches being thrown.

Of course, they get passive aggressive about it.

[ Pun here! Q is sorry about the delay, but we had to take Tan to the doctor. He got punched. Don't worry! He is fine! While he is out of commission, I thought I'd show him up with my editing skills! :D ]

Phum makes a post about taking his older brother to the doctor, and Fang follows up about making a smooth recovery.

Tan and Fang end up having their followup checkups on the same day, where they figure out the misunderstanding. Fang offers to treat Tan to lunch since he was the aggressor, and Tan agrees. Soon they are texting everyday, and a month later they are dating.

They soft launch their relationship and everyone in Fang's comments are commenting about it being the "Maestro Q Editor Guy".

It was a moment in social media.

Out of protectiveness and curiosity, Phum looks up the channel Tan edits for. He watches a couple of videos, but doesn't get that far into the catalogue before he goes to play football with Tan. If Phum got a little farther in the catalogue, he might have seen Peem's little side series where he goes to scenic water locations and does landscape paintings alongside Q.

Instead, Phum finds out about Peem the canon way where he accidentally destroys a painting Q and Peem finished for a video (or maybe a video card). Q and Tan watch in awe as Peem loses it on Phum, kicking him in the nuts, then running off.

Cue more passive aggressive vague posting.

(I think it would be funny if Phum and Q had Internet beef but their fans were unable to figure out why. Randomly one day this accidental influencer and the painter started to quote tweet each other.)

At this point, Toey is friends with Fang and Phum (through MickMatt) and gasps when he realizes Phum is why the latest video has been delayed and bullies his pseudo-older brother into apologizing ("I had a restless night of sleep. Why would you do that to me? *lethal puppy eyes*"). Phum, begrudgingly, does through Tan. Peem mocks him a little ("Now was that so hard?") and says Phum will be forgiven if he helps Peem with a video idea.

Phum agrees ("Whatever you say gorgeous.") and Peem uses Phum as a model for a portrait. Afterwards, Phum asks Peem on a date ("Since I am forgiven, can I take you on a date? *lethal puppy eyes*). Peem agrees because he thought Phum wasn't serious only to be thoroughly swept off his feet. Phum can't stop taking pictures of Peem, and he hard launches Peem as his boyfriend. Peem is pretty, and people need to know Phum scored.

It was also a moment in social media.

Afterwards, Peem becomes fond of Toey, and it (finally) clicks for Toey that he can meet Q through Peem and Tan. Tan is ecstatic for their friend groups to officially meet, unaware of Toey's mission. At the meet-up, Toey harnesses the power of the sun directly at Q. Q, naturally, becomes romantically constipated about this.

Toey suggest Matt should do an art stream with Q, and Matt agrees. The live stream goes well, and Q leaves. Toey notices Q left his pencil box behind, and rushes to give it back. After staring at his pencil box for a bit, Q admits he knows Toey has feelings for him but he has never returned anyones romantic desire before (oh no, where did these demiromantic feelings come from?) and he doesn't know what to do. The two promise to take it slow together, and start dating.

Chain and Pun were the first ones who got together in this timeline, because the viewers picked up on the undertones between and it opened Pun's eyes to his feelings being returned.

Mick and Matt were the second couple to get together in this timeline, as they were online gaming rivals who were teamed-up at a convention's live gaming event. After they won, they started dating. Toey has never third-wheeled harder.

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Devout Worshipper: Dark! Peter Parker x Professor!Reader

A/N: So this girl here tried something else. I’ve been wanting to upload since long but this got delayed a lot and now I have several WIPs but finished this first. Sorry not proofread. I’m still discovering my writing style and my forte and thank you for staying and witnessing my experiments! Wear safety goggles please.

Summary: The best of all the educators yet, both smart and stunning, became Peter’s mentor in university. Peter grew too much of a liking for her, from a clingy scholar to her devout worshipper.

WARNING: STORY AHEAD HAS NON-CON, KIDNAPPING, POSSIBLE DRUGGING, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOUR, OBSESSION. DNI IF TRIGGERED.

You sat on the teacher’s desk, going through the latest thesis published by Dr. Banner last week. He had given you one of the several copies and asked you to go through it and your judgement on it. The classroom was slowly filling in as the scholars stacked in, their buzzes growing loud with each passing trice.

You were on the last paragraph of your current page when a slight thump made you break out of your stupor, you tilted your head up to find a brawny youngster leaning in front of you, with his hand planted beside your ass on the ebony desk. He had blonde locks with grey eyes and was definitely a sports’ team captain, basketball you believed, who had his own posse of wannabes behind him.

You kept the paper down in your lap and met his eyes again with an inquiring look. “Yes?”

“You seem new. Me and my guys will save you a seat at the back, so come there when your little reading session is over, babe.” He said smugly, his eyes brimming with mischievousness as they dipped to your cleavage not-so-subtly and stood there gawking while he awaited your response.

You paused to see the whole class had gone quiet watching your encounter with the jock. You gave him a sickly-sweet smile as you nodded shyly for show and he tapped your knee with his other hand before leaving. As soon as his back faced you, you rolled your eyes so hard at his antics you heard the first-benchers gasp. You could still hear him talking to his ‘friends’, “I love myself a badass girl like her.”

You returned to your thesis but before you could finish the last few sentences, the bell rung and you had to stop. Thanks blondie.

You got down from the desk, jumping on your black heels as you made your way over to the door, closing it as lock clicked into place.

The entire class was watching you with quizzical glances as you stood in front of your desk this time and wrung your hands together, “Good morning class and congratulation on making it to your second year in college, I will be your mentor and also your lecturer for biology for this semester and for those who pass, also their next one.” The entire class’ jaw slackened and you giggled lightly as waited for them to digest the news, and then told them your name.

“I know a lot of you see science itself as a chore but since you’ve already taken it, I suggest you try to pay attention as you will have to study it anyways. However, because I can relate to your struggles, I will try my best to be a companion or advisor, whichever way you prefer it, and help you get through the class with flying colours hopefully. So, ask me anything, no matter how stupid or absurd you believe your doubt or query is. I’ll answer as many times as you ask and trust me when I say that I am a woman of my word. You have any questions for the semester?” You finished with a bright smile on your face as you saw the students in the front relax slightly. At least you had their approval.

“Ma’am” The blonde kid started without raising his hand, stressing the word unnecessarily as he and his horde sniggered at some stupid inside joke, and continued, “Can I have your number?”

Some of the students gulped while the others leaned forward interested in your response. That kid thought he could fluster you by putting you in a weird spot. He smirked arrogantly, leaning back in his chair as you raised your eyebrows.

“That, Mr.?” You paused as you lingered for his answer, which came almost immediately.

“Flash Thompson, but you can call me whatever you want baby.”

His friends hooted at his pickup line, some praising his smoothness while some high-fived him.

“That, Mr. Thompson, is an excellent example of the stupid questions I mentioned formerly. Thank you for helping me make it clearer to the rest of the class, an extra point for you in the first grading assignment.”

His face fell as his jaw ticked and you turned to face the rest of the class again, “Though I suppose I will give you my number but for emergency purposes only, you can contact me on my e-mail though which I will be using most frequently. You are supposed to mail me majority of your papers this semester and the grading pattern is expected to change this time around but I will inform you of that when the time for the first assignment comes around. Any other questions, and if possible, a bit wiser ones?”

Peter knew he liked you that day. You were attractive and stunning, yes, that too in the natural way, without make-up and tight clothes. But of course, there was more to you than that, you were smart and witty, hence a young lecturer in this esteemed college and you being a science enthusiast as well was like chocolate chips on top of a well baked dessert. You were spirited and jaunty and your sardonic and sassy replies were never degrading or humiliating. The five-year difference between you and the class made you their elder sibling rather than professor.

The first benchers worshipped your intellect while the last benchers adored your sarcasm. Everyone could see how you gave your all to teach, every trick for learning, showing real skeletons and organs in formalin, easily becoming the favourite mentor ever. You could easily be labelled as the university’s crush of the year.

But Peter soon began to despise that. The perverted comments by the students and jealous, snarky remarks by the plastics irked him. He was enraged by the geeks admiring you but baffled all the more by the strange palette of emotions he had never suffered before.

The sheer envy he was sinking in had never even surfaced while he dated Liz or MJ. For him you were a Goddess, tons divine than his exes or any other female for that matter, who should be properly worshipped and treasured.

He knew these sentiments weren’t right, but in this twisted world where he had combatted with unnatural beings and seen unimaginable horrors, he began to believe morality is just fiction used by the herd of inferior men to hold back the few superior men.

It was the last day before spring break and no matter how much your pupils loved you, it wasn’t enough for them to not get distracted and murmur around. Only half of your entire class’s strength came and that half somehow managed to create more ruckus than usual. Even you were minutes late, not in the mood to teach this aloof and uninterested batch of youngsters.

You sat on the table and crossed your legs, which was somewhat your habit that you weren’t really proud of but continued to indulge in nonetheless, and cleared your throat times to catch the attention of the unmindfully fantasizing students.

The baritone of the males and shrieky pitches of the females made you clutch your head. You were sure going to end with disprin at the end of day. You clapped loudly and effectively so, gathered the class’s attention, but by the roll of their eyes and glares on their faces, you deduced they weren’t happy. Who would have thought?

“Okay, before you all slaughter me to the netherworld with your lethal gazes, let me make it clear that no teaching will commence today.” The class hollered appreciatively and whistled, while you paused to let them do so. Teaching on the last day before a vacation was like speaking to yourself only but with the consequence of your name being added to several hitlists.

“I’ll distribute the graded assignments submitted last Thursday and then, since I’m required to clock thirty minutes of educating at the bare minimum, we can play something, maybe you have some talents to show, principles to mock or some gossip to attend to.” The college kids laughed at your poor joke, perhaps too thrilled for their break that nothing could make their mood sour. “We’ll see accordingly, but first, raise your hand when I say your name, I want to learn at least the names of the students who bothered to come to uni on the concluding day.”

You distributed the papers back, making sure to associate each name with a face and the students took them stuffing it straight inside, not bothering to check their scoring and possibly wreck their mood.

“Peter Parker?” A hand raised in the second last row shyly, a flustered boy with glasses on his nose and a hoodie covering his head. He barely made eye contact and you smiled at his nervy, edgy form hoping to ease him a bit. Your heels sounded heavy against the few stairs as you made your way to the back, the class buzzing with laughs as students barely paid you any heed.

The draught of epinephrine Peter felt was unlike anything he had ever felt before, nothing like the anxiety on the battlefield or the excessive sweating while impressing Mr. Stark. The apprehension he felt was decuple that.

It’s not like he had never talked to you afore, he constantly asked clever doubts, which he knew the answer to already, of course, to make an impression on you, but that was with a two feet and 7.5 inches of teacher’s desk in between. Yes, he measured. He had even made sure a couple times, let’s be honest, more than several times that his Goddess had arrived her fascinating abode safely.

But this time, they’d be hardly half a foot apart and the anticipation was tearing him apart. He did want her close, in all ways possible, but was he ready enough to not make a fool of himself? All his previous conversations were thought out meticulously and beforehand but was ready for a spontaneous interaction?

“Good job, Smart Cookie.” You mused at Peter with a wink and dropped the paper on his desk as he looked at you with those innocent, doe-eyes of his, his cheeks and nose a tad bit rouge.

Peter’s hearing ability got lost as the sound of his heart pumping blood filled his tympanum. He could only watch you retreat back to the front of the class, your hips swaying invitingly in that damned black pencil skirt as you called another person’s name.

Smart Cookie was his favourite nickname now.

It was pretty late when you left the university premises, finishing up all you had to and even preparing for your first week of teaching after vacation because you knew how procrastinating errands went.

You couldn’t almost believe how you were on the adult end of things, making sure and guiding other people. With the job, came a lot of obligations that you had to fulfil and being responsible was hard, really demanding. You suddenly had a lot of reverence for all the teachers in your life, from kindergarten to your degrees.

You were on a sabbatical from research temporarily, signing a teaching contract for three years minimum and you were satisfies with the refreshment. Interacting young, curious minds was almost like a recreational activity you indulged in free time and the various angles they approached science at even taught you something. The scholars found it in themselves to even question well-established biology.

Slightly humming, you made a mental checklist of what all was left to do for your solo, self-discovering trip the next week. All that you should pack, clothes according to the weather in the hills and enough emergency eatables. Maybe you could revisit the work-in-progress papers of yours or maybe it would be a leisure excursion only.

Only you never made it to your flight.

 The pounding of your head made a thrumming noise in your head, increasing its tempo and volume with each passing instant. Your eyelids felt heavy and opening them felt like a chore, which even more difficult considering the light that flooded your vision with every bit they opened. Your senses felt overwhelmed being burdened and strained with their everyday tasks after what you assumed to be at least hours of inactivity.

The sudden spike of pain shooting in your head made you jerk your hand to clutch your throbbing forehead, only to fail and find your hands bounded to something. They weren’t cuffed or shackled, nothing dug in your wrist either. Maybe a rope but the texture wasn’t rough enough. After what felt like minutes, you opened your eyes and sat up, as straight as your confined self could, and looked around.

The room was shades of grey and blue, a giant bed was where you were sitting. The giant ceiling to floor windows beside you, cast enough moonlight in the bedroom for you to see the entire bedroom. The view outside was so picturesque, that you had been gawking were you not afraid of your surroundings. You could discern you were high up, with how small the vehicles looked and another wave terror ran through you.

A white desk with a blue chair had a laptop atop it, also sitting beside several books. You would have noticed them being your subject and recommendation but you were scanning your brain as to how you landed here. With your vision now clearer, you saw your restraints to be like silk but no matter how hard you pulled, they didn’t snap.

You were full on panicking and staring wide eyed when the laptop entered your vision again. There was no other electronic except it and you calmed yourself to think rationally. Deep breaths, in and out. Your best bet right now was to hope that the laptop was connected to someone’s wifi.

You slid off the edge of the bed and tried to cut the weird silk ropes with bedside table’s corner. It took some time but you succeeded, your hands freed from the poster of the bed as you made your way towards the laptop, after checking the locked door of course.

Another wave of panic ran through you when the laptop wasn’t connected to anything and all available connections were password protected. You noticed the laptop to be brand new, and of a very expensive company that was out of your budget. You also noticed the OS was very different, not the usual Windows you ran. Your AI Cortana in this overpriced gadget, was named Karen.

You still refused to wait for your captor to show up and snooped to find something on the laptop, anything. There was no profile of the owner but you did manage to find at least three GB of videos and images.

Your hands froze and eyes widened when you saw the security footage of your building’s outside, the little bakery’s neon sign confirming the location. The videos were the same, of you entering and exiting every day, just the dates on the videos varied.

Another folder had clips with the same dates, but they were in the lobby of your apartment, your potted plants outside your door the affirmation again. It showed you getting milks and newspaper every morning, ordering take out several days and placing the garbage bags outside.

The earliest date in each folder was after your first month of moving here, second week of teaching probably.

When you opened the third folder, as the video started your hands covered your mouth as you tried your best to hold back the sob and making a noise. The screen showed two camera screens, both inside your apartment. The first showed the living room clearly and your kitchen and you concluded it to be behind some article on the bookshelf.

The other screen showed your bedroom.

You could still see the floral bedsheet with the white quilt atop it. Your red suitcase that you took out from the storage for your trip this morning, resting beside the wall. Your lamp switched on from when you mayhap left it on, already late for the last day of work. As the time hit 12 AM at the bottom of the screen, the video ended and played again. There were even more folders and you wondered how far would the surveillance go, till your bathroom?

Your abductor had live footage of your house being sent to his laptop and that scared you shitless. This was not a random crime, that ransom could end. You were here for something, some sick purpose you didn’t even know. Was this a hate crime? Would you even make it-

“I really wish you hadn’t looked there.”

The deep, familiar voice amplified your fear and you turned your head slowly, almost comically to look at him. Another gasp escaped your lips as you found warm eyes of your student and brows furrowed in confusion and fear when you saw the deranged lust in his eyes. Was this some sick prank?

“What am I doing here and what is this?” You gestured to the screen playing footages of the inside of your house. Seeing someone familiar and the probability of this being a prank should have calmed you somewhat but the revolting trick and the strange darkness in the boy’s eyes made you even more wary.

As he took a step closer, you hastily climbed out of the chair and backed away, nearing the bed again as he locked the door and closed in on you. He made a move to snatch you and you jumped to the other side of the bed barely missing him by an inch. You reached for the door hoping to find it unlocked but it didn’t even budge.

You pulled even harder while being painfully aware of how that kid from your class just sat on the bed and observed, having the utmost confidence in the door. Your frenzied state got a jump-scare when a female voice broke the silence, “Authorization to access locked doors is granted to Mr. Parker only, please refrain from damaging the property, Mam.”

So some tech-boy with a rich background is set on you?

“Please sit on the bed and I’ll explain, please.”

His doe eyes would have fooled you were you not extremely aware of your environment due to the adrenaline coursing through your arteries. He was an exceptionally good actor, you had to give him that. You prided yourself to be an excellent judge of character and here this guy had deceived you for three months.

The AI called him Parker, what was his name again?

Patrick? Peyton? Peter? Yes, Peter Parker.

“Peter?” You softly called out and his eyes widened as a blush crept up to his cheeks as he relished the fact that you remembered his name. You sighed internally, praying that this was a case of a harmless crush gone wrong and he was just innocently hopeful. The image of his dark, lust covered eyes crossed your mind to make an argument but you pushed it aside to calm your nerves and stay as relaxed as you possibly could with all that was happening.

“I know that this is all a big misunderstanding but you are really scaring me here. Can you please at least let me out of this room to somewhere open?” You looked at him, hoping to talk him down and get out. You didn’t think he would hurt you but you weren’t willing to take any chances with this maniacal youngster either.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that, you’ll run.”

Of course, you’ll run, who wouldn’t?

“Peter, boy, listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me! I admit the situation isn’t ideal and you’re probably terrified because of your meddling but this is all for you! I’m here to protect you! The world out there isn’t safe and your heavenly self needs to be resuscitated.”

“Peter, you’re not making any sense. I’m an adult, older than you and you need to understand boundaries-”

“I’ve seen the way of the world, trust me, in fact, far more than you have! Did you know that raping and murdering women on Asgard is considered a common crime? How Hydra is kidnapping young, bright women to exploit them for breeding projects? How the Red Skull resurfaced and his ideals now include eradicating women from Earth as well?”

“Pete-”

“No, you don’t know! You are just blissfully unaware of this world, so oblivious you don’t even how know the perverted and debauched comments your own class makes?”

His outburst frightened you as you felt yourself losing control of the situation, maybe you never were in control. But now the unleashed fury on Peter’s face told you that had triggered an irrevocable topic.

“Calm down, it’s alright.” You said quietly, hoping to ease him again but his steps towards made you back up yourself to the other side of the bed.

“You, You are still scared of me, aren’t you? You still don’t understand, do you? I’ll show you, show you how much I worship you, the true extent of my devotion.” Every ludicrous declaration of his bit away your hope of getting out.

As he approached you again from the foot of the bed, you jumped across the bed again, hoping to reprise your stunt from before. However, your jumping halted midway as something glued your right wrist to the headboard and you jerked due to inertia of movement. As your eyes looked to your hand, the same silky rope met your vision.

You did not have the time or the wits to ponder over the fluid, about how your abductor shot it or how it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard you pulled. A hand on your ankle prompted you to try one last time as you screamed as loud as you could, for as long as your lungs allowed.

“It won’t work, Mr. Stark got me a soundproofed apartment. Pretty cool, right?”

A sob wracked through your entire frame as the tears descended, the frustration and hopelessness and dread, all attacking you at once. Your legs kicked and flexed and when your left fist swung, he restrained all your limbs after dodging, of course.

“I just want to love you, is it too much too ask?” He asked in a quiet whisper, his hands undressing you cloth by cloth; first unzipping the side of your pencil skirt and unwrapping it, then unbuttoning your blouse. When he brought out a pocket knife, your eyes instinctively closed, a “Please don’t hurt me” falling from your lips.

“Never.” He replied with absolute assurance.

The blade cut through your blouse first, leaving you in your garments while Peter sat back on his knees to admire you. You’ve been flattered with the adoration in his eyes had you not gone through the mayhem that you had.

His hand caressed your curves, feeling the soft skin underneath as he took his time admiring you, committing each feature to memory while your tears poured, your eyes never leaving the knife he held.

The blade invaded your privacy once again as it took away your last pieces of defense, leaving you utterly nude and your cries wreaked havoc in the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes found Peter face and you noticed his eyes twinkling in admiration trailing up and down your body several times. His disciple complex was scaring you, you almost bordered considering his Goddess belief.

“So stunning.” He whispered as he came down to kiss you, his lips meeting yours in this bruising embrace of both your mouths and as he began to undress himself simultaneously, his dramatics became the least of your concerns. The thought of the inevitable future made home in your mind and gave you one last bout of courage to try and fight.

The restraints on your limbs didn’t even budge and every fleck of hope deserted your body when you saw the chiseled abs on his scarred torso, his biceps bulging and silently warning you into staying put. He made quick work of his remaining outfit and his hard, angry member was bigger than you had anticipated.

You had not expected a stereotypical nerd to be packing, with muscles and brawns, hardly to even expect him to be the largest among the ones you had ever experienced.

“Please don’t.” You mumbled, defeated, knowing he would not listen. You closed your eyes expecting the intrusion to get it over with. You were caught off handed when you felt him shift and devour into your pussy. He feasted like a man famished, his tongue leaving no area unlapped. The sparks in your abdomen made you queasy and giddy at the same time, you could barely open your eyes due to the intensity of his actions and when he added two of his shockingly calloused fingers, you let go of the coil in mere seconds.

Your limbs sat limp while your vision whitened, your mind foggy and hazy, deprived of all sensibility. When his thick thighs rested on top of yours, your gaze ascended to meet his already staring pupils, the warm, honey brown orbs now a black abyss. You couldn’t even protest in your blissful state as lined himself and entered your cavern, which was lubricated enough courtesy of him.

The stretch burned but as he rocked himself and thrusted with a rhythm, the pleasure started building from scratch. Each push was sturdier than the last and every spot he hit managed to make your breath hitch. Your hands and legs freed as the fluid perhaps melted but the last of your energy was being used by you to stay conscious. When he descended to kiss you once again and trailed kisses to your collarbone, your hands held onto him for support, his biceps providing anchor to you, made of pure muscle.

His teeth bruised your skin as he lightly bit your neck, reaching his end and releasing his load. The warmth that filled you made you let go, his orgasm encouraging another one from you.

Your eyes drooped, your body filled with exhaustion due to all the struggling as you curled in to your side and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to forget your abductor and the forceful, mind shattering ecstasy you felt. Your refused to think about the guilt and the uncertainty of your impending doom in the hands of this maniacal student of yours. You just wished for sleep, for some peace alone.

The wish of yours was not granted when you felt Peter slide behind you, his hand wrapping around your middle as if you were lover. You still gave into slumber, but not before feeling him peck your shoulder with a promise.

“This devotee of yours will worship you forever and always, Goddess.”

[theredsuzuran]

Douma x reader - Innocence

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Took me a long time to upload a new content am so sorry for the delay I was really busy with school assignments therefore I cannot manage the time to write. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors on my behalf, I hope you enjoy.

Warning : Dark themes like gore, blood and violence, degradation and swearing, mature content.

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The moon shone brightly above the sky as it's light leak through the branches illuminating the famous building of the eternal paradise cult. A new set of followers rushed into the dwelling in hopes of fulfilling their selfish desires, diminishing their agonies and enriching their possessions. However a particular human with her tattered kimono seem not to be interested to convey anything although the people around her would die to witness even a glimpse of the charismatic leader as for now she was busy running along the wide long corridors

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed throughout the building as a herd of followers attempted on catching the miscreant who disrupted the peaceful atmosphere prevailing over the supreme cult. The already annoyed and frustrated people were all worked up to catch the energetic human who on the other hand have thoughts of escaping this place they called paradise. If only she was careful enough to notice her mother's strange behavior soon as they entered the place but how can you possibly blame an innocent little girl like her, or so she thought. Afraid she might lose sight of her treacherous mother who abandoned her just moments ago she desparety stumbled her way out although that didn't concerned her simple thinking process but that's exactly how complicated the situation was.

Turning one last time to look behind if those weird people were still following her or not when suddenly she bumped into a Tall muscular figure standing infront of her soft delicate frame she must have missed him approaching while focusing on looking behind. "Please just leave me alone!" The girl fumed coherently still overwhelmed by the amount of people rushing towards her like waves something that she was not accustomed with as for eighteen years she lived indoors interacting rarely with anyone and playing with dolls most of the time.

"Watch your tongue brat" one of the men standing beside the tall man spoke with disgust hinted in his voice. "Crouch down you insolent woman, where's your gratitude it's because of lord Douma's benevolence that you are still here or you'd be rotting in the street thanks to your mother", the people around her started whispering and murmuring behind her back but she was not bother since her senses were filled with newfound wrath how dare they insult your angel like mother? No longer able to contain your anger you shouted with tears "Then take me to my mother, I don't want to stay here alone".

"Your mother abandoned you here so shut up and deal with it, now move your way for master" the man grunted irritatedly motioning the other followers to grab her and take her away.

"No don't touch me" she wiggled under their grip rushing towards douma blocking him from entering the room by grabbing his arm tightly "I am not going anywhere until I know where my mother is" she cried loudly making the demon flinch with surprise, how pitiful the creature looked in his polychromatic eyes. He have seen many humans crying before him for obvious reasons which honestly have become his monotonous routine but somehow this girl acted quite weird being her age, interesting him enough to investigate. As he was about to speak the man beside him pushed the girl hashly making her lose her balance and fall on the wooden floor.

"How dare you touch master with your filthy hands bitch" he lift his hand to slap her tight in the face but someone grabbed his wrist just in time to save the girl from further humiliation.

"Silence" all the questioning glances, judging looks and whispering stopped at once as douma spoke nonchalantly making the latter shiver in regret.

"I am sorry douma sama" the man uttered in pure horror having no intentions to displease his beloved lord. "I was-"

"I don't want to see that happen again, understood?" He replied coldly still maintaining his wide smile as the previous chaos shifted into complete hush. The man lowered his head down with shame nodding silently. Douma averted his attention and glanced at the figure underneath making the girl jolt a bit but his once frightening demeanor changed into a cheerful and optimistic one in matter of second upon seeing her.

"Please take her to my chamber and treat her wounds" the man clapped with a wide grin plastered on his face. A group of female servants came rushing to help picking her up. The girl being too bewildered did not protested and simply follow his tone as if she was hypnotized by his neatly decorated persona.

The girl was immediately taken away without delay and as per douma he needed to attend his cult duties. First of all she was washed and changed into a beautiful kimono as soon as she stepped inside, then she was escorted into a room filled with antiques and lavish items which she have never seen. Her face lit up with fascination as she began venturing those decorative pieces.

"Looks like you have ease down a bit, good good" A familiar tone struck in her ears startling her a bit only to turn back and view the handsome cult leader although it was a bit strange because she did not heard anyone approaching.

"Aww did I scared you?" He laughed covering his face with golden fans.

"No I was just- you came in without a warning, I was taken aback" she explained blushing trying her best not to act immature to which douma laughed uncontrollably as he found this human's expression adorable say entertaining in his words.

"D-dont laugh at me" she pouted crossing her arms in the attempt.

"I am sorry (y/n), you really amuse me" he replied still grinning. However there was a moment of awkward silence between them as he uttered her name abruptly.

"I didn't tell you my name.." after a long pause she replied to him with a confuse look in her face.

"I know everyone's name who are living under my supervision including yours besides what kind of cult leader I am if I don't have basic information about my fellow followers. Oh look I have been talking to you without giving the chance to let you talk my bad" he laughed again waving his fans creating another awkward situation. Causing you to sweatdrop on his remark.

"Say (y/n) how old are you?" to which she replied enthusiastically "I am 8 years old and will turn 9 soon"

"Ah you don't look like one" douma grinned closing his eyes in the process.

"Yeah I get that a lot" she remarked shyly.

"Your mother is one of my followers" he continued

"Really?" her eyes sparked with hope as she approached douma with anticipation grabbing his arms for the second time starling him, she really like holding hands eh? he have experiences like that but somehow this girl made him feel different so he allowed her but then she stopped halfway through her words "I really miss her it's been a week since she left me here" her voice dropped with sadness.

Douma felt no sympathy for humans or anything as such, he have learned to fake his emotions from a very tender age eversince he was born to the extent that even seeing his mother killing her husband mercilessly failed to evoke feelings within. He clearly did not understand what she was feeling he just stared at her with a blank expression only to replace it quickly with a grim look even faking few tears. "(Y/n) chan you know its okay you will still have me" he patted the girl in an attempt to comfort her.

"Friends?" (Y/n) replied between her tears.

"If that's how you want us to be" douma smiled at her gently shocking himself for a second because he didn't think of smiling?

Things escalated soon after that incident, (y/n) was a kind and compassionate person from inside and out and in not time the cult followers started loving her presence. As often douma would let her accompany him and most of the time she stayed by his side following him everywhere and he didn't mind that at all moreover he appreciated her company. (Y/n) was like a fresh bud to him who depicted innocence and purity he loved spoiling her with expensive gifts yet she never showed signs of greediness and genuinely appreciated his thoughtfulness slowly forgetting the past life she was in and cherishing her friendship with douma. At first she was reluctant and didn't like getting so much attention but in the course of time she bonded better with everyone and was quite content with the life she was leading. As for douma he began to depend on (y/n) to the point that not seeing her face for even one day would make him go insane and he didn't understand why not like he want to because all he cared about was how she made him feel so many varieties of pleasant emotions he wish he could feel. Eating her was out of context.

However all good things must come to an end for he is someone to not rest in peace after the sin he have committed for centuries. Seeing douma paying her more attention, spoiling her with a ravish lifestyle and even letting her stay by his side all the time made some of his cult members terribly envious they wanted to punish her for taking their chances of stealing the spotlight. There was this one room that he forbade his followers to enter for obvious reasons and specifically for (y/n) because he didn't want to repeat the same mistake. This was exactly what they wanted (y/n) to do break the rules and Douma's trust. Like that there would be no more favouritism on her with others.

"Ah (y/n), there you are" one of the female member approached her one fine morning.

"Yes how may I help you?" She asked cheerfully

"Lord douma have asked for your presence in the forbidden room tonight and he said its urgent"

"Aren't we all prohibited to go inside"

"Oh (y/n) it's true master have arrived today and he wants your presence"

Upon hearing that news her heart elated with happiness, it has been two weeks since he last saw douma around and she missed him but something felt off about the whole situation douma always sees (y/n) first before tending his followers then why did he not come meet her did he not miss her like she did?

She was lost in her thoughts until she found two hands waving and snapping infort of her face.

"Don't be late, okay?" With that said the female hurried back into other room leaving (y/n) behind even though the situation seem kinda odd maybe douma was busy afterall.

At night (y/n) went into the restricted area. She stood infront of the shoji door in absolute dilemma debating whether or not to enter the room or go back. There was her desire of meeting douma on one hand and not breaking his trust by entering the room on the other. In the end she decided not to but as she was turning back she heard someone grunting in pain behind the closed doors being a compassionate person, she decided to open the door and enter into the darkness adjusting her eyes in the process, a pungent smell hit her nostrils making her cover her mouth and to her absolute terror the scene infront of her made her puke in disgust.

A pile of Mutilated bodies, mostly women laid around lifelessly on the blood stained tatami mattress. Many having no limbs, some headless and organs missing from their body as if someone had ate all of that. The whole room was a mess full of unfortunate people. She felt sick and began crawling down her way back from the corpses. However she felt a tight grip on her left foot upon looking down she witness the sight of a woman her intestines oozing out of her stomach begging for help. (Y/n) stood there perplexed unable to say anything chocking through tears.

"I told you not to come here, why?" (Y/n) turned her head violently to see douma standing in a distance his countenance cold and sinister evident that he was highly displeased upon seeing his innocent flower disobeying his instructions.

"It's not... like... what you see" (y/n) cried fearfully but douma didn't seem to buy it well in a blink of an eye she found herself in Douma's arms as he aggressively dragged her out of the room.

"What's going on douma" no word came out from the usual lively douma.

"It's hurting me your grip" no reply again to which she forcefully tried to stand still with all her strength. This time douma stopped his features hidden under his bangs making her unable to figure the expression he was carrying.

"Is this why douma forbade us to enter the room" no reply

"Are you responsible for murdering those innocent people?" No reply

"DOUMA" she shouted

"Why you want to join them?" Douma finally looked at her his eyes glowing dangerously proving his existence to be something unnatural. (Y/n's) eyes widen at his remarks as tears rolled down her visage.

"I hate you.." she murmured

"What?" He tilted his head letting his guard down a bit at her hurtful comments.

"I HATE YOU" she pushed douma roughly and flew from the place running deep into the forest for she knew who he was and what he is capable of doing. Tearing down she constantly reminisce the moments she shared but she cannot allow herself to sympathize his heinous crimes. Why is it that the people I love are always taken away from me? She thought. Exhausted from running she halted in order to catch her breath while glancing back to see if he was following, there was no one indeed so a sudden feeling of relief gushed in her body. However turning her head back she saw him standing inches apart from her face which made her shiver and fall onto the knees.

"Why are you running away from me (y/n)" he said apatheticly his head lowered at her level. She did not reply and stayed quite.

"Is it true that you don't love me after all the things I did for you?" Covering his face with one hand his eyes glowing under the moonlight a look of dejection written on his face. There was complete silence in the forest except the sound of rustling trees.

"Answer me" holding her face now firmly he growled making her flinch under his breath. In one last desperate attempt (y/n) tried to stab douma with a tree branch she found laying on the ground but unfortunately douma was faster and easily dodged the attack and in a swift motion he hit her with immense strength causing her fragile little body to tremble in pain as she coughed mucus mixed with blood.

"How foolish of you" he crouched down her height staring intensely at the quivering figure of the miserable girl. As for (y/n) her body ached but more was the tightness in the chest that she was experiencing in the moment.

He pulled her by the hair roughly making her scream in pain although at this point all she could manage with her cracking voice were inaudible screams.

"Why did you disobey me? (Y/n)..." who knew beneath that friendly kind face was hiding a undeniably deadly and calculative demon and at this point it was clear for her that he was anything but human.

"Who are you?" these few words manage to escape from her shaky lips in between low grunts.

"I am the leader of the eternal paradise cult"

"Wrong" to which he tightened his grip making her shriek again.

"You humans are so dumb believing in the existence of primordial deities where in reality its just a myth, a fairytale, created for pleasuring the sufferings of mere human. Being superior than you mortals I wanted to make these pitiful existence happy and that's why I was born and what you saw there" his lips curved into a cheeky smile revealing his deadly fangs creeping the shit out of the already scared girl. "I eat them so that they can always be with me and attain salvation" a sinister laughter escape from his mouth as he covered it with his golden fans. (Y/n) unable to process the new sets of information knots formed in her stomach making her sick in the guts.

"I ate your mother too, oh she was ungrateful after all the things I did to her just like you" protruding her eyes with pure shock she felt her veins popping out and blood boiling in pure rage.

"You are a monster, you think your stupid morals would persuade people to think like you do, I despise you douma I thought we were friends and you took away the one I cherished the most?"

"You think your mother loved you?" Douma snapped. The duality of this was man was insane, all the things he does or says are plastic.

"She never cared for your life, you want to know why? I will tell you since you insist" douma dragged her out of forest holding a fistful of her hair tightly inflicting great discomfort to the girl while he continued with his harsh statements and deliberate insults.

"You were just a burden, behaving like a fucking child with the alluring body of yours"

"No my mother promised me..she would protect me.. you are lying"

"While you were crying everyday inside my shrine that lowly woman enjoyed her life indulging in adultery with various cult members leaving her sick husband and mentally retarded daughter in the dark" every word he uttered spread vemon into her ears.

"Still she wanted more and more and more, what a greedy whore" douma continued.

"Do you know how much difficult it was for me to control myself around you? While you sway your hips and act innocently making those hungry men lust over you, how much dumb can you be?"

"What do you mean I don't understand.. douma"

"I did everything I can for you yet you remain ungrateful, disrespectful? Well guess its runs in your blood and I thought you are innocent but it turns out that you are just like the rest of them, naive"

Her eyes widened with every hurtful remarks he made about her and she did not understand why she felt that way shouldn't she be resentful towards him for killing her beloved mother but here she is weeping constantly because douma was treating her like he never did before.

"But that's fine (y/n) I can not bring myself to hurt you I love you and we shall always be together whether you like it or not" nothing reached in her ears anymore as her body grew numb. Her eyes shut as she carried the unbearable pain in her heart slowly loosing consciousness and remaining sanity.

It would have been easier if she died but alas a mere human like her is doomed at his mercy.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Hello! Your answer to that last request absolutely ruined me (in the best way possible)

If you'd like to leave it completely ambiguous that's fine, but I was wondering about an Impulse POV of what goes through his mind when he wakes up and sees Tango? Depending on whether the game ends immediately after that, whether him and Brody have to do something extra to end the game, or if you want to go full bad ending and have the game carry on in that broken state forever.... It could be very different each way, but I'd certainly love to read that aftermath if you would enjoy writing it (because obviously I'm not in enough pain already :D /s)

this is a sequel to this one :D very glad that two of my favourite requesters liked it enough to ask for a follow up!

I also love my Patented Vaunna Uncertain Endings (as Shade put it lol) bc it leads to at least one person yelling at me and at least one follow-up request demanding to know what happens (/pos ofc i love all you guys’ requests)

also yes i’m so sorry Raven i only just realised i wasnt following you asdfghjkl i thought i already was

…

Impulse opens his eyes. Letting out a groan, he sluggishly pushes himself into a sitting position. His head feels like it’s being clamped in a vice, but he has enough wits to register the scene in front of him.

Tango is lying in a pool of blood just a foot away from him, arm outstretched towards him as if trying to reach him.

He can’t stop staring at his best friend’s body. Tango is clearly dead, and Impulse remembers causing it. So why hasn’t the game ended? It should have ended when Brody killed Endless, but it didn’t. Now the only two people left on the ship are the two imposters. There’s literally nothing else that can be done to end the game, except…

Impulse glances down at Tango’s tablet, then at the upload panel. At this point, he’ll do anything to end this game, even if it means losing.

So he picks up Tango’s tablet, ignoring the almost painful tingle shooting through his hand. The game’s code is uncomfortable with him picking up a crewmate’s tablet. And even though he can’t see the screen, he knows what the last task is. So he hopes that the game will let him complete it. There shouldn’t be any protocols in place to stop this; after all, when would an imposter EVER want to do a crewmate’s task?

“What are you-?” comes Brody’s voice suddenly.

Impulse turns to find Brody freezing at the sight of Tango’s body.

“We’re the only two left,” Impulse confirms. “We gotta finish the last task, even if it means we lose. Otherwise we might be trapped here forever.”

Brody slowly nods. He and Impulse are in an odd state; the imposter bloodlust is slowly starting to wear off, leaving him with an uncomfortable mixture of satisfaction and horror at the sight of his old friend’s dead body.

“I think I might throw up,” he groans, turning away and doubling over, hands pressed to his stomach.

Impulse just keeps going with the task, his heart starting to beat faster. He hopes this will work. If it doesn’t…

...he can’t think about that.

As the upload finishes, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath.

He feels something shift around him…

…and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself back in the lobby.

But only one other person is there with him.

Impulse and Brody slowly look around the room, registering their situation, before simultaneously meeting each other’s gaze.

“This is really bad,” says Brody after a moment, stating aloud what they’re both thinking.

Impulse nods, trying and failing to suppress the feeling of cold terror rapidly growing in his stomach. “Y-Yeah. Where are our friends and why aren’t they here?”

Recalling Etho teaching him how to access the code, Brody pulls up the admin screen. Impulse anxiously watches him tap away at it.

“Is it possible to go back to that exact game?” he asks hesitantly.

“I think so. Gimme a sec.”

After a tense few minutes, an open doorway appears in the side of the lobby. Through it, Impulse can see the Skeld cafeteria.

“I’ve altered your code slightly so you should be able to see and hear ghosts,” Brody says. “Go see if you can find out where our friends are. I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t get trapped there.”

Impulse takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good luck, my friend.”

“I’m gonna need it.”

Impulse carefully steps through the door, half expecting it to vanish behind him. But to his relief, it doesn’t.

Where the heck is he supposed to start?

After a moment, Impulse goes into admin. But the admin table tells him nothing except his own location. Next, he rushes over to security. Again, however, the cameras yield nothing useful.

Time for Plan C.

“SKIIIIIIIIIZZ!” Impulse shrieks, running madly through the hallways. “TANGOOOO! ETHOOOOOOOOOO!”

For a worrying minute or so, there’s no replies at all.

Then…

“Impulse!”

He skids to a halt in the hallway between weapons and shields, his head automatically snapping round to face the direction he heard the voice yell his name from.

That’s when he sees two ghosts flying towards him from navigation. “Tango! Etho!”

“Impulse, you can see us?!” yelps Tango. “And hear us?!”

Impulse nods. “Yeah! Oh my gosh, a-are you two okay? I’m so sorry!”

“This isn’t your fault, Impulse,” Etho says firmly. “You were just playing the game. And don’t worry, I’ve managed to save everyone else.”

“What?” Impulse’s heart skips a beat. “How?”

“I was able to access their code and send them back to their respective servers. Skizzle, Joker, Astro, Mrs Tango, Endless, and Evil are all safe.”

“Oh, thank God,” breathes Impulse. “What about you two?”

“I couldn’t manage to access Hermitcraft’s code,” Etho responds. “So I couldn’t send us back there. I think it’s something to do with the firewalls X put up a few years ago.”

“Damnit. What’s going on, Etho? Why’re there so many glitches?”

“I don’t know. But if we get out of this alive, we should definitely give this game a break for a while until it’s fixed.”

“I’ll second that,” Tango mutters. “But wait, how did you get here?”

“Brody managed to open a door here from the lobby. Oh, wait! Maybe you can come through it with me!”

He takes the ghosts to the cafeteria, where the doorway to the lobby is still shimmering.

“Brody, I found Tango and Etho,” Impulse reports to his friend. “Everyone else is safe. Can they come through the doorway?”

Brody hesitates. “They should be able to. Come through first, quickly.”

Impulse goes through the door again and turns back to face his friends.

“Will it be safe for us to come through in ghost form?” Tango asks nervously.

“Ah…” Brody grimaces. “It should be fine.”

Tango is not encouraged by his friend’s tone. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not,” admits Brody. “The likelihood that the game will either glitch or not let you through and delete you forever is worryingly high, but… I think this is the only way. If we don’t give it a go, you’ll be stuck in this weird purgatory forever.”

Tango shoots a glance at Etho, who’s gazing at the doorway anxiously, and makes a quick decision. “I’ll try it first. Then you’ll know if it’s safe for Etho or not.”

“What?” Etho glances sharply at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. 100%. I’m terrified outta my mind right now, but there’s no way I’m watching you go through that thing and disappear forever. No way in hell.”

Not daring to meet Etho’s eyes, Tango turns to the doorway and takes a deep breath.

“Tango, wait.”

Tango pauses and turns back to his friend. “Yeah?”

After a moment, Etho grabs him in a hug. “If we never see each other again, I want you to know that I’ve cherished every second with you and I’m honoured to call you my friend.”

Tango blinks, a lump rising in his throat. “D-Don’t. You’re gonna make me cry.” But he hugs his friend back. “I love you, buddy.”

Finally, he releases Etho and turns to look at Impulse through the doorway. Their gazes meet and Tango sees his own fear reflected in Impulse’s eyes.

“See you on the other side,” he says, his voice cracking audibly. “One way or another.”

With that, he steps through the doorway.

[tracynotabi]

Riptide Day 2 / Undertow

September 11, 2021

D-Day.

Kevin, Ivan, Joey, and I were getting a ride from Spencer, who was also taking Narq to the venue, while Robert and Parker got a ride from someone else. Well, at least we didn’t have to walk to the venue. I didn’t pack sunscreen.

At 9am, about half an hour we were supposed to leave, Kevin gets a stomachache.

Me: He just needs to poop. Spencer: The classic.

We end up going to the lobby to wait for Spencer in Narq, which was fine considering we actually didn’t want Spencer, our ride, waiting for us.

Spencer: Okay, Narq’s just using the bathroom rq lol Me: Is he also having tummy problems Spencer: Nah just bein stoner and forgetting to do stuff lol Me: The classic

We go get Chick-fil-A and I’m sitting underneath the dashboard again by Kevin’s feet. I think the employees were very bewildered, as the woman on the other side of the window did a double take. I would, too, if I saw a smaller-than-average person just hiding underneath the dashboard sipping on a cup of Coke.

Some time after I get to the venue during doubles, I end up talking to Jimmy (j u m), when Kevin comes rushing over to me, a panicked look on his face.

Forgot to mention, but Kevin actually couldn’t get all of his poop out before coming to the venue and now it is back with a vengeance.

He tells me that he’s unable to go to any restroom because there were three stalls in the men’s restroom: two were occupied and one was clogged with poop.

He had tried flushing the poop one but it only made it worse. It just clogged more and the water level rose. If he had sat down and insisted on finishing, his balls would be touching the water and that’s a no-no.

He tried asking the front desk for other restrooms, but he was informed it was the only one. He was desperate and you could just see it in his eyes that he was about to break.

Me, using the big, wrinkly brain that I had, told him to use the women’s restroom. He froze, not even realizing that that was an option.

Now before anyone complains, hear me out.

I would rather be in a restroom with a male in the stall next to me, than exit the restroom and see someone standing outside the men’s restroom trying to wait for a stall with a shit stain in his pants. Excuse the vulgarity, but it’s true.

If you’re ever at one of my tournaments and you need to go and no male restroom is unoccupied, for the love of god, please fucking use the women’s restroom. I do not need this mess on my hands and you best believe I’m shoving myself in the men’s restroom if I gotta fucking go expel unicorns and rainbows.

I go to the restroom with Kevin and stand awkardly on my phone to keep watch, because he didn’t want any of the staff members actually seeing him and risk himself getting kicked out of the venue.

That would’ve been extremely unfortunate.

Luckily, nobody else needed to go use the restroom while Kevin was in there and he was able to safely compete his duty (lol).

If anyone is upset at my suggestion, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t about to not provide such a simple solution for Kevin’s emergency.

Anyway, the tournament start shortly after that.

First match I pay attention to is Kevin vs. Wombat. In my head, I think it’s pools so I shouldn’t worry too much. I try to watch Kevin’s sets, but it makes me physically ill sometimes because my anxiety is wracked up like crazy and I just want to throw up. Many have witnessed me walking away and trying to distract myself multiple times at multiple different tournaments.

It’s like that gory horror movie that you can’t keep looking away from.

Besides knowing that I get sick, I figured it would be fine since I actually enjoy trying to support my boyfriend and watch him come out of pools winners’ side. Not meaning any disrespect by Wombat, by the way. He’s great. Just realistic. It’s like how I expect Kevin to lose to Bob.

Kevin loses Game 1.

Ooh my tummy’s doing barrel rolls like the way Twisty did with that pullout bed. I look away but I’m just so distracted by the crowd noises.

I totally get it, though. Obviously, it’s sick that Wombat’s holding his own against Kevin, who is seed 3 of the tournament. I’d be excited, too, if my friend was making an upset on someone else. But Kevin’s my boyfriend, so obviously, I want him to win.

Kevin barely wins Game 2 and I’m like ooooh boy. My tummy’s going to town and I think I gag a little by how sick I feel. Gotta focus on getting Joey his next match. *deep breaths*

When heartswaptv airs the whole tournament, definitely check out the set. It was really good (as far as I can hear, I couldn’t bring myself to watch the rest of it).

Kevin comes over to me after he’s out of pools and I scold him for making me worried.

AND YOU NOW WHAT HE SAYS?

Kevin: Babe, it’s fine - I almost lost to Zeddy at Redacted City and I got 2nd. I’ll be fine. Me: T____T *incoherent whining noises*

Does Kevin thinks he’s fucking cute for saying that or something? I was not amused.

Since I didn’t have to volunteer TO the entirety of the tournament, I bounced around mingling with other people.

At one point, I get a message from Suvir in our group chat about how he, Sosa, and Narq were planning on coming to visit NorCal. Of course, since Narq was already here, I decided to just go up to him and ask.

Me: So I heard you’re coming to NorCal? Narq: I am? Me: That’s what Suvir said. *shows phone* Narq: I guess I’m going to NorCal!

Suvir: Narq doesn’t actually know. Sosa just said he’d take him with him and said Narq would agree to go because he’s Narq. Me: Oh that makes sense why he had no idea what I was talking about.

It wasn’t until around top bracket did things start to pick up. Not too many spoilers, because (1) no spoilers before they upload the vod and (2) I have a terrible memory when it comes to the matches.

I remember holding up Kevin’s phone to stream to our Discord because we had some non-PM player friends who wanted to see and I think Kevin wanted Thomas (ThundeRzReiGN) to give him some advice throughout the tournament. Not actually coach, but to critique his play.

As more and more top players fell, Kevin made it a goal to do his best not to fall into the landmine that was Losers’. So many heavy hitters were large threats to him: Techboy, Malachi, Akimi, Cloudburst...

Not to say that Winners’ side didn’t have their fair share of monsters: Peter, Parker, Kumatora, Twisty, Nogh, Lunchables...

Kevin’s first match in Top 32 was against Bongo, who people sleep on quite a lot. For those of you that don’t know him, he’s a Captain Falcon from NY who actually beat Kevin at Flex Zone 3 in 2018. Kevin had beaten him at Encore, but it wasn’t easy.

Not to mention Falcon is a pain the butt for Mario. Unfortunately, the match was not recorded (as far as I know), and it was a very exciting match from what I heard. I avoided watching it because based on how long it took, I knew it had to have been a Game 5. During that time, two matches have been finished on “stream.”

Kevin had said his match against Bongo was the toughest one he had - not to discredit his other opponents, of course - but according to him, it was the scariest and closest. Also the threat of being put into Losers so early would’ve made the climb to Top 8 a lot harder.

His overall goal was actually to make Top 8. Despite being a third seed and rank 5, what I’ve noticed about Kevin is that he does have doubts about himself quite often. He’s never complacent in his opponents and worries all the time about being upset and I don’t think anyone puts more pressure on him more than himself.

As I watched my friends progress through bracket, all I can think is there’s not much I can do. I don’t understand the game very much, despite my heavy involvement in the scene. In fact, more often than not, I believe I understand the game the least compared to everyone else.

A tangent from the actual tournament itself is coming, but I think I should address why I’m even in this community:

While everyone loves the game, I love the community behind it. I find it worth it to sit/stand in one location for hours at a time because it allows my friends to enjoy the game they love comfortably without worrying how the tournament is progressing. They can focus on their own growth and passion.

I think what I see is completely different. Like I said, I don’t really understand this game - I can’t differentiate uairs, bairs, d-smashes, etc. I compute it in my head, but can’t visualize it. I don’t recognize most combos - in fact, more often than not, I’m sitting there just staring at the screen kind of blankly. Sometimes, it does make me wonder if I really am part of this community because I don’t really understand the game.

I can’t say I particularly care too much about the game, but I understand how much of an impact it’s made on me and for that, I’m very thankful for this game because it’s led me to some great people.

Back to the actual event and less sap. lol. Is anybody still even reading?

For something put together in a mere two weeks, Trin and their team did an amazing job. Three recording set ups, graphics, a pot, a venue... props to them for gathering the scraps and making a whole out of it. And to think we almost didn’t go.

Madeline (Swanner) ended up coming and it was honestly so good to see her. We aren’t particularly close, but she’s someone I’ve come to care for and just want happiness for her.

Major spoiler, but I don’t think anybody who cares about PM/P+ doesn’t know Kevin won the tournament.

Everyone expected a pop-off, but Kevin just sat there, crying.

I don’t think there’s ever been anything that Kevin has been more passionate about. He loves this game; he loves this community. Never did it ever occur to him that he would win.

I wish I could say more, but honestly, him winning stunned me speechless. And if you didn’t know, the first thing he said after was that he had to call his mother.

His mom is one of his biggest supporters and I love her to death. She has such a huge heart and has never, ever frowned upon Kevin’s love for the game, whole-heartedly supporting it.

I hugged Maddy, because I can’t even imagine how heart-breaking it must be for her to see what could have been on the mainstage. I imagined how much it must’ve hurt her because she just loves the game and the community, but to see it constantly be torn down by Nintendo and her unable to do anything... Give Maddy a hug and thank her if you see her. She deserves the world.

We ended up walking home with PNW, Bob, Mar, Bongo, Cameron (LoyaL), Ivan, and a few others, honestly too dark to completely see and name. It was a very nice night.

We did, however, pass by the rundown house that definitely looked like if we were to talk in there, we’d be killed by the axe murderer that lived there.

Kevin also lagged behind a lot because his phone notifications were going off like crazy and I was worried he was going to just get lost in the darkness or get hit by a car. Stop looking at your phone when you cross the street, dammit.

We got back to our hotel room and ordered pizza - it was bad. God-fucking-dammit, Ohio, why do you suck so much? Kind of a shitty dinner to end the day on, but nothing else was open at 2am. FeelsBadMan.

[kaspbrak-tozier-reddie]

Paparazzi - pt.2

Based on Anon request for AU 37 and #3, #4 & #29 prompts

Pairings: Stenbrough with sides of Reddie and Benverly

Warnings: Indirect mentions of homophobia

Part 1

Masterlist + Prompts 

--------------------------------------------

The following day Bill and Stan wake before the others wanting to plan out everything themselves before their bombarded by 5 other people. With a cup of coffee in their hands, the two talk about the medial plan. “Right, should we lay down ground rules?” Bill asks.

“Nah, look, we know boundaries. If we need any sort of help we literally know 4 people in relationships,” Stan remarks. “If we lay ground rules then the media will know.”

“Okay? How ‘bout this, we talk to either Benverly and Reddie.” Stan makes a clear face of confusion causing Bill to giggle. “Ship names, it’s what the kids do these days. You take Richie and Eddie and I’ll take Ben and Bev.” Stan nods. Bill can’t help but notice as Stan looks away, turning towards their sleeping friends, it’s almost as if he regrets this whole idea. 

Unapprehended by the pair in the kitchen, Richie Tozier lays awake listening to their whole conversation. He smirks to himself as he listens to Stan disagree on having ground rules, so Stan does listen to me, Richie thinks. If he didn’t have Eddie in his arms, he would sure as heck jump up and scream it to the neighbourhood that Stan the Man actually listens to him.

“ ’Chee? You awake?” Eddie slurs.

“Yeah,” Richie whispers.

“I need to pee.” Richie immediately lets him out of his arms and is greeted with the presence of cold air in Eddie’s absence. He grabs his phone from beside the cot and sees that it is 5:30 in the morning.

“Bullshit.” Richie mumbles. He turns back toward the kitchen but through the blur, he can no longer see the silhouettes of Bill and Stan, nor can he hear their voices. The vibration of soft footsteps rise up through the metal legs of the cot, it softly shakes it and Richie, causing him to jump. “Scare you did I?” Eddie whispers.

“No use fooling you Spaghetti,” Richie chuckles. Eddie crawls back into Richie’s arms.

“Why are you up anyway?”

“Stan and Bill woke me. Did you know that Stan actually listens to me?”

“Noooo.”Eddie’s voice sounds shocked but his eyes say different, it’s almost like Eddie is glad that Stan listens to Richie but at the same time, who would? 

“Yeah, in fact, Bill wants us to talk to Birdman.” Eddie smiles weakly before giving a small yawn and falling asleep.

****

Later that day, when all the Losers are awake, Stan makes his way over to Richie and Eddie, taking the both of them out to the back deck. Stanley immediately starts to stumble over his words, he didn’t plan the way he was going to ask them for help.

“Stan, Stan. Calm down. Just treat it as if it were an actual date.” Richie says trying to calm his best friend down.

“He’s right, from my understanding is that Bill likes you. If you like him then tell him. If it weren’t for you, Richie and I would still be pining.” Eddie says as reassurance. “We would like to return the favour.”

“Oh uh, okay,” Stan replies and turns back inside. “Hey! Billy, let’s go to that cute diner just next door!” The sudden boost of confidence in Stan is enough to scare every loser in the house; the scary stories that Bill used to tell about a psychopathic killer clown no longer had the same effect. A confident Stanley was enough to make everyone panic, nothing could go well with this.

*

Having arrived at the retro diner literally 2 doors down from Bill’s house, Stan sits down at a booth by the front window for clear access for the paparazzi. “Is this a date?” Bill asks. “Fake date?”

“Yeah,” Stan says, slightly regretting agreeing to the fake date. Even though he couldn’t see it, Bill is slightly disappointed too.

The two just continue to talk as if they are just catching up not doing anything malicious towards the media. As Bill locks eyes with Stan’s, he sees an evil sparkle that he has never seen in his friend. It’s as if there is a sudden appearance of an evil-alter-ego that Bill didn’t know he had. It’s enough to have the author shaking. 

Sure Stan joked about being a bit of a prankster but no one believed him because underneath all the eye-rolls and quick-wit comments, he’s a huge softy. Well, that’s what everyone thought. Stan grabs Bill’s hand that’s resting on the table and intertwines their fingers, not caring about the half a dozen people outside. 

It baffles Bill, no author truly got this attention, JK Rowling didn’t, Bill thinks. But it is, now, the 21st century and he is the youngest bestseller of the year now but this still wasn’t normal. Maybe it’s because he lives in a large town close by the ocean. It’s not heavily populated like the cities, nor is it underpopulated like Derry, he’s the only ‘famous’ person living in the town, in a large 90s style home. Maybe that’s why the press is suddenly focused on a horror novelist.

Stan, on the other hand, is watching Bill intensely, focusing on the way his eyebrows furrow together as he squints down at his menu. The words are a little on the small side and not to mention smudges on the laminate, so Stan doesn’t blame him. He decides to then train his focus to Bill’s lips, his perfect fucking lips. Stan often caught himself staring at them multiple times a day back in high school, during outings with the losers at college and during their one and only class together (in their second year of college). 

Even though the date is fake, Stan dreams for the opportunity, he wants - no he needs an opportunity to kiss Bill. He needs to know if what Bev had said many years ago, is true about Bill’s kissing. 

A waitress comes by the table and Stan immediately springs into action, “can we get a bowl of fries and a strawberry and a caramel milkshake?” Bill snaps his vision from the waitress to his best friend in front of him. Stan smirking wickedly 

“Do you trust me?” Stan asks as soon as the waitress leaves. The wicked look in his eyes is becoming more and more evident.

“Y-y-yes,” Bill stutters out, something he hasn’t done since Derry. 

“Scaring you am I, Billy?” Stan whispers in horror. The wicked sparkle in his eyes die out and his face softens as Bill nods slightly. “Sorry I got a bit carried away. I just haven’t felt this alive in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I live a boring life, I am an accountant for crying out loud. I live in my office, I barely get to see you guys. I haven’t been on a date in 3 years. And the guy I’ve been crushing on since Sophmore year of high school, I thought he didn’t like me back until recently.”

“So, why are you -” Bill’s face lights up. “No wonder you agreed to this stupid thing.”

Bill’s out of his side of the table in a flash and take Stan’s face in his hands and kisses him. It doesn’t take long for Stan to reciprocate and match the pace. Fast and hungry with passion. In conclusion, the kiss was better than what Bev had told Stan all those years ago. Bill’s lips are like a drug, having Stanley begging for more.

As Bill pulls back, Stan chases, wanting - no, needing - the feel and taste of Bill’s soft plump lips back. “Wow,” is all Stan can muster out.

Those with the cameras out the front, snapping shots of the two but the new couple don’t care all they can think of is each other.

**** As they return back to Bill’s house, Bill’s phone starts going off. Several tweets, Instagram comments and photos, start to come through. Almost all of them are with regards to Bill and Stan kissing in the diner. Positive ones to say the least.

“Well, my golly gosh, isn’t this just fine and dandy.” Richie Tozier chirps up at the news. 

“Well, congratulations you two,” Ben exclaims seeing as Bill has Stan wrapped around his arm and head laying on his shoulder. “I can only guess that you two are actually together.”

“Yeah well, Richie and Eddie had given me the push I needed,” Stan says and turns to the brunette couple. “Thanks, guys, seriously.”

“Not a problem Staniel, than you as well,” Richie says wrapping an arm around Eddie’s waist.

From there Bill uploads a photo of him and Stan to his Instagram to properly welcome Stan to the lives of his fans. Stan starts smiling as he watches the comments start to roll in, all saying how cute they were or that they are proud of Bill coming out as Bisexual. Stan starts to get randoms following him on his public tweeter account as his Instagram is private but that changes as he comes to the realisation that he has nothing to hide. 

He doesn’t post much but bird pictures or photos of the Losers Club, so he opens his Instagram account. “Tag me in the photo Bill,” Stan whispers into his boyfriend’s ear.

“Are you sure?” Bill asks.

“Yes.”

The back and forth whispering catches the attention of all the losers but it’s Richie that pipes up with saying, “Keep the foreplay for the bedroom!” Bev snorts and starts to laugh and soon Eddie follows while trying to be mad at his boyfriend. But it doesn’t take long for Ben, Mike and even Bill and Stan to join in. 

“My middle wants to bid you goodbye, Bitchard,” Stan says flipping the comedian off.

“Two can play that game.” Richie says, “I heard you two this morning. Everyone I want you to know that Stan the Man actually listens to me and thinks I give great advice!” Stan looks at him horrified, he can’t believe that Richie had eavesdropped on his private conversation with Bill! Eddie is the first and only person to start laughing, nobody to put a finger on it if Eddie was laughing at 1) Richie or 2) Stan listening to Richie’s “poor” advice. 

“You spied on them and didn’t wake me!?” Bev cries. “To think I was about to ask you if you’d like to join me for a smoke!” Bev dangles a cancer stick in front of a practically drooling Richie.

*

Stan steps out into the kitchen needing to get away from the commotion that Richie has caused. “You okay babe?” Stan jumps a few feet at the sound of Bill’s voice.

“Yeah, just Richie,” Stan admits.

“I know. Come with me, I’ll tell the others that you’re not feeling well.” Stan nods, “Hey guys. Stan’s got a headache so we’re going to my room.” Stan follows Bill up the stairs to his room and as soon as the door is shut Bill’s lips are on Stan’s within milliseconds.

Stan’s lips are like a drug that Bill just can’t get enough of. Just as Bill pulls Stan’s shirt off and reaches for Stan’s belt buckle, Stan pulls away. “Bill, as much as I want this, can we just turn on some Netflix and cuddle, maybe make out?”

“Sounds perfect,” Bill replies. “A documentary? Or a comedy?”

“Documentary thanks, baby.” Stan crawls up beside Bill on the bed and lays down on his side resting his head on Bill’s chest and draping an arm across his stomach spread his hand on his waist. “Actually forget Netflix, let’s just stay like this.”

Bill runs his fingers aimlessly through Stan’s brunette curls, his fingers occasionally getting knotted in a few stubborn locks. Stan sighs happily and runs his hand down from Bill’s side to his thigh closest to Stan. “Stan? Can I go Ben Hanscom on you for a split second?”

“If it’s a poem, I don’t want to hear it.” Bill laughs and stops toying around with Stan’s tight brown curls.

“No no. It’s just - Even though I went out with Audra for like 6 months in freshman year of college, I did it because I wanted to get over you. I was head over heels in love with you for all of senior year in high school but I thought you didn’t like me back.”

“Okay, that was more like Richard than Ben.”

“Well, you said I couldn’t say a poem and Ben helped me write it.”

“Don’t.” 

Bill goes back to playing with Stan’s hair which ends up making Stan drift to sleep.

[papa-rhys]

Trial: Day 1 (Justice AU)

Note: Okay, it’s here! Part 1 of my justice au! I haven’t finished it yet, but I have a solid first few parts, so imma start uploading it now. I’ve worked myself to the bone doing research for this and thinking about where certain characters would be after the events of the game, but I’m not a lawyer and I’m only human, so if there’s any mistakes/continuity errors, I’m sorry! Anyways, I’m so excited for this and I hope people like it as much as I do! Enjoy!

Summary: After a war comes what is arguably the most difficult part: recovery. And a big part of that recovery - for both the deputies and Hope County residents alike - is justice. Jacob Seed and John Seed - exactly 1 half of the guilty party - must stand trial and face the consequences for what they’ve done. After being promoted to the position of sheriff, the Deputy (reader) must now guide their recovering friends through the difficulties that a very public trial brings about; all whilst reliving the horrors of what they faced in that small county in Montana.

Word count: 1584

Characters: Reader, John Seed, Jacob Seed, Joey Hudson, Staci Pratt, Earl Whitehorse

Warnings: None that I can think of!

| Other parts to this series |  | Find more of my stuff here! |  | Ko-fi |

You make your way through the hall of the courthouse, your shoes clicking against the polished marble floor as you walk. Today is the first day of the Seed trial, where John Seed and Jacob Seed will be put in front of a jury. That jury will be the first anyone outside of Hope County has heard of the atrocities that the Seeds committed; finally, after almost a decade of suffering and isolation, the outside world will know what the citizens of Hope County have endured.

To say you’re nervous is an understatement. Quite frankly, you’re shitting bricks. You’d only been a rookie for a grand total of 8 months before you swooped into Hope County in that goddamn helicopter. You’d only just been cleared to have a firearm at the time and never in your wildest dreams did you think that you’d be using anytime soon. But you did. And that guilt consumes you to this day – following you around like a thick, black fog, looming over your head. You’ll carry that body count with you until your dying day; some weighing heavier than others, but all of them burdening you to a great extent.

Among those who’re testifying – including yourself, of course – are Hudson and Pratt, who are waiting in the corridor outside the courtroom, dressed up in their best suits and shaking violently with nerves.

You head directly towards them, passing by the door to the courtroom and joining their huddle. “What’re you guys doin’ here? You’re not on the stand today, are you?”

“No,” Hudson replies. “We came to wait outside. We didn’t wanna be at home while everyone was here. We’re not allowed in the courtroom until we’ve testified, but we wanted to feel like we were doin’ somethin’, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” you tell her. Hudson pinches the bridge of her nose and begins to cry. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” you assure her, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’re both gonna do great.”

“I dunno,” Hudson whimpers. “I don’t know if I can take the stand. I don’t know if I can face John again.”

You rub her shoulder. “Yes, you can,” you tell her. “You both can,” you add, turning to look at Pratt. He’s extremely pale and looks as though he may vomit at any second. “How’re you holdin’ up, Pratt? You ain’t gonna puke on my nice, new shoes, are ya?”

Pratt gives a weak smile and quickly shakes his head. “I’m g - good, I’m good.”

“Are you gonna be here all the way through?” Hudson asks you. “I definitely can’t do it without you here.”

“I’m gonna be here for the whole thing; don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Hudson gives a small sigh of relief, dries her eyes, and nods. “Okay.”

You lean backwards and crane your neck to peek into the courtroom. “Listen, they’ll be starting soon. I gotta go in and find a seat. You’ll be fine, okay?” They nod grimly and you make your way into the courtroom.

You politely move through the crowds and find a seat. The jury is already in their seats and the room is bustling with people, all chattering among themselves about the case and what outcome they hope for. Once news got out about Eden’s Gate being a cult, the case had quickly turned into an international one, attracting reporters from all over the world. If only this many people had cared about Hope County before, you think. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

You take your seat and fiddle with the collar of your shirt. The number of bodies in the room are making it swelteringly hot and you haven’t been all that good with crowds since returning from Hope County.

As you look around the room, trying to calm your raging nerves, Earl Whitehorse slides into the seat next to you. He’s wearing a tailored suit and looks a lot more relaxed after his recent vacation to the Bahamas; although you think the next few months will undo that calm demeanour pretty quickly.

“Congratulations… sheriff.” He greets you with a warm smile. “We wouldn’t be here without you, kid. You earned that promotion, that’s for sure.”

“How’s retirement treatin’ you, Earl?” You smile.

“Not bad, not bad. I’ve been a little bored, but I’m not gettin’ shot at anymore, so I can’t complain.”

You chuckle, but your eyes scan the room, nervously; constantly looking for danger that’s never there. “Boredom is a welcomed change after the year we’ve had.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughs.

The room falls silent around you and it takes a few seconds before you realise that John and Jacob have entered the room.

“Oh shit,” Earl mutters, leaning back in his seat. “And so it begins.”

You stay silent, glaring at John and Jacob as they both search for you in the crowd. The way they hunt for you makes you wonder if they can sense you – maybe even smell you, like a pair of predators sniffing out their prey. It would explain why they always seemed to know where you were back in Hope County. You think of them on all fours, snarling at the woodland creatures in the forests of the Whitetail Mountains and the image makes the corners of your mouth curl up ever so slightly.

They’re both dressed in swanky suits with silk ties and polished shoes. However, all the fresh haircuts and hot showers in the world wouldn’t be enough to scrub away the look of defeat on their faces as the guard directs them towards their seats at the front of the room. Approaching their table and pulling their chairs out from under it, John pauses and looks directly at you. He nudges Jacob and the two of them stare at you for a moment before being told to sit down. You swallow the hard lump in your throat and shift in your seat.

“You alright?” Earl asks.

“I’ll be a lot better when those fuckers are behind bars.”

“All rise,” a mans voice calls.

You and Earl rise to your feet, along with the rest of the room. The judge enters the room; a big woman with kind eyes hidden underneath a stern face.

“That’s Judge Anderson,” Earl whispers. “She’s a nice woman – real fair and always knows when people are talkin’ shit.”

“That’s handy. Lord knows John and Jacob are gonna be doin’ a lot of that,” you reply.

The judge takes her seat at the bench and everyone else does the same as two guards close the main doors.

“Okay,” the judge speaks. “We have a long few weeks ahead of us, so let’s begin with the opening statements. Prosecution, if you please.”

The prosecutor, Wayne Stevens, stands up and leaves his table, approaching the jury. “Thanks, Your Honour. Members of the jury, we all know that as Americans, we value our freedom. It is the defining feature of our country. However, there are people – people like the Seed family – who want to take that freedom away from us.”

You glance over to John and Jacob. Jacob watches Stevens carefully as he speaks, whilst John simply shakes his head, looking bemused as to why people would think he was doing anything other than helping people.

“The men you see before you today wished to control people. They wished to own them. They inflicted harm on the citizens of Hope county, and in doing so, they inflicted harm on the people of America. Over the course of the next few weeks, you will hear troubling accounts from witnesses; not only civilians who were caught up in a whirlwind of bloodshed but also officers of the law who were held and tortured for weeks for simply trying to protect us. These accounts will be difficult to hear, but we have a duty to the people of Hope County to finally hear what they have to say. Those people – those good, honest, hard-working people – deserve justice. It’s our duty, as a nation that values freedom, to give them that justice. Thank you.”

Stevens returns to his seat and the judge calls for the defence to take her turn addressing the jury.

“That’s Hazel Warner,” Earl whispers. “She’s young blood, but don’t underestimate her. She’ll go for your throat.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Hazel Warner and I’m here to represent two innocent men who have been targeted by law enforcement.”

“Oh, Christ,” you groan, rolling your eyes and sinking into your seat.

“The prosecution will spin you a story about how these men are violent. Evil. Monsters. But these men were simply lead astray by their brother – the brother, in fact, that the very same officers that you will see in this courtroom killed earlier this year. John and Jacob Seed are honest members of their community.” She gestures towards John and Jacob. “A veteran and a highly skilled lawyer. Both are ordinary people caught up in extraordinary circumstances, and law enforcement now wishes to punish them for something that they had no say in. That is why, at the end of this trial, we will ask you to deliver the only verdict that makes sense; a not guilty verdict. Thank you.”

“What a load of shit,” Earl scoffs quietly.

“You think the jury will buy any of it?” You ask.

He turns his head to look at you and shrugs. “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

[hopesanpedro]

Createurs - We Exist

I have the pleasure of being in the presence of talented and passionate artists and musicians most of the time and it’s, for me, is one of the best things in my life. Friends, I call these people.

Last Saturday, one of the bands I looked out for in the past years launched their first album – We Exist. Createurs, which is apparently the French word of creators which is already so beautiful when you think about it in itself, is a collaborative band telling the stories of the monsters not just under our beds but also the ones inside our heads, even the ones that are chasing us, through the music of different people. They have also collaborated with different visual artists for each of their song and those artworks were also featured in the lyrics booklet with their CD.

We Exist album has 12 well-written tracks that speaks of the eerie, the enchanting, the damned, and the mystery of the entirety of life. Yes, life.

Now, I’m not going to pretend like I’m some music expert and give you guys a review of their album. I am, however, going to share with you my thoughts on each and favorite lyrics from the tracks in it.

1. Pancake (Re)Mix

This one’s a little too close to my heart. Remember the artworks I’ve mentioned earlier? I made one for them and it was for this song. I think this is the most outright cheesy song they have in their album. But even so, it wasn’t the corny kind. I described this one as “colorful” when I first heard it. It’s exactly the reason why I was careful on putting too much color in the artwork, I didn’t want to take the colors from the song – I wanted it to be as serene and innocent as the song.

“Flying with time just to witness your smile. And I, oh I’m falling down tonight”

We all know the feeling of being all chummy giddy soft inside like we swallowed a whole damn litter of puppies and they won’t stop making you melt from the inside and that’s what this song makes you feel like – kilig. Oh young, new, love.

2. Tides and Lifelines

Okay, just reading the title you’d get an idea of what this song is about. This song reminds me of a lyric from one of my most favorite band ever ever; “love is watching someone die”. (fine it’s from What Sarah Said by Death Cab For Cutie). I think this is one of the songs Createurs wrote and it speaks about mortality and how we deal with it.

“We’re the bullet in each other’s gun, shoot the angels that would take us apart”

Just read those lines. I don’t want to even think how hard it is to be so desperate and helpless in trying to help someone so dear in the brink of death. Ouch, I’m just gonna go and cry for a while.

3. Teragram Carnivale

“Shadows fall on rooms like this, where the sun and the moon collide, with your eyes that once were my carousel rides”

I feel like we all can relate to this song in some way. It has to be relevant to every one of us at some point in our lives. We all wanted to believe in something that has grew its root around our hearts and got a little too caught up in the roller coaster rides. I think this song brings you back to that particular time to make you realize that the past never changes and they never go away. Definitely in my top 3.

4. Facemask

I think I’ve played this song one too many times when they uploaded this on spotify before. Mostly because of its catchiness and its angst. Lol sorry I know, I can’t think of a better way to describe it. You can actually feel the song’s anger and disappointment wrapped in some sort of vengeful feeling.

I liked the lines “You’re only fooling yourself, messing everyone’s head.  A catfish, a sly dish, the culprit, gets blown kiss”

In this digital era, anything and everything can be edited or lied about and it gets sickening when someone or a group of people manipulate others by lying to them about important things.  Technology is a beautiful thing if used for good, but there is some greed in humanity that uses it for something else entirely.

5. Trigger Warning

“It’s the beginning and it’s the end. When all the light has been set, a warning when night is at best.”

I feel like this song was supposed to be in the beginning? It would have been nice to have heard this intro to all their haunting songs, both in a good and eerie way. It’s like the ones you hear when you watch a horror movie that gives you chicken skin and cool fog kinda vibes. It’s a mood setter, a look into the mirror of our own self. It asks you to look inside and acknowledge that you are one of these monsters you are so scared of.

6. The Curious Life of Mr. Hyde II: The Mexicat

This song is still in my everyday playlist. It’s been there since I’ve met Rain the night they played for WAT Up the first time and I got sucked into their music. Oh god I have so many favorite lines from this song!! It’s about mental issues and it perfectly sings the chaos that is in one’s head. They wrote this to try and explain how complicated it is to be in the state of unstable mental health in a very poetic way.

Here are my top 3 lines (YESS BECAUSE I CANT CHOOSE OKAY?? ☹ ); “The colorful imagery of dancing audacity”, “Conversing with my demons, addicted to the tone”, “I haven’t got a martini or any kind of whiskey, But baby you’re my margarita, drunk in love with you”.

Welp. Let’s just say I love the entire lyrics ugh

7. Pianocktail

OH THIS! I love this one. This reminds me of my other favoritest band forever – Panic! At The Disco. The story within and the sophistication in this one is something that’s imprinted into my fanatic heart (awow).

“The taste has never been this condescending. A drink to be made by the one and only pianocktail!”

Ah, there’s nothing more tripping than an uncertainty for something you’ve had for so long.

8. Chat Box From Alaska

“She’s a part-time lover and a beautiful liar, plagued with her broken words and empty promises. Cornered by the pillars of her comfort and embrace, making out with someone better, someone smoother, someone tastier”

I feel like this song is basically for fuck girls who manipulates people for sex by leading people on and leaving them just as fast. I think the last part of this song was written by Rain as a poem years and years ago? Nevertheless, it ended the song so smoothly.

9. Awful Things the Moon Saw

This song makes me think of obsessive lovers or past ones that refuses to let it go. Maybe it’s also us when we hold on a little too tight on something that’s already slipping away.

“Well you know you’ve got me haunted by your scent, Now I find myself begging and falling for you more and more.”

It is also kind of a lullaby to me for some reason, I can sleep soundly with this one playing hehe

10. St. Cecille

This one’s also in my playlist since I’ve first heard it. I think I read the story behind (or at least heavily connected) this song, written by the vocalist. He has a lot of passion, idk ask him. JK!!!!

"Rhyme our thoughts in this waltzing dreams. Time stops when you are around. You’re the one I’ve been talking about on the song of roads and hearts”

I wish I can share with you guys the link to the story but I’m not sure if he’d like that. Anyway, this love song is right up my alley – mysterious, magic, and love? Hell yas.

11. Bloodstream

All I can say about this is that I am so excited for the story to come out because I want to look more into it. Twilight’s werewolves just left the building.

“Chaotic, poetic, and overly narcissistic. Hypnotic, agnostic, but slightly optimistic. Out of the forest to Manila fucking buses. It’s a tale about a man who waltzed among carcasses.”

It’s a midnight story!

12. Stellar Memories

The first song, besides the ones I’ve already heard before of course, that caught my attention in the album was this one. It’s a desperate attempt to preserve something we believe in and wish for its memories to last up to our end.

“Set up the fire and let’s dance around the house. Then watch it burn down like the dreams we fought so hard to get. If this is it, hope higher, ‘cause we’ll hide from the world and never make a….”

I feel like this is the best song to end the album with because I didn’t want it to end and I just kept it on loop for all its entirety because I liked each song.

I’ve already wrote a (lengthy) Instagram post about their well thought branding and packaging but I also want to commend them for the bomb line up and organized launch! Page Four Production reminded me so much of the first gigs of WAT UP and made me miss the team. From promotions to media exposures, to the materials! I look forward to attending gigs they’d come up with!

I won’t ask for more releases so soon because I want to savor this album and all its stories. I’ve already heard the Part I of Mr. Hyde and it’s Createurs’ gift to everyone who attended their launch so if you are curious, wait for the next album maybe it’d be included there.

This album will always have a special place in my heart. It’s definitely worth the long wait. Congrats, Createurs!

Listen to them on Spotify and follow them on their social media pages to be updated!

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Walkers pt 4

Forgot I hadn’t uploaded this on Tumblr, sorry!

Fourth installment of ‘The Walkers’, the story of Ullrae and Beorn!

part 1                part 2                part 3                part 4

word count: 4.6k

At first, he sees only one sentence. I am not coming back. He feels numb, sits for hours staring at those words. They make him a failure, more than anything else she could have said, more than running away in the first place. The first duty of a Scildere is to protect those who are weaker, those who are in his care. Papa’s words resound in his head, spoken centuries before, but still remembered with clarity by the man who was once a small boy called Hwelpan, sitting on his Mama’s lap as Papa explained the rules of the Clan’s life.

Mama was the queen, dryhtcwén, she made the rules, bargained with the other lords and cared for the people under her command. Papa was her Scildere, the protector, the warrior in charge of keeping everyone safe. It was the role Beorn had always wanted, though he had barely been old enough to mate when the Orcs came; he had already proven to be a skilled fighter, even though Papa was still better.

None of their training had mattered against bows and the bite of metal blades.

Beorn has killed many Orcs, he knows, still staring at the paper. He is the best chance Ullrae has of safety; he has learned over the years how to defend against their metal weapons, how to use his speed and intelligence to defeat his enemies. He failed to protect Berveig, who was torn away from his side in the mines, but he knows he could protect her. He is better now, better than he was then; he has grown in strength and cunning with age, just like Papa once promised he would, back when the world was still filled with happiness and sunshine and play.

Unbidden, an image of Ullrae loping across the fields in her lynx-body fills his mind; the world still has sunshine, catching on golden fur, still has happiness in the way she laughs when she plays with the dogs. For the first time in many years, Beorn cries, realising what he has lost; much more than when Álmbera left to marry one of the Northmen who rode through his lands as they migrated south. Álmbera was his salvation; she taught him to be a family, taught him how to love again, and yet he had not recognised that the cracks she had made in his stone heart had been wedged open further by Ullrae’s golden eyes – still capable of smiling, even after all she had gone through. A cry of pain rips from his throat, scaring one of the dogs.

I am not coming back.

He stares at the words, traces them with shaky fingers, and he knows. Berveig was taken from him, only three moons after their mating, though he had known her for some years beforehand… Ullrae, however, has left him behind on purpose, after he has spent two decades falling in love with her; something he did not think possible. He has never heard of a mated bear loving someone else after the mate is dead – and Berveig is dead, he knows, Ullrae has never been able to lie to him convincingly – but he knows, knows that Ullrae is his love, feeling more despair at losing her than he remembers feeling for Berveig a century before. Jumping to his feet, Beorn is ready to go out once more, try to find her elusive trail, follow her until he can make her see.

Then he spots Berveig’s name on the paper, rending his resolve in pieces as old pain rears its head once more. As he reads the words, he can see her, fierce and beautiful, strong; a fit mate for the son of the dryhtcwén, Mama once said, pride in her voice as she watched Berveig fight. Ullrae’s words are simple – he taught her how to write and read, but she did not practice often, seeing little need – and yet the words, dark ink on creamy paper, shape stark and vivid images in his head, makes him think he can almost hear Berveig’s roars, smell her blood spill on stone floors. Reading the account of her torture is horrible; Beorn has to leave in the middle, sicking up against the side of the house as he imagines her screams, imagines the Orc’s laughter. He even imagines Ullrae there, wearing the same shackle he had once struck from her leg, staring at the spectacle with the same deadness in her eyes as he would see whenever she thought about the Stronghold and her life there, remembered her family’s deaths. He can’t decide which sight is more painful; knowing how Berveig’s life ended has not brought him the peace he expected when he first demanded Ullrae tell him. He regrets the sparks of anger he has carried since then, knows that she felt them, even when he was not angry with her so much as with himself for worrying at a wound he had thought long-since healed.

He wishes he had not emptied his stomach, reading the brief words that tell him the fate of his son. This time, there is nothing but bile to spill from his mouth, the images in his head cycling in a reel of pain and despair. Dark and boiling hatred rises in him, black like tar and equally viscous, nearly choking the breath from his lungs. It doesn’t matter that he had never even known the cub existed; the loss of his son is mingled with impotent anger at himself, failing to protect what was his to keep safe, anger at Berveig for not telling him about the cub, even anger that he’s the reason Berveig was pregnant at all. If she hadn’t been, perhaps she would have been there on the fortuitous day when a rock falling broke the chains that bound him and an old grizzly told him to go, told him to run, made his escape possible by sacrificing himself to the anger of the Orc overseer.

He wants to rage at Ullrae, as he rages at the furniture he has so carefully made over the years; smashing and snapping, the sound of wood breaking not enough to quiet his screams of fury. He wants to scream at her, tell her she should have kept her silence; it would have been better not to know. He remembers her telling him that, telling him he would not wish to have the images now lodged in his brain and he knows she is right. He wants to scream at her, ask her what she has left out, ask her how she is still sane after witnessing so much horror. He wants to hold her, to never let go, to promise her that he will keep her safe for all the years remaining to him, even if he knows that she is capable of fighting her own battles.

He spends more than an hour yelling at her spectre; the laughing girl who is gone forever, who stole his heart without his knowledge or permission, and left him to live among the broken, jagged pieces of once-happiness.

 When he returns to his own mind, he is sitting among a mess of splinters; no thing in the room has remained whole in the face of his raging fury. A flash of pale cream catches his eye; the letter has fallen to the hearth he does not remember lighting.

Scrabbling to pull it from the flames that have already devoured all but one corner, he is left with a triangle of paper bearing seven small words.

All my love,

Ullrae, daughter of Léona.

He remains kneeling on the kitchen floor the rest of the night, crying for all he has lost, feeling broken beyond repair; his heart no different from the splinters that surround him. The dogs eventually dare to approach, but Beorn finds no comfort in the cold noses prodding his bare skin – he thinks he was a bear for some of the destruction, but he does not care that he is naked – nor does he hear the soft whines of his small friends.

  The morning sun paints the room with gold, dust motes whirling in the air. Beorn’s tears have dried on his face, but it takes him hours to get to his feet, to begin cleaning up the splintered and broken wood. He walks through the house mechanically, numb, thinking of no one and nothing beyond the task at hand, losing hours staring into thin air.

It takes him three days to leave the fog of numbness, to realise that he needs to find her. He worries about her, though he tries not to, tries to trust that he has taught her the skills she didn’t already have, has taught her well enough that she will survive, even without coming back to their home. He winces at the memory of her screaming at him; she is right, it is her home, too, has been her home for as long as she has been there, her home ever since he woke up to find a wildling girl stumbling through his territory chased by orcs bent on her destruction. He remembers with crystal clarity the giddy way she kissed him, named him hers – how did he not know then, how did he not notice how much it pleased him to be claimed thus? – even the way she bravely faced his anger to ask for what she needed even when he had mistaken her question the first time. Ullrae has always been brave, a fierce little wild thing, and he has to believe that her fierce spirit can carry her through life.

He already knows he won’t find her trail, she’s too efficient a prowler, so his hunt is little more than a token effort to appease his own heartsickness. It does not work, though he slaughters a small band of roving Orcs almost without noticing.

 Returning to the cabin – is it still home without Ullrae to greet him with a smile? – Beorn shudders at the sight of the dark house. He takes care of the neglected animals, the goats and the hens, pats the dogs as he moves through his house aimlessly, absentmindedly.

 Two hours later, he leaves, the animals free to roam behind him; Beorn barely thinks about the place he has cared for, has called home for so long. The massive black bear lumbers north, his purpose once more nothing but vengeance.

He makes his way to his old home – there’s nothing left of the village after nearly two centuries, of course, but he spends a day saying goodbye to the life he knew there, remembering the fiery red hair of his Mama, the grizzled face of his Papa. He thinks Mama would have liked Ullrae. It is the last time he allows himself to even think her name.

 “Gyda is pregnant,” Athelstan reveals one day, staring at the blue sky far above you. It is evening, the chores of the day are done, and you’ve chosen a moment to simply relax, follow the path of clouds racing across the sky.

“From the Blessing?” you ask; it’s a custom that puzzled you the first time Athelstan went to war, and you understand it no better after it’s happened the second time. Athelstan tried to explain it, something about anchoring his soul to the land through the flesh of a woman willing; his guarantee that he would join his ancestors if he should fall in battle, find his way to their halls. He nods, a tight, not-quite-happy move that makes you frown. “Congratulations, my friend,” you say, meaning it. In your Pride, new cubs were celebrated; and though you know Men are different, surely, they, too, find joy in the creation of new life? Athelstan sighs heavily. “Will you marry Gyda?” The cheesemaker in the village is a plump and happy woman, you think she could be good for Athelstan, and if you ever felt a need to leave, you’d like to leave him in the hands of a good woman.

“I cannot pay her bride-price,” Athelstan says, “though I will claim the child. If it is a boy, he will be my heir. If it is a girl, I will set aside some money and things for her.”

“What’s a bride-price?” you wonder. You know what a bride is, and trading with the Elves in the forest taught you about the price of goods… but Gyda is a woman, you think, you can’t buy a woman… can you?

“It is the price I would have to pay her family to marry Gyda,” Athelstan explains, which isn’t much of an explanation. In your world, mating is determined by strength. If a male wants a female, he has to make her submit to his strength, prove he can protect her and any cubs; far more sensible, you think, feeling a shiver of lust at the thought of Beorn. You suppress it ruthlessly, thinking about Rena’s first mating challenge; she lost, but the male had not fought fairly, and your father had challenged him in return. It was rare that such challenges happened, but it was in your laws that, one of the female’s kin may challenge the male if he is considered unworthy or wins through trickery. You subside into silence, determined to speak to Gyda the next time you visit the village.

 “You have been gone a long time,” Radagast says, when the bear returns to the cabin he once helped build. The bear looks at him, no recognition in his eyes. “Where is your mate, Beorn?” Radagast asks quietly, “Where is Ullrae?” The bear roars, as though the name hurts him, shuddering until it transforms – slower than Radagast has ever seen, the wizard notes worriedly – into a wild-looking man who falls to his knees.

“Not mate,” he croaks brokenly, voice faint, as though he has forgotten how to speak. “She is gone.” Radagast does not reply, though he helps Beorn into the house, his eyes widening at the lack of furniture. Beorn slumps against a wall.

“How long has it been since you walked as a man?” Radagast frowns.

“Seven winters…” Beorn finally replies, the words slow and hard to find. “I think.”

“Do you want to be a bear for good?!” the wizard exclaims, more than a little horrified. The bear won’t remember how to be human forever, much like staying human too long can harm the ability to shift. “What happened to Ullrae?”

“She’s gone,” Beorn says, staring at his old friend, “I… she left, and it was my fault.” Radagast frowns.

“Gone where?” he asks, somehow finding two cups and pouring a cup of tea for each of them before he sits next to Beorn on the floor.

“I don’t know,” Beorn sighs. The pain is still raw, but he forces himself to tell his old friend everything; Radagast once turned him from the path of vengeance and death, perhaps the wizard can help. Radagast hums thoughtfully, stuffing his pipe. Beorn frowns lightly; he used to grow some tobacco plants for Radagast, but he hasn’t been back here for seven years; the fields are overrun by wild nature and very little remains of the gardens that Ullrae had loved. A storm felled her favourite tree in his absence, the broken stump another wound to his soul somehow; the land is forgetting her presence, making it seem like she was never here.

“She would have gone south,” Radagast finally says, “she wanted to see humans, didn’t she?” Beorn nods slowly; Radagast is right, Ullrae would have gone south, not north like she had pretended to throw him off her trail.

“The south lands are big,” he mutters darkly, “she could have gone anywhere.”

“She would need somewhere safe to go into heat,” Radagast points out mildly, his words making a sick feeling spread in Beorn’s gut. What if his Ullrae has found someone to ease the burning? What if she has mated – he counts in his head; she would have had two heats since she left – what if she had chosen to bear the children of some unknown Man? A snarl rips from his throat. MINE! Resounds in his head, making him jump to his feet, pace across the floor; desperation feeding his soul the image of Ullrae’s naked body writhing beneath some straw-headed Man. Beorn growls.

Radagast goes into the bedroom – how did he not realise what she meant to him when she slept in his arms? – returning with a small box. Álmbera made it once, as a child; Beorn has cared for it for nearly a century, as a memento of his human daughter. Inside he has kept trinkets, small tokens of his life, and Radagast knows it. There is an acorn the wizard once gave him, it has turned to stone, Beorn thinks, a dried flower – more brittle that he likes to think of – from Álmbera’s wedding crown, a scrap from her dress tied around the stem with a lock of her and Tirwald’s hair twined together. The box also holds a strange silvery metal; the remains of Ullrae’s shackle, which Beorn still doesn’t know what to do with; the metal can break, yes, but he feels uneasy leaving it where he cannot check it is there. It is a weapon; one he knows will affect him. If it can still force someone – he broke it in five pieces, but he doesn’t think it is enough to break such a spell – to remain in human shape, the shackle is probably the most dangerous thing he has ever come across. He is strong, even when he walks as a man, capable of living through things that would have killed Men, but he is not invincible. The most important thing, however, is a small scrap of paper, one edge blackened and burnt; definite proof that Ullrae was here, that she cared for him.

“Give me that!” he snarls, cradling the box to his chest. Radagast smiles wistfully.

“I miss Álmbera, too,” he says, trailing a gnarled finger through the air just above the fragile dry petals. “She made you a better man, my friend,” he sighs, “a happier man. I had hoped Ullrae would help you become the man you were meant to be.” Beorn flinches at the name, but he is still filled with a fervent desire – need – to go after her, bring her back, claim her. “You were not created for solitude, Beorn.”

“I know,” he mumbles, closing the lid carefully. The hairs inside have lost all colour, but he pretends he can still see the vibrant red of Álmbera’s curls and the golden wheat of the man who loved her. He doesn’t even have that much of Ullrae, he suddenly realises; he has things she has made, yes, but no physical memory of her beyond seven words on a burnt scrap of paper.

“Go find her,” Radagast sighs. Beorn smiles. He has missed that combination of paternal love and exasperation Radagast excels at, mixed with a dash of distrait but benign madness. “I shall speak to my small friends; Ullrae is not exactly a forgettable woman… someone will have seen her.”

 Beorn barely takes the time to put his small box of memories back in its place before he is off, loping south as a giant bear.

“You’ll need some clothes!” Radagast calls after him, but Beorn simply huffs a bear’s growly laugh back at him. He’ll steal something to wear or stitch some skins together himself, make clothes that way. Ullrae won’t care what he wears.

He tries not to imagine what she will say when he finds her – he has no doubt he will – squashes every thought that she might have found herself a husband in the years she has been gone.

 You have been with Athelstan for nearly eight summers when he first notices.

“You haven’t aged a day since we met,” he remarks one morning, stroking the obvious grey hairs that have snuck into his brown locks over the last three years. You smile, but it is tinged with sadness, knowing that the words only come because Athelstan knows he has not got many years of life left.

“I am not a Man, Athelstan,” you reply quietly, staring down the road with him. You’re expecting his sister’s son to arrive today from Aldburg; Mildwyn’s son is the logical heir to Athelstan’s farm. He would leave it to you, you know, but you also know that when he dies, this will not be your home. “I do not age like you do. I am…” you think about it; you’re not sure what year you were born, after all, “more than a century old,” you finally say, because that’s not wrong. You were young when you were captured, only thirty summers, and you spent more than a century in the Stronghold. You wonder if you’re closer to two centuries now, but it hardly matters. You will live until you join the Hunt Eternal and reunite with your kin. Athelstan gasps. You look younger than him – even when you first came here, you looked more than a couple decades younger than him – and you know some of the gossips in the village speculate about your relationship with Athelstan. It does not bother you, though you know he takes the words to heart. To you, these people do not matter; when they are dead and dust, you will still walk the land, why should you care what they think of you. You care about Athelstan, because he is your friend, but the rest of these people might as well be sheep to you – or maybe horses, sheep are a bit too stupid to be people, you chuckle to yourself, even if some of the villagers aren’t much cleverer than an ordinary sheep.

“That’s… odd,” he laughs. You wince. His laugh has turned wheezy over the last few years, winter lingering in his chest. You both ignore it with long practice.

“It is the way of my kin,” you shrug, “we grow slowly.”

“How slowly?” he frowns. Athelstan always wants to know more about your kind, the ones he calls Gengende, and sometimes you ignore the pain of discussing your past, regaling him with stories of your sisters, playing with the cubs and other happier memories. You do not tell him about Beorn, though you think he knows that love clings stubbornly in your breast making you sigh when you cast your eyes north.

“I do not know,” you purse your lips thoughtfully. “If I had borne a cub from the first needing I had here,” you begin, though it hurts to discuss a fate that will not be yours, “she would have finished suckling about two years ago, but she would still be small, and I would not let her roam far from the den. Like… a toddler,” you say, remembering the word for small children. Gyda, the village cheesemaker, has a toddler, three-year-old Wilrun. She is also Athelstan’s child, though no one speaks of it. The babe was a result of the Blessing – the fighting against the orcs that had concurred with your needing had not been the last time Athelstan went to war – the old ritual of the Rohirrim. You know he would like his child to grow up knowing him, but though you usually stop by the cheesemaker’s house on market days, her brother always glares darkly at you until you leave again. You do not pretend to understand; Gyda is a widow, and a marriage is not like a mating, she is free to love again, marry again, and she has no other children to care for; in your mind, there is little to hinder her moving to your small farm with her daughter. Athelstan tried to explain it once, but you could not make sense of the concept of a bride-price. Athelstan quirks a smile, though it is edged in sorrow, and you know he too is thinking about little Wilrun.

“When would she be an adult then?” he wonders, shading his eyes as he stares down the road. You shrug. You were not an adult yourself when you were brought to Azog.

“When she was an adult woman, who had grown breasts to feed her young, and wider hips to bear them,” you say vaguely; the concept has always been nebulous to you. You remember Lillia’s coming of age vaguely, but you never had a celebration of your own; you only know that it would have been some time while you were in Azog’s keeping. “The Pride would have a feast for her, and everyone would watch her shift.”

“You do not shift as children?” he asks, making you laugh. He loves your form, especially during autumn when you hunt effectively, ensuring that you do not starve through the cold winter, by bringing home game that means you do not have to feed up and slaughter as much livestock.

“Of course, we do.” You shake your head fondly, “but the first adult shift is considered special, just like the first adult hunt, where the new lynx leads the hunt and takes her first solo kill.” Looking back on it, that would be the night Beorn struck off your shackle, sharing your small kill. You smile softly; the memory is a fond one, even if it is laced with sadness. “A few years after that, she will have her first heat, and if she has not found a mate, she will begin looking. My sister, Lillia, was mated a few years before the Orcs came… his name was Léofwine of the Grasslands Pride. He was a worthy male; even my father said so,” you laugh, remembering the fierce but playful male, “females are powerful hunters and fighters; they will not accept a mate who cannot dominate them with his strength; proof he will sire strong cubs. Léofwine was very strong… many females wanted him, but he wanted only Lillia.” He would probably have been strong enough to take more than one female through heat, the beginning of his own Pride, but Léofwine had not had that sort of ambition, his eyes fixed on Lillia from their first meeting.

“And you?” Athelstan has asked you before, about husbands, but you have always said no; knowing that you found your mate years ago, recognised his strength as yours before you even knew his name.

“I was… a girl.” You mumble, trying to explain it in a way that makes sense to a human. “Orcs came, killed everyone but me and I was a girl then. I am woman now, but still… not mated.” The clatter of hooves interrupts whatever Athelstan wants to say, a young man dismounting with the easy grace of a born horseman.

“Uncle!” he calls happily. Athelstan smiles, moving to welcome his nephew, but you stiffen at the way his eyes roam over you.

“Ordred! Good to see you, lad!” Athelstan exclaims, clapping him on the back. You growl softly in your throat. “This is Ullrae, an old friend who helps me run the farm.” He gestures to you and you make yourself nod, keeping your countenance inscrutable even as your spine crawls with the way Ordred’s gaze follows the curve of your breast, the flare of your hips.

“Mistress Ullrae, your servant,” he claims, bending to kiss your knuckles. His eyes dance mischievously up at you. You have to force yourself not to wipe your hand against your trousers.

“Mister Ordred,” you reply coolly, turning back to the farm with a perfunctory nod. This young man is a predator, you think, recognising something in him that unnerves you. Once more, you affirm your vow; whenever Athelstan chooses to die, you will leave and never come back.

[calucadu]

The Mask

This is the piece I made for the @blackguardfanzine, a Villains!AU Fanzine! You can download the zine for free here! 

I had a lot of fun writing this so consider checking the zine out! 🖤

(I know I’m super late at uploading this, I’m very sorry)

The Mask, a Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia One Shot.

Summary: Neito Monoma was an aspiring hero, well-known by his classmates and other students in the same year as him. With a bright future in front of him, he was ready to graduate high school and begin his career as a pro-hero.

Unfortunately, one day, on a school outing, a bunch of villains attacked the young students of UA. Their objective had seemed to be another, but brave Monoma stepped in front of his peers to protect them, which resulted in him losing his life at the hands of those horrible people. His classmates saw him die, watched as his body went limp and stared in horror as they took his corpse and disposed of it.

Characters: Monoma Neito, Shinsou Hitoshi, Bakugou Katsuki.

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3 

Or read below the cut

Neito Monoma was an aspiring hero, well-known by his classmates and other students in the same year as him. With a bright future in front of him, he was ready to graduate high school and begin his career as a pro-hero.

Unfortunately, one day, on a school outing, a bunch of villains attacked the young students of UA. Their objective had seemed to be another, but brave Monoma stepped in front of his peers to protect them, which resulted in him losing his life at the hands of those horrible people. His classmates saw him die, watched as his body went limp and stared in horror as they took his corpse and disposed of it.

Except he didn’t die.

I didn’t die.

As a teenager, I’d been witness to the horrifying injustice in the hero world. Even at the beginning of our first year of high school we had been separated into different classes and treated differently depending on how “good” we were. It made my blood boil to think that there were power-hungry, money-making fools out there that didn’t care about saving lives as long as they were getting rich of off making a show out of us. Being a hero became meaningless to me. And it didn’t help that the actual heroes doing their job probably did it just to get a higher ranking instead of aiming to actually save lives as they should be.

I started a one-man quest against heroes and their stupid hierarchy and named myself their number one enemy, and the villains offered me a position in their ranks when I presented my case to them. They agreed to help me fake my death and took me in. Years later, I’m still here, and while I don’t agree with all of their ideals and I normally go solo, I’d say I do fit in rather well.

All my former schoolmates are now pro-heroes, battling each other for a better position on the horrible hero rankings. I don’t pity or envy them. But I do want to help them if I can.

Inside the villain world, I’m The Mask, the self-proclaimed villain in charge of bringing justice to this rotten hero obsessed world.

I hang all the newspaper clippings I gather from the heroes I've framed. They're all over the walls of my crummy apartment, so I'm constantly reminded of my own personal victory. It feels great to see my sweet success pinned as decor. 

Nothing fills me with more pride than drinking my early morning coffee as I reread over the headlines I have already memorised and reminisce about when I locked up a hero because they deserve to be in jail.

I've singlehandedly managed to be behind the incarceration of both old and new heroes. But, honestly, I'm most proud of the downfall of someone I hadn't even tried to frame, yet somehow did with how the events rolled out. Someone I got to know very well at UA.

Shinsou.

His picture stares at me over the frame of my bed. He still has those horrible bags and unruly hairstyle. The picture isn't flattering by any means since it was obviously taken at an unfortunate moment for the hero, when he was either unaware or distracted as he was taken into custody for interrogation. He's looking away, his eyes dull, his expression slightly irritated. Probably. I always found him hard to read. But I couldn't have a better photo over my bed since this one proves to me what I now believe in.

Shinsou was investigated due to his infamous mind-controlling quirk and he is now the prime suspect in the case of the framed heroes. Of course, even the police aren't as stupid as to not realise that something is going on. It's all in the article that I’ve toasted to so many times already. It’s my greatest achievement, and it wasn’t even a part of my plan. I make sure to congratulate myself regularly for my genius.

Too bad they eventually let him go. I know they’re still watching him, and there are tons and tons of theories on the internet about who’s behind these strange villain-turned heroes. Some people think there is an actual villain behind all this, and other’s think he’s made up, that it’s just a theory the police have to make sure the civilians stay calm.

As to why I decided to call myself The Mask, it’s because of the pretty little white mask I created not that long ago. It’s simple, with hollow eyes for me to look through and a mouth frowning downwards. 

I’ve been waiting for a moment to get my villain persona to make an appearance, and this is probably the best moment possible. I want to announce myself in the best way possible, and what better way than in the middle of a hero’s speech?

Yes, Ground Zero is doing the honours of being my opening act, and he doesn’t even know it yet. His scowling face has been plastered all over the internet for weeks, announcing his first public act in over a year. It’s probably a promotion, a thing he’s being forced to do by his manager so that he gains followers and attracts more attention. He’s always been the hostile type, so it’s probably nothing more than a publicity stunt, but that’s good enough for me!

And today’s the day! It’s a great opportunity for me to show what The Mask can do! I can already imagine the headlines! “Strange masked villain humiliates Ground Zero”.

I wear purple colour contacts and a dust mask to hide my features. I also wear a hood so my blond hair can't be seen - although in this day and age with all the quirks and mutations around I'm not that scared of a little pale hair showing - and I'm ready. I’m pretty confident I’m hiding my face well. Although I’m pretty sure not even my old schoolmates will remember me. The success has gone to their heads, they’ve let the slight fame they have to get to them. They think they’re so much better than the random citizens they claim to be saving on the daily. Another reason I hate them so.

My long coat seals the deal. It's pretty similar to the one I wore back in high school, my hero suit. I modified a little, though. I changed the clocks for pockets. There are pockets everywhere, inside and out. In them are the samples of hair I've collected from heroes and villains with useful quirks over the years. I have their exact locations memorised for whenever I’m in a tight spot and I might need them. With my villain mask tucked neatly against my body, I head out the door and over to where Ground Zero’s about to give his speech.

I blend in with the crowd as well as I can, positioning myself so I have a good enough view of him, security and as many people attending as I can.

He’s a little over five minutes late, but he’s as unceremonious as ever as he starts his little speech. The blond hero snarls viciously about how heroes will prevail despite everything and other nonsensical bullshit. I'm trying my hardest to stop myself from laughing, but it's impossible. It’s just too funny.

Ground Zero is pathetic. In my opinion, he always has been. All he's really got going for himself is how boisterous he is. It's annoying. Most of the people here aren't even his fans, probably. They're just intimidated by his rudeness. It's sad. I know that hothead, bad-mouthed pro-hero thinks he's intimidating. He's got that air to him - and it's obviously the thing he's going for - but it doesn't work on me. He didn't intimidate me at the sports festival, and he doesn't intimidate me now.

But I do want to get back at him. I want to make him eat his words of all those years ago at the sports festival. I want him to regret having ever thought he was somehow superior to everyone else. I've wanted him to fall for so long now I can hardly wait.

And I know just how. His own cockiness will be his downfall, and nothing could be sweeter.

At some point during his boring talk, I sneak past people, repositioning myself. I discard my dust mask and replace it with my full-faced white one.

He's finally finished with his speech and is about to leave when I stuff my hand into the pocket with the hairs I'd carefully decided would be best for this situation. Activating my quirk I feel a surge of power travel up my hands and arms until my whole body is tingling with the sensation.

The thrill of the moment helps and I surge forward, pushing people out of my way until Ground Zero notices the commotion and turns his attention to me.

I see explosions form in his palms as he launches himself and lands on top of me. He's heavy, probably because his kit seems quite bulky and excessive. He laughs maniacally because he thinks he has me pinned to the floor and unable to move, but that's when I click my fingers in front of his face and his snickers quickly quieten. His expression turns from cocky to terrified in a matter of seconds, and I calmly pin him down.

He's struggling to breathe, clawing at his throat furiously, panic in his eyes as he glares at me with a look of intense hate. I laugh once but push myself off him, running away and snapping my fingers again at anyone who tries to stop me.

I deactivate the quirk before I turn the corner and I immediately hear explosions behind me. I watch as he propels his way forward and lands right in front of me, grinning slyly. Ground Zero’s close-up face is exactly how I remember it: Snide, smug and full of vile. His eyes look disturbed, and he's licking his lips like a madman. Life has given him many more scars that make his expressions far scarier than they should be. It would fill me with fear, but I'm too high on adrenaline to even care at this point. 

“I'm not scared of your little breath-play trick.” He snarls.

My smile spreads on my face, behind my mask. I tilt my head as I select the next quirk I’m going to use. It’s an alchemy one I borrowed from a villain friend of mine. I put my hands on his grenades and melt the bloody artefacts before he can launch his explosions. It surprises him so much that he takes a step back and the immediate threat of being blown to pieces disappears as his explosions dissipate.

"What the-!" But I cut him off by pushing him back, turning his body and pressing him against a wall.

I can’t risk it by using too many quirks or he'd understand what my ability is, so I use the first quirk on him again, cutting off his respiration.

I love watching him suffer. My heart beats erratically fast as I feel the hate emanating off of him. Yes, I live off that.

I pull his hair and force him to his knees as he's still struggling to get oxygen into his lungs. I jerk him around a bit, just to make sure I get at least one of his hairs, which I discreetly put into one of my empty pockets.

Satisfied with his torment, I pull back and walk away, only to turn a few seconds later and find him trying to crawl his way to me. Endearing. I wave at him before running down the street.

Despite the commotion and how important today is, loads of people are still walking around, unaware of what has just happened. I make my way through them, hoping they notice my mask but don't think too much into it.

As I expected, the bang of a loud explosion can be heard behind me. Ground Zero's drive and motivation to catch the enemy are as strong as ever. I'm not that happy that he's so persistent and still chasing me. I've got other heroes to antagonise! But the smell of smoke makes me turn my head to see just what this berserk man is doing nonetheless.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" I hear him scream before another huge explosion goes off. Turning to my left I notice the smoke coming from a building. Has he resorted to blowing up public property to gain my attention? Charming. Maybe I like Ground Zero more than I thought. I do love his taste for destruction, though, I’ll give him that at least.

Running into a small alley to catch my breath, I put my hand inside a new pocket. An icky sensation sprouts from my fingertips as I activate this quirk and when I look at them, I find them covered in pink suckers. I can probably develop them on my feet too, but I'm not risking taking my shoes off, so I'll have to do with just my hands.

Climbing the wall with this quirk is easier than I imagined. It makes an annoying sucking sound as they activate and deactivate, but I get on the roof faster than I would’ve with any of my other quirks. I know Ground Zero can sort of fly, but at least I have a bit of an advantage for the time being.

I wish I could use his power since wow, it's super useful and dynamic, but I don't want to risk it. I know the blond hero isn't stupid. I mean, he isn't the smartest person I've ever met – blowing up buildings seems either a sign of his reckless stupidity or how desperate he is – but if I learnt something from our time together at UA, he can sometimes be quick and sharp, if he doesn’t let his rash feelings get in the way. And right now, I'd rather not mess with that. Anyway, he’s just a decoy for the real thing, or we could say he’s the opening act. The show’s about to start!

He must have spotted me because he whizzes his way towards the rooftop where I’m waiting for him, fire and loud bangs erupting from his hands and what’s left of his melted grenades. There’s a siren wailing in the background that I think was set off by his little temper tantrum. Good. He’s done his part.

As much as I enjoyed fighting this admirable opponent, I’ve got better things to do, so I’m determined to finish this fast.

Bakugou’s learnt his lesson, at least. He stays away from me, and he’s wary this time, his brows furrowed. He’s panting heavily, but I can see the light emanating from his palms, the tell-tale sign that he’s about to make an explosion come to life.

I wish I was a little bit quicker or more agile since the tail of my coat gets singed by his explosive blast when I dodged it, but at least it didn’t hit me and I’m not harmed. I select a new quirk that I know acts fast and it doesn’t take long before he’s asleep on the concrete floor, snoring softly. I give a kick to his inert body before walking off, laughing to myself.

I look back at the fire slowly creeping out of the litany of demolished buildings Ground Zero left in his wake as he chased after me. It's probably safe to assume someone else will follow the devastation and eventually reach me, unless I deceive them first, so I decide to jump from building top to building top. It's exhilarating in a way, as I stumble my way forwards, scared of falling. Heights were never my strong suit. But it feels good to defy even my fears as I walk across one roof to another, smiling to myself as I get further away from the smoky chaos I'm leaving behind.

I notice a figure with their back to the wall and the smirk reappears on my face. The person has purple hair, and a look I could recognise anywhere. Today’s my lucky day it seems, as I activate the sucker quirk again and make my way down. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I'm met face to face with a very familiar one.

I’ve been waiting for this day for some time now, and now that it’s finally here… I actually can’t believe it. He doesn't recognize me under the mask, but his expression shifts, his eyes lighting up in interest.

"You're probably the one that caused all this commotion, right?" He says, his tone dull, as if he were bored, but there's a certain something in his voice that's new. He's sure of himself.

Well, it'll make all this a lot more fun. 

I don't answer him of course, because this is Hitoshi Shinsou we’re talking about, bearer of a very powerful mind control quirk. Answering him would mean dooming not only myself but all the villains I know and every one of my ideals.

I decide to toy around with him, play a game that has been on my mind for ages now. I walk towards him, tilting my masked face to the left just slightly. It's to intimidate him, although he'll probably not fall for that. I've always thought he was a tough nut to crack, and that's part of the beauty of this.

We dance around each other as he tries to mimic my motions until I throw a punch. He dodges it and aims his knee towards my stomach, but boy am I glad my reflexes are still good. With one hand on his face and pushing him back – mainly to distract and annoy him – the other fumbles inside one of my pockets, to acquire the quirk I want. Before Shinsou manages to pull away from my grasp, I feel power surge through my veins and explosions light up in my palms.

I don’t aim for his face because I’ve always kind of thought he was beautiful, in a weird non-crush sort of way. Maybe I was jealous, maybe I wasn’t, it’s not the time to ponder about high school drama. Plus, I need to make sure he’s recognisable later on. I blast the loud explosion with calculated carefulness. His shoulder should’ve received the brunt of the blow, but I underestimated how quick he is too. He dodges the explosion, but it leaves a big crater in the wall behind him, debris raining over us and smoke clouding our vision. As I sneak in a quick peek, I notice I destroyed the back of the lovely café that I went to the other day. It’s a shame, I did really like that place.

He tackles me to the ground and we wrestle. I'm not really a fan of hand to hand combat so my objective is to get him off me as soon as possible, but only when I have what I need. My hands run over his hair and I acquire his power, feeling it well up intensely inside of me.

He struggles to take my mask off, but I don't let him. A swift kick in his tender spot makes him recoil and I can finally pull myself from under him. I get up and watch as he struggles to do the same, moving agonizingly slowly.

I walk back a few steps and take my time removing my mask, savouring the moment. My smirk is ever-present as I watch his expression shift. He’s still in pain from my kick but he’s still trying to fight me. Admirable. I should give these persistent heroes that.

Shinsou's mouth opens wide as he realises who stands in front of him. His arms fall limp to his side as he stammers a hushed “But… you died”.

He stumbles back as realisation kicks in and panic appears on his features. “You were the one that caused all that! You're behind everything. Your quirk-!”

But it's too late for him because I activate my quirk, and then his. I watch as his eyes change to look like the ones he’s so used to seeing himself. Having him under my command ignites a warm feeling inside of me, something akin to triumphant pride as I smile smugly at him.

“Hitoshi Shinsou.” I whisper in a sickly-sweet tone. I take my time with each syllable, savouring the moment. I’ve got complete control over him and It’s empowering. “Now that’s a name I haven’t said in a long time. But as much as I like reunions, I like things going my way more. So, listen closely. You are going to turn yourself in. You'll tell the police you are behind every one of those heroes that were arrested.”

For a second Shinsou doesn't move. It's as if he's trying to control his own quirk. But we both know he's not strong enough to do that.

"Now," I growl, my lip curling.

His whole body twitches before he turns around and starts walking away. Just at the perfect time, too, since Ground Zero must have woken up: his screams and violent explosions can be heard in the distance.

I laugh hoarsely, imagining the warm welcome the other hero has planned for Shinsou.

I turn in the opposite direction myself, walking towards the other end of the small street, my mask still in my hand. It feels heavy there, and I suddenly realise that it's because I don't need it anymore. With a quick movement of my left wrist, I throw it away.

I laugh as I walk into a busier street, a light skip in my step, only to stop in front of a toddler. The kid looks at me with big brown curious eyes, and I stare back at him before leaning down and taking his lollipop. The young boy just watches me dumbfounded as I put the sweet into my mouth, enjoying the soft "plop" it makes around my puckered lips.

It seems like a scene in a movie as I walk away from the small child, who’s stunned into silence as he watches me run off with his lollipop.

[miraimisu]

Blanket Pals

[Read at FF.net]

[Read at AO3.]

Summary: the blanket was shared, his voice, warmth and aroma fleeting all around her. Their eyes stared at the movie in front of them, but all they could see was each other, lost in a sea of emotions they couldn't put a name on, herself lost in his licking flames and him, lost in the night sky of her eyes, sinking until he couldn't breathe.

 Rating: T

 Word count: 25.299 /faints, I'm breaking records wtf

 Author's note: Ok so I am here again with a SUPER LIGHTHEARTED FIC FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT because I enjoye Kacchako so much? And uh, I write long stuff, IT'S MY JAM NOW! It's a bit messy too? BUT EVERYONE LIKES MESSY STUFF AM I RIGHT? :D /silently hopes you do Bear with me, because I love this fandom and it's not gonna be the last of me! I WILL THRIVE!

So I have to give credit to @ everyone who has sent me any ask, any reblog, any new follower, any like, anything. Anybody who reads this mess is fucking credited because I LOVE THIS FANDOM?? So ou guys know who you are, fam. I made the wise decision to upload at FF.net first for those souls who can’t read this here. Also, don’t expect the same quality from the other fic. That’s impossible to beat, fam. And it’s not that good /derp

I don’t like this. It was so hard to write and I STRUGGLED SO MUCH YOU GUYS WOULD NOT BELIEVE YOUR EYES

Warnings: roller coaster ahead. It's gonna crush you.

It all started with a silly petition– the most extra of conversations in the most extra of scenarios.

“Yo, Uraraka.”

As soon as she registered who the voice belonged to, her whole form turned around to face the ashen blonde boy. His usually knit brow only deepened after seeing the weight in her arms. “What the fuck are you doing with that stupid hat– and what’s with that dirt all over you?”

Uraraka opened her mouth to explain that he was also supposed to be participating in that damn harvest activity with the other classes, that he should be making some social life apart of his loyal friend Kirishima and his animal hands– but as words were going to leave her mouth, she just decided to drop it, and sighed.

“Good afternoon to you, too.” she smiled at him, turned and proceeded her way. “Is there anything you need from me?”

Surprisingly, Bakugou trailed behind her, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, yeah.” that perked her interest, so she stopped in her tracks. Her round eyes peeked and looked at him in pure curiosity. It didn’t usually happen that Katsuki Bakugou – Jerk Explosion Murder for his… friends? (if he had any apart from Kirishima) – chased after anyone, especially if that someone was close friends with his mortal enemy.

“It’s not like I fucking need anything from you, don’t make misleading assumptions.” grumbled he, frowning and all with his hands deep in his pockets. His forehead was glistening with sweat. “That damn nerd redhead has sent me over to you. He wants us to have a movie night.”

Uraraka blinked. Once, then twice, until she started to freak Bakugou out. The basket almost fell off her arms and he swore he had broken her. “You mean, as in, like, the two of us?”

A mad blush spread throughout his pale face, eyes darting everywhere but her round face. If he looked at her he’d lose all the courage he had been building up. “The fuck, Uraraka? Of course not! Please, I thought you were damn smart.”

Uraraka left the basket by her feet, starting to lose her cool against the guy. Like, she had no problem hanging out with Kirishima, none at all– but Bakugou was a different story, a mess of anger and frustration in a neat package. She had no idea how to deal with Bakugou for an hour, imagine two or three. Arms crossed, her brow furrowed. “Well, then word your intentions correctly!”

“Look, fine, whatever.” spat Bakugou. His red irises burnt against hers. “Kirishima wants the three of us to hang out, like, seeing some damn movies at the common room tonight. He said he thinks you’re cool and stuff and he has never had the opportunity or some shit– and I still don’t know why I’m fucking drawn to this plan, but whatever.”

The prospect of a night with Kirishima sounded solid enough to her. It was true that they did get along and had never spent much time with each other. Clearly they could use some bonding time, even if it meant spending time with a potential psychopath. And don’t get her wrong, she actually cares for Bakugou– but spending quality time with him sounded like a hard challenge.

However, it was weird that Kirishima himself hadn’t come to her and asked himself.

Uraraka turned her head and searched for the redhead with her eyes– ah there he was, helping Tsuyu out with some strawberries. Oh, he was waving at her! Uraraka flashed a big smile and waved back, picking the basket up afterwards.

“Sounds like a good plan.” answered she, and saw Bakugou deflate of relief. Did it really take that much effort to him to go and ask her? What a weirdo. “I’ll be there. Just please make sure Kirishima doesn’t pick extremely violent movies, or very cheesy ones.”

“Does horror sound good? Or does the miss have any more requests?” his tone was so sarcastic and acid that the brunette was unimpressed, but feigned offense.

Uraraka frowned and spun around, chin high and pout present. “You can be such a pain sometimes, Bakugou.”

His fist rose up to the air, the air around them dangerously heating up. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, ANGELFACE?”

Kaminari, who was walking by along with Jiro, sighed in resignation. “Not this again.”

Uraraka still felt the ashen blonde following her, sensing his anger physically come out of his body, and turned around. His hands were closed in fists, as if he’d dare punch her in front of so many witnesses. “Horror sounds good. And please stop screaming.”

Bakugou dug his feet in the ground, trying to be civil with his soon-to-be movie buddy. “Then stop bitching. I’ll get some horror movies, or something– like I cared!”

She stomped her way to him and started throwing carrots to him. “If you didn’t care why would you ask, you–?”

The carrots came back to her, hitting her on the face and dirtying her more if it was possible. “Watch who you’re picking a fight with, you bitch!”

She was about to go and take out all his intestines, brains, hairs– just destroy him like she knew she could, make him go flying to some other dimension where is presence was required, when four arms came to seize her. “Uraraka-san, please stop the ruckus!” pleaded Deku, his grimace evident even when she couldn’t see him.

Upon feeling his voice near her, she instantly calmed down. However, her eyes still wanted to eat the ashen blonde alive. “What nerve, to come attack me when he’s the one inviting me over!”

Iida, the other restraint, pushed her back. Bakugou muttered something along the lines of a farewell and made his way to Kirishima and Tsuyu. Uraraka glared at his neck with a pointed look, growling. “That guy…” breath in, breath out. Once the boys felt her calming down, they slowly let go of her. Uraraka sighed. “Sorry for that.”

Deku looked at her, impressed by her sudden outburst. And he wasn’t impressed in a good way. In fact, Uraraka felt his disapproval in his eyes and she instantly felt ashamed. “What was all that about, Uraraka-san?”

She cleaned her uniform of any dust and growled. “Bakugou happened.” once again, she picked her basket up. “And I’m just so tired of taking these from one place to another. He didn’t choose a good moment to pick up on me.”

Uraraka marched towards the truck where the veggies were being charged and just let the basket drop. She cleaned her forehead clean and looked ahead: there were still many portions of land to harvest, and everyone was working hard– she must do so as well, help and do her job! She rolled up her shirt sleeves and smiled to the horizon.

However, her face resulted in a heavily shadowed face with a smile and a frown, half mad at the explosive teen and half happy about the prospect of working with her friends.

Deku and Iida looked at each other, terrified of what their friend was up to.

And that’s how this madness started.

When she saw what had been set up for the movie night, Uraraka had been mildly surprised.

The whole common room had been fullfilled with blankets, food on a table, the whole place was pristine and spotless – last party had been a bit of a mess, but controlled and surpressed after some time – and there was no extra windows closed, or any of them purposely open so bugs would get in the building– Uraraka hated mosquitos. That’s why the surprise was evident: she saw that Bakugou had remembered all that stuff about her and even carried it all out so she’d be pleased.

While putting another bowl of popcorn on the table, he squinted at her. She had stopped halfway, pinkish blanket in her hands and that stupid perplexed look on her face. “What.”

She snapped out of her reverie and made her way to him, both alone in the room. The whole class had gone out in a special permission for a night out, Miss Midnight going with them to ensure their security and that they didn’t consume any alarmingly toxic substance– because let’s be clear, of course they’d drink some alcohol, but there was no need to take it further than that.

Bakugou had refused to go, the same as Uraraka, Iida and Kirishima, surprisingly. Iida was too much of a legal guy to even go to the outing when he himself rejected the idea. Uraraka was just too tranquil for such jam-packed places, and Bakugou was pretty much the same. Kirishima must have stayed in favor of the movie night.

Which prompted the following question. Uraraka scanned the room warily, stark of any noisy redhead. “Uh, where is Kirishima?”

Bakugou stiffened at the question, and his ears turned red for some reason. She could clearly see them from her angle. “He decided to tag with those damn alcoholics, so it’s just the two of us, I guess.”

Wait.

What.

“Wait, what?”

Bakugou looked at her, already frowning at her fidgety form. “What the fuck is up now, Uraraka?”

“Ah, no, everything’s fine!”

Everything was not fine. Uraraka had most certainly not signed up for a movie night with a guy who could clearly murder her if she dared to speak during a movie or if she dared sit too close to him– maybe even just breathe too loudly! Like, the prospect of hanging out with Bakugou on a regular basis wouldn’t even startle her because she had always been able to see through him and she could handle his outbursts.

However, there was this big temporal difference between having a small conversation, a walk down a street– compared to something more intimate and longer like a movie night. Well, not like they were going to do anything relatively important, but it was still a big step regardless.

What was she even thinking when she thought it’d be a good idea to have a night with King Explosion Murder? Why hadn’t Kirishima warned her? What a jerk, that guy!

When he saw her make a constipated face, he just shrugged it off. She should’ve known what she had signed up for. Well, there was no way she would have known, but would Kirishima’s presence made any real difference? Did Uraraka despise the explosive boy that much? “Just come here and sit down already, angelface. Or I’ll start the fucking movie without you and I never, ever rewind.”

Uraraka scurried to the couch, expectant to see what movie he had picked up. Suddenly, the idea that her fluffy pajamas, teddy bear and pink blanket were a bit too childish occurred to her. She threw her flippers under the sofa and jumped to the sofa near Bakugou, wrapped and bundled in a pink, fluffy– wait,

“King of Doom?” read she from his blanket, disbelievingly blinking and looking at him.

Bakugou just cuddled deeper into the blanket, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Shut the fuck up. Yours is a dumb blanket, bitch. At least mine is… not pink.”

Uraraka elbowed him, to which he responded by reflexively pushing her away. “You’re so extra, Bakugou.” commented she, searching for the remote. He proudly showed it to her. “You could be a generous guy for once in your life and give it to me.”

His arms shot up, remote falling to the rug. “I’M ALWAYS GENEROUS, YOU DAMN BUBBLEHEAD!”

Uraraka picked the remote from the floor and hummed in approval. He leaned against the sofa’s arm and got a good deal of pillows to support his mistreated back. Unbeknownst to him, the fact that so many pillows were piled up only made him be closer to her. The idea didn’t put him at ease, but it didn’t exactly bother him, either. He just sighed and waited for her to adjust the TV to her liking.

Watching Uraraka fiddle with the TV was a challenge for anyone’s patience. She was rather clumsy when it came to any kind of gadget which possessed buttons– then, he guessed that maybe she wasn’t allowed to touch many of these things because her quirk has a rather easy activation. But seeing her stumble so much around a general-knowledge gadget like a remote was… fascinating.

He looked at her dainty hands. They were round, pale, and deft. They also had those weird pads to activate her quirk, and he wondered: what would they feel like? It was an absurd question, but also a very important one.

He glanced at his over stimulated companion. This was going to be one eventful night. The first thing he should do was teach her how to use a remote properly. “Uraraka, what the fuck are you–?”

“I have sensitive eyes!” exclaimed she, her eyes gleaming under the room lamp. “I need to adjust the imbalances so it doesn’t burn my eyeballs off!”

Bakugou sat up and rubbed his face, seeing that the screen coloring was just not right. “For fuck’s sake Uraraka, are you trying to blind us or something?” he reached out for the device. “Gimme that.”

She adamantly refused to have the item stolen from her and just got up to avoid his hands touching anywhere near here. “Off-limits, sir! This is my territory!”

He got up as well and when he again, tried to get the goddamn thing, she refused. Bakugou had to chase her around the table before he sat down and screamed internally. She was making the screen be over saturated, overly contrasted and too bright. And woes betide if he doesn’t end up throwing his eyes off the window to avoid such display of colors and sunshine.

Uraraka fought against the TV, but ended up giving the remote to the ever-so-perfectionist Katsuki Bakugou. “Here, have the thingy. I can’t find the thing for the thing.”

He blinked at her, disbelief written all over his features. That stupid girl was going to be the end of him. “Care to elaborate?”

“As in,” she gestured to the screen. “an option to make the image sharper?”

Again, he sighed, and reset all options to 50. “Having the TV be a flash of fucking rainbows isn’t healthy for either our eyes or our brain.” he got up to gather all the movies he fetched that morning. Some had old boxes, others were brand new purchases. “I have a bunch here that are damn flashy.”

She peeked a bit, interested. Bakugou then realized how close she was and coughed. She didn’t notice his discomfort, only leaned in a bit closer and grabbed a few movies. “I don’t know why you have that fucking dumb smile on, but you ain’t deciding which movie we see first.”

He got up to get his first started, ignoring her puffings and moans. “Why do you have to be so mean? You’re the one who invited me over!”

Bakugou frowned, snarling already at her. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING FUCKING MEAN?” and he threw her the box of the movie, with all intention to hurt her on the head.

Instead, she grabbed the box in mid air and read the title of the movie they were watching. She rolled her eyes. “When I said you were extra I didn’t mean this extra.” the box was waved in her hands. He glared at her. Furiously. “I was hoping for some decent movies.”

“ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY PICKS? FIGHT ME YOU ROUNDFACE!”

In response, she threw the box back to him, effectively calming his tantrum. “Just put the film on, Bakugou. Unless you want me to choose movies instead?”

He stopped playing around and put the movie in, finally, but still fuming over the fact that she had dissed him so badly. He’d make her pay for that. After a few seconds he made it back to the couch, lying on the stack of pillows with his blanket wrapped around him. Uraraka eyed him closely. “I would have never guessed you were a blanket type of person, though.”

His head snapped to hers. “I would have never thought you were so talkative during a fucking movie, you know.”

Ah, that’s what she was talking about. She sighed and got up to turn all the lights off. Once this was done, she hurried to the couch and jumped, bounced and got accommodated on it. Bakugou looked at her from the corner of his eye, seeing how she tried to find the right posture. The light of the TV made her look completely different, somehow.

“Stop fidgeting already.” spat he. Uraraka froze. “Let’s just watch the damn movie.”

Yes, this was what had her so nervous about the movie ordeal. Because she usually had no problem with nobody, she was so uncomfortable now. She had never experienced such a rocky relationship as the one she had with Bakugou, with him being a douche and her not giving a damn. Was that what had him so worked up, that she was unfazed by his bites?

Uraraka eyed him while the movie started blasting, the main soon-to-be-killed protagonists rolling on the screen. She sighed. It was gonna be along night.

Deciding to try and be relaxed, Uraraka picked one of the massive bowls of popcorn, smelling the sweetness of butter all over the snack. She grinned and took a mouthful of popcorn– fuck. That was when all problems began.

As her fingers touched the snack, there was a dim pink glow in the bowl. She almost shrieked as the events unfolded according to her quirk nature, all in silence. The gravity manipulator glanced at her companion briefly, who didn’t even suspect that something fishy was going on just a meter away from him. So, for the sake of a peaceful night, she held the popcorn in their place.

Fifteen minutes into the movie her hands started shaking, so the gravitational pull of the popcorn faltered for a second. One popcorn made its way out of her grip and, out of all places, landed on Katsuki’s nose. The aforementioned felt the tap and growled, thinking it had been her trying to be funny. However, when he looked up, just for the sake of making sure there was nobody else around, his breath haltered.

“What the f–“ all of the popcorn from the bowl had started to float in mid air, hovering near the ceiling and dangerously spread around them. He changed his question. “How the fuck did you do that?”

She started trembling. All options she had were to hold them in the air or let them go, scattering the little kernels all over the room and make a mess. Uraraka clenched her teeth. “My quirk… it just activates when I’m not mindful enough.” whispered she. Uraraka dared to look at him despite the incoming disaster. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem vexed at all.

If anything, he seemed amused. “Can’t you just like, fucking gather it all together?”

They were aware of the movie blaring on the TV, and since Bakugou never rewinded or apparently stopped the goddamn movie, they’d be missing some of it. “I can make things float according to their… momentum.” he nodded, still looking at the floating goodies. “If they have no prior movement, they won’t move. Since they had been compressed into the bowl, they have gained slight momentum and spread around.”

“Your quirk is goddamn crazy, you know.” spoke he in the softest voice he would ever muster in such random circumstances. “How long has that been up there?”

Uraraka checked a clock nearby and made some quick calculations. “I’d say around twenty minutes, now.”

“Shouldn’t you be throwing your shit out?” she blinked at him, surprised he even knew about her quirk’s limitations. “Yeah, don’t gawk at me like I’m fucking dumb. I’m always hearing Deku mumble about how much you can handle shit floating and stuff.”

“Shut up.” that was Bakugou’s usual line. It didn’t fit her usual easy-going demeanor. “We have to get all of that down. Maybe if I lower them a bit we can gather them in the bowl altogether.”

“Then hurry the fuck up. I don’t wanna have you vomiting while we’re watching the movies.”

It turns out that having the popcorn in mid air, closer to the floor than the ceiling– it was a nightmare. Having the popcorn near the ground but not touching either meant that she had to hold them tighter so she didn’t let go of the frail pull. To her, it was like carrying a bucket of water on her arms, or in this case, having to carry it with a long handle.

Bakugou though, was having the time of his life. While the popcorn were at shoulder length he spent a minute or two tapping them and watching how they clashed and moved around in silence, without rolling. And since they had no momentum limit due to his antics and pushes, they were starting to widespread all along the common room.

“Bakugou, for the love of god stop playing around, please.”

“This is what you get for trying to mess with me before.” stated he, stale, and starting to gather the popcorn in the bowl as if it was water. “Next time, watch who you’re messing with.”

Uraraka hissed. “You know I could perfectly drop them to the ground and let you there, picking every single one of them, right?”

“I’m damn aware.” muttered he, almost done with the popcorn business. “Stop putting it as if I was a baby playing with sand, I got this.”

She breathed in and glared at him, trying her best not to lose her concentration. The nerve of that guy… – however, she’d admit to herself that some of his antics were quite funny to her. Not everyday you saw somebody act so collected during such a crazy thing like making popcorn randomly float on air.

Like why had she–

Oh.

Oh.

Was it because Bakugou’s character made her kinda, sorta, a little bit intimidated? Well, not intimidated but, a bit jumpy? He was a bit snarky, rude, so no one could expect much from him. He’s so unpredictable.

Bakugou came back with the bowl full of popcorn, finding Uraraka staring at the nothingness of the floor beneath their feet. “Earth to roundface. What the fuck is wrong with that face of yours?”

Uraraka squirmed in her seat and propped her feet up the couch, completely covered by her blanket. Bakugou was by her again, deciding against the pillows this time, and sitting a little bit closer to her. The couch was particularly big, but the spot they were on was the best one to watch TV – it was common knowledge, so there were a few fights about who would take the magical spot.

This time though, they sat relatively close, sharing the spot. They weren’t touching, but they were about a foot away, and the idea of proximity to a human furnace bode well with her. All they had to do was reach out and they’d be cuddling, sharing heat and–

Bakugou heard a disgruntled noise come from Uraraka – why was she feeling so flustered at the thought of cuddling with him? –, but paid no heed to anything but the movie. He had already lost the track of the movie for that damn bubblehead loser and he swore it wouldn’t happen again. He did spare a glance at her anyway.

He came to a shocking realization. “She’s… pretty cute.”

When he had called her angelface during that fateful Sports Festival he had done it in the spur of the moment. He didn’t really wanna dwell in his classmates’ lives, he didn’t give much a damn about them– as in, their lives, their problems, and stuff. He had enough to worry about with his career as a hero and his parents being… his parents. So, when he called her angelface, he did it considering her most special trait – in the same way he called Todoroki half-n-half, called Iida four eyes and Kirishima redhead loser/ass, whatever he came up with.

He hadn’t actually considered that not only was she only cute, but she was also really pretty. At that moment he only saw a rival in her, a very weak one, at that. However, her beauty didn’t only come from her pump cheeks, round eyes and flashy smile – he long ago realized, in a night of lots of thinking – no, it also came from her heart.

Yes, he would never forget the fact that she was close friends with the bastard, but he could forgive her.

Now that he thought about it, that nerd liked Uraraka as well, right? He also had come to know that some time ago, the thought was so irritating– and he couldn’t see why it was like that. Why did the notion of her liking that loser irk him so?

This was going to be a long night.

One hour into the movie and Uraraka was already swinging on the edge of the couch, knees under her chin and eyes fixated on the next scene.

And it had no reason to be that way, really. It turns out that the movie he chose really was not only extra, but very boring one as well. Bakugou sat with crossed arms on the couch, fully sprawled on the sofa with the most irritated face one could pull at an unanimated object that shouldn’t be doing any harm to him– but it was clearly vexing the poor teenager. He then glanced at Uraraka, and his irritation came back in tenfold. What was so good about that goddamn movie that had her so wound up?

“Bakugou, Bakugou!” called she, excitement clear in her voice. He rolled his eyes. “Are you watching?”

“No shit Sherlock.” muttered he, rubbing his eyes. “It’s an ass damned boring movie. You sure I was the one to pick this shit?”

Her eyes threw daggers at him, shoulders tense. She drew a bit closer to tap on his chest. “That’s what you get for being a meanie to me earlier.”

His fangs showed up, arms sprung up, claws out and he seized her by the neck with his arm, pounding her head with his fist over and over. “You were the one who said it was a bad movie before and you’re fucking enjoying it now?” she yelped as he hit harder, frown knit in frustration. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who is the meanie now!”

Uraraka bit on his arm and he hissed, like cats usually do, and drew away from her. “Don’t get near me, you bully!”

Irony would get her for that later. Actually, not that late.

“Whatever you say, angelface.” he said sullenly. But the faint smell of flowers and citrus had invaded his nostrils, he had noticed how frail her wrists were in his reach, or how soft her hair was. There was something about her, something so soft, intangible and–

“KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

While scurrying to the furthest point on the couch, the ever-so-predictable protagonist let out a loud, piercing scream that sent a shaking Uraraka back to his arms, absent-mindedly searching for a source of heat– an anchor after such shock. Her jaw was trembling in utter terror after such a high-pitched and sudden sound.

Bakugou, having the same emotional approach as a coconut, visibly recoiled from her touch. “What’s gotten into you, you damn hysterical woman?”

Oh goodness, she was positively shaking. “It’s just, I hadn’t expected that at all and she was so loud, Bakugou!”

He gritted his teeth, brow shrunk in discomfort and all his physical awkwardness showing through his glaring irirses. “Well of course she’d be loud, this is a damn horror movie!” he hurried the blanket around her form so she’d stop trembling– it was so goddamn uncomfortable to see her like this, and he didn’t know why. “This is what you asked me to get and I just fucking complied–“

“I just meant the scream, not the whole movie, you jerk!” Uraraka pouted and crossed her arms, her head turned from his. “At least I’m having the decency to watch it!”

Bakugou’s feet flew to the couch and, suddenly, he was standing on top of the cushions, disbelief written all over his features. “WHO DID YOU JUST CALL JERK!?”

But Uraraka was already engrossed in the movie– his tantrum long forgotten, feet dangling from the couch and her hands grasping the sheets– it was weird to see her excited over something so tribal to him like a goddamn fictional movie. Finger to her lips, she shushed. “Shut it! The most important part of the movie is kicking in!”

His jumping came to a halt as he looked at the screen, still bouncing on the sofa a little. Since he had lost a good deal of argument with so much bickering and popcorn picking, the movie had lost all appeal to him. He frowned. “I don’t see the fucking point in watching this forsaken movie if–“

“Bakugou.” her hands reached out for his ankle, made contact and released his leg in a swift motion. “In nights like this, you know, you should just…” and then, he was weightless. “…lighten up.”

The ashen blonde groaned as loudly as possible, snarling at her. She didn’t pay much attention to him, just went on watching the damn movie. Her lack of control over his gravity and his little momentum with his silly fit made him start hovering upwards. Bakugou grabbed the back pillows for dear life, feet up. “Uraraka, for fuck’s sake.”

Giggles aside, she was being too naughty for her own good. His jaw clenched as Uraraka turned to look up at him, holding in her laughter. He tried to make his way down to her, grasping the fabric of the couch with disdain. “Stop bitching around, for kicks and giggles?”

“You’re the one who has to stop being a party pooper.” stated she. Her eyes couldn’t help but trace the way his figure looked so funny upside down. Also, he was pretty… muscular. And his biceps were making the effort to drag himself down, flexing. It was all sorts of appealing. “Besides, I now have more room on here to–“

The movie’s main monster – also known from now on as weekly yelling jerk – boomed across the whole room and deafened Uraraka’s ears, who shrieked and abruptly released Bakugou from his weightless status. There was a loud thud behind the sofa and a moan of pain, making her flinch and look behind, slightly concerned.

“Sorry! It’s just–“

Out of the blue, he was already on his feet, hands on his waist and a scowl deep enough to make the very same monster run away. “Yeah, I know, your fucking quirk playing games again.”

He jumped to the cushions again and eased the blanket around him, still mad at her for trying to float him out of the room. Instead of focusing his energies in being mad at her – even if he wanted to make her suffer endless pain for ruining what he thought would be a great movie night, with or without her in silence – Bakugou tried to stay put, be calm and focus on the movie.

It turns out they were heading towards the climax building. There was this silent, subtone music wrapping the scene while the protagonists made their way through a bleak – obviously there was someone there, but he would never be such a douche and spoil such surprising bit to her – dark cave. Despite the fact that Bakugou had already watched the very same film with his parents once a long time ago and despite knowing where their stride would lead up to, he was unsettled with the scene.

He eyed his previously thrilled and edgy friend to find her scrunched up in fear, and shockingly near him. Their shoulders were barely touching, hers mildly quivering against his quieter posture. Her hands grasping the sheets to her heart in interest, irises wavering in tension while she just– her body was shaking again, she was fidgeting with so much tension in the air, her teeth were clattering, maybe? and she would start bouncing to and fro anytime soon.

Before such lame thing happened, she started inching closer to him, her citric scent taking over all his senses. Bakugou felt her shoulders finally collide with his and he snapped. “Oi, what the–“

She most likely wasn’t even realizing how close she was until he opened his damn mouth. However, if this newfound arrangement annoyed her, it went unnoticed. Uraraka just glared at him for less than a second and continued her self-torture. Her arms were encircled around her knees, panic setting on her pretty round features, with the blanket loosely hanging to her hunched form. Most importantly, she was leaning into the explosive teen, the very same boy who could blow her away– that is, if he wanted to.

The thing is, he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with their position. He wasn’t exactly tranquil with the painful pace of the movie, nor the tense music or his shaking mate beside him. Her head was stuck to his shoulder– his very comfy and warm shoulder, forearms touching, hairs tangling together and sharing warmth.

The very same notion of proximity, warmth and sweetness was so Uraraka, it was overwhelming him to the point of mental shutdown. He was severely torn between giving her a good push so this weird fuzzy sensation would stop and pulling her closer.

Regardless the option he chose, none were going to help the situation that Uraraka, that woman who could pull buildings off their own foundings and also be smiling in the process and that girl who was unfazed by his rash behavior, that stupid girl that was tiptoeing into his heart in the most bizarre of ways– that girl was leaning on him, warming him up, and almost hogging him at this point.

Honestly, he had to either embrace the feeling or push her out of his zone– shrugging it off wasn’t an option anymore with such colossal blush adorning his cheeks.

The response was instantaneous. “What– Bakugou?”

He shuffled her closer to him, his blanket thoroughly wrapped around both of them. There was a toxic mixture of her sweet fragrance and his rainy spark inside the blankets, but it was completely fine by him. His arm around her shoulders– oh she was so small compared to him, now he noticed – kept her close.

He used said arm to shush her with its belonging hand. “Shut it. I wanna hear the movie, bitch.”

Uraraka stifled a giggle under her breath – after all he couldn’t call her bitch if he was keeping her so close. It was a weird discovery to see him so calm with sharing his personal space after having almost winced at her presence an inch nearer than usual. Well, it did ease the tension from the movie and gave her a strange feeling of peace. He was undeniably warm, strong muscular arms keeping her near and not far for a change, and his husky breathing– oh no.

She didn’t sign up for this! Her hands tried to hide the evident red in her face to no avail. Recount: she had King of Doom Bakugou Katsuki by her side, finally engrossed in a movie with her, pulling her as close as he deemed healthy, in the most proximate concept of cuddling that he’d ever consider carrying out.

So, she had two options: welcome the blush, his warmth and intimate, finally cool and rare behavior– or gently move away.

A part of her raged over his proximity and dared to try and throw away all of Bakugou’s developments socially speaking, and reject all the good things that came with this close version of cuddling.

Uraraka obviously decided against such outrage and moved closer, his arm adjusting to the idea of side hugs and her enjoying every moment of it, her head cradled on his neck while she paid attention to the show as he was doing, because his eyes seemed to be absorbing the movie like a sponge and, meanwhile, she had been so busy musing over cuddles that she wasn’t grasping the plot of the movie.

Look, none of them were really paying attention to the movie– they had never had such intimate contact with anybody, especially cuddles. It was all sorts of alluring and embarrassing. Bakugou was struggling to keep himself in check. Uraraka though, her mind was at the verge of short-circuiting itself.

“Am I seated in a good position? Do I smell? Is he completely alright with this? Maybe I am in a position that is uncomfortable for him and he isn’t comfy enough, but how do I ask him if he’s so focused on the movie and” her trail of frantic thinking came to a halt when she felt his muscles stiffen– they were a kiss away “is he ok? why is he so tense? oh no, he must be so un–“

“Yo,” whispered he, his breath fanning across her sensible ears. He sure wasn’t aware of the impact he had on her, but Uraraka, her mad blush and the goosebumps on her skin sure felt his presence. She was about to explode. “are you ok with this?”

The way he worded it made it seem like a much more important deal – well, maybe for him, it was a big deal. She curtly nodded and buried herself in his smell and warmth, not a bead of sweat apparent on her pale skin or a drop of awkwardness issuing from her approving hum. It wasn’t uncomfortable physically-wise, but his closeness was stirring all kind of clashing and incoherent emotions inside her little being.

“Girl, stop fretting over this.” mental slap. “Focus on the movie and enjoy the boy. After all, as soon as the night ends, you’ll be on the same level as before.”

Uraraka tried to make herself more comfortable, and his body – surprisingly, considering how inconsiderate he was most times – shifted along with hers, relaxing under her form on the back cushions. Fuck, he had expected the night to go as two friends watching a bunch of movies, no contact needed unless it was something major– but it had turned into two friends watching a bunch of movies, with her cuddling and suffocating him with her presence.

Worst of it all – admitted he all along, while he saw the scenes roll by with an unfocused stare – was that he was enjoying every second of it. This was, probably, the toughest decision he had made so hard that day and it was, by far, the best one he had made all his life. Having someone tucked under his arms had never sound appealing to him, not even once in his life. In spite of the startle of her proximity the first time, he had grown accustomed to it.

They moved closer to each other, her brown hair sprawled all over his shoulder and his skin feeling the warmth of hers, as if she was some kind of neat, nice and aromatic tea cup, dampening his insides in that electric, relaxing and overly light feeling of floating, his head floating out the door and leaving a happy man behind. Somehow, he was sure she felt it too, that shift.

His eyes abandoned the climax of the film to look at the crown of her head, accommodated on the crook of his neck– and it felt so right, to have her there, so close, safe, as if the whole world had faded away into a variety of grays and she was the only color in the room, shining straight into his heart and shattering his fears into smithereens, melting them and making them fly away to another place, another time– somewhere where they didn’t exist, where they wouldn’t be a burden.

His hand, previously hanging loose in front of her, brushed an unkempt tress of hair like a sailor cleans its boat: carefully, sincerely, and almost unconsciously. Of course she felt it– oh, she felt it so fast, her neck almost snapped when she titled her head to look at his red, fierce staring irises. Their breathing went erratic, getting stuck in weird places of their throats and their stomachs lurching in a delicious manner.

Yes, she definitely felt the tweak in the air. Not shift, not a blunt change– just a tweak.

Her brown pools blinked slowly, trying to make words out of his shaking eyes, those who always reflected proud feelings, his anger burning all around her– all but her, that girl who never jumped at his remarks, who he was a bit weak for, the woman who never burnt with the others and faced him all the time.

Interest had been there all the time, that’s for sure. But did such passion in his eyes, such cracks on his armor, the tenderness and approval; had it all existed before? Now he realized what he had really called her over for, and what the outcome had been. Bakugou couldn’t brush her away so fast though– not when he had dived so deep into the waters of her incandescent skies of brown.

His head, ever so slowly, made its way towards hers, shifting her form so she had better angle to move closer, her lips starting to part, eyes closing. Her breath was crossing his, mixing, tangling them together and pulling the cuddling pair even closer than before, their hearts soaring– his lungs breathed deep, and then, his hand grasped her neck, fingertips brushing the ends of her hair, and then, their lips inched closer, and closer, and–

“Yo, guys!”

Uraraka straight headbutted him in surprise, and they recoiled from each other with a disgruntled noise of pain and grief, feeling the catastrophic presence of Kirishima by the elevator. Uraraka spared a glance at Bakugou – who had turned into a blushing, raging mess of frustration and lack of self-control – and finally looked at her redhead friend.

“Good evening, Kirishima!” called Uraraka, grinning at her friend. She was so glad he decided to come in the end! “I thought you had gone to the party with the others…”

Kirishima wasted no time on sitting by Uraraka, squeezing her between him and a glaring Bakugou. “Nah, I ended up deciding to come with you guys. I’m so happy you’re still in one piece, Uraraka.”

The redhead chucked, and a vein on Bakugou’s head popped. Uraraka was beaming, though. “That’s great, I’m so glad you could finally make it here!”

The ashen teenager’s heart stopped beating. After such close call with Uraraka his heart had been beating hysterically, but it just snap stopped when he heard her. Kirishima blinked at her, confused. “Huh, finally?”

Thank goodness the brunette was too believing for her own good. She gripped her blanket to her neck, footprints of her cuddling plus that something with Bakugou pinking her cheeks. “Bakugou told me you were leaving with the others, so you wouldn’t be coming with us to the movie night like planned. I was so disappointed that you wouldn’t be coming when you were the one to invite me over!”

Again, Bakugou froze. Kirishima blinked at her and had this brilliant idea of looking at his best friend. He was looking– glaring at him, one eye twitching and an alarming amount of teeth showing beneath his snarl. “Movie night?” his eyes fell on how close they were to each other, how the blonde was still blushing, and the clench of his fists. “Oh.”

Kirishima smirked at Bakugou, understanding how he had made her come to his makeshift buddy movie night. “Sneaky bastard.”

And the funniest part was that he had been theoretically invited to the movie night, but he was at the same time clearly not invited to the movie night considering how Bakugou was mentally plunging daggers in his heart, twisting it, and bringing him all sorts of pain for interrupting such special moment with her.

His smirk only got wider. So interesting.

When Kirishima dragged his bastard ass towards her and swung his arm around her shoulders so casually, Bakugou saw red. “I ended up cancelling the outing plan for you guys, to come to our movie night.” Uraraka rose her fist in victory. “I see you have finished this movie already?”

Their eyes glanced at the static screen, credits already having rolled long time ago. The girl blushed, realizing that they had spent so much time gawking at each other that they had missed the ending of the movie. Bakugou gritted his teeth and got up to change movies, grabbing the first one he had at reach.

Kirishima turned to her. “I take it it’s been a good night so far.” the ashen blonde mumbled something to himself that his friends didn’t catch. “­­You guys must have been comfortable with so many pillows and blankets.” Kirishima knew where to hit next. “Can we share blankets, Uraraka? I forgot to bring mine.”

Bakugou’s back straightened, frown getting deeper and deeper. He made the TV eat the damn movie with a slam. He wasn’t jealous.

“Of course we can, Kirishim–!”

“Actually,” deadpanned the explosive teen, making his peers turn to him. “you can have mine, Kirishima.”

Uraraka was startled by what was to come, knowing what he was aiming for. Kirishima smiled knowingly at him – his arm remained wrapped around her nonetheless. Oh, how he loved teasing him so much. The moment he came into the room and saw them so close, he knew that his stay would be doomed with Bakugou’s glare. And that very moment he interrupted must have been very important, too.

“Are you sure, man?” asked the other, looking at the abandoned blanket by Uraraka. He chuckled. “Sorry, I meant King of Doom. How could I forget, your majesty.”

Like he always did when his name was spit on, Bakugou turned around and started bawling at him like a maniac. “Oi, watch your damn mouth, redhead loser!”

Uraraka shifted closer to Bakugou’s empty place, afraid of what pointy object he’d throw at him and how his aim could backlash when his temper got the best of him. “Don’t get so worked up, man! It’s your blanket who is speaking for me.”

Bakugou threw him a decorative ornament he found nearby, hitting his friend on the forehead, who groaned. Seriously, this guy could be pretty decent and all when needed, but he was also a total brute sometimes.

The blonde gave him the final we-have-to-talk-later glare and made his way to Uraraka, who had ended up nestling herself near Kirishima while the movie got started. Her blanket was still in her hands, and he’d be damned if he lost his cool again to her for the second time in a row. No way he would ask her for a blanket he didn’t even need, because the movie itself sounded promising and well, she also looked comfy in her own burrito arrangement.

Her eyes peeked at him for a second. Sensing his discomfort after their little bubble had been burst by Kirishima’s arrival, she nudged him with an elbow. Bakugou, with crossed arms and a neutral look on his face, watched her offer him a part of her blanket, a suggesting smile sketched on her pale, brilliant and childish traits.

The blanket ended up spread wide on them, a little bit short on his end. He grunted at her as a response and looked at the movie. His fingers nervously tapped on the couch’s arm as he glimpsed at his friends, unable to stop thinking about this– distracted by how she was shifting towards Kirishima and not him, how her head was angled towards him in low chatter and the way their knees brushed whenever she shifted– fuck, he wasn’t jealous, but Kirishima knew he’d be pissed if he was so touchy with Uraraka and he was doing it all on purpose.

So he did the most proper thing: glare the shit out of his best friend, who was still hugging Uraraka and didn’t even give signs of acknowledgement– then he turned his head and saw those piercing eyes of his, again pouring all his anger and hate onto his poor best friend. Muscles tense in agitation, eyebrows still twitching in possession towards that little girl who leaned too much towards the movie in expectation, her smile widening with every flash of light.

Kirishima felt, for once, truly afraid of his friend. Bakugou’s arm hung on the back cushions, a ghost hug for her over-stimulated form. Something interesting was going on in the movie, but Bakugou was too irritated by his friend’s arrival to care about the goddamn kissing scene in that low-key horror movie. His hands reached behind Uraraka’s leaning form to grasp at Kirishima’s pointy locks, growling in silent warning:

“Go an inch nearer.” his teeth shone to the white light of the TV, making him look dangerous– more than usual. “Go an inch nearer and you’re fucking dead, loser.”

Kirishima squinted at him in exasperation– was it really such a big deal that he was bonding with Uraraka? Geez, he might have arrived in the worst of times, but that didn’t make him a criminal! Bakugou continued pulling his hair behind a totally unsuspecting Uraraka, her eyes still bathing and dampening on the romanticism of the scene.

Before their silent bickering went noticed, Bakugou decided to mutter something about a kitchen, water, and Kirishima. The female was too wrapped in the scene to even notice their tantrum, so they left without being noticed– maybe that’s why dragging his best friend out of the zone and into a much more dangerous one with glass and knives was so easy for Bakugou.

There was a loud thud against a counter and the sound of wood cracking under a certain boy’s smoking hands.

“What are you doing here, you red punk?” muttered the ashen blonde, all but content smile showing his beast fangs. “I thought you’d be sulking up there like a moron over that alien girl’s whereabouts. Who the fuck invited you here!”

Kirishima crossed his arms, serious this time. There was no humor or glee in his always light voice, which now sounded chapped and slightly concerned. “You, apparently.”

That did the trick and shut him up, hands in his pockets and fuming because his friend was right. The redhead sighed. “What is going on here, Bakugou? Why are you with Uraraka, alone…”

There was a rapid blush spreading throughout Bakugou’s wincey face in a second. His hands grabbed the cracked surface, wanting to burn stuff again with scorching fervor. There was this wicked spark in his eyes after being busted so badly. “Get your mind out of the gutter, you bastard. Stop looking at me like I tried to rape her or something.”

However, based on the mysterious glint of his irises when his eyes diverted to her relaxed body on the couch, something akin to desire was crossing his mind. And Kirishima obviously saw it crystal clear.

“You two kissed, didn’t you?”

Kirishima was against the counter a second later, shirt fisted in a furious Bakugou’s hands. “What the fuck are you insinuating, you loser!?”

“Ah, so you did.”

“We didn’t!”

“But you wanted to, anyway, right?” Kirishima effortlessly freed himself from Bakugou’s grip, who growled and looked back at him. The booming of an action scene echoed all the way to them, but Uraraka – he was unconsciously peeking at her from his friend’s shoulder – didn’t even flinch at the flashy thing. “You seemed rather uptight when I dropped by.”

The blonde sighed. “We were going to… yeah.” the k word was too much for him to handle without losing his tough appearance in front of that nerd.

Kirishima tapped his index finger against his chin, deep in thought. “So, it’s been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve liked her for long, I reckon.”

Bakugou’s heart set on fire, his tremor climbing all the way to his wrinkled brow and pumped up cheeks. “WHAT ARE YOU–“

A hand was slapped to his hand to stop the rant before Uraraka heard their heated discussion. “Don’t make a fuss out of this. I’m just stating the obvious.” Bakugou blinked at him in a perplexed stare. “It’s a bit evident you treat her differently – and well, seeing how much of a douche you are to mostly everyone, how you’re attentive of her sometimes and… this thing you had going on with her.”

The blonde’s back was turned to the other male, tense in irritation. Kirishima could hear the frown in his voice, his back muscles stiff after such bold statement. “Fuck off already, Kirishima.”

The other chuckled, unfazed by his brash friend. “But I’m not wrong, am I?”

A pair of seconds passed, then a whole minute. Then, Bakugou’s back deflated. The male turned, a troubled look in his face. He didn’t look like your cool average Bakugou– he seemed actually affected by the issue.

“I invited her over to… kinda understand whatever fucking thing I feel for angelface.” Kirishima encouraged him to continue with a nod, arms crossed and a pleasant surprise evident in his gentle smile. “I felt awkward around her at first but… I got the hang of it very easily. I didn’t feel like I was being a sucker by being nice to her. It was a pleasant feeling.”

Bakugou sat on a stool and rubbed his face with a hand to relieve stress. “So, you do like her, huh?”

The explosive teen’s eyes travelled to Uraraka’s brown mess of hair at the sofa, who stared at the movie with intention. His scowl faltered. “I enjoy being with her, but not in the same way as I do rarely enjoy your fucking pestering.” Kirishima dramatically grasped his shirt for dear life. “Her smile is cheesy as fuck, and she has that thing she does with her chubby ass fingers– and she never fucking shuts up. Also her eyes twinkle when something exciting happens, somehow. She’s stubborn as a motherfucker, too.”

Kirishima dared to ruffle Bakugou’s hair, earning him a menacing glare. The other laughed good-naturedly. “I guess that’s Bakugou talk for: I like Uraraka in such a frustrating way that I feel slightly intimidated.”

“What is most fucking frustrating” still looking at her from afar, Bakugou put his head on his hand, elbow on the counter. He snarled loudly. “is that she’s always drooling for that good for nothing quirkless bastard.”

His swearing was filled with so much rage that Kirishima whistled, lowly. “Sounds rough, buddy.” his face brightened for a second, finger shot up. “Hold on, didn’t you two almost kiss back there?”

The explosive teen growled again. “It means fucking nothing. We were almost cuddling, it was bound to happen.” he ignored Kirishima’s scandalized blush. “Besides, you didn’t give her time to step back. Thanks for that, loser.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an honest expression of gratitude, but you can be a sarcastic bastard when you really want to.” he was the one to ignore Bakugou’s face of utter ire after that insult. “But whatever the case, we don’t know if Midoriya-kun likes her back, in case she actually has the hots for him.”

“Are you fucking messing with me? You haven’t seen her around him then, blind ass. Maybe it was painfully evident before, but it still lives within her stupid, bubbly and bitchy self.”

“And how would you know if you live in a bubble outside the human emotional spectrum? I’ve never seen you being that emphatic or analytical before.”

Bakugou sighed. “It may be because, despite the fact that I am undeniably tough, I care for her.” he instantly checked if Uraraka gave any signs of having heard him. Apparently, she didn’t. “I’ve had people talking about her stuff at Gunhead like fanatics, it’s hard to ignore she has more value than some sorry asses at our class. I’m not constantly fawning over her whereabouts like you with alien girl,” Kirishima blushed at that. “but as somebody I respect and someone I enjoy fighting with, I do worry about her wellbeing.”

“I can’t believe you are a jerk even when talking about a girl like Uraraka.” before the other snapped at him, he cleared his point. “You can’t really say much about such stuff without hyperventilating or getting irritated with your own softness, so I guess you’re trying hard.”

“No matter how hard I try to be more open,” it was incredible she couldn’t feel such burning stare on her. Bakugou truly was an animal. “it doesn’t change the fucking fact that she’s obviously infatuated with the brat. And I can’t see what she sees on him that I ain’t have.”

Kirishima eyes his friend warily. “Feelings, care and sanity, maybe?”

It was clearly a joke, but Bakugou would never see that with such sensitive matter at hand. “You aren’t fucking helping, Kirishima.”

The other chuckled. Seeing his friend so worked up over a topic like love was hilarious. “It doesn’t matter if he’s got bad things though, she’s always looking at everyone’s virtues. The same goes for you man.”

“Are you telling me she sees me like a fucking god or something?”

“Of course not.” clarified Kirishima, sitting down on another stool in front of Bakugou. They were taking too long in getting what they had classified as glass of water. “But if she saw the version that everyone sees in you, she wouldn’t be with you right now. I’m pretty damn sure that most of our class would run away at the prospect of a night with you. But she’s there, dude. She’s constantly pushing you to become a better person. She’s not your regular classmate.”

Bakugou murmured to his hand something akin to “You bet she isn’t.”

Kirishima looked at her too. She seemed calm at last, “She’s something special, dude. I can’t tell if she likes you or not, but I can tell you that Uraraka doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to. She’s not that kind of girl.”

The explosive boy continued to stare at her, trying to decipher the big mystery that she was. Kirishima’s words were heard as a far-off voice. “She’ll always see the good in you. If she’s still willing to spend time with you despite your foul attitude, perhaps she actually wants to bond with you.”

Bakugou glanced at his friend, still troubled. “She seemed awkward at first, though.” not that much, really, but he was trying to get his hopes up for what would be a disaster.

“As anybody would be. This thing you two have here isn’t any kind of everyday routine, y’know. And I know for a fact that she cares for you no matter how stupid you can be sometimes.” Bakugou didn’t seem to be listening, focused on the girl, but Kirishima carried on. “Just try to be there for her and make her realize that you can be pretty cool, too.”

“I’M ALWAYS COOL, YOU DAMN LOSER!” yelled he in a whisper, seizing his neck in a livid grip. “And I can be as softie and stupid as that quirkless bastard, or more!”

Kirishima rose his hands in protest, sweat pouring from his forehead. “That’s not what I meant!” Bakugou let him go with a light push, sulking in his seat. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you have to highlight those virtues you have, and make her see your value the same way you kinda see hers.”

“So I have to be an overly bright version of myself? Like, be made of cotton candy and stuff?” he grumbled, frowning. “Not gonna happen. I ain’t losing my chill for her that badly.”

“Dude, I’m not telling you to go on full on her, or become someone else. If there’s a chance she likes you, acting differently will drive her away.” Kirishima sighed at his friend’s stubbornness to see that he was trying to help, that this issue didn’t need any embroiled solutions. “Just try to give her a bit of attention, listen to her for a bit. It’s not as difficult as it seems.”

Bakugou eyed him like he was the pest. It wasn’t a look Kirishima received often. “You’re telling me to fucking listen to all that crap about Deku she may want to say?”

“I seriously hope you don’t think that you’re destined to always hear what you wanna hear, because we sometimes have to face unpleasant issues – either because of necessity or just because someone vents their feelings on you.”

His head turned to him, brows furrowed. “’The fuck does vent mean?”

Kirishima shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t know what such an emotion-charged word would mean.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou got up and padded to the sofa. “I just hope this bitch won’t come moaning about Deku or I’ll–“

Kirishima crashed with Bakugou’s back and moaned of pain. He looked at the couch afterwards. “What the hell, man– oh, this is new.”

Or course Ochako Uraraka would fall asleep on the couch after such a long conversation. Of course the most sleepish person would fall asleep in the middle of a movie night after such hard work on the harvest activity. The blonde’s fist hit the back cushions, teeth clenched after wasting such a valuable night with her because of–

His glare landed on his best friend. “Don’t you dare blame me for this.”

Bakugou sighed/growled and approached her. “We can’t have her sleeping here, or she’ll get a back ache or something.” mumbled Bakugou, picking her up. He had wanted to carry her on his shoulders, but decided against it just in case she woke up. Instead, he picked her up and carried her bridal-style.

“Yo, let me take a pic of this milestone moment–“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” spat Bakugou, walking to the lifts. “Wait here or– whatever, knock yourself out.”

Kirishima buried himself in Uraraka’s girly blanket and Bakugou’s one with a content smile. Both smells blended in before the redhead’s nostrils as he rewinded the movie on the screen. “I’ll be waiting for you here, darling!”

Hadn’t it been for sleeping beauty in his arms and he would have sent Kirishima flying to another dimension, somewhere with no possibilities to come back to him. Kirishima was a good guy, but he was a handful to deal with at times like these. The little ding of the elevator made him advance faster so he’d get away from his teasing, prying eyes.

Bakugou groaned once he was inside. Because this little girl was a reckless bitch who worked herself to exhaustion and she didn’t know when to fucking stop, and also because she had him wrapped around her weird fingers– now, he was stuck with her. He gave her a few shakes, musing over how light she fucking was and how that somehow worried him. Her tresses were disheveled to the point of being a case of bed hair, skin smooth and flawless, her plump lips parted in slow breaths.

She looked like a princess taken out from his wildest dreams, a little girl in rags who didn’t need saving or a man by her side to protect her value– all of her was a treasure, he knew. Somewhere along the way he came to see her shining through the bars of his heart, melting the ice around it and squeezing all the air out of it. It was such a sick, venomous but sweet grip she had on him, he tried to relish on her attention, every single one of her eye lashes, and her shattered breath on his neck.

He knew– the crash after the fall would hurt him eventually, the dread closing in and making his heart do all sorts of things, none of them natural. But for now… he just drew her close and stepped out of the lift, finding himself alone in the girls’ corridor at the fourth floor.

His steps were like ghosts in a cemetery. The eerie silence around him made him feel slightly intimidated, accustomed like he was to the loud chatter of his classmates all over the corridors. The lack of sounds wrapped around him like the warm air of a dark night on a meadow, alone and blind. It was all sorts of unnerving, but he had been through worse things.

Luckily for him, Uraraka had left the door unlocked, so all he had to do was give it a light push and make his way to her bed in the middle of the dark. He had only been to her room once or twice, but he knew how she had set it all up. His feet made out the outline of her rug, dodged the nasty table in the middle of his path, and gently lay her down on her bed. He opened the futon to cover her and tucked her in with utmost care.

There was a dim streak of light coming from the corridor, landing on a side of her face in a orange hue, making her glow in a strange way– his heart throbbed inside his chest, beating out of cadence and failing to let him leave or take his eyes off her. Bakugou gulped, nervous for once in his goddamn life, hands trembling as he gingerly took her face, fingerpads caressing the mountain of her rosy cheek, and took in her sleeping form. For once, she wasn’t moving, talking, fussing over anybody or making shit float.

Somehow, the very thought of her in such motionless state irked him, stirring all kind of twisting feelings in his already tangled heartstrings. Without thinking, his lips kissed the holy skin of her forehead in a mere brush that lasted a pair of seconds, but it sent his heart on a wild soar of euphoria. In a way, he felt repaid for the prior interrupted kiss fiasco, and the little secretive smile on his face proved how important that woman was to him.

And he’d get that kiss back someday – as soon as she realized that he could give the world if she so desired, he’d scoop her in his arms and kiss the air out of her, thrill rippling through his veins and eyes shining–

That girl was turning him into a poodle of love and goo. He couldn’t lose his chill in front of her so easily. He gave her cheek another caress and brushed some lost strands of hair from her face before walking back, his back turned to her so he wouldn’t crave into the urge of staying with her an make sure she was officially having a good sleep. Bakugou took his leave lighting fast, flexing his arms a bit so the soreness would wear off, and closed the door with a little click.

Sweat beads strode down his temple after such intimate moment. “That was a fucking close call.”

He silently strode down the hallway, step proud and his lunatic smile automatically on after melting for a few minutes. Yet, after exiting the elevator and hearing the TV blaring on the background his mood completely descended to the fires of Hell, down below the Earth and entering a whole new dimension– his bubble burst as he made his way to the couch, teeth clenched in a tight fit, the high from the kiss wearing off.

Needless to say, his lovely, peaceful and eventful night with Uraraka turned into a mess of screaming, rage and deadpanning with Kirishima.

Sunset rolled out fairly soon that day. Yueii had been cursed with a hot day full of battling, physical activity and tons of heated swearing from the classes’ number one lunatic. Of course it’s Bakugou, who else would it be?

The poor boy hadn’t had much more than a blink of sleep, and in all honesty, it wasn’t his fault. Kirishima couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he wasn’t sleepy enough or just plain tired. He had been working in the harvest the day before, but that guy had too much energy for his own good. That bubble head, though…

Bakugou glared at her from the classroom doorway while she spoke with Deku heatedly, both smiling and laughing at some stupid joke he did and no– no, Bakugou wasn’t jealous, jealousy was for little babies and he was no baby whatsoever. But the nerve of that guy, blatantly flirting with with her movie buddy in the very same place! Ugh, disgusting.

The ashen blonde did notice how something about Uraraka was off, and it was so obvious – or either he had become attentive of her after his heart to heart with Kirishima – that it vexed him that the bastard wasn’t paying attention. Was his world so narrow that the lack of spark in her eyes, how that big smile of hers never reached her eyes, or the lackluster of her cheeks– all of that, went unnoticed?

Bakugou frowned at the pair, feeling Todoroki’s stare from behind him, who was casually leaning on the wall. The blonde was extremely aware of the thousand conspiracy theories going on inside half-n-half’s brain, but he didn’t care as much as he cared about Uraraka and that bastard.

“You should stop stalking her, you know.” spoke the calm teenager, stale and dry as sincere and good-intended. There was a crack on the door, and a growl. “You will end up being discovered.”

His conversation with Kirishima suddenly started playing on repeat in his fried brain, making him jump into wrong and misplaced conclusions. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING A STALKER, YOU NERD? And what has Kirishima actually told you about me!? Shut it!”

Of course Kirishima hadn’t told him anything, and of course this seemed like a big, big issue for Bakugou, so Todoroki let it pass with an indifferent stare at his companion’s shaking back. He was livid at the pair of lovebirds. His display of pure rage and childish internal fits was pleasing to the eye– finally Bakugou would be frustrated at something with an actual reason.

Midoriya appeared on the doorway a minute later and he was scared shitless after seeing Bakugou’s deformed expression of anger and fixation on making the poor boy’s life miserable as hell. With his fearsome features still scrunched in such murderous intentions, he watched Deku trail behind Todoroki’s unaffected stride.

He calmed down a little and turned around to see Uraraka staring at him intently. Bakugou jumped a feet behind. “What the fuck, angelface! What’s the sneaky business for?”

“I was about to ask you the same.” her head titled to a side, and he had the urge to do the same for the sake of bonding. “Do you need anything?”

Bakugou watched the spark in her eyes flicker into nothing, her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. She was shamelessly smiling despite the hidden turmoil she was going through after last night– remembering that night only made her blush and start fidgeting with her fingers. And god, how he hated seeing her so uneasy around him. Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest, sensing that something was wrong.

“You fell asleep last night.” stated he, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Uraraka immediately jumped again, remembering how comfortable the blankets around her had felt and how her world had faded before the boys came back to her. “I’m terribly sorry about that! I was just too tired and–“

“I don’t give a fuck about you being tired.” the gravity bender blinked at him, startled by his sudden outburst. “Don’t do that again. It’s damn annoying.”

When he turned around to leave, hunched over and mumbling about her being too much of an unnecessary hassle, she saw the meaning of his words. Her breath wavered and she felt lightheaded out of the blue. “Hold on, again?”

His steps haltered as he turned around, an unreadable expression in his face. “We’re repeating this movie night stupidity again. I never leave business undone.” the brunette stared blankly at him, flabbergasted after such brutal honesty. “You fell asleep halfway through the night. You ain’t escaping this so easy.”

As he turned to leave again, she took a few steps in his direction. “W-Wait, I may be late!” Bakugou groaned and spun around to face her, nearing a dangerous edge between being relatively calm and indeed mad at her. “I have some stuff… to do…”

She started, again – he was suffering while seeing her so shrunk – doing the thing with the fingers. Her eyes were downcast, hair shadowing her roundy, kissable cheeks. The world around her was covered in a static of blacks and whites, the only color around her being the red of Bakugou’s eyes and his burning stare– his white skin, the golden of his jacket, or the pearls of his teeth and the tremble of his lips upon seeing her so shaken up.

And she didn’t want to leave, feeling so drawn to the animal in front of her, the animal that had consumed her feelings so easily.

Something was writhing inside. Her mind had always been a clear slate of purity, pristine and transparent feelings showing in her big eyes of illusion and wonder. Yet, after so long, while her feelings remained unchanged, there had been a twitch in her heart. It had reactioned– it had beaten for the first time in years right before last night, and hadn’t stopped beating ever since.

What was with this change? Why did she feel unchanged, yet so disturbingly deceived at the same time? Uraraka knew where her heart stood, but did her heart wanna be there? Was it the best option? This adrenaline– this corrosive feeling of thirst and desire after his lips had brushed hers… why was it dampening her resolve? Why…

Why was she so frustrated with herself when she still loved another man?

Somehow, the relief of generalization sounded petty at best. She faced Bakugou again. “But I’ll try to be there as soon as possible!”

Bakugou approached her and stood dangerously near to her. He looked at her, eyes stabbing hers in a menace, but it somehow ended up being a low warning more than a straight-up murder threat. He stared down at her, brown orbs shining to his. “Don’t be late or you’ll be fucked.”

The burning notion of an unrequited love weighed him down, too.

With that, he parted to his dorm to think about the mental consequences of having an undeniably cute girl in your dorm for a night. Meanwhile, with her afternoon plans still beating hard in her mind, something bigger and foreign throbbed inside– something akin to those things she had experienced with that boy in the past but had experienced last night with this man.

And her heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

“If I love Deku so much…” her hand flew to her mouth. “why did I and Bakugou almost–“

And she cried, too. Ah, she felt that small tweak now.

When he opened the door to her, he hadn’t expected to see this. If she had been the one to be pleasantly surprised by his initiative, it was his turn to be bitterly puzzled with his guest.

It was now when he realized that it was raining cats and dogs outside. Her hair was soaked wet, raindrops falling down the tips and trailing down her face, neck, and arms. Her skin was rough after what must have been a long ass time in the middle of the rain. She wore this apologetic smile on her face, smiles on smiles on smiles that never filled the void in her eyes, endlessly saddened by something he couldn’t point, but that must be pretty tough if the star girl was in fucking shambles.

He quickly took her in, frowning at her disposal to partake in the tradition of having a cold after the exam season. “Oi, don’t come dripping me wet, you bitch.” he rubbed her arms to give her some warmth, flustered at her dumfounded expression after such a caring action. “I’ll go get you a fucking towel. You stay out.”

“Damn woman, damn her to hell.” his thoughts furiously pushed him into the bathroom, looking for a decent towel for her to dry her head with. Her hair had been so messy, all her tresses tangled into little knots of undying despair. Uraraka fucking Ochako wasn’t going to cuddle – because he knew she would be seeking some source of heat after being exposed to  harsh temperatures outside, and he wasn’t going to have her all watery and messy.

Bakugou grabbed a smooth looking piece of cloth– it could even be a t-shirt, he didn’t even give a fuck. All he wanted was to have her dry and make her smile again so his life would have a sense of peace again. He stomped his way out the bathroom to find her sitting on his bed, looking at her hands absent-mindedly.

He almost asked her.

Almost.

Then, he remembered it wasn’t his business. She already had Deku to talk about this stuff. If she wanted to ramble though, Bakugou would listen.

He threw the towel to her – she immediately snapped out of reverie to catch the red towel, and stared at it blankly – and went to fetch his laptop and pendrive. “I have some good shit here.” he waved the thingy proudly. “I bet you’ll like whatever we watch here.”

When she didn’t come up with a snotty remark like she used to, or when Uraraka never rose up from her seat to berate him or throw a pillow to him– just do something, something snapped in him. Fearing an encounter with an awkward crying baby, he turned around, as slowly as ever. She was looking at the towel with a distant stare. She wasn’t crying, but her heart was crying a river inside of her.

He sighed and padded to her, kneeling in front of her. His deft hands grabbed the towel from her hands and he started to clumsily dry her hair. If she wasn’t going to cooperate, he’d sure as hell make her presentable for their bonding night. Fuck her and her turmoil–

When he saw her shiver for a second, those curses died in his throat. Despite the guilt climbing all the way to his gut, he still didn’t call her out on her silence. He continued messing with her hair and watching the drops fly around. Her hands were clasped on her thigh, fingers entangled with each other in a death grip.

This girl, that girl who was tough no matter what, suddenly rose up again. “Sorry!” the smile was beaming, heart breaking and painfully deceitful at the same time. “I was just a bit off.” the towel was shrugged off her shoulders, and she got up. After letting her mask fall down for so long, she had picked it so fast that it knocked the air off his lungs.

Uraraka got up, purposefully hiding her grimace while going to choose a movie. No matter how much she tried to act, after such a deadly silence, he knew something was wrong with her. His frown deepened, hands clenched in frustration– he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t let his care for her show.

After all, this girl belonged to another damned bastard. He was the first one who didn’t want it to be that way, but fuck his luck, really.

She threw him the pen drive. “Earth to King of Doom! Is this fine–“

He threw her the towel so she’d finish his handiwork. “Dry your fucking hair, you raincloud! I don’t wanna have my dorm getting puddles of water.”

“Opsies, sorry.” once the towel was in her hands, she stepped away from his laptop – he was dangerously glaring at her – and started getting rain off her hair. Her bowl cut had turned into a bird nest in a matter of seconds, all thanks to his careless hands. Her expression turned devilishly nasty as she strode towards him in silence, then buried his hair in the towel and started rubbing the cloth up and down.

Bakugou furiously tried to get rid of that pest of a girl by tugging at her sweater sleeves, feet pounding on the ground. “OI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!”

She giggled while resuming her previous work of drying her own mess. “You needed to see what it–“ her towel was taken from her as he looked at her, growling like an angry dog. “Oh. Oh my.”

His hair was so disarrayed and messy– his spikes were pointed in wrong angles, some shrunk into curves and other weighed down because of the wetness of the towel, causing some of his strands to be completely fucked up. Other parts were fuzzy and askew. The whole picture was sinful and hilarious. It didn’t take time for her to notice how embarrassed and stupidly angry he looked to just burst out laughing. She ended up having to sit down.

He was having a hard time. His hands were throbbing to find any sort of pointy object to pop his eyes out– her laugh was so nasal, loud and honest that it was both irritating and adorable.

“O-oh my g-oo–“ laughs, laughs, and he grew even more flustered as he dried some of his spikes and set them in the right directions while looking at a mirror on his closet. “That- that’s a masterpiece-e! Best Je-Jeanist would–“

He immediately turned to her with decent hair – not perfectly fine, still a bit wet –, throwing the towel to her in a futile attempt of shutting her up. “Don’t you dare bring that guy’s name up!” she still went on laughing a few meters away from him, hands reaching for the towel. “He’s such a sassy motherfucker…”

Her laughing fit stopped – finally, he groaned – as she started rubbing the towel on particularly wet points of her hair. “I’m sorry, but that hairdo will show you how you can’t mess with my hair ever again.”

He arched an eyebrow to her. He could have cut her hair short and thrown it to a bin and get it all over with – of course she wouldn’t see that he had been gentle. That little smile on her stupid face showed that she had noticed his intentions though, but it’s not like she’d ever thank him for giving her a beehive as a hair style.

“I mean,” the towel was removed from her hair, revealing a ball of brown locks. “what’s wrong with you?”

Bakugou spared her with a few seconds of silence before walking to her, sitting down in close proximity and putting some hairs back where they belonged. He did it with such slow pace and intent that she was momentarily breathless. Forgotten was her prior silence and problems outside the room. His fingers would sometimes brush her cold, sensitive skin– his finger pads burned her. All she could feel and see was his pale skin and his burning flames softening from a hair to another.

He focused on putting the mess he made in a minute back together, focusing in everything but her unblinking eyes– oh, how soft they were, and how easy it was to dive into an airless sea of monsters, darkness and frightening tides, only to look into her eyes and peek inside her soul, see what had been troubling her earlier and what she felt– what she felt for him, for the world, for herself. He outwardly inched a bit closer in concentration, fixated on having her with a decent hairdo so she wouldn’t bitch about it all night long.

It could also be because her presence calmed the tornado of ashes that went through him whenever her skin brushed his fingers. It could also be because he enjoyed being surrounded by darkness but her light, or how her lips were slightly parted, insinuating wait– they whispered longing in a thousand languages, screamed at him to kiss them, to bite them, to make all kinds of atrocities to those uninjured roses of hers. He heard her sigh contently for the first time in ages.

Then, of course, he had to break such tranquil moment in a whisper.

“I’ve seen you at worse times, though.”

Her spine stiffened as she looked at him, horrified after such blunt and unfortunate comment. Realizing how he had come across as violent and how her silent disposition to his touches had been shattered into smithereens, he pulled away, coughing uncomfortably. “Go get yourself a brush, you bubblehead. Stop fucking bitching about it.”

There she was with the giggle business, touching the parts he had merely arranged on instinct. She could still feel the touch of a man that, despite the hell outside the room, could make her feel like nothing once and, suddenly, build her a monument and make her feel special and all giddy inside. And she had no idea why. “Thanks for the help, Bakugou.”

In some way, she was pouring much more meaning than what one could catch. He did notice how gentle her voice was, and the rasp in her vowels and the tiny tiny smile. It made him only more aware of her presence and it was disturbing.

He didn’t dare to speak against her and hummed a response, scrolling through his movie archive with skeptic eyes. A minute later, she had already settled in front of his bed with an army of fluffy pillows and his whole futon torn from the mattress. Such heresy struck him like a bolt, pointing at his naked mattress in pure horror.

“What fucking fortress are you building on the floor, you bitch?” he grabbed his laptop – in a Bakugou way: violently – and flung it in front of her, crashing next to her. Since her makeshift sofa was relatively small, they had to sit close to each other. None of them had a complaint against the arrangement, though. Well, Bakugou did in a way. “Couldn’t you have done this on the bed so this would be less messy?”

She blinked at him, again with that unimpressed look only she would pull at him. “Yeah. But where’s the fun on a movie night without a messy arrangement?”

“There were many other ways to go about this.” spoke he, refusing to believe that she had done all this mess for the sake of being fun – then, he realized that Uraraka was damn crazy and random when he never asked for it. He still loved it anyway. “We could have gotten some blankets and settled on the bed with a few of them, or taken those puffs and set them in front of the table...”

Another suggestion rushed through his mind, but he didn’t dare to word it. However, the way he voiced his ideas made it clear that he had another way for them. She gestured with her hands for him to go on. Rose twinkled in his cheeks– thank god it was dark in the evening and there were clouds and rain all over the sky. Uraraka’s presence made it all quieter and the rain, one way or another, was forgotten in the heat of their previous banter.

He nodded to the bed. “We could take the bed, lay down under the futon, pillows, and just put the damn laptop on that table.”

The idea sounded cuddly as hell, and it spelled intimacy and a level of closeness that they clearly weren’t ready for. She blushed at the idea of sharing a bed with Bakugou– but fuck, what could go wrong? It was just a movie night and it sounded horribly comfortable. Some healthy snuggles in a perfectly fine and fluffy bed, warm and possible cuddles – she needed some cuddles to get past today’s tiring and draining hell – sounded like a plan to her.

She nodded and hurriedly climbed up the naked mattress, watching his face go from unbelieving to smirking. “I would have never thought that getting you in my fucking bed would be so damn easy, angelface.”

That

that was weird.

She blushed in all kinds of red as he put the comforter around them, elbows touching as they set their heads on their arms. Oh, that shameful expression of hers made all kind of delicious twists in his stomach. He wasn’t one for making people blush or trying to make girls’ panties drench– but hell, he had to fucking try. He was always in for making people ashamed, especially if it was the out-going, witty and fearless Uraraka.

The moment they were lying down, him quickly getting the movie started with that mischievous glint in his eye– oh, she was in for a horrible night.

A moment later, the movie was started, both teenagers fighting for a good posture under the thick feather blanket. Their eyes were deeply focused on the shitty movie Bakugou had once again chosen – he was so stupidly dramatic and over the top when it came to filmography – but their hearts were beating irrationally fast. They would sneak glances at each other when one would reach out for popcorn, or water. Also each time Uraraka tried to get some goodies Bakugou would slap her hand away, lest the incident from the previous day happened again.

Whenever his arms flexed to reach out for snacks or just shut her mumbling by smashing her head against the pillows, she’d gulp. Being so close to a man, to a beast in the skin of a not-so-humble man– his hair was again a bit disheveled, making her wonder for the first time if he regularly brushed his mess of spikes, or if he just shook his hair after a shower like dogs do and made it roll like that.

Her fingers travelled to his head, then he flinched and glared at her from the corners of his eyes. Incandescent orbs threatened her to suffocate her in flames and hands on her throat. She chuckled as the softness of his tresses – something she had never really stopped to think about but was currently enjoying to her heart’s content.

His voice bubbled inside her chest. “The fuck’re you doing, pest.”

Her fingers continued threading around his locks. “Your hair was a bit messy; I’m just making you a favor.”

His face buried itself on his arms. The tension music echoed around them, making her uneasy as she absent-mindedly combed his hair and focused on the movie. His blush went unnoticed for her, and he unconsciously nuzzled on her soft, tender hands– dude, stop.

He abruptly pulled her hand away with a grimace, but his discomfort wasn’t noticed either. His reflexes had kicked in too late, now he had lost his cool again. Goddammit, what was this girl doing to him? His hands fisted the mattress and started tugging at it, all while Uraraka fawned over the protagonist’s back story and murder reasons– her face when she did the thing with the fingers, all interested in such stupid stuff annoyed him so much.

Nevertheless, Bakugou had never felt so at ease yet struggling to keep himself in check around someone. Her proximity was dawning on him like a bug on his back, nonsense dots of gee shining in her brown eyes. Sometimes, he’d catch her glancing at him for a second or two, maybe to check if he was enjoying the movie as much as she was.

In all honesty, having his newfound love interest less than an inch away from him wasn’t helping him. He had all odds against him: not only the movie was bland and cheap, but he had this fidgety, sweet and mumbling adorable Uraraka elbowing him to focus. He could do anything but focus on the movie. He dug his chin on the skin of his arms– he tried for all his remaining sanity not to look at her.

So… he didn’t. He snuggled his elbows and looked either at his bureau in a corner of the room or at the movie. Bakugou shifted on the mattress, and felt her squirm after a moment of contact. Not long after that he’d discover that she wasn’t really making a fuss over his skin brushing hers– his heart did stop for a second and the hairs on his nape shot dramatically. Glancing at the movie with spare annoyance, he discovered that the movie was reaching its romantic climax.

Classic female in distress was confessing, moved to tears by a male who had sacrificed himself for her safety– her whole being was trembling, quivering in hear and succumbing to the harsh reality that her beloved was dying. Ah, apparently, some shit scary monster had stabbed the loser with an axe. Bakugou had the urge to scoff. Too much corny stuff for him to deal with in a horror movie. Expecting Uraraka to be giggling at this bullshit scene, he smirked, ready to make a snarky, vicious remark for the first time–

She was crying. Her eyes stared at the screen as if she had seen a child die in the hands of a murderer. Her orbs were blown wide, mouth ajar and her hair was a mess again– it was a ghost portrait of what Uraraka was. Her cheeks were puffy, eyes glassy and his heart wrenched awkwardly in his chest. Her shoulders shook slightly, the lowest of hiccups issuing from her ribcage in a broken lullaby.

Whatever underlying distress she was going through, he couldn’t ask. But he could make her speak, too.

“Oi, Uraraka.” sighed he. The aforementioned immediately brushed her tears away and smiled like she always did – but it didn’t reach her eyes, it wasn’t genuine, and Bakugou was sick of it. “Stop crying, it’s a goddamn cheesy piece of garbage.”

Her head turned to the screen in slow motion, then, stared at it blankly. “Yeah, sorry.”

So this was the part about being understanding and shit that Kirishima told him about, huh? Bakugou laid his forehead on his arms, awfully tired. All the patience he had been keeping inside for whatever time she needed help with anything petty, all the hopes he had for this night to be more peaceful, for it to be spectacular, eventful, and possibly end with them a bit cuddled under the blankets– ok, maybe not that, of course Bakugou would never cuddle with someone again. All those expectations flew out the window and crashed ten feet below the earth surface.

“Uraraka.”

Still slightly doe-eyed, she looked at him with wonder. “I ain’t gonna pry whatever shit you have going on from you. If something’s bothering you, whatever the fuck it is, tell me. Feeling you cry beside me is annoying and I’m not gonna have this night screwed over again.”

He could have been gentler, but Bakugou didn’t do gentleness or tactful approaches. He would have liked to bask in her warmth and sweetness, but her tears had stirred something in him. Of course he wouldn’t ask – it was not his business. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about her. In the wake of the day and the ending of the night he always wondered why her absence was so noticeable, or maybe he’d wonder what he could have worded differently so she would see– just see that he cared in his particular manner.

Her silence overpowered the music from the movie, making it all around him be soundless for five good minutes. This time, ironically, he could clearly hear the pitter patter of the rain against his window pane, water splashing the glass and making him wonder if Uraraka had somehow provoked this foul weather. A big storm would come soon, so all he did was move a bit closer to her to make her snap out of her tempesting haze.

Bakugou looked at her like she was his moon, and, in response, her eyes shifted to his and drenched in his blood, soaking in chaos, and just stared like he was her sun. In the wake of one and the end of another, they could only see each other for a few minutes– but after her appearance, stars would lit the dark sky like she had done with his heart, lighting sparks in parts of his body he didn’t even know.

He just needed her to know he loved her. Unilateral or not, he wanted to get the point across: she was starting to consume his world, and all he asked for was an explanation as to why it was crumbling down in pieces.

Her scrunched form suddenly found its way to his, sides touching as his hands ached to hold hers. He resisted the thought.

Uraraka breathed in.

“I confessed to Deku, today.”

A cold bucket of water soaked him to the bone, made his legs wiggle and for the first time. The unbreakable man silently swept the floor with his broken heart. However, her sniffles were the part that hurt the most. He feared to know what was coming next.

Despite the pain, she looked at him like she always did: smiling, corners trembling with the heaviness of demise. “He… didn’t return my feelings.”

His soul, brain and heart made a run for it and leaped out the window. His little red organ painfully groaned once it hit the ground, and when it tried to make its way back to its owner, it had been already broken in half again. Bakugou’s eyes trembled as he looked at her– he was dumbstruck, stunned, sad, and mostly livid at this point.

So he only dared to murmur his mess of unintelligible thoughts and articulate them in the simplest ways. “He… rejected you?”

Uraraka feebly nodded, her smile turning sour and drops of salt falling down from her eyes. Something in him was destroyed instantly after seeing her shake, crumble, crack, and finally break. Her sobs were quiet, shoulders still shaking minimally. Something told him she was holding back all the pressure that this newfound discovery had made her shoulder.

Of course she had been hoping for Deku to be drooling for her, all the class was waiting for them to fucking finally make out and proclaim their love. However, much to his surprise and discontent, the bastard had rejected her.

Uraraka. He had rejected fucking Uraraka.

His teeth started grinding, seething– Deku couldn’t be a quirkless dick, have all the luck by him, try to intimidate Bakugou, and now reject what would most probably be the best thing that ever fell in his hands. Bakugou would be the devil if he were happy for this. Of course he wasn’t, not when she was obviously in love with Deku and she was shaking like this.

He couldn’t be more than a friend, so he’d act as such.

His arm snuck around her shoulders and pulled her close, fireworks erupting in his chest as he did so. The feeling was inexplicably bitter. “What the fuck are you doing crying for that loser, angelface.”

She shuffled closer to him her head directly touching his. “I’m sorry, Ba-Bakugou… it’s just…”

He was fully aware of the next movie automatically starting, but he didn’t dare interrupt this moment. His hands awkwardly rubbed her side, up and down. He sure was shit at cheering people up. “Shoot it already.”

After one little sob, Uraraka spoke up. Her voice was chapped and completely worn off from crying. “I had expected for Deku to say that he loved me too, but… I’m sorry, I don’t usually cry in public…”

He was damn aware. And the fact that she was alright with crying in front of him– because there was silent understanding and mutual respect for each other, and they had already let their walls. She could lift him up in the air if she so desired, and, in a way, he was sure she would be willing to be set on fire by him any time he needed her to. It was an unspoken bond that only rose to the light once it was needed. And she needed him now.

“I know, angelface.” and he respected her for being so strong when others needed a flashlight to guide them through and give them hope. For that, he held her tighter.

“I’m just confused…” Uraraka painfully remembered how Deku had struck her with the truth, in the middle of the rain. He was completely unscathed by the harsh waterdrops, and now she was soaked to the core with confusion and misery. Her eyes had dropped to the ground, heart wincing in her chest after Deku had looked at her with pity like no one ever had. “His face was so… he was hurt by rejecting me.”

Bakugou grunted and messed with her hair to snap her out of it. “Stop thinking about that fucker.” eye roll ensues. “Did he tell you why? Was it because you’re a witty bitch, or maybe because you make popcorn float?”

There surfaced the camaraderie they had going on under layers of heroism and his short temper. She smiled for a brief moment, making Bakugou feel accomplished in the silliest of ways. It didn’t last though, only flickered and then fell again. “He said he wanted to focus on becoming a hero. And that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend with all that’s been happening with All Might.”

At least she wasn’t stutteting like a fish out of the water anymore. Her voice was still dragging with darkness and the usual perkiness of her vowels was completely destroyed. This Uraraka was a tragedy. And he knew it would take her a while to get over it. And despite understanding Deku’s ambitions and reasons – and maybe even respected them a tiny bit – he was furious at him all the same.

“What a douchebag.”

“It’s not his fault, Bakugou…” suddenly, she lay on her side and hugged him, snuggling with his shoulder. “I think… it’s mine.”

Her movements startled him, made him jump in the place and turn to her, as well. They were fully hugging now, laying on the mattress and him trying to awkwardly hug her back. She wouldn’t feel his touch for sure with so many raging emotions inside of her, but the slim chance of her feeling him made him react. Bakugou nuzzled her head, eyes closed.

“I just feel…” her hands gripped the back of his black shirt, shaking. “I feel like not only have I destroyed our friendship, but I feel… I don’t feel as sad as I think I should be.”

This statement brought him to confusion. “Fucking elaborate, Uraraka. I can’t read your damn thoughts.”

She stiffened, either because of his harsh words or whatever she was going to say next. “I was completely sure of what I felt for Deku. But I have been… having these thoughts, lately.” her hands loosened and they just slackened on his back. His muscles instinctively tensed. “I was sure I loved him, and I said it with so much conviction before… the crash still hurt me. Yet… I’ve been having this feeling that I may not love him in the way I thought I did. I felt like we were… meant to be. But somehow, I…”

His hand came to rub her head in the gentlest manner he could. His respect for this woman pulled her to unimaginable limits– he was blushing, shaking because this was too intimate and her presence was lulling his brash brain to sleep. Yet he wanted to do this. There was no harm on being a good friend. “What the fuck, angelface? What if he had” his grip on her grew frantic, as if she would slip away in a second. “accepted your feelings? Would you have fucking pretended to love that bastard because you just felt you were meant to be?”

“I do think I love him!” screamed she, muffled by his chest. The sound of his palpitating heart tickled her stomach. “But… I just wasn’t aware of how much. And while I do feel like I love him and shit, this hurts like fire… things changed, somehow.”

“How?”

“Well… I’m hurting no matter how much I try to convince myself that my feelings weren’t that strong. But… I’m not as sad as I would have expected.” he wanted to tell her that it was because she was strong, because she was brave and she’d heal from this– but she had different thoughts. “I think… my heart…”

Uraraka couldn’t say it. Not after all she had realized, all she had come to terms with some time ago but was refusing to admit. Her heart, made of powerful towers and strong foundings– it had been torn apart, blown to ashes. But this man with her… why did it all feel like nothing was wrong when she was in his arms? Why did she feel so… safe?

Uraraka shed more tears. Why did she feel so terrified of something she didn’t even know?

“Spit it out already. I’m not a teddybear and my shirt is a mess.”

Of course he’d sound so reluctant and stupid out of sheer instinct. He wanted to get this over with, he needed to have her in peace again so he’d be in peace again. “I’m terrified that… that all the feelings I felt for Deku, all the feelings I still feel for him… that they may be unfounded.”

Bakugou frowned for the first time in too long. “Uraraka…”

“I feel that” her fingers trapped the fabric of his chest, feeling his heart beating under her palm. It was awfully soothing. “My heart is so out of control now. And I’m hurting. But all I can think about is how hurt he looked, and how little I’m hurting. But I still feel like the truth would have hurt more, and I think it may be because– because I…”

Uraraka trailed off. Bakugou put the pieces together in silence.

“So you’re all messed up…” he weighed the impact of his words wistfully. “because you think that, despite loving him so much, you are not fucking sobbing all over the goddamn building. So you think that your love for the bastard wasn’t as strong as you thought.” he felt nod. “You’re hurting because you are not hurting.”

“I feel like my heart has lied to me, and that’s why I’m still breathing. That even though I felt like I loved him… I didn’t feel what love may be like.” cried she, tears subsiding. “My heart didn’t beat as hard as it should, or that my skin doesn’t tingle when he touches me. I felt like I loved him, my admiration drove me to that conclusion but…”

The idea of Uraraka experimenting those sensations with somebody else other than Deku struck him like a knife. It hurt like hell that maybe Deku wasn’t her only option – he should have known there could be other people chasing after her. She was pretty, nice and talented. If he, the stone man Bakugou, had fallen for her, anybody could.

Fingers snuck through her hairs while her arms circled him again in a petite hug. The movie, long ago forgotten, blared in front of them. “So you were fucking wrong.”

Her nod only made her snuggle more against him. A grunted sigh escaped his lips outwardly, feeling her whole being against him. No matter how severe the matter was, her presence was keeping at him at bay– his ire had calmed down, only feeling the thick air around them prop him higher and higher until he was facing the moon of her dark irises. His muscles were yet to get loose after the agitation of Deku’s rejection.

He had rejected Uraraka and made her end up like this. The queen of fortitude and happiness was gliding down the slippery slope of a lie – all because Deku had messed with– misled her. Bakugou was pretty damn sure that Deku knew about her feelings for him, yet he decided to not call her on it despite knowing about it all growing in her mind– and their game went on til’ tonight.

But, if Deku had accepted her feelings, would it had been any better? Ugh. These situations were the main reason why Bakugou never dared to peek into these fucking dramatic issues. Thinking about it was giving him a pounding headache.

“Uraraka.” mumbled he, feeling her still and quiet for the first time that night. “When you say you don’t feel that shit with Deku…” the suggestion was evident in his voice, dripping with a bit of jealousy and embarrassment. “does that mean you have felt it with somebody else, then?”

“A-Ah.” among his flustered state, his chest felt the heat of her face. He knew what she was thinking almost instantly, and his flustered blush spread to his ears. “Well… you could say I have…” she pursed her lips, thankful for the darkness in the room and how she could hide her face on his chest.

She didn’t dare say anything else, because it had been too much of an emotional day to dwell into how her breathing was erratic, or that the air in the room wasn’t enough– suddenly, they weren’t in the room anymore, they were flying in the sky, embracing each other in a sweet grip. He was a bit too strong, probably trying to hold in his anger for Deku, but she was endlessly caring in her touches and caresses. Every time her fingers slid along his pearly skin, or touched his hair, he wanted to fly.

And every time he looked at her, her heart pounded irresistibly hard against her bones, exploding when he was too near, and dying when his lips were an inch nearer than needed. His touches were like feathers falling on her, the touch of a fearful animal doubting on where to caress, unsure of what to do. He was a fearsome monster that would crawl behind her without losing its dignity.

Why hadn’t she ever felt this with Deku?

What were those emotions that were making her hurt somehow?

And why was it so painful to smell his shirt and feel closer to a future home? What was this?

“Then,” whispered Bakugou, pulling away from her now that she was fully calm, collected and controlled after the breakdown. “do you love Deku, angelface?”

Her answer was almost instantaneous. “I don’t think I can say I don’t, because the pain– it’s still here, Bakugou. The fact that I may have screwed our friendship is nagging at me. But at the same time, I’m confused.”

“Confused?” yes, Bakugou was socially disabled, and couldn’t see that the fact that Uraraka was madly blushing at him was a big hint of where the confusion came from.

She nodded, pulling away a bit as well to give him space. “The rejection still hurts despite it being a lie. After all, this false feeling– or whatever this was, it felt nice, and I thought he felt the same, too. I’m just a bit beaten up, that’s all.”

Her eyes fluttered close for a second, and he brushed a strand of hair away. Too much for a tranquil night with her. Still, the hush between them was brushing all their fears away, leaving them restless. Her eyes opened again, revealing that little spark of hers ignited by warmth and the reflection of his desire for her. His eyes travelled to her parted lips, shining in the darkness.

That was the worst time to kiss her. Yet, given the unholy mess she had become, he wanted to make it all feel better by kissing the pain out of her– wanted to make her sigh, smile, giggle his name and not her offender’s. Why couldn’t fate be merciful with him?

“You know,” there was that little giggle of hers again. His stomach made summersaults upon those little squeals and pearls of uninterrupted joy. “you can be a real softie when you want to.”

That was when his frown was again wrinkling his angular features, eyes bulging and fangs showing once again. Her heart fluttered out of her mouth for some reason. “Oi, who are you calling a softie!? Weren’t you my guest, and I’d kick you out!”

Normalization was good. This jump from sadness, crying, to just normal Bakugou raging over the littlest of details– it gave her life in a thousand spoken ways. “You can actually kick me out.” Bakugou squinted at her. “But I doubt you will.”

“Fuck off already, Uraraka.”

The gravity bender laughed naturally, showing her teeth and leaving her in a grinning mess afterwards. She turned, face down, and looked at the suspended screen of his laptop. “I think we kinda lost track of the movie, huh.”

His fist shot out of the blanket, face down as well, like before all this mess ensued. “And who’s fault is it, you damn crybaby!”

She bumped him with her elbow playfully, smirking at his antics. “Stop being so extra and get a damn movie already.”

“Oi, are you going on at me with the extra shit again? Who are you calling extra, you damn bitch?”

And despite the fact that she was looking undeniably better than ten minutes ago, Bakugou made a friendly reminder to himself to have a little chat with the quirkless bastard the day after.

A day after the storm, the explosive teenager was ready to start his bastard hunting.

Bakugou was sitting near the dorm building, rays of Friday cloudy sunrise reflecting on his blonde tresses. His hands were deep in his pockets, backpack readied with all his books and his jacket blowing with the morning wind. His usually serene but moody features were constricted into a deep frown and a constant glare at whatever thing that moved in his peripheral vision.

Thus, when he spotted Deku leaving for class on his own, very possibly the last one to exit the building, Bakugou’s eyes instantly narrowed. The tears on his short from Uraraka’s bratty crying and how she had wailed for her heart to stop hurting– and oh, how he had heard sobbing behind her door when he dropped her at her room, how quickly she had broken down once danger was not a threat.

Yeah, she was always dealing with her feelings in the shadows– alone, right?

Not anymore.

Once the freckle boy was nearby, Bakugou coughed, making Deku look at him. The latter started sputtering, and when Bakugou’s expression turned potentially threatening, he tried to hurry away. He wasn’t having none of his murdering business this early in the morning, especially having some serious talk to do with Uraraka.

Before he could scurry away, the beast with fangs seized him by his shirt and dragged him to a shadowy side of the residence, morning dim light hitting all over the place but around them.

And once they were successfully hidden from the public eye, Bakugou wasted no time in smashing the teen onto the concrete wall, grimace deeper than imaginable. He wanted to punch this guy, pound the living lights out of him– but he couldn’t. As much as he hated Midoriya, as much as he wanted to hurt him because he had hurt Uraraka in a way…

She wasn’t his. But he could still call him out on her actions as her friend.

“What the fuck is your goddamn problem, bastard!?” yelled Bakugou, his hands already producing sparks to vent the anger he was feeling. It was pure adrenaline, notion of knowing that he had a damn reason for once to insult him. “What the fuck are you doing rejecting angelface like that!?”

It seems like Deku had been giving the very same topic some thought, because he snapped the moment he mentioned Uraraka. “Why are you calling me out on this, Kacchan?” Midoriya’s distress was evident. There were heavy bags under his eyes, teeth clenched, and fists as tightly squeezed as possible.

But Bakugou paid no heed to his worry about the matter, just wanted to get answers out of him. “Because I had Uraraka crying to me for a solid hour, telling me how fucking messed up she was because you rejected her yesterday!” his vice grip only tightened, and he crashed the other’s head against the concrete once again. “Give me a fucking answer as to why she isn’t enough for you, nerd!”

“Is it my fault that I don’t feel the way she does, that I am already planning my life beforehand!?” tears were gathering at the corners of Midoriya’s eyes. Damn crybaby loser. Bakugou snarled. “Can’t I have higher ambitions than her, and have my goals–“

Bakugou punched him on the face, knocking him to the ground below. Deku didn’t even try to get up, just winced and rubbed the sore spot. The blonde looked down at him, red eyes burning with intense fervor and bloodthirst.

“I hadn’t intended to come and use damn violence against a nerd like you.” scowled Bakugou, sweat running down his forehead with emotion. He cleaned some of it with his wrist. “But you ain’t gonna say to me that her goals are in any sort higher than yours, when I’m pretty damn sure you know her motivations. Don’t try to sell me some drama material, bastard.”

Deku looked up, mute and unable to speak a word. Bakugou only glared harder at him. “You have two ways out of this, nerd.” he spit near his enemy, face deformed in a perpetual wince. “You can run away like a fucking coward, or answer my questions. If you wanna leave, do it now.”

But the other didn’t make a move. Instead, he stared at the ground below him, still sitting. Bakugou gripped his shoulder and forcefully picked him up. Midoriya stood in the shadows, face cast down– and Bakugou stood in front of his classmate, uneven spots of sun between clouds hitting on his face and making him look like an ethereal being when such notion was far from reality.

Bakugou was a fearsome monster, somebody who was to be respected. He was awkward, protective, socially lacking and incredibly talented. This time though, he was being needy, too– needy for answers, needy for closure on what Deku had done to wrench Uraraka’s heart so powerfully.

Deku had had her in his grip and just… squeezed all happiness out of her.

“Help me fucking understand, Deku.” mumbled Bakugou, making his way to him again. His hand travelled to his already wrinkled collar, trembling with bottled up rage– oh no, there was a big storm coming. “If you had this thing about being a single hero – or whatever business you had, then–“

Bakugou’s spine hunched over, teeth clenched together. Her whimpers the feel of her hot body against his still ran deep in his blood, not providing good aid to help the situation. The blonde was sinking inside, feeling how rage took over him, a wave of rushing curses and violence coming to him like it had never come before. These walls, the four walls of his existence were fracturing, starting to show creaks of fire coming through–

Then, he just screamed at him and his fist came flying to Deku’s stomach. “WHY GIVE HER THE HOPE, WHY LEAD HER ON WHEN YOU HAD PLANNED ON REMAINING FUCKING SINGLE!” his voice boomed at top of his lungs, deep and hoarse. “Why make her wait, why make her make the move just to– JUST TO FUCKING REJECT HER LIKE YOU HAD PLANNED TO!”

Bakugou would have been fine with Deku not reciprocating her feelings, or just having feelings for someone else. It wouldn’t have hurt Bakugou to death to see Uraraka tie the knot with Deku in the end, either– at least she’d be fucking happy.

But everyone knew Uraraka had feelings for Deku. It’d be nonsensical for the very same boy not to notice. So Bakugou punched the wall, making cracks on the surface. “I can’t fucking understand how you call yourself her friend when you knew her feelings– because you…”

He glared at the panting teen on the ground again, and a shadow passed by his eyes. The fact that he refused to stand on his feet again told him all he needed. “because you knew about her feelings, didn’t you.”

Deku nodded curtly, a tear trailing down his cheek. “I should have fucking known–“

“But I also knew…”he watched as Midoriya removed some dirt from his face, breathing hard. “I also knew that her feelings… I knew she’d let go of them. I knew her feelings…”

A droplet of heaven water fell down Bakugou’s arm, but he didn’t give a damn. All he could see was a boy who had played with Uraraka, someone who was trying to find excuses… as if he knew the truth. Uraraka’s feelings might have ended up being a lie to her– she had started feeling stronger things for someone, it seems. She felt that true love was bubbling in the surface of her heart, stronger feelings and emotions sparking up in her compared to the petty butterflies Deku just provoked.

But whether her feelings were feeble, he had hurt her anyway. She was confused: she had fallen in love for the longest of months, found that she felt more for someone else while still loving Deku, confessed, and gotten her heart broken to only find that she wasn’t entirely disgusted, just heartbroken.

Unfounded feelings or not, they had been there. And Deku had played with her. Bakugou kneeled in front of his opponent. “She fucking loves you, asshole. And you basically told her that being a hero matters more to you than her.”

“She doesn’t love me, Kacchan.” sputtered Deku, vocally grumpy. This was the roughest part of Midoriya that Bakugou had never seen. “And I’m sure you know that.”

“And how in hell would you know that.” deadpanned Bakugou, hands flinching with violent urges.

“Have you seen… her eyes, lately?” oh, so he had noticed the lack of stars in the sky of her eyes. “They… didn’t shine as much. Something had changed, Kacchan– somebody made her change. The way she looked at me after yesterday… I just realized how it had all gone downhill, it was crystal clear then.”

There was a moment of silence between them, rain starting to pour from the sky in slow pours of random droplets. Bakugou seemed unaffected by the weather, only preoccupied with injuring this bastard real hard. “She may have found a better partner for her. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still hold fucking feelings for you, idiot. Even if she tries to let them go, it will take her a damn lot of time.”

Midoriya dug his nails on the concrete of the floor, his heart shaking uncontrollably and painfully constricting his train of thoughts. He visualized Uraraka, smiling at him with those beaming eyes of hers, and her hair floating in a halo. The thought of her crying didn’t bode well with him, maybe because he had never seen her cry.

But Bakugou had. Why?

“If she has found that there are better things for her out there, I’ll never be the one to hold her down, Kacchan.”

“You said you didn’t know this at the time you rejected her – but after. Don’t come spitting lies at me, bastard.” still kneeling, he grabbed his throat in confusion and anger. “Don’t tell me you did it for her. At least be fucking honest and tell me you wanted to give priority to your career, and not her. I don’t think you were unaware of what she felt for you.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

“I am dumb. I am dense and slow with these things. But look how quickly I caught you.” he didn’t let Deku go. “I am calling you stupid because you knew that she had feelings for you. You didn’t know about her stuff because this was a pretty damn newfound discovery when she actually came fucking crying after that and I was the first one to know. So don’t come at me with that crap.”

“She doesn’t love me!”

“DENYING THE TRUTH WON’T GET YOU ANYWHERE, ASSHOLE!” his voice was thick with emotion, veins popped wide and eyes bulging out of their sockets. His fingertips burnt. “She still fucking loves you like the silly bitch she is, and will still hurt for a long time. I already fucking told you: the fact that she has found her feelings were somewhat fake ain’t mean she’s over you.”

“I didn’t mean to mislead her. I never meant to–“

“But you still did anyway.” snarled the red-eyed boy, irises pointy in disdain towards the excuse of a hero in front of him. “You were all blushy with her, showering her in gifts and stuff while you fucking knew she loves you– you never even acted on your feelings like Uraraka did. At least she had the decency to be brave and tell you. The fact that she later discovered that there may be other options is irrelevant to the fucking clear damn fact that you broke her heart.”

Midoriya made an attempt to get up as Bakugou propped himself up. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

The blonde rose an eyebrow at him. His face was already injured, face swollen and purple wounds already darkening his cheek– yet he was still defending himself. The nerve of this dude. “If I had accepted her feelings, if she knew of other options around her, it wouldn’t have mattered.” he coughed bitterly, “She knew there were other options for her, right? She may love me, but those other options would have surely nagged at her no matter how much she loved me. She wouldn’t be able to live knowing there’s much more to love than what I offered.”

And he was right about that. Uraraka was always in for the 100%, not less than that. But the point still stood out. “Yet you didn’t cut her feelings short. It doesn’t matter how she’s feeling now about her feelings, but how she was feeling right then about you. You let her believe she had opportunities with you when what you should have done was tell her straight away that you didn’t want anything with her, you miserable asshole – so shut your damn mouth, I hate liars.”

“Kacchan–“

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Bakugou pinned him to the ground, punching his ribs. Hard. Hit after hit, Deku became more aware of the fact that Bakugou wasn’t using his quirk– he didn’t want to destroy him to death, just feel him hurting so her suffering was compensated somehow. No matter how much he hit, pounded, and grunted at him, Deku didn’t budge. “What are you–“

His talking haltered when Deku flashed him a smile, one of those unreasonable smiles he had whenever he was in danger– that stupid grin that got him out of all trouble. And Bakugou was sick of it. “I am sorry for what I caused to Uraraka. I’m sorry that I misled her in a way that led us to this but… I would have hurt her either way, Kacchan.”

The aforementioned looked up to the sky, expression turning grim as rain cascaded down the sky in hues of rose. “Don’t come at me with your glittery business, Deku. If I weren’t so tired after last night, I would surely punch you for a damn while to my heart’s fucking content. You hurt her more this way, bastard.” Bakugou cleaned some rain from his face. The drizzle was light enough to damp but not as light as to go unnoticed.

The explosive teenager was soon getting up again, showing Deku who was still the boss there. “I am glad it’s over and that angelface can go on in life without worrying about a dick like you. But I ain’t forgetting this any time soon. Nor is Uraraka.”

“I will apologize to Uraraka properly as soon as I see her–“

“But you know, Deku.” spoke Bakugou, as softly as he could still be in his agitated state. “I’m both fucking angry and disappointed with how things turned out. It’s not like I trust you or anything, because I think you still are a lucky motherfucker.” intense glare at the boy, who frowned back. “But I would have never thought that you, of all people, would do things like these.”

“Kacchan, I…”

The explosive teen removed his jacket and tied it around his waist, palms rippling with small explosions. They’d soon be late for class and he’d be damned if he let Kirishima tease him for being a sleepyhead. “You don’t get to fucking apologize to me, asshole.” one of his hands dug into a pocket again, the other grabbing his backpack tight. “Get the fuck up, loser.”

And the aforementioned complied quickly, brushing off some dust. Bakugou wasn’t done yet. “You may be all the good guy you wanna, I’m cool with hero wannabes – after all, I can always punch the shit out of them or ignore them. But as soon as you interfere with my life, you’re done for.”

And then he glared at him with the same passionate, burning and possessive stare of his. “Don’t go near Uraraka to confuse her. Don’t fucking dare do your glitter-glitter-blush thing because I’ll kick your sorry ass to a thombstone. If I see you step in the wrong direction, you’re fucking dead. Got it?”

That last line was whispered so harshly and menacingly that Deku had to step back to feel out of his rage zone. However, with so much burning hatred throbbing in Bakugou’s voice, came a shocking realization for Deku. He stared at his classmate, taken aback by the rush of information that crashed within him as Bakugou was, slowly, making his way to the school.

“Kacchan, wait!” called Midoriya. And the blonde stood still, waiting for whatever bullshit he had to say. “Why… why are you so interested on Uraraka’s wellbeing? What has gotten into you?”

Bakugou looked at the face of his sworn enemy. Purple swells marred his fair cheeks, and dirt was caked on his hair after being on the ground with the mud for so long. The blonde turned around and took his leave. When Midoriya was once again going to demand answers, Bakugou answered in the most humble, defeated voice somebody had ever heard intoned.

“Isn’t it obvious, bastard?” but he kept on walking. “She’s gotten into me.”

Fifteen minutes after the confrontation between both boys, Bakugou made his entrance two minutes later after the bell had rung. Everybody felt him internally fuming, not completely satisfied with the outcome of his fight with Midoriya– no one dared speak. Something big had happened.

It was when a very beaten Deku entered the classroom, one exact minute later than Bakugou, that everyone made the connection. However, only one person in particular was able to put the dots together.

Bakugou glanced behind him to see Uraraka glowering at him, her teeth clenched and her pencil broken in twain. That what when he knew that he had fucked up again. And the feeling sunk his heart deep again.

Bakugou could almost see it, the freedom of a heavy day. His backpack felt especially massive on his shoulders, grasped with his calloused hands. The bruises from the fight, still fresh after being washed with morning dew, hurt his mistreated fingers. His jacked had become a wrinkled mess after carrying it around tied at his waist. Some teachers had called him out on it because of etiquette and stuff, but Bakugou hadn’t been paying attention.

Why, despite having poured all his frustrations on Deku – like a bully, he knew, but also in a deserved way because that kid had been a jerk –, despite having ignored Uraraka for the rest of the day and, even having talked stuff out with Kirishima– why. Why wasn’t that feeling out of his heart?

Bakugou sighed while making his way to the dorm building. The feeling of remorse, ashes of anger and that nagging feeling that Deku hadn’t been ounished enough– they were consuming him, eating him alive as hours tumbled around him. Where had his walls gone? Why had they collapsed after Uraraka had dared to step near them?

Of course he wouldn’t be used to the idea of being so emotionally exposed – after all, no one had ever dared to step near the sanctuary of his heart excepting her. Why wasn’t he satisfied with the beating, with seeing Deku to the ground? Was it because he had been relatively unfazed by his brutality, as if he was trying to make Bakugou believe he was a weakling? or, was there anything else left?

“Bakugou!”

Of course there was something left. There was everything left.

Bakugou heard the dainty steps of her feet running towards him. His step haltered just before the steps to the building, but didn’t dare to turn around. The sky had been watered with pinks, reds, and sun bathed clouds, giving birth to a golden lighting around them. He could picture how beautiful she would look in the midst of the path, her eyes determined to talk him off and her smile– it was always her smile what broke him, so cute and cheesy.

Her run stopped five good meters behind him. Bakugou finally turned around three seconds later, a hand on his pockets and the shallowest of expressions painting his face. There she was, of course she was there, like she had always been to torture him and, deep inside, he had a feeling that she’d always be there.

It was down to him and her. The wind blew around their halted bodies, staring at each other in wonder and surprise. It felt like centuries had passed ever since they last saw each other– all they could remember was the warmth of the other’s arms, the shine of her eyes and the fire, blood and metal in his deep, hellish eyes. Everything that had to do with her was heaven, a world of colors and sunshine. All he had was a void world of curses and solitude.

Yet, there they were, world sunk in black and golden as the sun glared on them. Uraraka’s eyes were slowly recovering their spark, stealing fire from his stance. He repared on how her hands were shaking, limp by her sides, and her breath was labored.

He didn’t realize, but his was also clumsy, stuck in his stomach and inflating his anxiety to see her, to touch her and please, please pray for her to be fine.

“Bakugou…”

He spit, guard back up upon the cold tone of her voice. “I thought we were above the name basis, angelface.”

“Give it a rest.” bit she, snarling and taking a step further. “I’m not like the others, I’m not going to leave so easily no matter how much you try to kick me out – just stop it.”

His silence welcomed her, mildly ashamed that she was being so stubborn on him but, mostly, because he couldn’t find a smart remark to keep her at bay. There was no point on denying it, she had long ago crossed the barrier.

Seeing her tear-stricken face, it seems like he may have also crossed her barriers too, because the way her eyes shone when looking at him was heart wrenching to watch, passion and frustration fighting for dominance. Was he hurting her in anyway?

Bakugou was going to turn and walk away again when her voice called after him again, cracking chords in the middle.

“Stop running away from me!”

So he stopped, eyes wide like stars and limbs tense under her control.

He could hear her shivering, struggling to get the words out. Was his presence troubling her as much as hers did to him? And why was she the only thing he could hear? The rustle of her hair against her face, riding the wind, or the battling of her eyelashes while fighting the tears…

She could only cry in front of him, couldn’t she?

“Why…” it came wavery, low and growling. There was a fight going on, and it definitely was not funny. “Why did you have to beat him up?”

Bakugou chuckled. Of course she would still defend him even after all the ruckus the previous day – it was Uraraka. She was always standing up for those in between, even if she had no reason to. “He deserved more than what I gave him. That fucker–“

“Shut up.”

“He misled you, Uraraka.”

“I said shut up!” screamed Uraraka as loud as she could, face reduced to a mess of wrinkles and unwanted tears. “I don’t wanna hear none of that bullshit, Bakugou!”

It was his time to fully turn to her, striding. “Why are you still defending that nerd when he gave you hopes all along, Uraraka?” he was a meter away from her, but it seemed like an abyss between them was widening and tearing them apart. It was unnerving to have her in reach, yet so far.  “He hurt you, for fuck’s sake. What were you crying so much for yesterday if you’re gonna stick to him despite those conflicted feelings you have?”

The way he called her, how he softly as he would only do tried to speak to her. Uraraka could feel his heart trying to approach hers, making all those emotions he had just mentioned jump in circles in her stomach. Suddenly, she was sinking, spinning, left dizzy and ever so sick with the aftermath of a rejection.

The weight of an unrequited, yet fake love… it hung on her, as well.

“He’s still my friend, Bakugou.” growled she, feet flinching in advance. “And I don’t understand why you, ironically of all people, would go and use him as a punching sack.”

His jaw tensed and clenched, eyes darting inside of hers. The stars of determination and recovery illuminated the darkness of misery, and his fires chased her fears away. It was an incredible spectacle. “Maybe because I do have business with him, angelface. And trust me, punching the hell out of him, after yesterday, wasn’t fucking enough.”

“After yesterday?” his words lingered in the golden rays of sunshine for a minute, clouding her vision as the terrible truth came to realization. “Don’t tell me– please, tell me you didn’t because of that, Bakugou.”

Bakugou refused to give a straight answer, so he wobbled around the attack and dodged the accusation as calculatedly as possible. “He didn’t deserve to go off without punishment, roundface. Not after having misled you for so long.”

“He isn’t–“

His bruised hands clutched her forearms, alarm and urgency in his red eyes. “Stop fucking denying that he hasn’t, already! He knew about your feelings, Uraraka. And if I knew about this, I’ll never fucking believe you didn’t know.”

The gravity manipulator didn’t know why, but the ground below her shattered and swallowed her quickly, leaving her in a cramped place. Her lungs constricted and refused to let her breath, because, because–

“I knew.”

He let her go, apprehensive of what she’d say next. There was this leisure smile on her face, painted against her will. She knew for too damn long.

“A part of me thought that if he was playing along was because he knew the drill and just… decided to play along. I arrived to the conclusion that he liked me back.”

And this was why Bakugou had given Deku such a hard beating– it was because of this. The way the stars in her eyes crashed to tears and how her smile faltered while murmuring sentences, drowning in the hard reality that a man she once came to love didn’t love her back, but even if he did, he’d choose being a hero over her. And she couldn’t find the heart to tell him he was wrong. Alas, so didn’t Bakugou, who despite having given Deku all sorts of wounds, still felt unsatisfied.

“But, even if I’ve reached the conclusion that I didn’t really love him– that it was a weak compared to these conflicted feelings, which I can’t name…” her head was held down, neck shaking in confusion. There were no strangled noises or major fidgeting, so there was on sobbing. She was trembling with fear, so vulnerable for once in front of her. In a way, he also wanted to cry. “Why is it that I still hurt over Deku? I don’t…”

Bakugou stepped an inch nearer when her voice raised a notch higher than usual. His hands felt the ghost of her skin caressing his soul, the flames of his eyes licking the sun that hit on her shoulders. “You still love him, angelface.”

“Why?”

The blonde sighed. “Because that’s what love is about, whether it is minor or big.” her dumb, big and gleamy eyes stared deep into his. His fingers reached for hers for a moment, but ended deciding against it, grim expression dangling. “Sucks, right?”

She would never love him back, would she? It seems like her heart would always belong to Deku despite her feelings for him being laughable at best. Uraraka had experienced what true love was, the adrenaline of having someone near and feeling that spark in your eyes, actually feeling it buzzing. Bakugou sighed, his shoulders faltering ever so slightly because he had to face it: Uraraka was in love with another boy who didn’t love her back. But maybe that was good for her, maybe Deku was after all a better man for her.

His scowl didn’t seem angry at her for once, just sad at himself– for he had failed at making her happy so she could quickly move on, failing on making those emotions she talked about spark on her, failed to at least stop her crying. But every time he was in front of her, she was always crying. And Uraraka Ochako was not a crier.

But he didn’t know that she didn’t cry because he was a failure, or because he hadn’t succeeded on making her happy – it was the other way around.

She cried because her heart had started beating once she entered that fateful common room and saw it set up to her liking. She cried because her fingertips were electric against his skin, or the way his hair glided so perfectly through her fingers when she combed through his mane. Her tears streamed down because her body in the bed would sometimes ache for his hands to burn her, how her eyes missed his and how badly she had been wanting to see them look at her with that ferocity of his.

Uraraka knew why she had almost kissed Bakugou that movie night.

It was because those newfound feelings turned her world upside down, and there was no way to put it in order anymore. She knew that there were weird things going on through her, something more powerful than her love for Deku and everything else she had ever encountered.

But… what was that feeling? Was she ready to embrace its whole power? Another little, tiny trail of thought waved in front of her as Bakugou suddenly turned away– he was tired of seeing her unmoving, still musing over that green haired loser who had injured her so when he could have given her all she needed, all she desired, and give away his little, stone heart for het to protect him.

But she would never love him back.

“What if he rejects you as well?”

The though flashed in front of her again, and Uraraka pounced. Bakugou had only taken one step away from her when voice reached his ears, shoulders stopping their shake and eyes stinging for so long.

“What is love, Bakugou?”

His shaking breath staggered in his throat, making it hard for him to recollect his thoughts and stop to think about what she had just said. It was a complicated question, that one. Millions of people asked the very same thing one day after the other, and there would never be a satisfying conclusion to such thing. Days, millennia and nights may pass, skipping generations of lost people in a crowd of mismatched shoes and hearts, everyone seeking for that little piece that made one’s life fuller, sensible and bright with colors. Uraraka’s world was white, lost in confusion, while his was deep black with dots of her eyes.

Bakugou had never experienced love before Uraraka, and even now he was struggling to understand what it really meant. She was barely making it through a rejection, but was still willing to hold on for Deku, he thought. She had had a past love, and knew what was the difference between the true deal and what a dainty kind of love she had for Deku. He didn’t know what was going through her head at the moment, but he knew that she had sounded desperate and ultimately sad when wording her doubts.

Could he, of all people, give her a satisfying answer? The reckless, short-tempered boy with zero control and just a weak side for her?

Bakugou didn’t know that answer.

But he knew what his answer would ever be, no matter who asked.

“Love is…” his head turned, letting half of his face to show. His eyes seemed torn, broken – and Uraraka’s heart sunk – at the fact that his answer could either matter a ton or just be useless. He still had to try once more. “Love is that feeling you get when somebody comes in through your life– more like barging, when you never asked. And no matter how hard you try to push them away, they stay despite your flaws, they just see through your words and will take care of your heart. It’s that feeling when a world you took for granted gets shaken up and bursts into color, sends you flying, and leaves you confused, afraid– it’s something you feel before knowing what it is.”

There was a moment of silence after he finished, then two. The golden lights hit the ground Bakugou looked at, not even ashamed of having given such a discourse to the girl behind him. The weight on his shoulders didn’t disappear– it only got heavier and heavier the more he listened to her breathing, his world still aware of the sun shining in its glory but submerged in a sea of darkness.

He was suffocating. He couldn’t be there.

Then, he heard it. A sniffle.

Bakugou turned around to find out that she had stepped back during his speech, and how her hands were grasping her shirt for dear life. Her tresses hovered in the breeze, letting through the rays of sunshine while her eyes– her eyes, they were glazed, tears falling down without her truly noticing because… because in the end, the final piece had fallen into place. Her world was consumed by static as it, then, exploded into roses and the sun, meekly noticeable, shone in all its glory on her.

She was utter disbelief while Bakugou looked at her, frantic, ambers shaking as his mouth fell agape. His mind tried to put the pieces together as she finally breathed out– and finally smiled.

His world, previously untidy, chaotic and mindlessly black, fell into place with hers, too. The colossal feeling of pressure on his being faded away slowly as their feelings fell into their place, together, in harmony. He felt it again, that twitch in his heart.

And this time, he was sure she felt it, too. Her eyes had blossomed into meteorites again, letting him dive into her pools of brown as he basked on a new feeling, the feeling of her by his side– she was meters away from her, but he felt her in his arms, hugging him again.

Bakugou didn’t feel alone, anymore. Uraraka didn’t feel heartbroken, anymore.

“Yeah,” her shoulders shook, her smile reaching her eyes for the first time in centuries. It made Bakugou smile too, and the mere gesture brought goosebumps all over her. “this feeling… this is the real thing.”

The emotions she had felt by his side… they were love after all– the electricity towards him, those powerful emotions for him… they were love. After all the pain, the doubt, and the fear of discovering that her feelings were not only unilateral, but also fake compared to the sharpness of these ones– suddenly, nothing mattered. That awkward feeling in her chest dissipated into the warm thin air as her tiny steps approached him, eyebrows low in a soft, sincere smile.

Those growing feelings that had stomped over those she had for Deku… these were real. She had been in the dark for too long already. The pain in her heart completely disappeared, and Uraraka wasn’t afraid of embracing them anymore.

“I think…” Uraraka was by his side, now. “I think I know what those new feelings are, now.”

His eyes widened. “You do? Then what the fuck was my moving speech for?”

“It was all thanks to you, Bakugou– that I may finally be able to move on from this mess.” her hand circled his elbow as she took him forward, towards the building. “C’mon, we should get on going. We’ve been here for too long.”

The tone of her voice, so soft and inviting… He didn’t feel unrequited, anymore. Rather, he felt light headed, flying, in peace. After the thunderstorm, the smell of her light and the sun hitting on his skin was the first thing to welcome him. And man, wasn’t he happy.

“There’s no need to hurry, angelface!”

She just giggled along the way. He felt the urge to giggle with her, kiss her, and hand her the world he desperately needed to share. It was too soon now, her coming to terms with those feelings and finally stepping away from Deku– but he’d make her realize that he was worth it, too. He didn’t know it, but deep down, she had realized this long ago.

After all the trouble, the scars and the regret, he could only think one thing as they made it through the doors.

“Man, am I not lucky.”

“Duuuude, hand out the money, I won the bet clearly by a day of difference!”

Kaminari regretfully handed Kirishima the stack of bills, letting the redhead count them with analytic eye. “I still don’t know why you leaked all this information though.”

“Yeah, that was a bit low from you, dude.”

Kirishima looked at both Tokoyami and Kaminari, who eyed him back twice as disappointed. “I had to take advantage of that motherfucker finally making a move on her. Don’t blame me for this, after all we were all on edge for this.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Tokoyami, shut it. Weren’t it for us and you’d be sulking in your room doing homework.” commented Kirishima as a joke, but it clearly vexed the aforementioned. “Besides, you have also gotten money for this.”

“That’s true.”

“Now, there’s this other bet I had in mind!” fearful for what the blonde would say about betting on the soon-to-be-couple, they prepared their weapons. “When they become an item, we have to– must, do a bet on when they’re having se–“

Kirishima had already risen his fists to pound the guy to the ground with the help of a rather tired Tokoyami, mumbling something about darkness and sexual themes on open air.

Kirishima punched Tokoyami, too, for being too emo. It was being a fun day for the redhead.

And like that, the world started again.

Author’s note: MAN didn’t this suck compared to the last one. I still love you guys tho. This fam is amazing. I accept asks sending me hate :D and bread as well, man I need food./derp

[captainschmoe]

I Will Survive [Beta] - Chapter 2: I’m Here

[A/N: This chapter’s a little late because it was being a little Billy bitch to write, and then last night my wifi was being a big Billy bitch and not connecting. But anyway, here it is! Enjoy the Septiishu sap.]

[Summary: In which Sean and Signe try to recover from whatever the fuck they just saw.]

[Previous - Next]

“Sean!”

The shout nearly jolted him right out of his seat. His seat? It’s his chair! And the voice - Signe’s voice! Was she here? She was right in front of him, cheeks puffy, red, and wet. So there was a shred of reality in the nightmare. This was reality, right? Please let it be real.

“Sean, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I feel alright.” It was the truth. His body felt right, the feeling in his limbs was back. Aside from his racing heart, it was like nothing even happened. “Just had a super-creepy dream, is all.”

“Sean, don’t lie to me. I saw something horrifying.” Signe choked up again, attempting to say more, to no avail.

The only thing Sean could bring himself to do next was outstretch his arms. Signe practically fell into them. What a rush. Warmth. Comfort. Safety. Tears welled up in his eyes again. This is real! Good God, he wasn’t even in that... “dream,” or whatever it was, for that long - half an hour, tops, he figured - and still his emotions seized his core as though he was seeing Signe for the first time in a decade.

But just how horrifying was what she saw if she was this rattled?

Perhaps getting away from the scene of the crime would do them both a favor. “Here, why don’t we go out to the living room? We can kinda calm down a bit and talk out there.” Signe let go in wordless agreement, allowing Sean to stand up - legs stiff, though not quite as badly as in the dream. She took his hand soon after, and together they left the room that gave them hell.

Sean took the opportunity to scan his surroundings. Normal, normal, the colors were normal, the arrangement was normal, Signe was back. Everything was normal. Out a window, he saw light. What time was it? The clock on the wall above it read 12:37. Over halfway through the day before the first video was to be uploaded - if he would ever get the chance to do it. And crazy, possibly supernatural circumstances didn’t stop Sean from feeling a twinge of guilt over the fact that the community was going to start worrying - or theorizing, depending on the subgroup - over a genuine... error? Accident? Incident?

What was Sean supposed to call what happened to him? Unbelievable is what he’d call it. It’s not like he could just explain what just happened and expect anyone to believe him. Especially so close to the climax of the Anti hype.

At least he could take comfort in knowing he had Signe as a witness.

The pops of color in the living room provided Sean a sense of comfort. A breath of fresh air. The plants were back to their vibrant greens - more proof of life. And there was the sofa, ready to accept and ease them into its arms. Sean, too, wrapped his arm around Signe’s shoulders, less willing than ever before to let go.

“What did you see?”

Signe hesitated before speaking. It was clear the answer was difficult to recount, and Sean wasn’t about to pressure her. The comfort provided by her and the sofa was interrupted by a sudden twitch in his eye. Was this really the time for that?

She eventually said, “I... I heard you recording normally, and then... And then you started screaming. Not like - I know you’re always screaming...”

Sean forced a small chuckle.

“...but this sounded real. I thought maybe it was part of the video, but then I heard you screaming my name. So...” Signe’s voice cracked. “So I ran up to your office, and I saw...” She shook her head and turned her face away, down to her lap, like she knew he wouldn’t believe whatever ghost story was about to come out of her mouth.

“Listen, Signe,” Sean said, placing his free hand on her knee, “whatever you saw, I believe you. Literally whatever it was. I saw weird shit, too. You’re not crazy.”

Signe looked back up at him. the sincerity in his eyes prompted her to continue.

“I saw you in your chair, but you... Your whole body was black.”

Sean squinted in confusion, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Like it was painted black,” she said. “Your skin and hair and clothes and everything were...” She tugged on her pants. “...this color. I didn’t know what it was or what happened. I said your name and you wouldn’t move

“And I touched your arm... It was...” She paused for a breath. “You felt like smooth stone.”

Sean’s jaw dropped slightly, and the tiniest oh escaped his voice box.

“I didn’t know what to do. I just... froze and panicked.” Sean could hear the lump in her throat coming back. “Should I have done something?”

“Well, it’s not like you could have just called 999 and been like, ‘Hey, this guy’s dead and he turned pitch black and he’s made of stone,’ and have them believe you.”

“I mean... I guess you’re right, but...” Signe readjusted herself a bit. “I feel bad that I didn’t at least try to do something. I’m sorry.”

“Babe...” Sean gave her shoulders a small squeeze. “Don’t beat yourself up over things you can’t do anything about.”

A few seconds of silence helped the words sink in, broken by Signe changing the topic. “You said you saw weird stuff, too?”

Sean recounted what happened in the nightmare to the best of his ability. How he found himself apparently sleeping in the street at night. How the entire world was mirrored and deprived of color and life. How time seemed to stand still. About his ghost, and how he could hear her voice through it, and how he came back after sitting where the ghost was. It was quite the info dump to process. And the longer he went on, the more and more it really did sound like a mere nightmare, despite what happened on Signe’s end.

“You did all that in only a couple minutes?”

“I don’t know how long I was in there, but it was definitely a hell of a lot more than just a couple minutes.”

“It’s just from when I first heard you screaming to when you turned back to normal, it wasn’t that long.”

“Hmm.” Sean gazed at the far wall. “Well, wait, isn’t it a thing that dreams feel longer than they actually are? Like, it feels like it’s a couple hours when it’s really only, like, ten minutes?”

“I don’t know.” Signe shrugged. “You’re still calling it a dream?”

“Well, that’s basically what it feels like. I don’t know what else to call it. Besides a nightmare.” Sean rubbed at his twitching eye in a vain attempt to quell it. It was going to stick around for a long while, he just knew it.

He felt the urge to glance up at the clock again. 12:46. He was falling behind, he needed to get back on track, there were two other videos he needed to get done and uploaded today...

Signe read his mind. “Don’t worry about it, Sean.”

“I guess I’ll just do some quick and simple videos. Something easy to record and easy to edit.” Speaking of editing, he’d told Robin he’d send him the Bio Inc. footage today. What should he tell him? Would Robin believe their story? Or should he just say that the file got corrupted or something?

“I’m just scared it might happen again,” Signe said softly. Her thoughts weren’t invalid.

“At least I know how to get out if it does.”

“I mean, what if you were just lucky this time? What if your ghost-thing doesn’t show up a second time?”

“Signe.” Sean turned his body to face her directly. “I know you’re scared. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not scared, too. But like...” He chose his next words carefully, so as not to make her feel even worse. “Worrying about it isn’t gonna make a difference. It’s gonna either happen or not happen regardless. And I personally would rather go into it with the mindset of ‘it’s going to be okay’ and like... think through it rationally, you know?”

Signe said nothing, only leaning her head against his shoulder.

“And I don’t want to tell the community, you know, ‘hey, I basically died and came back,’ because who’s gonna fucking believe that. That just sounds like more Anti stuff.”

Signe tilted her head back up; quickly, though not sharply. As if she’d suddenly thought of something important.

“What’s up?”

“I just thought - this is going to sound stupid.”

“No, it’s not. Promise.”

“...What if it’s tied to the Anti stuff?”

It was a thought. Even if it was, Sean couldn’t tell what the nightmare had to do with anything. It wasn’t a plot point he had in mind for Anti. If Anti was real, shouldn’t he be in line with what Sean and the community had in mind for him? Plus, why would Anti only be coming around now, despite completely breaking through in the canon twice?

Then again, his twitching eye... And the voice saying broken spirit, let me out...

It wasn’t enough information, regardless.

“It might just be a coincidence that it happened during an Anti video,” Sean concluded. “I’m gonna do some other non-Anti stuff today and see what happens. We’ll try Bio Inc again later.”

“You sure you want to go right back into recording?”

“I certainly don’t want to have to try and explain to everyone what happened. I’m not even sure I want to explain to Robin what happened - why I’m not sending him the stuff I said I would.”

“You should,” Signe said, surprisingly confidently. “We should. If we both tell him what we saw, he should believe us, right?”

Would he?

“I mean... I’d rather not lie to him,” she added.

“Neither would I.” Of course telling such an outrageous truth was uncomfortable, but lying... Lying would make Sean feel so guilty later, even if Robin never became the wiser.

“I’ll email him about it before I do the video.” He pulled himself out of the sofa. The stiffness in his legs was somewhat less than before. Slowly but surely.

“I hope it goes all right...”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Sean leaned down to give her a quick peck on the lips. “Take it easy, okay, babe?”

There. It was sent. The email detailing the horror story of what happened earlier that day. Sean had added a hefty dose of self-doubt - I know this sounds crazy - in the message. He wasn’t sure how Robin would take the news. Would he somehow think they just both happened to have gone off their rockers at the same time?

Don’t worry about things you can’t do anything about.

Nope. That’s right. Gotta just get cracking and get shit done. He had a starving artist right there at his fingertips, ready to paint his last masterpiece.

[thatz-not-okay]

Having wanted a DSLR for years I finally purchased one. Now I find myself near-obsessively archiving enjoyable moments through a lens. My roommate seems to understand this, and even suggested taking some outdoor portraits of her. The rest of my friends think it's extremely odd that I enjoy taking pictures of them while fixing dinner, watching TV, or whatever else they may be doing. They seem really suspicious as to what I'm doing with these pictures, but I'm only keeping the flattering images of them (retouching them if necessary), and archiving them. I do this with no specific goal in mind, other than the fact that I find it enjoyable. I do respect their privacy, and have gotten in the habit of asking if they mind me taking their picture, but they are generally camera shy. I'm at a loss how to make them more comfortable having their picture taken, or understand why I enjoy taking their pictures. I'm starting to wonder if there's something wrong with me for wanting to take them in the first place. I just want to photograph my friends. Is that okay?

Thatz okay.

But it's also okay that your friends don't always want to have their pictures taken. Some people just don't enjoy being photographed. Focus on the ones who do.

Of course people don't really believe you when say you are just creating art in a vacuum, for no reason. [Near-]Obsessively snapping photos of people, picking out the best shots, and carefully retouching them for his own personal records is the kind of thing that, when an old man does it—sitting alone in his apartment, peeping out his window at the grey afternoon, and all his little shoes are lined up on "his" half of the closet even though the other half is empty, and he doesn't speak English (I think he's Italian)—is heartbreaking. When...just some guy...does it, it's inexplicably sinister and undeniably creepy.

People become uncomfortable when they don't understand your motivation. It's like they're playing checkers and you're playing chess; they can't figure out how to react to what you're doing, so they don't know how to win or lose. Pretty much any reason you can scrounge up for taking these photos other than "no particular reason,"—"I want to get better at photography"; "I'm trying to build a portfolio"; "I'm going to make a fortune off your face by selling these stock photos to the highest bidder"—will soothe them.

The important thing is to stay away from the abstract. Don't answer their questions ("Why are you doing this?") with questions of your own ("Why does anyone collect anything?") That will make you sound evasive, like a serial killer.

"Some people collect coins...I collect SOULS."

If you come up with a reason for your hobby, your friends still might decline to be photographed, but at least they won't worry that you're planning to upload these pictures to your computer to masturbate to them later, which is definitely what they are thinking. Even if you say, "I'm going to upload these pictures to my computer to masturbate to later," you might still find someone game to be photographed. (I don't know your freak-a-leek friends.)

You would also do well to remember that even people who like to be photographed don't like to be photographed constantly. Don't become the friend paparazzi. Your friends will quickly grow weary of your presence if, every time they invite you over to watch American Horror Story, you spend the hour taking pictures of them watching TV for an exhibition titled "The Way We Watched American Horror Story" you're planning to curate on your computer for no one later that night.

Also, the number one rule of taking pictures of people is that you have to then let them see the pictures—"This is what the camera monster sees when it looks at you!"—which it doesn't sound like you are necessarily doing. Start doing that. It will make people feel better. Maybe give them a framed photograph of themselves for the holiday of your choice. A disturbing Pentecost surprise.

If eventually your friends all decline to be photographed but you are desperate to pursue your passion of capturing images of humans for no clear reason, maybe look into posting a "TFP" (Time for Prints) listing on Craigslist. This is an arrangement by which a photographer solicits the services of broke-ass models, who pose in exchange for receiving free copies of the shots.

Or you can take pictures of flowers or something. Flowers don't need to give consent and they don't care if you masturbate to their images.

I was recently out on a double date with my good friend, her new beau, and my boyfriend. While we were hanging out and having pleasant conversation, something very strange happened. My friend's new dude perceived that I had interrupted him and he took it upon himself to playfully slap my face as a way of, I don't know, correcting me? I was extremely taken aback. I do not like to be touched by strangers (particularly men, whether or not they are dating my friend) and I especially do not like being touched in the face of all places. I called him out on it by saying "I'm sorry, did you just... slap my face?" and he laughed and gave me a "Yeah, so?"

I was furious. I told him "Do it again, and see what happens." So he did do it again and I launched across the table ready to attack but was restrained by my boyfriend. Now, I realize it was wrong to try to attack him, but his physical violation of my personal space triggered past abuse and sent me into a blind rage. My friend and boyfriend seem to think I overreacted to the situation and that what this guy did was no big deal, but I disagree. My question is, if someone you barely know playfully slaps you in the face, is that okay?

Thatz not okay.

This guy is obviously a jerk and was raised in a barn where severed hands dangled and protruded from every surface, making it impossible to go about your daily activities without getting lightly slapped in the face innumerable times. Everyone who was raised in the outside world ("The Land Beyond the Hands," his gruff mother called it) knows that slapping someone else's face—even lightly slapping it; even just touching it, with your hot, strange fingers—is extremely rude.

Unfortunately, when you have to be physically restrained in a restaurant to keep from assault someone, you are the diner who looks crazy. And that's not fair to you.

Here's what you said that was a good thing to say:

"I'm sorry, did you just slap my face?"

Here's what you said that was a bad thing to say:

"Do it again and see what happens."

That is the kind of taunt a 14-year-old on the playground (or, like, Sammi Sweetheart from Jersey Shore) uses. When you say this, you are literally inviting someone to repeat whatever behavior just angered you. (You're obviously hoping they won't—and, sure, some people will choose not to—but this guy established himself as an unpredictable oaf with the first move. You think he's going to turn down the opportunity for a slapdown smackdown?)

What would you have done if you had not been restrained? Killed him? Slapped him in the face with a dozen tiny slaps? "Here's an amuse bouche for you: knuckle sandwiches!"

There is no way to be totally in the right when you have to be physically held back—like an out of control teen addressing the Maury studio audience—to prevent you from beating someone. From your story, it sounds like this guy is more of an "I touch people" asshole than a "Let's have some dust-ups with the young lasses!" lunatic. To everyone around you (or, as they would have been described in the police report, "witnesses"), this would have looked like a crazy woman attacking a man over a table.

The one upside being slapped by a relative stranger slaps you in a casual social setting is that it gives you free rein to kill the mood.

Destroy that mood.

WASTE that mood.

You know what's going to make everyone feel uncomfortable—especially the person who slapped you? Telling that person, "I was actually in an abusive relationship for a while, so I'm really sensitive to being slapped in the face." If that's a little revealing (or dramatic) for your taste, saying "Don't do it again," in a deadly serious voice will probably have the same effect.

One benefit of responding with withering words instead of your full bodyweight is that if this guy, being FULL CRAZY, had slapped you again after your calm response, no one would have said "Well, he was wrong but you overreacted."People instead would have said, "That man is FULL CRAZY."

I'm hoping (and guessing) that it's not that your friend and boyfriend think that what the guy did was "no big deal"; rather, that what you did—launch yourself across the table like an Angry Bird to FUCKIN' GUT someone—was a bigger deal. Just like it was a bigger deal that he playfully slapped your face than that you interrupted him.

Don't attack people. Don't slap people. Don't interrupt people. In that order.