#the internet got fixed this morning and it rained this evening

[kirby-the-gorb]

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Silver Linings, Chapter One

Word Count:  1620

TW:  None.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

There wasn’t much good in Rafael Barba’s life.

There were his mother and his abuela, but he saw them infrequently.  The same held true for his small, core group of friends – men he’d grown up with, but life got in the way and he rarely saw them.

He lived alone, monkish and so celibate for so long that he thought a case could be made for retroactive virginity.  He seldom dated, and any burgeoning relationship died on the vine due to his job.

His job had once been gratifying, but the fulfillment he used to get from it had faded long ago.  The endless parade of victims seeking justice, the never-ceasing rapes and assaults and harassment.  Rafael barely slept, but when he closed his eyes at night, he saw nothing but the pleading eyes of victims.  Imploring him to fix it.  To make it better.  And he couldn’t:  even when he got ‘guilty’ verdicts, those victims had to navigate their newer, darker world on their own.

January in New York was bleak – after the city shed its holiday merriment, after the Rockefeller tree was taken down and the store display windows were torn down and replaced with blander offerings…the cold weather seemed to cut deeper.

It was miserable weather all morning.  Rafael was nearly late to his grand jury due to the wintry mix, and by afternoon, when the jury returned a decision to not indict, he was as miserable as the grey skies that spat icy rain.

He made his way to his office and shed his outerwear, then slumped at his desk for a moment.  He had paperwork for the grand jury, and he probably should call SVU to let Olivia know.  All of that could wait.  He hated to procrastinate, but the loss had felt personal.  He wanted to bury the feeling of defeat for at least a bit.

He checked his email, pointedly ignoring a few messages from Olivia.  He picked up his latest issue of the Harvard Law Review – there was an article about free speech in the age of the internet that he had dog-earred to read – but he couldn’t concentrate beyond the first paragraph.  

Finally he sighed and pushed away from his desk.  He had to go see fellow ADA Rose Callier – she had handled his arraignments that morning.  A walk would do him good, and Rafael loved chatting with Rose’s assistant, Marian.  She was a stout, no-nonsense Puerto Rican-American, and she always gave him grief about being Cuban, making it sound like the two nations had been locked in a millennia of warfare.  Good-natured grief, and then she’d press him to take one (or two or three) pieces of whatever dessert she had brought in that day.

There was more than one occasion where Rafael felt his flagging spirits raised over a piece of Marian’s dulce de coco.

He took the stairs down a floor, then he walked down the hallway to Callier’s office.  Rose was a junior ADA, handling smaller cases, but some of her work overlapped with his, and she often covered for him when he was swamped with larger cases.  She was smart, no-nonsense.  Rafael liked her well enough, even if she was relatively young and green.

He gave a polite knock and then entered, but Marian wasn’t at her usual post outside of Rose’s inner chamber.  Instead, there was a young woman sitting at her desk, and she smiled at Rafael as he walked in.

“Where’s Marian?” he asked, and he inwardly cringed at how mean he sounded.  But you didn’t react other than to continue smiling at him.  You were in an emerald green silk tie-neck blouse, and you looked like a songbird in winter against the drear dark wood and shadows of Rose’s narrow office space.

“She retired, I think,” you answered him.  You looked at him a moment, your expression mild as you watched him work through his disappointment.  Rafael vaguely remembered an email that had gone around a month earlier, and he had made a mental note to see the older woman off before she left.  Just another thing he screwed up.

“You’re here to see Ms. Callier?” you asked.  “She’s in with the detectives from Major Case right now, but I can let her know that you’re here.”

He shook his head.  “That’s okay,” he said.  “I’ll just catch up with her later.”

“I’ll let her know that you stopped by, Mr…” and you trailed off until he gave you his name.  Then you smiled at him again, nodded, and turned back to your computer, and Rafael was back at his desk before he realized that he hadn’t gotten your name.

-----

Rose stopped by his office the next morning with all of the documentation from the arraignments she had handled.  Rafael didn’t see you again until a week later; at a nearby coffee shop, you were waiting in line a few people ahead of him.  It was hard to miss you – you were in a wool coat, robin’s egg blue, and you stood out against the mob of dark suits and jackets.

He thought about sidling up to you in the pick-up area as you waited for your coffee, but you only ordered a drip, and by the time Rafael had his own order in hand, you were long gone – fast-walking towards Hogan Place, your shapely legs half-hidden by the giant snow boots that swallowed your feet and calves.  He couldn’t keep up in his own Oxfords, impractical on the icy sidewalks.

-----

Another week went by.  Rafael got a handful of cases pleaded out.  Sent a few more to trial.  Olivia and the squad stopped by at random intervals to give him grief and to get him to perform legalistic miracles.

A random Thursday morning, early.  Rafael got onto the elevator, but when a voice called out “hold it, please!” he did.  He was glad he did:  you stepped on a bit out of breath, with that bright smile of yours as you thanked him and hit the button to your floor.  He watched you unwind the dove grey scarf from around your neck, and he caught a faint hint of your perfume of orange blossom.  

“We haven’t formally met,” he said as you situated yourself.  “I never caught your name.”

You tugged the glove off of your right hand and then extended it, and he grasped it in his.  Your handshake was surprisingly firm, and your hand was soft and warm.

“I never gave you my name,” you said, introducing yourself.  “Pleased to meet you.”

When the elevator stopped at your floor a few seconds later, you released his hand and stepped off.  You gave him a little wave and that smile that could easily be the best part of Rafael’s day.

“Have a good day, Mr. Barba,” you said, cheerful, and Rafael’s tongue was struck mute in his head, so he didn’t respond until the doors were already shut behind you.

-----

Rafael started keeping track in his planner of the days he got to see you.  A star meant that he saw you; a solid star colored in with his pen meant that he talked to you.  It was nothing, just a dumb little crush, but he hadn’t felt anything in a very long time, and you were like a winter flower, bright and pushing up through the snow.  Just seeing you bolstered his wilting spirits.

One star:  the day he saw you walking with Rose, your arms laden with folders.  You were in a smart wool dress, red, and your hair was in a low ponytail.  You almost looked like you could be the ADA.

One star, colored in:  the day he saw you at the coffee shop again.  You had been in line behind him, and you had nudged him with your gloved hand and said “good morning” to him.  And he had been quick enough to smile back at you, say “good morning” back.

One star, colored in:  the day there was a fire drill, and he had fallen in beside you as you both evacuated down the stairwell.  In the crowded stairwell full of grumbling civil servants, you had smiled at him and made a joke about needing the cardio anyway.  

He had replied with “there’s better ways to get cardio,” and you had laughed, and it didn’t occur to Rafael until later that it possibly had sounded suggestive.  He kicked himself mentally, over and over, wishing he had said something that still made you laugh but that didn’t make him sound like a creep.

One star:  you jogging – no, sprinting – to catch the late pickup for mail.  Your scarf had fluttered behind you like a flag, and your hand was grasping an envelope as you ran.  You skidded once on the icy sidewalk, and Rafael’s heart had stopped at the thought of you wiping out, but you caught your balance and – unbelievably- laughed at yourself as you continued running.

One star, colored in:  he heard your voice outside of his office, and he practically sprinted to get to the door to meet you.  But you weren’t there for him – his own assistant Carmen was pulling her coat on.  You were going to lunch together, and when he suddenly appeared in his doorway, both you and Carmen turned to look at him, a little alarmed.  He made some excuse to his assistant about needing a file pulled, but Carmen’s eyes had slid from Rafael to you, and she gave him a sly, knowing smile that he frowned at.

Rafael would look down at his planner and see the scattering of stars.  They looked like crumbs, and eventually, they wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

[the25thviolence]

I’ve had too many cliche face cracking and shattering moments in my life.  

I think I was confused when my dad died.  I couldn’t come to terms-- I refused the situation.  I hid in my neighbor’s/friend’s basement for weeks till the funeral.  And when it started I just started crying uncontrollably.  

I remember my older siblings asking me if I would leave my mother and live with one of them instead and fully grasping the gravity of that situation. 

A whole year later.  I was driving with my sister somewhere and I said something about going out to our dad’s work to see him.  And my sister had to remind me he was dead and I just kind of cried for a long time in the car. 

A few years later at a family christmas party everyone was talking about memories of our dad.  I didn’t have any like they did.  It really upset me.  That my life sucked so much and I had nothing for it.  I realized all that they got and I was going to get none of that help.  I yelled at them all, stormed out the house, and walked home to a locked house and waited out in the middle of the winter for my mom to come home. 

I wasn’t born with rage.  I didn’t always have this large bit of clenched fist anger inside of me.  I was a kid growing up around alcoholics.  It created an awful physical flinch in me that lasted years after.  I couldn’t receive a handshake or hug without reeling back out of reflex.  One day I realized I had grown taller than the alcoholics.  One day I realized I was bigger than them.  That house still has damage from that first fight.  I never got hurt again. 

That was my brother.  I exiled my sister from my life for 2 years because of what she did.  She lived 2 blocks away from me and her 2 little kids were really important to me.  They would sneak out and come down to see me during those 2 years and I would kick them out.  I’m still dealing with the lasting effects that had on all 3 of them.  

I remember meeting someone online and even than the lies seemed very large.  But it was just so lonely.  I even convinced myself they were real.  Even when people died.  This is when I convinced myself that when I broke down to the point I couldn’t move.  I would just lay on the ground.  That it would begin to rain.  That I made it rain.  In the end I was just someone’s little internet character they used to play with.  

You think I wouldn’t make the same mistake. 

Than many years later when your best friend suddenly hates you and wants you to go away.  And your other friend (there now girlfriend who you were in love with) keeps trying to make you come back.  Constantly holding this knife above my head one pushing it down one pulling it up.  To the point I couldn’t take it anymore and I pulled it down on myself.  And as I lay bleeding in the aftermath a sweet voice whispered hope into my ear.   But as day broke the next morning suddenly the fairytale ended.  I was told to tell my friends the truth.  Its burned into my brain.  And that same person asked me to lie.  To comeback and lie about everything.  Suddenly the person who was pulling the knife out fell upon it with all there weight.  For sanity.  For love.  For whatever selfish whims they want to claim.  At the cost of my own blood they paid it easily.  

I remember becoming an adult.  It wasn’t when I was 18 or 21.  I remember having control of a bad situation and fixing it.  Instead of watching the house burn down I was able to put out the flames before they started.  Being the youngest sibling of 6 really makes you feel like your last and always at the bottom.  Now I feel like I’m holding all that weight of the ones in front of me.  Its heavy.  But I’ll hold my family upright.  Even if they hate me.  Even if they don’t care about me.  Till I die or they do.  Whichever happens will be a cause for a celebration.  

Its not that bad.  I’ve met worse people.  They say friends are just family you get to choose.  But so far most of them have been worse than family. 

[myherokatsuki]

masterlist.

Multi-Part

The Love You Get (Is Equal to the Love You Give) // 18+     ↳ Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Epilogue     ↳ When your parents arrange for you to wed Bakugou Katsuki, you start to actually fall for the brash hero, but no matter how hard you try to please him, you worry he’ll never feel the same for you, and you come to realize you desperately want him to.

I Have A Name, You Know // 19.4k // 18+     ↳ Part I // Part II     ↳ When Bakugou becomes your personal bodyguard, you’re determined to get to know him, or at the very least get him to use your name.  But the longer you spend with him, the more you start to fall for him, even if you can’t have him.      ↳ Written for @/bakuroo-writing’s Romeo, Save Me Collab

A Deal // 18+      ↳ Part One // Part Two //  Accompanying Artwork      ↳ When you strike up a deal with an incubus, can you manage to keep your feelings out of it, or will you both end up breaking your one rule?      ↳ Written for @/semisgroupie’s Heaven & Hell Collab

Drabbles / One Shots

Thigh Riding // 788 // 18+      ↳ Bakugou turns the tables on you when you get cute and try to distract him.

Rainy Morning // 1.2k // 18+      ↳ Early morning smut while the rain falls outside.

Impatient // 845 // 18+      ↳ You send Bakugou a little incentive to hurry home, but he has other plans.

Impatient pt. 2 // 1.5k / 18+      ↳ You got your wish, but now it’s Bakugou’s turn to get what he wants after riling him up.

Happy Ending // 1.2k // 18+      ↳ On a rare night off, you get to relax in the bath with your fiance, giving him a much needed massage, and things turn steamy.

Alive! // 1k // 18+      ↳ After a rough battle leaves you both shaken, all you want is your fiance’s touch, and Dynamight feels the same, leading to desperate lovemaking while the adrenaline still courses through you.

A Favour // 5.6k // 18+      ↳ To avoid being pestered by his mother about his practically non-existent love life, Bakugou asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a weekend trip to his parents’.  But what happens when you both harbour long buried feelings for each other?      ↳ Written for @/kenzumekodma​‘s AUdvent Collab

One Way or Another // 3.3k // 18+      ↳ The first night in your new shared apartment with Bakugou, you decide its time to finally lose your virginity after having waited long enough.

One Perfect Moment // 1.1k      ↳ When your sexy plans are derailed, you and Bakugou still end up having a good time.

You’re My Hero, Katsuki // 4.8k // 18+      ↳ Bakugou’s not about to let some extras on the internet talk shit about you or your relationship.

Under the Holiday Lights // 4k // 18+      ↳ After riling him up all day at a holiday gathering with your family, Bakugou wants to unwrap and play with his present under the lights of the Christmas tree.

On Accident // 1.2k // 18+      ↳ After a late night flirting with your best friend, you make a dirty recording, never intending to send it, but in the morning you find you did... accidentally.

I Will Always Love You, Even When It Hurts // 5.9k      ↳ If it had been anyone but Kirishima, Bakugou would have acted, said something, told him to back down–at least, that’s what he told himself… even if he knew it was a lie.      ↳ Written for @/kingkatsuki & @/bakuroo-writings’ Frozen Hearts Collab      ↳ Alternate Ending (just as angsty)

A Nightmare // 517      ↳ Bakugou comforts you after you wake from a terrible dream.

Drabbles / One shots

Dirty // 1.1k // 18+     ↳ When Mechanic!Kirishima bends you over the hood of the car he’s just fixed, you don’t mind getting a little dirty.

The Right Moment // 5.4k // 18+      ↳ Kirishima’s been carrying around a ring for too long now, waiting for the right moment.         ↳ same au as Dirty

Multipart

This Means War // 18+     ↳ Part One // Part Two // Part Three     ↳ When two new gorgeous farmhands start working on your daddy’s ranch, how can you ever choose between them, especially when they both make it clear they want you.  Who says you have to choose?

Drabbles/ One Shots

Shared // 2.6k // 18+      ↳ Bakugou offers to share his pretty little girlfriend with his best friend.

Hot Gossip // 1.1k      ↳ When a coworker catches you with Kirishima she starts a rumor that you’re cheating on Bakugou, but the boys decide they won’t stand for that.

Headcanons / Thirsts

How They Eat You Out // 18+ // ft. Bakugou, Kirishima, & Todoroki

Art Student!Bakugou // spicy

Dilf!Bakugou & thunderstorms // fluff

Kirishima & sex // spicy

Pirate!Kirishima // spicy

updated: 05/06/22

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: the apprentice year

Here’s something I wrote for a zine, a while back. Maybe someone’s in the mood for quiet s8 angst.

(read on AO3)

It's raining when Sam crashes the car. Middle of the night, Texas somewhere. Not enough sleep, not that sleep could possibly help, and bad visibility, and this numbness that started in his gut but has taken over every part of him. Not the best conditions. Narrow two-lane highway, headlights blurring through the dark wet, and then there's a flash—white-and-brown and small, a dog?—and he swerves hard, and then it's—squeal of brakes, the tires sliding, a smash.

He breathes slow, both hands curled around the steering wheel. Car's still on, rumbling idle. His head hurts. Hard to see through the rain but it looks like he killed a sapling. He unclenches one hand from the wheel and touches his forehead—wet—and the windshield's cracked again, and he turns around in the seat to see the dog bolting off down the road. He opens the door and steps out into the mud and, yes. A broken tree, and a mile marker crumpled, and the paint all scraped up, and the windshield. He wipes his forehead again and his fingers are smeared red. He puts that hand on the car and then has to—his legs crumple—he crouches, letting the car take his weight, feeling the engine in his bones. He can't think, with the rain this loud. His head hurts. He says, out loud, "I don't think I can do it," but it's hard to hear over the downpour, and anyway, no one's there to hear. No one's there.

*

There's a mechanic down the street from a motel. The windshield will be three hundred and that feels like too much but then, who would Sam ask, who'd be honest. He asks them to repaint, too, so he doesn't have to see the gouges of his fuckup. The mechanic looks at his forehead instead of at his eyes. "You get that looked at, sir?" he says.

Sam walks through the damp morning to the motel. The clerk frowns at him but Sam puts a hundred in cash on the counter and then there's the room, dim with the curtains drawn. Two beds—why? Habit. He's been sleeping in the car so that people won't ask the question. Trying to sleep. He takes off his wet muddy clothes and runs a shower, hot, and there's mud on his hands and blood too and the cut on his head bleeds pink against the white tub, and he's so tired he wants to just sit down, right there in the bathtub and let the water pound against his face and make it so he can't think about anything else, so he can't, so he won't have to—but he can't. He has to pick up the car at some point. He turns off the shower and dries off and walks naked through the dim room to the bed closer to the door and he crawls under the blanket and puts his face into the pillow and thinks that he won't sleep, because how can he sleep in a queen bed in a motel room in a town he doesn't know without his brother. He can't possibly. He can't, but he has to, because his brother is dead.

*

It took a while to come to that conclusion. Dick was gone. The air, throbbing thick and strange. The room empty. Sam stood alone in that awful building with distant alarms wailing and his head and heart entirely still, because there had been a place where his brother was, and now he wasn't there anymore.

He did research. He asked questions. He prayed, and when there were no answers to his praying he burned acacia and camphor and blood-red petals of anemone and demanded a demon, but none came. He knelt on the road at midnight with dirt caked under his broken nails and was prepared to offer—what little it was worth, that he could offer—but no one arrived to take a deal. It was like the world he'd always known was there, that darker mystery that swirled under the daytime normalcy everyone else knew, had just vanished. Gone. He was finally free to live a life that was average, and safe, and boring, but what did it matter—how could it matter, without Dean.

There was booze but then there wasn't. There was a brief, considering moment when a dealer in Kansas City saw Sam's expression and offered relief, but it would've failed the same way the booze had. There was staying up until he had no choice but to pass out in the backseat and forgetting to eat and driving, nowhere, with no destination in mind, because what was there? A job, a ghost, a brutal and pointless putting of one foot in front of the other, when the only thing that had ever mattered, the only thing that had made the life he'd chosen worth choosing, was—

He drove until he nearly hit a dog, and hit a tree instead. He stopped not because he wanted to but because there didn't seem to be any point in driving more. He got a motel. He slept, because that was all there was left to do.

*

When he wakes up the room is dim with afternoon. The sun on the other side of the building. A reflection, from the vacancy sign outside, that throws up a white square on the wall. He watches it for a while, tracking how it moves slow over the wallpaper, thinning out as the sun falls. A slow eclipse, until it disappears.

What the hell, he hears.

He sits up, ignores the head-throb from moving. There, boots on the carpet, standing in the way of the bathroom, looking around like the motel's a surprise—six feet (forget the lie about the extra inch) and strong and beautiful as he ever, ever was—Sam swallows, drags in air that feels like it can't fit in his chest with everything that's roaring up in it—Dean frowns, and looks at him, and says, in a voice that sounds distant, Sammy, what the fuck.

Sam stands up and staggers. His head, god. He tries to step forward and it's Dean who comes to him, looking around, saying what's going on, where is this—are you— and Sam braces on the bedside table and reaches out but then Dean flickers, somehow, like a broadcast jolted with static, and Sam's hand curls in the air between them, his body flinching even if his mind doesn't quite get it yet.

Dean stops in his tracks and looks down. Spreads his hands, looking at the scarred knuckles and the more-scarred palms. Sam manages to get himself under control and stands up straight, and takes the step that means he's inches away, but no longer dazed from waking he can see: Dean's not here. Dean's not quite here. There's an almost-shimmery distance to him. A projection, on an inadequate screen. Sam looks at his face and just faintly the outlines of the room present are present, showing through him. A bitter taste in the back of his throat and he swallows, again, but manages to say, out loud, "Are you real?"

Dean looks up at him, brow furrowed. Could ask you the same thing, sport. Sam laughs, sort of, caught in his throat, and Dean's face changes. Jesus, you look like shit.

"Thanks," Sam says. Dean flickers again and it's nauseating to see the blank space where he was, even if he half-solidifies a second later. "God. I—can't believe this is happening."

Okay, but what is happening, Dean says, and looks around again. This isn't… He shakes his head and even half-there Sam can see the confusion, the annoyance at the confusion. His brother. His chest aches. I wasn't here. Where's here?

"Texas," Sam says. He still hasn't caught the name of the town. He reaches out because he can't not and his fingers brush—what? Nothing. The air's insubstantial because it's air. Dean looks down at his chest where Sam's not touching him and he says, very quiet, shit , and then he looks up and says shit, Sam , more loudly, and he reaches up and doesn't touch Sam's face because of course he can't, and it's only then that Sam realizes he's crying.

Hey , Dean says, and Sam shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, although of course it's not fine. Dean's eyes, concerned, and his nose with the bump Sam's so often traced with one finger, and his mouth, full and worried. He passes his thumb over where he ought to be able to touch Dean's bottom lip and Dean's eyelids flicker, his mouth parting. Sam shakes his head again, dizzy. Dean. He didn't think he'd see him again, outside of an afterlife he hadn't yet decided to try for.

Texas, huh? Dean says, after a few seconds. He smiles, fake devil-may-care, the expression that Sam's always loved and kind of wanted to smack him for, in equal measure. He looks Sam up and down, and raises his eyebrows, and says, guess it's true they make things bigger here, and it's only then that Sam remembers that he's naked, and even like this, a ghost or a hallucination or a fever-dream, Dean can make him roll his eyes. Dean's grin widens and he passes a never-there touch over Sam's bare chest. Hey, slugger, can't blame me for—

He disappears.

Sam stands there, alone, for a few seconds. He breathes deep, in and out. He passes his hand through the space where Dean wasn't and of course there's nothing there, and then he sits back down, on the bed, braced on his knees, looking at the faded plaid of the wallpaper and the day through the flimsy curtain. His face is still wet and so he knows—he hasn't cried, since that day, so he knows that something happened today that was different from all the ones that came before it. Dean's dead, gone, and yet he isn't. Sam licks his lips. That means there's—something to do.

*

He eats. He sleeps. He goes and picks up the car, and the mechanic looks less concerned when Sam takes the keys. He goes back to the room and reads a book, for a few hours, and doesn't remember a thing when he lifts his eyes from the page. He showers, again, before bed, and when he comes out the room is hot, and he taps the air conditioner and realizes, shit. Busted.

The clerk in the office is unhelpful. "I can move your room," he says, reluctant to do even that, but Sam's not leaving the room where he saw Dean. "Maintenance guy quit, so we're gonna have to call someone, might be a day or two."

Sam looks at him and chews the inside of his cheek. "You have the last guy's tools?"

He's never fixed an air conditioner but he knows how to use the internet. It turns out it's a little harder than the diagrams make it look. While he's got sweat between his shoulderblades and he's considering percussive maintenance that there's a huff of a laugh, behind him, and Dean says dude, you look like you're gonna have a stroke .

Behind him, raised eyebrows and amusement. A cut on his cheek—new? From what? "Sue me," Sam says, irritated. "I didn't go to HVAC school." Dean's grinning and the irritation washes away like it was never there. Sam steps forward and Dean's face changes, too, looking all over him. "Dean," Sam says, and feels— "Where are you? What's going on?"

Dean shakes his head. You know as much as I do, man. He hesitates. It's like—I've been asleep and I just woke up, but I can't remember what I was dreaming about.

Are you dead. The sentence forms under Sam's tongue and he swallows it. If Dean doesn't know then asking won't help, and if he is then Sam's sunk the same way he's been for the last month. Are you real is the next question, but then if he's not real then that means Sam's crazy, and Sam knows from crazy and, really, if he is, this is the best crazy he could hope for.

Dean's looking at him, not smiling at all, now. I miss you , Dean says, unexpectedly. He flickers—like he did before, a projection cutting out—but he's shaking his head hard when he resolidifies. Shit. I don't—I don't know what that is. I don't get it. You're right here and I'm missing you. How does that work?

"I don't know," Sam says, "but I know exactly what you mean."

The corner of Dean's mouth turns up, but it's not glad. Sam breathes out slowly, the hard knot of grief in his chest barely allayed. 

It feels impossible. Maybe it is. He doesn't try to reach out again and neither does Dean. Dean's eyes flick up to the A/C unit and he jerks his chin. You need to take out the compressor , he says. Check the fuse box. I can walk you through it.

Sam's eyes are hot. "I know how to check a fuse," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows at him. "Not completely useless."

Prove it , Dean says. Bitch .

Sam rolls his eyes and turns away so Dean won't see that they're wet, and does.

*

Dean comes and goes according to some clock Sam doesn't get to see. Most days, Sam doesn't do much. He eats, showers, shits, sleeps. He watches bad daytime TV and not-much-better nighttime TV. He reads. He takes the car out on drives through the country. Flat around here, and what little green there is browning in the heat of summer. The office manager says he can stay at the motel for free if he keeps fixing things and so he does, and sometimes he's got his head under a kitchenette sink trying to figure out how not to dump backed-up foulness onto his face when there's a presence, all of a sudden, and his brother's voice saying why the hell are you using that wrench?

Sam's alone except when he's with Dean. The days smooth out into a routine. He wakes up sometimes and Dean's sitting there, on the edge of the bed somehow even though he can't really touch anything, and Dean'll say took you long enough, sleeping beauty , and Sam will roll his eyes and say, "Look who's talking, didn't you sleep through an actual earthquake once?" and Dean will grin and Sam will stretch out on his back and they'll bicker about the time in Portland, Maine, when Dad tanned both their hides for not being ready for the werewolf hunt at midnight, and they both insisted it was the other's job to set the alarm. I told you , Dean'll say, eyes crinkled like he's trying not to laugh, and Sam'll launch into his theory about how Dean's memory is shot from too much booze, and they'll waste the time, that way, ragging on each other. Other times Dean will be quiet, and so Sam will too, and they'll look at each other with their hands an inch apart on the blanket, and Dean will say, after a while, you remember? and Sam won't know what he's referring to, exactly, but he'll swallow and he'll say that, yeah, yeah. He remembers.

Moonlight makes Dean's face a strange, alien blue. In the day he's golden, gorgeous, cracks jokes and makes fun of the way Sam holds a screwdriver. Sometimes he has bruises; sometimes there's blood dried on the angles of his eyesocket. Once he shows up holding his ribs like something got him, wherever he is, and he just sits with his back to the kitchen cabinets while Sam fixes a garbage disposal and rambles about some time in Tulane when he dropped a ghoul and then banged a supermodel, that same night. "Oh, really," Sam says, pulling open the gears while he tries not to think about splintered bones, about the fragility of lungs, about the soft vulnerable edge of Dean's beating heart. "Tyra Banks or Kate Moss?"

Okay, Dean says, and does it sound thin? Hurt? So maybe not a 'super' model. But she was hot. He rolls his head to look at Sam and winks. Not as hot as some people, though. Don't worry .

"I was in a panic," Sam says, dry, and Dean chuffs laughing and then coughs, pained, and says, nodding at Sam's job, you're gonna want a 5/8ths for that , and in the next second he's gone. Sam braces his hands on the counter and breathes deep for a solid minute, bleeding inside his chest, before he goes into the toolbox, and gets the 5/8ths wrench.

*

The first time they were young, even if at the time Sam would've said otherwise. Their dad was gone and they were alone, really alone, for the first time in their lives—only, they weren't. They'd never been. An argument and a bad night and going out and finding Dean sitting on the hood of some wreck in Bobby's junkyard, and they'd said—he can't remember. Not everything. He does remember very precisely the moment when he gripped Dean's wrist and Dean looked up at him like he was surprised and Sam had said, you know, Dean, you know what I— and Dean had covered Sam's mouth with three fingers like it wouldn't be true, if he didn't say it. But then he tugged his hand away and he leaned up and kissed Sam, anyway, so it didn't matter so much, if Sam said it or didn't. That was the first time.

Over the years they fell closer together and farther apart. They hurt each other, sometimes so badly Sam thought it'd be forever broken and he'd just have to live that way, with his ribs split apart, bleeding where anyone could see. When they came back together it felt like nothing could ever split them up again. Not demons, or angels, or death.

The last time, they were in a cabin in Montana, and they were going to do something nuts in the morning. What else was new. It was quick, and then it was slow, and afterward Dean lay half-sprawled over Sam's chest, the two of them sticking together with sweat and worse, and Dean tipped his forehead against Sam's collarbone and sighed. This is such a dumb plan , he said, and Sam drew two fingers up from between his shoulderblades to the little soft hollow at the top of his spine, where his hair was shorn to velvet, and where Sam tended to bury his nose, when they slept in the same bed. When they let themselves do that. Yeah, Sam said, after too long, but when has that ever stopped us? Dean snorted, and rolled away, and Sam curled behind him that night in the too-small bed, and in the morning, for once, Dean woke up first, and he smacked Sam's shin and said come on, sleeping beauty, time to ride , and Sam groaned and got up and didn't think about it, much, and then that night Dean was dead. Gone, or dead.

He thinks about it, now. What he would've done, if he knew that was the last time he'd be allowed to touch his brother. What he might've said, if they'd had the chance. Before hell—before hell for both of them—they'd known what was coming down the pipe, and they'd been scared, and they hadn't screwed either time, or slept together, even. They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, staying awake past midnight and through to dawn, and when it was time—they'd gotten in a goodbye, each of them, and Sam had ached to know how little that was. How it wasn't enough. This time—he didn't get a goodbye. He gets to look, but not touch. He gets to smile at him nearly every day and he gets Dean's jokes and his ridiculous stories and his safe, sure guidance, his eyes on Sam's speaking the promise they always gave each other—and it isn't, it isn't nearly, it isn't close, to enough.

*

Summer passes into fall, and fall into winter. Sam doesn't reach for the wrong wrench as often. He takes a drive through a cool twilight and when he opens the motel room door with a six-pack in hand, Dean appears one second later, looking out at the car through the window, and he says hey, how's the carb treating you?

He sits at the table in the room, taking the carburetor apart piece by careful piece. Dean looks over his shoulder, leaning on the table (somehow), pointing out where Sam's screwing it up (constantly). "Maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck," Sam says, and Dean snorts and says wouldn't have to if you'd ever paid attention to anything that wasn't Eskimo poetry , and then Sam tells Dean that Eskimo isn't an appropriate word to use, and Dean tells Sam that he need to clear the sand out of his vagina, and—it's not enough, but god if Sam isn't happier than he's been in—how long? Since the last time Dean was sitting right there, with his arms folded over the back of a chair, grinning at Sam and getting under his skin and just being—everything. Everything that mattered.

It starts to rain, before Sam's done. He leaves all the parts spread out and clean to dry on the table and sinks onto the couch with his beer, and Dean looking at him still from his backwards perch on the chair, and his grin softened down to something else. "What," Sam says, tipping his head against the wall. He's feeling mellow. In pain, maybe crazy. Content. Desperate. The usual. He's gotten used to it. Thinking maybe it'll be this way, ever after. Thinking he can handle it, if that's so. Dean's here even if he's not here, and that means that Sam doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Dean's got a bruise on his cheekbone, again. A cut on his lower lip. He looks tired. He flickers, precursor maybe to disappearing, but he stays. In the dim light he looks almost real. Almost present, like Sam could reach out and get his hand around his jaw and tell him everything he's ever thought, everything he ever wished for the two of them. How he meant it, when he told Dean there was nothing he wouldn't do. Even live, if that's what it came down to, just for the hope to see Dean's face, one more time.

The rain's loud, on the eaves of the motel. Dean hasn't said anything. Still just watching, his eyes steady. His mouth that soft curve. "What?" Sam says, again.

Oh, Dean says, quiet. You know.

Sam does.

[bloodpenned]

Based this on the ask where Kylar kidnaps PC and PC dies.

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

It took Kylar a moment to register where he was when he looked around, with eyelids only half-way open and limbs still heavy with sleep. He was a little surprised though, as recognition set in, for he had never expected another morning to come where he would be greeted by the striped wallpaper and soft carpet of his room.

It was nothing compared to your lodgings in his basement, with the stone floor and stained walls. He truly wished he could've kept you in a nicer place, one with a hardwood floor, and with walls painted your favourite colour, or at least had the strenght to bring you down some proper furniture instead of making you eat at a folding table and sleep in a makeshift bed.

Thinking of your marital bed, one question, as if lightning, suddenly hit him. Why wasn't he there? Kylar had no doubts he had fallen asleep in the basement, with your cold hand on his cheek and your body so close your ribs would've shattered had he held you any closer.

His unfocused eyes blinked once, twice, thrice, before they filled with horror upon his realization.

Dear God... Somebody had moved him. Somebody was down in the basement.

Blanket tossed off, doors thrown open, he ran to the basement, only to stop at the last second, hand hovering just above the light switch.

He took a deep, shaky breath. He had to stay calm. He couldn't afford to panic now.

Light flooded the basement with a warm glow, and as the single lightbulb filled the silence with it's faint buzzing, he fell to the floor. There was no sign of you.

It took Kylar thirty minutes to climb back to his room. Another ten was needed to gather the courage and grab his phone. He dreaded it, but he had to talk to his parents. They were the only ones that could've taken you. Or you have risen from the dead, but he wasn't naive enough to consider that for more than a moment.

When he finally opened his phone, his eyes fixated on the time, not wanting to look at his wallpaper. But his eyes couldn't help but wander, and his heart ached at the sight.

It was a photo of you, unsurprisingly. He had taken it not too long ago. It was a rainy day, and the two of you took shelter in the library. At one point you had stood up and went to the window, looking so peaceful as youtry to see the courtyard through the heavy curtains of rain obscuring your view.

He missed that look in your eyes. Oh, how he had robbed you of life.

Still dreading to talk to his parents, when he saw his phone had the wrong date, he quickly made it priority to fix it. He had lost track of time long ago, so the only way he could tell what day it was was to look at his digital alarm clock... Which read the exact same date as his phone, november 3rd. Nearly a month ago.

Then he took to the internet to search for the time. Then the news channel. Then the newspaper.

All read november 3rd.

He didn't know what to think of it. This whole situation was absurd. Could have the last month been a dream? It was utterly unrealistic, but even the thought of it only being a sick vision made his heart flutter with hope.

There was only one way to know. He had to find you.

You weren't at the orphanage when he climbed up to your window, though with it being 8:30 he could excuse that. He had to excuse it. If only to keep the small slither of hope within him alive for just a little longer.

His feet didn't hurt as he ran to school, nor did he care to hear the insults thrown at him as he pushed through the crowd in desperate search of the shade of your hair or the silvery sound of your voice.

Soon the hallway cleared and you were nowhere. He spent the next two classes restlessly. Leaving and reentering the school, strolling the backyard, guarding the bathrooms.

Kylar knew he was going to fall flat on his face. He must have read the calendar wrong, must have missed the missing poster of you adorning the school billboard and must have only made up how your bed looked slept in when he peeked through your window.

And then English came. He rushed to the classroom and took his seat before most students had even left their previous classes, and waited. Every second was agonizing. His heart hammered in his throat, his stomach, all his limbs were pulsing with worry and nervousness and confusion, and every time someone walked in who wasn't you, he felt like he was going to burst open at the seams, his classmates baring witness to his exposed flesh.

The seats filled.

Doren came in.

And there was no sign of you.

He didn't hear anything Doren said in the next five minutes. He just wanted to die. He was a murderer. And he murdered you of all people, the one he was supposed to protect, and cherish, and love till death did you part, and even after that. He was a monster. Worse than Whitney, worse than that goddamn caretaker of yours, worse than every single pervert in this town combined.

And then the door opened. And you walked in.

Dear Lord, you were so beautiful. With your hands nervously clutching your backpack, your face glistening with sweat and your eyes shining with such liveliness Kylar didn't know when he saw last.

Dear Lord, you were beautiful. And he decided you belonged here. Not with him in some dingy basement that barely has heating and smelled like sewage water when you first entered it.

He wasn't going to bring you back there. Ever. He wasn't going to let his jealousy get a hold of him again. He was going to bear every ounce your unfaithfulness like a man. Quietly, forgivingly, lovingly. If only he could just see the life shine in your eyes like that every single day of his life.

Doren was already back to writing on the board when you sat down beside Kylar. He looked at you for a moment, hand gripping his pencil. He wanted to say so many things to you. How he missed you, how breathtaking you looked, how he loved you with every single joint of his body, but a faint 'Hello.' was all he was able to get out.

Your answer was a smile, and through the haze of his happiness, he couldn't see how strained it was.

It was raining that day too, and the two of you took shelter in the library again. He didn't take his eyes off of you as you watched the courtyard through the window, unbothered by the curtains of rain falling from the sky.

Then you sat down beside him, and he reached for your hand quickly. He longed to feel the warmth of your skin again.

But you pulled your hand away and his loudly smacked against the table.

'My love?' he muttered as he lifted his head to look at you. A fiery glare greeted him, one full of hate and anger.

'God sees everything.' you said 'You will have your rightful place in Hell.'

And you turned to leave.

ANON YOUR MIND!!!!!! THIS IS SO GOOD???? GENUINELY. IVE REREAD THIS 3 TIMES NOW SDFLJSLDKF

kylar's prayers were heard, and he got what he wanted, but you will remain forever out of reach to him... do you think that's the first taste of his eternal punishment? whatever deity reached out and offered 'mercy' made it so his reason to live would want nothing to do with him anymore. ever.

he can see you, he can follow you, he can know you live, but it will be a life he will never be a part of. and if he is genuine in his desire never to kidnap you again, he will have to come to terms with this.

[hanibalistic]

#FDD7E4 | YANG JEONGIN.

genre | fluff

word count | 1330

warning | none

note | this is so self-indulgent, i need a sleepy jeongin in my life ;-;

the alarm did not wake you in the morning, instead, it was the pitter-pattering of the heavy rain outside the window that made you jolt from your sleep.

it was a delight to see that the sky was dim when you opened your eyes, and the curtains closing over the window made your shared room even darker than normal. the weather felt cold even under the warm covers—one thick blanket, one fluffy blanket, and a thinner blanket going on top. but the soft boy sleeping beside you makes you radiate such an endearing heat that the winter cold couldn't even begin to compare.

it was probably around nine-fifteen o' clock. you wake up in the early morning every monday and wednesday because of an unfortunate class schedule, but with the beginning of remote learning, you have been able to cut yourself some slack and stay in bed while you listen to the lecture. you never knew why you set up an alarm, though, you always wake up before it rings.

shifting under the covers, you reached over for the nightstand and brought your phone to you. your eyes squinted at the brightness of the screen when you turned it on, and you quickly tapped to turn off your alarm before slamming it back onto the nightstand once again. you rubbed your eyes, trying to get the ringing of the loud screen away from your eyes, and you turned to the side so you could leave the bed.

a pair of hands reached out for your waist when you moved, and jeongin groggily circled his arms around your torso when he felt you leave the warm spot of the bed. you hummed in surprise at the feeling of his ever-tightening embrace. he was never a deep sleeper, but you didn't anticipate such a small movement to alert his exhausted state.

"where are you going?" he slurred out lowly, pressing his face to your back and nudging his cheek against your shoulder blade.

you patted his hand with an uncontrolled smile, turning your head to look behind your shoulder slightly as you replied, "to get my laptop. i have history class, jeong."

it took him a second to process your words. he couldn't hear much, just the word laptop and class, and he assumed it had something to do with school so he slowly released his grip on you. you sighed, dropping your bare feet on the cold ground and tip-toeing over to your desk where your laptop laid fully charged.

you perched your leg up when you got back onto the bed, sliding under the blankets and getting comfortable before plopping the device on your lap and opening it.

jeongin squinted his eyes at your screen, his head moving to hide in his arm, but you turned down the brightness so quickly that he didn't get the time to complain. you clicked against the mouse pad, navigating through the school assigned website and finding your lecture link. meanwhile, he listened with his eye closed.

the rain fell heavy outside, almost drowning out the sound of your breathing in which he loved to hear so much. your tapping and typing sounds were loud, but that was only because he chose to lay so close to your spot that he could hear them more clearly.

turning away from the black hole of his elbow, he peeked an eye open at the screen and frowned at the box that told you to wait for the meeting to start. shifting about slowly, he scooted closer to you and once again, snuck his arms around your body.

you moved to accommodate his position, letting him swing his leg behind and a fraction beneath your laptop, letting his arms pull your half sat up body close, and he put his head on your chest as a pillow.

"history class?" he asked in a mumble, his voice muffled with sleepiness and the thick fabric of your sweater. his eyes have opened a fraction, staring at the loading button on the screen, then he scoffed in dismay, remembering his school days as he snuggled further into your side.

you smiled when you felt him relax against you, his body exhaling completely as he let his wakefulness go. his cheek smushed against the side of your chest, the chubbiness jutting out and his eyes dozed off into one faint line—he would look ridiculous if you didn't love him so much.

throwing an arm around his shoulder, you placed your hand on his head to give him comforting head pats. you giggled lightheartedly when he smiled, a blatantly bright smile where his lips were pursed and his eyes arch into two crescent moons.

"yeah, still waiting for the professor to start."

"oh... someone might be late," he chuckled slowly, tilting his head to adjust his position before settling down again.

you laughed airily, still stroking his hair softly as if to lure him to sleep. that would probably be the best option. you wouldn't want to keep him awake for no reason when he could barely get any decent sleep as an idol. you wouldn't even bother with spending more time with him, you just wanted him to get some rest before the next busy comeback.

besides, being like this, being here, with his arms around you all sleepy and soft, with his head on your chest all cozy and warm. there was nothing more you could wish for from jeongin. without doing anything, at least not anything grand and magnificent, he was already providing you with such blooming affection that you felt enough just to be able to see him first thing the morning.

"when is your class?" he asked casually, breaking the silence with a low mumble.

"at nine-twenty, but this professor is always a little late," you said, clicking away to check your lecture link and to make sure you had not pressed the wrong class.

"that's not good," he said, looking up and pointing his chin on the side of your chest. "being tardy is a big no-no."

"well, maybe she is having technical difficulties, those could take a minute to fix," you said. "cut her some slacks."

"still," he whined, curling you to him with furrowed brows and pouty lips. "i'm just bitter. we are supposed to be sleeping together, why did the school have to ruin that."

"the class will be over in no time, and then i will cuddle you back to sleep," you said after a laugh. "i promise."

he hummed in disregard, although very much loving the idea. from the looks of the weather outside, he could probably persuade you to stay in bed for the whole day and just order takeout you two could eat on the bed without the risk of making a mess. perhaps some jajangmyeon, or bibimbap, and some drinks... ah, just thinking about lazing on the bed with food and the internet all day sounded like heaven to him.

not to mention he could finally spend some time with you after your ever-conflicting schedules. texting, and calling, and the brief kisses on the cheek after you run to the company with food and immediately have to run back to class were simply not sufficient enough for his needed daily dose of affection.

"how long will the class be?" he asked.

"about forty-five minutes," you replied, causing him to grumble.

"that's long."

"so wait," you said casually. seeing that the screen changed, prompting you to unmute your microphone, you immediately clicked on the option and the laptop brought you to the lecture. "the class is starting, just go to sleep and i'll join you."

jeongin scoffed, casting a glance at your teacher on the screen before he looked away. he pressed his ear against your chest and focused on feeling your heartbeat—one, two, three, one, two, three.

his arms curled around you, his eyes feeling droopy. he could fall asleep like this. he always does.

[bugsy-maria]

Tenth Doctor x Reader

(Y/N)'s POV

I sat on my bed waiting for my bad connection to just magically get better. The google meeting popped up and popped up with the, "Contact your system administrator for more information" screen again. I swear the hardest thing so far has been not getting a good enough internet connection. I groaned in frustration for the hundredth time this morning. The sounds of London's busy street sounded in the distance, the sound of cabbies being hauled coming from outside my window was less than distant though. My neighbor shot bullets at the wall earlier this morning causing me to wake up, but I think he went out on a case a while ago as it's too quiet in his flat. Ahh, the sounds of Baker Street never get old.

I live in a flat with my mother and brother, who are some of the hardest people to talk to I swear. I slammed my computer shut. I gripped locks of my hair and pulled, not too hard but just enough to let my stress out. My breath caught in my throat as I heard a noise. A noise that only a few words can describe. The first one to pop into my head is, 'whooping' but maybe 'mysterious' could work too. I looked to where the noise was coming from. My hands still tangled in my hair.

In the corner of my room, through my fingers, I saw a blue box that said 'police public call box'. It was one that I only saw in a television show I watched as a kid. TARDIS I think it was called. A time machine that could also take you anywhere in the universe. And, if im correct, this box comes with a man inside. Upon remembering my fascinations with this man and box, I leaped into the air and off my bed, causing me to hit the floor with a thud.

My feet captured within my covers. I Quickly untangle myself and stumbled across the floorboards. I stood up straight and dusted myself off as I stood in front of the tardis blue doors. I pushed on them, I was half expecting them to be locked. Once opened, I looked inside with amazement, It looked different than what I remember. I saw a man in the center, at the control panel. I stepped in, and as soon as I did the TARDIS started to shake. I fell to the ground, and I fell hard.

"Finally!" a shout from the man came. I shakingly pushed myself up. I stood up leaning against the railing.

"Huh, so it is real." the astonishment got more and more prominent toward the end of the sentence. The man quickly turned around. I let go of the railing and continued looking at the scenery.

"What are you doing in here?!"

"What were you doing in my room?" I questioned and started walking to the middle, where the man of my fantasies stood.

"It was an accident."

"Then me being here is also an accident," I stated. My hand guiding on the rail around the console.

"Don't touch anything!" he shouted as he ran up to me and moved me to sit on the companion seat.

"I'm tacking you back home."

"No!" I shouted, "There's still so many things I need to see, doctor!" I pleaded while I landed on the holey ground. This has been my dream from when I was a kid, and there was no way an 800-year-old alien was gonna take that away from me.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, getting his screwdriver out from the inside pocket in his suit coat.

"Oh please, it's not your name it's your title. And I know that because you're on the telly sometimes. Though I don't know which generation you are." I spoke knowingly yet curious.

"Tenth, im taking you home." "But-"

"Now." his stern voice roared (RAWR X3 nuzzles pounces on you UwU you're so warm) and his stern face glared in my direction. I slumped back into the companion's seat with a torn look sketched onto my face. I hear him click and bang a couple of things before resting one hand on the panel and the other lost within his locks.

"So does that mean I can stay?" I asked hopefully.

"Absolutely not. once I get her fixed, you're going back where you came from," he said while grabbing a red toolbox from the ground and walking to the other side of the shining teal pillar, and hopping through the rails. I bounced up off the chair and to the doors. "Don't you open those doors!" he shouted.

of course, I didn't listen, I mean why would I? this is a once in a lifetime experience. I swung the doors open and saw a scene that I couldn't put into words. but I'll try. the ground was a reddish-orange colour and the sky a bright green with a red sun-like object resting over the horizon. the terrain was mountainous. in the distance, I saw something that looked like a village. I closed the doors behind me and ran. it was a good minute or two before I reached where the village was.

the streets were decorated in star-designed banners and were crowded with aliens of different species buying things that went along with the star/space theme. I continued to squeeze my way through the people. I saw a line leading to a stadium. wanting to know what was in there I quickly joined. the wait wasn't nearly as long as the line so I got in pretty quick.

I took a seat and saw the sky had changed into a dark purple. I saw billions of stars, hundreds of galaxies, and so many nebulas I couldn't count them. my jaw dropped at the most beautiful sight.

"There you are, I told you-" I looked at the voice and saw the doctor. I knew that he was going to be mad at me but I was too happy to care. "Why are you crying?" he asked, taking a seat next to me. my head tilted as I moved my hand up to my face, and sure enough, I felt tears.

"I'm just so happy I guess," I said with a closed-eyed smile. I looked back up to the stars, ever since I was a kid all I wanted to do was travel the stars before my dad died whenever there was a meteor shower or the milky way could be seen or even when you could see the planets in the night sky, we would always go to the middle of nowhere and camp to see the stars in all of there glory.

"They're just stars." I heard the doctor say, in the corner of my eye I could see him staring up at them too.

"They may be stars to you but to me, this is my childhood dream come true." I said with a large smile. " you know how I said you would be on a show in the telly? I would stay awake all night dreaming of the day that you would pop up in my room and id run away from my life and see the stars with you. that's why I didn't want to go back home." I looked at him through teary eyes, "I just wanted to see the stars and galaxies and all of the nebulas up close. to travel the stars just like my dad wanted." I smiled so wide while tears streamed down my face fast and into my mouth. he looked at me and gave me a one-armed hug, pulling me close to him.

we stayed like that for hours, watching the stars. he pointed at them and told me the name and stories of each one, along with the planets beyond them. I fell asleep on his shoulder and woke up in one of the rooms in the TARDIS. I was surprised that I was even there still. I was sure that he would have brought me home by now.

I got up from the bed and quickly put on my shoes, and walked out to the console room.

"Oh! Good you're up!" he jumped up and down, "So where to now! I heard that the planet Hat-P-7b is in rain season this time of year, oh or we could even go to J1407b, they have amazing crapes, though they don't call it crapes..." he went on and on about the planets we could go to. to say the least, I was happy. too happy that I was scared it was a dream. "So, where to?" he asked, leaning forward waiting for my answer.

"Somewhere amazing," I said with a smile, excited for the adventures that I was going to have with this man.

[shortyisweird9]

'Lonely ghost serie'

Quiet Night - part I

Tw: swearing ⚠️

It all started on a quiet night, the raining outside trying desperately to calm your nerves. To stop this feeling of shutting down that creeps down your back.

You don't know why you feel like this, why your internal organs feel like they will give up on you any second, why your lungs seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, why you couldn't sleep and why you couldn't keep your mind quiet. Your anxiety made you feel like every you think you have will be gone on the blink of the eye, your depression made you feel worthless, just a waste of space, time, money and resources. A nothing that won't be missed if something were to happened to it. But they were wrong , you were more than that.

You sighed, licking your dry lips as your tired eyes watched the dark room. Shadows that made your imagination ran wilde. When you were a kid , you used to be afraid of the dark ,now you found solace in it. Shelter from the loud,obnoxious, scary world that was outside of your small house.

What I won't give from some water.

You didn't want to get up as you fixed your disheveled clothes on your plump body but you couldn't sleep on the overturned bed or have any wish to hop on YouTube or any crime investigation shows. You couldn't shout at your cat to bring you water, she will ignore you anyway.

You sighed, cleaning your eyes fron what remained of your tears before sucking in the walls of your mouth to create some interesting sounds of boredom.

As your mind did the excruciatingly hard task of thinking, your phone binged. A message but from who?

It was from your friend, Sabrina. She is an avid player of Among us even start a channel called dum Red where she and other classmates played. You are cool with the game ,not your favourite but a good pass up time.

"Hey, what's up?" She wrote.

"This early you are up?"

"Yeah ,why not."

"*?"

"You will be dead tomorrow. "

"I suffer for the entertainment of others."

You laughed as you imagined the face full of tiredness of your friend. You were the night owl of the group but she... she is an imposter. Trying to pass up as a night owl but she is just a morning seagull.

"So.. wanna come up on the feed? =))"

"Hmm..you sure? I don't want to fuck up your stream."

"Nonsense, they will love you."

You sighed, it's not like you had anything better to do.

"Fine."

"Yayyyy💖💖"

You groaned as your eyes burned from the brightness of the monitor, the writing hazy as ever. You moved to get your glasses from the night table, stretching and sighing when you heard the satisfying pop from your lower back. As you let Windows ran its course ,you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, cold water was superior by a long shot. Your cat was watching you with her big yellow eyes. You baby talked with her for a bit ,petting her then washing your hands.

The invitation of the link long send ,was quickly tapped in.

"Hey ,guys! Welcome back!" Your friend's voice ran in your room before you entered the headphones cord.

"Guys, I told you it was pink. You never believe me."

You smiled as the usual banter raged on , nice to know that even at this hour people were more alive than asleep.

"Yeah, yeah. Roberts you always complain."

"Because I am always right."

"Cool your jets ,Jamal. Don't pull out the 9."

They laughed at their friend's expanse.

"Whatever."

"Um ,Red?"

"Yeah , Steve? What's up?"

"The sky."

"Robert, shut."

"Um..who is ghost?"

"Who? Ah! Everyone ,please say hi to my friend, Y- ghost!"

The loud chorus of salutations hit your ears as their characters circled around your still one. It was white with red pointy horns ,you liked the aesthetic of it.

"Um..ghost? Are you-..Are you there?"

"Ghost?"

You sighed, getting ready to talk after making sure it was on.

"Ghost? Hey, it's okay. We don't bite." A worried voice calm you a bit.

"Not too hard, ha."

"Ghost!"

"Ghost!"

"Ghost!"

They all began hitting on the desks with their fists to create a beat. Poor desks.

"Gho-"

"'Sup motherfuckers."

The quiet settled in, making your dread more prominent and your skin tingle. You wanted to say something but the boys and girls beat you to it:

"OH MY - FUCKING- GOD!"

"NO FUCKING WAY!"

"What the fuck? Sovereign is that you?"

"Red you didn't tell us your friends with a MOTHERFUCKING reaper."

You laughed as the voice changer made it deeper, mechanic but enought to ignite something judging by the face of your school pal , Matthew.

"What's the manner toots? My voice is too much to handle?"

They were quiet again as Matthew cleaned his throat to finally address.

"Very funny, best friend. I am dying of laughter. "

He smiled though, knowing you were just teasing him.

"The matter of death remains to be determine."

"Phew ,is it hot in here or it's just..."

"You. It's just you." You spoke watching the blond boy with milk skin and acne scars move his green shirt to cool off, you chuckled at this.

People are so easy to get a reaction from. Not like you, yourself, haven't been affected by the charm of a deep voice.

"Ready to play?" Came the cheery voice of Sabrina as you watched her move in the chair, playing with her sand blonde curls and wearing your lavender hoodie.

"You still haven't got me the hoodie back, Red."

"Yeah, Red. You don't want Sovereign daddy to be mad,do you?"

You snorted in an ugly manner at the nicknamed a dude called David put you. He had a small moustache, black curls fit in a square like afro. He may be the Arab friend Sabrina told you about. He seemed nice, maybe a bit shy but then again so were you. Hmm...not shy,more like reserved. You liked being alone but you also craved the touch of another being.

"Mommy, David, mommy. "

"Ooooh!"

"Alright you horny bitches ,time to play."

With that Sabrina began the match as your smirk grew when the word IMPOSTER was displayed on your screen.

Time to kill some bitches.

————————————————————

In the other corner of the internet, Corpse was getting ready to hop on another live stream with Jackie boy and Pewds. He loved how his life changed , how his supporters were kind and understanding. He was still nervous yes but the thrill was outweighed by the happiness of just being around so many good people.

His phone started to blow up as he was putting his headphones. People were tagging him on a small video of an Among us live stream, he pressed play not thinking much about the title of the video : HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!!

The film started with the host presenting their friends who seemed to by a bit scared of saying hi. The others started cheering them on but stopped abruptly when a deep mechanical voice hit their audio. It was from a voice changer no doubt but still..it shocked them as it did for him.

His eyes skipped on the funny comments left by his fans. Some where calling them his twin, other called for a collab and others thought it was actually he who spoke.

The other thing that stood out was the match. Ghost as she calls herself ended their match in one go... by killing all of them except the other imposter. He smiled at that , impressed of the skill of a casual player as her friend dum Red said she was.

A notification came from Discord, it was Lily. She send the same video he's been watching with the caption: Hey, guys! Look what I found.

The others flooded the chat with their own reaction as he drank his boba tea. The consensus was that they wanted to play with this person. His smile grew was the word 'yes' was sent.

This will be fun.

————————————————————

Hey guys! 💖

Hope you liked the first part of the serie! Feel free to comment your thoughts and opinions but please be nice and respectful. 👉🥺👈

Anyway, see yah!

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “Risks and Consequences” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Crowley surprises Aziraphale with a surprise skating excursion on Christmas night during a suspicious snowstorm. (1436 words)

Read on AO3.

“You do enjoy shoving me headfirst out of my comfort zones. Don’t you, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, warily watching his husband strap a stiff black boot to his foot. 

“Poppycock,” Crowley grumbles, struggling to unknot long laces he accidentally macramed while attempting to navigate the rows of eyelets and hooks. “Consider this an adventure.”

“This is certifiable! You do know that?”

“How? You’re an angel! What on Earth could happen to you?”

“A great many things, I imagine,” Aziraphale replies. It’s a thin response. Crowley can tell Aziraphale has a thought, a vivid one, of something plausible. 

Something that has him concerned. 

Crowley stops messing with the skate and looks into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale's gaze ducks and dodges, bouncing from his hands to his knees to other random things inside the confines of Crowley’s Bentley. But Aziraphale can’t avoid Crowley’s gaze, nor Crowley himself, for too long. “Sometimes, I feel as if, one of these days, I’m going to snap my fingers, and nothing will happen. Heaven will have found a way to make me mortal or …”

“Or abandoned you altogether?”

Aziraphale nods sadly. “Yes.”

“I get those thoughts, too, sometimes,” Crowley admits, going back to fixing his angel’s skate. “Too often, really. Which probably explains why you use your magic so rarely, and I use mine all the time.”

“You’re always double-checking."

“And you’d rather not know.”

“Losing my powers wouldn’t be the worst part. Inconvenient, yes, but not terrible. Abandoned by Heaven …” Aziraphale's words drift off, but their meaning lingers, clinging to Crowley's heart and building like the snow outside their windows.

Crowley winks at his husband, trying to get him to smile, to laugh, to roll his eyes and groan Oh Lord! “It’s not so bad ..."  

“... once you get used to it. So you keep telling me,” Aziraphale teases, gifting his husband with the tiniest of grins, gone all too swiftly. “Are you truly afraid of being abandoned by Hell?”

"Ngk ..." Crowley’s shoulders bounce a shrug back and forth as he thinks over his answer “... nah. Not really. They've already tried to exterminate me once, haven't they? It’s the consequences that come with it that would really suck: being mortal, having no powers, growing old …” Crowley’s eyes meet Aziraphale’s - melancholy blue eyes exposing those same fears, a subject his angel hasn’t felt comfortable bringing up before tonight. He still doesn’t seem comfortable with it, tight-lipped as an oyster. “But let’s not talk about that now,” Crowley suggests. “Tonight is for having ridiculous amounts of fun. Stirring up a little mayhem.”

“We’re going to get into trouble,” Aziraphale laments. “With the humans, I mean.”

“Nonsense. They'll never even know we were here."

“There are security cameras everywhere!”

“When was the last time you got caught doing anything on CCTV? It would be all over the Internet if you had! I'll fix it. You'll see.”

“By wasting another miracle? Or do you have a small army of rodents positioned on light poles, waiting to do your bidding?”

“Besides,” Crowley continues, overlooking the jab at what was one of his more masterfully executed, if not elaborate, schemes, “I’m not sure this is actually illegal. As long as we abide by all traffic laws and posted speed limits.”

“Where did you even get this idea?”

“From YouTube. The youths do it - barrel down frozen roads wearing bicycle helmets and hockey skates.”

"You're getting your evil ideas from children?" Aziraphale tuts. “Aren’t you supposed to be the bad influence? Not the other way around?”

“No shame in finding inspiration outside your own head.”

“Yes, well, I hope you skate better than you drive.”

“Oi! I am an excellent driver!”

“I know two rabbits and a squirrel who might disagree with you.”

“That wasn’t my fault! You’d think they’d know to get the Hell outta the way of a moving vehicle!”

“Speaking of which, we’re going to get hit by a car.”

“What car?” Crowley stops fiddling with Aziraphale’s skate to wipe down a fogged window and take a look around. Beneath the glow of the street lamps, he sees nothing but snow - a veil of flakes wafting down from the sky, pushed into swirls by the frigid wind. “No one’s out here! It’s three in the bloody morning after one of the worst storms London has had in years! You’d have to be insane to be outside!”

“My thoughts exactly,” Aziraphale mutters. “Bit early for a storm like this though, isn’t it?”

“Uh … maybe,” Crowley says, abruptly returning to his task. 

“London isn’t due for snow until January.”

“Is that so? Strange.”

Aziraphale's brow furrows as he watches his husband focus intensely on basically nothing. “Crowley …”

“Wot?”

“Are you responsible for this?”

"Wot would make you think that?"

"Crowley. Look at me."

Crowley's head slowly lifts, eyes aimed everywhere but Aziraphale's face. At one point, he even closes them, assuming that, behind his dark lenses, Aziraphale won't notice. 

But Aziraphale does notice. Even if Crowley were speaking to him from a completely different room, Aziraphale would notice.

Because, for a demon, Crowley happens to be an atrocious liar.

“It’s Christmas night!" Crowley pleads, unable to hold back any longer. "The perfect time for a lock-yourself-indoors-and-get-sloshed sort of snowstorm, a'right?"

“So why are we not inside getting sloshed then?”

“Because this is something I’ve wanted to do for a while! And I was gettin' tired of waiting for Mother Nature to accommodate. Plus, with climate change and global warming, nothing's guaranteed, is it?” Crowley moves on from Aziraphale's right foot and begins sliding his reluctant left foot into its skate. “Live a little!” 

“I aim to live a lot, which specifically requires avoiding activities such as this." Aziraphale pauses his complaining to watch Crowley work, beyond curious what was going on inside his husband's demonic mind when he hatched this plan. "So," he says, working through the mystery out loud, "you conjured up a snowstorm, froze the streets, are in the process of strapping these awful contraptions to my feet ... would you like to tell me why?”

"Do I have to?"

"It would be nice."

"I'm a demon. I'm not nice."

"Crowley ..."

“Alright! It's because I wanted us to be together like this." 

"Like what?"

Crowley sighs. "Like humans. And do the stupidly wonderful things humans do when they’re in love: take moonlit strolls, hold hands, kiss in the rain, all that sappy shite. Humans go skating at Christmas! It's, like, number three on their list of Yuletide activities. It's almost a requirement! Even if they can't stand steady in regular shoes, they go skating. And they cling to one another, and they laugh, and they kiss, and I … I didn't want to take the chance that if I waited, I might miss ..."

Nothing's guaranteed, Aziraphale thinks as he watches Crowley sink in on himself, head bowed over Aziraphale's feet, curling as if he wants to disappear. And Aziraphale begins to understand. 

Crowley has been a ball of anxious energy for as long as Aziraphale can remember. Aziraphale doesn't blame him. Crowley has been tiptoeing through minefields since the beginning - making innocent mistakes and paying huge prices for them. As supernatural entities, it's easy to get lulled into the false sense of security that nothing bad can happen to you. 

But that's not true. 

Not at all true.

Because even a demon and an angel with magical powers aren't anywhere near the top of the food chain.

Crowley destroying Ligur with Holy Water proved that.

So did his belief that Aziraphale had been extinguished by Hellfire.

The fact that he hadn't been didn't prove Crowley wrong.

Hellfire would most definitely annihilate his angel from the face of the planet.

Crowley and Aziraphale helped save Earth for humanity, but every day, the humans work harder and harder towards their own destruction.

Nothing's guaranteed. 

Not for anyone.

"If you don’t want to go skating, that’s fine. I know it’s risky. Probably the last way in the world you’d want to discorporate."

"I can think of worse ways," Aziraphale says with a chuckle.

"We can go back to your bookshop, make hot cocoa, listen to your gramophone or ... or something.”

“The biggest risk I’ve taken is sitting right here with me. And that’s worked out so far. For 6000 years, as a matter of fact. I don’t mind taking another one. Just … try not to let me fall.” 

“Just hold on tight.” Crowley scoots down the bench towards his husband and wraps his arms around him. “I promise I won’t let you fall.”

[callboxkat]

Second Chances: Virgil’s No Good, Awful, Very Bad Week

Author’s note: Thank you everyone for your patience on this! I’m so sorry I didn’t get this out as quickly as I intended. I hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: Things had really begun to snowball for Virgil in the past week or so. And he was reaching his breaking point. 

It had started with those stupid nails.

Warnings: Food mentions, rude customers, arguing

Word Count: 4735

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

Virgil had been having a time of it lately. Seemingly everything that could possibly wrong was going wrong, and he desperately needed a me day. He was going to lose it, at this rate.

His new coworker had finally settled in enough to start being actually helpful, rather than slowing everything down and doubling the number of irate customers Virgil had to juggle, and had maybe turned out to actually not be a jerk, and things had been looking up. But of course, Virgil’s life couldn’t have that, and here he was. Things had really begun to snowball in the past week or so. And he was reaching his breaking point.

It had started with those stupid nails.

…

“Are you freaking kidding me,” Virgil groaned.

There was a nail in his tire. A nail, in his tire. The end of it glinted slightly in the weak sunlight, the rest completely embedded in the tire of his car.

He’d had a feeling about what he’d fine, as the low pressure warning had come on and he’d pulled onto the side of the road, although he’d hoped otherwise. This was the third time this had happened in as many months. Virgil swore someone was seeding his driveway with them.

“Great. Just great.” Virgil fished his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the time—he was definitely going to be late for work, since he wasn’t about to let his car sit in the parking lot and leak air from the tire all morning—and dialed Thomas’s number. Apparently, he and Roman would get to start today’s shift alone.

Rain began to fall, pattering the street. Even more perfect. Virgil cast one more glare at the offending tire before he got back in his car. He slammed the door just as the line picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey T, uh… were you going to go in today?”

“I wasn’t,” Thomas admitted. “Why, do you need me to?”

“Well, I was on my way to the café, but you’ll never guess what I just found in my tire.”

There was a sympathetic groan on the other end of the line. “Oh, no.”

“Yep.”

“But you just got that fixed.”

“Yep.”

“…Are you sure it’s not just a pebble?”

Virgil laughed. “Thomas, I think I know how to tell a nail head from a pebble. If I didn’t before, I sure should now.”

“That’s true.”

“So, uh, hopefully I shouldn’t be too long, but….”

“No, don’t worry about it. Do what you’ve got to do. I’ll go make sure Roman’s not by himself.”

“Yeah. Um, tell Princey I said hi, I guess. And that if he messes anything up while I’m gone, I’m gonna take his name tag and make him wear my Myrtle one.”

“…You don’t have a Myrtle nametag?”

“I’ll make one, then.”

Thomas snorted. “Alright.” He knew Virgil was joking. Which he was. Mostly.

Getting a nail in his tire sucked; but of course, it if were only the nail that he had to deal with, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Virgil could handle a minor inconvenience. A few minor inconveniences. But things only got worse from there.

…

“Medium chai latte with two cherries,” the woman standing in front of the register said, not looking up from her phone.

“Sure,” Virgil said. They typed in the order, then told her the price. The cherries seemed a little odd, as did the specific request for exactly two of them, but they’d put together some pretty strange orders. And it wasn’t exactly difficult to throw in a couple of cherries. It wasn’t a very expensive drink.

The woman frowned anyway and finally looked up from her phone, clearly unhappy. “But the sign says the chai latte is only—"

THUMP! The loud interruption was accompanied by a gasp and a splash. Virgil spun around, their heart immediately racing. There was a yelp from the side—probably Roman.

“Oh, goodness gracious,” Thomas sighed, one hand on the counter, looking down at the mess he’d made. He’d dropped a gallon of milk—which had been nearly full, from the look of it, and which either hadn’t had a cap, or had lost it when the jug fell, hitting the ground hard. It had, of course, tipped onto its side. Now, milk was spreading across the floor, and there were splashes of it across the bottom of the cabinets and their clothes.

Roman, the only one of the three spared from the splatter, quickly set down the pair of drinks he’d just finished before he could drop them. A bit of coffee dripped down the side of one of the cups. His eyes were wide as he looked from the splattered milk on the floor, to Thomas by the counter, to Virgil at the register.

Virgil also took a second to take in the scene, then noticed the damp feeling at the ankles of their leggings. They looked down, and their still frantic heart managed to sink as they took in their skirt. It was new, ankle length, with beading and embroidered skulls. They’d worn it with a stylishly ripped long sleeve shirt under their uniform shirt, as well as a studded choker with a dangling storm cloud pendant, which had been a birthday gift from Thomas. They were also wearing a they/them pin that they’d gotten from Roman, who’d shown up one day with a set of three pins, looking both very nervous and very pleased with himself. Virgil had still been able to see where the clearance sticker had been torn off—not that they were judging saving a little money. Virgil was 100% sure that the gift was Roman’s attempt to help himself, since apparently the name tags were too subtle. Virgil thought it was kind of hilarious—and maybe a little sweet (maybe)—so they wore the pins.

They had loved the look, minus the Sanders Café shirt; and wearing it had really brightened having to go to work so early in the morning; but now the ensemble was rather soured by the milk dripping from the skirt’s hem and splashed across their shoes. They stepped back to avoid the spreading puddle, as if it mattered at that point.

“Huh,” they said, still trying to get their heart rate to calm down.

Thomas sighed as if in agreement. A few people in line either groaned or snickered, depending on how impatient they were feeling on that particular day, but most weren’t that rude. One person whispered to their friend, “Should we go somewhere else?”

Roman, meanwhile, looked like he was waiting for someone to start yelling. He was eyeing the closet where the cleaning supplies were, but he couldn’t get to it without marching through the milk, and he was visibly hesitating. Probably didn’t want to ruin his shoes. Virgil might have been annoyed, but Roman was the only one who hadn’t already gotten milk on them, so they couldn’t really blame him.

Their gaze drifted to Thomas’s hand on the counter, and how much weight he was putting on it, and the fact that Thomas had also made no move to clean up the spill.

“I’ve got this,” Virgil said, leaving the register and the crowd behind it. A soccer mom who was waiting for her drink made a snide comment about professionalism. Virgil decided her drink was getting made last.

“Thanks,” Thomas said. He watched as Virgil righted the jug and picked it up. The side of the jug had cracked, and they quickly moved to hold the jug at an angle to avoid too much more spilling—not that there was all that much left. It continued to drip as they carried it to the sink and set it down. Then, they went to get a mop. Thomas was feigning casualness as Virgil went, clearly preferring to look a bit like a jerk than anything else in front of the customers, who probably assumed he was just a manager taking advantage of the lower ranking employee by forcing them to clean up his mess. Virgil wasn’t going to do anything to ruin that image if that was the one he preferred, although they did keep an eye on Thomas as they started to clean up the spill.

Roman slowly turned back to what he’d been doing, wiping off the side of one of the drinks and sliding the both towards the waiting crowd. He grabbed one of the café’s popular double chocolate cheesecake slices, put it on a plate, and added it to the grouping on the counter before calling the customers’ names.

After a few seconds, Thomas straightened and walked to the register, and sat down on the stool. Chatter resumed a more usual tone in the café, although Virgil did notice a few people taking pictures of the spill.

Thomas smiled brightly at Ms. Chai Latte with Two Cherries. “Sorry about the wait! Let’s see, one chai latte, with two added cherries. That’ll be—”

The woman was already waving her credit card in his direction. “I know, I know. Here.”

Finally, the spill was cleaned up, and Virgil went to put away the mop. They snagged a bag of chips from the display and tossed them to Thomas on their way. And for the rest of their shift, they desperately tried to ignore the milk still stubbornly set into their skirt and leggings.

…

“Sorry,” Virgil said dully, not actually sorry at all, “Would you mind repeating that again?”

The young man grinned and repeated his very, very long order, speaking fast in a way that could only be on purpose. Virgil was pretty sure the order was different this time than the first. They cast a glance at the camera phone the guy was holding up, which was recording the entire thing, as if this was somehow the thrilling content the entire internet was looking for.

“One more time,” they said. “Please,” they added, because their boss would want them to.

The guy chuckled. “A little slow, huh…” he squinted at their shirt “…Alex, are we?”

Virgil only blinked at him.

He repeated the order. He definitely changed it again, but at least he slowed down this time. Slightly. Virgil typed it in, flashed a customer-service smile that didn’t reach their eyes, and went to make the order, taking a copy of the receipt. Roman was technically meant to fill the orders, but no one else was in the café besides a pair of teens waiting for their drinks. And based on the look the other barista cast Virgil, he had no idea where to start with this guy’s order anyway, even if he wasn’t already busy. Everything the man had ordered was ridiculous and often contradictory, like an “americano” with milk and whipped cream, to start. Most of the drinks had about ten customizations each that made their drinkability questionable at best. The order was rounded out by two relatively normal cappuccinos, identical except that one was decaf, and three-quarters of a cookie (he was being charged for the full cookie). It wasn’t a cheap bill, but that didn’t seem to be a concern.

The man filmed Virgil work, making dumb comments and laughing, and calling out various things that he thought that the barista had forgotten even though they hadn’t, or saying that they hadn’t added enough sprinkles or cherries or syrup, or whatever he could think of. Virgil only checked the receipt and kept going.

When the customer clearly didn’t get the reaction he wanted from any of that nonsense, he instead started berating Virgil’s appearance, saying he hadn’t known he was at some kind of freak raccoon zoo.

Roman looked annoyed at that and opened his mouth to respond, but Virgil shook their head. “Don’t, Princey,” they said in a low voice.

Roman hadn’t looked happy, but he had dropped it, instead heading over to the register, so that he could help the newly arriving customers who would otherwise be stuck waiting.

Finally, the monstrous order was done, and Virgil placed each cup on a tray. Two trays, actually. The drinks didn’t all fit on one. They set the dumb three-quarters cookie the customer had ordered on top of the lid of one of the cups.

“Which one’s the full caff cappuccino?” he asked. “You know, with—”

He went on to list all of the specifications it had, which Virgil tuned out because they didn’t care. They calmly pointed at one of the cups.

The guy grinned, took that drink off of the tray, and set it to the side. Then he did his best to fit everything else on one tray, putting his phone in a chest pocket so he could keep filming. He wasn’t going to win any awards for cinematography. Maybe he didn’t have any friends to film for him. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

The man picked up his overflowing tray of drinks, and then he dumped the entire thing in the trash.

Some of the drinks hit the edges of the trash can’s opening, spilling over the sides; but most of the man’s order ended up firmly in the trash. Everything Virgil had spent the past… he didn’t even know how long putting together. The two teenagers in the cafe looked up from their table, their jaws falling open like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Roman looked even more horrified, but as angry as they were, Virgil simply blinked and turned to the drink the guy had set aside. “Oh, wait. Yeah. Sorry, that one’s actually the decaf.”

The wannabe internet star, who’d been watching their reactions smugly, paused. His face went blank with surprise, then contorted in rage. He turned off his camera phone and stormed out of the café without his drink.

Virgil counted to five, to reset, and let out a long, weary sigh. There weren’t many customers who were that horrible, but they were always a pain to deal with on the rare occasion they did show up. They turned to the small line that had collected during the show, held up by how long the one pointless order had taken. “If you all wouldn’t mind, please use the trash can on the other side of the café until further notice.” They pointed at the other trash can. They’d clean up the other once the line was gone, or make Roman do it.

Speaking of Roman, the other barista was still staring at the trashcan full of wasted drinks. Probably his first encounter with someone like that.

“Next customer,” Virgil called.

“He didn’t even… try any of them,” Roman said quietly. He looked down at the solitary, ridiculous drink left on the counter, and picked it up.

Virgil sighed. “Yeah. He was just here to make a mess for views, or whatever. Don’t worry about it. You can just throw that one away, too—we can’t sell it; and I doubt he’s coming back.” They turned and smiled at the customer before them. “So sorry about the wait. What can I get for you?”

They focused on taking the customer’s order, then turned to Roman, only to see that he hadn’t moved, still standing with the abandoned drink. He looked angry.

“Roman?”

“I’m taking my break,” Roman said. Still holding the drink, he left the prep area, walking stiffly towards the back of the café.

Great.

Virgil watched him go, shrugged, and went to make the order herself. She handed the drink off, then paused to switch the pins on her shirt before heading back to the register.

Some time later, once the café’s line was empty and the trash can had been cleaned up, Virgil walked to the break room and leaned on the doorframe. Roman was in there, sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor. The drink he’d taken from the counter sat on a table, half finished.

“You drank it?”

“It was the most normal drink he ordered,” Roman said, not looking up. “And he barely touched it.”

“Yeah, but… it’s decaf.”

Roman huffed, but he didn’t actually seem amused.

“What’s up, Princey?”

Roman shook his head.

“Come on, humor me. I don’t have time to needle it out of you. Someone’s supposed to be out front.”

Roman shook his head, glanced at Virgil, and looked away again. “It’s just a big waste, okay? What that guy did. I don’t—” He shook his head. “People shouldn’t do that.”

“No,” Virgil agreed, still confused about why a few drinks mattered so much to Roman. He wasn’t the one to waste so much time putting them together, and the guy had paid for them. “They shouldn’t.”

Roman took in a shaky breath and sat up, still looking away. “Sorry, just… go back out front. I’ll join you in a second.”

“…Okay.” Virgil hesitated, glancing him up and down, but she did leave.

Roman came back soon after, but he kept acting weird for the rest of their shift.

When she got home that afternoon, Virgil wanted nothing more than to take a long nap and watch some bad television, but someone had backed into her mailbox, and she got to deal with that instead.

…

The next day, the fridge died.  

The freaking. Fridge. Died. They had just gotten a milk delivery!

Virgil and Thomas were stuck with a dead fridge and a crowd of customers who weren’t exactly going to leave and give them space to figure out what to do. At least they knew roughly when it had stopped working, since Virgil had checked it when he got to the café, and they’d noticed something was wrong soon after.

Thomas went to the back to make some calls about getting the fridge fixed, and Virgil went on as normal, since they had some time before this really became a problem.

He tried not to think about it too much—at least, not until Thomas returned, looking annoyed and exasperated.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “That’s the earliest they can come look at it.”

“Everything will go bad way before then,” Virgil pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “The milk.”

“Yep.”

“So? What are we going to do?”

“Bradley told me we could figure that out. He doesn’t care.”

“Um, okay, well….”

Thomas shrugged. “Clearance sale?”

They ended up selling everything that required refrigeration for half of the regular price. Some of the less popular items, or items they had a lot of, were even further discounted. The first few customers to find this out were simply pleasantly surprised to hear the prices. Some of them added more to their orders, since they might as well.

And then, news spread, which created a new problem. Soon, the line was out the door, the café filled with customers clamoring for their discount coffee and pastry fix.

This rush, naturally, created more problems. Many of the customers seemed to be under the impression that everything was half price, and Virgil had the joyous task of dealing with many customers who were angry that their plain black coffee or chocolate chip cookies were full price, and who were unimpressed by Virgil’s suggestion that they make their americano a cappuccino or a latte if they were that set on paying less.

Thomas and Virgil were pushing out orders as fast as they could, and still it seemed like half the shop was filled with people clamoring to get their orders filled.

Mass hysteria rose when the café ran out of the popular double chocolate cheesecake. Virgil was beginning to contemplate simply closing the café for the day, cutting their losses, and hoping he wouldn’t get fired for doing so. Possibly the only reason he didn’t do that was remembering Roman’s reaction to a few (well… relatively few) drinks getting thrown away.

At one point, Thomas pulled Virgil aside. “I might need to go home,” he very reluctantly admitted. “This is… a lot. Would that be okay? I don’t want to leave you alone with all this.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Okay. Just… hold on a minute. Stay on the register. I’ll see if anyone else can come.”

Virgil pulled out his phone (which he was allowed to have in his apron pocket, at least as far as he cared) and stepped away from the crowded front of the café, retreating to the back room. He tapped his painted nails against the black, purple-rhinestone-studded phone case, thinking. Talyn and Joan would both be in class, so they weren’t an option. And he didn’t like most of the other baristas. Really, there was only one option.

Virgil selected Roman’s contact, and waited. He’d have preferred to just text—he hated phone calls—but he couldn’t be sure that a text would get Roman’s attention; and that cheap phone of his probably took forever to type on, anyway.

“Hey, Virgil,” Roman said. “What’s up? It’s my day off, isn’t it?” There was a shuffling noise, like he was scrambling to check that he hadn’t gotten the date wrong.

“Yeah—yeah, I know it is. Sorry, but, uh… we kind of have an emergency going on here, and we really need you to come in if you can. The fridge died this morning, so Thomas and I are trying to sell everything we can before it goes bad, and it’s getting crazy. And he’s not feeling well, so it’d just be me here… and—and it won’t like you’ll be losing your day off this week, since I doubt we’ll be able to open tomorrow with no fridge or supplies or anything. It’ll only be a couple of hours.” After that, they’d have to throw everything out.

Roman paused.

“…Please?”

“Wow, you must really be desperate if you’re saying ‘please’.”

Virgil scoffed, but before he could say anything, Roman continued, “Yeah, of course I’ll come in. One sec, I’ll see if I can get a ride.” Roman seemed to freeze, as if he’d misspoken “Uhh—my car’s—it’s in the shop.”

“…Yeah, sure.” That was an obvious lie, but it was neither any of his business nor anything he particularly cared about, especially at that moment. Virgil heard a scuffing noise, then footsteps, then a muffled conversation. Virgil paced the back room impatiently.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Give me like ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

Virgil heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

He went out to tell Thomas, who agreed to stay until Roman arrived, although he wasn’t sure how helpful he’d be.

And then a disgruntled guest threw a drink, because apparently it was taking too long to get their wife’s order. Virgil was really going to need a self-care day after the week he was having. Or two. Or ten.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave,” Thomas said from the register, looking unimpressed with the display.

“Sure, ma’am, whatever you say,” the customer said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Thomas frowned.

“Bye,” Virgil said pointedly.

Both customers looked annoyed, but thankfully, they did leave. The next several customers were overly nice, as if trying to make up for them. Virgil was not opposed to that, or to the substantial tips a few of them left.

Just under fifteen minutes later, Roman arrived. Another young man came in with him. Virgil assumed that he was a customer at first, but he looked around the café, grinning, chatting with Roman in a clearly familiar way.

“Wow, Roman,” Virgil heard, “is it always this busy?”

Roman laughed. “No, Pat. This is a little… unusual.”

“Oh, that’s good. It looks like a Black Friday sale in here.”

“That’s accurate,” Thomas commented, looking amused, as they came closer. He was sitting on the stool from the register, no longer taking orders—Virgil had been doing that for a while now. He started to get up, leaning on the counter to talk to Roman. “Thanks for coming in. Virge and I really appreciate it.”

Roman waved him off. “It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Still, thanks,” Thomas repeated. He waved at Virgil, then left the prep area, starting to untie the knot of his apron.

Virgil set down another cluster of drinks and pastries, and called the names on the orders even as hands appeared from the crowd to snatch them. Hopefully they were the right people, but if not, well… not his problem. “Who’s this?” Virgil asked, coming closer to Roman.

“Oh, Virgil, this is Patton. He gave me a ride. He’s, uh….”

“I’m his roommate,” Patton said, smiling. “And a friend.”

“Yeah,” said Roman. “Thanks, Pat. You can go home if you want.”

“Okay. Just text me when I should pick you up!” He smiled at Virgil, then glanced around at the crowded café. “Well, I won’t keep you, but it’s nice to meet you, kiddo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Virgil agreed.

The young man hugged Roman before he left, and then the baristas turned to face the mob.

By the time their clock ran out, very little was left to throw away. Still, Virgil could tell it pained Roman when they had to announce to everyone that the café was closing, and even more so when they threw out what was left. There wasn’t much to do about it, though, which Roman understood.

After their disaster of a morning came to a close, Virgil threw his apron at the hook on the wall in the wall. He missed, and the apron fell to the ground. “At least we get tomorrow off, right?” he sighed.

(Of course, this was before he knew that Bradley would ask him to be there when the repair worker came to look at the fridge)

…

Virgil watched a movie in bed that afternoon, but she burned her popcorn, which happened to be the last in the box; and she wasn’t exactly willing to go out and buy a new one at that moment. And the neighbor’s kids seemed to be having some kind of screaming competition.

She wasn’t having a great week.

…

The next afternoon, after dealing with the fridge situation at the café, Virgil finally got to go home and properly relax. No more nails in his tires, no more angry or entitled customers, and no more neighbors backing into his mailbox.

He had barely closed the front door before he was kicking off his shoes and yanking off his Sanders Café shirt (Why had he worn it, when the café wasn’t even open? The best he could figure was some kind of horrible autopilot.) He put his head back and let out a cry of pent-up frustration.

The week was over. It was finally time for some self-care, before he lost it completely.

He put on his softest pajama pants and was about to flop on the couch to watch The Office when the doorbell rang. He would have ignored it, but it rang again. Virgil threw a pillow in the door’s direction. It fell to the floor. The doorbell rang again.

Reluctantly, Virgil got up and went to answer it, and give whoever stood there a piece of his mind. “What,” he groaned, only to cut himself off when he saw who stood there. “…Oh. Hi, Thomas.”

“Hi,” Thomas said. He held up a case in one hand and smiled. “I brought drinks.”

Strawberry lemonade—Virgil’s favorite.

Virgil leaned on the doorframe and looked at Thomas appraisingly. “…You like The Office, right?” he asked.

Thomas laughed. “Storm Cloud, I introduced you to The Office.”

“Hm.” Virgil stepped back to let him in, cracking a grin. “Fair point.”

They watched a few too many episodes of The Office before Thomas went home, and by then, Virgil was feeling a lot better. Still, once he was alone, Virgil treated himself to a nice soak in the tub (in swim trunks and t-shirt) with a wine glass full of his finest purple Gatorade. He even set out candles (the battery-powered kind), put on some relaxing music, and used a swirling galaxy bath bomb that he’d been saving. A book Thomas had recommended sat on a little table by the tub, along with his cellphone in case it didn’t turn out as to be as good as his friend claimed.

Once everything was ready, Virgil sank into the bath, Gatorade in hand, surrounded by a swirling galaxy, ready to let the stress melt away

It was a nice way to end a very, very sucky week.

[iamtheempress]

Lets Talk

She nursed a nice bruise on her face in the bathroom, one that bloomed from her cheek to the top of her brow, extending a green fingertip to her cheek to heal it slowly, hopefully bringing back some natural skin tone to her cheek again.

 A normal practice for treating her wounds all her life, all while keeping herself awake and conscious with an energy drink that was half empty and the ever present feeling of anticipation. The source of anticipation lingering on that phone beside her, a burner phone she bought at the beginning of the day.

Chiaki's eyes flickered to her burner phone right next to her, waiting for a reply from a face shed only met during a fight earlier that morning with her father. 

Heroes against Villains, that old fight that will seemingly never ever cease, she cant remember why the incident happened but she just knew that she and her father were first responders along with a handful of other heroes.

 She inspects the faded mark on her face and closes the door to the bathroom, quietly as to not wake her mother who had tried to quell her worried eldest daughter, Aoi had retired to bed about an hour ago… the media had picked up on the travesty of a fight that happened earlier that day. Causing a nasty uproar from civilians and the media alike.

It was everywhere, newspapers, radio stations, the internet and she can hear the newscaster announce it clearly. "Pro Hero Witch is in the Literal Hot Seat today, is she someone we need to keep an eye on? Her power was in full effect keeping a fifteen-story building from crushing her and her battered teammate, FullCharge. Who had beaten the negligent heroin enough to make her heal him, after she did this the building she was supporting fell upon her and 5 other civilian lives, after letting the villain come to know as Dabi escape-'' she turned off the tv sick and tired of hearing of how useless she’s been, the ensuing argument she had with her family left scars on her psyche she wouldn't bat an eyelash at, she couldn't care about her reputation when she let people die on her watch. 

Useless. Lazy. A joke. 

She let those 5 civilians die so callously, she didn't know them and yet she doesn't feel as bad, atleast not right now. Casualties are a norm for heros, right?

The icing on the cake was to hear the media call her that word negatively again. 

Witch… 

A name she used to take her power back from a horrible nickname in her childhood. Now once again weighing on her like chains to the floor.

 She walked to bed holding the phone and lamenting, falling to her bed with a resounding flop.. It's her fault.. she let Dabi go, and everyone saw it.

 She let everyone down and even had her phone blown up by her friends. She turned her attention to the group chat and took a peek from behind the iron curtain of guilt. Bakugou's name was the first to catch her eye.

Bakugou: Chili. Hey dumbass answer us! We have been trying to call you all day and you leave us on read. Answer us goddammit! We don't want to confront you ourselves and see what your deal is but we will if you don't answer us for the rest of the night.

Midoriya: We will give you another 30 and we're coming over, we promise we're not going to gang up on you, Chili…That wouldn't be right. 

Chiaki: How can i trust that, you all saw my situation, no one did a damn thing to help me, i get im also the healer but that includes people defending me in order to heal at a distance or else I HAVE THE TARGET on me. I cant face any of you. 

Bakugou, Izuku, Shouto and more are typing…

She wept rubbing her eyes with her sleeve and making her tear up. Out of everyone… she assumed someone would understand but they all seemed to give her the same look, it made her heart stop. Once again she's the bad guy in a situation she lost control over. With guilt in her heart, she recalled the last moments before he got away. 

Dabi got her father off of her. No hesitation, blasted him clean off of her with enough force it could have singed her head to toe, but he didn’t. She went to get up and saw her father immolated in blue flames as she turned to see the same man she was sent to apprehend was standing fixed about 10 feet from her, his eyes trained solid on her. She looks up at the buildinh started to grown from the integrity being lost from the fight, it began to collapse down on them until she suspended it above the both of them, mere feet from his head; they stared at one another like deer in headlights. A sinister smirk spread across his features before disappearing from her view, in the kick up of dirt and rubble, 

Chiaki couldn’t bring herself to apprehend him. 

Why..? Did he see the desperation in her eyes or the fact that she barely had a leg to stand on when her own father took her down a size, when he saw insubordination over saving herself and not her father who was completely fine? Or was there another ulterior motive to keeping her alive?

Upon trying to close her eyes, and hopefully forget about this whole day.  

The burner phone buzzed to life. 

The screen could have been the brightest thing in the room, a beacon in the night beckoning her. Distant thunder rumbled to indicate the dire decision she's made, as well as a storm that was approaching.

 Her heart stopped, she lifted the phone slightly and slid her thumb over the screen. To see the text message from an unavailable number. 

“How is that eye feeling, Witch?” 

The text read, her fingers flew across the keyboard. 

“It’s been better, I fixed it up. Is this really Dabi?” upon sending the message the text came up as read. Is she really thinking of doing this… he messaged her back quickly. “Maybe I am, I have seen the news today and that shot of you and I standing before the building collapsed on us was cinematic so I have to give you props for that. I’m guessing the reason you wanted to speak to me was not make pleasantries and talk about our days.” 

“You want to join the League.” 

There it is. The question that lain heavily upon her mind. Shed never considered it as much as she has recently. The ridicule of her graduating class, her power seen as something not all heroes should use for good. She proved time and time again how she is not something to worry about.. But here she was.. Being abused and taken advantage of by the people she cared for. 

“Yes. I do.” She sent it with no hesitation and sat up in her bed looking down upon the phone, he made quick work of messaging her back, again. 

“We havent recruited anyone worth our time in a while. From what I saw recently as well as today. We were considering reaching out to you..but this works much better. Meet tonight?” Her golden eyes widened and her mouth popped open out of sheer shock. “Around what time? Ill be there” She stands up, with a loud crack of lightning the rain poured outside, she cursed and saw a location pop up on her phone.

An old and run down apartment complex outside of city limits. “Now. Get going. Text me when you're close.” Chiaki sprung out of bed without a second thought. Redressing herself in simple attire, something to not be seen on the streets so easily especially at night. Black leggings, worn in combat boots her mother gave her, a large black hoodie and that burner phone.

 While tying her hair up in a bun she saw her phone, the one with her best friends messaging her… and Midoriya’s name front and center..

Izuku: “Hey, cmon, Chili. We know you’re there.. We saw what happened and we want to know if your alright…We can see you reading our messages”

Izuku: What happened with your dad wasn't right but something doesn't add up from that fight, Chili.”

Bakugou: “It makes just as little sense to me too dumbass! Why did he spare you and go for FullCharge.”

Bakugou: “You better not have done something youll regret dumbass we cant lose you!”

Kiri: “I already have Shouto were on our way to talk to you, Spooky, were not mad..”

Her heart stopped in her throat as she started typing to them. She could see them all stop typing in unison. 

“Theres nothing to talk about. You all have made up your mind about me..i can see it. I sound like im just a problem to all of you. Consider me gone.” Chiaki tossed her old phone to the bed and scrawled a note. 

“I loved you all.. I'm sorry I'm not who you wanted me to be.”

With one message her phone began to blow up. Without looking back, she was gone. Hopping from her window to the road below with a splash into a puddle and starting her jog, leaving the only home she's known her whole damn life, as well as leaving her hero life behind her.

About a solid 30 minutes later she noticed she saw the buildings become more and more dilapidated marked with graffiti as sirens shrieked down streets and seedy characters crept behind alleyways, the city limits were within a mile away, and so was the old apartment building. 

Impatient and eager to meet him face to face, she messaged him.. "About a block or two away." she pulled her hood up as she exited a mini markets awning that was closed, rain started to shower down upon her, her light hair hidden beneath the oversized hood, the old marquis sign coming into sight. 

The phone vibrated in her pocket, Chiaki pulled it out and the words shone bright across her face. “You better not be some spy.. I won’t be too happy. So in your best interest, i'd be 100% transparent with me.”  She texts back quickly. “I am an open book and got little to hide.”

The text was read and the old marquis was above her, “No turning back now… the guys will be looking for me in no time.” She said to herself and entered the lobby of the closed apartment building, through the heavy wooden doors. It looked like it used to be grand but now it was so in disrepair that the wallpaper was torn back from walls and holes were created from years of neglect. 

Chiaki pulled her hood back and looked around, listening to the silence of the apartment, she took a breath and emanated a glow from her hands, her fingers and thumb lit up like bright green glow sticks.

From behind a darkened figure glided his scarred palm across the tattered wall approaching her slowly, he speaks up, cutting the silence and startling her. "Ah..There you are, you certainly didn't waste your time, Witch" she gasped and whipped around to see him, Dabi. She let out a nervous laugh and took a step forward, if she were not in this situation she wouldn't hesitate to take him down but this instance she felt on equal ground to him so she felt no threat.

 "I don’t dodge opportunities, especially ones like this, I would have contacted someone sooner but I wanted a reason to do this.. And you seemed like someone I wanted to contact first hand." Dabi approaches her until he is within mere feet of Chiaki, his feet shuffling with each stride, he's easily taller than her by more than a couple inches, being 5”2’ is sometimes a hindrance.

He blows air out of his nose with a laugh. “You were in luck then.. I had my eye on you for a while and finding intel for you was far more complicated than we expected. Chiaki Nakamura is it?”  one hand stuffed into his pants pocket and the other out to gesture towards her, his scarred hand fanned out, talking with his hands was natural for him to do it seems. His cyan blue eyes raking down her front and back to her eyes. Unblinking and just as dark and spellbinding as before, all the while being intensely overwhelming in every aspect physical. Chiaki’s heart bounced in her chest to her throat. 

His head lulls to the side.

 "Thats my name..” The young pro speaks softly, Dabi noticed the apprehension in her voice,"Oh are you nervous little Witch..?"  he didn't need her scurrying off or anything so he took to sauntering slowly around her, sizing her up like a hungry shark. She didn’t speak but caught his eyes through his black hair that curtained his eyes. “Just a bit but if i were any more scared i wouldn’t be here..” He looked upon her glowing green hands, it made her mildly conscious of the fact that they were shaking.

“Then my reputation precedes me even to fresh faces like you.” He says with a hoarse chuckle, he backs up with his arms spread open, she catches a glimpse of his long scarred arms, they flopped back down to his sides, She laughs gently in turn, her eyes fixed on his face, being this close she could see the gold sheen to the staples on his mouth and under his eyes. 

“If that nervous behavior is because you’re scared and having second thoughts about this.. And want to go back to playing around as a hero, i won't hesitate to fry you where you stand, but i'm hoping you're using that common sense of yours so i don't have to.” She listens intently, unwavering and dimming her hands back down, as to not allow her quirk to radiate outside the building.. Dabi’s mouth doesn’t even move beyond a normal straight line but his eyes say everything: He doesn’t see her as a stranger.. Despite this being their first time meeting amicably.

 “rest assured i won’t hurt you, from what I have seen already we need someone with a quirk like yours around, but when it comes to me bringing you back to the bar.. They won’t allow you in unless I check you for a wire, lift your arms.” He instructs and she lifts her arms just enough for him.

 His hands starting to traverse her arms and waist make her face swell with heat, a much more embarrassing position to be in… He was thorough and rough with the patdown, his face remained the same unchanging and stoic, her eyes trained on his face and the rough scars that covered the bottom portion of his face to the part directly under his tear ducts. Besides that he doesn't look bad.. The scars only add that intense look to him, the reason why people were scared of his looks. 

“I wanted to know something..” She caught his attention with a low hum, his brow raising and his lips curling upward. “What was the deal with you getting my father off of me..why didnt you attack me.” His hands finished patting down her body and he tuts her pulling the burner phone from her pocket.

 “You see.. That moment was televised and the moments leading up were not, and if they were, they didn't televise your abuse period or the reason behind it. It was pretty tragic, I heard your father's harsh words.. even more brutal pounding id say, he blocked all of your defences, your little friends didn't come for your rescue, they stood around." She stood stock still listening to him,

"Our Pro Hero lil Witch being ‘saved’ by me when i had enough of seeing someone who is more useful then her partners let on, being beaten to a pulp, and then when things seemed to be working in your favor and the fabled heroes would have gotten me, you in turn...stopped an entire highrise building from squishing me to death.” He leans forward and drops his voice an octave, dipping into a form of seductive and joking. 

“Kinda humiliating isn’t it? Being saved by a well known villain isn't really what the public wants to see.." he shrugs and steps back looks down at his palm, his long fingers moving around trying to catch her attention like he could light a flame at any moment,  with the other hand in his pocket. "I saw someone who needed help in more ways than one.” Her eyes widened as he stuffed the phone into his pocket “I saw someone who I had my eye on for a while being beaten for not doing something as useful as aiding her teammate… and for her own safety right?” He questions as he leans back against the wall adjacent to her.

 “Yeah.. that's right.. How do you know all that? I mean like, not alot of people know that about my quirk, i cant heal at a distance and provide backup unless i have backup...” He snaps his fingers and points at her. “Exactly my point. Your dear old dad didn't take his much more volatile daughter into account and only used you as a support to him, fueling his ego and making you look bad to the rest of the world.” his demeanor was so foreign to her, he spoke so eloquently and with conviction, a sadistic and perverse form of understanding that drew her in like a super magnet.

 She stood blanched, thunderstruck by how he's describing the situation to her, It's like he's in her head reading every emotion as plain on her face. “Yes. He never took me seriously… as a hero.. No one really ever did.” Dabi's eyes softened as their eyes remained locked in a stare of...mutual understanding on his part… she knew little of his past or who he was, but the weight of not being good enough or a lost cause caused his fists to clench.. he not dare ask anything personal yet.. he has a job to do and earn her trust and read her and her situation like a book. Foreshadowing the type of person she was made to be over years of unfair treatment and situations outside of their control.

 “Getting closer.. Go on, Witch.” She swallowed air and kept spilling her guts..  “I use my quirk to even help anyone or… do something for the good of others and its never highlighted in the slightest, no job well done or whatever. No sort of fanfare or recognition, i come home and.. get judged and told I'm not as good as… as him, from him.” SHe clasps her hands together and opens them up again, Dabi’s eyes watching the little light show from her fingertips and then fade away again. The more his eyes looked to her hands the more he wanted to see the beautiful little auras again, it was then Dabi realized her quirk is easy to be triggered, or atleast constantly active. “But when… i do one thing thats out of character for a… normal pro hero… all eyes are on you..and I was treated like a...pariah” 

Dabi nods his head and his smooth voice lulled her ears “Understand now? They only want you when you're useful to them, you're treated as backup, but in the right hands you could be so much more..” Her head hung low, like she just discovered it, that despite her power and the fact shes equally as dangerous maybe even more so she's treated as lesser than everyone else. 

Dabi mentally kicked himself, making such a pretty face sulk and look dour, he couldn't just stand there and allow her to beat herself up over how others treat her. Dabi took a step forward to her and found himself raising his hand to her chin and made her look right up at him, her chin betwixt the pads of his forefinger and thumb. “Come on now… don't be so down on yourself, they might see you as only an asset and a tool to use and expand upon themselves, as nothing more then a battery that never quits, but with us, you can reach a version of yourself you have never seen before.. And we can help you with that. We will make sure you surpass your expectations'' She caught herself staring. 

Eyes glazed over in tears that threatened to fall, and with a blink they were gone. “Excuse my ignorance but… you're serious like you can do that?” She asked with trepidation and abit of excitement that she had to cage off to not seem too eager. 

“It's not a promise, Nakamura. Its a fact that is going to be a reality. Now..” He turned on his heel and gave them some distance in the lobby, he was almost shrouded in darkness. “Give me a demonstration on what you can do.” He instructs. 

Chiaki blinks and becomes blanched. A demonstration. In here? She clasps her hands together and pulls them apart that green glow emanating from her hands to her elbows, pretty gold and green eyes enveloped in pure green with irises, her hands splayed out fingers slowly dancing and expanding outward, like licks of fire.

 “Brace yourself.” She curled in her fingers to drain the energy from surrounding lights and power, making the environment for everyone else but her heavy and sluggish. Dabi had a bead of sweat roll down his face and a headache grow slowly. “And just as it was pulled away I can give it back on my own terms.” She points a manicured finger at Dabi. The headache vanishes without a trace and his energy restored , almost knocking him on his ass from the dizzying feeling of having the wind knocked into you.

 The lights and the power entirely shut down for a full block and the bulbs bust outside. She holds a ball of concentrated energy in her palm and absorbs it into her skin, a content smile spreading across her delicate features and bowing forward and standing back up straight.

 “Oh yeah, they're going to thank me for insisting you be our new recruit... Warn me before you use your quirk on me again, will you?” She snorts and cocks a brow up at him. “So.. do it again later and knock you on your ass?” Chiaki giggled, Dabi quizzically tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, as if he's breaking down her words in his head, he flipped his black hair from his face as chuckles amused.

 “I knew I liked you for a reason, sarcastic little thing. ” she blushes and covers her mouth embarrassed. “I think it would be smart if we left.. I don't know if my friends are out looking for me or not..and honestly i would rather not face them head on yet.. And i don't want you to be hurt.” Chiaki looks back at him and blushes not realizing how worried she was for his safety, "What already thinking of me? Don't get so soft on me now, Nakamura.." Dabi chuckles and his hands return to his pockets and with a half turn he nods his head in the opposite direction of her, signalling her to follow him towards the exit of the building, he stops before the door. 

"Wait..you mean those UA kids..? trust me, Nakamura.. they arent your friends.. i don't need to know what you went through today after our little scene, you know as well as i that they're already plotting against you from what you did.." his words rang true along with his velveteen voice, the tall and slender Villain seemed to know more than he let on.

Chiaki became quiet and more confident with her decision. She made this choice, and she really didn't regret a damn thing. "And that very thing you have done today, Chiaki.." he slammed his hand into the wall, anchored his hand beside her head, making her damn near jump out of her skin. Lightning cracked outside illuminating the scars that adorned his features.

  The trench coat splaying open and just a bit of his shirt collar dipping down to reveal the purple scar stretches to his chest, gold tint staples fixed secure into what skin he had left to him that remained unscarred.

 Her eyes wandered from his chest back to his brilliant blue eyes. "Made me realize that you were worth contacting. Trust me, Nakamura.. we will bring out the best in you, UA would have easily tainted your view on the world and how ‘justice’ is delivered; but it seems like you know the world for what it really is." he gave her cheek a pat and a pinch, his gaze remained on her and a sickly grin twisted on his features when he notices her eyes wandering to the purple skin and his pronounced collar dipping further down his chest.. His hand engulfed her chin, capturing it and making her look him in the eyes. 

"Yknow, staring at people in the League will getcha in trouble or hurt, Not me though.. just don't get too used to it, anyone who stares  that long at me i consider mice…but honestly i don't see you scurrying off anytime soon." He backs off when she blushes brighter and gives him a shove. 

"Ah quit! Its kinda hard to not stare if you haven't noticed, Dabi." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started texting someone facing the heavy door, when he received a reply he put it back into his pocket, and sighed opening the heavy metal door with a creak, rain poured down into the street as he spoke up so she could hear him. "its what we ugly folk are used to i'm afraid." Chiaki merely scoffs and pulls back up the hood and opened her palm flat and above his and her head together she created a translucent green umbrella like barrier protecting them from the downpour,  "Ugly is abit of a stretch, Dabi..." she mutters and follows him into the alley where the rain continued ro shower down bouncing off the barrier, a singular street lamp illuminating the barren street leaving the only city she had ever known, Dabi replayed that phrase in his head and he momentarily closed his eyes.

 Its been years since he got compliments.. it was strange but not unwelcome. "Ohhhh little mouse, your gonna get along very well with me.. stick by my side and everyone will like you… eventually.. Your about to meet one of them anyway." As he said this casually as the street became a black and purple haze, a portal opened up and swirled as a literal exit from the city.. to wherever the hell she was going next. 

Chiaki gasped and took an apprehensive step forward.

 "Scared?" Dabi asked, with a little smirk on his lips. "Just a bit…" Dabi extended his hand for her, inviting her with him "Cmon. Trust me. Trust a burnt man with nothing to lose." He chides playfully. Chiaki accepts his invitation, his hand warm and textured with the staples.. Dabis heart skipped a beat at the contact.

 Soft and small hands engulfed by his own as he guided her through the portal, stunning blue eyes never deviating from her gold and green ones.. like they were captivated by one another.. before she knew it, she was in a completely different location. She blinked and looked around, thunderstruck almost by the environment.

A bar that reeked of booze and smoke of different varieties. "Welcome home, for now." He says in a flat tone, she pulled off her hood and looked around.

 Dabi still had his back to her and looked at his palm for a moment that felt like an eternity, the ghost of her hand remaining in his own, strange emotions bubbled up from nowhere, he shoved them back down and spoke up. 

"Everyone seems to be out by now, usually the bar is never empty. The person who summoned that portal is here...Kurogiri, which means our leader Shigaraki is here. He’ll meet you at some point..when he's not on his damn video games." he nudged her shoulder with his elbow and shook his wet hair out. Turning to look down at her, "Nice place...you guys bounce from place to place often?" She asks in what felt like a shy whisper, the resounding echo from the hall made her feel like she was shouting. 

"Haven't in a while.. hoping we won't have too again. Wont say where because it doesn't matter. Anyway, wanna come up to my room? There's an old couch up there you can crash on. Unless you want my bed, heh.. Wouldn't mind you in bed with me.” He breathily chuckles and pinches her chin starting to lead the way, “Don't get any ideas! I'm just tired.. I haven't had any sleep and its like.. Almost 2:30 in the morning.” She yawned and dragged her feet behind him.

Chiaki follows him up the stairs and down the long corridor to the last door on the left, he opened it to find a bedroom with a king sized mattress pushed to the wall and the windows covered in blackout curtains, an old couch directly under it and  a flat screen across the room as well as his own computer and cans of empty energy drinks by it, as well as an ashtray that looked like it was used normally. 

“This room is mine, go ‘head.” He invites her in, noting the tired look on her face, he found it almost innocent if it weren't for the remnants of blush still ghosted on the apples of her cheeks.

Dabi had booted the door closed behind him as she kicked off her boots, he spoke up again, watching her movements, as they seemed to have gotten lazier. “Not much of an interior decorator but it works for me, sprucing the room up would be too much effort.” 

Making himself comfortable he sheds the trench coat and shuffles through a cabinet in the desk where his computer is located,”I'm getting pretty tired and by the looks of it you are too, so im afraid im gonna have to restrain you. Cmere.” He says, pulling out a pair of handcuffs that catches Chiaki’s attention, her brow instantly rising in confusion and a hint of worry. Dabis eyes flicker up to her when she whips around at the chain jingling as he approaches her, twirling the cuffs around his finger 

 “W-wait why do you need to restrain me?” She asks a little wary, “Its so you dont pull anything while I'm sleeping… can't be too careful, little mouse.” He states clasping the cuffs around her wrists in the front, they clicked almost to the point where he could get two fingers under them. Chiaki looked at him with big innocent eyes and then down to the cuffs on her wrists. “Tsk..you do this to all the new recruits or am i just that special.” He chuckles and turns his back to her. “You’re a first, to both be cuffed and able to sleep in my bed. Consider yourself ‘special’”

She looks back up to find Dabi stripping his white shirt off and tossing it to the couch, a blush forming on her face and a pang in her heart as she looks at him closely, hes much better looking up close… fit and lean, along with the added look of his scars that dressed his torso into his pants only made him 2 times more appealing and more her type. “Holy shit..” She says out loud with her jaw slacked abit. “Checking me out, little mouse? Remember what I said about staring.” He chuckled and laid back in bed exhausted, pulling the sheets up her body comfortably. “Sorry was just admiring the view, Dabi.” She teased rolling her eyes and settling into bed, Dabi’s eyes widened briefly and felt that sweet warm feeling creeping up his chest again, this time he let it simmer there.

“im going to sleep.. Too tired to think, that energy drink i had acouple hours ago finally wore off." Chiaki yawned and stretched, facing away from him to ease the situation, that situation being she wanted to face him and find comfort from him. 

A sort of comfort she longed for for years, acceptance and safety.. Funny she found safety with a villain.. With villains alike. This caused her to giggle to herself, he raises a brow and looked over to her with his arms tucked behind his head 

Instead as Dabi turned off the light and the distant thunder rolled she spoke up “Dabi..” “Hm?” She turned back over and some light from the opened part of the black out curtains illuminated her eyes, Dabi once again caught himself peering into them wistfully finding himself looking her over. 

 A genuine glow in her eye, appreciation and a connection the two have never felt before, “Thank you, for bringing me in.. you wont regret it,” She brings her bound hands up to pull the pillow further up under her head, and licked her lips, swallowing her fear and letting a wall down, even just alittle bit to him. Dabi mused and observed her closely, finally seeing the opposite end of what its like to have someone in need go to him of all people. “i haven't felt anything beyond disappointment for a long long time, so to say i feel comfortable with someone i was fighting not even a day ago says anything, i hope you understand and i'm not stepping over any boundaries.” He grinned, and responded with an amused chuckle. “Getting soft on me again, better not make that a habit with anyone else here, I just might get jealous.” Dabi grazed his finger against her cheek, she leaned against his hand and smiled angelically.

“I'm starting to like that fire in your eye. ” He ghosts his knuckles down her cheek as her eyes closed slowly, blinking exausted as the cold air kicked on from the ac unit above them, she shivered and threw all caution to the wind, Dabi stiffened as she moved closer to his end of the bed, she ducked her head abit beneath the blanket to snuggle against his warm chest, his heart hammered with nerves he still couldnt place a name too, the same hand that stroked her cheek rested on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow circles into the sweatshirts fabric. 

Comforting and confusing thoughts swirled through the villains mind as he soon came to realize he remained awake for all but another 20 minutes, the soft rise and fall of her chest and side indicated she had long fallen asleep in his arms. 

Dabi rested his chin against her head and attempted to find the sleep he had long since forgotten in his past life. Acceptance and comfort from someone. 

He sighed and whispered in a husky tone of voice.

“Glad we had that talk, Little Mouse…”

XXX~

Hey yall its my first MHA fic. You might see more of her and Dabi in the future cuz honestly this was fun!

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

January AU Writing Challenge

I think at this point we all wish we could live in an Alternative Universe and for the month of January I will be. I am celebrating reaching 300 followers with a writing challenge! Thank you so much for your support and positivity! 

Each week will be a different theme and each day will have a prompt. You can send in asks for any of the characters below and I will update the list as we go! 

Make your requests HERE 

Characters to choose from: 

Pedro Boys: Javier Pena, Agent Whiskey, Oberyn Martell, Pero Tovar, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Maxwell Lord, Max Phillips, Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, Ezra (Prospect), Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) 

Oscar Boys: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, Llewyn Davis, Nathan Bateman, Evgeni (W.E), Poe Dameron 

Week One Theme: College AU January 1st-7th 

1 - You keep reserving the good study room in the corner of the library with the windows- Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

2 - My friend dragged me to this party, and I just saw my ex quick make out with me -Javier Peña

3 -  My computer crashed, and you’re the student worker at the IT center. - Evgeni 

4- I’ve been sitting in this seat all semester. Why did you decide to sit in it today?-  Max Phillips 

5-  We’re studying in the library, and there are two people very obviously fucking in the stacks, and we keep sharing embarrassed glances - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

6 - I’ve ordered take out every night this week, and you always seem to be my delivery person

7 - Every single table in the union is full. Do you mind if I just sit here for a while? - Llewyn Davis 

Week Two Theme: Store AU (Book, flower, coffee shop)  January 8th-14th 

8 -  Barista and person who has a ridiculous coffee order- Maxwell Lord 

9 - At the coffee shop, there is a chess set in the corner, and every morning, I move one piece. Later in the day, someone else always moves a piece too. I’m dying to know who I’m playing against. - Nathan Bateman 

10 - you give me a different fake name every time you come into Starbucks, and I just want to know your real name bc you’re cute, but here I am scribbling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino. - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

11 I like buying books at this one bookstore in particular because you work here and I think you’re cute au. - Oberyn Martell 

12 - I only came to this coffee shop bookstore cause I was thirsty and it was nearby, and I saw you reading and drinking at one of the tables and kept coming back au- Marcus Pike 

13 - when you paid for your book, you kept talking about how much you were looking forward to it, so I read it too out of curiosity, and we bonded over it au- Ezra (Prospect) 

14 - You buy a weird amount of flowers, and I’m concerned as to why- Ezra (Prospect) 

Week Three Theme: Modern AU January 15th- 21st 

15 - My pet ran away, I got fired from my job, it started raining out of nowhere, and I fell in the mud, and you’re just a random stranger at my bus stop, but I need someone to talk to. 

16 - I adopted a kid, and you help me take care of them all the time since we’re neighbors, but you came over and got so involved in the kid’s life so much they think that we’re both their parents instead of just me. - Marcus Moreno 

17 - I met you at a convention, and you’re cosplaying Person B to my OTP, and I’m cosplaying Person A

18- We’re internet friends, and we’re meeting up in real life today, and I’m super paranoid because what if you’re a deranged killer and– omg, you’re perfect. - Nathan Bateman 

19 - Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but can you go on the bungee jumping thing with me? Because I’m too scared to go by myself. - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

20 - You keep coming in to get your laptop fixed, but I’m pretty sure you’re breaking it on purpose, but you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide. - Marcus Moreno 

21 - We’re playing Monopoly in the local library, and the game just got serious; I think the librarians are about to kick us out. - Poe Dameron

Week Four Theme: Parents/Expecting Family AU  January 22nd - 28th 

22 - you’ve been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated, and we aren’t even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh, “I’ll go,” I feel like we might as well be married. - Poe Dameron 

23 - our children are in the same class, and we both hate their teacher. Eventually, the parents’ evenings are just us competing who can call out snarkier comments. - Maxwell Lord (Also my darling Kat’s birthday) 

24 - our kid is only a year old, but they already rule the household and every single aspect of our lives. - Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales 

25 - we are the only two parents who agreed to attend the school trip (bonus: “so I guess we share this hotel room?”) - Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales 

26- “the scans have just come through, and it’s been revealed that we were wrong. You’re not having a baby…you’re having two! congratulations!” - Maxwell Lord 

27 - “fine, fine, fine. rock, paper, scissors to see who has to go calm down the baby.” “glad that we’re dealing with this like adults.” - Nathan Bateman 

28 - we left you to babysit our kid for literally three hours. What happened?!?- Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales (guest starring: Benny the babysitter)

Bonus Days 

29- Called tech support and flirted with the geek squad tech working the phones by themselves - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

30 - Ran into each other at the bookstore and tried to get the last copy. - Marcus Moreno 

31- We’ve been hooking up for the past few weeks, and holy shit, it turned out you’re my fifth grader’s teacher. Oh god, this embarrassing! - Maxwell Lord 

Taglist: @josepedropascal​ @mrschiltoncat​ @mrsparknuts​ @ghostwiththemostbitch​ @zannemes​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @anetteaneta​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​ @artsymaddie​ @aellynera​ @lucifer-​ @houseofthirst​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @maxlordsgf​ 

[blazehedgehog]

What was the honest reaction to Sonic 06 back in 2006?

It was a long time ago, so I can only really speak to my own perspective.

Sonic 2006 was the time that Sega’s marketing department really started cranking the hype train really, really hard. Sonic 2006 was announced as a fresh start. A soft reboot. Sonic Team said they were treating it like “the first Sonic game on the Sega Genesis.” You still had Tails, and Knuckles, and Shadow, but it was the start of a new era. A new type of Sonic the Hedgehog. More serious, more realistic, more “epic.”

At this point, there was no reason to necessarily distrust any of that. Yes, Sonic games had been slipping in quality, and yes, Sega was still more or less pretending that everything was “okay.” But that was always in the typical, “we’re trying to sell a video game and not go bankrupt” sense. This felt like a tacit acknowledgement that things weren’t so great and they were going to start over and refocus. Set things right.

Early gameplay footage looked rough. I distinctly remember a Gametrailers hands-on where they were demoing the Mach Speed Zone in Kingdom Valley, and the Sega representative was very clear and upfront that the game wasn’t done yet, and all of the empty space Sonic was running through would be filled in later. (It wasn’t.) There was also the typical debate over the TGS 2006 “Bringing it Home” playable demo, where people argued then, too, that the game wasn’t done yet, and not to judge things too harshly. The final version will be better.

The final version also wasn’t done yet. So, y’know.

I had effectively bought an Xbox 360 for this game. I was broke as per usual, but I’d gotten lucky and won a Gametrailers video competition, which landed me $1000 in Gamestop gift cards. I bought a PS2, a Nintendo DS, and an Xbox 360, plus more than a dozen games between the three platforms. I knew there would be more Xbox 360 games besides Sonic 2006, and I’d even originally wanted a 360 primarily for Elder Scrolls Oblivion, but the simple fact is that once the money was in my hands and I spent it, Sonic 2006 was the only actual Xbox 360 game I owned.

Or was going to own, anyway. I think I’d won the contest in September or October of 2006, when Sonic came out in November. So I bought the 360 a few weeks early with some original Xbox games, and spent the interim with Spider-man 2, Ninja Gaiden Black, and the copy of Halo 2 I borrowed from my cousin.

Sonic 2006 was the first game I’d ever pre-ordered. The second game, pre-ordered on the same day, was The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the Gamecube. I still have the tiny pre-order statue that came with Sonic. His gloves and socks, once white, have begun to yellow with age, and the skin tone on his face and body is turning an ashy gray.

Even 72 hours before launch, there was not a clear picture what Sonic 2006 actually was. Sega was deliberately obfuscating certain features; early in development they’d sworn up and down that there were only three playable characters in the game, something that blatantly wasn’t true. Perhaps it was miscommunication from Japan, but it meant they were now going out of their way to hide how many other playable characters were actually in the game. I naively distrusted most (if not all) professional reviewers back then, and the earliest scores for Sonic 2006 were all over the map.

As a Sonic fan, you kind of had to know how to read between the lines on the more negative reviews, because we were definitely in the era where it felt like critics were starting to dogpile on the Sonic franchise now that Sega was a third party developer. There weren’t a lot of professional reviews you could trust regarding Sonic games, or at least, that’s what it felt like. This was the rise of the podcast, and snarky hosts were taking whatever low hanging fruit they could get.

I remember waking up on launch day -- friends had gotten up early and picked theirs up in the morning, when I’d rolled out of bed somewhere closer to noon (or maybe even afternoon). I had plans to pick up my copy later that evening, after sunset. My friends did not sound happy, but again, there was always this vibe of “Wait and see.” They had only just started the game. First impressions were still too fresh to really call.

But I had this moment, this cold spot in the pit of my stomach, where I thought “Maybe I can cancel the pre-order and get Gears of War instead?” Reviews for Gears seemed pretty good. I’d probably be happy with it instead of Sonic.

I couldn’t let myself do that. I was a Sonic fan. This was the first big Sonic game of a new generation. A new start. I bought the console for this. First game I ever pre-ordered. The second Sonic game in the history of the franchise I’d bought on launch day. This was it. This was the event. No backing down. Besides, Sonic 2006 was a big 15th Anniversary celebration game. They wouldn’t make such a big deal about the anniversary without just cause, right? Sonic 2006 was going to be great. I just needed to calm down.

So we drove out to Gamestop -- and it was the sort of thing where I think we couldn’t do the pre-order at my local Gamestop for some reason, so this one was a town or two over. It was a journey. I was nervous the whole way there. Something told me I was making a mistake. But I had to do this.

I think it may have been starting to rain as we rolled up on the store. It was around 8pm, and people were starting to camp out on the sidewalk. Literally camp out, tents and all, because of the rain. Today was the launch date for Sonic 2006, but tomorrow was the launch of the Playstation 3. These guys were here for Gamestop’s “Midnight Madness” launch event. They were going to be some of the first to get a PS3. I was probably the last person to pick up a Sonic 2006 pre-order.

Sonic 2006 might have been the first Sonic game to ever make me angry. I’d had a lot of internet debates on how I felt about Sonic Adventure 2, but most of those amounted to splitting hairs about things that felt disappointing when compared to the original Sonic Adventure. I was not angry then, I was simply let down. I was similarly let down when I finally got a chance to play Sonic Heroes. But again, not angry. Baffled, maybe. A little sad. But not angry.

With Sonic 2006, I slammed head first in to all of my excitement and uncertainty at 200mph. This was a Sonic game unlike anything I’d ever played before, and in all of the worst possible ways. Enough has been said about the quality of the game that I don’t need to describe anything that’s wrong with it -- also because literally everything was wrong with it. Perhaps the first video game I’d ever played, ever, on any platform, that actually fought back against your efforts to play it. A disaster in every sense of the word. A broken nightmare. After finishing Sonic’s story, I was mad. How could they let this happen? What was wrong with them?

I was less angry after having finished Shadow’s story. Shadow had even buggier gameplay than Sonic, but it also felt more complex, more action-oriented. His story was better, too -- instead of the sappy Princess love story, Shadow’s story was about how the world was against him, and the crossroads that brought him to: rise above his past and strive to be a better person, or give in to the temptations of evil? It was still dumb as heck, but it was less dumb than Sonic’s story.

By the time the credits rolled, I had accepted the fact that this game was a mess. More of a mess than any Sonic game ever had been before. It was clearly a deeply unfinished game. Friends theorized maybe they could patch the game, because that was a thing games could get now. Sonic 2006 could still be saved. The PS3 version wouldn’t be out for another month, surely that means they’re working on a fix, right? Some were even theorizing over an achievement called “Nights of Kronos” -- it mentioned a “complete ending to the last hidden story.” Perhaps that meant there was going to be more? Maybe we got the bad ending, and a better, more finished ending was waiting for us on the disc somewhere?

There wasn’t. And no patch ever fixed the game. That was Sonic 2006 -- the kiss, the loading screens, the strange mannequin NPCs, the stiff controls, the glitchy physics, the empty overworlds, the bizarre dialog, the plotholes and time paradoxes, that’s just what the game was, and was always going to be, forever.

Before Sonic 2006, you could say that 3D Sonic games were bad, but there was always a place to defend them from. They had problems, but they were never irredeemable. Sonic Heroes may have had frustrating controls and repetitive level design, but it had great art direction, nice music, and fun concepts. They were always trying, dang it, and it was obvious to see that.

Sonic 2006 felt irredeemable. Offensively terrible. A failure on such a level that it was hard to comprehend. Beyond simply “a new low” for the franchise. This felt like rock bottom. It was the kind of bad that spread like a virus. Even good games, like Sonic 2 on the Sega Genesis, felt notably tarnished by the existence of Sonic 2006. It threatened to ruin the entire franchise by proximity alone. For some, it probably did. I definitely had a moment where I wondered if I would ever enjoy a Sonic game in the same way ever again. They were all tainted now. Infected by memories of Sonic 2006, the game that was supposed to save the franchise, but condemned it to the lowest pits of hell.

In isolation, that might have been the end for me. I might have continued to drift away, bit by bit, until I found greener hills outside of the Sonic franchise.

I’ve said this before, but what saved me was getting hired to write for TSSZ News. Now, suddenly, I was paid to play and write about Sonic games. It was a duty. And it helped that the first Sonic game I reviewed for TSSZ ended up being Sonic Unleashed, a game I continue to openly gush about to this day, more than a decade after its release.

But never forget that Sonic 2006 was such a disaster that it nearly made me give up Sonic the Hedgehog. It really was that bad.

[fuckinuchihas]

hi! this is an emergency request, sorry to bother.. it's my birthday now, but I feel like I haven't gotten as far as I should by now and I can't help feeling like I've failed. do you think you could do hc's for kuroo, bokuto, oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, and/or the miya twins (separate or together) cheering their s/o up for her birthday? also p l e a s e don't do all of these if you don't want to. thank you so much. (also i'm 18+, so whatever you think suits the characters works)

I plan to get to Iwa and Mattsun soon but on the off chance your birthday isn’t over yet I wanted you to have these two to start!

I don’t know the twins well but if I can get something I’m okay with out, you’ll have one or both of them too!

Kuroo:

As hard as it would be to take, Kuroo would understand when you say you don’t want a party. He wants to show you off and let everyone in his life, in both your lives, celebrate the person that means the most to him. You don’t want the attention though, so he nods and promises not to make a big deal out of it.

But he draws the line at leaving you alone for it.

He refuses to give in and eventually you relent and promise to let him spend the day, just the two of you together.

He shows up at your doorstep at 11:58 two minutes before the day officially starts and you’re half asleep ( he woke you mid nap) staring up at him in a shirt that’s just a little too big and he goes soft at the sight of you being so absolutely adorable.

You rub your eyes a little while asking what he’s doing there and he rolls his eyes at you before pushing his way into the small, comfortable apartment you’ve rented for yourself.

“Like I would miss a minute of it,” he says, arms laden with bags that he sits on the counter.

“What is all this?” you ask, wide eyed and slightly more awake now that you’ve noticed the bags.

“Well some of it is your favorite snacks, and some actual groceries so I can cook you breakfast and a romantic dinner later tonight…”

“Tets...this is all, it’s too much.”

He stops, turns to you and puts a hand on your shoulder to make sure you’re facing him directly before lifting your chin up until you can look in those big, bright eyes of his. “I’m grateful, y’know…”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I want to celebrate your birthday because I’m grateful you were born. I’m so happy that you exist in the world and that I can love you. Please...please let me do this,” he says, eyes a little glassy as he searches over your features.

“Oh…” you whisper softly, heart racing as your gaze flicks down to his lips. “Okay I guess.”

He smiles softly at you, using his thumb to brush against your chin before he leans in and presses a warm, quick kiss to your lips. “Thank you, for being born and for being mine.”

Bokuto:

So everyone knows that Bokuto is so full of life and fun and energy and you’d think this big fluffy himbo owl boy would want nothing more than to throw a party for his amazing partner. But while Bo is a bit, okay maybe a lot clueless about some things, he’s noticed how you’ve slowly been crawling into yourself as your birthday approaches.

He’s not sure how to fix it but he does realize that a big party isn’t the way to go. For him, maybe but not you. As much as he would love to show you a good time and have everyone together, he figures for the first time in his life a more subtle approach is necessary.

Okay you got him, he asked Akaashi for advice and Kaashi told him not to be an idiot and draw attention to the fact that you’re not feeling your best.

Still...it was his idea not to throw a party so he should get bonus points too he thinks.

He finds you in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants despite it being mid afternoon when he comes over with your favorite dessert in hand.

He melts.

“You’re so cute, babe.”

“Bo, I’m a mess. What are you even talking about?” you ask, a small chuckle leaving your lips though. He has a way of making you smile even when it’s hardest.

“Here, eat one of these, or five I don’t care,” he says, handing over the pastry box. “Then you’re gonna get ready and we’re going out.

“Ko, I don’t really feel-”

“Just us… I promise,” he says, and you hesitate.

“Fine…”

“That’s my baby,” he says, patting the top of your head.

You scrunch up your nose but ignore the feeling of being patronized because Bo would never and also the promise of sugar is far too appealing.

When you’ve stuffed yourself full on dessert, you change into your favorite seasonal outfit. It’s warm and soft and it fits you like a glove. Bo gives an appreciative whistle despite the fact that he’s seen you in it several times before.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head but you chuckle anyway.

“What? You’re hot...I’m not gonna let you forget it, not for a second.”

You feel your face warm up a little but you duck your head to hide it away.

He pulls you by the hand toward the door and then out to where his truck is waiting.

When you get to the passenger side he opens the door for you like a proper gentleman and then you start to climb up but instead he lifts you up like it’s nothing and eases you down onto the seat despite your slight flailing.

“BO!” you squawk.

“What?,” he says, adding a huff of your name with a wide grin. “I was just trying to be romantic!”

You see a bit of mischief spark in his eyes and you huff out a disgruntled noise.

“No you were just being mean,” you say, shaking your head but you can’t stay mad at him.

He’s too cute, honestly it’s kind of unfair.

Ignoring your fake pout he jogs around to the driver’s seat and hops into the cab beside you, pulling until your pressed up against his side where you belong.

You start to look at him a bit strangely when the road goes from blacktop to gravel and then again when it changes to just sand and a little mud from the rain yesterday.

He pulls into a grassy field and you look around skeptically. “Are you...hiding a murder cabin out here somewhere or something?”

“What? No!” Bo says, shaking his head. “We’re having a picnic.”

You start to open the door but he flies across the cab and pulls the door shut.

“Uhh.. just give me a minute first okay?” he says, and you quirk an eyebrow at him but agree easily enough.

He moves back to his side of the cab just as quickly but you feel the warmth of him leave and you have to pull back a whine. There’s a chill outside and now that the engine has been cut it’s not nearly as comfortable. Thankfully though, you don’t have to wait long before Bo comes back with a wide grin, offering you his hand to help yourself down.

You chuckle but follow along with his guidance.

When you get around to the side of the cab you realize both why he lifted you into the cab because there’s no way you would have missed this.

The bed of the truck is covered in soft fluffy blankets and pillows and there’s a gorgeous wicker basket in the middle and you go a little weak in the knees but Bo just puffs his chest out and grins. “So you like it, eh?”

“No, shut up-” you lie, but he knows the truth so you don’t bother to correct yourself.

The food is amazing, he picked up your regular meal at the place you guys went to on your first date and he takes pleasure in watching you eat as he digs into his own plate.

When the food is gone he stretches out, props himself up on the stack of pillows against the back of the cab and motions for you to join him.

When you cuddle into his side he starts.

“I really like your smile, especially that sleepy soft one you get in the mornings before you’ve forced yourself out of bed…” he grins, and you blink up at him.

“And the way you laugh when something is really funny, not just a little funny but like hilarious. Like that one time with the peanut m&m’s, I still can’t look at a bag without laughing…”

You chuckle too because it’s a fond memory just between the two of you. Still..this feels strange so you poke him in the side gently and ask, “Kou, what’s this about?”

“Oh it’s nothing-”

“Bo…”

“Ugh fine, I was trying to give you one thing I love about you for every year you’ve been alive. I found the idea on the internet but it seemed really nice and stuff.”

You melt a little further into the blanket pile with Bo. “It’s very nice, thank you. But this is all I need.”

“Well I could still say em’ though.. Right? I made a list and everything,” he says, pulling the paper out of his pocket to show you. “Those were the only ones I remembered without looking though.”

You chuckle. “It’s okay...thank you by the way, for all of this. It was exactly what I needed,” you add and he looks so fucking proud of himself that it’s almost hard to look at.

You lay there together for a while as he continues to read each and every item off the list and you smile up at him with a look of true awe in your expression before you pull his neck a bit until his lips press against yours and it feels like you’ve come home again.