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sukiglycerin · 3 years

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call it fate (or a christmas miracle) || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: bodyguard!katsuki bakugou x earthbending quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: bodyguard!au, fluff, some angst, fake dating, aNd thEre wAs OnE bEd

* words: 10.3k (help)

* warnings: swearing bc bakugou, too much backstory, idk what bodyguards even do, there’s a fight scene (in a similar lieu to the sports festival arc), hunter x hunter? no this is tsundere x tsundere, i want to hug bakugou, yes i imagine mr. tanaka to be the tanaka from kuroshitsuji, christmas is a very minor aspect of the story (but the title was too good to resist)

* original request from @apexqueenie: Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh can I get a Bodygaurd Bakuboi x bratty reader who don’t like to be watched like a hawk cuz she wants to do fun things pretty please? // and from anonymous: if it's ok, can I request Bakugou with a reader who has a quirk like earth bending please? // and from @killkurzyackerman: ÒWÓ UR REQS ARE OPEN can u do a bakubabe with like lil sassy bad bitch vibe reader bc ive seen a lot of fics that sorta like softie or angel type and no offense theyre great but ya know sumthn diff this time please

* a/n: this is a very long fic, to say the least. i combined these three requests! though reader’s quirk doesn’t appear often, it conveys my thoughts on how bakugou would go about with that quirk. moreover, i hope this reader is badass? i realize that that characterization is quite hard for me. so, i hope you don’t see reader as super soft! i made them fight back against bakugou (literally, too) and kinda bratty hehe. i got to explore a lot of new things with this fic, so i hope they reach you well. this is a repost because it originally did not show up in the tags!

* synopsis: things had gotten boring with bakugou as your bodyguard. it was only until an interesting proposal by the man that things would change. well, maybe a little too much would change...

you, to be quite simple and honest, were getting tired of katsuki bakugou. he'd been your bodyguard for years (years! much longer than any other you'd hired!) and he was getting boring. dull. plain. any synonymous word would fit. he was boring like a 24 hour session of watching paint dry, monotone like a professor’s droning that never failed to put you to sleep. (perhaps he was even more spiritless than professor sato at the academy. he caught you sleeping no less than thirteen times in his class. the number didn’t even account for the times he didn’t catch you.)

to the untrained eye, katsuki bakugou is vibrant. he's aggressive, unruly, and ruggedly charming (somehow). he's a wonder in a suit-and-tie and the epitome of an oxymoron with his harsh words, rough hands, and crisp suit. it was that very reason you’d hired him; his personality excited you. it seemed unpredictable and it was a challenge.

like all other challenges, bakugou was not impossible. once the challenge was overcome, time flow was stagnant; you watched the ticking of a clock as the day passed by you. you’d gotten used to him and he’d gotten used to you. these days, he watched you like a hawk. you could never slip past those sharp eyes anymore, no matter what you did. he was not fazed by any of your antics (ticked off mildly, sure, but he could live with it).

“leave me alooooone,” you whined for the fourth time in an hour as you exited a mall. bakugou's hands were full of shopping bags filled with everything from clothing to the latest technological invention. you weren’t sure how he was supposed to protect you in that condition. though, to be candid - in the first place, you didn’t need protection. you attended a private institution designed to maximize the use of your quirk as a child and graduated with absolutely flying colors. on top, you’d taken various martial arts outside of school. you didn’t know why your parents were still concerned about your wellbeing. you handled it fine. around 99.9% of the time, you could easily beat your bodyguard in a fair fight. it was a regular practice for you; so common that there was a reward if a bodyguard could last longer than six months working for you. not that any of them liked to be called bodyguards.

“sweetheart, i would if i could,” bakugou gritted through his teeth. “pay’s too good to- goddamn, what did you even buy?” he’d stopped behind you to adjust his grip on one of the bags.

you hummed pleasantly, continuing at your same, leisurely pace. his question was a rhetoric; he watched you buy everything with your black credit card. you watched as a car pulled up in front of you.

“there’s our ride,” you said, brushing bakugou’s shoulder as you stepped into the car. he grunted in response, loading the car with your purchases.

“fight me with your quirk when we get home,” you said during the ride. “you have, what, a boom boom quirk?”

he made a noise in his throat, voice hard. “my quirk’s explosions. nitroglycerin.”

“dangerous,” you said through a smile. he’d never used his quirk around you, but you were already starting to see possibilities of strategies you could use.

“so says the master earthbender,” he retorted sarcastically.

you clicked your tongue. “we’ll see who wins in the fight, explodo-boy.”

“finally brave enough to challenge me, eh?"

“i was always this brave.”

“oh, give it up already, bakugou!” you directed another wall of rocky terrain toward bakugou, who blew up the land and sent rocks flying. his stance was hunched slightly, forehead matted with sweat. the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, coat long abandoned on the rugged terrain.

“tired already?” he snarled. he put his hands together, preparing for a bigger explosion. you didn’t let him have this opportunity, slinging a large rock to absorb the impact of the explosion. he dodged swiftly, to your disappointment, but his attack seemed to be subdued.

you used his delayed reaction time to try to trap him with terrain under his feet, but he was somehow a step ahead of you. you heard a popping noise; bakugou was propelled through the air, your rocks blasted already and a cloud of dust forming. you cussed under your breath, already moving yourself away from his estimated landing spot that was too close to you.

he sent crackling explosions to the bottoms of your feet, but you easily dodged them. you created a temporary platform of elevated ground to protect yourself from the small explosions, jumping off it and rolling away. he was already aiming a larger blast toward you, presumably expecting your escape route. you figured it’d be a directed blast to pierce through a wall. you knew that the explosion would be unavoidable. to counter, you created a line of walls resembling dominos. they acted as stairsteps; you quickly ran up to the highest you could conjure in the short time you had before bakugou hit them. you grabbed the closest piece of rock that you could and leapt as bakugou’s blast made contact with your steps, chucking the rock at him and aiming to kick him when you landed. you knew he had no power to counter, being unable to react quickly due to the powerful nature of the blast he’d conjured.

you were about to win when the door to the training facility opened. you froze, literally, in midair and frowned, turning to look at the intruder.

“fighting, young-?” one of the butlers, tanaka, said. he was an elderly man with a gentle voice, but his eyes always seemed to glint with a clandestine humour in it.

“you can call me by my first name. please put me down, tanaka,” you said, no malice in your voice. he nodded, and you softly landed on your feet next to bakugou. you’d known tanaka for far too long for him to use honorifics with you. he’d practically raised you as a child.

“you haven’t fought in a while,” tanaka commented. he conjured a water bottle (you never knew how he had the right things for the right occasions) and walked toward you.

you made a noise of acknowledgement. “and it seems i was just about to win.”

he smiled tenderly. “i’m sure.” he handed you the water bottle, which upon further inspection, you saw was ice cold.

“thank you,” you said, gingerly accepting the beverage. the water flowed soothingly down your throat, easing the aching that had formed due to all the dust you’d kicked up in the fight.

“mr. bakugou?” tanaka asked, offering another water bottle (seriously, where did he get that?).

“thanks,” bakugou took the bottle. he drank feverishly, quickly finishing the bottle in what must’ve been two seconds flat. so undignified.

“y/n, you have an appointment in 15 minutes with-” tanaka said as you capped your water bottle.

“oh, yeah,” you said, waving off the matter. “i got it.”

you brushed off the dust on your clothes and started toward the exit. bakugou was quick to follow you, nodding politely to tanaka.

bakugou stood outside the door during the meeting you had with your father. you were not a minute too late or too early when you stepped into your father’s office, freshened up and dressed in clean attire, the dusty clothing from your fight with bakugou long discarded. the smell of leather and mint enveloped you, reminding you of the days you’d play in your father’s office in your youth. the room was always dim, the light on your father’s desk being the brightest object in the vicinity when the curtains were pulled down. when you were younger, you liked to pretend the room was made of chocolate, as the color was so dominant on the interior. your father was not pleased to find five-year-old you trying to bite the corner of his desk, to say the least.

the sight of his office was ever-so familiar to you, and once held a feeling of endearment in your heart. that was then; now, you only ever entered the room for a business-related matter. your face was blank, lips held in a thin line - you anticipated the topic of the meeting since your father first scheduled it a week ago. it, quite frankly, was inevitable; you could be neither opposed nor favorably disposed to it.

“i’ve found a compatible match for you, y/n.” your father sat at his desk, eyes intensely trained on you. “they’re from a well-off family with a strong quirk.”

compatible. it didn’t mean they got along with you or would be a good partner; no, it meant that they matched the superficial criteria set by your family.

“yes, father,” you said indifferently. he nodded, as if already expecting the answer.

“you’ll meet them soon. we’re arranging the date,” he folded his hands on the desk. “tanaka will alert you of it when it’s finalized. that is all.”

you nodded, taking your cue to leave. giving the room one last glance, you started to push the door open, then paused. door halfway open, allowing outside light to stream into the dark room, you looked back at your father. it was now or never to ask, you guessed.

“father… we wouldn’t happen to be having a family gathering anytime soon, would we? for new years or anything...” you hadn’t had any in the recent years, but you’d figured you’d ask. the scent of homemade food and the comforting chatter of the gatherings always made your heart swell.

he grunted, not looking up from the papers he shuffled around in his hands. “no.”

“ah. okay,” you said, sighing quietly. you knew better than to get your hopes up for such things. you turned back to the light, where bakugou was awaiting you, and shut the door behind you with a thud.

you walked in silence.

“so, no plans for the holidays?” bakugou asked bluntly.

“eavesdropping, i see,” you deadpanned.

“shouldn’t’ve had the conversation in front of the whole damn world.”

you rolled your eyes. “what about it?” you asked. “my lack of plans, i mean.”

“well-” he coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, averting his eyes. “that old hag- my, uh, mom, somehow got under the impression that i’m no longer… single. probably because of my profession - she thinks it’s ridden with scandals like a damn drama - but, uh… she’s expecting me to bring… company home for our christmas dinner…. and i can’t ask any of my friends, ‘cause she knows them… i wouldn’t damn ask you if i had no other option…”

“thanks,” you interjected. you held your tongue from making a comment about how little friends he probably had. “anyway, why don’t you tell her no?”

he slouched. “have you met her?” he grumbled. “the hag won’t listen to me. trust me, i would’ve, but… you can’t refuse her, once her mind is set on something… she’s too stubborn for her damn good.”

“like you,” you remarked, earning a small shove from the man.

“pl-” he choked, “pl - ah, fuck - please can you go to the dinner with me? it’s just for a night and morning, i need you to fake being my date. i can tell her we broke up later or whatever, i just really need…”

your lip curled. a desperate bakugou was a rare sight, and you wanted to relish in it for as long as you could. you feigned further consideration.

“but there’s so much i would rather be doing…” you whined. it was a lie. all you wanted was some variation in your life; a dinner didn't sound too bad. perhaps there was a dark secret within the bakugou family you could exploit.

“like what, wasting money?” bakugou muttered bitterly under his breath. you shot him a dirty look.

“fine, please?” he asked again. “there’ll be some damn good food… and, uh…” you tapped your foot with false impatience.

he cussed under his breath. “i’ll do whatever you want, damnit, just go with me! please!”

you cocked an eyebrow. “whatever i want?”

“yes, for a day,�� he groused. “only a day.”

“alright!” you pumped your fist up. your father’s business training came in handy sometimes. “when’s the dinner?”

“this weekend,” bakugou said. “we also need to, uh, figure out how to act more… coupley.”

“...right,” you said. business class had not prepared you for that. “how the fuck do we do that?”

as it turned out, you two were not the best pair to fake a relationship. neither of you had actually been in a relationship prior to this. you didn’t really have time to date on top of your studies and such; you didn’t need to, anyway, because all of the people who were romantically interested in you bored you. their personality traits either consisted of rich or doormat. as for bakugou - well, he was bakugou. you couldn’t see anyone wanting to date that brute.

“i’ll pay,” you said upon entering a cafe. it was a big cafe, nestled in the midst of an even bigger mall. your tone was firm; there’d be no way bakugou would be paying. you looked up at the menu and said to him, “the usual?”

he was silent for a moment, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. he cleared his throat. “uh, yeah, sure. the usual.” weird.

you ordered yourself a drink and bakugou his usual order, a decaf iced caramel macchiato with light ice. he looked at you with a strange emotion on his face when you handed him his drink.you practically shoved it in his hands while he was too starstruck about god-knows-what.

the two of you settled at a booth (“table,” bakugou had argued. you eventually won the debate).

“so… trivia about each other, right?” you asked. “i guess we’ve got to get to know each other more.” he nodded. “well, first, you need to stop being so quiet. right now, you’re not my bodyguard or anything. we’re, uh…. dating. we’re partners. datemates. lovers.”

he choked on his drink at the word “lovers.” he sputtered, then gained composure. “yeah.”

“okay, i need to you to be more casual.”

“tch, who said i’m not casual right now?!” there it was; this was the bakugou you’d known when you first met him. he was awkward and amateur-ish, stumbling on his words and failing miserably at being polite. it was a fond memory. overtime, he’d obviously polished himself up (but only in the presence of you and your family).

“that’s more like it,” you said.

“tch.” he sipped his coffee, unrelenting to admit that you’d won.

“well, let’s cover basic facts. your birthday is april 20 and you like spicy food.”

he coughed again, setting his drink down. “yeah.”

“are you okay? d’you need water, or something? are the lights in here too bright?”

he shook his head, eyes still dazed with a certain unclarity. “‘m fine, idiot.”

you weren’t convinced. “...whatever you say.”

he took another sip, closing his eyes then continuing as normal. normal, in the standards of bakugou, of course. “i-i think i know damn well enough about you. don’t need to prove shit,” he grumbled the last bit.

“a little bit too well,” you muttered saltily. “well, this is a learning experience for me, take it or leave it. we need to get along at the dinner, don’t we?” you drummed your fingers on the table, eyes darting around at the cafe. the decor was pretty.

he made a grievance under his breath, but nodded. “there’s my dad and my mom - the old hag - and me. i’m an only child.” figures. he continued, “they both work in fashion… yeah… my dad’s more quiet than my mom, she’s loud… apparently we’re a lot alike - don’t comment - but yeah, she’s my mom. they live in shizuoka, and it’ll be just them at the dinner. you’ll need to stay overnight...”

“seems… intimate,” you commented offhandedly.

he whistled. “you think?”

the gears in your head turned as you stared into the space over bakugou's shoulder at a large poster of some featured drink. it was all small talk to you, but you saw this meeting for what it was. an opportunity. it was your break from the uniform days plaguing you for the past week's - he wouldn’t need to watch over you, now your fake lover. lovers were equal.

love - what was love? you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. feigned or not, it was different. couples were moody, from what you could gather. one day they’d be hanging off each other’s limbs, and the next, they were bickering their heads off. it sounded fun, to be a couple with bakugou rather than his employer. you could say goodbye to normalcy and tedium.

you felt your lips turn into a smile as a plan developed in your mind, tapping the table at an increasingly faster tempo. who cared about the dinner? you were a fake couple! you could break away from the norm and find the things that made bakugou tick. you could gain a one-up over him. you could pick his personality apart piece by piece until it broke the monotony of daily life. you watched bakugou’s expression grow puzzled and frustrated. you pretended to be deep in thought, aware that bakugou was opening his mouth to make a snarky comment presumably about how the smile on your face was getting unnerving to him.

you didn’t let him speak, instead cupping your face in your hands and leaning in towards him. “how do you think we should become more intimate, kat-su-ki?”

you think you got soft over the years. when you first met bakugou, he was a rough little thing. being the same age as you, he was far less qualified compared to the other candidates to be your bodyguard. he looked out of place in his suit identical to everyone else. call it fate, or what you will, beckoning you towards him. when you first met him, you could’ve never imagined how far into the future you’d be stuck with the boy. all of the bodyguards you’d hired prior to bakugou’s appearance in your life didn’t last long. it wasn’t their fault; no, no, they were very competent. extremely competent - to the point it was boring, scrutinized under their meticulous gaze. you could do absolutely nothing under their watch, and where was the fun in that?

so, long story short, you hired bakugou for his incompetence. you’d low expectations for how long he’d last. you were surprised he could even put on a tie properly. from the way his hair spiked in every which way (“undignified!” your father had complained to you) and how his feet shuffled against the nice, newly polished cherry wood floors (“the scuff marks…”), bakugou was far from the epitome of a bodyguard. he couldn’t sit still and constantly made weird crackling noises (which you later learned were small explosions, not the concerningly incessant crack of his knuckles). the cherry on top to the disaster pie called bakugou, however, was his speech. he was polite, at face value, but also incredibly rough at face value. if you transcribed his words down, they’d be all standard formalities. it was the quirky way in which he presented his words; gritted out like somehow had forced him into this job. actually, scratch that, it was like this job was the be-all or end-all of his life. he was like an extremely tsundere shounen protagonist. he needed to win (“win what?” your father had laughed in disbelief) and be the very best. you'd… appreciate the sentiment more if you were his mentor in becoming a pokemon trainer.

of all the things bakugou was at the time, he was not a stoic old man nor a cold, indifferent boy who looked down on you snottily; he got the job. much to your father’s chagrin, of course. you’re pretty sure he had a backup bodyguard during the first month or so of bakugou’s employment, in case bakugou dropped out mysteriously for any reason.

surprisingly, bakugou was competent, but not infuriatingly so. he had snark, and under any other employer he would’ve been fired in the first week. he did his job, and that was all. it was fun to tick him off, too, and so easy. it was - dare you say it? - cute. you wanted to watch him fall apart and leave, as so many others had. you waited for the day he’d get used to you or vice versa, when you’d wake up with nothing to look forward to. in the end, no one ever stayed with you. you could usually figure that out within the first week of a bodyguard’s services.

these days, you started feeling that way. bakugou was just becoming everyone else you’d ever hired. he was becoming everyone else. for some reason, though, you still clasped onto the thread of hope that maybe he was different, and that led you down a series of events trying to convince yourself he was different.

at the same time, you told yourself he was like everyone else. did you want him to stay or not? you didn’t know anymore. maybe fate would spin something good out of this, or maybe he would. you didn’t want it in your hands anymore.

being flirty was definitely not the best route of plan, but man, it was efficient. what better way to fake being a couple than organically develop that relationship? that was your bullshit reasoning to the logical part of yourself (when it was obviously far from the truth).

yeah, it was definitely not the best plan. you bored of it quite quickly, but couldn’t shake off the lasting feeling of fluttering in your stomach. you supposed it was because it was the most reaction you’d gotten from bakugou in months. you’d never seen him so disgruntled.

he was very, very blushy. you didn’t know how you hadn’t learned of it earlier. his cheeks were dusted strawberry red, matching the hue on the tips of his ears. ah, tsundere bakugou had returned for a short period of time. you wished you could've taken a picture of him.

you tapped the tip of his nose and he hissed at you, cheeks darkening a shade.

“a boop?” he scoffed indignantly in disbelief. “who calls it that? a five year old?” but you could tell that he really enjoyed it on the inside.

“what- what are you playing at, dumbass?” he swatted your hand when you tried to boop him again.

“c’mon, couples need to do coupley things, katsuki,” you cooed. “like overly affectionate pda~”

you didn’t know someone could get so red.

“since when did you call me by my first name?” he grumbled, unable to form any other type of response.

“since we started ‘dating,’” you teased back, realizing that watching bakugou become more and more uncomposed was more fun than you’d expected. he'd never become so open around you; after all, you'd had a strictly professional relationship prior, so bakugou never expressed any hint of a personality other than his behavior when he was first hired. it was a good change, in your eyes.

then, as you did of most things, you bored of it. sure, flustering bakugou was fun because he was so outwardly tsundere, but your attention span was short. he was already starting to recollect himself in record time, face cooling from a startling scarlet to pink and remarks becoming increasingly cohesive.

you're not even sure if he was aware of your gaze resting upon him as you half-assed responses and watched the gears in his head furiously turn. when he got real worked up, he pouted when speaking and occasionally slurred words together. his eyes tended to veer away when he thought of a response and he always got fidgety.

eventually, you stopped teasing him. by this time, the ice in his drink had already melted and you were dangerously close to kissing him on the cheek (it was an impulse thing! you were not catching feelings!).

if there was one thing you learned, it was this: bakugou was truly a sight in his emotional state, though you could argue his unassuming state was equally, if not more breathtaking.

you noticed it as morning light illuminated him through the window of your room, hitting the silky fabric of your bedsheets around him. he was reading some book, dressed in comfortable attire that felt oddly domestic. maybe it'd be the most casual you'd ever see bakugou.

the thought struck a chord in you, making you wonder what'd happen after the dinner. it'd be awkward, for sure. it dawned on you that these moments with katsuki would vanish and things would go back to normal. they'd disappear into thin air, like nothing had ever happened. you weren't well educated in horology, but you were pretty sure that the time you'd spent with him would vanish as well, not to be spoken of or referenced ever again. time would keep trudging forward and you'd only be able to stare back as it disappeared on the horizon line.

you wanted to grasp the time that flooded your hands, encase the moment in glass and hold it in your palm forever.

"oi, idiot, what are you staring at?" and maybe it was the first time you truly heard bakugou's voice. it was rough on the edges with a soft core, you realized. maybe, after these couple of days, bakugou had started to care for you.

"nothing, stupid," you mumbled, returning your attention to your phone, but you couldn't shake off the newfound feeling that holed up in your heart. bakugou didn't care about you, you told yourself. you had a strictly professional relationship with him, and that was only broken for the time being because he needed a favour.

right. this was all for a favor.

nights spent testing each other on the most miniscule of facts and afternoons spent telling each other stories about each other - it was all nothing. it wasn't a big deal, you repeated to yourself.

still, you couldn't help but to look back up at bakugou and let your imagination run. he wore a black shirt and sweatpants, a complete 180 turn from the typical three piece suit he normally wore. maybe this is what he'd look like in the mornings if you were a proper couple, not client and bodyguard - maybe in another universe. you could imagine his bedhead, hair all messy and eyes still worn with sleep, vastly different from the professional persona he had around you. you'd wake up inhaling the scent of caramel and feeling his warmth surround you, feeling secure merely in his embrace. it'd be him and you in your own little bubble, unperturbed by the entire world.

wait, caramel? you wondered. where did that come from?

"you're staring again, dumbass," bakugou grunted, not looking up from his book.

"zoned out on the blandest thing i saw, sorry," you replied.

you sat in silence like that for a while. you weren't not exactly sure how it was bonding time for the dinner (were you sharing telepathic waves?), but it was comfortable like a fluffy comforter on a frigid winter day. it felt secure, like a home you never had in your own bedroom. every now and then there was the sound of a page turning from bakugou and a tap on your phone from you, and things never felt so normal. it was too short an eternity for you; before you knew it, you had some event to attend to for your father, solely there for the image of his company.

you didn't see the bittersweet look on bakugou's face as he watched you leave, or how he hadn't even finished a chapter of his book during the hours he'd sat with you. as his eyes followed your disappearing silhouette, bakugou wondered if he'd ever be able to see you like that again.

a foreign giddy feeling filled your chest as you got ready for the dinner with bakugou’s parents. you’d brought a bag for light travel packed with essentials (pyjamas, toothbrushes, and things like that), having planned ahead. you were typically indifferent to gatherings of any kind, having attended so many for your father. besides, this was a favor for bakugou. you weren’t sure why you were being so indecisive choosing an outfit for the dinner, or why your heart felt light as a feather, fluttering about in your rib cage boundless. this was no big deal, you told yourself. it’d only be bakugou and his parents; you’d spoken at gatherings of far more people with less nerves. you penned it down to only being excited for the food which was so coveted by bakugou. his mother, mitsuki, was apparently an outstanding cook (bakugou was apparently good as well), and you had to admit, you missed the heartening scent of homemade dishes. her specialty was spicy curry - your mouth watered at the thought.

yes, you reassured yourself as you walked out of the door and met the fresh, winter air outside, you were only in it for the food. you had an abnormally fast heart rate and a spring to your step (as noted by bakugou) solely for the food.

shizuoka prefecture was two hours away from your hometown, tokyo, and you forced bakugou to drive. the trip didn’t really feel like two hours, anyway, in your opinion. according to bakugou, that was only because you were sleeping the majority of the time and he was stuck with the dull task of driving and only the low hum of the radio to entertain him.

“well, this is it,” you said to bakugou, approaching his parents’ home, bag in hand. it looked quite elegant on the outside, snow thinly blanketing the well-kept greenery in the front. you turned to look at him. his suit looked nicer than usual, on full display because he refused to wear a coat despite the frigid air biting at any bit of bare skin unsheathed on your body. (“just the perks of having a great quirk like mine,” he’d said. you punched his shoulder.) you huddled closer into the warm padding of your coat, watching your white breath dissipate in the air.

“it is,” he belatedly said. his face was atypically solemn, eyes downcast and seemingly lost in thought. you didn’t comment on it. something about the nippy winter air numbed the atmosphere, as if all warmth had subsided only to your coat.

“do i look alright?” you asked him, trying to wipe away any last bits of drool you might’ve had on the corner of your mouth.

“yeah. you look… really nice,” he commented quietly. you didn’t mention that your bulky coat was covering the entirety of your attire. a heavy silence fell over the two of you.

anyway, the mood was quickly relieved by the presence of mitsuki bakugou, who greeted the pair of you at the door with her husband, masaru. bakugou really was a spitting image of his mother, sharing the same spiked blond hair and annoyingly clear skin with her. they also had similarly loud personalities, you observed later on. they’d often bicker with no real malicious intent. they were both much different compared to bakugou’s father, masaru, who was a gentle, soft-spoken man with brown hair and glasses.

mitsuki met you with enthusiasm, eagerly asking you questions about yourself and your relationship with bakugou. it was strange to see bakugou so quiet; though, at some points in the conversation, he looked like he was going to be sick. you didn’t have time to ask him about it, occupied by his mother’s unending but well-meaning questions. you’d expected to fib for most of them, but the truth easily slipped from your tongue. even compliments about him were half-truths.

"when we first met, he was like a fish out of water!" you recounted to mitsuki. "he stumbled on his words and my father didn't approve of him as my bodyguard. but, i pushed through, and here we are! right, katsuki?"

"r-right," he coughed, unable to look you in the eye and fidgeting nervously.

"it amazed me, too," mitsuki admitted. "i'd never seen our katsuki looking so polished before - it used to be a trouble getting him to even wake up at a decent time." she smiled at you. "you've brought a blessing on him."

bakugou cleared his throat. "don't talk about me like i'm not here," he grumbled.

"oh, katsuki," mitsuki cooed, pinching bakugou's cheek. "masaru, let's prepare dinner." she looked at you and bakugou. "the two of you don't need to worry about a thing - oh, you still have your bags! i’ll put them in katsuki’s room."

upon the absence of bakugou’s parents, the two of you sat beside each other without a word.

“are you… feeling alright?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “you don’t look so well.”

“fine,” he grunted. “i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. “not nervous meeting the parents?”

he cracked a small smile, but his fingers still nudged each other in his lap. you touched his shoulder, first in an attempt to comfort him, but soon realized that he was very toasty. you scooted towards him; he stared at you with an surprised, indecipherable expression. you linked his arm with yours and leaned into him, inhaling his cologne and bathing in his warmth.

“what?” you mumbled. “you’re warm.” you intertwined his fingers with yours. “warm,” you happily cooed, eyes slipping shut.

“jesus christ,” bakugou hissed. “you’re freezing. is it humanly possible for your hands to be this cold?” his other hand enveloped your hand (still being held by his), rubbing his thumb soothingly on the heel of your palm. a bubble of warmth fizzed inside you, heart effervescing like a carbonated beverage. he held you long after your hand had passed room temperature, and you sensed that maybe the fuzzy feeling jittering about you wasn’t his quirk. it was like some sort of low fire, crackling deep within you. you hadn’t much time to dwell on the thought when your eyes jolted open, smelling really, really good food wafting from somewhere near.

“look at the lovebugs,” you heard mitsuki murmur, standing in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room leaning on her husband. “dinner’s ready,” she softly said upon noticing your eyes on her.

your eyes widened, looking down at the hand entwined in yours, and you look at the man next to you. bakugou was sound asleep, tranquil slumber having sheathed itself around him. his head leaned against the top of the couch, mouth slightly agape and chest falling rhythmically.

“hey,” you whispered. reluctant to let go of his hand, you used your opposite hand to tap his shoulder lightly. “hey, sleepyhead.”

bakugou groaned, eyes still closed and body unmoving. “five… more… minutes…”

“sure,” you said easier than you expected. you immediately let go of the man’s hand (he reached out toward you blindly at this) and stood up. “i’ll just eat all of that food you've been looking forward to by myself…” mitsuki and masaru looked at you fondly.

“nice try, dumbass,” he said gruffly, standing up and putting a hand on your shoulder. his eyes were lidded with torpor and his voice was an octave deeper. it sent shivers down your spine - you hadn’t ever heard his voice like that - and a part of you wanted to hear it again. sadly, the effects of sleep passed him quite quickly; by the time he’d said “let’s eat, dumbass,” and made his way to the dining room, his voice was back to normal.

dinner consisted of scrumptious-looking (and tasting!) chicken katsu, curry, and even more conversation. your mouth watered as you spooned yourself the perfect ratio of rice, curry, and chicken in one bite. you politely raved to bakugou’s mother about her heavenly cooking, and bakugou never looked so proud or embarrassed in his life. masaru discussed fashion with you, mitsuki occasionally chiming in and offering to show you pictures of young bakugou modelling. you courteously declined for the fear of bakugou’s face getting any redder than it was already.

“y’know, katsuki really wanted to be a pro-hero when he was younger,” mitsuki reminisced. “he even was accepted at that really prestigious hero school, ua.”

you looked at bakugou with questioning eyes, and he shook his head dismissively, hesitant to the topic. you wondered what he was doing here, as your bodyguard, rather than the hero he aspired to be. it wasn’t like he’d be unable to become a sidekick once out of ua, so what happened…?

at the end, you seemed to have gotten the approval of mitsuki and masaru. your heart twisted in pain realizing who you were and why you were here; this was asked of you, nothing real. you pushed the thought away, returning to the dining room after washing your hands.

“oh, my!” mitsuki exclaimed as you entered the dining room. “it’s getting late.” she turned to you. “we don’t have a guest bedroom, so you’ll have to share a room with katsuki, if that’s alright?”

you looked to bakugou, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. “sure, i don’t mind,” you replied.

“i’m sure you’d love to see bakugou’s childhood room.” this brought bakugou abruptly to his senses; his eyes rounded, face looking like a deer caught in headlights.

a smile tweaked your lips. “i’d love to.”

you didn’t know what you were expecting when mitsuki opened the door to bakugou’s room. certainly, though, you were not expecting this. his room was decorated from head to toe with all might merchandise, carefully collected through the years. it could’ve been worse, you admitted to yourself, but bakugou’s interest in all might surprised you. the level of admiration bakugou had for the former symbol of peace was clear, plastered on the wall posters and figurines which dotted his bookshelves.

“of course,” misuki said, “this is all really from his middle school days. he had to move to a dormitory system in high school, and i’m afraid he didn’t take much along with him…”

you tilted your head at bakugou, who’d taken particular interest in the ground with his hand sheepishly on the back of his neck.

“it’s cute,” you reassured him gently.

“though katsuki’s bed is pretty big, we could pull out a futon if you’d like…”

“it’s alright.” shit. why did you say that? noting the bewilderment on bakugou’s face, you added, “we are dating and all…” you mentally smacked yourself for assuming bakugou would be comfortable sleeping in the same bed as you. “yeah,” bakugou said, much to your shock.

“that settles it!” mitsuki smiled. she winked. “don’t stay up too late.”

after mitsuki and masaru bade you goodnight and closed the door behind them, you were left alone with bakugou.

“hey, is that a picture of you?” after looking around the room, your eyes fell on a framed photo sitting on bakugou’s dresser. you reached for it, recognizing a familiar spiky haired blonde boy proudly holding a trophy.

“wait-” the frame was already held in your hands.

“aw, you were such a cute kid.” you teased, “can’t say the same about now.”

he huffed, ears reddening. “there’s a photo album on the bookshelf,” he mumbled, pointing to a thick looking book on his bookshelf. you eagerly plucked it from the shelf, holding it like a precious treasure in your two hands. he shoved his hands into his pockets and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you open the photo album.

the first photo was a baby photo, of course, and you could feel that it was taking every part of bakugou not to rip the book from your hands and scorch it all out of embarrassment. the first few pages were those of baby bakugou, eating food with his hands or playing with his parents. as the book progressed, you watched him develop a quirk (blowing up a vase) and become interested in pro-heroes (clutching an all might doll to his chest with a big smile on his face). the photos became more scarce as bakugou grew, but he seemed to grow happier. paging through photos of him in high school, the man’s gaze seemed to grow softer and fonder. his high school pictures consisted of him either standing in front of the famous ua or making an indifferent face with a group of his friends, who looked vaguely familiar from somewhere. upon further inspection, it dawned on you. you could recognize them all - they were young versions of the pro-heroes red riot, pinky, chargebolt, and cellophane. they regularly appeared on your newsfeed for one heroic deed or another, so it came no surprise to you that they attended the famed ua high.

as for bakugou, though? you couldn’t understand what he was doing there, or rather, here. if he graduated ua, he’d be right on track to become a pro-hero, not a bodyguard.

bakugou already sensed your revelation, shutting the book and putting it down. sitting on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“i know what you’re thinking,” he stated. he took a shaky breath. “i’m- i’m not ready to talk about it.”

“okay,” you replied. “i think… we should get some sleep. you have to drive back tomorrow.”

he snorted. “me?”

you nodded like it was a given.

the night was long, dragging in the same manner that you’d trudge through deep snow with weights on your ankles. it wasn’t that bakugou’s old bed was uncomfortable; it was surprisingly plush. you laid awake, though, as the clock ticked by and the house went silent. you felt as stiff as a wooden board, staring at the dark ceiling and thinking about everything and nothing.

your thoughts first strayed to bakugou’s childhood, and how he’d seemed the poster child for an aspiring pro-hero. how could he have given that up? he had friends, dreams, and a path open to his aspirations. yet somehow his life had deviated into this, pretending to date you for his parents’ sake.

it felt strange to lay in his bed in his parents’ house and not to really call him yours. not that you wanted to call him yours outside of this scenario. definitely not. it was just the guilt gnawing at you that impaired your proper judgement - your conscience felt pity. you pulled off a large lie to bakugou’s parents that you were dating when in reality, you’d never even gone on a proper date with the man; for all you knew, he could be a terrible person. he could have terrible dating manners and leave to the bathroom when the check comes in an attempt to force his date to pay. it was hard to imagine, but hey, you reasoned to yourself, it was a possibility.

“can’t sleep either?” bakugou’s deep voice startled you. you thought he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

“yeah,” you snorted. “and here i thought you were in the habit of always sleeping early,” you referenced his mother’s stories of him in middle and high school. you turned on your side to face the man.

“kinda hard with five different all mights staring at me,” he joked, gesturing to his plethora of all might-themed decorations.

you imitated all might’s larger than life voice. “i am here! … to watch you sleep!”

bakugou first snickered, which then transitioned into a full-blown, unrestrained (yet somewhat hushed) laugh. you couldn’t help but laugh too, watching his features crinkle and gummy smile widen. your heart felt peculiar in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out the feeling. in the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him so relaxed or open. you knew you’d miss moments like this in the morning, when you’d drive back and the deal would be over. it sent a bittersweet pang to your heart - why couldn’t moments like these last forever?

you woke up to find bakugou gone, leaving you alone in the bed with only a warm indentation next to you letting you know he’d just left. you rubbed your eyes groggily, sitting up and pushing the covers aside. you swung your legs over the edge of the bedside, standing up and making the bed once again. you padded out of the all might-furnished room to the kitchen, where you could hear quiet footsteps and the sizzling of a frying pan.

“someone’s finally awake,” bakugou’s husky voice remarked. he was standing at the stovetop, wearing an apron over his nightwear and frying eggs. sleep had worn his voice deeper; you swooned at the domestic sight before you. no, it wasn’t swooning, you told yourself. just… appreciation. you really wanted to make a comment on his muscles, bulging from his short-sleeved shirt.

“that looks really yummy,” you said, in no way whatsoever referencing his biceps and definitely referring to the egg in the pan.

“i’d like to pretend that was an innocent comment, but the direction your eyes are looking at beg to differ,” bakugou deadpanned. you looked away, flushed.

“so, whatcha making?” you said, plopping yourself on a chair.

“eggs, rice, natto, miso,” he said. “but nothing for you until you change and brush your teeth.”

you stuck your tongue out at him. “who are you, my mom?” you continued, “i used to hate natto when i was younger.”

“it’s good for you,” bakugou said, moving the egg onto a plate of steaming rice.

“you sound a lot like my mom,” you replied. “but i like natto now, just not too much of it.”

“i liked natto when i was younger,” bakugou said.

“really? all of my friends hated it. they complained about the smell.” you reminisced about your childhood days, when your biggest worry was whether you had homework or not.

“speaking of smell? your breath. go brush your teeth.”

“wh- i’m so far from you, there’s no way-”

“no hygiene, no food.”

“who even says that?” but you were already out of your chair and heading towards the bathroom.

“oh, by the way,” bakugou said as you were halfway through emptying your plate with rice in your mouth, “what do you want?”

“wha?” you said, chewing the egg-natto-rice mixture in your mouth. “what?”

“the deal,” he said. “before my parents wake up.”

“the deal-?” you racked your mind for any deal you’d made in the recent days, as you weren’t much a gambler, then it hit you. the deal. in an attempt to convince you to pretend to be his date, he’d said he’d do whatever you wanted for a day in exchange. you hadn’t thought about it at all.

“um,” you said intelligently. what did you want? you wanted to spend more time with him, but there would be no way…

“take me ice skating.” he choked on his rice.

“what?”

“i really want to ice skate…” you lied. “i’ve never been.” another lie.

“you want to go ice skating with me?”

“pay for me.” you could’ve paid for yourself. “and, you have terrible dating skills. how are you supposed to get a real partner? consider this beneficial for yourself.”

he blinked, taken aback. “...okay,” he agreed, dumbfounded. you hoped he couldn’t see through you. “when?”

“today, duh.”

by the time you finished your plate, bakugou’s parents had woken up to bid the two of you farewell. hours later, you found yourself at an outdoor ice skating rink in tokyo.

the rink was decorated festively; surrounding trees had been wrapped in golden lights and there was something in the atmosphere which bustled with cheer. those skating were either children or couples, laughing and skating together. you told yourself not to pay too much attention to them, but there was something about the way they looked so happy that made you yearn for the same.

you clumsily clomped toward the entrance of the rink itself, clad in four layers of warm clothing and worn rental skates. cold air nipped at your cheeks and your breath was a snowy white before your eyes. patting your cheeks in an attempt to half hype yourself up and half warm yourself up, you tensely stepped onto the frozen water. clunk. clunk.

“you look like an idiot,” bakugou said as you made your way onto the ice with slow clunks. he was surprisingly cocky about his skating prowess once he’d gotten his skates on, despite his lack of experience on the ice. he was unaffected by the chilly weather, wearing a thin jacket and denim jeans despite the vast majority of other skaters wearing winter coats.

“it’s cold,” you responded. slippery ice beneath your feet, you suddenly felt a great deal less confident in your ice skating abilities. it might as well have been your first time skating, in the eyes of bakugou. you took baby steps on the ice, both hands gripping the side rails while bakugou glided breezily past you.

“c’mon, idiot, loosen up~”

easy for him to say. “i’m- trying,” you gritted out, attempting to copy his fluid motions.

“hey, dumbass, take my hands.” bakugou stopped in front of you, both hands outstretched for you to hold. you looked at him warily, then accepted the offer, his hands replacing the railings.

“don’t hold them that hard,” bakugou said. “i’m not going to drop you. relax.”

you nodded, gulping as you released your death grip on his hands. starting to skate backwards (an incredible feat in your eyes), he slowly guided you along the edge of the rink. you spent most of the time staring at your own feet, trying to keep your balance and rhythm in time with bakugou’s. once you seemed to get the hang of it, he sped up ever so slightly, loosening his grip on your hands.

“just like that,” and his voice was much gentler than you’d ever heard it. you looked up to meet his soft gaze. your heart leapt and he quickly averted his eyes. “um,” he coughed awkwardly. “i think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“okay.” you started to let go of his hands, testing your balance skating without anything to hold onto. in small amounts at first, you start to let go, allowing your strides to become longer and longer. bakugou matched your pace beside you and eventually, the two of you fell into conversation. you’d both forgotten your own words about how this was for him to gain dating experience; it felt too real to be practice.

“the truth is, i was really, really close to becoming a pro-hero,” he confessed, “but i was injured in my third year. i had to take a break for a year or so, but by that time, i was too rusty for the job.”

“but-” you said, almost stumbling on the ice at the revelation, “didn’t you do all that training-?”

he shrugged. “it’s the reality of it,” he said dismissively, a momentary shadow crossing his face. he recomposed. “i’m over it now.”

you had the slight suspicion that his words didn’t ring quite true, but let go of it. still, you couldn’t help but think about all of his all might decor - he must have idolized the man, only to fail at his dream. his room was like a memento to everything he wanted yet couldn’t reach. “you wouldn’t have met me if you hadn’t become a bodyguard,” you said cheerily in an attempt to distract both him and yourself.

“true,” he smiled. then, almost to himself, he added, “i don’t regret that.”

the two of you skated a couple more laps around the rink. conversation faded and your feet became more and more sore after skating for so long. a chill had settled itself onto your bones as the sky tinted in anticipation of the evening to come.

“we should get going now,” bakugou said. “before it gets too cold.”

“yeah-” your phone buzzed in your pocket. “hang on, give me a second.”

it was tanaka, telling you that you had a date scheduled by your father in two hours. it took you a moment, it really did, to remember who you were and what your priorities truly lay.

you made it a point not to tell bakugou what the call was about on the way back. you told him it was about a business deal, and he pretended to buy it. the car ride was desolate, lacking all warmth despite the heater blasting. you felt guilty; why had you lied to bakugou? you and he both knew you were lying about the business deal. was it pity? why had you felt the need to protect him?

you could only amount it to the fact that maybe bakugou was becoming a friend. maybe bakugou was becoming someone you never wanted to hurt. your thoughts were the only thing you could hear over the buzz of the car’s heater. you looked to the sky with imploring eyes as if some cloud on the lavender-tinged atmosphere listened and could provide you an answer.

you weren’t sure if it was the clouds’ doing or some star hiding behind the sun’s light that washed a sense of solemness by the time you returned to meet tanaka at the gates. it was almost enough to make you forget the sad feeling you held whilst looking at bakugou one last time before stepping out of the car to greet your old butler. the feeling was unfathomable to you; in your daze on the ride back, there’d seemingly been no reason for such a feeling to linger in your heart. why had you felt so much guilt, so much sadness for this man you were supposed to be strictly on business relations with?

not that you’d done this, anyway. your business relationship with bakugou ended the minute you agreed to that favour he’d proposed, and was further broken when you ice skated together. you wondered if he felt the same as you, or if things would return to the way they had been after this date tonight. somewhere deep in you hoped it wouldn’t - hoped he wouldn’t forget it all. (“stay here,” you’d told him when you stepped out of the car. his stare was vacant; would he? you weren’t sure why you even asked.)

“tanaka,” you said stiffly. the air was frigid around you (when had the temperature dropped so suddenly?) and a breeze wrapped itself around your legs. an impulse told you to turn back, look at bakugou, and tell him the things you left unsaid - but you didn’t.

“y/n,” he nodded. it was like a wake-up call. this was who you were, truly. your father’s pawn, his company’s pawn. you were a face used for business and nothing more. you traded your feelings for your father’s wealth - that’s who you were.

yet it was the past two days that made you feel more like yourself than ever before. the time spent with bakugou, of all people, made you feel genuinely happy. he made your name feel more like yours than your father’s. it seemed it was he who could only coax this feeling out of you. you, certainly, couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. there was something unlike anything you’d experienced before which bakugou gave you. but you couldn’t let your father down, could you?

“y/n, we must go now,” tanaka urged.

you didn’t look back.

bakugou watched you leave with an inscrutable expression. as soon as you vanished from his sight, he let out a deep sigh and bashed his head on the steering wheel, then rubbed the spot of contact. that would leave a mark.

he wished he could pretend he didn’t know what your sudden meeting was about. he couldn’t. what kind of bodyguard was unaware of his client’s schedule? you were going on a date, on account of your father’s absolutely superb matchmaking skills. he wanted to strangle the bastard.

god, he was an idiot to have gotten his hopes up about you. just like countless other things in his life, you were unattainable. he was constantly in pursuit of the impossible, it felt, yet none of his endeavours’ ends had quite felt like this. it started when he was a child with a newly developed quirk. constant words of praise fluttered around his ears, all applauding his strong quirk and natural intelligence. it continued when he entered school, winning academic and athletic awards for what everyone called his talents. (he remembered looking up the definition of “talent” in a dictionary in his elementary school’s library and being sorely disappointed. no one had seen the hours he’d dedicated to practicing and studying after school - all of that couldn’t amount to what everyone else had called natural talent.)

in doing so - winning all those competitions - he’d somehow earned the approval of all those around him. it was never something he’d wanted or aimed for, but it soon started to fit him like a custom-tailored outfit. somewhere along the way, he started to seek out the approval of others, flaunting his accomplishments to do so. however, as years went by, one thing became apparent: the tactics used on his peers and teachers would never gain his parents’ approval. he so yearned for a tad of his parents’ praise or satisfaction; even an “i’m proud of you, katsuki,” from them would’ve sent katsuki to the stars and back. he never was quite sure, as a youth, how to gain this prize, so to speak. and so, for the sake of his parents, he became stronger and stronger and thus began his journey to attain the first impossibility in his life.

high school, at once, came knocking on his door in the midst of this endless journey. with it came izuku midoriya, the boy katsuki had bullied in middle school. this time, though, it was izuku who was stronger; katsuki had so wanted to atone for all that he’d done to the boy, but it proved something impossible. on the physical level, izuku had already forgiven him and moved on. it wasn’t enough for katsuki, who’d really done nothing to deserve izuku’s kindness. so katsuki set off, trying to truly deserve the boy’s forgiveness and make up for everything he’d done. in katsuki’s mind, there would be nothing he could do that would balance out the weight of his actions to izuku. hence unraveled the second impossibility katsuki set up for himself.

the third impossibility found itself in katsuki’s third year at ua academy. he was working for his parents’ approval and atonement for izuku; this impossibility, though, would send everything crumbling down. impossibles, unlike any math equations covered during his schooling, could not be cancelled out the more brought into the equation. it was perhaps katsuki’s only salvation and lifeline, his passion to become a hero. fate snatched this very possibility from katsuki’s hand, snapping the lifeline and dangling it just out of his reach. all of it was cruel - the sympathetic words spoken from recovery girl’s lips and the weeks katsuki had to sit out of hero training. even worse was how katsuki watch his grade drop from one of the top in the class to only passable in general studies, no longer sharp enough to qualify for a pro-hero. by the time he healed, he was rendered unable to rejoin the hero course. his goal was thrown away easily, becoming another impossibility.

katsuki trained himself physically for a new job. an acquaintance had introduced him to being a bodyguard, and katsuki figured that was close enough to being a hero. not that he particularly enjoyed the notion of waiting on someone’s every beck and call. but through and through his countless impossibilities and misfortunes, he had to move forward. he was tired, so tired - hearing his parents’ disappointed voices on the phone and looking up to see a billboard of the newest top pro-hero, deku. when he foolishly and naively got his hopes up about you, the logical part in him knew it was doomed. he knew that as he stared at you, illuminated by a golden light in your bedroom, it was ill-fated. you were a miracle opening up a new life to him - but miracles weren’t real.

of all the impossibilities in his life, you were the most painful. why was he cursed in such a way? where had the happiness in his life gone, if not with you as you walked away from him? he stared at his suit cuff, suffocated in the stupid attire. he should never have taken this job.

a knock. another knock. three more rapid knocks, and he finally looked up to see your eager face looking at him from the passenger side window. he hastily unlocked the car door with a click.

“finally,” your exasperated voice said to him, tinged in a happy hue that he’s confused by.

“wh-where’s tanaka?” katsuki stuttered. “your date-”

“i did it, bakugou.” you beamed at him. “i refused. i said no.”

“wha-what? you refused what?”

“the date, duh!” you laughed. you grew quiet. “i realized something. i realized that all i want is you, and it’s… it’s about time i start taking control of my life.”

katsuki cracked a smile. a real one, not painful like so many others he’d faked before. “you’re a dumbass, you know that?” and it was endearment, bringing you close to his heart.

maybe fate had decided to bless him. maybe it was all the impossibilities in his life that had cancelled each other out to give him you.

“oh, and by the way,” you said, changing the topic. “i’ve been thinking a lot about it recently. we need to have a rematch for that sorry excuse of a fight we had the other day. i will have an undisputed victory over you.”

“you’re on, moron.”

it was definitely fate that brought katsuki to you.

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst

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redstarwriting · 4 years

Text

My Light

Stephen Strange x Reader

Request: “Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader is the legal guardian of their sibling's (who died in an accident) toddler and the reader is trying her best at parenting. One day they find out the child has magic abilities, but everything goes tits up because Mordo shows up and tries to take said powers. Cue our favorite sorcerer saving the day. May we have a progression of him and the reader falling for each other? Thanks in advance and feel free to disregard the ask if it is too silly”

Word Count: 1,773

Genre: Fluff | Little Angst

Warnings: swearing, death of a loved one, attempted murder, Mordo in general

A/N: Very sorry for how long this took me to write! Like I said, writer’s block is a bitch. But it’s here now! And the ask was not silly at all! It was very fresh and fun actually. I hope you enjoy it! I write best for Stephen it seems, so hopefully I lived up to your expectations! Also, I made the child gender neutral because why not, you know?

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“Ori. Put. The paintbrush. Down,” you try your best to sound strict, but Ori the two-year-old has other plans. They just painted an entire… emblem, you guess, on the wall of your apartment. Again. You cannot figure out how they keep getting into the locked painting cabinet butt yet here you both are. You just sigh before bending over and picking them up, only to get a paintbrush to the face. “Okay, Ori, now you’ve done it,” you say, a mischievous glint in your eye. Ori looks at you with confusion before you snatch the paintbrush, setting it to the side and gently toss them on your couch and scream, “You’ve unleashed the… Tickle Monster!” You “attack” them, only to be met with happy shrieks and giggles. You’ve discovered this is an easy way to tire them and distract them from what they were just doing. You’re just now getting the hand at this whole… parenting thing. Ori isn’t your biological child, they’re your sister’s. Sadly, she died in a freak accident, leaving little Ori in your care. The worst part is Ori was there when she died. One day when she was cooking, the oven malfunctioned and exploded, catching the entire house on fire. It’s believed that she was killed instantly in the blast, and even though Ori was playing ouutside when it happened, they were still there for the entire incident. Granted, they didn’t understand it, but still. It’s really sad. And you’re trying your hardest to be the absolute best parent for them as you possibly can be.

They just make it so damn hard sometimes.

After your tickle-tack, Ori was worn out. It was about their nap time anyways, so you take them to their “big kid bed” as they just stopped sleeping in a crib, and tuck them in. Of course, you still have a baby monitor in their room to see and hear when they need anything. You go and sit on your couch, reveling in the moment of silence you have while Ori sleeps. Then suddenly, their crying pulls you out of it. You sigh, getting up to go check on them only to realize that when you get to their room, there’s a man in there. And he’s targeting Ori. Oh hell no.

“Who the fuck are you?!” you scream, immediately picking up one of Ori’s wooden blocks and hurling it at the intruder’s head. Good call, (Y/n). That’ll stop him. He doesn’t even catch it, just waves his hand and it deflect back, hitting you directly between the eyes instead. “Ow…” you mumble, rubbing the spot where the block collided with you. “This is none of your concern,” the man says, beginning to move his one hand in a circular motion while holding the other in place in front of him. You hear something behind you and turn around to see an orange glowing circle leading into what looks like the ocean?! What the fuck?! Suddenly, the man runs toward you, and you scream thinking you’re about to get pushed in when suddenly he is literally thrown against the wall beside him.

“Bad,” you hear Ori squeak, and you turn your attention to them only to see their hand out in front of them and… is that magic coming out of their palm? “You made this complicated, young lady,” the man says, standing up again, and you turn your attention to him once more. “W-what-”

“I didn’t want to kill you, but it appears now I must. This child’s real mother interfered when I tried to take their powers the first time. It appears I’ll have to do what I did last time again,” he says, and your blood runs cold. Did this man just admit to murdering your sister? And did he just say he was going to murder you too? You were frozen in place when he started running at you again. This time, though, another portal looking thing appeared and another man stepped into Ori’s room, and the other guy was suddenly frozen mid-run. Max capacity for this room is you and Ori, by the way, so there was a lot going on in a space that did not hold that much. “You gave me quite the chase, Mordo, but it looks like it’s over,” this new guy says, and you break out of your frozen state to run over to Ori and pick them up.

The man named Mordo follows you with his eyes, and you glare at him. The man who saved you walks toward this Mordo character, but before he can do anything, he suddenly breaks out of the trapped state he’s in and starts swinging his staff at him. The guy who saved you and Ori curses under his breath, and suddenly, you’re pushed into a new location with him following. You look around, noticing that you’re somewhere with what looks like a bunch of antiques. “Sorry about that, I figured the best thing to do was flee here instead of completely destroying your place. Besides, I’m not so sure you would be able to handle the mirror realm, so I definitely wasn’t about to take you there. Now, let me explain everything that just happened.”

You blink and the next thing you know, you’re in a chair while Ori is preoccupied with a giant coloring book and multiple crayons. “Your sister’s child possesses a type of raw magical talent, and I’m afraid the man who broke into your home is going around and stealing magic from others who have it. I believe it would be beneficial for you and the child to live here for a period of time until I either apprehend him or Ori is able to defend themselves if needed.” “Uh… wait okay, hold on, what?”

“Well, I was pretty blunt with my explanation but-”

“No, I understood your explanation I’m just a little shocked over the fact that this little thing is magical, that Mordo dick literally murdered my sister, and now you’re telling me it would be beneficial if I moved into this place when I don’t even know who you are or where this place is and I don’t have any of my belongings and-“

“Calm down, (Y/n). I’ve had all your belongings transferred over to here already. My name is Stephen Strange, and I need to teach Ori about their powers before Mordo takes them from them,” Stephen explains, and you just stare at him. “I promise you this is to protect you and Ori. Mordo won’t stop until every sorcerer and sorceress no longer has magic. I can help.”

And that is how you ended up living in the Sanctum Sanctorum with Stephen Strange with Ori. This place was a lot nicer than your tiny two bedroom apartment, and the best part is you didn’t even have to pay rent. Even if you wanted to go to work, Stephen said it would be too much of a risk with the lunatic magic stealer still running around, so you couldn’t even work anymore. You mainly spent your time playing with Ori or walking around, tidying up and reading. Although you weren’t learning magic or anything. No matter how many times Stephen tried to convince you to.

Oh, speaking of Stephen, the two of you really hit it off. So much so that after about three weeks, Ori started calling him “daddy.” Both of you were taken aback by that and frantically tried to explain to them that, no, Stephen was in fact not their dad, but they weren’t having it. Of course, you found the sorcerer very attractive and didn’t necessarily hate the idea of him being Ori’s “dad,” but honestly, he probably didn’t feel the same and it would be so complicated having two magic users in the family are you kidding.

Nonetheless, Stephen did treat Ori like his child as well, which made you two talk even more than usual. After a while, you two knew each other better than anyone else. It started slow, with him just asking how your day was and how Ori liked their new home and such, but eventually faded into him asking how you were, no how you really were don’t give him that fine bullshit, what your favorite foods were, what you thought of his outfit, what you were doing later, all these things.

Of course, this all progressed after a few years. In fact, Ori was now five years old, and you have never met someone who advocated for you to get a significant other more than this kid. You always told them you didn’t have time, and that you would find one when you wanted to. Ori would then bring up the time that Stephen gave you the biggest room in the Sanctum when you got there, and the time that Stephen got you your favorite food because you had a bad day, and that time that Stephen took you out on the anniversary of your sister’s death to distract you from missing her and how he did that literally every year and, yeah. You get the point. Ori wanted you and Stephen to get together. And the damn kid was too smart and remembered literally everything at age 5 maybe you should just stop telling them stuff.

Then one day, Stephen approached you while Ori was busy practicing magic. “May I sit?” he asks, and you grin up at him, nodding. He sits next to you and clears his throat. “Ori has gotten very good, you know,” he says, and you nod. “Yeah. Their magic is really strong. And pretty. Prettier than yours, anyway,” you tease him, and he grins. “Well, that’s what happens when your magic is light based. It’s always a sight to behold.” “Light based?”

“Yes, their magic is unique, and they certainly have a flair for making someone’s day brighter,” he says, and you laugh. “Yeah. Well, I guess their name fits them.”

“Oh?” “Don’t tell me Mr. Sorcerer Supreme I-Am-An-Actual-Doctor-You-Know doesn’t know what Ori means.”

“Looks like I’m stumped.” “Wow. Okay, well Ori quite literally means ‘my light’ in Hebrew. I guess my sister named them well,” you explain, and Stephen nods. “Well, they certainly brought light to my life,” he says, and you grin. “Good, I’m glad. They brought light to mine as well,” you say, staring at them as they practice. You don’t even notice Stephen looking at you until he speaks, “The light they brought me was you, by the way.”

Needless to say, Ori got their wish of you and Stephen getting together.

#avengers x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #dr strange x reader #marvel x reader #avengers imagine #doctor strange imagine #stephen strange imagine #dr strange imagine #marvel imagine #avengers #doctor strange #stephen strange #dr strange #marvel

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myheartisbro-ken · 3 years

Note

you mentioned in a comment on a supercorp fic (i feel like a stalker, yikes) that you got in contact with darren doyle and he gave you some tips on using kryptahniuo, the sentence structure, the krius thing, etc.. would you mind sharing them? because i feel like i've sucked all available resources dry, and as a huge kryptonian nerd, i'd really appreciate it! (ofc, feel free to ignore me and pretend like this never existed if i'm intruding or unknowingly acting like a jerk.)

Okay, soooo, this is all from 3 years ago and I don’t have the best way to make myself clear when talking to people, but I’m gonna put here the things that are relevant and cut out my cringey communication. This is also for anyone who writes and would like to know a lil bit more about the language, or just people who enjoy conlangs. The vocab is over at kryptonian.info, but this is a clearer explanation of some things I had a bit of trouble with.

It’s pretty long though, so strap in.

Here we go:

Me: I was kind of having a hard time trying to figure out what the present form of zhao would be since it already ends with an 'o' and the present suffix is 'odh', I wanted to say 'I love you' with zhao , and on your page I could only find the ukiem sentence. Would it be zhaodh? And how would the full sentence be? What about shovuh, would it be shovuhodh?

Doyle: Sweet! I'm glad to help (I only wish the writers of the show would help instead of butchering the grammar ... and pronunciation)

Ok ... give me a moment to work on this...

Ok ... /zhao/ ... this doesn't end in /o/ (as in go) it ends in /ao/ (as in cow) which is a different vowel. Even if it did, though, you would still go ahead and use the /odh/ suffix. Two vowels in a row in Kryptonian is going to be super rare (pun intended), but in those cases Kryptonian phonetics will use a slight "w" sound to separate the vowels.

So ... it would be /zhaoodh/which would be 3 characters in Kryptonian writing: zh + ao + odhSo, your sentences would be: /zhaoodh (khuhp) w rraop/ and /shovuhodh (khuhp) w rraop/The subject is optional

Also, this is a sentence that would likely be gendered (familiar and/or intimate speech)

So, "I (female) love you (male)." would be: /zhaoodh (khap) w rrup/

BUT

Let's talk about informal speech, because the I love you stuff gets weird ...

zhao and shovuh are primarily nouns, but at some point they got codified as type 1 verbs (taking suffixes)... and grammatically (especially formal writing) type 1 is kind of the "proper" way to use them. But in day-to-day speech, these usually get treated as type 2 verbs (no suffix)

I should back pedal briefly and say that all this applies to /ukiem/ (familial love) ... and actually to /:jev/ (n. happiness, joy) with /:jevodh/ meaning essentially "like" or "enjoy"

So anyway, the informal variant ends up as something like /zhao w rrup/ (you would almost never use the subject with the type 2 forms of these words) Total side topic ... (hope I'm not overwhelming you here) ...

Since type 2 verbs mark tense with a vowel change, there is an interesting result with /zhao/ ... since the past and future versions end up being /zha/ and /zhi/ respectively which also just happen to be the words for "yes" and "no" which also act as augmentative and diminutive markers...

It's a bit of a chicken and egg situation as it's unclear if the "will love/did love" meanings gave rise to the "yes/no" meanings or if the existing "yes/no" words guided the vowel shift as /zhao/ went from noun > v1 > v2

Me: Okay, first, in the verb section of your page you say that not using a suffix creates the potential form of the verb, yet there is a prefix, kai, for potential, so if someone were to ask 'can you do...' say, 'can you speak/say this' would it need the prefix and then the present suffix, or just not use either. Like, would it be 'ta-kai-ehworodh rraop w [thing]' or 'ta-kai-ehwor' or just 'ta-ehwor' or is all of that completely dumb and I totally misunderstood everything? (I'm also not sure when I should and shouldn't use the hyphen) And the second is simpler, I guess: going by 'us-kah' as like a petname for your child, would the same apply to a parent, such as saying 'jeju-te' in sort of the same way kids say 'mommy' and not just expressing relationship. And could that apply to a person's name as well? Like, idk if that works in english, but say you have a nickname for someone and then you say 'that's MY [nickname]', (I do that for my aunt in portuguese, which is why I'm asking)

Doyle: Dang ... the "suffixless form of the verb forms the potential" is actually a holdover from an idea when I first started making the language that eventually got abandoned. Thought I removed references to it, but I missed that I guess.

Hyphens are just there to help show the morpheme breaks when explaining the language. If you are just writing Kryptonian, then you wouldn't use them at all.

so /?takaieworodh rraop ki kryptahniuo/ would be correct

Ok ... the "familial-possessive-honorifics" ...

They kind of act like an honirific (Mr., Mrs., Sir, Ma'am, Señor, Señorita, San, Sama etc.)

They attach using the proper noun punctuation...

So ... Kal-El => /kal,ehl/

Mr. Kal-El => /kal,ehl,jran/

(I'm not related it Kal-El)

Let me start over on that last one

I am talking to you about Mr. Kal-El, I would say ...

* (neither of us is related to him): /kal,ehl,jran/

* (I am related to him, but you aren't): /kal,ehl,te/

* (we are both related to him): /kal,ehl,kah/

* (I am not related to him, but you are): /kal,ehl,ni/

* (Neither of us is related to him, but we are talking about someone who is related to him and that relationship is pertinent to the conversation): /kal,ehl,cheh/

So in that sense, these are honorifics ... they are more formal, not less

so ... us,kah for a child probably wouldn't end up being a pet name

and it means "our" child ... so even less likely in that sense (us,te would be "my child")

and it uses the less intimate gender-neutral form

wait ... scratch that ... /us/ is masculine (derp derp)

so, a more likely candidate for a pet name for your child would probably be /us kir/ (little boy) or /is kir/ little girl

you could also do something clever like /krius/ or /kriis/ (that second word would be pronounced "kree-yees") ... borrowing the "bright" prefix and applying it to the child noun

For Kryptonians that wouldn't have as much of the meaning that an English speaker would assign to "bright" (smart, clever, etc), but more of a sense of "joyful", "pleasant", "you-light-up-the-room" kind of sense.

An English equivalent to /krius/ would be something like when you refer to someone as "my little ray of sunshine"

getting back to your actual question ...

/jeju,te/ and /ukr,te/ would also be more formal. Kids (especially older kids) would be expected to use this form in public when addressing parents

but at home it would probably be just /jeju/ and /ukr/

for the very youngest kids, /jeje/ would be "mommy", and /uku/ (or even /kuku/) would be "daddy" ... but, unlike some dialects of English (especially in the Southern states), those variants wouldn't last very long as kids would be encouraged to use /jeju/ and /ukr/ as their speech developed

So ... ummm ... I'm not sure if I've answered your actual question ... if I have, I may have indicated the opposite... Kryptonians would remove the "my" on a petname ... does that sound right ... hmmm ... thinking about it

Shoot ... I guess I don't really know how to give you a solid answer on that one. Pet names can be funny things, I think ... because even in English I can see formal titles being absorbed as "cute" ... like having a little fluffy dog that you pick up and in a cutesy voice call "Sir Snuggles"

so ... armed with the info for "normal" speech/grammar ... pick whatever feels right to you!

Me: The first I wanted to ask is if 'Awuhkhu zhadif khap w rrip' is correct for 'I'll never leave you'

And the second I tried to make it out, but the result looked weird so I was just very unsure about (while the other I'm a bit more confident about) so how would 'please don't leave me' be, cuz 'please don't' is a full prefix, right? so it'd be 'please don't' prefix + leave + present suffix and then the pronoun separately. By that logic it'd be 'sozhaoawuhkhodh khap' is that correct?

Now there's actually a third one that I don't even know where to begin (mostly because I didn't try too hard) but I wanted to know would you say the sentence 'she left me alone' or 'my mother left me alone'?

Doyle:

/.awuhkhu zhadif khap w rrip/ ... yep, that's correct!

/sozhaoawuhkhodh khap/ ... yep, that's right too

or you might go with the future tense, especially if those two sentences are going together

/sozhaoawuhkhu khap/

actually ... whoops... /khap/ is the object of the sentence...

/sozhaoawuhkhu w khap/

Let's see for "she left me alone", I would use the malefactive and the past tense of "to go" (which I just realized wasn't in the dictionary - doh!).

So ... let's see... go+past-perf she w me mal.

hmmm... alone, though ...

cause/PST she be/PRS me w alone ki go/PST/PRG ... ?

/podh zhehd nahn khap w chahvymah ki rrosh/ (that last verb wouldn't take a suffix, derp) ... "She made me alone by going" ... hmmm...

You could always just use /podh zhehd nahn khap w chahvymah/ ... she cause me to be alone ... that's probably the closest to the English

So that’s it, so much information that I thought it was actually a longer convo

#kryptonian #supergirl #superman #kryptonian culture #language #idk why I'm tagging all of these but yeah #krypton #answered asks #geeking out over languages is FUN

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delldarling · 4 years

Text

the woodland fort | winsome ii

looking for part i? male kelpie x gender/body neutral reader 3.4k words lemon | oral, size difference, riding, implied stomach bulge and subsequent mess

“Surely you’re tempted by sweet flesh?” Winsome’s brother asks him, pinching at your ear. His words, as much as his presence, startle you into moving. You dart to Winsome’s side, glaring back at the kelpie you’ve secretly taken to calling Blockhead, if only in your own head. Winsome hadn’t been fond of you giving the nickname to his brother, no matter that it was unflattering, and you can understand his reasoning, at least a little. Every name a fae is given is a gift and all that. But you have to have something to call him though, and fae don’t share their names idly.

“Why are you here?” Winsome asks, petulance heavy in his tone. He curls a protective arm around your shoulders and shares a rough grin with - with your friend? Your eyes slide over the vacant spot where someone should be sitting. You focus back on Blockhead and his tense frame.

He’s older than Winsome, though you don’t know by how much, and already he towers over all three of you. He’s not as eerie looking as the glimpses you’ve caught of Winsome’s mother, but he would be halfway there - if he didn’t take such care braiding his long hair into model worthy plaits. He’s not even looking at Winsome though, his eyes are still all for you.

“Tempted by sweet flesh,” Blockhead repeats, grinning. His sharp teeth do him no favors either, no matter that Winsome has them too. Winsome doesn’t bare them at you like a beast though. “You aren’t?” He asks Winsome, again, finally turning his attention to his younger sibling.

Winsome’s cheeks flush purple and- and your friend laughs, the noise bouncing off the copse of trees and echoing out over the lake.

“His stomach isn’t,” your friend had said, sprawled in your hand-made fort, and Blockhead had scowled, had snapped at them, told them to stay out of-

You breathe in, and the memory tries to settle. Pain flashes behind your eyes, head adjusting as your memories reorganize themselves. It feels like trying to cram a too large book into an already full shelf.

You recall that Winsome hadn’t been around one afternoon. You and your friend had been killing time, trading stories near the water, and then Blockhead had you by the ankle, trying to drag you into the depths. Your friend had stopped Winsome’s brother, had kept you safe from drowning. They’d saved you, had fulfilled a.. life debt to you? But it had broken a kelpie rule. Your friend would need to forfeit something precious for interrupting the business of kelpies. Winsome’s mother had seen your friend stop Blockhead. Had insisted on recompense. Your friend’s precious item- you have the feeling it was your memories of them.

The vague outline of your friend, the absence of them in your memories, is all you have now. Losing your memories of Winsome though? That happened later, when it was just you and Blockhead. He’d caught you unawares and held you by the wrist until you agreed.

“You remember?” Winsome asks in the present, and his smile is savagely pleased, fingers pressed tightly into the middle of your back. Before you can confirm it, before you can ask any questions, Winsome is kissing you again. Your eyes flutter closed, fear all but gone as heat and want fill you up near to bursting. For a moment, you forget entirely about the kelpies in the water, about the memories still trying to settle. You hook a leg around his torso, a small noise escaping your mouth, but then a sloshing sound reaches your ears and Winsome yanks his face away. He takes hurried steps away from the shore, whirling to face the kelpie still half submerged in the lake.

“Was it you?” Winsome demands, lip curling in a sneer. “You took the memories of me-”

“Yes,” you whisper, recognizing the dappled flank of Winsome’s brother. “If I didn’t give them up,” you say, heart racing as the truth finally spills from your mouth. “He said he would finish what your mother started. That you would be punished for spending time with a human. For not-”

His brother's eyes widen, but he doesn’t move, just starts to shake in the shallows, and the three kelpies still in the water make snorting, angry noises.

“You see?” Winsome asks his family. He says a name that you can’t seem to understand, that feels and sounds like rushing static to your ears. “-made no claim, mother never needed to take any memo-”

“We cannot lie,” his brother says, the words slightly garbled in his horse form. Rage blossoms in your chest, heat coursing through you like lightning. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t offered reasoning to his mother, hadn’t told her about who you were to Winsome. Part of you is still amazed that the frightening matriarch let you go, had accepted your memories as payment. “You would have been punished, sparing every human who fell prey to our charms.”

“But not for sparing this one,” Winsome bites out, cheeks tensing as his teeth clack together.

“Cease,” one of the kelpies, Winsome’s mother, says from further out. Her curling mane floats on the water like froth. “A sacrifice using my name was wrongly claimed, my son. Come underneath, leave them be or you will be the one to forfeit something precious.”

Winsome sucks in a breath, eyes gone wide with- with fear? And in that split second of you glancing his way, and then glancing back- all the kelpies but his mother have vanished. You and Winsome stare at her, frozen.

“Will you give the memories back?” Winsome asks, though his tone says he doesn’t dare hope for that much. Her eyes roll to your face and then back to her son.

“You know that I cannot. Squander your time here again, if you must. I will not stop you. Humans… Are charming, and have so little time as it is,” her eyes dart to you again and you have to swallow. That… That was the strangest ‘have at it’ declaration from a parent that you’ve ever heard. She isn’t finished though, and her gaze stays on you as she speaks. “He will not be punished for chasing his pleasure, only for denying his nature. We cannot be anything but ourselves,” she tells you, and the words are forceful. A reminder. “And you would be wise to hold fast to this memory in particular.” You blink and then she too, is gone, leaving nothing behind, not even a ripple on the surface of the water.

Both of you are silent, staring out over the still lake.

“How… How did you lure me down here?” You ask, recalling the strange feeling that had made you pause on the road to the lake. The pull that had reeled you in until you knew without a doubt that you weren’t moving your own feet.

Winsome smiles at you, but his eyes are sad. He doesn’t answer your question, and that gives you the feeling that it must have something to do with your friend. “Are you angry?” He asks instead and-

It’s terribly strange, trying to reconcile the young face from your memories with the older one in front of you. You’re both grown now, and the childish fancies of a 13 year old wanting to kiss the kelpie with sharp teeth- It’s almost embarrassing, knowing they’re still there.

“Maybe?” You find yourself answering. He’d frightened you at first, but… You don’t want to lose him again. “I would appreciate my shoes back though, at some point. Aren’t your arms getting tired?”

Winsome shifts you in his arms, but doesn’t let you down, just leans in close until the mist of his breath is condensing in the fast cooling air, mingling with your own. “No,” he says, quietly, tipping his face until his lips are brushing against yours. “I’m not human,” he teases, and the tone, the way his thick eyelashes fan against the curve of his cheeks- it’s an old joke. They would both tease you about it. It had come up in conversations about adventure, about spending your lives together. All the impossible things that feel only a step out of reach to a child or a young teen. But kelpies aren’t exactly talented with human-like glamour, and Winsome… Winsome will never pass for human.

"Human enough," you joke back, heart thrilling.

"I do have arms," he says, but it's his mouth he uses, slanting his lips over yours for a kiss, and then another, and then his tongue is curling against yours and arousal is building in your frame. If Winsome didn't have hold of you, even with your legs wrapped around his torso, you would fall. Your thighs are growing tired, and it's all too tempting to let your legs dangle, to settle yourself in his grip and let him move you where he will.

You break the kiss so you can breathe, laughing when he complains about human lung capacity. "You also have legs," you remind him. "Should we take a walk so, uh," you clear your throat, nodding your head towards the water.

Winsome grins, and though you can see the echo of his young self in it, it's… it's another reminder that so much time has passed. "No audience for you? Are you sure you want-" Winsome stops, eyebrows drawn together in thought, licking at his lips and glancing away. “We’ve… made a hundred jokes about it. But I am not human,” he says, as if this whole ordeal isn’t fresh in your mind. For as long as you’ve known Winsome, for as lovely as you’ve found him over the years - even during the time you couldn’t recall him - you never would have assumed he was human. His being a kelpie was never what kept you apart. It was your age, all those years ago, pre-teen nerves and self awkwardness. And then all the memories of him taken from you in the interim.

“How about you let me have my shoes and we can take that walk?” You ask, heat burning the back of your ears and neck. You’d much rather have this conversation far from potential listeners. Never mind that the kelpies are probably deep beneath the water now.

After a moment, Winsome’s expression brightens and he, slightly unwilling, lets you lean down to grab your shoes from the muck and wrestle them on. “I could carry you,” he insists, and memories want to push to the surface again. It seems impossible that you could have forgotten so much. He sets you down, and then leads you through paths you haven’t walked in years. Most of them are overgrown now, filled with debris from storms or overgrown plants, but the path to your little fort area is still clear, still trampled down- You have to clamp down on the emotions swirling through you. Winsome must still visit regularly.

The copse of trees is almost exactly how you remember it. Overgrown and shaded from most of the lake and filled to the brim with items all three of you had brought here. All the trinkets and blankets are still in strangely good condition, and the arch you’d built for the fort is still standing strong, tied with- You glance at Winsome, embarrassed to find him watching you. The length of water weeds he’d plucked from his own head is still growing, still green, twined about the arch to keep it up. He takes a few long steps ahead of you, taking out the blankets and laying them over the ground for padding. When he bends, you blink. You’d… You’d forgotten about his tail, about your friend braiding it once when Winsome had fallen asleep in the fort.

“I remember that face,” Winsome says archly, drawing you out of your thoughts. He snags hold of your wrist and tugs you into his arms, letting momentum pull him entirely over. Winsome falls onto the blankets, with you caged carefully against him to keep from jostling, and settles his face against the hollow of your throat, breathing in deeply.

“I’d forgotten so many things,” you say, almost confessing, like it’s a secret. You sit back so you can see his face, legs bracketing his middle. You reach out to tug at a lock of his dark gray hair, brandishing it at him with a small, startled laugh. “Like your hair! I forgot that it dries perfectly, that you don’t need to comb it.”

“Those memories will return,” Winsome murmurs. “And we can make others, now, if- if your feelings haven’t changed.”

There are a thousand things you could tell him. There are years worth of conversations you haven’t gotten the chance to have, but- he’s right. As a child, as a teen, trading away the memories had seemed like an easy choice to make for his safety. As an adult, you likely would have done the same, but- with more regret. Memories are sometimes all we have, and you want them. You want to make new ones.

“They haven’t changed. It’s like… It’s almost like they went to sleep. But I do,” you say, heart beating faster as a faint tinge of lavender crawls up his throat and over his face. “Want to make new ones,” you add, and then you lean back down. You kiss Winsome until you’re breathless again, until you’re starting to rock against him, thighs tensing, but his torso is too long. You aren’t even close to his hips at this angle, and if you move back, you won’t be able to reach his mouth. Winsome laughs, sensing your dilemma, and carefully moves you to the side, pushing you until you’re laying on your back and his long fingers are helping you unbutton and unzip every article of clothing he touches. His mouth follows his hands, teeth leaving behind faint bruises that you know will ache, tongue trailing over the worst of them before he sucks at the skin, leaving you trembling.

It’s when he settles between your thighs that you have to fist your hands in the old blankets though. His tongue is wide and long, and the first stroke of it has you tensing. His hands curl around your thighs then, to keep you from moving, to keep your knees from closing around his sensitive ears. He teases, slow and steady and then starts sucking as soon as you relax. You’re fairly sure he’s just enjoying the way you arch into his mouth. Winsome hums when you start to whimper, clutching tighter to you, drawing you closer and then dips his head so he can press his tongue into you, as deeply as he can, eyes flicking up to watch your face and your panting mouth. He’s strong enough that he moves you, pulling you onto his tongue and letting you ease back and then repeating. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from making noise, but after the fourth time you can’t stop yourself.

“Okay,” you gasp, “okay, okay, that’s- Pause, or you’re going to make me-” You start to shake when he laughs, pulling his tongue out of you to lick his lips. You are… You’re an absolute mess, aching and wet with his saliva and Winsome looks extremely proud of himself. Slowly, he lets your legs settle back against the ground and then gets up to adjust himself. His loincloth and belt are hiding... next to nothing

“Isn’t that the point?” Winsome asks, fumbling at his hip until his belt comes loose and the loincloth follows. He sets them to the side, stalling, arranging them just so. You’re fairly sure he’s doing it so you can have a moment to react before he sees your expression. Winsome finally breathes out and chances a look at your face. You… You had kind of expected him to be on the large side, but large side doesn’t quite cover it. “Earlier,” he starts, reaching out to stroke a hand up your calf. “This was what I meant. About being not human.”

Before you can think on it, before you can rein yourself in, you blurt: “You’re human enough,” and then your mouth snaps closed. He is large, and you can’t deny that you’re breathing faster and you’re slightly nervous, but- You search the memories, still blinking from the pressure of them. Winsome has always respected your wishes. “If I say stop-”

“Of course,” Winsome says, and then his cheeks are dark purple as you get to your knees and carefully crawl into his lap. This, you realize, was why he used his mouth for so long, why he left you wet and eager, because as soon as you take his cock in hand, you’re having second thoughts. “You can say no,” he says softly, hands stroking up over your thighs, “I won’t be upset.”

“I want to try,” you say instead. Using his shoulders for balance and letting him guide seems the smartest way. He follows your directions, eyes tracing over your lips and every minute expression that crosses your face. A rough breath is forced from your mouth when you press yourself down, but as soon as your lips start to twist, Winsome is surprising you with a kiss. You forget what you’re doing for a moment, lost in the way he cradles your cheek, the soft noises he makes when you nip at his lip- and then the stretch of him inside you has you gasping. He swallows the noise, hand sliding from your face to the back of your neck and then grabs hold of your thigh with his other, keeping you steady when you start to straighten. It takes work and time and by the time you feel you’ve taken as much of him as you can, your thighs are straining from the effort. You feel ridiculously tight and full and then Winsome is raising one of his legs so you can rest against it, the small of your back pressing against his knee.

“I think,” Winsome says, voice low and rasping, hand sliding down the middle of your chest and pausing over your abdomen. “I think you’ve done a bit more than try.” He presses with the very tips of his fingers, freezing when you whimper at the added pressure. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you gasp, embarrassed and turned on, and you seriously want to curse because your thighs feel as strong as jelly right now. “But I’m not sure I can- I can move.”

“Shall I?” He asks, one hand curling around your hip. When you nod your head, the barest whisper of a yes following, Winsome listens. Holding tight to your hip and taking your thigh in his other hand, Winsome rolls his hips and then pulls back. There’s barely a rhythm, you’re both moving so slowly, hot breath misting in the cool air, but every thrust is pushing you closer and closer to the edge, your fingers digging into his pearly shoulders. It’s almost unexpected, how fierce the pleasure is when you come, thighs quivering and arms tense. Winsome’s grip on your thigh becomes uncomfortably tight, and his face is flushed again and then he’s pulling himself free of you, coming over the blanket and his own thigh. You hold yourself up until he’s finished, not wanting to collapse into the mess, but you do collapse into his arms, laughing against his chest, still shaking with aftershocks. His hand cradles the back of your head and he presses a single, breathless kiss to your temple before he’s groaning, tension vanishing from his shoulders. “I thought I would never see you again. Even if you did come close to the lake. I thought-”

You stroke a hand over his damp shoulder, eyes falling closed. You think you might have to nap soon after the roller-coaster of emotions, but you hope he’ll stay with you through that. It… It almost feels like some kind of strange dream, that you might be waking from it at any moment. “We would never have another adventure?” You tease, nuzzling into his skin.

Winsome hums, reaching down to tilt your chin, to make you look at him. “For a while,” he admits. “But now I have a new adventure to undertake with you.” For a moment you think he’s going to make jokes about sex, or maybe even about Blockhead, but then his smile turns shy. “I say we gain back your lost memories, and track down --.” The name is still nothing but static in your ears.

#kelpie x reader #monster boyfriend #exophilia #male kelpie x reader #monster lover #d.darling writes

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jemelle · 4 years

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these are ties that bind (1/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: g

(chapter) word count: 1,976

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

masterlist

one.

Emily Prentiss stood in front of the hotel door, hand raised, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life. All her self-preservation instincts, built up from a lifetime of looking over her shoulder, told her it would be better for all parties if she just walked away. But a small voice in the back of her head disagreed. There is someone who needs you, it said. Someone who you are not too late to save. That voice had gotten her into this situation, and it was determined to see it through.

She knocked once, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. When Hotch opened the door, he looked as if he rather expected to see someone else. It was late, but Reid and Morgan were still off flirting with women at a club somewhere. Or, probably more likely, Morgan was flirting while Reid sat alone at the bar. Emily found she could never begrudge either of them the comfort of a post-case routine, no matter how strange.

Hotch was wearing his pajamas, which consisted of plain grey sweatpants and a well-worn GW Law shirt. His outfit had the unsettling effect of reminding Emily that she and him were, in fact, almost the same age. He often seemed much more world-weary than his thirty-some years suggested, although she supposed it was her who had actually seen more of the world. He was holding a book in one hand and seemed poised to lecture Reid for forgetting his keycard again. Upon seeing Emily, the expression on his face slid from irritation into confusion.

“Prentiss?” he asked. The “what do you want?” went unsaid.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you about something.” Hotch opened the door wider and motioned her inside. He sat down on one of the beds while Emily leaned uncomfortably on the desk and surveyed the room. What she assumed was Hotch’s side of the room was nothing short of meticulous, although Spencer, to his credit, had managed to keep his chaos contained to a two by four area at the foot of his bed.

Acutely aware of the importance of her next few sentences, she began. “Carrie Ortiz, the girl from the case, has an aunt and uncle in Phoenix, but they’re not able to care for her. She doesn’t have anyone else and especially after seeing what the foster system can do to kids, I don’t know if…” No, this wasn’t the way to do it. She was dancing around her point and both she and Hotch knew it. Time to regroup.

“Carrie came to me and asked if I would be willing to take her in for the time being.” Emily’s knee-jerk reaction had been no, but remembering what JJ told her earlier had given her pause. She had never been one of those children who dream of becoming a parent, not until it was no longer a dream. In the ensuing fallout, she became even more convinced that parenting was not for her. But Carrie wasn’t a helpless child. She was a young woman who had experienced a traumatic event and was voluntarily asking Emily to become her guardian. And so Emily found herself unable to say no.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I would have to think about it but that I didn’t have the power to make that decision myself.” It was the truth. Emily knew that Hotch didn’t tolerate lying, especially not to victims. To give false hope to someone whose family had just been ripped away would be unspeakably cruel.

“Prentiss, with all due respect, I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation. I know you don’t need to be reminded of the dangers of our job, but I firmly believe that you will make the right decision.” Truthfully, it had taken Emily several hours to fully process Carrie’s request and several more before she could think rationally enough to decide. But she had made up her mind. If only that made it a reality.

Emily took a deep breath. For all the courage it had taken to get this far, the hardest part had yet to come. “I talked to Carrie’s social worker and she said that in the absence of family, they usually try to place in-area, but that given Carrie’s explicit request, she might be able to make an exception. However…” She trailed off. Maybe this was a mistake. It wasn’t too late to back out.

“However?” Hotch prompted. His tone was steady, and Emily forced herself to make eye contact. His face had smoothed itself into a neutral expression, which Emily took as a positive sign as she gathered her resolve.

“They don’t place children with single parents. No exceptions.” And definitely not gay couples, she mentally amended.

“I see,” he said. His face wrinkled in a way that told Emily he hadn’t quite figured out where she was going. “That’s a pity. Although, that still doesn’t solve the mystery of why you’re in my hotel room. I may be your boss, but even I don’t have sway over the foster care system of Denver.”

“Well… I sort of told Carrie’s caseworker that I would have to consult my husband.” She had run out of the room immediately after, wondering what on earth had just possessed her. She was a lesbian, for God's sake! There was no husband in her future. What scared her even more was realizing that she didn’t regret it. She wanted this for Carrie (and for herself, if she was being honest) and she was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant hatching a hare-brained scheme like the one she currently found herself ensnared in.

Hotch raised his eyebrows at her. She suspected the pieces were starting to come together for him. “And you’re here to ask me to marry you?”

He was chuckling now, almost in disbelief. Although she half-expected to become defensive, Emily instead found herself wanting to crack a grin at the pure absurdity of the situation.

“Well, given my lack of a personal life, it was one of our coworkers or a random man on the street.” The last time she had been on a date was months ago. Liv had been nice, but Emily could tell she wanted more than a casual relationship. So that particular alley was a bust, notwithstanding the fact that her gender preference would disqualify any actual partner.

“Why me?” Hotch asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. His tone turned serious again. “I don’t exactly have the best track record with parenthood.”

His gaze was fixed at a blank spot on the wall above her head, and Emily imagined he was mentally scrolling through his worst hits as a constantly-working husband and father.

“Hotch, you’re the only man on this team with any parenting expertise.” Upon giving the decision some thought, Emily had realized that not only was Hotch the best choice, he was the only choice. She voiced her thought process to reassure him. “Morgan is the perpetual bachelor, Reid would eat cereal for every meal if we let him, and Rossi is old enough to be my father.”

“While I’m certainly flattered to have been picked by process of elimination, that doesn’t make this a good idea.” He was right. In fact, it was a bad idea for more reasons than Emily could count, chiefly that she and Hotch had only recently reached any sort of lasting truce; any person who wasn’t convinced of the validity of their relationship could turn them in and ruin the whole scheme.

“Sir, I recognize the ridiculousness of the situation, and if you say no I will never mention this conversation again, but I really believe that we have the chance to make someone’s life better. Our job is about always making wrong things right, giving people peace, but never more than that. Never making a good thing on its own.” Hotch looked as surprised as Emily felt at her impassioned speech. At some point, she had begun gesticulating, movements becoming more frantic as the volume of her voice rose.

“We’ve seen how the foster system changes kids,” she continued, suddenly feeling bold. “I don’t need Reid to quote statistics to know it’s usually not for the better. Carrie has so much potential and I don’t want to think her hopes were dashed because of a choice I made.” I see myself in her, Emily didn’t say. Young and hopeful and ready to take on the world.

They sat in silence as Hotch mulled her words over. Emily felt confident that no matter his decision, she had given it her all. It felt unnerving to have to place a decision this important in the hands of a man she had betrayed, but Emily knew he would put aside any feelings, positive or negative, that he might have for her. It was one of the things she admired most about Hotch; if he respected you, he valued your contributions, whether you were certified genius Spencer Reid or a local law enforcement officer assisting the team. With that conviction in mind, Emily did her best to steel herself for his decision as Hotch began to speak.

“Let’s pretend I said yes. What are we going to tell the team, not to mention Jack and my… Haley?” Emily pretended to ignore the way he choked on Haley’s name. It was the least she owed him. Still, she felt hope bubbling in her chest at the realization that he was actually considering it.

“I think we should tell the team as little as possible. I don’t doubt that they’ll figure out something is different, but we both know Reid and Garcia can’t lie to save their lives. It’ll be better to keep them in the dark for as long as possible.” Hotch nodded and Emily felt some of the tension leave her body. “As for Jack and Haley, you know them best, so I’ll defer to you.”

“We’ll have to convince them we’re really in a relationship,” he responded without pause. “Haley and I currently have equal custody, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Deal.” She briefly fought the ridiculous urge to offer him a handshake. “Although I am warning you that I’m not sure how long this arrangement will have to last.”

“Well, as you pointed out, I’m not exactly a youthful bachelor.” True to his words, Emily’s brain faltered when asked to conjure up an image of Hotch as a twenty-something playboy. He was, she thought, possibly the most monogamous man she had ever met. If he was as serious in his acquiescence to her plan as he was in every other endeavor, they would be an excellent team.

“You’re really sure?” She had hoped for this, of course, but now it hardly seemed real.

Hotch’s voice was warm. “Emily, speaking as a parent, every child deserves someone who is as passionate about them as you clearly are about Carrie. If I have the chance to make someone's life better and it doesn’t harm me or my family or the team in any way, then I don’t see how I could say no.”

“Thank you, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Emily rarely cried, preferring to keep her rare bouts of melancholia and euphoria within the confines of her apartment, but she could feel herself tearing up, though she tried her best to conceal it. “We should be able to sign the necessary paperwork in the morning.”

“Of course,” he said. Emily stood and turned to leave the room, pausing in the door frame as she heard his voice again, colored by the return of his smile. “And Prentiss, if we’re going to pull this off, you probably shouldn’t call me sir.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #queerminal minds #*mine #*fic #these are ties that bind

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prorevenge · 5 years

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I sent an Entitled Mother to the hospital.

I got a $25 giftcard from my mom to the local cinema, so my girlfriend and I decided to go see How to Train Your Dragon: Lost World. (HTTYD) For context, my girlfriend’s a petite beauty from Venezuela, so people sometimes mistake her for a child, but it’s usually very obvious that she’s an adult by the sound of her voice and the way she acts. It usually results in awkward or sometimes funny moments, but this was not one of those moments.

Anyways, we get to the theater without any problems and we patiently waited in line to purchase our movie tickets. We started talking about HTTYD and what dragons we would want to have. She loves Astrid’s dragon Stormfly because her favorite color’s blue and she likes it’s ability to shoot spikes. The way she marvels at everything we have here is so adorable, but I also understand that it’s because she, in her own words, “grew up with nothing.”

We get to the front of the line and I start purchasing our tickets. I feel a really thick finger tap me on the shoulder. Enter the entitled parent.

EM: “Hey, can you help me out?”

This lady’s tone instantly set off some red flags for me. People who are condescending and/or overly nice generally want something out of you.

Me: “With what?”

EM: “Well, I really wanna see that dragon movie with my little boy and we just don’t have enough money today.”

Her kid is completely silent and he looks like he’s 6-7 at the oldest. Unfortunately, me and my GF are both broke college kids, so we didn’t have too much money to spare.

Me: “We don’t have money to spare. Sorry. Maybe someone else can spare some change.” I thought that maybe that would get her to leave us alone but nope.

EM: “You have money! You’re using a gift card! You can just buy the tickets for you and the little girl with cash!”

Me to the employee while mentally facepalming: “Can you just take my card real quick, please?” She takes my gift card and swipes it.

EM: “Stop! He stole my gift card!”

I look at EM like she’s on drugs or something. The employee looks at the gift card, which has my name on it and my name is not a gender-neutral one or Karen.

Employee: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, this might just be a misunderstanding. His gift card does appear to have his name on it.”

EM: “I want to speak to your manager bitch! I can’t believe you would defend a thief! He just wrote his name on it!”

Employee: “Okay, please wait one second ma’am.” She was right in front of us for the entire exchange between us 3.

GF tugs on my sleeve: “Babe! What are they saying?” English is her second language, so she still has trouble understanding people sometimes. EM has a look of pure disgust on her face.

Me to GF: “Ella es lóco.”

EM: “WHAT!? I SHOULD’VE KNOWN THAT YOU’RE A FUCKING PEDOPHILE!” She was screaming loudly and people were starting to stare at us.

Me: “... What!?”

I was just shocked that she would say such a thing to my face. I guess she thought my GF was a child. I glance over at my GF, who is starting to look scared and confused. All she knows is that the physical embodiment of insanity is standing before us.

EM: “I WON’T GET YOUR ASS ARRESTED FOR RAPING THAT <slur for Mexicans> IF YOU JUST HAND OVER YOUR FUCKING GIFTCARD!”

Me: “No! Get out of our face!”

The kid hasn’t uttered a peep throughout this entire exchange yet, but he looks scared.

EM: “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU MAKE MY BABY CRY! (he wasn't) I’M MAKING SURE YOU GET ARRESTED AND TAKING YOUR GIFTCARD!”

She reaches for my gift card on the counter, but the lumbering land whale is too slow. She's screaming at me to hand over my gift card, but I refuse and play keep away. After what felt like a minute of her screaming at me and calling us both all sorts of racial slurs, she changes tactics: she grabs my GF.

EM: “I’M TAKING YOU AWAY FROM THIS RAPIST!” My GF’s eyes are wide. She struggles and lets out a blood-curdling scream.

Hearing that scream was all I needed to see red. I elbowed EM with all my might. She hit the ground hard. She was out cold with blood trickling out of her mouth.

Everyone in the vicinity went silent as EM continued to stiffly lay on the ground. Surprisingly, nobody tried to attack me afterwards. The employee was visibly shocked by what just happened. My GF was sitting on the ground, crying, but thankfully unharmed. I try to comfort her and EM’s kid started to cry too.

Security came a few moments later followed shortly by the manager. They're greeted by the scene of me kneeling on the ground next to my crying girlfriend, a little kid crying a few feet away next to his unconscious mother all surrounded by shocked onlookers. They immediately called an ambulance for EM. It’s clear that she’s badly injured.

The employee and I explain what happened. The other staff were thankfully nice and understanding and offered us free tickets, but we just took vouchers to another showing instead. My GF just wanted to go home. I felt bad for the kid after what he just witnessed. I gave him a candy bar I was saving for the movie, which seemed to help him relax a bit. I apologized for hurting his mom and told him that it’s wrong to hit people, but sometimes, you have to in order to protect the ones you like. I sincerely hope that he doesn’t grow up to be like his mother.

I’m not sure what happened to the kid. I gave a police statement later that night, which earned me the nickname as the “Elbow man” at the local department. My girlfriend does not want to press charges, and she’s firm on this.

I later found out exactly what happened to the EM. I knocked out 4 of her teeth, dislocated the left side of her jaw and gave her a concussion. She likely got the concussion from her impact with the ground.

TL;DR: Racist woman gets mad that I won’t give her money for movie tickets, then tries to use false accusations to steal my giftcard. Then when she grabs my girlfriend, I knock the EM out.

(source) story by (/u/Estrad7)

#prorevenge #by /u/Estrad7 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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hahanoiwont · 4 years

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Chapters: 4/4 Relationships: Frisk & Sans, Sans & Toriel, Frisk & Toriel Characters: Frisk, Sans, Toriel Additional Tags: Backstory, Worldbuilding for the Surface, Child Abandonment, child endangerment, A Plethora of Trust Issues Wrapped Up In an Expectation For Violence, seriously this kid's been attacked by pretty much everyone, Frisk Is a Sweetheart, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Determination, Big Brother Sans, in a shocking turn of events sans is the sane well-adjusted adult here, .......i mean he's still sans but, Choose Your Own Adventure Components Summary:

Frisk went to Mt. Ebott for a reason. Frisk knows exactly what's up there, in the world everyone wants to see so badly. Frisk would be happy to never see it again.

When sans wakes up (when did he go to sleep?), he’s in a dark cavern.

Which makes sense, because he lives in a dark cavern, and has all his life.

But wasn’t there…something…? He’d followed Papyrus to the castle, the human—Frisk.

The human has a name, and it’s Frisk. Somehow, he can be certain of this. Maybe a time travel thing?

Hmm. Food for thought. Sans decides to not think about it.

From what he can see without moving his head at all, he’s still in the room with the barrier. Maybe not time travel, then. The barrier’s glow is…redder than usual? Orange? And faint, too. It’s normally much brighter than this, isn’t it?

His newfound certainty tells him that the barrier is gone, that that glow is from the sun rising on the Surface, and that Frisk is responsible for this—the barrier, not the sunrise.

Is it worth turning his head to check? He gave up on ever leaving this place a long time ago. Is it really worth getting his hopes up for freedom?

“WOWIE! Looks like the barrier is gone! That’s neat!”

Oh, nice. Papyrus is here. It’s probably fine, then.

“And! Th-the human! Is…taking a nap????” Papyrus’s voice cracks.

Oh, fuck.

Well, there’s sans’s ‘sense of crushing failure’ quota for the year. Door lady meets him for the first time and he immediately passes out while her human dies. Great.

Welp.

“My child…?” Toriel’s familiar voice stamps home his absolute failure to protect her kid. Shit, fuck. Poor kiddo. He’d really thought…

“Ah. It appears they are sleeping. See, Papyrus? They are still breathing. Humans only breathe when they are alive and well,” Toriel explains.

Sans closes his eyes for a quiet sigh of his own.

Oh, thank hell. DETERMINATION wins again.

Sans can’t say he loves what that stuff can do, but the h—Frisk is as full of it as anyone he’s ever seen, and apparently, it let them do the impossible. The barrier is broken and they’re not dead, just sleeping. Probably resting off the burnout of too much DETERMINATION at once. It’s going to be…alright, maybe.

Things might just be OK.

The thought gives Sans enough strength to open his eyes and get up. Time to face the day, and all.

Facing the day turns out to be a lot like sitting vigil. The kid sleeps for hours and hours, sometimes squirming, sometimes crying out in pain. Trying to wake them does nothing but provoke more whimpers, so Toriel demands that they all give the kid space.

Around six hours in, Asgore retreats back to his kingly duties. He clearly wants to stay, but Toriel just as clearly wants him to leave, so he mutters something about getting ready to move and glances over his shoulder a whole lot as he goes. Undyne goes with him for emotional support, and Alphys for logistical support, and Papyrus for…enthusiasm support?

Sans should probably do something, too, but frankly, the kiddo has the right idea. And Toriel is with them, too. A new friend and an old friend and an excuse to nap; right here is exactly where sans wants to be.

Frisk sure takes their time waking up, but that’s fine. If there’s anything sans and Toriel have in common (besides their senses of humor, that is), it’s patience.

It’s around the fifteen-hour mark when the kid stops squirming and crying out and starts straight-up crying. Toriel’s heart is breaking immediately. Sans’s is, too, a little. The legendary fallen angel who saved the monsters is looking an awful lot like a little kid in pain right now.

Toriel begins to speak softly to them.

“It is just a bad dream, my child. You will wake up, and it will be over. We will…I will make you a cinnamon-butterscotch pie, and you can tell me of your adventures. All is well,” she soothes. She runs a careful paw over Frisk’s hair and gives sans a strained smile.

Her tone is soft, but her eyes are frightened. She could probably do with some reassurance right now. Support. A friend?

Ah, fuck, but sans isn’t good at this. Never really has been, with anyone but Papyrus. He can try, though.

“uh, what she said. i’ve heard a lot about this pie, frisk, are ya really gonna make me wait to try it out? besides, uh, that time i tried making it. trust me, kiddo: the less said about that, the better.”

His attempt at pie hadn’t actually been bad per se, but Toriel is giving a brave giggle, so sans can excuse a white lie. The kid is still silently crying.

“aw, buddy, you’ve got the wrong baked good…it’s cake that’s s’posed to be in tiers,” he says. Toriel gives a tremulous smile.

Frisk sobs and thrashes.

“Frisk…!” Toriel pets their hair harder. Their head moves a little with each stroke. “This is all just a bad dream…! Please, wake up…!”

And after a way-too-long nap, the kid does.

Frisk gasps awake, panting and still teary, and Toriel immediately backs up, giving them space. All of her fear melts away like it was never there, replaced with a gentle smile.

Wow. Being a parent must take a lot of work. Looking at the love in Toriel’s eyes now, though, and the way the kiddo instantly turns to her and relaxes, it looks…well, Sans can see why she wants so badly to mother them. The way the kid’s face is now, you’d think nothing could hurt them while Toriel’s around.

It must be…nice, to be needed like that.

“Oh! You are awake! Thank goodness!” Toriel says. She clasps her hands in front of her.

Frisk frowns and looks around, bringing one hand up to touch the tear tracks on their face. They look between sans and Toriel, and then at the otherwise empty room around them.

“you were out for a bit there, bud. i mean, i’m all for sleeping, but maybe get to a bed next time, yeah?” sans suggests. Frisk keeps looking around them for something…someone?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t come. Frisk makes a small, sad noise and hugs themself.

Toriel looks to be physically restraining herself from going over there and wrapping them in a hug. To be fair, looking at their face, you’d think their brother died or something. But before she can decide whether to try to comfort them or not, Frisk points to the east, where the barrier had been.

“Oh, the barrier?” Toriel asks. Frisk nods.

“Ah. The barrier has fallen. The room to the east leads outside, now.” Toriel inches forward, like Frisk won’t notice her getting closer if she’s sneaky about it.

Frankly, sans isn’t sure why she doesn’t just give in and give the kid a hug or something. Frisk clearly needs one, and it isn’t gonna come from sans. He chalks it up to some parental instinct telling her the kid needs space, or something.

“We were waiting for you to wake up before we leave. I believe your other friends are letting everyone know to get ready,” Toriel says.

Frisk stares at sans.

“who, me?” he asks. “nah. that looked like a lot of effort. just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

They cock their head. Toriel seems to take this as a sign to sweep them into a gentle embrace and cuddle them close. They don’t seem to mind.

“Say your goodbyes, my child. We will be waiting here when you are ready,” she says, giving them a squeeze before setting them back on the ground. Frisk’s brow creases.

*For sure? they ask, looking intensely at Toriel.

Her heart visibly melts. “You may take all the time you need, my child. It seems you have made a great many friends since I last saw you. We will be patient while you prepare whatever you need to.”

Frisk insists. *Promise you won’t go up before I come back?

Toriel kneels down to their height, and says solemnly, “I promise, my child.”

Frisk transfers their heavy look to sans. Ah, he should have known better than to think he’d escape.

“who, me? heh, i’m in no hurry.” He’s really not. In fact…he grabs Frisk’s stick off the ground where it fell earlier. “i’ve got time to ‘stick’ around.”

He makes a cymbal crash in the background and winks. Toriel laughs out loud; Frisk smiles a little, but doesn’t lose the stress lines on their face.

*You two should say goodbye, too, says Frisk. They fidget with the hem of their sweater, hunched over like it’s a heavy weight.

“Thank you for your thought, child, but I have been prepared to leave this place for a long time. I have said my goodbyes,” Toriel says, petting Frisk’s hair. Frisk flinches at the reminder of the monsters’ long imprisonment.

Frisk looks to sans as they lean into Toriel’s paw like they’ve never been pet before. It’s almost too cute.

sans shrugs. “i don’t have to say goodbye to anything. we’re all making it to the surface together, right? it’s a nice day. nothing lost.”

Frisk looks down at the ground, pushing into Toriel’s paw a little more before reaching up to remove it.

*I have to go get something. Don’t leave without me, they say.

“Of course, child,” says Toriel. “I promised, did I not? We will not leave you.”

Ah, is that where this is coming from? Abandonment issues? That sucks. Poor kid. Well, least sans can do is offer them some peace of mind while they run their errand.

“sure, kid,” he says, deliberately casual. Like waiting around here instead of seeing the sky for the very first time is just whatever.

Eh. He wants to wait for Papyrus to go out, anyway. It won’t be any fun without his brother—Paps’s reactions are half the fun, here.

Frisk sticks out their smallest finger.

“huh? what’s that?” sans asks—but luckily, Toriel seems to know.

“Ah…you want us to give you a ‘Pinkie Promise’? Would that make you feel better?” she asks. Frisk nods solemnly.

“Very well. I ‘Pinkie Promise,’” Toriel says, holding out her paw. Frisk carefully wraps their finger around her smallest claw and makes a handshake motion.

So, a Pinkie Promise is…like a promise with a handshake? Or something?

When the weight of Frisk’s expectation falls back to sans, he hedges, “eh, i’m not one to make promises…”

Toriel gives him an amused glance, probably under the impression that Frisk doesn’t know about his promise to her. Whoops. Well, it all turned out alright.

Frisk continues to stare at him.

“that look on your face…” sans sighs. “you’re not leaving until you get a promise out of me, are you?”

They’d do it, too. Frisk had worn Undyne down until she didn’t want to kill them anymore; they’d definitely stare sans down until he broke—however long it took. Even if they can’t outlast him in patience, they do beat him out in determination.

No use delaying the inevitable. There are worse fates than waiting around for the kid.

“you’re really making me pull my wait here,” he tells them. “but fine, if it’ll take a wait off your shoulders. i’ll be here until you come back.”

He offers them his pinkie, which they grasp firmly and bounce once. The most sacred of vows is made.

Frisk offers him a solemn nod before they scurry off to parts unknown.

It’s not long at all before Frisk returns—just long enough that Toriel has remembered that she didn’t bring anything for Frisk, and that they might need any of the things kids need on the surface. Or, sans suspects, she’s remembered that she wants to make them a pie. She’s talked often enough–and fondly—about how she used to prepare a special pie for her children…she asked sans to stay and wait for Frisk, and to let them know that she hasn’t abandoned them and will in fact be returning with a surprise, and that she is very excited to see the surface with them. sans had to promise again (ugh, commitment) that he wouldn’t leave until Frisk came back, just to stop her from worrying herself out of it.

Not that he’d mind her company while he waits around, but she’s talked once or twice about how much she misses hearing little feet run through her home. If she wants to do something nice for the kid, he’s not gonna stop her.

It helps if he doesn’t think of this as another promise, just…reinforcing his earlier one. As long as he doesn’t go outside before Frisk comes back, he’s golden. Can’t be more than a few days, at most.

And speak of the human, Frisk is already darting back down the hall, out of breath. Were they sprinting?

Huh. They’ve barely been gone twenty minutes, and already they’re scampering back like he might have disappeared while they were gone.

Those are some abandonment issues. sans can understand why Toriel was so worried about stepping out for a minute.

He adjusts his posture to be even a touch lazier, deliberately not looking to the east. see, kiddo? just waiting, like i said. nothing to worry about.

Out loud, he says, “that was fast. take a shortcut?”

*No, Frisk says, solemn. They glance around the room and…falter. *Mom?

Right, right. “she said she’s comin’ right back. went off to get something ready. just between you and me, kid, there might be a surprise in your future.”

He winks his left eye, but the kid’s returned smile is off. A little too tense around the eyes as they process this information, before they shake their head a touch too firmly and walk to the eastern end of the room.

Sans strolls behind them, but keeps his distance. They’re looking pretty worked up.

They’re only getting tenser as they approach the doorway to the Surface. sans has a bad feeling about this.

“you know, if you wanted to go with tori, i’m sure you could. she’s a real nice lady, be happy to see you. besides, i know a shortcut. we could catch up with her in no time,” sans offers. Heh, literally no time…because no time would pass while he’s taking his shortcut…

The kid is stone-faced. Well, they can’t all be winners.

Well, they’re less stone-faced and more…biting their lip and clutching something in their pocket, shifting back and forth on their feet like they can’t decide where to go. Indecision weakens the rigid line of their shoulders for a moment and their foot creeps an inch towards him, but they don’t turn around, staring at the portal to the world they’re from and wavering.

Then their resolve firms up, and they take the last step to stand in the doorway where the barrier had been. They go no further. They turn their back on the surface, and face sans, but don’t meet his eye. Their hair falls in their face and they don’t move it aside.

They’re, uh.

“lookin’ pretty fierce, there, kiddo,” sans says gently—cautiously. “getting ready to face the world?”

He doesn’t like that look at all. The squared stance, feet placed apart but poised to move in any direction, the broad set to their shoulders—it’s like they’re…filling up space? Trying to look bigger than they are?—no, it’s like they’re…putting down roots. Unstoppable force turned immovable object. Like they’re gearing up for a fight, or like they’re protecting something.

Protecting something, but not necessarily from sans—or at least, not sans alone. Their head is cocked slightly to hear behind them, and their weight centered to spin. Evidently they don’t plan on giving ground in any direction.

Now, sans has seen Frisk do a lot of things. Nonsensical things, funny things, concerning things, sad things. But even before their almost-fight with Asgore, he’s never seen them really prepare to FIGHT. Even in front of Undyne, when sans had been dead certain they would kill or be killed, they’d darted away again and again. He was pretty sure they’d been planning to sprint through the rest of the Underground with her on their tail, if she hadn’t had some trouble with Hotland.

It had given him…a lot of confidence, actually. Every time he’d seen no way around violence—their battles with Muffet, the guards in Hotland, Mettaton’s live TV battle with them, Jerry—he’d looked back at it all before meeting them for judgement. There were a lot of encounters Frisk had had with absurdly specific or seemingly random solutions. sans had thought most times that the only way for them to get through was to kill the monster in question. Not out of malice, but because their opponents would have killed Frisk, for the most part, without a second thought.

It takes a certain kind of person to ACT instead of FIGHT back when the monsters around them are choosing to FIGHT each turn. Gambling their own life in the hopes that they’d be able to SPARE someone who wouldn’t do the same for them…even if sans’s vague suspicions about their DETERMINATION are correct, there’s only so many times DT can bring a person back from the brink. They’d risked a lot to find a peaceful route that sans would have given up on, if he were them.

Frisk has shown time and time again that they’re DETERMINED to avoid killing anyone. Even when it would be understandable, even when it would be smart. They’re a pacifist, through and through.

So what brings a person like that to stand where the barrier had been, trembling violently, but preparing for the FIGHT of their life?

“uh,” says sans. He’s not really sure how to handle this. “we did get through the last FIGHT, right? there’s not something nasty waiting for us on the other side of that barrier?”

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know why exactly Frisk ended up down here. He’d figured it was for the obvious reason, but…

Frisk won’t look at him. They stay tense. That looks exhausting.

“bud,” sans says. “buddy. frisk.”

He takes a step forward—he can’t see their eyes, but he knows they’re watching him like a hawk. Their whole body shifts to track him, while keeping their guard up behind them.

*No one is fighting anyone, they say.

Sans gives them an obvious once-over. They’re more geared for a fight than just about anyone in the Underground, right now.

He takes another step. “sure doesn’t look that way.”

*No one is fighting anyone. Because monsters will never go to the Surface.

So that’s how it is.

The FIGHT begins.

(continue reading on ao3)

#undertale #frisk #sans #undertale fic #genfic #uh. how do tag #is that good enough??#finally beginning to post links to stuff on here #writing tag

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elinor-sutton · 6 years

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Fuck MAGA: Then & Now

I started this blog right after the 2016 election.

I was angry, and it was an outlet that I needed, but after a few posts, I did not consider my rage a priority worth my time.

I was told that it might be unhealthy to indulge an anger so deep that it began to form, for me, an existential foundation of being—almost always in hair-trigger battle mode, rhetoric and righteous anger at the ever-fucking READY.

BUT I have a life that needs attention and only occasionally merits ferocity, so I gave up blogging.

And now? All this time later, I am still in a near-constant state of slow burn, and it’s been way too long without an eruption.

In the year-and-a-half since I let the blog slide, the Perpetrator-in-Chief has lived down to the worst of my expectations, and he shows no signs of improvement. It’s a narcissist thing. He CANNOT improve because he cannot recognize ANY of his infinite faults. Here’s one: GROWN-UPS don’t play Keep Away or Made You Look or the fucking Dozens with psychotic nuclear-arsenal-wielding tyrants. [It should go without saying that, if at all possible, nuclear arsenals should not be handed to psychotic tyrants in the first place, but MAGA, or whatever, right? If you live, maybe you learn. FINGERS CROSSED!]

But really, are we STILL living in a world where the safety of [at least] half the planet comes down to a man-child measuring contest?

Dear President Prick-for-Brains,

If you have to start a motherfucking WAR over it, it’s NEVER going to measure UP!

Sincerely,

Elinor S. and—oh yes, the ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD SO JUST STFU ALREADY!

Yep—still SUPER-PISSED!

If you’re looking at the world—and the supposed leader of those parts of it which are purportedly “free”—and you’re not losing your damn mind, you must have some sort of pre-established lunacy. [I’m not speaking of mental health problems. Mental health and mental healthcare are legitimate issues ignored by the thoughts-and-prayers crowd unless they need a scapegoat/catchphrase for the walking, shooting consequences of MAGA-indoctrination.] I’m thinking of the WHITE-NATIONALIST-NAZI-RACIST-MISOGYNISTIC-PATRIOTISM-BEFORE-PEOPLE-BUT-REALLY-ME-FIRST-AND-FUCK-EVERYONE-ELSE psychosis that passes for conservative politics since 45 first got his ridiculous feelings hurt by a black man and a “nasty woman” who were—and ARE—undeniably his betters. Or maybe since Mitch McConnell crawled out of his deep, dark shell and STOLE A SUPREME COURT SEAT while we sat on our hands and muttered, “Can he do that?”

Evidently, he can! AND with ZERO consequences—not for him or any other limp-dick Sentry of the Status Quo tip-toeing his way across the Glass Ceiling, stroking his Keys to the Kingdom, or hiding under his Protector of the Patriarchy parasol because HE KNOWS—they ALL know—that “Zero Consequences” comes with a big, fat, fucking YET, and she is a BOSS BITCH—woke and coming ready with a to-do list several centuries in the making. Her list says, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” It says Black Lives Matter, Me Too, My Body/My Choice, LOVEisLOVE, NoH8, and NO MORE. She’s got Science-based, Evidence-based, Fact-based TRUTH with ZERO Alternatives because TIME is fucking UP!

And that means White Male Privilege [WMP—pronounced “wimp,” right?] is coming to an end. I can’t pinpoint the starting line, but scared-shitless white men with money and/or guns have been running THE REST OF US down since well before this “great” nation was founded, and there are far too many of “the rest of us” who buy into their bullshit—53% of white women [pronounced “silly twits”]?! If you don’t fall into any category that benefits from WMP, and you voted/plan to vote for more of this nonsense, your patriotic duty, as of this moment, is to wake up every morning and punch yourself in the fucking face until something like SENSE prevails. Side effects MAY include REASON and a newfound appreciation for ACTUAL FACTS as opposed to the alternative variety, but if that fails, it is my heartfelt hope that when you make your way to the voting booth—to do what is, of course, your civic duty—you may just do us all a favor, and GET LOST!

[On a friendlier note, if you benefit from WMP and DID NOT vote in favor of our present national tragedy, congratulations on your conscience! Please take your place in the crowd, and resist the urge to act like you know everything. Instead, memorize this mantra and repeat to yourself as often as necessary to convert words to action: I’VE HAD MY TURN TO TALK. NOW IS MY TIME TO LISTEN.]

I am still angry, and I will remain so as long as “Making America Great” looks like:

1. Children murdered at school with unregulated guns or ripped away from immigrant parents who thought they could find safety in this “great” country,

2. Law enforcement abusing and KILLING men and women of color without consequence,

3. Tax cuts designed to further line the pockets of the few at the expense of the many and promote the “trickle-down” bullshit we’ve been forced to swallow, off and on, since the fucking 80s—when it didn’t work the first time.

4. Ordinary Americans struggling, or going without, while working full time for LESS THAN A LIVING WAGE,

5. Ignoring veterans who are homeless, wait months for promised healthcare, and/or commit suicide at more than twice the rate of civilians,

6. Women facing unconstitutional restrictions on access to reproductive healthcare and a choice that is STILL A LEGAL RIGHT,

7. LGBTQ+ people living with discrimination from bathrooms to bakeries and everywhere in-between—including public schools and the workplace,

8. People with disabilities at risk of losing the protection of the ADA, and disabled children at risk of losing their right to a “free and appropriate public education” under IDEA,

9. Underserved children, or those who suffer illegal discrimination in schools, losing protection from the Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights,

10. Environmental protections rolled back to protect corporate profits,

11. The sex offender/demagogue/imbecilic slab of semi-sentient slime—AND the soulless mob of Republican/MAGA-minions fighting to stroke his [gross] ego—that we have given ourselves in place of legitimate leadership,

12. And the untold number of HUMAN BEINGS suffering from the tragic FOLLY of a deluded minority of voters.

For as long as this country is attacked by toxic overgrown toddlers who play at governing, and in their incompetence, damage its environment, menace its people, abuse the fundamentals of democracy and the republic, and terrorize those who protest, I will NURSE this rage and STOKE its fire.

This is MY COUNTRY. I love it, and I recognize that TRUE LOVE does not ignore fault. This country has NEVER achieved “greatness” for all of its people. It is fortunate for “the rest of us” that patriotism does not demand blind loyalty. It does not hinge love of country on absolutes, and it does not forever marry us to White Male Privilege and what has been done in its name. We pledge allegiance to an IDEAL, and then we work the phones, yell ourselves hoarse, march until our feet bleed, and fucking VOTE to mold OUR COUNTRY into what it should be.

We DO NOT forget the progress we have made. We remember every step forward even as we recognize that the ignorant, forgotten [whatever], and privileged—with their long-overdue last gasp—forced us to take two steps back. We didn’t NEED to go backward. Nobody needs this bullshit—EVER. But we can use this. We can take a look, MARK what we missed and LEARN where and HOW we can do better. We can do what needs to be done to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

Step One: EMBRACE the anger. We can be appalled at all the FUCKING BULLSHIT the MAGA-goons have wrought and amazed that WE STILL HAVE FUCKS TO GIVE. We can revel in the madness that living in this time brings us—because progressives know how to USE rage. We know how to mine it. We have a long history of crafting change from righteous anger, and [always] moving on—an inch or a mile at a time—pushing a reluctant nation to keep its promise of “LIBERTY and JUSTICE for ALL.”

Numbers, time, and momentum are on OUR SIDE. We need to get MAD, and we need to do it TOGETHER—FOR FUCK’S OBVIOUS SAKE—and then we need to run these backward motherfuckers down with an ever-loving TIDAL WAVE OF PROGRESS that will put two steps back so far beyond the last red mile marker that even Donald Trump and Mitch McConnell will regain consciousness in the gender-neutral bathroom of an inclusive, well-funded public school with no fear of shooters, fully aware that Black Lives Matter, wearing a pussyhat, shouting TIME’S UP, and feeling grateful for the motherfucking PRIVILEGE!

So yeah, I’ve been paying attention, and I’m still angry, and it’s long past time to start talking about it again.

Stay tuned.

#us politics #politics #immigrants #shooting #women’s rights #women’s health #public school #americans with disabilities act #black lives matter #noh8 #lgbtq #lgbtqa #living wage #special education #against trump #anti trump #children of immigrants

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gordonwilliamsweb · 3 years

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‘I Just Feel Like Myself’: A Nonbinary Child In Their Own Words

It’s 7:30 a.m. on a school day. Two parents are racing to get their three young children dressed, fed, packed for the day, into coats and out the door when 6-year-old Hallel runs downstairs, crying.

This story is part of a partnership that includes WBUR, NPR and KHN. It can be republished for free.

Ari, Hallel’s father, is the first to ask “What’s wrong?”

The answer launched a journey these parents never envisioned, described by words they’d not heard and questions they never thought they’d ask. (We’re using only first names for the family members in this story due to Hallel’s age.)

The journey started with a “let’s pretend” game. Hallel’s little sister Ya’ara wanted to play “parents.” Ya’ara decides that she’ll be the mommy, and Hallel will be the daddy. Hallel protests. Ya’ara insists: Hallel is a boy, and therefore must play the daddy.

“But that doesn’t feel right,” Hallel said to Ari, between tears, “cause I’m a boy-girl.”

Shira, Hallel’s mother, said she copes well in a crisis. In that moment, she packaged the news away for later.

“I was like, ‘Well, we love you whoever you are, give me a hug,’” Shira remembered telling Hallel.

For Ari, “it felt a little bit like getting up to the top of a roller coaster, like, OK, now it’s going to begin. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next, but what I do know for sure is that this is happening.”

To clarify, Ari and Shira had known for some time that Hallel was not a traditional boy. If they bought action figures, Hallel preferred female characters. Hallel would watch fairy movies one day and draw dresses, then dress and act more like what they expected from a boy the next.

“For us that wasn’t a problem,” Ari said. “There’s lots of ways to be a boy and lots of ways to be a girl. But at the back of our mind it was confusing.”

When Hallel made the boy-girl announcement, Shira said the family finally had an explanation that made sense. But she wondered, “Is that an option?”

Both parents had read about people who are transgender, but they were not familiar with the term nonbinary, which refers to people who don’t see themselves as strictly male or female or people who move between genders. Hallel’s self-described status as a boy-girl seemed like it might resolve years of confusion.

“It felt really right,” said Ari. And now, three years later, “it still feels really right.”

But Hallel’s identity has triggered new worries. They surfaced one night while Shira and Hallel cuddled at bedtime. (Shira agreed to record family conversations over a period of time for this story.)

“How did you feel when you first realized that I was a boy-girl?” asked Hallel, now age 9.

Shira paused, then answered slowly: “Abba [the Hebrew word for Daddy] and I knew for a very long time before you said anything that something was a little bit different about your gender. So we were not going to force you to fit in a certain box. But I think when we first found out, we were nervous because we want things to be easy for you.”

Shira has a version of that question for Hallel.

“Can you tell me what it feels like to be a boy-girl?” she asked.

“That’s hard,” Hallel said. “I just feel like myself, and that’s it. I don’t feel that different from anybody else.”

Pronouns and Patience

Hallel asked Shira and Ari to stop using “he” and start calling Hallel “they” about a month after the boy-girl declaration.

Little sister Ya’ara has had a hard time using “they,” as have Hallel’s grandparents, some friends and teachers at Hallel’s school.

Ari, who studies linguistics, said people frequently struggle to change the pronouns they use because those words are deeply embedded in our brains; we repeat them so much more often than nouns or verbs, for example.

“We say ‘he’ or ‘she’ or ‘they’ or ‘it’ in almost every single sentence,” Ari told Hallel one morning, “so we have a lot of practice using a pronoun in one way, kind of like walking. Imagine if you had to walk in a new way, it would probably take some time, right?”

“Like walking backwards?” Hallel asked.

“That’s right,” said Ari.

Ari tries to be patient with himself and others who coded Hallel as a boy from birth and subconsciously default to “he” now when speaking about Hallel.

“However much we might want to, even when we have the intention to do something, we have the underlying linguistic machinery that is actually making the language happen,” Ari said.

Hallel has a suggestion for grandparents and others: “Refer to me as a group of people.”

“Do you remember what Grandma said to you, the way that she helps to remind herself?” Shira asked Hallel. “She thinks of God. She feels like God is very universal and not a he or she, but more a they. And so she thinks of God when she refers to you.”

I just feel like myself, and that’s it. I don’t feel that different from anybody else.

Hallel

With excitement, Shira showed Hallel a news story about Merriam-Webster naming “they” the dictionary company’s word of the year.

“Wow, wow,” Hallel said in between mouthfuls of waffles.

“Why wow?” Shira wanted to know.

“It’s just really new that something like that’s happening,” Hallel said.

New still, yes, but familiar to many members of Generation Z and millennials, who say they know someone who uses gender-neutral pronouns.

“Wow,” Hallel said again. “Maybe, like, next year, ‘they’ will be in the dictionary.”

“I think it is in the dictionary already,” Shira told them.

“Already?” said a wide-eyed Hallel, their voice trailing off.

Coded Clothing

Hallel likes colorful clothes, especially those with pictures of animals.

Ari estimated Hallel wears dresses about a third of the time, clothes that might be seen as boyish about a third of the time and clothes that don’t read as either gender for the remainder. Hallel’s curly blond hair flows to about midneck.

“When people first see me they think I’m a girl,” Hallel said.

Sometimes Hallel or one of their parents will correct people who make the wrong assumption, but not all the time. Explaining boy-girl, nonbinary or “they” to everyone who calls Hallel “she” in the grocery store checkout line or on the street or at a public event would be exhausting.

“I don’t blame them. It’s new,” Hallel said. “The first time, I’ll let it slide.”

Dropping Hallel at school in a dress was hard for Ari, initially.

“There was an internal squeamishness,” Ari said. “I realized it’s just because it was different and something I wasn’t used to.”

Watching Hallel has changed that.

“They have taken such pride in who they are and in telling people,” Ari said. “And Hallel’s friends have completely embraced Hallel. I’m very grateful to their families for not pulling them back because this is something new or different.”

Bathroom Schedule

Hallel said they’ve been told “about 50 times,” mostly by kids at school, that they’re in the wrong bathroom.

They have a system for deciding which bathroom to use.

“On Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays, I go into the boys’ or men’s bathroom. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday, I go into the women’s bathroom. And on Sunday, I just go to whatever bathroom’s to my right,” Hallel said.

Sometimes Hallel’s parents intervene. Hallel can use the bathroom of their choice in Massachusetts. But laws vary from state to state.

“Remember when we were in the airport in Hawaii, and I said, ‘Hallel, you’re wearing a dress. I don’t think you should be going into the men’s room even though there’s no line.’ Remember that?” Shira asked.

“Well, I really had to go,” Hallel said.

“I know,” said Shira, “but I was just nervous that you would not be protected in the bathroom.”

“But I thought all those questions became laws,” said Hallel. The family campaigned for the 2018 ballot Question 3 in Massachusetts, which passed, confirming Hallel’s right to use a bathroom aligned with their gender identity.

“We know that you’re protected in Massachusetts, but we have to do our research to understand what the protection is in other states,” Shira explained.

“Well, everyone in Hawaii is nice,” Hallel said.

Hawaii is among the states with laws that specifically protect transgender people in public accommodations.

‘Now Is Now’

In addition to legal concerns, big questions remain for Hallel and their parents.

In a few years, Hallel will begin preparing for a coming-of-age ceremony in the Jewish faith, using Hebrew, a language that doesn’t have a gender-neutral pronoun. Hallel plans what they are calling a “bart mitzvah,” combining a boy’s bar mitzvah and a girl’s bat mitzvah.

Hallel will be defining a new place for themself within Judaism as they approach puberty, a time when testosterone will deepen Hallel’s voice and make irreversible changes in the bone structure of Hallel’s face and other areas of the body.

“We’ve started to talk with Hallel a little bit,” Ari said. “Hallel very much understands that there are male bodies and female bodies, and on the basis of this conversation Hallel says they feel comfortable with having a male body. So that’s where we are right now.”

I’m personally very hopeful that Hallel will live in a world where they can be who they want to be.

Ari

Ari and Shira are getting some help for Hallel through a program at Jewish Big Brothers Big Sisters for LGBTQ+ youth. Within the family, by the way, Hallel is a “brister” to two younger sisters, merging “brother” and “sister.”

Shira looks forward to guidance from someone who can help her understand life as a nonbinary teenager and adult.

“I am very worried about what Hallel’s future will look like,” she said. “My kid affirmed who they are, and … I decided to accept them. But what’s that going to look like when Hallel is 11, 12, 13, in adolescence? I hope it’s gonna be wonderful. I don’t know, though.”

Ari said he has a lot of confidence that Hallel will be OK, based, in part, on the culture he sees among the college students he teaches.

“My students are very comfortable with the idea that people don’t have just male and female genders, and I think that says a lot for our future,” Ari said. “I’m personally very hopeful that Hallel will live in a world where they can be who they want to be.”

Shira has heard people ask: “Why are all these kids now being trans? Or why are all these kids now being nonbinary?”

“With Hallel, this is who they envisioned themselves to be, and we just didn’t put hurdles in front of them,” she said. “That may be the case for more kids who are trans and nonbinary; their parents are just listening to them.”

Hallel has lots of projects underway with Legos, a podcast, baking and a comic book series they sometimes imagine will lead to fame and fortune. But they don’t spend much time thinking about the future.

“I’ll know it when I live it,” Hallel said. “I don’t really want to think about that stuff because now is now.”

This story is part of a partnership that includes WBUR, NPR and KHN.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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‘I Just Feel Like Myself’: A Nonbinary Child In Their Own Words published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

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joie-university-rp · 4 years

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Dear JULIET WILDE,

It is with great pleasure we invite you admission to Joie University! Welcome to the Thunderclap family!

Congratulations, ES! Please be sure to check the New Members’ Checklist and send in your character’s account within 24 hours from now. We cannot wait to see all that you will bring to this roleplay! We love you already!

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Alias; pronouns: Es; She/Her.

Age, Timezone: 21+, GMT.

Activity, short explanation: 6/10. I have school that I have to put first, but I should be around as much as possible outside of that!

Ships: Juliet/Chemistry.

Anti-Ships: Juliet/Forced.

Triggers: RFP

Preferred photo for Character’s ID (please give a link): [ here ] (again though, any picture of Brittany with red hair is totally fine.)

Anything else: Thank you!

IC INFORMATION:

Full Name (First, Middle, Last): Juliet Grace Wilde.

FC: Brittany Snow.

Age/Year at University (Freshman [1st Year], Sophomore, Junior, Senior, or Graduate Student): 22, Junior.

Birth date (MONTH DAY, YEAR): December 14th, 1997.

Hometown (please be sure to check the hometowns listed for characters your muse is related to!): Abilene, Texas.

Gender/Pronouns: She/Her.

Sexuality: Pansexual/Panromantic.

Major(s): Psychology.

Minor(s) [optional]: N/A.

Housing request (remember, only the president of a Greek Organization is required to live at a Greek House to be in it!): Pillsbury Dorm, Single suite.

Extracurriculars (Click here for the list. Be sure to specify any executive board positions [i.e. president, secretary, etc.] If something isn’t listed, please put it here and we will add it to the masterlist!): Yearbook Committee.

Greek Life Affiliation [optional] (Please be sure to specify any executive board positions [i.e. president, pledge educator, etc.] or if your character is not yet a member, but plans to rush): N/A.

CHARACTER PROFILE:

Both coming from incredibly religious families themselves, Adam and Josephine Wilde put a lot of stock into their faith, and are highly devoted Christians, who have raised their children strictly within this same faith. While loving parents, they are also incredibly disciplined, and expect their two daughters to never step a toe out of line. This is not to say they’re not kind to them; the Wilde family are wealthy, and both parents are guilty of totally spoiling their offspring, especially materially.

Thanks to her upbringing, while Juliet does feel a certain amount of devotion toward her religion, she is by no means her parents, and does not necessarily agree with all of their beliefs. For example, the Wilde parents frown upon any sexuality other than heterosexuality, so when Juliet first had feelings for a female friend during her teens, she chose to keep it to herself, knowing her parents would not approve.

While she’s guarded where her parents are concerned, Juliet is actually a total free spirit away from them, a side to herself she discovered during dance classes as a child. She loved being able to express herself through movement, and then as she grew older, through her own personal style, which by now could be described as very much “boho”. Think festival attire, and you have the majority of Juliet’s wardrobe. Of course, she owns plenty of modest dresses and outfits her parents would approve of, but only tends to wear them while home in Abilene, playing the part of the good little Christian daughter Adam and Josephine raised. Her dorm is decorated with colorful tapestries and an array of candles and incense.

Although she’s disciplined around her family, Juliet has always struggled with her filter. She is a bubbly person who tends to speak her mind, so has found that she has thrived since leaving her hometown. While they wouldn’t have given her prior approval, her parents had to deal with the fact that Juliet dyed her naturally blonde hair red as soon as she begun her freshman year at Joie University. They’ll often make comments about how much better she looked as a blonde, but that doesn’t deter her; she loves her red hair, it is something of a signature for her at this point.

Juliet is very much a people person, and has high hopes to work as a therapist or counselor someday. This likely stems from the fact that, while she tries to have a close relationship with her parents, and they try with her in return, she doesn’t feel truly accepted by them, because she can’t truly be herself around them. This has made Juliet crave outside affection, something she gets from serial dating and casual hookups in place of anything meaningful. A good amount of red wine also helps, but ask her parents, and “our little Julesy would never touch the stuff!”

STUDENT CENSUS SURVEY:

(Please answer the following questions IN CHARACTER. Responses can be as long or short as you see fit!)

What made you want to attend Joie University? The location, first off. I know it’s not any kind of big city like New York or LA, but I kind of liked the idea of somewhere smaller, yet far enough away from Texas that I didn’t feel suffocated, you know? Plus, I read good reviews, and you can always count on those.

What are at least 3 positive or neutral and at least 3 negative traits that you believe you possess? I like to think I’m super accommodating. Like, I’ll open up to and accept other people easily. I’m also very considerate and hardworking. As for negative, I guess I can be kind of ditzy sometimes? Maybe a bit of a pushover. Personally, I think quirky is an awesome trait, but I’ve been told on a bunch of occasions that it’s more of a negative, so I guess that, too.

Which of your traits do you value most? I actually really like my quirkiness. But I’ll go with one of the positives, so we’ll say considerate.

How can that trait benefit the University (or its student body) as a whole? Considerate people put others before themselves, and that benefits everyone, doesn’t it?

What do you hope to gain from your experience at JU? As well as help towards my career (I’m gonna be a therapist, I think…) I would really like to be able to just spread my wings and focus on some personal growth. I love my hometown, don’t get me wrong, but being away feels like a good opportunity to really let myself be me. I like to express myself, and I feel like college is the perfect place to do that.

What is a quote or song lyric that describes you? “I have never felt so strong, I’ve been waiting for so long to be me. Suddenly, I’m breaking free.”

#Accepted

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peach-cake-slice · 7 years

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I honestly have many OCs, most part of them might don’t be interesting for most part of you but I guess I’ll talk about one of them anyway xP And for this I’ll use my Yuri on Ice OC, called Max. I made him for a RP with @chubbybloomykitty and @blackcatfishingdreams where all the skaters are judging on a kind of “The Voice” skating version xP And our OCs are competeting on this contest having Yuuri and Viktor as their couchies :) If you want to know more about it send an ask to me or to one of my two friends xP But before I start answering this I’ll talk a little about Max [WARNING: THIS CHARACTHER IS QUEER, IF YOU DON’T SUPPORT IT DON’T SEND ME BULLSHIT TALKING ABOUT HOW BEING QUEER IS WRONG OR ANY “PENIS AND VAGINA” SHIT. THANK YOU? THANK YOU] Max is an 17 years old, AMAB (assigned male at birth) boyflux with a short curly hair (sometimes leave it straight), brown eyes and white skin. He likes to use make up and “girly” clouthes sometimes but usely goes for the most neutral visual they can. You can use whatever pronouns with them (from he to zir) and he won’t feel bad, they just don’t want you to treat them as a cisgender boy xP Ok, I guess it was all I could say before starting (I should really try to draw them -v-’’’) let’s go then <3

1. Their voice

Max’s voice is pretty chill and soft, it’s not so deep but also not so acute but it deppends on their emotions (usually makes a really acute voice when have strong emotions. It’s unusual from them to make a deep voice, unless they are singing)

2. Their smile

Booooy, he has one of the most beautiful smiles of all my OCs until now. Because of their radiant personality he likes to smile a lot specially close to their friends and loved ones <3 (that doesn’t mean that they can’t be savage or sassy tho (¬ ͜ʖ¬) )

3. Their Greatest Achievement

Welp, that’s a good question... Since we didn’t decided who will win the contest yet I guess their greatest achievement until now was to quit their parents house to pratice their skating and get to be noticed by their idols. It’s something that I didn’t discussed to any of my friends yet but their parents awalys were very queerphobic and never supported their dreams and hobbies. And after their father find out that they had a boyfriend (currently ex bf, but that’s another story...) they reacted very strongly and the only thing that came to Max’s mind was to run away as quick as possible. After this, they made everything they could to be strong and get to an big skating contest despite all prejudice they suffered on the process and show to everyone that queer people (specially nb people) DO exists and can be whatever they want. They never hided their gender identity or their sexuality to anyone since then. So be one of the finalists of a big contest with 2 of their idols was something REALLY important to them.

4. Their insecurities

This is something that Max tries their best to hide from everyone but their past are awalys hunting them. They often gets pretty scared of walking on streets and accidentily meet their parents or their former bf again. Why? Well, since their parents is something obvious let’s just talk about their former bf. Welp, he and Max know each other since they were just children and Max awalys felt something for him. They started dating hided from their parents then ran to live together and help each other with their dreams. He awalys made Max very happy and showed all support in the world with everything Max wanted to do (buy a skirt, learning light make up, change their civil name to their social name, etc...) and Max were very happy thankful for all of this. But then one night, when Max woke up in the middle of night and listened to him talking with someone on the phone about them. When they noticed it, they went to the living room to listen the rest of the conversation he was having and what he heard was “I’m trying what I can to make him realize that this queer thing is bullshit. Even tho *insert Max’s civil name here* seems to want to become a girl he awalys take it back and try to have his maculinity back. Maybe he is just afraid that I broke up with him if he decides to be a girl, or is just confused... I’m trying my best to help him to decide it but he insists on this Non Binary shit”. Well, short speaking... Max started to cry, slaped his face before he could turn off his phone and ran away one more time. After this all this words kept hunting their mind and sometimes gave him terrible nightmares.

5. Their shortcomings

Max is often very impulsive and don’t think too much before decide something. They never were able to see if they have some depression or anxiety disorder because they never looked for a psychologist or any other specialists to find this out. They are headstrong and don’t give up on one point of view easily (which sometimes is good but sometimes can be really mad).

6. How do they deal with grief.

Skating or simply dancing awalys helped them to deal with anything, specially if this is a happy song, and sometime they just slack off and watch animes or play indie video games <3 (my sweet nerd :’D)

7. How they like to dress

Usually, Max tried to dress as neutral as possible with a large sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers. On special occasions they like to use one of the dress or the skirts their friend usually like to give them <3

8. What they like to eat

*inhales* Ok, we are talking about what they like to eat or what they CAN eat? xP Max usually goes for vegan food not because they are actually vegan, they are more for vegetarian, but because it’s yummy and it helps them to have a good meal and control their weight at the same time (also they LOVE to cook and have a great fun doing all the types of vegan meal by themselve xP)

9. Their theme

Master of Tides - Lindsey Stirling This song was used on their first presentation for the contest and he played as a strong pirate playing with his enemies <3 And this song is the one that I’m planning to use for their final presentation (just thinking tho). And think both fits as their themes because they fit with their strenghtness and their fragility respectively

10. Their fashion sense

They don’t actually have one (?) they just go with the style they are currently into xP They like the punk style and the goth style but it’s awalys that they use it for themselves.

11. Their family life

Max’s family had a rich life and owned a very important executive business company. Lucky for Max, they never got envolved with skating or any kind of ice sport but it doesn’t make their fear of ocasionally meeting their parents disappear.

12. Their romanticaly life

Max only date once so far and had small relations with some people (usually guys). Max is kinda afraid of seriously moving on and date again and gets really nervous with the idea of falling in love to someone again But to their sadness (or not ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) they are currently between an amazing bigender person they met on the contest’s cerimonial party, called Gemna, and a boy from his team called Toby.

13. Their embarrassing memory from years ago

Being recorded while performing and singing Steven Universe’s song drunk xP (Specially “Giant Woman” and “Do It for Her”)

14. How they react to burning their tongue with food

Covering their mouth and blow all the heat they can out while sheding some little tears :’)

15. How they react to brainfreeze

Put their hand on their head and curse xD

16. Their dreams

Other than just winning the contest, they want to open a LGBT+ Friendly Dancing School <3

17. Their ambitions

To be an inspiration to all queers and see they saying that they changed their life somehow by giving them the hope that they can fight against all their prejudice and be the heck they want to be and do the heck they want to do

18. How they sleep

19. Their reaction to betrayal

Boy, Max can forgive many things but betrayal is not one of them. If they ever find out that someone is betraying them, they will make sure that the person will be cient that they know it and then will treat them like they never had existed and like an invisible person.

20. Their reaction to a mystery love letter

Blushing (!?!?!?) and get really nervous about who sent this xD

21. How they react to pain

.... You mean physical pain or mental pain (?) If it’s mental they try to make their best to don’t show it to anyone as long as they can and to not cry because someone can come and see it or call him and get worried if they don’t hang up.

22. What they are like on two hours of sleep

They never sleep just two hours if someone try to wake them up like this their reaction is just to say “ok” and sleep again against their own will xP

23. How they act when they are sick

Max becomes an unseless vegetable when they are sick and make everything pretty slow, speacially on understanding things xP

24. What motivates them

Other then all their objectives and stuff? THIS GODDAMN SONG!

25. Why I enjoy them

Boy... They are my child...I don’t know how to explain this, I just love them so much and I want to protect them with all my powers ;u;Aaaaaaand that’s it :3 I hope you enjoy them <3 Tell me if you did!

#oc #boyflux #amab #Yuri on ice #queer #genderqueer #MEU FILHO #FUI EU QUEM PARI

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written-s0ul · 7 years

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Finding Home (1)

Summary: Avengers High School AU. Gender neutral reader-insert. You, the new kid, just want to be left alone. But instead, you get the Avengers gang – and maybe, a new home too.

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of weed? Something resembling a panic / anxiety attack, though probably not, but just in case. No specific ship in this entire story, tbh, but I’ll make sure to add some fluff + sexual tension between you and everyone, lol.

Author’s Note: HEY. So, it has been a long time since I’ve written any fanfic, much more an Avengers fanfic. I hope all the characters are in character, ehehe. So, I’ve decided to do a series of connected one-shots of your high school senior year with the Avengers gang + other Marvel characters, inspired by the 30 day drabble challenge (although I will not be doing drabbles, and for now, I’ll just do seven of them, depending on my inspiration). So, hope that you enjoy this! Let me know if there are any mistakes. Thank you! (:

Finding Home: Part #1: beginning. Part #2: accusation. Part #3: restless. Part #4: coin. Part #5: haze.

1: beginning

n. a starting point / new or inexperienced

This office was such a fucking dump. You looked at the pee-colored wall, bare but for the chippings on the corners by the ceiling. Good thing a few bulky, metal cabinets covered that eyesore of a wallpaper – although that still didn’t help in the general aesthetic quality of the room. There wasn’t even a window in here.

Your gaze fell on the small desk in front of you, unoccupied except for a laptop, a fuckton of paperwork, and some kind of 1940 action figure of a man in blue-white-red spandex. Oh, and of course, the name of your class advisor-slash-guidance counselor on a rusty, golden plaque: Mr. Phil Coulson.

He cleared his throat. You looked up to meet his gaze, and he raised a brow at you. “So?” he said. “How’s your day going?”

You cocked one brow in return, but couldn’t help the chuckle huffing out in between your teeth. “You excused me from class to – to check up on me?” You shook your head, amused. “You’re not being paid enough for this.”

He breathed out a sigh, almost as if to say no shit, but then leaned forward, the chair rolling with him, hands clasped on the desk. “Look, you’ve been here for three months already,” he said. “And I can still see you sneaking out of the cafeteria to eat by the bleachers. Or the library. Or, I suspect, even the restroom.”

Your heart squeezed. How could he know that? But you swallowed the creeping anxiety, and instead, gave him a tiny smile. “I’m fine alone, Mr. Coulson.”

“Your parents are worried about you,” he said, his already thin lips pressing down to a thinner line. His brows drew together, creases cracking his immaculate forehead. “I’m worried about you.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “I’m–”

“That’s why I’m assigning someone to you.”

You froze. What?

Knock, knock! The door behind you clicked, then creaked. You didn’t dare look who it was.

“Sir, you called?”

Mr. Coulson grinned, brighter than anything in the office. “Come on in,” he said. He waved a hand in the direction of the newcomer, and you looked up to the familiar flames-of-hell red curls on porcelain skin and the most intimidating pair of eyes you have ever seen. Correction: most intimidating human being. “I presume you’ve met Natasha Romanoff?”

When did your back become so rigid? In fact, when has your entire body been this tense? Goddamn it, Mr. Coulson. You nodded at her anyway, giving each of them a tight, tiny smile, then dropping your gaze onto a loose fabric on your shirt. “We have History and English together,” you said.

“Oh, right,” she said, nodding. A smile of her own, much more relaxed and genuine than yours, bloomed on her plump, pink lips. “Aren’t you new?”

You were about to bob your head in response, but Mr. Coulson spoke up first, providing your formal introductions – which you could most certainly have done yourself, thank you very much, but also relieved you didn’t have to do it yourself, thank you so fucking much. “That’s exactly the reason why I called you, Miss Romanoff. Our friend here needs some help around the school and, uh, getting some company – you know, the usual. Do you mind?”

Heat sizzled underneath your skin, blood swelling and tainting your whole face to the sheeny shade of a tomato. Asking another student to carry your deadweight shit? What the hell is he thinking?

“Consider it done, sir,” she said. Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help looking up at her now. Composed and pleasant, the edges of her lips were tilted up, as if she hasn’t been asked to basically watch over another student. Another student that she doesn’t even know. She glanced down, redirecting the smile to you.

The heat in your body suddenly didn’t twist your insides. Instead, it warmed them, the way a mug of hot chocolate would be reassuring in a freezing, stormy night. You smiled back, small and hesitant.

“Great! Thank you, Natasha,” Mr. Coulson said, nodding in approval. “Always knew we can count on you.”

Riiiiiiing!

Your stomach dropped. Oh, shit.

“Just in time for lunch,” Mr. Coulson said, rising from his squeaking seat. “Go grab your bag from your classroom, Miss Romanoff, we’ll wait for you outside.”

She nodded, and after sending you a see you later look, left the room. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood up and faced your adviser. “What. The. Hell?”

He pushed his chair back into his desk, then pulled out a drawer underneath. “If you’re not going to approach other people, I’ll make other people approach you,” he said, taking out a brown paper bag and setting it on the desk. You glanced at it. Does he pack his lunch everyday? “And Natasha knows a lot of other people.”

You shook your head, teeth gritting. “Sir, you’re just putting us in an awkward and embarrassing situation. This isn’t going to work.”

“Well, if it doesn’t,” he said, meeting your gaze with one corner of his lips perked up. “At least, it’s a start.” He stepped towards the door, his fingers encircling the knob, and his expression softened. “We both know you need this, kid. Give it a chance. I’ll see you next week.” Pulling the door open, he gestured for you to leave, and after shouldering your bag, grumbling to yourself, you stepped outside. Right next to Natasha herself.

“Hey,” she said, just as the door behind you clicked shut.

“Hi.” You looked down at the dull shine of your shoes. The dreaded, uncomfortable silence, you could sense, was already settling in the air between the two of you, in spite of the background noise of the chatter and laughter of a hallway full of students.

She cleared her throat. “So. Is it okay if we pass by my locker first?” she said, adjusting the stack of thick books – with foreign titles, you noticed – in her arms.

You swallowed. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said. “I’ll just make something up for when I see Mr. Coulson–”

“It’s fine,” she said, dismissive, as she began walking ahead, staying at the shore of the river of students, and not totally immersing herself into it just yet. “He always asks me to help out with the new kids, so I don’t mind.”

Catching up with her, you furrowed your brows. “Why?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I get along well with everyone.”

Huh, that made sense. You’ve seen her in the hallways and during classes, hanging out with such a variety of people: from elite bad boy Loki Laufeyson to young prodigy Peter Parker – a sophomore who’s in your Math class already – to Class President Steve Rogers himself. She’s quite everywhere. Or maybe, for you. It’s hard not to notice someone with a presence as intimidating as hers.

“Nat!”

Both of you spun to the voice, found a blonde in a tight pair of black jeans jogging towards you, backpack over his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, you recognized him as the guy who not only hung out a lot with Natasha, but also has the sharpest eyes in probably the entire school – Clint! Yeah, Clint, uh, Bartson. Barton. You think.

He reached behind his ear, as if adjusting something, then beamed, like an excited kid. Throwing you a nod, he looked at Natasha. “New assignment?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You make this sound like some extra-credit homework.” Gesturing to you, she made the proper introductions, and you had to pat yourself on the back. It was Clint Barton.

Looking at you, his eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”

You nodded, keeping your heart calm and your face clear of any emotion. “We have–”

“PE!” he said, brightening. “We have PE together! You’re the one who keeps on tripping in the gym, right?”

Beside you, Natasha raised her brows, amused. You looked away, lips pressed together as heat crawled up your neck. That’s not exactly your fault. Mostly, it’s the awful combination of a frictionless pair of sneakers and a constantly mopped, smooth floor. You nodded anyway.

Clint huffed out a chuckle. “You’re a lot fun.” Then, looking at Natasha, his eyes lit up, as if remembering why he was here in the first place. “Oh, you guys getting lunch?” His gaze flickered between the two of you.

Natasha shook her head, lifted her books. “Got to do something first. You can go ahead, grab a table before everything’s occupied.”

“I’m pretty sure Pietro’s got that covered,” he said, grumbling. Pietro, you thought, then remembered: one of the foreign exchange students from a country in Europe that you can’t recall or pronounce!

“Assuming he’s not getting high in the backstage of the auditorium,” Natasha said.

Whoa. Well, he does look like a very chill guy. But now, Clint does not, his forehead creased and his jaw unhinged as if affronted. “That asshole! Why doesn’t he ever share?” he said, then frowned, contemplating. “I’ll look for him–” He stepped aside, ready to leave, but somehow, with one look from Natasha alone, he returned to his position in front of you, looking like a child who’s just been scolded.

“Are you more hungry for weed or for food?” she asked, brow cocked.

The corners of his lips dropped even further. He breathed out a reluctant sigh and hiked up his backpack up his shoulder. “Fine. See you later.” Giving her a solemn salute and you a playful smile, he sauntered off to a nearby stairwell.

“Clint!” Natasha said, a warning in her tone as she turned to watch him go. Without looking back, he raised a thumb-up in response.

Your brows furrowed. “He’s not going to get high in the middle of a school day, is he?”

She heaved out an exasperated breath from her nose. “Not usually. At least, ninety percent of the time.” Turning away, she headed to the row of lockers in the corner of the hall, with you trailing behind her, and throwing one last look to where Clint had disappeared.

Reaching the lockers, you let yourself avert your gaze as she unlocked hers. Once it was open, she stuffed her books in there, but not without arranging them first – alphabetically? You weren’t sure. Some of them were in a foreign language.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat. Your heart leapt as you stepped aside to see the intruder, Natasha turning to face them too, for both of your gazes to fall on none other than the mysterious Bucky Barnes. Or, at the moment, the uncomfortable Bucky Barnes. He was shuffling his feet, hands shoved down into the pockets of his ripped jeans, and face contorted in such a way that it seemed as if it physically pained him to even stand there. It was almost kind of cute, if his presence wasn’t so alarming.

Natasha blinked. “You have a message for Cap?”

The Cap? You frowned, shot her a questioning look.

She caught this, shrugged. “It’s our nickname for Steve.”

Ah, Steve Rogers, you thought. Him being the class president and an amazing athlete, it made sense.

He ran a hand through his shoulder-length locks, strands of it swaying beside his face from the movement, reminding you, for some reason, of a field of tall grass dancing against a strong breeze. Sparing you a look, for a moment, it looked as if he was considering whether or not to speak with your presence nearby, but then, he returned to Natasha, and nodded. “Let him know I can’t make it to movie night, will you? Gotta serve detention under Mr. Sitwell … again.”

Crossing her arms, Natasha raised an amused brow. “You gonna leave him all alone with Sammy-wammy?” she said, playful.

He shot her a look, the kind one would have when they’ve heard a joke too many times for their patience to take it, and stepped back, ready to depart. “I’ll see you around, Romanoff.”

“How about lunch?” she asked.

His face squirmed again, like he didn’t like what he was going to say. “Detention. Mrs. Carter.”

Wow. Can someone really have two sessions of detention in a day? Beside you, Natasha shook head in a manner of why’d I even bother, but waved him a hand of farewell, before returning to the contents of her locker.

At the corner, you caught Bucky sending you another look, this one much more piercing, brows furrowed, as though trying to remember something. But before you can decipher it any further, he has already disappeared among the mass of students. You looked back at Natasha, just as she slammed her locker shut, locking it. “Is he … okay?” you asked, tone somewhat playful.

But as she met your gaze, her face darkened. “He’s trying to be,” she said. Then, her eyes brightened, and she raised an arm, waving at someone over your shoulder. “Steve, c'mere!”

Turning around, your eyes fell on the magnificent Steve Rogers, who was just about to turn into another hall, but now paused in his tracks, looking up from a folder of documents, just as his gaze landed on you. Or Natasha. Right, Natasha. Sauntering over here in a jacket and a t-shirt too tight for the good of anyone’s eyes, it was like he was glowing.. But that may also could’ve been the sunlight from the windows. Probably. You doubted it.

“Yeah, Nat?” he asked, once within earshot. Seeing you, he flashed a smile of greeting, but then froze, brows knitted. Then, he said your name, face igniting with a look of recognition. “Don’t we go to the same Arts class?”

You nodded, heart bouncing. Whoa, he’s noticed you? From what you can remember, your interactions with him was limited to mostly staring at the way his face and muscles moved while he sketched, and picking up fallen pencils. Oh god. You hoped he hasn’t noticed you staring too.

“You draw pretty good,” he said, the corners of his lips stretching to a smile that could hearts. It most certainly could have melted yours. Especially with such a compliment.

Brushing hair off your face, you tried to return the smile without compromising your stoic disposition, tight but abashed. “Uh, you too.”

In between the two of you, Natasha cleared her throat, and the focus was on her. With an amused sideway glance at you, she looked at Steve. “Barnes wanted to say he can’t make it to your movie night threesome with Sam–”

“It’s not–”

“He has detention with Mr. Sitwell,” she went on. “Oh, and right now too, with Mrs. Carter.”

Steve drew his brows together, disapproving and dismayed. Creases lined his forehead, and it was almost tempting to smooth them out. “Right. Thanks for letting me know, Nat.”

“One of the many services I offer,” she said, waving his gratitude away. “You joining us for lunch?”

He shook his head, low and disappointed. “Council meeting. I’ll just catch up on you guys later,” he said, now walking backwards. “See you around!” Flashing you another brilliant smile, he turned and disappeared into another hall.

You looked at Natasha, frowning. “Are all of them your friends?”

One corner of her lips perked up. “You haven’t even met half of them.”

Soon enough, you reached the cafeteria. An open dining, students gathered in this area, purchasing and consuming their food, in such great numbers that they have spilled to the surrounding picnic tables outside, beneath two towering trees and stretching, bushy branches. Friendly breezes blew past, bringing along with it chatter, laughter and the smell of … roast beef?

“Food first?” Natasha said, as both of you approached the main cafeteria, overflowing with so many students that stepping inside felt like being in a stuffy oven, despite the lack of any walls to actually contain anything. “Hopefully, Clint and the others saved us a table.”

Oh, right. You’re going to eat lunch with her and her friends. With actual people after three months of lunch solitude. Or isolation, Mr. Coulson will probably say, because you have no life. Unlike Natasha, who does, and whose life you’re now basically intruding. Fitting, squeezing yourself inside of it. Damn it, Mr. Coulson. “Natasha–”

“Call me Nat.”

“Okay, uh, Nat–” you said, clearing your throat as both of you stepped onto the end of the line. She leaned forward and grabbed two trays. “I think for today, I’ll eat somewhere else–”

She turned around, and gave you a look. The line moved forward, but she didn’t budge. “Listen, if I didn’t want to help you out, I wouldn’t. Really. But I do. So, are you going to take this tray or not?” She shoved it towards your chest.

If the line hadn’t been moving, and the other students behind you weren’t complaining, maybe you wouldn’t have taken the tray. But either way, you did, and the corners of her lips perked up, small but satisfied. She turned back to the line and edged forward, selecting the food she wanted. You followed suit, taking whatever suited your appetite at the moment. It wasn’t much.

After paying for the food and stepping out of the line, you wondered – why? Why did she agree to help you? In fact, why does she even want to help? It wasn’t like she has anything to gain from this. You looked at her, watched as her sharp eyes narrowed, scanning the tables for familiar heads. Does she?

“Oh, there they are,” she said, nodding at a crowded table underneath one of the trees. Her whole face seemed to must have brightened, thrumming with a controlled level of excitement. That’s what it must be like to have friends, you thought.

Your throat dried up, chest squeezing your already galloping heart, as you stared at that table, that table of Nat’s friends. Even from afar, you can already see some familiar heads: Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner – even you’re-pretty-sure-he’s-from-another-world Thor Odinson, and the twins from that European country you can’t pronounce, and that sassy guy from that African country you can’t remember, and three other guys who’re probably in your other classes too. But none of whom you have ever interacted with. Not a meaningful interaction anyway. Maybe bumping them in the halls, helping them pick up a fallen pen, vice versa. But nothing real. Now, maybe you’re about to have that. Meaningful, real interaction. And who knows where that could lead to?

But you already knew the answer to that, and it’s not a happy one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can feel the panic clamoring in your chest, building and slamming into the walls of your insides, pushing sweat out of your pores and tying your stomach into ribbons and chasing your heart–

“Hey.” You felt a gentle hand on your arm, and your wide-eyed gaze fell on Natasha’s concerned but kind face, her brows furrowed and the corners of her lips tilted up, as if she was torn between looking worried or comforting. “You okay?”

Stepping back, you blinked a few times back to the present, but nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I just–” You shoved some saliva down your desert-crisp throat, and cleared it. “I don’t think I can–”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” she said, tone soft and reassuring. “And you’re not going to hurt anyone.”

You stared at the table, as a wind whispered past, bringing along Thor’s booming laughter and Tony’s witty remarks. They looked so … happy. You’d hate to ruin that.

“You don’t even have to say anything,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”

You fixed your gaze on her, and watched the sunlight play with the color of her eyes. Flickering from green to gray to blue to green. Sweet, comforting, safe. You wondered if she understands, understands why you just can’t jump into … something like this. She looked like she does. Maybe, maybe it won’t turn out too bad. Maybe.

With one last inhale and exhale of air, you gathered all your strength, and nodded at the table. “You sure we can still fit in there?” You’re not sure of the capacity of the tables here, but you’re pretty sure ten students – a few of whom were built like Roman gods – couldn’t possibly fit in that single picnic table.

She released a relieved breath. “We better,” she said, approaching them already, with you lagging a bit beside her. “Or someone’s going to get their ass kicked.”

Ha, funny. But then, you saw her face. Wait, was she serious?

Part #2: accusation.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I think I’ll leave the whole “introduction to the team” to you, lol. Sorry! No matter what, I can’t seem to write down that scene right. No idea how those Marvel writers can handle such a humongous cast. But anyway, I’ve made it look like you already do know the cast, being in the school for three months already and they’re also well-known students, so I didn’t think it was totally necessary. The important part is bonding moments with them, yieee. Which we will all get into soon. (:

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. ❤️

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