#Echo is damned if she does damned if she doesn’t with the fandom

[ruiniel]

Fandom: Castlevania Series (2017-2021)

Rating: M

Characters: Alucard, Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades

Relationships: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Additional Tags: Post-Castlevania Season 2, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Trephacard, Grief/Mourning, Mental Anguish, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Monsters, Canon typical violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Developing relationship, Polyamory, Eventual smut

Chapter I

Also on AO3.

X.

A lazy wind breathes through the trees as they near the structure, stopping before the building. 

“It seems… quiet,” Sypha comments, gazing at the walls covered in dark green ivy. Chipped murals depicting biblical episodes are visible here and there, painted faces of saints staring at them with aged eyes. 

“I hear no heartbeats,” Alucard adds, and Trevor hums as he follows along the side to the main entrance.

The wooden gates of intricately carved wood are ajar, and worn with time. 

“Dustier than I remember it,” murmurs Trevor as they enter, watching sparse rays of light filter in through the stained glass windows.

“And empty,” Sypha says, lighting a swift flame with a flick of her fingers. 

The giant cross of a teary, dying savior does nothing to alleviate the sense of barrenness the place invokes within the hunter, something that doesn’t slot at all with memories of what used to be. 

“Whoever dwelled here has long since departed,” Alucard surmises, paging through a dusty Bible set on the pulpit. “This place is abandoned.”

“Thank you, lord Obvious,” Trevor mutters. “That was that, then, let’s go.”

It’s funny, sometimes, how the very worst of luck catches you by the throat. It’s a useless thought coming to mind as the doors creak behind them. “Huh, strange.” 

“What is?” asks Sypha, her voice echoing in the vast enclosure. 

“There’s no wind now,” Trevor says, gazing long at the broken tiles. “There used to be a cellar here though, and—”

He doesn’t finish, caught off guard while his body strikes the broken floor. “What the hell’s wrong with y—” his words die there, gazing from Alucard’s strained expression towards the wall.

What looks like thick slime slides down the washed out silhouette of one mural painting, burning its way through the wall. 

“Behind you!” Sypha.

He and Alucard both roll over together grasping at each other, fast enough to miss another projectile of the same stuff, at which point all Trevor’s reflexes get a good grip. 

They’re both on their feet in a second. “What the fuck are those?”

They stare at the giant dark mass slithering towards them from every which way—some crawl above them, over the ceiling, curved talons leaving cracks in the stone. 

“I don’t recognize their ilk,” Alucard helpfully adds, his sword slashing the air at his side. 

“Whatever they are, hoping they die,” Trevor says, his whip at the ready, watching Sypha already forced into dispensing with ones having made their move. Too far, she’s too far. He doesn’t like it, not one bit, but now the two of them have their own batch to deal with as two bodies fall to pieces before him.

“Belmont!” 

Trevor avoids the burning projectile, jumping as high as his muscles allow, landing right atop one of those things and he can’t see faster than his own movement, instinct taking over as he knifes it in the head—or what he thinks is its head?— then curls his whip around his arm, unleashing it against a larger one.

And ‘creature’ is the right word here—they look as bad as they reek, and somehow he ends up back to back against Alucard, downing as many as they can while trying not to get burned alive by whatever they’re spewing with relish. 

Multiple, hairy legs. There seem to be no eyes, his mind reels as he tries to find weak points, gaze briefly on Sypha at the front of the long chamber, freezing and burning them in turn as fast as her magic can hold. 

“Go to her!” Alucard cries, and Trevor doesn’t need a second urging. Not that she couldn’t handle this, but they don’t know the nature of these damn hellcritters, nor can they risk impairment—either of them—if they want to stay alive. 

The whip cracks as he makes a swing through her fire, rolling behind her and up in the next moment. 

“How are we doing here?” The space feels so much smaller now, crammed as they are.

“So... damn... many!” Sypha retorts, flushed from the effort.Trevor senses the anger in her voice as she does a fell sweep, icing a quarter of their surroundings but more just.keep.coming.

“Swarm!” 

They’ve been through worse, after all. They coordinate like one when the need calls for it, but when he sees Alucard facing more and more on his own, by comparison he and Sypha aren’t doing so badly.

“If only we could get the fuck out of here!” he cries, but likely she cannot hear him, focused as she is. Trevor lashes at two more spiderhags or whatever the hell they are, avoids a sputter of burning excretion at his face as he makes his way in a painstaking churn at Alucard’s side.

Their eyes meet—and Alucard wants to speak but doesn’t get to, and all Trevor sees is his horrified expression, and then the reason why.

“What are you doing? You were supposed to—”

The scream feels like a blow, and with a desperation he’s never felt Trevor glances to where Sypha was—was, because the very floor is sinking, crumbling before their eyes, taking her and a slew of those things with it. 

“Sypha!” he yells above the mayhem, rushing forward, pure relief when he reaches the chasm and sees her down there, in one piece. He lands before her inert body, just in time to clash with the mass of two creatures. 

At the end of his tether, he trips—but instead of being beheaded by a set of talons, a red flash blinds him once, and again and again, and soon there is dust settling and a horrible, endless ringing in his ears. 

Trevor tries to breathe, and somewhere along the way he’s taken Sypha into his arms, hugging her to him with the instinctual intent of a human shield. 

Now, panting, he can see her better. “Hey…” he tries, but her eyes are closed, and her form lacks that tense strength he knows. 

“Give her to me.” Alucard. 

Trevor obeys, not least because what-the-fuck-just happened, but he doesn’t have the strength to get her back up there.

Alucard does so, gentle in laying her on a bench before bringing Trevor up so fast he turns and vomits on the broken tiling. 

The festering odour, the darkness, the silence are all too much, but the thought of—

“Sypha,” he calls, feeling both lost and dumb, looking to Alucard who’s bundling her in his now ragged coat. “I… Alucard…”

Alucard doesn’t answer, quick about his task.  “I watch myself,” Trevor hears, words spoken in a chilling calm. “You watch each other’s backs, that was always our agreement.” He lifts Sypha in his arms again.

Well, crap. “You were fucking swamped—” 

Alucard rounds on him, freezing at a pained hiss from Sypha. He gazes at her briefly, in anger and remorse and the worry twisting Trevor’s own heart. His voice is low when he looks up, a bright red flame burning in the depths of his eyes. “You wanted to stay? What for? For this? So I can see you maimed, so I can watch you die?”

“Hey!” Whatever’s turning Alucard inside out reaches him too, now, and he can’t shut up. As usual. “Nothing works by the fucking book, but at least we're all still here, alive—”

Alucard turns away, Sypha held tightly in his arms, pacing out of the building as fast as he can without jarring her. 

Trevor follows, staring up at the skies tinted in a deceptively peaceful blue. Shit. It all makes him dizzy. He breathes through his nose, begging the battle tension to drain from his body faster, wishing for the words he so wants to spew to lie under his tongue where they belong. We wanted to stay so that you wouldn’t be in that fucking carcass of a place all by yourself. Because we care. Because I—

Doesn’t matter. His fists are clenched as he follows, fast on Alucard’s heels.

~

“Will she be all right?” 

“Of course.”

Trevor watches Alucard, rushing to and fro. He’s inspected Sypha for injuries as soon as they reached the castle, finding a sprained ankle, but luckily not much else. “I’m not certain about the extent of injury to her head, though.” He speaks through gritted teeth, but lost that flare of anger which so made Trevor want to smack him over the jaw in their frenzy. 

Now, there is only relief. Trevor lifts his chin, watching Alucard carefully clean the scrapes on Sypha’s face, then bares her leg to be splinted and bandaged. She lies there on a working table-turned-bed, in the laboratory. Not once does he raise his gaze to Trevor’s.

“Do you need help?”

Alucard shakes his head.

“Look,” Trevor begins. His throat aches. Sypha opens her eyes, gazes at him for a moment before her features return to stillness. “I’m—”

“I have this, Trevor,” Alucard murmurs, bent over her. “Go clean yourself up.”

His tone is dry, his hands meticulous in wrapping a gauze around the splint.

Trevor sighs, guilt and worry warring within like serpents coiling to bite. He clenches and unclenches his fists, winces in pain, figures it’s best he makes himself scarce before he says something he might truly regret. There’s been enough of that going around lately. 

As such, he turns on his heel and slowly departs, aiming for a change of clothes and, considering the burning sensation he’s begun to feel in his arm, some doctoring of his own.

It feels wrong like this; he should be back there, holding her hand, doing something—but Alucard’s stone-cold demeanor, the set line of his jaw and the cast of blame on his features… he couldn’t bear it. Part of him is grateful to Alucard for sending him away.

Is he a coward, too, afterall?

‘What are you running to? Do you have a destination in mind?’ Sypha’s grandfather had once asked in the early days of their meeting; in another life, it feels, before he knew that what his heart needed was right there, before him.

Trevor reaches his chamber, an old chamber with a tall ceiling where the breeze of evening sends long sheer draperies fluttering. He goes over to a washing basin, fills it and stares at the water, feeling for all the world like an outcast more than ever before in his life.

~

The walls are chipped here, he now notices. This place is silent as a grave when it wants to be, especially, it seems, when he most needs it to be anything but. Alucard stares down at his burden, held in his arms. The lack of timber left the fireplace cold, and he hopes what he can offer will be enough. 

They were careless. They were ambushed, they were—how had he not sensed anything amiss? He’s been here for hours, thinking the same thoughts, buried in the same guilt. 

And Belmont… 

A meld of concern and pure vitriol rises through him. How the hell did the hunter not see it coming either? If nothing else, they always trusted in each other’s abilities, and this time it was… nearly not enough. And he’ll be damned but he lost all composure the moment he rushed down there and saw them, and if anything happens to her, to either of them, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

That’s probably what frightens him the most. 

And it's not until Sypha stirs, body tensing as she seeks a more convenient place to rest her head against his shoulder that Alucard remembers how the weight of her makes him dizzy, like before, all those times when a fleeting stare or touch sent her static right through him.

She brings a hand to his chest, staring up at him with long-lashed eyes, bleary and slow to focus. Her cheek is pressed to his collarbone. 

“I... fell asleep…”

“Don't worry about that,” Alucard smiles, boot propped against one leg of the couch opposite them, gently rocking them back and forth in the chair. “Sleep will aid the healing process.” 

“Mm…”

She's still out of it, then. “How does your leg feel?”

The swelling on its own gives a rather good indication. Sypha moves, winces in pain. “Hurts less than earlier, doesn't make me want to scream … as well as can be?”

“Good,” his fingers skim the curve of her scalp, over a hidden scar he discovered there one night, the shape of a ragged sickle moon. He never did ask her how she came by it, but now words clog his throat like trapped fledglings eager to soar. 

She inhales, sighs, an arm snaking lazily around his neck. “Adrian…”

“Yes,” Alucard frowns, unused to hearing those letters in that order from her mouth.

“... too warm.” Her skin is slightly damp against his.

“I know. But the pain relief will help, you'll see. Forgive me, Sypha.” It sounds vacuous to his own ears, his regret. Sypha curls up more into him, and all he wants to do is die.

“Silly. There is nothing to forgive,” she shakes her head, voice raspy and cracking. 

Of course she’d say this. And things could have gone so much worse today. His arm tightens around her. “This could have been avoided, if only we—”

Sypha lifts her head; his breath catches with the brief press of lips to his jaw. “Don’t stay upset with Trevor,” she says, then sleepily hides against his neck. Her messy hair tickles his chin, and he can still smell the soap on her hot skin from her bath this morning.

“I’m…” Alucard presses his eyes shut. “I’m not.” Another mistake, his own doing. His hand alights on her hip, settles there. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

He sighs, the creaking motion of the rocking chair filling the silence for a moment. “I confess that I… don't yet know how to handle this.”

Sypha looks back at him, her eyes soft, lips slightly parted. “…this?”

Alucard's leg stops its languid motion of swaying them back and forth in the chair. He can't seem to bring the right order of words to this particular weave of feeling, the despair and the longing and relief; the blood. The truth of what they both are to him. "The two of you, close. Being here, living here.”

Sypha smiles. “Tell him that, too, will you?” 

“... I thought you were out cold at the time.” 

“I have a special sense…” she slurs, head falling heavier against him, “... for when you two argue…”

“Do you, now?” He needs no answer, and expects none will come anyway. She’s softened against him again, unconscious. 

~

Trevor fumbles with the roll, winces from the pure agony erupting in his arm and his abused fingers cramp so suddenly the bandage dressing drops from his hands. 

“Stupid idiot,” he grumbles, watching as it unrolls over the floor all the way to Zori the cat, who saunters through the space and sets to inspect it by way of paw, before raising his head to meow at Trevor.

“I'm glad someone agrees,” Trevor says, rubbing at his forehead. He's tired; more tired than he's been in a while.

“What… are you doing?”

He looks ahead and sees Alucard, leaning with his shoulder against the entrance to the laboratory.

“Oh, just talking to my friend here,” Trevor says. “What does it look like I'm doing, Alucard?” He’s avoided coming down here for as long as he could, but now it had become imperative he does something about this damn burn. “Apparently, one of those fuckers nicked me and since I'm rather attached to my limb, came here to do something about it.”

Alucard's face becomes alert. “Let me see.”

“It's, uh, fine,” Trevor says while the other nears him. “No need to fuss over this too, all right? You've got enough to worry about now with Sypha and I've mended myself before—”

“Let me see,” Alucard insists, now facing Trevor, who's still seated atop the long table. 

Trevor rolls his eyes but the pain has spread to his entire left arm, and it throbs, it pulses; he wipes the sweat beading on his forehead, gazing at Alucard, who patiently regards him in turn.

“Is this a staring contest?” Alucard deadpans. After another moment, he adds, “Sypha is resting. Will be, for some time yet.”

“Fine,” Trevor reaches for the fastenings of his shirt with his right hand, setting to undo them with moderate to no success.

The brush of fingers against his, warm and firm, stay his movement. The hunter stares up. His own hand drops in his lap, allowing Alucard to undo the first clasp at the base of his neck, then the next, following lower, and despite the pain something tightens inside him with each brief, clipped touch. Fucking ridiculous.

Finally done, Alucard helps him out of the fairly ruined shirt, careful with Trevor's arm and slowly taking hold of his wrist. His eyes dart to Trevor’s face when the hunter grits his teeth. He frowns, inspecting the raw wound carved into flesh.

“...What is it?”

"This needs cleaning and treatment.”

“Thought as much.”

“Come with me," Alucard instructs, releasing his wrist and turning away. He leads them to another corner of the laboratory.

“Sit.”

Trevor does so without complaint, exhausted, and does what he’s told. For all his growling and griping, Alucard is careful with these things, almost endearingly so. Soon his wound is cleaned and bandaged much better than he could ever do himself.  “Is this to be your life, now?” he asks late, worried by the deepening shades on Alucard’s drawn face.  

He receives a side-stare as the other returns utensils to their rightful place. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Making pancakes, patching us up after the heavier fights,” Trevor says. The burn has dulled significantly owed to the salve Alucard used on him. He feels a little dizzy, like his blood is sludgy and crawling through his veins. “Alucard…?”

“Easy now,” he hears, then realizes his forehead is pressed against Alucard, whose body seems to be the only thing between him and the floor. “You nearly fainted.”

“Umm… fuck's sake, sorry…” Maybe that’s why he can’t keep a coherent thought going. 

“Don’t be sorry, Trevor.” 

Right now he’s not much of anything, anymore. He wants to tell Alucard that, too, but his mouth will barely open. “Hell, Alucard… what did you give me… Don’t go… not finished…” Is he being carried somewhere? He’s likely never sounded as pitiful, but Trevor finds it nowhere within himself to care. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” comes Alucard’s voice, closer, along with a violent heartbeat thumping against Trevor’s ear. “Of that you can be certain.”

~

TBC

#castlevania netflix #castlevania fanfiction #trephacard #castlevania fic #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #ruiniel:fanfiction

[littlefantasinia]

victory lap

Fandom: Disgaea Characters: Fuji, Pirilika Words: 1000+ Summary: Pirilika's not quite done yet. Fuji should have known, really.

A place where you can be yourself, a place where you can cry I’ll become that for you

“I was talking with Flonne about your curse,” Pirilika says, not looking up as she very carefully cuts the patterned fabric she bought the previous week. Another outfit for Ao, apparently. “I hope you don’t mind. But two sleds are faster than none, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Two heads are better than one,” Fuji says, almost automatically. Sitting across her with one of her many sketchbooks in hand, he raises an eyebrow. He’s been expecting a quiet afternoon, especially after they’ve just gotten back from helping out another Netherworld the day prior. The echoes of the curse have settled onto his limbs, and downtime is usually enough to help deal with it.

He does usually get that quiet whenever he catches Pirilika personally working on an outfit in her atelier, as she could very rarely be distracted from her newest vision. And even if he could succeed in turning her attention away, her bringing up the curse has been at the bottom of his expectations.

Shifting in his seat to a more comfortable position, Fuji asks, “What, you think she can help?”

Pirilika finishes cutting around the pattern she pinned against the fabric before finally looking up. Her smile is so bright that it’s almost blinding. “She did help Ao. And she knows of a lot of Netherworlds. So I thought, maybe she can help you too? Or at least find someone who can maybe give us a clue.”

“I’m not that excited to owe anyone, let alone an angel, another favor, Piriko,” Fuji says dryly, ignoring the tightness in his chest and the hint of blood on his tongue. “Besides, I can live with it.”

“I know, but it would be nice to know your options, right?” Pirilika says, frowning as she sets aside her scissors. “And you haven’t been holding back with doting on Ao–which she deserves! But it still hurts you every time.”

Fuji shrugs as he trains his eye on the many designs Pirilika has drawn for his daughter. She’s been trying to get all of them to wear her designs, Fuji included, but Ao is definitely her favorite to make outfits for. “Yeah, well, you always heal me anyway. It’s fine,” he says. “Besides, I don’t trust some random higher-up in Celestia.”

“She’s not just a random higher-up,” Pirilika says. “She’s a friend! And Ceefore trusts her too.”

“Weapon Otaku’s not always the best judge of character. Neither are you, Piriko.” Grinning, he adds, “If anything, you’re probably the worst.”

“I was right about you though!”

“Eh, you got lucky.”

“I did,” she says, voice so soft that he can’t help looking up. She isn’t even looking at him as she pins another part of her paper pattern on the remaining fabric. As if this is just a plain old thought that doesn’t bear any further introspection. “I got very, very lucky. I can’t thank you enough, Fuji.”

He should have been able to predict it, but he isn’t able to push down the cough in time. He remembers to hold her sketchbook away at least. For the sake of Ao and her future dresses, of course. “Damn it, Piriko. Stop saying embarrassing things. I thought you were trying to help.”

“I am!” she says as she places the fabric down gently on the table in front of her. She holds out her hands and Fuji immediately feels the relief her magic provides. “And,” she continues, after his coughing subsides, “if Flonne does get back to me, I’ll look into any of her leads. You don’t have to owe her or even me anything. We can just say I’m doing this for my own sake.”

“What, you tired of healing me all the time already?”

“Of course not, silly. But…well, I did say I’d make it so you can have a place to be yourself. And I’ve been thinking–”

“Well, that’s dangerous.”

She scrunches her nose at him briefly but continues. “I’ve been thinking, that hoping to do that while doing nothing about your curse is kind of selfish, right? I mean, that’s like saying I want you to push through the pain. And I’m sure you already do that every day for us.”

The sentiment is not surprising, certainly not from her, but he can’t help watching her face quietly anyway. It’s not exactly the same, but he’s still reminded of the times when they’d hear someone criticize Opener for the fall of Hinomoto. A hint of guilt, and maybe some helplessness in the way her lips try to force a sympathetic smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She’s probably thinking something stupid like her not having the right to be upset about him hurting.

“You really are a dumbass,” he says, with no real bite to his tone. “Look, I can handle it, all right? But if you want to look into it so badly, I’m not stopping you.”

That brings back the genuine smile on her face. The sight stabs through him, but he carries on. “Just don’t get yourself killed while playing detective or whatever. Otherwise, I’d be forced to find another gullible customer who can pay as well as you. And with my luck and in this economy? Hah.”

The insult hardly dulls the brightness of her voice. “You can always come with me. I’ll pay for your time, of course.” It’s an excuse they both use and will probably continue to use until, well, until something changes. He’s not holding his breath on anything.

“You know,” he says instead, before his thoughts lead him further, “I’ve been thinking of upping my rates recently.”

“Is that a no?” She pouts, a little more exaggerated than usual.

“Only if you can’t pay,” he says, grinning.

It’s hardly an obstacle. Nothing ever really is with Pirilika.

As Fuji watches her go back to making another dress for his little girl, he allows himself to let go of what little doubt he has left.

Maybe she can do this one too.

---

A/N: This is more of a practice piece, since I haven’t written anything in sooo longgg, let alone for Disgaea, oops. Please forgive (´；ω；`)ｳｩｩ

I see FujiPiri in…a lot of aspects to the point that I’d prefer to call them soulmates…? Not necessarily in a romantic sense. But more of in a, “they would have inevitably been in each other’s lives one way or another” or “they come in a set; do not separate them” kind of way. Shrug emojis at the universe. It’s not my fault the ending song is like that ww.

Anyway, Fuji literally calls her Baal’s archnemesis. Of course, she can kick a curse in the ass too. The only thing stopping her in canon is definitely just the status quo.

Also, I had this in mind for Ao’s outfit! She’d be so cute. (*´▽｀*) I love you, Ao-chan!!! https://www.tumblr.com/lolita-wardrobe/727907991892967424/yupbro-the-spring-of-high-mountains-wa-lolita

#disgaea #disgaea 7 #fuji #pirilika

[makeitastrength]

1,5,14,34,44,45,49 for the writers ask 😊

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Answered here :)

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic - Bigger than the whole sky]? Answer it now!

Oh gosh. You couldn't have picked a more difficult fic for this question, I don't think. Actually, this is just a difficult question in general. I have no idea what I wish someone would ask me about any of my fics, to be honest. Sorry that's such a terrible answer

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

Answered here :)

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

A lot of the emotion, especially associated with childhood trauma, inspires my writing for Lucy and Tim. My childhood was made up of pieces of both of their childhoods, and I relate to both characters in that way so much. While I always try to not project too much of myself onto the characters, what I've been through definitely informs how I interpret and understand them

I also just think life experience in general inspires everyone's writing. I look back at the fics I wrote for a different fandom years ago, back when I hadn't ever been in a real adult relationship, and I can see how I missed the mark on some things

44. If you take/write prompts: do you prefer dialogue or scenario/narrative prompts?

Hmm... it depends. Scenario/narrative prompts work for me sometimes, if it's a scenario I can actually see playing out in a way that makes sense for the characters. But the dialogue ones give a lot more flexibility for me to make it into whatever I want, and often times my brain does better having that flexibility

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

To echo what I said above, I think just as I've gotten older I've gotten better able to understand adult characters and adult relationships, and I'd like to think my fics have gotten more mature and more in-depth as a result

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Answered here and here, but I can share one more snippet as well, this time from an alternate version of 5x08 that I haven't worked on in months because I'm just very stuck. Maybe this will get the words flowing again:

“Do you love him?” “That’s not. We haven’t even been together that long,” Lucy stammers, and she knows she sounds as unconvincing to Tim as she does to herself. And damn it, this is exactly why she didn’t want to ride with him today. She doesn’t need Tim to know that her relationship is a mess, and she absolutely doesn’t need him to be asking her questions and poking holes in the – flimsy, she realizes now – narrative she’s built for herself. “He loves you,” Tim says, the words soft but certain. “I know,” Lucy replies indignantly. “I know,” she says again, though this time it sounds more like resignation. “I should love him. Chris is so great in so many ways.” Tim internally rolls his eyes because no, from his interactions with the man, Chris is not that great in any way. But that’s not the point, so he keeps his mouth shut and allows Lucy to continue because he knows if she’s going to reach what seems – to him, at least – like the obvious conclusion, she’s going to have to talk herself through it. “He’s just… he’s not you.”

Thank you for the questions!

#asked and answered #fic writer asks #thisnightissparkling089

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Fic: “Comedian’s Night”

read on AO3

Fandom: Teen Titans

Rating: T (for violence/blood)

Summary: Robin investigates trouble in Jump City's local performing arts center and gets the unlikeliest backup.

@flashfictionfridayofficial​​

Getting back from Steel City, and Titans East, for a double-team mission against H.I.V.E. Five, Robin has one mission— the Tower's main computer alerts.

911 calls. Emergency service updates. Police scans. He inspects all waiting to be reviewed. There appears to have been a fair amount of criminal activity before and after Robin left.  No spikes. The Team are still on their way back, so Robin does another data check-through with a more critical eye.

Is that… a skeletal-white face mask, great. Great.

Robin can feel the eye-roll coming, tapping on some of the keyss.

Same suit, same cape, same gadgets—

Same old nonsense.

However, a new distress-signal blinks on the flat computer-panel displays.

Trouble right in middle of Jump City?

Robin considers his options, deciding to alert Cyborg who is still driving everyone else in the T-car and going himself. Someone has to.

*

"How's about I introduce myself, ladies and germs!" she shrills over the heightened chaos. "Ya can call me Duela—the Joker's Daughter!"

No—

Robin groans lightly, his entire body protesting as he turns onto his stomach.

"I'm sure am glad I know sign language!" Duela recites, bending the fingers of a woman's hand she melted off. "Comes in prettieeee HANDY!"

Her high-pitched maniacal laughter echoes through the building.

Damn it—

"Some days, I miss my ex-boyfriend," Duela says gleefully, an the innocent man writhing in pain from his bleeding shoulder. Two razor-sharp playing cards embedded in him. "But my aim is steadily improving, wouldn'ya think?"

Robin drags himself back onto his feet to go to the injured man, clamping his fingers over the wound. It's not life-threatening.

"Take your scarf, apply pressure on it… he's okay, okay?" Robin assures the man's frantic date. "You need to get yourselves out of here."

He blocks them from Duela smirking.

Under the spotlights, her emerald-and-purple outfit glitters.

Duela's exposed flesh has a ghastly white sheen. Maybe a chemical alteration?

That doesn't make her…

"Joker's daughter?" Robin says scoffing, his vision still a little hazy. His muscles tremble. "More like a wannabe clown psycho."

Her smirk widens.

"And who are you? Hmm?" she jeers. "The Ugly Traffic Light Who Could?"

Robin unclips an ammunition disc, switching it on. 

The activation light blinking red. 

"Green means go, right," he quips, throwing the disc at Duela's feet. 

In moments, a stream of concentrated freezing gas bursts out, and Robin moves. He has to see who else is left before—

"NICE TRY!"

The smoke…

Robin feels it inside of him like a burning sick-sensation, growing heavier. 

His knees start to give.

"Night, night," Duela sing-songs, getting out her bullet-firing lipstick.

Robin's vision blurs.

A gigantic red X shoots through the air, colliding into Duela before she's fired her weapon, pinning her to the stage-wall.

"Is that all you got, kid—"

"Some folks just ain't cut out for showbiz—"

*

A deep, coughing wheeze startles Robin awake.

He lifts off the concrete rooftop, dazedly examining himself.

"Take it easy," comes the static-filled voice. Not far off, Red X has a foot on the rooftop's ledge, gazing out into the neon-lit skyline. "You woke up two times already. Puked the first time, and then, you started mumbling in another language the second. But I'm no expert in Western European."

"…did you kill her?" Robin croaks, ignoring how his heart pounds.

"Came close," Red X admits. "She's gonna be going 'night, night' for a while."

"Is this a detour from robbing a bank, X?"

"Saving your life?" 

A loud tutting noise crackles Red X's mask voice-box. 

"You're going to return the museum's jewels you stole…" Robin demands, weakly climbing to his knees. Red X shuffles his dark, leathered boot off the rooftop's ledge. He doesn’t seem very worried about Robin's hand going for his utility belt. Or rather, for no belt. Red X holds up Robin's belt.

"Finders keepers."

"Is that all that matters to you? Being a criminal?"

Robin hesitates, Red X's finger suddenly pushing under his chin, tilting his face.

"Not all…" Red X says.

The whites of Robin's eyelets go big.

Red X drags his fingertip purposefully, tilting Robin's face further up. No, no—Robin struggles against the humiliated blush, jerking away.

A static-snort of laughter.

"Don't drive under the influence, Chuckles," Red X quips, tossing one of the T-communicators. "Call for a ride. Safety first."

"You…"

"And I'll catch ya on the flip-side."

He takes a running leap off the building, which Robin suspects City Hall, vanishing in mid-air. Yep, definitely the same Red X tech.

Same old nonsense…

Robin presses for Cyborg's number, a little defeated.

Great.

#flash fiction friday #teen titans #robin #dick grayson #red x #teen titans animated #teen titans animated series #dc #dcu #dc fanfic #dc fic #teen titans fanfiction #robin fanfiction #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfiction #dcu fic #dcu fanfic #robin x red x

[nowis-scales]

General Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide

Fandoms: Fire Emblem IF/Fire Emblem Fates

Relationships: Felicia/Ryoma, Camilla/Ryoma, Camilla/Hinoka, Leo/Takumi, Kagero/Orochi, Ryoma/Original Male Character

Additional Tags: Revelation Route, Childhood Abandonment, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder — PTSD, Family Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Therapy, Post-Canon, World Building, Character Death, No Deeprealms

Chapter Word Count: 5,349 words

Summary: High Prince Ryoma of Hoshido, now dubbed his majesty, was always believed to be the perfect leader and big brother. But when a long-standing lie is exposed following the Silent War, the perfect shell reveals a self-destructive interior. Now, broken and vulnerable, Ryoma finds himself having to learn to be more than a blade forged in war’s fires. Between political clashes, family conflict, and scars left by a lifetime of pain, there are more than just a few things that need taking care of in the wake of the war… and it’s hard for the king to accept that he just might be one of them.

Chapter Summary: Corrin now knows better than to go antagonizing Ryoma. Hinoka does not. (Alternatively titled: Hinoka sees Ryoma and Corrin’s game of bad decision ping-pong and enters with a steel chair.)

Read it on AO3.

Believing in people like Ryoma… it’s who I am.

 I wish I had never met you!

 Where Corrin’s hope began and where it ended.

 If she had any idea how to think with her head instead of her heart, she wouldn’t wind up in these messes. Yet here she is again, rapidly melting into a puddle of pathetic tears. She’s practically flying as she races away from her mother’s pond, her feet barely brushing the steps as she moves. Apart of her wants to caution herself, so she doesn’t go tumbling down the stairs in a Felicia-style accident, but no part of her will allow this. Her legs need her to be far away from Ryoma, and they need her to do it now. There is no stopping, no slowing, until she is away from the beast that is tormenting her – the man she used to call “brother”.

 Her heartbeat thunders in her ears as she rushes down the stairs. All of the soldiers training in the distance are no more than blotches of colour to her wet eyes as she descends, and the sound of each of her sobs is muffled only by the blood pumping in her veins. A cocktail of emotions, all wrapped up into a single person; a single person who cannot catch her breath to save her life.

 I’m lost, a small voice in her head wails, like a child that cannot find its mother, I’m lost and no one can help me!

 It’s childish. She knows damn well that it’s childish – but that doesn’t mean that she is at all able to stop the thoughts from coming. The world she sees is exactly the one she promised herself when she decided to look for answers in the first place. With no leads on her father or on the power she holds, she is no closer to peace. She is adrift on an ocean of grey waves, swimming desperately to try and keep herself afloat. The question “who am I?” is all that lingers.

 That, and the fear that she may never know.

 Her lungs feel like she’s drowning, and she can’t tell if it’s the running or the crying or the fear that’s making her feel this way. In the end, she supposes it doesn’t truly matter. Everything hurts. Every inch of her body aches. Her heart burns the worst, but that should come as no surprise. She can barely keep her eyes open to look at the world in front of her. She barely notices as she comes up closer and closer to Castle Shirasagi, the previously echoing voices of soldiers growing stronger.

“Lady Corrin!”

 She barely hears the voice in the distance as she sprints, able only to identify it as a subordinate and a man. Even then, it is only by timbre and title. If it’s a man whom she is particularly familiar with, she’s not sure, but the voice calls out to her nonetheless.

 Not that she has it within her to respond to it. Her lungs are being crushed by the iron bars that have since replaced her ribcage.

 “Lady Corrin!”

 She could not care less about who this man is or what he wants. Her mind’s desire, its only desire, is to get away. Whatever this man needs can wait, because as far as she’s concerned, she now has proof that she is no more than a ticking time bomb. With no presumably no living people to give her answers, she has no chance of finding out the truth.

 “Lady Corrin!”

 The voice cries out again. She ignores it just as she has ignored the last two. Maybe it’s Jakob. Maybe it’s Silas. Maybe it’s actually Ryoma coming to tell her that he’s sorry. She doesn’t care who it is. Her heart is pulsating in her ears so loudly that she cannot hear anything else. Her tongue tastes of copper and she swears she can feel every swirl of the blood through her veins as she runs, her head spinning, her body trembling with the understanding that nothing will ever be the same again. It’s terrible, it’s all terrible, really – but what is there to be done about it? She can only run now. All that matters to Corrin is that she keeps running, not paying any mind to the soldiers around her and the muffled voices and the-

 Whack!

 “Ow!” A familiar voice squeaks, sending a jolt of surprise through Corrin. Within seconds both she and the speaker are knocked unceremoniously to the ground, the princess squishing whatever poor soul managed to end up beneath her. Desperately blinking away her tears, Corrin tries to focus on the person she’s just assaulted, still blurry-eyed and disoriented from the journey down.

 “Whoa!” Another voice chimes in, this one distinctly raspier in tone. Her muscles tense at the sound. “Are you guys okay?”

 As the tears settle in her eyes, she can finally make out the strawberry blonde ponytail she’s been seeing every day for the past fifteen-or-so years. She nearly heaves a sigh – how very ironic for Felicia to be involved in an accident of clumsiness, even when she herself is not the perpetrator. If everything weren’t so horrible, she might have laughed. Instead, she just blinks back her tears and pushes herself off her former retainer, her brain so scrambled that she doesn’t even think to mutter an apology.

 “You really came out of nowhere there,” the second voice says, half-laughing, now speaking directly to her as they extend a hand gloved in red, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear Hinata calling out to you. He was yelling pretty loud.”

 Even at a total loss of focus, Corrin can identify the voice of her sister – no, Ryoma’s sister – with ease.

 But she can’t lift her head up to meet the girl’s face.

 “… Corrin?”

 Felicia turns her head back to look at her, a frown blooming upon her. Try as she might, Corrin cannot dip her head further fast enough – her friend easily catches her eyes, and notices how they are leaking. With a flick of the head, she signals to Hinoka the damage. Damn it. For all that Felicia lacks in grace and poise, her emotional perceptiveness is unrivalled. All she’s longing for is the world to leave her and her mystery to die peacefully, but of course big-hearted Felicia has to come crawling over. The more cynical part of her longs to push her away, but the rest of her knows that she’s probably going to melt into her arms at the first given opportunity. Tortured as she is, she considers whether that might be okay. Felicia’s a good listener, and she’s loyal enough to know what she has to do, even if she doesn’t like it. It’s Hinoka who will be the problem. She’s the one who will push and push for answers. Corrin all but cringes as Ryoma’s sister crouches down to her level. Why couldn’t Felicia have just been here alone?

 “Hey, what’s wrong?”

 Corrin smears her snotty nose on her kimono sleeve and tries not to look at it, certain the yellow-green smudge will only serve to make her more upset. She’d put on one of the prettier ones in hopes of cheering herself up. Between the kimono and the other girls, she’s not sure to rest her gaze, but she knows better than to think that she’ll be getting away from this without talking. Scraping the bottom of the bowl for her courage, she opens her mouth to speak… But just as before, her voice dies. Everything is still spinning, shaking, screaming, swirling. Her head is swimming. She barely makes notice of the girls exchanging concerned looks between them.

 “Did something else happen, milady?”

 She can’t even find it within herself to nod pathetically. One can only imagine how many gazes must be on them, how many people are drinking in the sight of her sorrow. The sounds of wooden weapons clashing together continues, voices crying out, but somehow, she still feels as if the whole world has stopped to wait for her response. Did anyone else even notice her knock into Felicia like that, or is she hallucinating all of these prying eyes? Why does she already feel like a caged beast?

 “Milady?”

 Hinoka’s hand rests on Felicia’s shoulder comfortingly, prompting a split second’s glance. Corrin can’t see either face, yet she can picture in her mind the warmth of Hinoka’s smile, and the creasing of Felicia’s brows as she silently asks for reassurance. The two girls have only just begun a working relationship, with Felicia having been offered a job in Hoshido as a military commander, but already Hinoka’s natural sisterly nature is taking root. If she could silence all of the thoughts about her need for death before destruction, Corrin might have felt happy for them. Felicia never did make friends easily.

 “Corrin?” Hinoka’s voice presses, signalling that the attention is now back on her, “Do you want to go somewhere a bit more private, where you can tell me more about what’s going on? I’m sure it’s hard, feeling like all these eyes are on you. I would hate that in your shoes.”

 The last thing she really wants is to be alone with her, alone with the sister of the man who has kept her from salvation, but the girls have clearly decided between them who will be the best to comfort her. So this time, this one time, she is able to nod her head. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time that she broke down in front of a large group of people – the fights against her mother and King Sumeragi had taken care of that – but with the impending sense of dread, born of her helplessness, she wanted to be around people like she wanted to walk around in wet socks. Just the sounds of the soldiers’ voices alone sends memories of her rampage in Shirasagi Castle Town Square ringing through her mind. Hinoka may be biased, but if talking to her in private will get her far, far away… it’s the best she can hope for, isn’t it?

 So when Ryoma’s sister offers her hand, she accepts it… just this once.

  _______________________________________________________________

 It takes but fifteen minutes for Corrin’s eyes to be wiped, nose blown, and throat soothed with a cup of peppermint tea.

 That’s all it takes.

 At the very least, she can draw some relief from the fact that she’s not sobbing like her life is ending anymore. Her breaths are much smoother now, although still imperfect. It’s given her some peace, though she knows it’s about to be interrupted, for she’ll have to explain herself sometime. The first princess is sitting across from her, and waiting very patiently, her thumb stroking the back of Corrin’s hand as she holds it. Every once in awhile, she squeezes it soothingly. She never had much time to hold her mother’s hand, but something in the back of her mind tells her that this is something she used to do. Maybe that’s who Hinoka learned it from.

 Still, she doesn’t really want to talk to anybody right now – particularly not the girl in front of her, but she’s essentially trapped in the room until she confesses to what happened. Words will be exchanged either way. All she has to do is work up the courage to let them fall from her lips.

 “You can start talking whenever you’re ready, Corrin. There’s no pressure on you to speak quickly.”

 I appreciate the sentiment, Hinoka, but the pressure is already here. In fact, I’m not sure it ever left.

 In spite of her snarky inner voice, she nods anyway, eyes flitting up every so often to steal glances at her step-sister’s face. Bless her heart, she’s trying and failing not to stare. It’s hard to blame her, given that they are in her bedroom, and she knows the place like the back of her own hand. Between her worn pegasus figurines, pieces of beat-up armour, rolled up futon, and emotionally distressed sister, Corrin knew which she would be looking at in Hinoka’s shoes.

 “I take it you probably had another encounter with Ryoma?”

 Corrin takes a slow sip of her tea, enjoying the slight hints of flavour as they glide over her tongue. She always did like peppermint tea. Even so, she knows better than to savour it for too long. As her cup meets the table once more, she heaves a heavy sigh and pushes a hand through her bangs.

 “I-I made a terrible mistake, Hinoka,” is all she manages to croak out. It’s hard to believe that once upon a time, she was a leader, commanding an army to take down a deranged dragon god. Now, she feels smaller than ever. The trembling of her voice makes it seem as if she would struggle to order her own meal at a restaurant. “I never should have done it.”

 “Done what?” The other girl asks, lowering her head as if this will somehow help her meet Corrin’s gaze. Why does she have to be so interested in trying to meet their eyes? Weren’t Hoshidans supposed to consider excessive eye contact disrespectful? Temptation to bite at her lips prods at her, but she’s probably nibbled them raw already.

 “I… I sought him out,” she confesses, unwilling to even say his name, “I thought… things would be better after last night. If I could just a-ask him about my past… If I could just get him to see things m-my way…”

 Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Hinoka wince a little, but she still nods sympathetically. Lilith was most certainly right about the conversation being a bad decision. Even Corrin’s own impression of Hinoka’s reluctance was bang-on.

 “B-But I was wrong. He had nothing to say to me… He doesn’t c-care about what happens to me.”

 “I’m sure that’s not true-”

 “He said, “I should be grateful that you left us”,” she interjects, gripping the handle of her tea cup so hard that she fears shattering the pure white porcelain, “Loving you was the worst mistake of my father’s life. Do my… family a favour… and run back to y-your…”

 Her voice is breaking as she speaks, and the stroking of her thumb grows stronger. If she had it her way, she might have launched herself across the table to hug her step-sister, but she knows now is the time to exercise restraint with her. The situation has grown too unpredictable. She’s Corrin’s now, but who knows where her allegiances truly lie?

 “… I couldn’t give less of… of a f-fuck if someone tried to s-s-spill your blood…”

 A sharp gasp sneaks out of Hinoka’s throat, her eyebrows raising in shock. When she speaks, it’s barely even a whisper. “H-He said that to you?”

 She nods in reply, whimpering quietly. All of those tears she shed earlier, yet somehow, there are still more inside of her. She must have an entire ocean behind her eyes.

 “I can’t believe he would say that…” Hinoka clenches her fist. “Why in the hell would he say that?! What is the matter with him?!”

 In fairness, Corrin thinks, I might have brought it on myself. It didn’t take a genius to know that going after Sumeragi would be a low blow. Admittedly, that might have been why she said what she did. He wanted to hurt her, and it made her want to hurt him, too. She doesn’t admit this. She doesn’t want to admit this. Hinoka’s anger just makes her want to go running into her arms and be held until it all feels better. But Hinoka is not that type of sister, and the fact that she even notes this makes her stomach ache with guilt. Maybe Ryoma was right – why would she want Hinoka’s caring words and gestures when she could have Camilla’s cuddling and promises for vengeance? The thought, however brief, makes the tears come back with a vengeance. Her heart sinks when she sees Hinoka soften at the sight of her weepy eyes. She doesn’t even know the horrible things that Corrin is thinking about her right now. Maybe Ryoma really was right.

 “I’m so sorry that happened, Corrin. Really, I am. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, what else was said, but I promise that nothing he said is how I or anyone else in our family feels. We’re all so happy to have you back in our lives, whether we’re born of the same father or whether we just share the same sun and sky. Nothing he says could ever change what you mean to us, including what we found out last night.”

 Whimpering like a child just seems like all she’s good for these days. It’s all she can do, even in spite of Hinoka’s kindness.

 “Don’t take anything Ryoma says to heart. He’s stubborn and set in his ways – always has been. He just wants to avoid feeling guilty about what he did, that’s why he said those things. For someone who seems so strong, he can be a real coward.”

 Swiping at her cheeks, she nods. “H-He was angry at me for not accepting him back into my life.”

 Hinoka’s lips press together in contemplation, and her brows crease. For a moment, it looks like she might confess to something, but the reflectiveness in her expression fades before the words escape. “That sounds like him. He hates fighting with family.”

 But I’m not your family.

 “I-I called him a liar.”

 To Corrin’s surprise, Hinoka merely shrugs. “He shouldn’t get mad at you for calling him what he is. Even if you started it, that’s just you telling him to face the music.”

 She sniffles wetly. “I j-just… I didn’t w-want to fight with him. Not at first.”

 “Then what did you want? You never did say why you decided to talk to him. I hope you didn’t go over to him to apologize, because you had no reason to.”

 “No, I…” she swallows thickly, hesitating to reply. “I w-w-wanted to know who my father was. My real father.”

 Hinoka blinks in surprise, brows raised in slight curiosity. “And what did he say?”

 “That he doesn’t know anything.”

 Once again, the first princess’s lips return to their pressed contemplation, and her index finger taps on the low table absent-mindedly. It’s a soft movement, not too aggressive. Just a tap, tap, tap. “That’s probably bullshit.”

 A heavy sigh leaves her at the reply. All of that back-and-forth with Ryoma left her feeling as if she was crazy for even daring to suggest such a thing, yet Hinoka’s input helps to soothe that worry – if only a little.

 “Y-You think so?” Corrin sniffles.

 “Why would Father tell him that you weren’t his child, but conveniently leave out who’s child you were? It’s too straight an explanation.” The tapping on the table grows more intense, her head beginning to shake.

 “He s-said that King Sumeragi didn’t even know. O-O-Or at least, he thought he didn’t.”

 “Do you think Mother would keep it a secret from him?”

 “I… I can’t really say. I didn’t…” She glances away briefly, not sure how to put what she wants to say. There’s no way to say it that doesn’t sound harsh, she knows this, but even in her hurt she’s the kind of person who knows that she has to try. “You probably knew her better than I did, Hinoka.”

 There’s a flicker of hurt in Hinoka’s expression, but Corrin knows it’s not because of her maliciousness. The truth, however ugly, does hurt sometimes – and in the back of her mind, Hinoka knows that Mikoto and Corrin were parted for far too long for her to be able to determine her character. In the end, she would fare better deferring to her own judgement. How much confidence she has in that, based off her expression alone, is tough to say. The table tapping doesn’t stop. Corrin imagines she should take that as a sign.

 “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

 Her shoulders rise and fall. “I wish it w-weren’t true, but…” she wipes at her nose, “It is.”

 Hinoka squeezes her eyes shut, teeth gritted. “It’s cruel that I had so much time with her and you didn’t.”

 The unspoken belief that she was undeserving of Mikoto’s love hangs in the air for a moment. At any other time, Corrin would know what to say. Right now, however, she’s speechless. What could a lost dragon’s child say to an orphaned princess who just wanted her birth mother? It would be different if it were sister-to-sister. It just isn’t, in the end, and that’s the problem. The situation being what it is, for Corrin, words are things that just keep dying in her mouth.

 “It… doesn’t matter now,” is all she can think to utter. “I’m sure your call would be as good as mine.”

 Hinoka chuckles bitterly. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

 Corrin swirls her tea around in the cup absent-mindedly. A moment of silence permeates the air between them as her counterpart reflects, sifting through her memories of time with her late step-mother. She doesn’t say much, nor does her expression twist, yet there is a glimmer of recognition in the twitch of her lips.

 “The thing about Mother was that she was the kind of person who could tell you a lot while also telling you next to nothing. She was always open about her faults and shortcomings, and all of her feelings, but there were lots of things about her we never got to know. Other than you, she didn’t talk much about her family and her home. I guess we know now that it was within good reason, but your father…” Hinoka shakes her head. “He must have been from That Place, because she wouldn’t talk about him.”

 “Do you think she knew that King Sumeragi told Ryoma? Would she have told Ryoma anything about my father if he asked?”

 “If either of them had any understanding we didn’t, they never made it clear. It doesn’t count for much now, though. Between the Silent War and Ryoma’s lie, we know that deception was a skill they shared.”

 I wonder if it was my mother who taught him how to lie. She did guide him into kinghood, after all. Lying can be an important skill in politics… It’d be very ironic if it were Mother’s teachings that put me through this.

“If she didn’t know until he asked, though, I doubt she would have told him. It would be too risky.”

 “But wouldn’t the risk add to the reward? I mean, just thinking of what it might mean for Hoshido.”

 Hinoka quirks a brow, that same bitter laugh escaping her once more. “I don’t really follow you. The curse would be good enough reason to not tell him, but what does that have to do with Hoshido?”

 The weight of the question, dense and heavy as a pile of bricks, seems to weigh on Corrin’s shoulders. Their gazes are linked, but she wants to look away. Had she the choice, she might have stolen Hinoka’s earlier tactic of just staring around the room. Still, she’s not so much of a fool as to think that that might make these unpleasant feelings swimming around in her stomach go away. Drawing in a deep breath, she wets her raw lips with her tongue, knowing once again that there is no other way to do this than to be frank.

 “When Mother came to Hoshido, she came because she was fleeing her homeland. She claimed that I was King Sumeragi’s baby just to get an audience with him to ask for help. The reason why I went to t-talk to Ryoma earlier, the reason why I feel like I need to know this… It’s because I think m-my father might have been Anankos.”

 “What?!” The first princess jerks back, staring at her step-sister like she’s suddenly sprouted tentacles from her ears. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?!”

 Ow.

 Hinoka murmurs her apologies the minute she catches the grimace on Corrin’s face. It doesn’t stop the tightness of her throat, nor the desire to clutch at her sleeve. She’d almost look away from her entirely if she could, but she knows being a petty child about it won’t solve things. Tactless as she was, her step-sister is just trying to help. “D-Didn’t you hear what he said to me before our last battle with him? How he wanted to use me as a puppet? He said that I was one of his bloodline.”

 “Wasn’t he Valla’s god, though?” Hinoka replies, stopping to wince for only a moment until she remembers of the broken curse. Even Corrin’s muscles squeeze a little before she recalls, as if she hadn’t just said the name herself, as if she hadn’t just heard Ryoma scream it at the top of his lungs. “He probably meant that you were of his bloodline the same way the rest of us have the blood of the Dawn Dragon.”

 “But you can’t turn into a dragon like I can.”

 Hinoka’s mouth opens then closes.

 “Azura was the one who said that she thought it was normal – before she wanted to tell anyone about Valla.”

 “Do you think Azura knew, too?”

 Corrin shakes her head. “No. She was just as shocked as the rest of us when Ryoma mentioned it, and last night she was muttering about having her suspicions, based on the timeline her own mother gave her.”

 “I see…” Her expression looks terribly pinched, all furrowed brow and pressed lip. Watching her is like watching someone work through a complex problem in real time. It’s hard to blame her for that. The situation is a lot to take in. “So what you’re worried about is-”

 “The likelihood of my being Anankos’s daughter.”

 Hinoka’s stiffens with the secret now out in the open, and through clenched teeth she mutters: “Yeah. That.”

 “Hinoka, if I… I am his daughter; I’ll be a danger to everyone. I could go mad just like he did. That’s the only reason I’m so stuck on this. That’s the only reason why I would even consider going to talk to Ryoma after what happened last night.”

 She nods slowly.

 “It wasn’t just our fight that was hurting me, it was knowing that I was lost. If he’s telling the truth and he doesn’t know anything, then there’s no one alive who can help me. But if there’s a chance, even the slightest chance that he’s lying…”

 “That’s why you didn’t believe him.”

 It’s Corrin’s turn to nod, biting down on her lip to stop it from quivering. She’s cried enough today, thank you. “Almost every part of me wanted to.”

 “I know. I’m sure you did.” Hinoka assures her, finally releasing the hand she’d been holding the whole way through. For a minute, Corrin wonders if she intends to get up and leave, but when she sees her rise and step forward, she knows exactly where she’s going. A breath of pure relief leaves her when, in a matter of seconds, she is wrapped in the warm embrace of her loved one.

 “Thank you for being there for me,” Corrin mumbles, nuzzling her face into the other girl’s shoulder, “I was so scared to tell you, but you made me feel safe.”

 Hinoka’s shoulder bounces with a slight laugh, her hand resting upon the back of Corrin’s head and stroking her hair. “Thanks for being honest with me, too. It must have been hard to tell anyone this… but I promise you, no matter what happens, we will figure this out, okay? I’ll always have your back. I’ll come up with something.”

 If she could cuddle up any closer, she would do so in a heartbeat. “Thank you,” she whispers again, trying not to cry once more, “Really, just… thank you.”

 “Hey, I’m your big sister. It’s my job to take care of you.”

  _______________________________________________________________

 An hour and a half after the two princesses depart, a message and a stack of books arrive at Corrin’s bedroom in Setsuna’s hands.

 If her step-sister’s retainer has any idea what she’s handling, she doesn’t show it. She simply asks her superior about her day as she’s handing over the books, saying something about how Lady Hinoka was really excitable that day because she’d “had a really great idea”. Then she went off on some tangent about how her liege’s excitement reminded her of this one time she followed a really excited squirrel for a few minutes only to get caught in some trap. The conversation, like most with Setsuna, was rather weird, and in all honesty it was a relief just to be able to get it over with. When at last she stood alone with the books in her hands, the ease that melted over her was enough to keep the ferocity of her own thoughts away… For about thirty seconds. And then she remembered that she would have to unfurl the carefully tied scroll. Though it took her a few minutes to work up the courage, when she finally did, she found a note with Hinoka’s handwriting hastily scribbled across it.

 Corrin,

I was thinking about what you said earlier about how lost you would be if Ryoma really was telling the truth, and I realized that we may never be able to tell whether or not he’s lying or keeping secrets in person, but there is one place so private to him that he may have been willing to document it.

 Accompanied by this message are three of Ryoma’s journals. They’re older ones from when he was younger, so I doubt he’ll notice they’re gone – I think the ones you have are probably from when he was a teenager, about sixteen or seventeen – but they may have some of the information you need. I have some of his earlier ones myself, and I have passed along the others to Takumi, Azura, Hinata, and Setsuna. Just because of how many there are, I thought it made the most sense to get outside help to try and read all of them. I have told everyone involved that if they come across information about your father, you should be the first to know. I’m sure you know that Ryoma will be furious with us if he finds out that we took these, so please be careful to hide them and not read them when anyone is around – and please don’t mention it to anyone we haven’t already told. Telling Sakura or Silas might be tempting, but their consciences are much too fragile to have this weighing on them.

 Honestly, I know doing this will probably weigh heavily on you, too. No matter how bad things between you and Ryoma get, I know you don’t actually want to do anything that would hurt him. No matter how much of a jerk he’s being, I can’t say I want to, either. For now, though, this is the only way we can help you, and it may be the only way that we can help him, too. As bad as this may seem, I hope you can trust me and find the answers that you need. Maybe someday he’ll understand.

 I really hope our talk earlier helped you, and I’m praying to the gods that we find the answers you deserve. No matter what these books may say, please know that you’ll always be my little sister.

 Best of luck,

Hinoka

 Corrin takes one last long stare at the note, running her thumb along the edge of her sister’s signature before rolling it up tight and placing it on her writing desk. Then, books under one arm, she settles down on her futon for a bit of reading.

#FE Blood-Splattered Child #Uploaded this to AO3 like 2 days ago and forgot to post it here whoop I am very sorry #As always feedback is appreciated my darlings :) but I understand if you just wanna enjoy too

[nuk-terrible]

People acting like Bellamy wasn’t loved enough at the end, as if he didn’t betray all his friends, turn in Clarke and Raven to get tortured, and then said he’d let all his friends die if it came to it... maybe he didn’t love them enough

#the 100 #Bellamy Blake #you can’t pick and choose which parts of canon are true based on what you personally liked or disliked... #also eff anyone who says Echo didn’t care about his death #or didn’t care about him or love him #she followed him with no hesitation into the anomaly to go save him #trained for 5 years to go rescue him #and when she thought he died the first time she was brought to tears and tried to avenge him by killing his kidnappers/captors/murderers #AND THE FANDOM HATED ECHO FOR IT #Echo is damned if she does damned if she doesn’t with the fandom #she cries over him and tries to avenge him and fandom says she’s grieving wrong. She accepts he made his choice and chooses forgiveness and #fandom says she’s grieving wrong 🙄 so just shut up about Echo plz #and for the record - Disciple Blake can suck it #he sold them all out immediately and chose to blindly follow Cadogan #Clarke ran into his arms to hug him and let him know what’s going on and HE TURNED RIGHT AROUND AND TOLD CADOGAN EVERYTHING #and even after that Echo tried to reason with him she TOLD Bellamy who these people were and what they’re capable of #she trained to pass as one and assimilate into their culture she underwent fear simulations and was psychologically tortured by them #she told him he was forgetting who he was and who his family was. she TRIED to understand him and reach out to him and he chose Cadogan #meanwhile Clarke made fun of his outfit and told him to go float himself 🙄

[imthebadguyyy]

maybe something like interviewer asking her sexist questions and the boys stand up for her , after that interview she feels insecure and the boys comfort her . that's just an idea you don't have to write it !! <33

I hope you like it, and I'm so sorry about the delay 😭 I couldn't find my footing with this one, and I hope it's what you wanted ! Have a lovely day 💙

The One Where They're There For Her

Pairing - One Direction x Reader (6thmember!female!reader)

Fandom - One Direction (Directioners)

Summary - A particularly sexist interview decides to reduce you to just a sexual being and makes no effort to hide his misogyny. But the boys are there to support you.

Warnings - sexualization of the lgbt community, sexist comments, swearing, (honestly I hated myself for writing some of the comments here,and I'm so sorry)

Being a part of the biggest band in the world comes with certain responsibilities. Not responsibilities that come along with signing a recording contract, but those that a person deems themselves responsible for. For example, as the only female in a boyband, a female with a fanbase as large as yours, you took it upon yourself to always stand up for what's right, and to be an ally for the causes close to your heart.

That meant that your social media was often flooded with information about important causes, or your opinions on issues like feminism. Was it always well received? Heck no. There were people filled your feed with hate and comments calling you the most horrible names and labelling you a 'man hater' and a 'bitch' But you didn't let it get to you. On most days. On days like today, it was all you could do to keep it together. It had been a tiring few days, touring, recording, performing and doing an endless amount of interviews and photoshoots. It was safe to say you were on the last of your nerves, having battled your way through a makeup artist who had insisted on pointing out your flaws and had used a shit ton of makeup to cover them up. You had battled a photographer who had not hesitated to tell you that if you didn't look more feminine people would think you were turning into a man.

Before you could retaliate, Paul had dragged him away and told management to cancel the photoshoot, and find another photographer before grabbing the six of you some sandwiches and had let you all go back for a quick power nap at the hotel. Then in about half an hour he had woken you up, to get you ready for another interview. That's how you were here, in a white jumpsuit and a black blazer jacket, paired with black heels. Another day, another interviewer that got on your nerves. But this one, this one was different. This interviewer was different, but also the same. Another misogynistic man who thought he was entitled to stare at your ass and cleavage, and eye fuck you as you settled into a seat in between Niall and Zayn.

Settling in, you crossed one knee over the other, plastering a fake smile onto your face, as the man leaned back in his chair, throwing you a sleazy smirk. Noticing the look, Zayn shifted so you were out of view of the interviewer, but in view of the audience. It was in moments like this that you were a 100× more grateful to have your boys. They were well aware of how sleazy some interviewers could be, having had plenty of experience with them, and Zayn and Louis in particular were very protective about the way you were treated. Squeezing your thigh softly, he leaned back a little, lips settling into a thin line as he looked at the interviewer with a cold look. A little behind, Louis threw the interviewer a dirty look.

"So, One Direction! Congratulations on the album, as you all know its out on November the 22nd, with eighteen new songs, including the singles Night Changes and Steal My Girl Speaking of stealing girls, do you think I could steal your number Y/N? And may I mention, you look ver, very hot in that outfit" The interviewer joked, throwing you what he thought was a sexy smirk. (P.S - it wasn't) Answering with an awkward laugh, you shook your head, as Niall tensed up beside you. "Aww come on, your'e a pretty girl, I'm a handsome guy, let's go out sometime" he pressed on, ignoring the growing anger in Harry's eyes. "That's umm, nice. But no thanks, I'm not going to go out with you" was your answer, as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Picking up on your nervous tic, Zayn moved his hand to rest on your knee, stopping it from bouncing up and down.

"Aww come on baby, what is it? You like girls or something? Because I wouldn't mind being a part of that action either" the sleazebag chuckled, ignoring the disgusted look Liam sent his way. "That's rude" Liam said, while Zayn tightened his grip on your knee. "Oh come on lads, are you telling me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Two women together, mm, makes me all excited just thinking about it, especially if one of them's Y/N" That comment was all it took for Louis to stand up, turning to the man and saying in a voice much rougher than his usual voice, "Alright, that's fuckin' enough, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?" he was backed up by Liam, who stood up, going to tower over the interviewer, whose eyes had lost some of the sleazy look in them. "All you've done since we walked in here is make those disgusting comments about Y/N, and it's sickening. Have some fucking respect" he practically spat.

Behind him, Zayn took your hand in his and pulled you to your feet, noticing the slight glossiness in them, leading you back to the dressing rooms, while Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry stayed back to continue to snap at the interviewer. "That is no way to treat a woman, and not only are you disrespecting her, you also made those god awful events about seeing women together. Your'e a shame to every single person in this room by talking like that" Harry continued, glancing over his shoulder to check if you were okay.

"And no, it doesn't excite us, because we are not assholes, and you are, a disgusting sleaze who does not deserve the job he has. Fuckin loser" Niall chimed in, standing up and storming out. Louis stood up as well, turning to directly face the cameras and the cameramen and sound technicians, who had all looked shocked when the man had made his comments towards you. "I sure as hell hope you have that on record, so you can see just how fucking sexist this industry is to women. Y/N does the same job as us, works just as hard and has the same number of awards, nominations, and records and yet you decide to only focus on her body, clothes, love life and sexuality. Get a fucking life" he spat at the camera, before walking away himself, eventually followed by Harry and Liam, who apologized to the outraged fans before leaving themselves. As they made their way to the dressing rooms they could hear the audience telling the interviewer to apologize to you, their anger at the way you were treated echoing through the building.

Walking in, Harry caught sigh of you curled up in one of the armchairs, with Louis sitting beside you, while Niall and Zayn talked to a furious Paul. "He had no damn right to treat her like shite, and you need to make sure that he knows those comments were un-fuckin-acceptable" Niall was saying, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "And to make those sickening comments about wanting to get action? Can't we sue him for something?" Was Zayn's reply, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still okay. "We can't sue him, atleast I don't think we can, but I'll have someone let the smug bastard know that he needs to learn how to respect a woman" Paul said, before leaving the room to give the six of you some time together before you had to head back to the hotel.

"How're you feeling darling?" Louis said, moving over and patting your knee so you moved. "I'm okay" you mumbled back, letting Louis settle in next to you, leaning back to rest on his chest. "He had no fuckin right to say any of that, and don't you let it trouble you for a second" Zayn added, pouring out a cup of tea for you and for Louis and Harry. "I don't care about what he said, I couldn't care less, but it was just so frustrating, sitting there and listening to him just sexualize a whole community of people. You've got to be in a really sad place to think of shit like that. That's what annoyed me. You think I give a damn about what he said about my clothes or wanting to take me out on a date? It was the way he was talking, like he was sure any woman would be glad to have him that irked me. He's really tiresome" was your reply, as you reached forward for a sip of your tea. "That's the right attitude love. Haters gonna hate" Harry said.

"I know that. But I just wish I could punch him once, which sounds mean, but he does kind of deserve it" Niall said, earning a laugh from you. Niall was never usually aggressive, and even now, he wasn't particularly rude but it was rare to see him wanting to punch someone. "It's okay Niall, you don't have to. I can do it myself, but I won't" you replied, leaning up to squeeze his hand. "Besides, Ni, if you went and punched him, I'd do it too, and then we'd all go to jail" Liam chimed in, scrolling through his twitter. "Twitter isn't happy either babe. #stopsexualization and #Y/Ndeservesbetter is trending already" he added, showing you his phone. "If it means some of these sexist asses get their heads out of the sand, I'm happy. But I dont want to to think about it now" you replied, cuddling closer to the warmth radiating from Louis's body.

"Okay, we won't talk about it. Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Harry asked, standing up and walking to the door "No I want to go to Nando's. Anybody else hungry?" You asked, to nods of assent from the boys. "I'm starving. Those stupid sandwiches didn't fill me up at all" Zayn said, standing up to grab his coat and wallet. "I know and I'm craving some hot Peri Peri chicken with some fries. Do you think they'd let me put the lemon and herb sauce on the fries?" You asked, standing up yourself, earning a laugh from Louis. "Your'e an international superstar babe, I think they'd give you some lemon herb sauce" Liam joked.

Laughing, the six of you made your way to the car, with Harry and Niall squishing you in between them, as Louis sat in the back with Liam, and Zayn sat in the front with Paul (he was driving thank GOD) "I'm proud of you darling" Harry chimed in suddenly. "I am too" Niall added. "You know I am" Louis said, before Liam added "Always babe" and Zayn turned to smile at you before adding, "We are all proud of you, and we always will be, not only because you do a damn good job of not listening to the haters, but because you do what you think is right" "Awh come on, your'e gonna make me cry" you mumbled, leaning into Niall's shoulder. "Almost makes me feel bad for teasing you about having an extremely low spice tolerance the last time we were at Nando's Haz" you smirked, earning a roar of laughter from the boys.

"That chicken was spicy love!" "It was lemon and herb with no peri peri!" "And it was spicy!"

And just like that, you were back to messing around with each other. Sleazy interviewers would come and go, but your boys were always there to support you. Always.

-------

A/N - Thanks for reading ! I'd also like to apologize on the behalf of this fictitious interviewer I made up, I felt so bad while writing some of this 😭 anyways, I hope this is what you wanted! Enjoy !

Tags - @zaynkissbot @gucci-hazza @bxtchboy69

#one direction x reader #one direction x sixth member #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction #one direction #harry styles x reader #liam payne x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #niall horan x reader #zayn malik x reader #imthebadguyyytags #harry styles #niall horan #liam payne #louis tomlinson #zayn malik

[kanene-yaaay]

Come here, I have a surprise!

Warnings: None, really dfgyuidfghj. They’re all just being dramatic and having fun! Lee!Isabella and Lee!Mirabel with Ler!Luisa because I am weak for the idea of someone being tickled while being picked up. About 1.000 words.

Kanene’s notes: THIS LITERALLY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE JUST A QUICK THING AND SDFGHJUKILODFGHJ. W h y.

Anyway ONE MORE NEW FANDOM XDDD I wasn’t sure if Luisa really calls Mirabel “hermanita” on the movie since I didn’t watched it in spanish (yet :3) and she does that on the portuguese dub but I hope it is still cute and in character anyway. This is just a fun crazy fic I did because why not, am I right? x) 

I didn’t review this before posting so a few things can be confusing. Hope it is still enjoyable anyway. Have a nice day! :DD

[~*~]

“Camilo!” She whisper-shouted, looking over her shoulder with a wary manner. Everything seemed fine right now, but for how long would it stay that way? Her knuckles rasped and knocked coincidentally on the face engraved on the wood door, colliding with a bit more of force than it was necessary, which would be exactly what she would be doing if that little gremlin doesn’t open the door right in that damn inst-

The floor trembled under her feet.

Oh no.

“Camilo! Camilo, quick open the door. Camilo!” The tremor got stronger. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no. That wasn’t good. That really wasn’t good. Now there was no way the one on the other side of the wall wasn’t listening to it too. She was running out of time. Her knocks became more desperate. “Camilo, I know you’re there! Open the door! You know I can’t hide in my room, she will find me!!” A loud scream echoed in the distance, with a quick, sad look to the sky Mirabel prayed for Isabela. More specifically she prayed to NOT have the same fate as her older sister. Her knocks turned to full slamming her fists on the wood.

There was loud laughter blossoming in the distance.

The floor only trembled more, the sound of thundering footsteps filling the air in sync with the beat.

“Camilo! I swear, I swear I am going to eat all your arepas! I am going to grab your special coffee and give it all to Antonio’s friend if you don’t open that door right now, Camilo!” Her threats were answered with an affronted gasp from the other side, a resounding click of a door being locked pertinently dancing around her.

The loud laughter got closer. Uncontrollable giggles mixed with a playful voice full of words she couldn’t decipher right now.

“No, Camilo! I was kidding, I was kidding!” 

“Mirabel! Found you, hermanita!” Her back collided when with a spin the one being called turned to stare at the scene in front of her, fists still knocking on her cousin’s door. Luisa stared right back at her with a gigantic grin, totally unfazed with the squirming form of Isabella dangling on her shoulder, squeaky, snorty laughter flooding freely from her lips as she did her best to wiggle away from the hand holding her in the place while delivering plenty of squeezes and pinches to her sweet tickle spot. Mirabel’s eyes were pried from Isa’s fate to focus on the way Luisa opened her other arm in invitation, stepping closer. “Come here, Mira, I got a surprise for you.”

Mirabel smiled wobbly at her, pressing her back even more on the door, as if the younger one tried enough, she would become one with Casita.

“Camilo, please, I am sorry for threatening your coffee, okay? Please, Camilo, I will owe you one, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleas-”

The door moved just the tiniest bit, with the corner of her eye Mirabel was able to see brown eyes peeking from the tiny crack opened. 

Bless Camilo’s companionship, his loyalty, his kindness and their story. She knew nothing would be able to make him betray their incredible strong bond formed over stealing food in the middle of the night, she should never had doubted her favorite, bold, good cousin and his true brave heart-

“I am sure that if Camilo opens the door he can also see the surprise.” Luisa’s smile only grew bigger at her, sharp with playfulness and soft around the corners. Mirabel cursed under her breath.

“Yeah, no.” The crack closed, Mirabel cried in protest at the same time Isabella squealed, Luisa now adjusting her with a careful jolt that made the older sister scream with a joy she would forever deny and changing her attack to dance her fingers on her ribs, focusing in that spot right in the middle of the highest rib that fished bubbly, weaker giggles. “She has that look on her face. The same mom and aunt’s get when they’re about to wreck us or to say something embarrassing about our days as babies.” He forced an exaggerated cheer in his next words, mimicking Luisa’s voice and tune. “Either way, good luck with your surprise!”

“Traitor!” Mirabel glared daggers at the door. Maybe if she had enough determination and heat she would be able to melt the object and hit her traitorous cousin. A suspicious footstep clicked behind her and she turned around quickly only to see that now Luisa was two feet closer to her, her free hand wiggling her fingers in an invitation still. Butterflies began to fly crazy in her stomach, anticipatory giggles jumping excitedly on her chest. 

“No one told you both to prank her.”

“But she looked so cute with that cat noses and whiskers on her face and the flowers on her haEEEK-” in a blink Mirabel’s foot wasn’t touching the ground anymore and the whole world become a mix of colors before her was laid on Luisa’s left shoulder, her hand quickly worming her way to her underarm, laughing happily when she was rewarded with a loud shriek.

She jolted both younger and older sisters on her shoulders, ignoring their synchronized squeals of protest.

“I am sorry!!” Mirabel said amidst her laughter. “It was Isabella’s idea!”

“Was it?” Luisa hummed, walking in the direction to her room calmly, waving at Bruno’s amused face when she passed.

“She is lying!”

“Am not!”

“Woah, woah, it’s okay. I didn’t mind the prank at all!” Luisa kneaded on the spots, successfully stopping the fight. “I told you, I just want to give you a surprise gift, nothing more.”

“And what is it?”

Suddenly, Mirabel and Isabella fell, laying on the extremely soft mattress of Luisa’s bed. When did they get inside her room, again?

“This! Surprise!” And then, with no further warning, the strongest sister shoved her face on Mirabel’s stomach, a loud raspberry echoing in the middle of the high pitched laughter.

In his room, Camilo felt a shiver run down his spine. He shuddered, but, well, he did nothing wrong, did he? Mirabel wouldn’t be going after him for revenge, would she?

…

He wondered if it was too much soon to ask his uncle Bruno to let him use his old tunnels inside the walls.

#Lee!Isabella #Ler!Luisa #Lee!Mirabel #Ticklish!Mirabel #Ticklish!Isabella #Encanto tickles #Encanto tickling #Kanene's fic #Kanene's fanfic #Aaaaa I was in doubt if I did Mirabel's nickname being 'Mira' since this is a verb too but like sdfgjufgh I thought the play of words- #-would be fun :D #Ayway I luv this movie so so much I just can't watch enough of it <33 #Luisa is one of my fav characters because honesty look at her. So precious <33 #I need to make lunch rn so no prrofreading again this time! see yaaaa #<3

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

I Would Do Anything You Asked Me To

This was supposed to be finished for the #vicficwriterchallenge earlier this month but life got in the way. I liked the prompt and lil fic so I figured I’d post it anyway. This is my first fic in the fandom too x

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer thinks he can hear Y/N moaning his name through the walls. But he has to be imagining things.

Category: Sort of smut, sort of fluff, and a lil teensy bit angsty 

Warnings/Includes: smut, sexual language, voyerism, masturbation (both male and female), please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed

Word count: 2000 words

Masterlist

There’s been tension for a while.

It’s been building steadily and slowly over the past few years. Spencer’s pretty sure it’s all been coming from his end though. Why would Y/N even give him a passing thought in a romantic context, she’d been his best friend from the jump, taken to him the second she’d joined the team. They had the same embarrassing sense of humor, the opposite taste in movies, and nothing but love for each other. But it was strictly platonic. So platonic that they’d bunk together in hotel rooms for most cases, staying up reading in side by side twin beds, or talking nonsense a little too late into the night given they always seemed to have such a long day ahead.

But lately things felt different.

One evening in Kansas Spencer thinks he can hear a faint moaning coming from the bathroom while he’s skimming through a hardback. The walls in this place are bordering on paper thin but he thinks that it sounds like moaning, muffled just a little by the hum of the shower running. When Y/N comes out, steam billowing behind her as she gently dries her hair with a towel, he thinks she looks flushed. He thinks it must just be from the hot air and doesn’t linger on the thought for long.

That is until the following week in Louisiana. The walls are a little thicker but the shower’s definitely not running this time. It’s been shut off for a few minutes when he hears the same breathy moans. And it’s unmistakable when he hears his own name tumbling from her lips, the way she always says it, just, different. When she emerges this time he’s staring her down, without really meaning to.

“Did you call me?” he asks, puzzled. She shakes her head, pulling a confused expression, but the tips of her ears start to glow pink, matching the strap of her bra that he can see falling down her shoulder. God he wishes he hadn’t noticed that.

The next time it happens is markedly different.

It’s in Texas, and Spencer gets to the room late. Not by a lot, but longer than he’d like. One of the officers at the station had some follow up questions that kept him lagging behind the rest of the team. All he wanted in the world was to collapse straight into bed and try and string together at least a few hours of sleep. It’s late so he opens the heavy fire door as gently as he can, pushing it closed behind him softly. He doesn’t want to wake Y/N but it becomes increasingly apparent that there’s no fear of that.

He thinks he can hear her voice, calling out for him, but when he rounds the corner that’s not the case. Y/N is splayed across her bed, legs spread with her hand buried between them. Sweet but filthy moans are falling from her softly parted lips, her eyes screwed shut with intensity as her fingers worked inside of her.

“Fuck” Spencer whispers, it’s quiet and involuntary but he drops his bag on the ground without thinking about it and it lands with a thud. He ducks back around the corner before her eyes open but she stops immediately.

“Spence?” she calls out into what looks like an empty room, “Spence wait!”

“I’m just—” he swallows hard, “I’m gonna shower before I hit the hay” he’s aiming for nonchalance but it comes out somewhere between childish and awkward. If she responds he doesn’t hear, he’s locked the bathroom door behind him in a hurry, slumping against it.

Spencer wants to forget about it, or maybe he doesn’t. He’s carding through the memories as he lets the water trickle over him. Hearing his name echoing around his head just the way she’d moaned it twice now. His hand was braced against the cold tile while he stroked along his hard length, the images of Y/N spread completely across the bed not 2 feet from him with her fingers deep inside herself. Her head falling back against the pillows in ecstasy. He can’t help but think about what she’d been imagining herself.

It doesn’t happen for a while after that.

They hardly speak really, and thankfully for Spencer there’s no need to double up on rooms for a little while. Now he’s just got to get a hold of himself while he’s around her on cases, or in the office. Which wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t sit at the desk opposite him, or the seat next to him on flights. Or if her hair wasn’t so beautiful in the way it cascaded over her shoulders, or worse still, when she gathered it all to one side, exposing the planes of her neck to him while she worked.

Spencer was managing to keep his urges, and his feelings, mostly at bay. But really who was he kidding, they were bubbling just below the surface and they had been for far longer than this had been going on.

In Florida 3 weeks later they’re stuck sharing a room again. Hotch didn’t really give either of them an option this time anyway, why would he presume anything had changed between the two of them. And really it hadn’t, it had just become, awkward?

This became painstakingly clear as they walked into the room together.

“I’ll take this one?” Spencer half-asked as he dropped his go-bag by the edge of the bed nearest the window.

“I’m easy” Y/N responded, walking to the other and sitting on the edge of it, hands resting in her lap. “Spence?” she ventured, it tumbled out of her like a whisper, he almost missed it, so he pretended he did.

“Mind if I grab the first shower?” he asked, without waiting to hear for an answer he made his way into the bathroom. He washed the day off his skin, scrubbing against it harshly with the sad hotel soap out of frustration more than anything else. Y/N had been his best friend for so long, and these complicated feelings didn’t negate that. This friendship was invaluable to him but he’d be kidding himself if he promised he could shake these feelings for good. Everyone he’d ever dated, or thought about dating, no matter how flawless, just wasn’t her. They didn’t have her laugh, her smile, her kindness, the fire inside that she possessed was missing in everyone but her.

Every time she’d even made an allusion to a date with someone his stomach would sink. He wasn’t proud of that but it was true. His heart would ache at the thought of some other man getting to be with her, in any way at all. Of course Spencer and Y/N would go out for dinner, or a movie, or whatever on their days off, but once he was in the privacy of his own room later that evening he’d imagine where they could’ve ended up.

In his bed together, holding each other close. Maybe he’d place soft, sweet kisses all over her cheeks, peppering her neck and jaw with them first thing in the morning. Other times he’d think about how he’d grab her and pull her by her hips, letting his fingernails dig into them as he fucked her from behind, shaking the more precarious items off his desk.

This time however he was thinking about her in that damn hotel room again. Getting herself off and whimpering his name, like maybe she hoped that it wasn’t her fingers but him buried inside her.

When he finally left the bathroom he’d almost hoped she’d be asleep. And prayed that she wouldn’t care enough to ask him whatever question he’d dodged before heading in there. But Spencer had never been a lucky guy.

“Spence?” she called out again, soft and timid. Y/N was in a nightdress, it was small and satin and baby pink, and his shoulders tensed at the sight. He was distracted enough to forget that she was perched, legs crossed, in the centre of his bed.

“Y/N, I’m by the window” he had to force the words out of his ever so slowly closing throat.

“Spence!” she called yet again, harsher this time, trying to get his full attention.

“What!?” it came out a little louder, a little meaner than he meant it to. It was just misplaced frustration. Frustration with himself, with the whole situation, but never at her.

“Sorry Y/N” he breathed, letting his eyes drift closed in a effort to calm his nerves.

“It’s alright” she soothes, bringing herself up to her knees so she can move closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to Spencer. She’s still shorter than him even perched up like this, and he's trying desperately to ignore the way he can just about see down her nightdress with the way she’s kneeling.

“Spencer.” she states his name calmly, “If I had—” she cuts herself off, taking in an unsteady breath. It doesn’t look like it helps all that much. She reaches out to him but pulls back before she can really make any physical contact. Torn.

“Fuck it” she huffs and looks up to make direct eye contact with him now, unwavering, and he’s got no idea where her bravery’s come from all of a sudden, and really neither does she. “That night in Houston” she breaks for just a second, “If I’d asked you to stay, would you?” her eyes remain fixed on his, waiting for a reply that’s stuck deep in his throat.

“Y/N, I—” he shakes his head, “What are you asking?”

Her head falls to the side in a universal gesture for ‘are you kidding me?’

“You know what I’m asking Spencer, I was calling for you, trying” her eyes screw shut as she pinches the bridge of her nose “would you have stayed?” she looks up at him now, her eyes full of uncertainty and what he thinks could be sadness.

Spencer’d been a coward. He knew that already. He’d been a coward from the second he’d noticed these feelings for Y/N, scared that they’d damage their bond, or that she wouldn’t reciprocate. Because really he had no reason to believe anyone would return those sorts of feeling for him, least of all the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He could scarcely let himself imagine scenarios where she liked him, like that. But here she was, in the flesh, in a fucking satin nightgown offering herself to him. And apparently not for the first time.

Spencer knew he’d been silent for too long, and honestly he didn’t have a verbal answer he could give that wouldn’t be an entire fucking poem. So instead he grabbed her, a strong hand pulling her face to his to engulf her lips in a kiss. Rougher than he probably mean it, his teeth almost clashing with her own as their mouths opened for one another, tongues delving in deeper exploring and working against the other. He could feel the tiny moans she let out vibrating against his lips only encouraging him to prolong the kiss for as long as he could, breathing deeply thorough his nose in the hopes that maybe he’d never have to remove his lips from hers ever again. But Y/N knew better, pulling away gently to look straight into Spencer’s glimmering eyes.

“Would you?” she asks once again, her pout is flushed and almost swollen and he catalogues that image so that he can remember it forever.

“I would do anything you asked me to” It escapes him without thought, and it’s true. And it’s the best he can do right now without pouring out his entire heart and soul in this stupid hotel room.

Masterlist

#vicficwriterchallenge #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid angst #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #mgg #mgg imagine #mgg smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #dr reid #fem reader #fem!reader

[i-did]

Do you know when the racism and ableism accusations against Nora started? Because back when I was active in 2016/2017 and don't think they were a thing, or were very low-key. Was it something she said or are people just basing it off the things she wrote in the books?

From what I remember, the first time I heard the blanket statement of “Nora is racist/fetishizes gay men” blanket statement was early fall 2019 (which is so ironic for the fandom to say on so many levels lmao). There wasn’t a catalyst or anything, just she went offline 2016 and no new content was coming out and the aftg fandom is such an echo chamber that… an accidental smear campaign happened.

 Before then, I would see occasional “Nora used ableist slur” which… is funny (not that ableism isn’t serious) to me people care more about that than Seth saying the f-slur. IMO this is because with Seth, it clearly shows the character thinking it and not the author who is writing about what will be an end game mlm relationship. 

But anyways! Long story short, it's the fact that she’s an ace/aro woman who wrote a mlm book, and based off of the events in canon. There is no “Nora called me/someone else a slur” it’s “Nora wrote a book where slur(s) are used” and “the Moriyama’s are Japanese.”

Below I put my own opinion on these claims and go into more detail:

CW for discussions of: racism, ableism, mlm fetishization

Fetishization: (and mentions of sexism at the end)

To one question in the EC about her inspo for aftg she jokingly responded how she wanted to write about gay athletes. On other parts of your blog you could see she was a hockey fan and an overall sports fan (anime or otherwise) but I've seen this statement taken out of context and framed as “she's one of those BOYXBOY” shippers. Considering how… well-developed both Andrew and Neil’s relationship is, and it takes them until like the 3rd book and there is a whole complex ass plot going on around, you can see how that's just. Not really true. And considering the fandom is like… 85% women (queer women but still women) and I've gotten into a discussion with someone who is a woman and called Nora a fetishizer and was ignoring my opinions as a mlm, and I really just wanted to say “well what does that make you?” it's a very ironic high horse. She didn’t write 3 all 3 books to put Neil in lingerie pwp or crop-top fem-fatal fashion show, fandom did. 

Also, I talked to an ace/aro friend about this, and she talked to me about how AFTG spoke to her very much so as an ace/aro story. Neil is demisexual, Nora didn’t know of the word at the time of reading it, but she did get an anon asking if Neil was demi after, and she said “had to look it up, and yep, but he doesn't really think about it” (paraphrased). Obviously it would have been cool if andreil were canonly written as wlw by Nora instead, (which would have increased the amount of wlw rep and demi rep) but tbh I don’t think tumblr would have cared about it nearly as much and everyone would just call Neil a cold bitch–like people do with Nora’s other published book with a main character who's a woman. Plus they're her OC’s, not mine. 

The fact is that 50% of all LGBT+ rep in literature is mlm, mostly white mlm, and not written by mlm. I’m not going to hold her to a higher standard than everyone else, she already broke a shit ton of barriers in topics she discusses that otherwise get ignored. I’m grateful to these books for existing even if it's a mlm story written by a woman. I still will prioritize reading mlm written by mlm–and vice versa with wlw– in the way I prioritize reading stories about POC written by POC. But credit where credit is due, this is a very good story, and a very good demi story. 

Ableism:

To me, AFTG is a story about ableism and how we perceive some trauma survivors more worthy than others. Neil and the foxes using ableist language shows how people actually talk. Neil thinks shitty things about Andrew, like the others do too, and thinks he's “psycho”. The story ultimately deconstructs this idea and these perceptions of people. Wymack, someone who says the r-slur (which is still not known by the general population as a slur even in 2021 much less the early 2000s when the book was beginning to be written and what the timeline is based off of) is a character who understands Andrew better than most of the others do, and gives him the most sympathy and understanding despite using words like the m-slur and r-slur. Using these words isn't good, but it is how people talk, and this character talks. Wymack is a playful “name caller” especially when he’s mad, the foxes think Andrew is “crazy” and incapable of humanity and love because of it. They call his meds “antipsychotics” as an assumption and insult in a derogatory way, when really antipsychotics are a very helpful drug for some people who need them. Even Neil thinks these things about Andrew until he learns to care about him. All the foxes are hypocritical to am extent, as people in real life tend to be. Nora herself doesn’t use these or tweet them or something, her characters do to show aspects of their personality and opinions and how they change over time.

Racism:

As for the racism, I've seen people talk about how racial minorities being antagonists is inherently bad, which I think lacks nuance but overall isn't a harmful statement or belief. However, Nora herself said she wrote in the yakuza instead of another gang or mob because she was inspired for AFTG by sports anime, (which often queer-bait for a variety of reasons). I haven’t seen a textual analysis acknowledging the racist undertones surrounding the Moriyama’s as the few characters of color who are also major antagonists, but instead just “Nora is racist”. Wymack having shitty flame tribal tattoo’s is just… a huge 90’s thing and a part of his character design. Her having a character with bad taste in tattoo trends doesn’t mean she's racist. There is the whole how Nicky is handled thing, but that's a whole thing on it’s own. The fandom… really will write Nicky being all “ai ai muy spicy, jaja imma hit on my white–not annoying like me–boyfriend in Spanish. With my booty hole out and open for him ofc.” and as a Mexican mlm I’m like … damn alright. 

I think there is merit to the fact that she writes white as the default* and unless otherwise stated a POC a character was written with the intent to be white is another valid criticism, as well as the fact that the cast is largely white, but everything Nora is accused of I've seen the fandom do worse. That goes to the debate of, is actively writing stereotypes for POC more harmful than no representation at all? And personally I prefer the lack of established race line that lets me ignore Nora’s canon intent of characters to be white and come up with my own HC’s over the fandoms depictions of “zen monk Renee with dark past” “black best friend Matt who got over drugs but is a puppy dog” “ex stripper black Dan who dates Matt” vague tokenism. I HC many of the upperclassmen as POC and do my best to actively give thought behind it and have their own arcs that also avoids the fandom colorism spectrum of “darkest characters we HC go to the back and fandom favorites are in the front and are the lightest.” 

*I however won't criticize her harsher or more than… everyone else who still largely does this in fanfiction regarding AFTG as well as literature in general. This isn't a Nora thing, it's a societal thing, and considering the books came out in like 2014 I'm not gonna hold her to a higher standard than the rest of the world. She's just someone who wrote her personal OC’s and self-published expecting no following. I don’t know her race and I’m not gonna hold her to a higher standard than everyone else just because. 

The criticisms I've seen have always been… ironic IMO, and clearly I have a lot of thoughts on it. I think most people say those things about Nora because they heard them, and it's the woke thing to say and do and don’t critically analyze their actions or anything, but just accept them. 

#ask #aftg discorse #fandom culture #fandom politics #fandom psychology #mailob #damn cant wait for my words to be twisted lmao #sorry the ableism one is the shortest I wrote that one first actually

[pynkhues]

Please recommend some of your fav Rio fics!

Of course, anon! Since you asked for Rio fics, I'm going to guess you meant Rio POV fics? If not, I'm sorry, haha, because that's what I've collated, but I hope you give these a shot regardless! They're all fics I think are pretty great. ;-)

Below a cut, because this got long.

But when he does reappear at the store—she still doesn't hear him coming, she needs to work on that—she's wearing a fuckin' dress, and he's glad she hasn't seen him yet because he can't stop himself from grinning.

Maybe it ain't for him, but given the fact that he doesn't think he's seen her legs since he came back—aside from that one night at the bar when she was definitely feeling herself—it seems like this is an intentional break in the pattern. Either way, he fuckin' loves the idea that she's been dressing up all week, not sure if he's coming but wanting to be ready if he does.

Now Use Both Hands by ms_scarlet / @mego42 6k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.

Ooooof, this fic causes me physical pain, but I love it a whole lot. Meg really captures Beth and Rio at their most acidic, their most sharp edged, while also managing to balance that with the feelings they desperately don’t want to have. It’s a bit magic, and the fact that she follows this up with another fave, Listening Through the Air Shaft is *chef’s kiss*.

- - - -

When he wakes, he's in a hospital bed, mouth dry as bone and he can taste blood, stale and metallic, on his tongue. The pain in his chest has been dulled by the drugs, but it still lingers, a persistent ache that spikes with every breath.

By all rights, he's a dead man walking.

Ten hours, they had him in surgery. From the look of his chart, he'd flatlined twice, and he can feel the consequences of that, see it in the bruises on his chest, the exhaustion lining the faces of his family. He'd woken to a little hand in his, Pop's cheeks damp with tears, and shit, it'd been close. Too close.

Bury a Friend by @ejunkiet >1k words. Mature. Beth x Rio S3 canon divergence.

Pivoting from 3.01, this fic is a wonderful, quiet character study that looks at Rio in the aftermath of the shooting before he explodes back into Beth’s life. It pulses with emotion and with the promise of catharsis, and it’s just a really special little fic. The Rio voice is terrific too.

- - - -

He finally gets what he needs one day when Elizabeth’s wearing this tight black sweater with a keyhole that shows off just enough to make Rio’s jaw rock. It’s so out of the ordinary, so unlike her ugly li’l sweaters or her surburban mama button-ups, he does a double take, head whippin’ around so fast that she catches it immediately. Then she catches where his gaze lands, where it keeps landin’ through their whole stilted, irritated conversation, and he sees her chest pinken til he can count her freckles. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, and her lips fall open just the smallest bit, and then she looks up at him.

Eyes locked on each other, Rio takes a step closer. Elizabeth doesn’t back away.

I Will Collect You and Capture You by @foxmagpie 17k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio S3 canon divergence.

I feel like I've recced this fic 1,200 times at this point, haha, but it really is one of my favourite fics in the fandom. It has this sort of grip on you as a reader that almost embodies Beth's grip on Rio in the story, and the way it builds and builds and releases only to build and build again is really delicious, affecting writing.

- - - -

“Com’n her and her lady friends were shakin’”

“Shakin’ about the lemon on the fuckin’ granite, sure.”

They chuckled as the car rolled on, the suburbs slipping away with the sun.

“Think they’ll pay up?”

There was a groan as Rio shifted in his seat, flexing his fingers along the dash.

“Neighborhood like this? Everybody knows someone who knows someone with a trust fund.”

Mick’s lighter flickered, followed by long, rasping inhale. “And a boat.”

Smoke swirled lazily through the open window up into the purple sky.

“And a boat.” Echoed Rio.

Drivin' through the Suburbs by gangfriend / @00gangfriend00 5k words. Teen+. Mick + Rio friendship, Beth x Rio. Canon compliant.

It takes a lot to make me laugh out loud in a fic, but this one does multiple times. It's just insanely fun, and captures Rio and Mick at their most boyish in a way I find utterly charming. It's really, really delightful.

- - - -

She’s got her crimes wrapped up and categorized in folders with labels and post-its. Wrapped up in gift paper with a big blue bow on it. And she’ll probably ask Turner do you want freshly baked cookies or some shit when they go raiding her kitchen.

Rio should really get it under control. Her, get her under control.

She opens the door and slumps onto the front seat, her eyes set angrily on him. Nineteen voicemails and she’s still got things to say: he sees it in the twitch of her hand, the restless, frustrated pattern. Any minute now she’s going to settle on new words to voice her complaints like he’s here to listen. Like he’s got the time— like he cares. Like he’d better.

It’s a Work Thing by isoldewas >1k words. Mature. Beth x Rio. 2.12 canon divergent.

I'm a bit of a sucker for a good canon divergent fic, and this one pivots the car break up in 2.12 in a smutty way that just works unfairly well. It's such a great little fic that really settles well into Rio's headspace during the messiness of s2, and I love it.

- - - -

They settle in their respective places and Rio takes the opportunity to give Elizabeth the same once over that asshole did. Her ass really does look great in those pants and she could fill out any shirt. Her eyes linger over him too, tracing his skin, the bar tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt that she’s seen a million times but she devours at every opportunity. Then her eyes meet his and she gives him that small, crooked lil’ smile.

He’s not one for religion, but every so often he takes his mom to Spanish mass. All the viejitos and pious Catholic types think he’s a banger but his ma’s still excited to show him off. He sits with her in the pew and when the priest asks for the congregation to give thanks to God, he says a prayer for the riches that have come to him, the health and brilliance of his son, the vitality of the other little ones in his life now, and Elizabeth. And when he thinks of her in those moments, he sees her in his mind’s eye with this exact look on her face.

A Bit of a Stretch by @septiembrre 5k words. Teen+. Beth x Rio. Established relationship.

Beth and Rio do a yoga class together! There’s such a lived-in feel to this fic that it feels impossible not to fall a bit in love with it – their relationship is explored in a way that feels true to who the characters are, while sanding down the edges to create something that feels sweet in the way they usually aren’t in canon. It's a great fic, but more than that, it really just works in a way that's a lot more complicated than it looks, and it’s all the more charming for it.

- - - -

He’s happy to keep kissing her like this. To savour it. Realises she’s undone the last few buttons of his shirt at some point as she shoves it down his shoulders. Doesn’t have a second to think about his ugly scars pressed to her skin. Can just feel her little hot palms snaking up his back and grippin’ him tight. Refusing to let any light between them as they kiss for what feels like hours.

He realises these are the lips he’s been tasting. Searching for in other women when his night’s got too unbearably quiet, hunting for an echo of the thing he really wanted. Comin’ up short every damn time. Sweet and soft and lethal. Unique to her.

It’s longing in a way he’s never felt. This is the taste of it.

As Good as This by @riosnecktattoo 5k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. 4.05 canon divergence.

Okay, I know I just said how much I loved canon divergence fics, but it bears repeating – I love canon divergence fics, haha. This is such a great alternate take on how the wire scene in 4.05 goes down, and it simmers with tension from the opening line. The way it escalates as Rio navigates this newest betrayal works really well too, and it results in a pretty sexy and surprisingly emotional sequence. Magic!

- - - -

“Do we have a deal?” She asks.

When he turns to look at her she’s smiling, and that’s when he realizes he’s absolutely fucked. He’d just fucked himself out of almost a quarter of a million dollars. He lets his eyes drop down her body, licks his lips and nods.

“I choose the place,” he says and turns on his side to face her. “You owe me half - with interest,” he says and slides a hand into her hair. She’s damp, the sweat slowly cooling.

“That’s not what - “ she opens her mouth to protest and he takes that opportunity to slide his mouth across hers and lick into her mouth.

Long Nights by zetuslapetus / @querenaxx 2k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.

Rio and Beth bone while negotiating a deal! What's not to love, haha. This has such a fun checks and balances feel to it which just makes me want to peel my skin off, it's so good. It's exactly the way I like my Beth and Rio - hot and snarky and constantly trying to get a leg over the other, literally and figuratively. It's the best.

- - - -

He should go out and find someone to fuck. Maybe text one of his hookups. See if Jen’s working. He has options.

He knows what he should do.

But it turns out fucking other people is a worse hell than the one they create when they’re together.

And now that he’s yielded to this wicked ecstasy, he knows he’ll do anything to keep sitting in the fire with her.

To Sit in Hell with You by @daydreamstew 2k words. Beth x Rio. Explicit. s4 canon divergence.

Canon-divergent from 4.06 – Beth and Rio keep hooking up after the time at his grandma’s place. It’s fun and sexy while also keeping the complicated push-pull and lack of communication at the heart of them. Deeelightful.

- - - -

“Does it make it easier?” Maddie asks him once they’re spent, maybe emboldened because he has already brought her into their bed. Which may be unfair, because Lee had been in their bed from the beginning.

“What?” He seems lost in his thoughts, his arm behind his head. In a few minutes he’ll get up and get ready to get back to the factory. Like always, she’ll be looking for her keys so she won’t be late for work.

“Getting it out of your system before you see her.”

Rio glances at her. “I don’t always see you when I see her.”

It’s so rare for him to explicitly mention this woman, however tenuously, and Maddie waits for more. Rio’s gotten like this about a few women in his life but it doesn’t happen often.

Sure am Using You by aniara 2k words. Explicit. Rio x OC, Rio x Beth.

It's not for everyone, but I absolutely love fics that feature characters with other people in ways that tell you something about the characters' feelings about somebody else. In this fic, Rio's fucking one of his childhood friends, but it's all about Beth really, and the way both Rio and the OC negotiate that is really compelling writing, and feels so in character for Rio. I really love it.

- - - -

Rio dreams of her that night, again. It’s irritatingly pedestrian – Elizabeth’s kissing him deep and then, ah, suddenly his gun’s in her hand and she shoots him, with a double encore. It’s always variations on the same futile theme. When he wakes it’s not that he’s freaked, unaware of reality or his whereabouts. But he’s been soaked in anger for so long. He can’t think straight, not on her. It’s honestly terrifying. Cos stubbornly keeping his head on right is – that’s him. Maybe her entire raison d’etre is destroying every single one of his attributes though.

He ain’t sure if his subconscious is desperately screaming that he’s made the wrong move, letting her live. Or if it’s the total opposite. Could be fucking neither. It’s not – it’s not getting any easier. And that main reason for not biting the bullet, that he’d be mad as hell for being mad as hell at himself over killing her, it's not smelling any less idiotic.

Climbing up the Walls by s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe 8k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.

Another canon divergence from 2.13 and an interpretation of how s3 could've gone, and another one I really love. There's a throughline of chaotic frustration to this fic that rings true to Rio's character for me, and the way that that reverberates through his moments not just with Beth, but alone and with other women, feels really textured and interesting and real. It's pretty great.

#this was fun to put together #so many good fiicccss #truly a blessed fandom #beth x rio #beth boland #rio #nbc good girls #gg fic #fic recs #welcome to my ama

[persepholline]

I've read that article about the romanticization of the Darkling and while I absolutely understand people who are pissed off/sad and I agree that it's shitty, I find LB's attitude towards Darkles stans very funny in a "girl what are you doing" sort of way because it's so petty like I've never heard of a bestselling author writing a portion of their fans into their books as a crazy cult before, it clearly hit a nerve

I'm new to the fandom but the feeling I get is she wrote something problematic ten years ago and became very embarrassed about it afterwards so she turned on the fans that liked it as a way to absolve herself. Especially since fandoms in general have become a lot more focused on discussion of what constitutes healthy/acceptable relationships to write about. And in a way I get it I had a huge Twilight phase in high school and afterwards I was super embarassed about it because of how problematic and cringe it was. But now with distance and more maturity I'm able to both still see why it was problematic and also why I was drawn to it (mostly the very unhinged representation of female desire) and like...it's really not the end of the world and no it never made me believe that breaking into somebody's room at night to watch them sleep was actually ok in real life lmao. This feels so obvious to me but apparently it needs to be said.

(More under the break this is turning into an essay, I've been thinking of this a lot recently)

And of course it's good to have these discussions about how historically romance tropes have echoed social dynamics of men's shitty behavior being romanticized and excused. But these days they often are so simplistic and focused on chasing clout that they become this weird new puritanism and moral panic about oh now women are reading novels it's going to make them hysterical or something

So you have these weird assumptions that you can't like a character and also be critical of their actions, or enjoy certain parts of a character and not others, or wish they were written differently and like them more for their potential (which I'm sure stings a bit for an author lol) - it assumes that if you like a character it means you would approve of their actions in real life, or that people just stupidly reproduce whatever they see on TV. That tendency to treat fictional characters like real people is the thing that actually worries me, to be honest, because it indicates a lack of distance and critical capacities regarding how stories are used and received. But people - fans and authors - are so scared of being called out as problematic and harassed for it that they're going to shy away from any nuance.

And yeah I think that it's good that standards of what constitutes an ideal relationship are evolving and becoming more feminist and communicative and all that and we definitely need more of that. But not all fiction has to be aspirational! Sometimes you just want to read about fucked up shit, because it's cathartic or fascinating, even healing at times because with fiction you are absolutely in control and can choose when to close the book. Toxic relationships in fiction can have an appeal specifically because they go to extremes of feeling that we don't want to go to in reality, in exactly the same way as horror movies or very violent action movies - which I don't see a lot of people besides fundamentalist Christians argue that they turn you into violent psychopaths (and that feels very obviously sexist). And for women, who are often taught growing up that love is the purpose of life, the "saving someone with your ability to love" can be a power fantasy in the same way that being a buff superhero who saves the day with their capacity for incredible violence can be a power fantasy for men. Still doesn't mean those women are going to fall in love with actual murderers or that those men are going to start beating up people at night. And love is scary, and weird, and weirdly close to horror at times, with all the potential for loss of self and being vulnerable and overwhelming feelings and potential for being horribly hurt and it should be possible for stories to explore that without anybody screaming about how this is going to Corrupt the Youth or something

And I mean I get it LB wanted to write a cautionary tale for teenagers, but it just did not work for reasons a lot of people have already written about - the fact that the Darkling is the leader of an oppressed minority and is the only one with a real political agenda to end that oppression in the first trilogy, the fact that he helps Alina come into her own power while her endgame LI is someone she keeps herself small for, that she's shamed for wanting power after growing up without any, a generally very wonky conception of privilege, and a lot of other stuff with yucky regressive implications to the point where stanning the villain actually feels liberating and empowering which is a surefire sign that the narrative is broken (unless it's a villain focused story lmao). But of course that Fanside article makes almost no mention of the political dynamics, it's all about interpersonal stuff which is an annoying trend in YA, there are those massive events happening in the background but it's made all about the feelings of the hero(ine) ; war as a self-development quest (which is kind of gross). Helnik is kind of an example of this too - I like them, I think they're fun ! But Matthias spends a big part of the story wanting to brutally murder Nina and her kind, and he mostly changes his mind because he finds her hot. Like you don't feel there is some sort of big revelation that his entire moral system and political framework is completely rotten ; it's all better because of feelings now.

As a teenager that kind of sanctimonious bullshit would have annoyed the hell out of me ; I read those books in my early twenties and I found the ending so stupid I wouldn't have trusted any message or life lessons coming from them. And I liked reading/watching dark stuff as a teenager, as a way to deal with the very intense inner turmoil I was dealing with - and I turned out fine ! Meanwhile I've seen several times women in very shitty relationships being obsessed with positive energies and stories ; they were so terrified of their life not being perfectly wholesome they ended up being delusional about their own situations.

Like personally I think the Darkling is a compelling, interesting, alluring character and also a manipulative, murderous piece of shit and that Alina should get to punish him (like in a sexy way) - but he's also the end result of centuries of war, oppression and trauma and reducing that to "toxic wounded boy" feels kind of offensive ngl ESPECIALLY since the books don't offer any kind of systemic analysis or response to oppression beyond "the bad guy should die" and "now the king/queen is a good guy our problems are solved!!!!"

In Lives of the Saints, we see how Yuri is abused extremely badly and almost killed by his father, and so when his father dies when the Fold swallows Novokribirsk, he thinks the Starless Saint has saved him. Later in KoS/RoW he's turned into this fanatic who explains away all the Darkling's crimes. The other followers talk about how the Starless Saint will bring equality for all men. Then the Darkling comes back and actually thinks his followers are pathetic, which feels again like a very pointed message to his IRL stans. Which is absolutely hilarious to me. Like oh no, if he was real he would not like you and think you're pathetic ! Yeah ...but he's not. Real. Damn right he would not like the fics where Alina puts him on a leash. I'm still going to read them. What is he going to do about it, jump out of the page ? Jfjfjjdhfgfjfj

Anyway I think the intended message is "assholes will use noble political causes for their own gain and to manipulate people" and "being abused/oppressed is not an excuse to behave badly." Which. Sure. But that's kind of like...a tired take, honestly ? A big number of villains nowadays are like this ; either they've been bullied as kids, or they're part of an oppressed group, or they have "good ideals but too extreme". This is not surprising because a lot of mainstream heroic narratives present clinging to the status quo as Good and change as chaotic and dangerous. And like sure in real life people often do bad shit because they're wounded and in danger. But if you want to do a story like that, you have to do it with nuance, talk about cycles of violence, about how society creates vulnerable people to be exploited, about how privilege gives you more choices and the luxury of morals, etc. The Grishaverse does not have this level of nuance (maybe in SoC a little bit but definitely not in TGT). So it kind of comes off as "trauma makes you evil" and "egalitarianism is dangerous" and "if you're abused/oppressed you're not allowed to fight back". And ignores the fact that historically, evil generally comes from unchecked privilege.

I guess my point is that there are many things I like about LB's writing, she knows how to create these really exciting character dynamics, and the world she has created is fascinating. But these stories are not a great starting point for imparting moral lessons. And her best characters tend to be, at least in canon, the morally grey ones. I hope one day she'll be at peace with the fact that she wrote the Darkling the way she did and leave his fans alone but in the meantime I'm just not going to take this whole thing seriously I'm sorry

#darklina #the darkling #alina starkov #aleksander morozova

[t-lostinworlds]

for the youtube thing can u plese do the mouth to mouth challenge, i really want u to write it cause u r like the best writer ever , way better then me

TH’s YouTube Extras: Mouth to Mouth Challenge

a/n: you are too sweet gosh asdfghjkl thank you angel. i hope you enjoy this lovely! ❤ oh and it’s suggestive in some parts but not much hehe.

☰ youtube channel | recent video

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"Right, mouth to mouth challenge here we go!" Tom rubbed his hands together enthusiastically, gaze set on the camera as a wide grin played on his lips. "We each have to take the opposite sides of the food in our mouths and the first one to do as much as look away, loses the round. The overall loser gets to do a forfeit which will be decided by the boys."

You and Tom were both sitting side by side on the couch and much like before, the camera right in front. Harry was right behind it and this time he was joined by Tuwaine. Harrison was MIA given that he had errands to attend to.

"You seem a bit too excited," you teased.

Tom shrugged, turning to you with that charming grin. "I get to be so close to you and stare into those lovely, beautiful eyes, of course I'm excited."

"As if you don't already do that on a daily," you pointed out, amusement laced in your tone as you shook your head at your man.

"Yeah, I do. But I can never get enough of those gorgeous eyes, darling," he gushed, brown orbs glowing with adoration when it locked with yours, Tom flashing you that bright smile of his you always adore.

You beamed at him with a soft giggle, shaking your head before turning to the camera to shoot it a sympathetic smile. "He's just a walking ball of cheese guys, I apologise," you joked.

"As if she doesn't love it," Tom scoffed with a playful roll of his eyes, giving the camera a look before turning back to you. "Let's get into it shall we?"

"Let's."

Tom held his hand out. "First up," he paused, catching the candy—not so smoothly—that Tuwaine threw and then presenting it towards the camera. "Kit Kat."

"Break it like a sane person, Holland," you warned, Tom's laugh booming soon after your comment.

He knows how to eat a Kit Kat obviously, he does have brain cells. But other times when he feels like being an extra little shit, he breaks the bar the opposite direction on how you're supposed to, leaving you with uneven Kit Kat pieces. It honestly drives you up the wall all the damn time, Tom saying how he finds it so cute how you get riled up by a candy bar, hence why he does it whenever he can. It's one of the many ways he uses to press your buttons, all from love and affection of course.

Placing the tip of Kit Kat between his teeth, Tom leaned back on the couch, arm resting behind you as he shot you a nod. You moved closer, hand rested on his thigh as you took the opposite side. You two moved closer in fits of giggles as you ate the candy little by little, eyes locked securely that it was hard to determine on who would give up first. That until Tom decided to play dirty, literally.

He started groaning and moaning in a hush manner, pretending to enjoy the chocolate a bit too much. But you know what he was trying to do and given the proximity that you two are in, you can hear the sounds he was making very clearly and it was very distracting. It was when he shot you a wink that you pulled away, shaking your head to rid of the heat that coated your face.

Tom ate the rest of the chocolate with a hearty laugh. "I'd win this on a streak," he said smugly.

"Stop making those sounds Thomas," you complained in a whisper, Tom turning his head to look at you, acting all oblivious even though he knows what you meant.

"What sounds?"

You rolled your eyes.

A thought crossed your mind once you saw the next candy that Tuwaine tossed. You hummed to yourself with a nod. If Tom was going to play dirty then, might as well give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Sour belt this time," Tom said, showing the camera the candy over his palm like it's a make-up product. He did the same as before and placed the end of the strip between his lips.

Hand still firmly on his thigh, you started at the bottom since the candy was hanging down Tom's chin, keeping your gaze locked with his. Tom's eyes followed your form as you lowered yourself, orbs looking up at him with that all too familiar gloss. You darted your tongue out to take the candy between your lips before they started to move in a way that made Tom's insides churn. You looked at him through your lashes as you ate the candy inch by inch, giving his thigh a pointed squeeze. Tom choked in a breath at the sight, dropping the belt as he looked away with a low growl before things start to escalate in his head, knowing he can't hide it in his sweatpants.

A cheer erupted out of you as you sat straighter and turned to the camera, candy in mouth with both your hands thrown up in the air. "Point for me!" you laughed once you've eaten all of it.

Tom shook his head, gaze trained on the ground since his cheeks were now coated with a deep shade of red. "Not fair," he grumbled, the hand he had behind you picking at the material of the couch to distract his mind.

"What? I wasn't doing anything wrong," you hummed, tilting your head to the side as you looked at him with a pout.

It was Tom's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, last one," Tom said, catching the box of Jaffa cakes easily. He took one out and placed it between his teeth. This time, you had to move even closer to reach him since the length of the cake was much shorter than the previous candies.

As you started to lean in to take the other end, Tom dropped the Jaffa cake at the last minute to give you a loud—and very surprising—peck on your lips. The smack echoed around the room as you stared at him wide-eyed before your brain finally registered what had happened.

"Tom," you whined, dropping your head on his shoulder to hide the embarrassment on your face. Tom lets out a hearty laugh, wrapping his arms around your shoulders with a kiss landing on top of your head.

"She always gets shy whenever I give her random affections in public, or in this case, showing it online," he said towards the camera. "It's so freakin' adorable."

"Such a huge cheeseball," you grumbled before sitting up to meet his eyes. "You dropped the cake so I won. That makes it 2 for 1 so ha! You're doing the forfeit." You stuck your tongue out at him before turning to the camera with a proud glow on your face.

Tom shook his head with an adoring smile as he ogled at you fondly. He loves seeing you win, it's honestly the most endearing thing no matter how little the achievement and it makes him feel like he won himself.

"Totally worth it," Tom chuckled with a shrug.

"Until you see the forfeit," Harry quipped, Tuwaine coming over and handing Tom a glass of a very odd looking liquid.

"Oh no, what's in this?" Tom asked, a sharp grimace coating his face as he took the glass. He gave it a waft, gagging soon after with a look of downright disgust. "Mate, what the fuck is this? You guys trying to kill me or something?"

"It's everything you just ate blended together with a few secret ingredients," Tuwaine laughed.

"Bottoms up, babe," you giggled.

Tom looked at you with a deadpan expression as if to say, "Really?" You only shot him a bright smile, Tom sighing before his gaze landed back on the concoction.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, hand coming up to pinch his nose before he threw his head back and took a big gulp. "It's actually not that bad when you get the smell out of the way," he hummed, smacking his lips as he eyed the drink in his hand.

"You are a weirdo," you laughed with a scrunch of your nose.

"I'm your weirdo," he retorted with a smug grin.

"Can we put a cheese counter in the corner of this video?" you joked.

Tom laughed with a shake of his head. "Well, that was very anti-climatic," he paused, showing the camera a peace sign and adding, "See you on the next one guys!"

Harry threw a thumbs-up to signal cut.

Tearing your gaze away from the camera, you turned to your boyfriend just in the nick of time. "Hey!" You snatched the drink away from Tom when he started to bring it up to his lips again. "What on earth are you doing?"

"It's not that bad, love," Tom chuckled.

"Yeah, until you complain about stomach aches and frequent visits to the toilet," you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Standing up from your seat, you jabbed a finger at Tom. "Brush your teeth. No kisses for you until you do so." You raised a knowing brow at him before making your way to the kitchen to get rid of whatever this liquid is.

"Love you!" Tom called out lovingly, your voice echoing from the kitchen soon after.

"Love you too!"

"Ugh, so much cheese in this house it's starting to smell."

"Harry, you've never sounded more single."

"Fuck off, Tom."

-:-:-:-:-

like, reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed & lemme know your thoughts! <3

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[thewritingstar]

I Wont Cast You Aside

Pairing: Marinette x Chloe 

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug 

Word count: 5k (was suppose to be 1k but I wanted a bigger story line) 

Note: This is a commission for the wonderful @wombatking I want to thank you for not only commissioning this but trusting me with a pairing I haven’t written for yet. One thing about writing fics for a new pair is the fear of not being able to capture them together. I rewrote this beast so many times and I hope that you enjoy it! 

Thank you for being so patient with me and I really hope you like it :) Also yes, the title is a pun, I couldn’t resist. 

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There's a rush of adrenaline in her system as she takes off running. She ignores the yell from Ladybug and soon the wind is all she can hear. The streetlights of Paris swirl into a bright blur as she practically flies from rooftop to rooftop. Nothing can stop her as her target is locked in sight and she can feel a victory coming.

For months she's been gaining traction and skill. All she wanted was to prove to Ladybug that her choice shouldn’t turn into a regret. That she was meant to be Queen Bee.

Another jump and she's closing in. She can almost feel the energy of the akuma buzzing within that cursed object. Her eyes narrow and she calls out for her spinning top while activating her venom. It's over now. That's what the blonde tells herself as she sends the weapon spinning through the night and wraps it around the leg of the villain of the day.

Pride. It swells through her as they go down with a thud. They won, a victory that has her name stamped on it and she wants nothing more than to have Ladybug and Chat Noir beside her to finish off the job.

She turns to look for them but all she sees is the stars dancing on the horizon. It's strange and she can feel her stomach twist in a way she doesn’t like.

A dark chuckle comes from the villain below.

“Ladybug?” She whispers to herself and as she turns towards her voice, there's a louder sound that rings through her ears. “Ladybug?” She calls out louder. She doesn’t understand. They were right behind her. She wasn’t that far, they had to have followed her.

“No one is coming.” The villain says.

Queen Bee looks at their eyes but there's nothing there. No sense of emotion can be found and for a second, she wonders if they are alive. It's terrifying and she feels alone. Their laughter turns to an uproar.

“You’re nothing!” They scream as they try to jolt towards her. “You’re a waste of space. A hero with no merit.”

The ground below her starts to sink like quicksand. Her throat goes dry, and she tries to scream but nothing comes out. Pain shoots through her body and she can feel tears streaming down her face as the world above her disappears and she falls into a darkness.

“Ladybug!” She manages to yell but the light above is cut from her view and now she's falling.

Her body is weightless and every fear she's had is echoing around her like a cave of personal torment. A golden flash surrounds her, and she can feel the power drain from her system. Pollen stares at her with lifeless eyes as the comb hovers in her face, taunting her as the gold turns black like ink.

“You were never a queen.” Pollen spats.

It crumbles into dust as her lungs squeeze from the scream leaving her lips.

“Pollen!” Chloe cries but she's nowhere to be found as the dust surrounds her in the dark.

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Chloe wakes with a jolting start.

She looks around to see herself in her room. No plunging darkness or a disappointed Pollen. The voice of Ladybug isn’t calling out to her. She's in her bed safe and sound. Her heart rate is skyrocketing as she tries to catch her breath. She turns to the clock and sees that it's barely four in the morning. The nightmares had been happening more and more. Nights become restless and her body is starting to move to the brink of exhaustion.

That night of her failure plays on a repeat. It's like a broken record. The face of the villain staring at her as she falls, the scream coming from her throat and both Ladybug and Chat Noir’s voices echoing in her ears. No matter how many times she has it, the fear doesn’t leave.

“It's just a nightmare.” She tells herself, but she can see it and feel it so clearly that she isn’t sure if it's just her imagination.

Chloe grabs a tissue from her nightstand and wipes the sweat off her brow. All she wanted was a peaceful night of rest but apparently that's too much to ask for. Her stomach feels like it's turned upside down as she makes her way to the bathroom, moving slower than what she was used to.

Cold water splashes against her face and she stares at the mirror to a face that looks paler than usual. Bags have formed under her eyes and not even her imported skin care can undo the damage of losing sleep. Even the blue of her eyes had seemed to lose their brightness.

“You’re okay.” She whispers with a shaky voice and swallows hard. “You’re okay.”

It's the only thing she can say to herself. The only thing that can calm the storm from within until the nightmare strikes again.

She makes her way back to her bed that feels more like a prison at this point. Bedrest sounded so glamorous at the time but now that she's been stuck here for almost two weeks, she wanted nothing more than to leave. She is afraid to close her eyes. Afraid that when she does, the darkness will form once again.

Suddenly there's a knock on her balcony door, it breaks her from her thoughts. There's hardly any wind tonight and the trees had just been cut so there's no way for the tree to reach the glass. For a moment she wonders if it's another akuma. Maybe she wasn’t awake after all, and her nightmare is continuing. The door gets another knock.

Her eyes narrow towards the door, but the shadow of a figure suggests that the wind wasn’t the culprit. She recognizes the figure instantly.

Her stomach goes into a knot and shame fills her heart. A part of her didn’t want to open it. She’d rather not face the superhero again but knows that's not possible. Instead, she huffs and manages to get over to the door without falling over.

She opens the door to Ladybug who stands in front of her with flowers and a soft smile on her face. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Chloe steps aside and lets the hero pass by. “It's four a.m.”

“I know, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Haven’t gotten the chance to see you.” Ladybug looks down at the cast that adores Chloe’s right leg. Guilt washes over her and when their eyes meet, she knows she was caught staring.

Chloe nods and bites her lip, trying to ignore the look on Ladybug's face. “It's fine, you’re busy.”

“Queen Bee.” Ladybugs starts but Chloe raises her hand to stop her as they sit on the couch for more comfort. She wants to tell Chloe every single apology in the books. Tell her it's her fault she got hurt and to make sure she knows she's going to do anything in her power to help her out.

Instead, Chloe frowns. “Ladybug, don’t.”

“Chloe.” She had brought her a bouquet of bluebells and marigolds, her favorite and she wonders how she knew but also doesn’t question the gift. “I’m so sorry.”

This was a surprise. She looks at the superhero, distress clear on her face. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who got hurt.”

“On my account. If I stayed with you, your foot wouldn’t be broken and don’t try to change my mind on that. I couldn’t reach you in time. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

Chloe holds her tongue but then again, she's not one to keep quiet. “I don’t blame you. It's not your fault nor Chats. I was clumsy and too eager, but I learned my lesson. I’ll be fine, it's a clean break anyways.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I should have protected you better.”

“We all make mistakes, but you aren’t the reason I broke my foot.” She lets out a sigh. “Maybe it's for the best.”

“It's not.” Ladybug frowns and shakes her head. “I just want Queen Bee back by my side. I want you back on our team.”

The blonde looks towards the flowers, a sense of comfort washing over her. “I’m surprised you even want me on your team.” Her voice is low and she's trying not to cry but it hurts too much to think that her time as a superhero is done just because she was reckless and in a cast. An ugly white cast that clashes with every clothing article she owns. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

A laugh bubbles from Ladybugs lips. “Of course, I still want you! You’ve grown so much over these past few months and sure, it was a rocky start but look at you. You’re a member of this team Chloe. Chat and I can always rely on you in a pinch.” And she means it. Chloe of course doesn’t know her true identity and maybe she doesn’t quite believe her words, but Ladybug does.

She smiles at the blonde who just happens to be her girlfriend in her civilian life and she's trying to keep her guilt at bay. The moment she found out Queen Bee had broken a leg, she blamed herself. Tikki tried to reason with her, begged her to see the bigger picture and that accidents happen. If it was anyone's fault, it was that damned Hawk Moth.

A small weight comes off of Chloe’s shoulder as she relaxes. “Thank you, Ladybug, that means a lot.” Chloe smiles and wipes her eyes. “I promise I’ll get better soon; you can count on that!”

“I know I can.” Ladybug smiles and stands. “I should get going, it's late-or well, early. Take it easy Chloe and if you need anything, just holler.”

Chloe watches as she leaves through the balcony door. She looks at the arrangement of flowers and a small smile forms on her lips. Grabbing her crutches, she manages to get to her bed much easier than before.

Her eyes flutter close and for the first time in a while the nightmare doesn’t greet her.

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It's odd. The limo pulls up to the school and yet she doesn’t want to leave. The moment the word got out that Queen Bee had gotten hurt, and her civilian form was now stuck in a cast, chaos within the press had broken out.

She was used to the flashes of cameras, being the mayor's daughter had some publicity perks, but she didn’t like the limelight on her injury. She wanted to be treated normally. People began to treat her like she was made of glass. She wasn’t. She was fine. Yeah...she was fine.

Even her friends saw her differently. Adrien seemed on edge when visiting her as if he personally caused it. Little did she know the fear he was holding as he handed her flowers and told her that he can rely on her for anything. Sabrina tried her hardest not to overwhelm her with concern, but the redhead had burst into tears when she had seen her best friend being bandaged up.

Flowers had started to pile up in her room that she sent them to decorate the lobby of the hotel and even offered others the chocolate she had been gifted. Even many fan letters addressed to Queen Bee had begun to show up and although she adored the attention, reading them while stuck in bed had begun to feel like she had let everyone down.

All she wanted was for people to say their comforting words and go on with their day. Of course, seeing all of her friends standing on the steps of the school to greet her with smiles was a step in the direction she was aiming for. She knew that all of their hearts were genuine, and she didn’t mind each of them personally visiting her. They cared about her, and she was happy to know that she had people who did.

Over the past few months, she has grown into a better person. She was tired of being seen as the mean popular girl and learned that making friends with compassion and kindness was always the better way. After all she had learned first-hand from her girlfriend.

Out of the crowd Marinette stepped forward. She held out her hand to help Chloe out of the limo and grabbed her bag so she could get onto her crutches.

“Hi.” Marinette said with a smile and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you doing?”

In all honesty, she was exhausted. Tired of this ugly cast, tired of being treated with kid gloves, tired of it all. But the one thing she would never get bored of, was her girlfriend and those beautiful blue eyes that held care and affection.

The blonde forced a small smile onto her lips. “I’m doing alright, but I would feel better if you walked me to class.” She looked towards the rest of their friends and smiled. “Don’t worry these crutches won’t stop me from being fabulous so no need to get worried.”

“Happy to have you back.” Adrien smiled as many heads nodded in agreement.

“Sabrina told me that she has all of your notes in your locker.” Marinette said right as the bell rang.

Chloe huffed. “I forgot that I still have schoolwork. This is ridiculous.”

“Utterly ridiculous?” Marinette giggled just as Chloe’s cheeks flushed.

As they started walking, Chloe took Marinette's hand. “I’m really happy to see you.” She whispered.

“You’ve seen me for the past three days straight.” Marinette responded.

“I know but you make everything so much better, even if you do nothing but just be in the same room as me.”

“Aww Bee.” She blushed. “I like being around you too.”

They reached their classroom just as the bell rang signaling that class was about to start. Marinette dropped off Chloe’s bag and helped her into her seat. “I’ll see you at lunch.” She winked and went to her seat next to Alya.

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Marinette stared at the back of Chloe’s head the entire day. Although she had seen her as Ladybug the night before, it didn’t help the fact that the guilt was stirring around her. Again, and again, she tried to remind herself that it wasn’t her fault. That her girlfriend falling from the rooftop and waking up with a broken leg was just a mishap with an akuma.

It didn’t help though. She could see it in Chloe's eyes. The desperation on her face when she was told that the cast would be there for a few months. Those crutches would become a new normal and she wouldn’t be able to do certain activities with her friends such as swimming just as the sun was coming out. It wasn’t fair and she felt like she let her down not only as a superhero, but as a friend.

There was something off about Chloe as she went through the day. At lunch, people gave her some flowers and offered to sign her cast, but she had declined any signatures. Marinette offered her company on the bench and held out a small box of sugar cookies. “I made these last night for you.”

She could see Chloe’s shoulders instantly relax a little and a small beam of pride was felt as Chloe took the box and thanked her.

“I was wondering if you wanted me to come over tomorrow night. My mom and dad are out for the weekend on a delivery so I would be alone.” Marinette said. “I was thinking of a movie night, and I made some designs for your cast and crutches.”

There was a part of Chloe that wanted to be by herself. However, the other side of her wanted nothing more than to be cuddled up next to Marinette while a movie played in the background. Her social battery was becoming challenged lately but Marinette only seemed to add energy as she never got tired of being around her.

“Honestly, I could use some girlfriend time. I love my dad, but he's been babying me and although I’m in a cast, I can still handle myself. Plus, I can hardly stand this ugly thing.” She tapped on her cast. “Tomorrows perfect.”

“Awesome! I’ll bring over my art supplies and a bunch of movies.” Mari smiled and kissed her on the cheek as the bell rang. “Here let me get your bag.” She offered and put it on her shoulder.

“It's alright, I can probably carry it myself.” Chloe tried to reach for it but instead Marinette took her hand and placed a kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m sure you can but I would like to carry my girlfriend's stuff.”

“Alright Dupain-Cheng. Just let me know when you get tired of it, all we need is for you to fall down the stairs and get put into your own cast.” Chloe teased.

Marinette rolled her eyes playfully. “I’m not that clumsy.”

“Of course not. But you are cute.” She winked and started to walk to class leaving a flushed Marinette behind.

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Everywhere she looked there was glitter. It was as if someone had taken all the sparkle particles in the city and sent them straight to her bedroom. Yellows, purples, golds and pinks of all shaped plastic that was as tiny as the tip of the pin covered her hands.

“Mari, I love the enthusiasm but am I going to have to get my room deep cleaned?” Chloe asked as she wiped her hands on a towel and yet the glitter still shined across her palm.

Marinette giggled as she grabbed another paintbrush and dipped it into black paint. “It will come out soon, or in a day-maybe even a year.”

The blonde wanted to be annoyed that she could potentially wake up covered in the stuff but seeing her girlfriend enjoying herself as she decorated those ugly crutches was enough to make her okay with the sacrifice of her rug.

“Well as long as my crutches look better than anyone’s ever had, I don’t mind.” She smirked.

“I’m sure they will. And done!” Marinette exclaimed and stood up to examine the crutches. “What do you think?”

Chloe always knew that Marinette was an artsy person, anyone could tell that just by looking at her. No matter how many times she was shown her work, she would always be in awe at how amazing it was.

The crutches had gone from a dull light grey to a masterpiece. They had been painted a light yellow and had black flowers all around them. Small bees were hidden all around and had glitter on top to add a little extra flair. Even the cushions that her arms rested on were now wrapped with black fabric.

“They look stunning.” Chloe gasped.

“A Queen Bee theme for a queen.” Marinette smiled and placed them against the wall so that the paint could dry. “They should be dry in a couple hours so if you need to move around, I’ll help you around.”

“Thank you, Marinette, I love them a lot.”

“Anything for you.” She kissed her cheek. “Now are you ready for the cast? I was thinking of painting sunflowers and then our friends can sign the petals to make it even more special.”

“That sounds lovely.” Chloe says as Marinette moves her leg, so her cast is sitting in her lap.

“Perfect! Will you pass me the yellow paint?” She points.

Chloe reaches to the bucket of paints and picks out the tube of yellow and hands it to her. Her eyes shift over to her crutches, and she focuses on the bees. She loves it and thinks it's pretty, but her chest still feels tight when she thinks about her being Queen Bee.

“Marinette, can I tell you a secret?” She whispers and she feels like she wants to take the words back when Marinette looks up at her.

“Of course, always.” She responds and sets her brush down.

“I shouldn’t be Queen Bee.”

Marinette's eyes shot wide open as she's shocked from the words that left her lips. “What? Why would you say that?”

She expected her to react like this but something about the look in Marinette's eyes makes her wonder why she looks so upset. She suddenly feels so small, and she knows that if she speaks, tears will follow.

She feels Marinette take her hand. “Is this because you got hurt?”

Chloe sniffles and she turns her head away. “It's more than just that. It's nightmares and letting everyone down.”

“Chloe.” She frowns. “You didn’t let anyone down.”

“It's ridiculous Marinette. I really thought that I could be this amazing superhero and be helpful. Instead, I was a fool that almost cost us the win. Ladybug told me that the miraculous would be waiting for me once I’m better, but I don’t think I should go back. I can’t mess up again.” Chloe looks at her and now she can see it.

She can see the heartbreak in Chloe’s eyes. The bags from hardly any sleep are showing up and she wishes she noticed sooner. Every time she had visited Chloe, she never talked about the nightmares, or the cast and she didn’t want to bring it up herself. It's weighing on her and all she wants to do is reach out and take away the pain.

Tears gather in Marinette's eyes. She had never seen pure devastation on her girlfriend's face or seen how vulnerable she is allowing herself to be. The conversation she had when she was Ladybug comes back. She takes a breath because she isn’t sure her words would work when Ladybugs didn’t do so well.

“You know what I admire about you?” Marinette starts and cups her cheek. “You have a remarkable amount of bravery. It's okay to mess up and make mistakes, but what really counts is if you get back up again.”

A sigh leaves the blondes' lips. “I don’t know.”

“I can see it in your eyes Chloe. No matter what, you love helping people as Queen Bee. Getting hurt doesn’t make you a bad superhero. It makes you human. No one will blame you for being scared to go back out there. You have so much courage just considering it. I believe Ladybug when she says she wants you back out there. You’re amazing and I wish I could show you how great you are.”

“Do you really think she means it? That she’s waiting for me?” She asks.

“Definitely. Ladybug would never cast you aside.” She reassures her.

Through her sobs Chloe let’s out a laugh. “That's exactly what Chat Noir said.”

Marinette's eyes widen when she realizes the pun she just accidentally said and scoffs. “Of course, he did.” Her thumb catches another tear. “I mean it Chloe. Not as just your girlfriend but as someone who truly believes in you and is on your side. You are the only Queen Bee for Paris. Plus, it would be utterly ridiculous of you not to go back out there.” She tried to make her smile.

And it works. The tears slow as Chloe takes a deep breath. “It would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”

Marinette scoots closer and nuzzles her nose against hers. “I mean if you quit then I couldn’t brag at how my amazing, stunning and absolutely gorgeous girlfriend is one of the greatest superheroes the world has ever seen.”

“Well, we couldn’t let that happen.” Chloe giggles as she feels her heart becoming lighter.

It becomes clear to Chloe that she can’t let this affect her. She wouldn't let a broken foot and fear hold her back. No, she was going to be the hero her girlfriend believed her to be. She wanted to rise to the challenge and get her mojo back. Make sure that Ladybug knew that she was ready to get back out there and be back on her team. She wanted to see Pollen again and help stop Hawk Moth.

“You’re amazing Chloe.” Marinette and that's enough for Chloe to want to be better.

It has always been Marinette cheering her on. She won’t let her down. She leans forward and takes Marinette's lips slowly. It's soft and slow but fills her stomach with butterflies. A warmth fills her chest as Marinette kisses her back. She runs her hand through her dark hair, pulling her impossibly closer and she can feel the smile forming on her girlfriend's lip.

“Thank you, Marinette, for believing in me.” She said as they pulled apart.

“I always will Chloe.” She responds just as she kisses her again.

                                       ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

                                                  A month later

“Alright Ms. Bourgeois, your cast is officially off, and you won’t be needing to rely on crutches anymore. All I suggest is taking it easy for about a week or two, but you recovered extremely well.” The doctor smiled and Chloe could feel a new freedom as she wiggled her toes.

“It's about time.” She spoke.

“You can discard your crutches in the other room if you no longer want them.”

Chloe turned to her crutches that were still as pretty as the day they were painted. “Absolutely not. These crutches are the best in Paris and there is no way that I am getting rid of them.” She then sees her cast sitting on the back counter. “I want to keep that too.”

“You want to keep your cast?” The doctor questions.

She only scoffs and hops off the medical table. “Of course! My friends worked hard to make it look special, it's going to be framed to remember my time of bravery.”

The doctor shrugs. “Okay then, you’re free to go Ms. Bourgeois.”

“Thank you.” She huffed and grabbed her crutches before heading out toward her limo.

For the first time in what feels like a century, she's able to get into the car without any help. She can cross her legs and shift comfortably. “I’m never taking advantage of walking again.” She says to herself as she pulls out her phone. She dials a number and on the second ring it picks up.

“Mari? We have a date in the park this Saturday and I want your finest sugar cookies.”

She hears her girlfriend's soft laugh on the other side of the phone. “I’ll be there.”

                                       ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

It had been a few days since the cast was removed. She felt perfectly fine, and everyone was starting to revert back to treating her normally. No more kid gloves or pampering hand and foot excessively. Now it was them pampering her hand and foot normally, just how she liked.

She stared in the mirror as she reached for a hair tie to pull her hair up. Behind her, she heard a tapping noise coming from her balcony door. Looking at the time, she realized she had about ten minutes before her date with Marinette.

Another tap from the door and she rolled her eyes.

“Stupid wind.” She complained as she walked over to the door. Instead of the wind or a random object, the hero of creation stood before her. “Ladybug?” She gasped.

The hero offered a bright smile. “Heard you got the cast off and I’m in need of some assistance.” She said as she held out the miraculous box.

Any doubt or guilt she had carried over the last few weeks had vanished. There was a hint of pride in Ladybug's eyes as she offered the power to her.

Chloe reached out for it before hesitating. “I have a date with Marinette.” She frowned.

Panic settled in as Ladybug held the box. “Uh, I’m sure she will understand. After all, you are a superhero and about to help save Paris. Plus, you then get to tell her about all the exciting action you faced!” She said quickly.

Chloe thought about it for a second.

“I guess you’re right. She is one of the most understanding people around, unlike most of the fools I know. Now, hand me that box Ladybug, I have a villain to crush.”

A bright golden light emerged, and Pollen faced her with a smile.

“My Queen.” Pollen bowed.

“It's nice to see you again.” Chloe patted her on the head. “Time to remind Paris who their Queen Bee is!”

“Absolutely!” Pollen cheered.

“Pollen. Buzz on!”

As the light surrounded her, it filled her with joy. There was no darkness, no villain taking her down. Fear of failure was a thing of the past.

A hand came onto her shoulder. “It's good to have you back Queen Bee.” Ladybug said.

Chloe turned and engulfed her in a hug. It took them both by surprise, but she felt Ladybugs arms around her. “Thank you.” She whispered.

“You are always going to be Paris’s bee.”

                                        ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

There was a rush of adrenaline flowing through her as she transformed back to her civilian form. She handed Ladybug her miraculous and for the first time in months, she was at peace with herself.

“You did amazing Chloe! Give Marinette my best.” Ladybug said as she zipped away.

Without wasting any time, Chloe rushed over to the park to find Marinette sitting on a picnic blanket.

“Sorry for the wait.” Chloe said as she joined her on the blanket.

Marinette laughed and handed her a drink. “Don’t worry about it. I ran back to the bakery to grab some stuff, so your timing is perfect.”

“Well, you have to be perfect to be a superhero.” Chloe smirked proudly. “I’m not sure if you saw but I got the final blow in.”

“I was on the edge of my seat watching the Lady Blog. You looked incredible.” Mari said as she took her hand. “I’m really happy you didn’t give up. You’re an inspiration to others by teaching them to not let fear hold them back. Ladybug is lucky to have you.”

Chloe felt her cheeks flush at her girlfriend's words. Pure adoration was clear on Marinette's face. “If anything, I’m lucky to have you.” Chloe told her before kissing her on the lips.

                                        ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Thank you for reading :) 

#marinette x chloe #chloe x marinette #miraculous ladybug #mlb fanfic #thewritingstar

[qitwrites]

growing pains 

Fandom: Boku no hero academia 

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

OR

5 times the Bakusquad tells Bakugou they love him + the one time he says it back

(AO3)

Ashido is many things. Book smart isn’t one of them.

No really, she’s got so much going for her with her dancing, her strength, her versatile quirk, her perky attitude and even her distinctive appearance, but she’s not one for the books. She doesn’t like them, and they clearly don’t like her back.

Her grades thoroughly reflect this hate-hate relationship.

Ashido tries though, she really does- even if it’s just cramming a few days before the exams, she tries to study. Yao-momo had even gone out of her way to help, but it just doesn’t do the trick. She knows she needs to get her act together and figure this out because she can’t be a hero with a failing grade, and the anxiety and fear starts taking its toll, leaving her restless and upset.

So, when Bakugou sees the pink-haired, pink-skinned pain-in-the ass sulking in the common room, he’s horrified by the words that leave his mouth-

‘Want my help?’

Ashido doesn’t even glance at him at first, choosing to stare at the wall forlornly. She slowly looks up to catch his eye, looks around, realizes that they’re all alone, snaps her eyes back to his and her jaw drops.

‘Me?’ She points a finger at herself. ‘You’ll tutor me?’

‘What did I just say dumbass?’

‘I just- BAKUBRO, THANK YOU!’

‘Shut the fuck up and get your shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And raccoon eyes?’

Ashido turns to look at him, eyes bright and shiny.

‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kick your ass.’

Ashido beams. ‘It’ll be our little secret!’

To her credit, he sees her try. She’s distracted and constantly jumping up and down, too jittery to be in one place, but she also pushes herself to focus, to really absorb the material. Bakugou’s rough with her, the way he is with Kirishima, but he’s generous with the praise too, or as generous as he’s capable of being. It makes him feel all kinds of gross, disgustingly soft and gooey things when Ashido’s eyes go warm with pride when he pays her the smallest compliment.

They work hard for the two weeks leading up to the exams. Kirishima joins them for every session in addition to the stuff he does with Bakugou separately, and between the three of them, they manage to cover most of the syllabus quite thoroughly.

The day before the exam, Bakugou sees the nerves rolling off Ashido.

‘Oye!’

She flinches and turns to look at him, throwing him a sheepish smile. ‘Yes, Blasty?’

He bristles at the nickname but recognizes that there’s no malice, no intention to mock, nothing really- just a nickname meant for a friend. She isn’t provoking him- she’s just nervous and falling back on old, comfortable habits.

He grunts, ‘You nervous?’

Ashido chuckles. ‘Course I am! Don’t wanna let you down, you know?��

Bakugou smacks her lightly on the head with a roll of practice sheets.

‘Who do you think tutored you? Don’t underestimate our sessions. Get in there and fucking obliterate those stupid tests.’

Ashido’s smile grows more confident, and she gives him a huge thumbs up, bumps hips with Kirishima and jogs over to her seat. The bell rings, and the exams begin.

The tests are not bad. Bakugou notes that a good majority of the papers contain material that he’s covered with the two properly, and works his way through the problems, the equations, the literature, all of it. In the very back of his mind, in a place he barely refuses to acknowledge, he hopes that they’re doing ok.

A week after their final exams, Bakugou is walking back from the training centre when he sees a ball of pink approaching him at an alarming speed.

‘BAKUBRO!’ Mina hollers, arms raised over her head as she outright sprints at him.

Bakugou furrows his brow, chest expanding as he gets ready to yell at her when she interrupts him-

‘I passed EVERYTHING!’ Her smile is humungous, wide and warm and genuine to its core. ‘AND I ACTUALLY DID WELL!’

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back, that feral, triumphant grin he has when he beats someone during training or takes down a villain. He’s proud of himself, and he realizes, with a surprising amount of acceptance, that he’s proud of her too. Really damn proud.

He’s a bit slow to realize that she hasn’t stopped barreling towards him though.

‘RACCOON EYES, DON’T YOU DA-‘

Ashido collides right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Bakugou curses the entire way, but Ashido out-laughs him, her body shaking with joy.

‘Thank you!’ She beams down at him, pulling him into a warm hug. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’

Bakugou wants to push her off, wants to stand up, spew out some curses and stomp away, back to his room.

But he’s also proud. He’s also happy for her. He’s also glad she did ok. That she worked hard and was determined to make him proud and that she isn’t going to get held back or expelled or something.

So, he blames it on the summer heat when he not only doesn’t push her off but rests a hand on her shoulder, gives her a quick pat, counts to 10 and THEN shoves her away.

Ashido pulls off easily enough, still laughing. She bounces back to her feet, dusts off her track pants and offers him her hand. The blonde looks at it, huffs, and takes it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Ashido yanks him to his feet with a strong, firm grip and her eyes go soft and warm and radiant.

‘Thanks again, Bakugou.’

‘Tch, whatever. Fuck off.’

Ashido giggles. Her phone suddenly starts ringing and she pulls it out of her pant pocket.

‘Oh, it’s my parents, I gotta take this!’ She starts walking back to the dorms. ‘Let’s go out this weekend, get some food at the mall. My treat!’

‘I don’t want to fucking do-‘

‘Bye babe. Love you!’ And with that, she’s gone, her laugh echoing around the courtyard.

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

---

Bakugou knows for a fact that Sero is 90% memes and 10% tape.

He has no scientific evidence to back up this claim of course, but he’s definitely right.  

The thing about Sero is that the longer you spend time around him, the more you can appreciate his stupid sense of humour, his great taste in mangas, and his ability to make the people around him smile.

Bakugou hates him completely, or so he tells himself. There’s no scientific evidence to prove on the contrary either, thank god.

So, with his shitty sense of humour and his easy-going nature, it’s natural to find Sero with a smile on his face. Not the kind of sunshine happiness that Kirishima has, but more of a mellow, easy joy. His body language exudes a relaxed vibe, immediately making the people around him lower their guard, and he shares a love for healthy food with Bakugou, earning him the blonde’s begrudging respect.

Bakugou finds the tape hero sitting at the kitchen island on a Tuesday night. It’s past Bakguou’s bedtime, but he’s hungry enough to warrant a midnight snack, though he’s not expecting any company. Turns out, neither is Sero.

‘Oh, hey.’

Immediately, Bakugou’s shackles are up. Because Sero isn’t smiling. He isn’t teasing him, there’s no humorous lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his eyes, nothing. He’s hollow almost, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in. Even his breathing seems off, too fast and too shallow all at once.

‘What are you doing up?’ Bakugou asks, quirking a brow.

‘Could ask you the same.’

Sero is barely looking at him. He has his phone in a vice-grip, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Sero jolts at that, eyes darting all across the room, and he can’t seem to look at Bakugou. Can’t seem to sit still or calm down. Bakugou can taste his anxiety, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He feels protectiveness - strong and vicious and ridiculously overpowering - all the way in his toes.

‘Nothing, ha, I’m fine.’

‘Tapeface, I’m not fucking blind. If you don’t want to fucking talk about it, fine. Just don’t lie to my face.’

Sero finally looks at him, and he looks lost and scared and helpless. Bakugou’s never seen him like this, and the protectiveness surges.

‘I- I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. I’m not sure, you know, how to talk about it. I don’t even know what to do.’

Bakugou grunts to show him he’s listening before turning around and slowly pulling things out of the fridge. He remembers Sero’s love for fruits and soy and all things healthy and decides to make some Mapo Tofu. Not because Sero will like it or anything, the blonde just really likes Mapo Tofu, ok?

Bakugou begins the task of pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and gets to prepping the ingredients. He keeps himself busy and fills the space with the comforting sounds and smells of food because he is an expert at being unable to talk about his feelings. To articulate his thoughts sans anger and rage and panic. And he finds that it's easier, even if only a little, to talk when the focus isn’t just on you. When there’s stuff going on, when there are other focal points. It’s less scary.

‘My mom is getting surgery.’

Bakugou pauses in his movements. He stays still long enough to indicate to Sero that he’s listening but goes back to work so the focus is still on the food, so Sero will continue to speak. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and so pained, and something in Bakugou churns horribly. He works more softly, so he can hear everything.

‘She’s had medical issues all my life, so it’s nothing unexpected. She gets surgery pretty often, but it’s never any less scary.’

Bakugou can’t even imagine what that’s like, to have a parent regularly undergo medical treatment and surgical procedures.

‘It’s the first one since I got to the dorms. I’ve never been this far away, and I can’t-‘ Sero’s voice chokes. He breathes deeply and continues ‘-I can’t calm down. I begged them to let me come home but they refused, said I need to see this UA thing through, do my own thing, all that.’

Bakugou continues to cook. The kitchen smells warm and spicy, and the sound of sizzling spices saturates the space between them, and he thinks he can sense Sero calm down a little.

‘I get it. I do. They're right and logically, I can accept that. I just. Fuck, this is horrible.’

Bakugou doesn’t offer any words of comfort or advice because what does he know? He has no idea what Sero is going through, and anything he says might sound insincere or plain insensitive. So instead, he cooks. He cooks the meat, mixes in the spices, and tastes the broth. He works fast and efficient, his movements practised. When it’s done, he plates up two bowls, and sets one in front of Sero, taking the seat next to him. Sero’s at the head of the table, so Bakugou ends up on his right.

Sero stares at the bowl and then looks up at Bakugou.

‘Mom makes me Mapo Tofu when I’m upset,’ he grumbles by way of an explanation. The blonde proceeds to douse his serving in extra chilli oil and peppercorns because he made the overall dish at a much more tolerable spice level. NOT for Sero or anything, just because. You know. For the fuck of it.

Sero stares at the bowl of food silently before picking up the spoon.

‘I haven’t told the rest because I couldn’t find a way to talk about it.’

Before Bakugou can figure out a way to respond to that, Sero continues, ‘I’m glad you know, is not so bad to have someone to talk to. Or at, I guess.’

Sero digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes light up.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes, ‘this is so good.’

Bakugou smirks, digging into his own bowl and humming in agreement. It’s probably the best Tofu he’s made so far.

‘Shit man,’ Sero says in between big bites, ‘I freaking love this. And you. But mostly this. But also, you. Like 65-35? Maybe 60-40.’

The blonde snorts and Sero’s grin gets wider. They eat in relative silence, with the occasional comment from Sero and the sounds of them kicking each other playfully under the table. When they’re done, Bakugou rinses the bowls in the sink and joins Sero on the couch in front of the TV. It’s gotten ridiculously late, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone.

Sero rubs the back of his neck. ‘I uh, I don’t want to go to my room right now.’

Bakugou leans over the couch, grabs two throw blankets from a bin nearby and flings the yellow one at Sero.

‘Play that cool documentary on speedcubing,’ he barks out, tucking himself under his own red blanket. Sero gives him a wide-eyed look before navigating to the right piece on Netflix. He gets comfortable under the throw, and they fall asleep to the sound of people solving Rubix cubes at inhumane speeds.

Shoji finds them like that in the morning and gently shakes them awake. Sero’s phone has a message from his parents, telling him everything’s alright, and that’s the only reason Bakugou forgives him for gathering the blonde in a big, warm hug before the sun is even up.

He crawls into his own bed 5 minutes later, and his heart feels lighter than ever.

Maybe an antacid will help with all of these stupid, horrid feels.

---

Bakugou doesn’t like people.

As a general rule of thumb, he dislikes them almost instantly. People are loud. They’re invasive, annoying, clingy, and they never smell good.

People are also cruel and selfish and use you as they please.

Bakugou doesn’t like people; until he comes to UA.

Because the people in UA are loud, invasive, annoying, clingy, and never smell great either.

But they’re kind. They’re smart, driven, capable, funny. They work hard, they play hard, and they’re mostly selfless. They don’t flock to him simply because he’s got a great quirk or something. Truth be told, they’re all pretty formidable themselves. Grossly underdeveloped and years away from being at his level, but Bakugou knows that with time, all of his classmates will reach insane heights. They wouldn’t be in UA otherwise.

So Bakugou tries. Mostly because his stupid squad won’t leave him alone, but he tries.

When people hang out in the common rooms, he’s downstairs with them. If there’s a stupid Christmas party, or it's someone’s birthday, or the class wants to go out shopping or to play in the pool, Bakugou tags along with them more often than not.

There is a compromise though. With a social battery as small and easily drained as his, it isn’t uncommon for the class to find Bakugou chilling in a corner with his headphones in, simply taking in the vibe rather than actively participating. There’s no bad blood over this though- they kinda get it. Not everyone is as friendly or as vibrant as Kirishima or Kaminari. They’re honestly just glad he’s there at all, so they do their best to make sure he’s included while letting him set his own pace.

Bakugou’s in one of his recharging phases when he spots Jirou.

The earphone jack hero is wandering around, looking a little worse for wear. There are people from both 1A and 1B milling around, talking and laughing in the common areas, and the energy in the room is almost stifling. The blonde doesn’t miss the way Jirou covers her ears at one point.

From what he can tell, Jirou is an ambivert. She enjoys the company of others often, but she’s also perfectly fine being on her own, with a book and some music to keep her company. Right now, she seems exhausted, her own social battery running dangerously low.

Bakugou catches her eye. She gives him a small wave and he sticks his tongue out at her, pulling the skin under his eye down on one side. It’s petty and dumb, but he sees her huff a laugh and slowly meander towards him. Bakugou goes back to closing his eyes and tipping his head back, enjoying the familiar texture of the common room couch and the sound of the music in his ears drowning out everything else.

He feels the couch dip next to him, close but not too close. Jirou doesn’t touch him, doesn’t bother him, doesn’t shake or poke or otherwise engage him. She just sits there, stock-still.

When his eyes slip open again, Bakugou sees that she’s got her hands in her lap and she’s mimicking his posture, comfortably seated on the couch with her head tipped back. Her signature headphones are nowhere in sight though, and her eyes are open and red.

Distantly, Bakugou wonders if she’s forgotten them. That would suck ass- he’d be lost without his own pair. And Jirou’s relationship with music is on a level no one else can fathom- it’s literally part of her DNA, her quirk, her identity.

Bakugou isn’t sure what compels him to do it- maybe it’s because they both like bugging the hell out of Kaminari. Maybe it’s because Jirou is no-nonsense when it comes to hero work, which he can respect. Maybe it’s because, beneath all the teasing and smart-ass comments, Jirou has often looked out for him, advocating for the need for personal space when the idiot brigade drains him.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou finds himself pulling out his right earbud and holding it out for her, a silent invitation.

It takes maybe 4 seconds for him to feel the bud lifted gently from his fingers. Jirou is careful to not jar his own earbud when she adjusts his in her right ear, and Bakugou moves to raise the volume a little.

It is a bit annoying, yes, to have one ear open to the noise around them, but it’s not unbearable- far from it. He’s got some reggae on right now, a genre he indulges in when he needs to calm down and just relax his body.

When he turns to look at her, Jirou’s got a smile on her lips. Her feet are tapping to the beat effortlessly, and her fingers are mapping out the tune on an invisible fretboard. She opens her eyes and looks over at Bakugou, and her smile widens, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

Thank you, she mouths, flashing him another blinding smile. It makes Bakugou huff.

‘Whatever,’ he murmurs under his breath. The look in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything else- unadulterated gratitude and a heavy dose of love.

These gooey feelings are going to give him an upset stomach, Bakugou’s calling it right now.

---

Bakugou doesn’t even notice the pattern till Kirishima points it out to him.

It goes a little something like this- Bakugou feels off during training, or maybe doesn’t do as well as he’d expected on a test or project, or something just doesn’t go right. So naturally, he’s in a piss poor mood.

The squad’s antics don’t do much for him then, doesn’t really raise his spirits or anything, and he usually goes back to his room, slamming his door shut and pacing around like a caged tiger.

And that’s when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Pikachu.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Bakubrooooooooo,’ Kaminari croons, and Bakugou wants to break something.

‘Fuck of-‘

‘You ever wonder if cereal is soup?’

All the fight drains out of Bakugou, leaving only confusion in its place. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, I mean, is cereal like a sub-category of soup or something? Wouldn’t that make sense?’

‘Dunce-face, what the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense? You don’t cook cereal?’

‘Yes, but you could eat it with a soup spoon. That should count for something.’

‘I hate you. So much.’

‘Aww, love you too bro. Ok, gotta go, byee~’

Bakugou stares at his phone, shocked and confused and annoyed.

But no longer angry. No longer pacing about, no longer in a foul mood.

Another time, after a particularly bad bout of training, ending with aching forearms and snarls of frustration because he needs to get better but it’s not happening fast enough, Bakugou wants nothing more than to scream into a pillow and maybe eat some hot sauce.

Again, he gets a call from Kaminari.

‘Wha-‘

‘Do you ever just think about pizza and cry?’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I think humanity reached its peak when it invented pizza, you know? And that makes me cry. Such perfection.’ He can picture Kaminari making a chef’s kiss gesture, and it pisses him off.

‘This is why you called me? Are you fucking with me?’

‘It’s really an honest question Bakubro. Don’t you ever tremble at the sheer magnificence of pizza?’

‘Delete my number.’

‘No can do. Gotta go, love you, bye!’

And again, he’s gone, just as quickly as he arrived. And again, Bakugou is left feeling baffled and miffed but no longer angry, no longer itching to scream and claw and break something.

He still eats some hot sauce though.

Kirishima is with him after one of his bad days, sitting on his bed and trying to pacify him.

‘It’s ok, it-‘

‘Shut up, Shitty hair! Fuck-‘ His hands tremble with the need to just do something, vent somehow, to break the tension in his spine. He doesn’t want to snap at Kirishima, which is why he never lets him tag along when he stomps away to his room after a bad day, but the redhead can be ridiculously caring sometimes and Bakugou doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t know what else to do though.

‘Shit, I- you need to leave, get out before I-‘

His phone rings. Pikachu, it says.

‘Dunce-‘

‘I’ve decided that, in the event of an apocalypse, you and I are teaming up together.’

‘Wha-‘

‘I know you’d much rather team up with Kirishima, cause he’s so strong and handsome and he’s your best friend, but he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, will die immediately. So, it’s just you and me Blasty.’

‘Fuck right off, why would I-‘

‘We could name ourselves the atomic blondes.’ Kaminari suddenly makes a whooping noise. ‘Damn, that’s perfect Bakugou! I gotta print tee shirts right now, we’d look amazing.’

‘I am not wearing anything that matches you, miss me with that shit.’

‘I promise it’ll be black, and like, soft, with skull patterns or something.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I gotta go anyway, but you’re stuck with me Bakubro. Anyway, bye, love you!’

They end the call, or rather, Kaminari cuts it before Bakugou can get an insult or two in there, and when he looks back at Kirishima, he sees a big, goofy smile on his face.

‘What?’ he grumbles, tossing his phone on his bed.

‘He does that often?’

‘What, call me and say really random, really stupid shit? Yeah, all the damn time. I need to block his ass.’

‘Kinda sweet though, huh?’

Bakugou cocks his head. ‘What’re you talking about? It’s a fucking pain.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t seem as mad anymore.’

‘I-‘ And yet again, Bakugou is disgruntled and confused and irritated at himself, for getting swept up by Kaminari’s pace, but he’s not angry. All the fight has mostly bled out of his limbs, and he feels more or less normal if only a little on edge. Nothing too difficult to deal with.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Bakugou breathes. Kirishima’s smile is a tad wider, and he scoots over on the bed, making some space for Bakugou while he pulls out his laptop, ready to load up some shitty videos.

‘Tell him about this and I will never speak to you again,’ Bakugou grumbles finally, settling in next to Kirishima, leaning most of his weight into the redhead.

He feels Kirishima’s chest rumble with laughter.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Bakugou wonders if anyone’s ever tried to harness the power of feels to run turbines or some shit, because this stuff’s turning out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

---

In terms of quirk compatibility, Bakugou has found his perfect match in Kirishima.

The blonde’s quirk is perfect for offence. Granted, it’s exceptionally versatile and he can handle his own just fine, but with Kirishima, he feels invincible.

Red Riot is unmoving, unabashed, and utterly unbreakable. He knows Bakugou inside out, knows his moves, his tactics, his signals. They fight like a well-oiled machine, adjusting and improvising with ease. Fighting alongside Kirishima, alongside Red Riot, is like breathing. They almost dance around each other, and between taking down villains and conducting search and rescue, they’ve made themselves a formidable hero pair even before graduation.

So, it’s not uncommon for them to be paired up even when they’re working and interning under different heroes. They’re that good.

They’re on a mission together when things take a turn for the absolute worst.

Most of the pros are down, caught in the crossfire or too busy protecting the civilians to engage in combat. There are fires blazing everywhere, smoke congesting the air around them so much that Bakugou can barely breathe.

Riot stands next to him, breathing slightly laboured but otherwise unhurt. Bakugou has a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, but he feels ok. Good enough to rush into battle and do his part in subduing these shitty villains.

But experience has taught him better than to run in with no plan, even when he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to rush into the action. Experience has taught him that without a moment to catch his breath and restructure the plan to achieve their goals, he’ll be doing a lot more harm than good. It’s frustrating as all hell, but he’s a hero in training. You learn this stuff on the job.

‘What do you think?’ He asks the redhead.

Kirishima straightens out his back, hands on his hips. ‘The elemental quirk user will probably be the biggest pain in the ass.’

Bakugou nods. ‘It seemed like a water quirk. We need to get her away from the buildings, away from the piping. There was also that shitty smoke user, he’s the reason the air is barely breathable.’

‘Yao-momo’s masks would’ve come so in handy right now,’ Kirishima muses with a smile.

Bakugou grunts in begrudging agreement but doesn’t comment further on it. ‘There should be three other villains, all with high-level quirks. I’m not sure which other pros will free up to help, but we have to isolate them, move them towards the construction site,’ Bakugou points somewhat East of their current location, ‘as per the plan.’

Kirishima nods in agreement and catches Bakugou’s eyes and the blonde’s breath hitches.

They don’t talk about it, but here’s the other thing- they’re probably going to get hurt, maybe even fatally. Not because they’re weak or they want to or anything, but the villains seem endless. They’re fucking strong too, and even with an army of heroes, the villains seem to come at them harder and faster the longer this battle goes on. Bakugou can feel his own stamina start to vain, and he knows Kirishima will hit his limit too, slower than the blonde but still. There will come a point when Kirishima’s skin won’t harden and Bakugou’s blasts will lower in intensity till all he can manage are sparks.

And even then, he knows they will fight with their fists and their bodies and their teeth. That’s what heroes do- they put everything on the line, for the people and for justice.

More often than not, they lose their lives for it.

Well, for what’s it worth, Bakugou could not have asked for a better partner by his side in such shitty, dire times. Kirishima’s soft smile seems to reflect his sentiments.

‘Hey, Katsuki?’

The hero code of conduct frowns upon the use of personal names in costume. You have a hero name for a reason, and it helps preserve your sense of anonymity and privacy, even if it’s pretty useless at its job.

For Kirishima to name him, and first name him at that, just goes to show how serious the situation is.

‘Yeah, Ei?’

‘Make me some hotpot when we get back, ok?’

Bakugou inhales deeply, coughs because of the stupid smoke, and his fists clench tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palms.

‘Only if I’m in the mood, Shitty Hair,’ Bakugou retorts, his voice far too soft for the King Explosion Murder hero. But that’s ok- here is only Eijirou, Katsuki, and the world burning around them. Soft is ok here.

Kirishima’s familiar belly-deep laughter gives him a boost of energy.

‘Let’s kick some ass.’

Bakugou feels, for one glorious moment, like he can take on the entire world.

They take their first few steps before Kirishima steps in front of him, blocking off his path. When he looks up to catch his eyes again, the blonde’s protests and insults die in his throat.

Kirishima’s gaze is trained on him as he slowly reaches forward and grabs Bakugou’s right forearm with his right hand, fingers digging into the muscle. It’s a firm, solid grip, reassuring and warm and so very familiar. His eyes are bright, bold, and wine-red. And they’re so full of love, brimming with the kind of affection, respect, and adoration that Bakugou never thought he’d be subjected to. Kirishima opens his mouth as if to say everything his body is already telling Bakugou.

‘I know,’ Bakugou interrupts, voice hoarse. Because he does know. The redhead is his best friend in the entire world, his person, his rock. ‘I know, Ei.’ His own fingers wrap around Kirishima’s wide forearm, gripping tight with calloused, too hot fingers.

Kirishima flashes him another soft smile past his headgear before letting go. He waits for Bakugou to catch up and they walk together, side by side, equals.

When they see the first villain, doing her best to uproot an entire building, Bakugou casts one last look at Kirishima, sees his positively feral smile, and charges with the force of a wild beast.

There are no feels there, just adrenaline, rage, and trust so thick, even concrete would crack under its weight.

---

When you’re training to be a hero, things can go wrong.

Accidents happen. People don’t move out of the way fast enough, or there’s a domino effect of some sort, or the aftershocks of one attack reaches a place it shouldn’t.

Bakugou’s switched up his training partner, choosing to train with Iida to fine-tune his aim and work with a fast-moving target. His blasts hit the mark sometimes, but not always. The gym is huge, so they aren’t really risking anyone with their training; at least, that’s how it is for a while.

But then, Bakugou takes aim and blasts at Iida, Iida dodges swiftly, the attack takes out a portion of the rock formations in the gym, and suddenly there’s a landslide headed right at Hagakure and Kaminari.

Bakugou doesn’t even think about it; his body moves before his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly in front of the two, arms raised to obliterate the debris when he realizes that a portion of the mountain had been laced with explosives for someone else’s training, and his quirk would make things exponentially worse. With the last few moments he has, Bakugou shoves Chargebolt and Invisible Girl away roughly and gets buried under the avalanche of debris.

The last thing he thinks he hears is a chorus of voices yelling Bakugou before his vision goes black.

---

And that’s what Bakugou remembers when he wakes up to white. White walls, white curtains, white sheets.

Unfortunately, the noise isn’t white. It’s annoyingly and stupidly loud.

‘There are too many of you here,’ Recovery girl says, sounding exasperated. ‘He will be fine, he just needs to regain his strength.’

‘Sensei, a whole section of a mountain fell on him, how can he just be fine?’ Jirou questions, sounding severely distressed.

‘Plus, this happened while he was saving me,’ Kaminari chips in. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

‘I have a secret healing quirk of my own,’ Ashido bullshits. ‘He’ll feel so much better when he hears my voice. I have to stay, it’ll be a crime for me to go.’

‘I can tape his wounds?’ Sero offers sheepishly.

He can hear Recovery Girl’s sigh from the other end of the room. ‘And you?’

‘He’s my person.’ Kirishima says it like it’s enough of an explanation.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. ‘Overdramatic, the lot of you. Play rock paper scissors or something, but I’m only allowing one of you to stay. The rest of you are going back to the dorms.’

The room bursts into noise again and Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting open.  

‘HOLY FUCK, SHUT UP!’ The blonde roars from his bed. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING, I WILL BODILY THROW YOU ALL OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.’

His own yelling does more harm than good to his throbbing head, but the noises stop completely so at least it did its job.

He’s alone for a blissful second before a crowd of five idiots surroundS his bed. Kirishima’s face peers into his, smile wide and eyes crinkled around the edges.

‘Hi, how you feeling?’

‘Like someone ran me through a garbage disposal and then put me in a microwave.’

‘Such details, much prose,’ Sero quips, earning him a chop from Ashido.

‘Blasty my love, can we do anything?’

‘Yeah, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.’

Jirou squeezes his calf from the foot of the bed. ‘You gave us a real scare there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bakugou grumbles.

‘He will be,’ Recovery Girl reiterates, pushing them away and standing next to him. ‘I’ll do another bout of healing once you’ve recovered some of your strength. You can go back to the dorms before bed.’ She turns to his classmates. ‘Only one of you.’

They look at one another and everyone but Kirishima starts shuffling away reluctantly.

Kaminari lingers behind before quickly giving Bakugou a gentle hug. ‘Thanks,’ he whispers into his ear before pulling off and following after the others. Bakugou rolls his eyes and curls onto his side, yelping when he puts some weight on his tender side.

‘Easy,’ Kirishima mumbles, easing him onto his back. When Bakugou is finally comfortable, Kirishima drags one of the chairs lined up against the wall next to the bed and plops down, exhaling. Bakugou opens a tired eye to look at him and sees Kirishima with a stupidly smug smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘You love us, huh?’

Bakugou had hoped they hadn’t caught that, even though he’d screamed it loud enough for the entire building to have heard. Apparently, a cliff falling on you doesn’t stop you from blushing.

‘Fuck off, you were hearing things,’ he says anyway, because what is Bakugou if not in full denial about so many things?

Kirishima’s laugh is loving not mocking, and he puts his hand on Bakugou’s elbow.

‘Good to have you back Kats.’ He gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Get some rest huh? I’ll be here when you wake up.’

Bakugou gives him a weak glare, but he can’t muster enough rage and anger because the absolute worst part is, he meant it. Because apparently being a rage-filled hero in training doesn’t make one impervious to feels.

Bakugou feels so betrayed by his own thoughts and emotions.

But right as he loses consciousness, he finds himself wondering if he minds all that much and he decides he doesn’t, almost not at all. The answer doesn’t really surprise him either.

He falls asleep to a cool breeze brushing over his skin and the sound of Kirishima humming under his breath.

#boku no hero bakugou #boku no hero academia #boku no hero headcanons #bnha #mha #my hero academia #bakusquad #bakusquad shenanigans #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #bnha ashido #sero hanta #denki kaminari #jirou kyouka #jirou is in the bakusquad #bonding #bakusquad bonding #fluff #so much fluff #and so many feels #all the feels TBH #this is platonic kiribaku but also who am i kidding looooool #bakugou has his potty mouth #but he's trying ya'll #supportive squad