#I think they might have looked better before adding all the shine. BUT I kind of like both. Maybe I should make two more that aren't shiny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blue-mood-blue · 5 months

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I’ve grown to appreciate the aus where Shen Yuan enters the story as “Shen Yuan” - same name, probably similar face, generally able to interact with PIDW as himself and change the story through his added presence. I like the sense of “if only you’d been here, things might have been better the first time around” of it all.

And I was thinking, it’s a funny coincidence in that scenario that someone named Shen Yuan gets put into… another Shen Yuan. What are the chances? What a weird twist of fate that Airplane would pick out the name that his most dedicated critic could slip into seamlessly.

What about a version where it’s not coincidence at all?

Airplane goes to school with a kid named Shen Yuan. He’s prickly and hard to approach and a little intense, but Airplane is persistent. In fairness, Airplane is relentless - and maybe it’s a good thing that they end up being friends, because they’re a little too much for anyone else to handle. They balance each other out. They’re the “weird kids” in class and they’re okay with that, because even when they don’t have any words for it, they know they’re not like their classmates, not really. That’s okay; they don’t want to be.

Recesses and breaks are consumed with the elaborate stories that Airplane wants to tell, and all the holes Shen Yuan pokes into them. It’s not mean-spirited, though, even though Shen Yuan isn’t the kind to temper his words. It’s passionate. He cares about those stories the way Airplane cares about them, and it can’t be mistaken for anything else when they lean together conspiratorially across the lunchroom table. They’ve both got notebooks filled with details and characters and monsters. Shen Yuan’s practically got a whole bestiary sketched out in wobbly childhood attempts at art, entries fervently scrawled beside them. Airplane prattles out plots nonstop, always with the promise of shining eyes and being asked “what happens next?”

They come up with a whole world together. Airplane’s going to write about it someday. Shen Yuan is going to read every word.

Shen Yuan misses school. Shen Yuan starts missing school a lot.

Airplane goes to the hospital room instead. He doesn’t think to worry, because Shen Yuan is okay - that’s what he says. He looks okay, and he’s a kid, and it doesn’t feel real that anything bad should happen to a kid. He doesn’t think to worry. He doesn’t think to say goodbye.

It’s one of the older Shen brothers who catches him on the way up to the room one day, in the hallway just outside - snaps at him to go the fuck home, and when Airplane hesitates, pushes him into the elevator and tells him not to come back. “Tells” is a generous way to describe the way the words come out - a growl, a hiss, the sound an animal would make when a hand got too close to a wound.

(It’s not fair to name a villain after him, even if the name never really comes up in the story. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He’d lost a brother minutes before, and he was getting his brother’s friend out of the way so he didn’t have to… see. It isn’t fair, but then, none of it is fair.)

Death feels very real after that.

The notebooks get shoved into a closet, and it’s not until Airplane’s moving out and one falls on him from a high shelf that he thinks about it again. He’s written things, lots of things, but nothing as ambitious as this - nothing as important. It could be good, he considers. He’d promised. Shen Yuan wanted to read it.

The problem was that no one else does, not for a long time, not until Airplane has whittled himself and his art into a corner and into such an unfamiliar shape that he has to wonder how it’s still his own face he sees in the mirror. He has to eat. He has to pay rent. Shen Yuan would yell at him, but Shen Yuan isn’t there to yell at him, and who cares. Who cares if it could have been better? The people who actually are here love it, and it’s paying his bills, and sometimes stories don’t go the way they’re supposed to and the world is fucking unfair. It doesn’t matter.

(It does. But he shoves that thought away along with styrofoam cups and soda bottles to the bottom of a garbage bag.)

Authors are not gods and their power is limited, but Airplane exercises just a sliver of what he’s been granted and gifts an inconsequential sort of immortality. He thinks about making him a rogue cultivator, maybe the kind that goes around documenting beasts and compiling his findings. He thinks about making him someone too powerful for death to touch, or too important to threaten, but when Airplane looks at the world he crafted and everything that’s become of it, it feels like the kindest thing he can do for Shen Yuan is a childhood where he’s loved, and a death that’s peaceful. What does it say about that world, that he’d kill off his best friend too early again instead of making him live there?

(The best writing he ever does is the only, shining moment of humanity that his scum villain ever displays: a lament about death that comes too early, about a brother gone too soon. The commenters praise him. The commenters flatter over how real the emotions feel. The commenters don’t get any response from Airplane on that chapter.)

Death is incredibly real when it comes for him too early, too, still hovering over his keyboard with the story technically finished and incredibly incomplete. Airplane could tell himself that’s because the written version can never be the version in the writer’s head, always shifting and with every possibility still on the table, but he knows better than that. The System knows better than that, with its condescending message about “improving” his writing and “closing plot holes” and “achieving his original vision”...

…and he’s a child again. He’s a child in his own story, he’s Shang Qinghua now without the benefit yet of a peak or cultivation or anything, and maybe he’s a little bitter, and a little scared, and…

And Shen Yuan - with longer hair, with robes, with a couple of older kids watching him from across the street, but undeniably the prickly little boy who used to sit down imperiously across from him and tell him everything that was wrong with the chuck of writing that had been handed to him last period, but with that smile that said he was only invested because he knew it could be better and they were going to make it better - marches up to him with a fire in his eyes and a frown that warns of a coming tirade.

“You told it wrong,” is the first thing he says.

Shang Qinghua wants to ask how him how he’s here, how this is possible, or maybe laugh because, yeah - yeah, Shen Yuan has no goddamn idea how wrong he got absolutely everything.

(Shang Qinghua wants to say “I missed you” and “why did you leave so soon” but he’s here now. He’s right here.)

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry. It all kind of… spiraled out of control.”

Shen Yuan frowns, but then it dissipates the way it always does, and his eyes shine with ideas the way they always used to. “That’s okay,” he relents, grabbing for his hand. “We’ll fix it. We’ll make it what it was supposed to be.”

#scum villain self saving system #svsss #shang qinghua #shen yuan #airplane shooting towards the sky #this got more into the feelings than i thought it would #surprising no one #anyway just! childhood friends au! as a reason for a shen yuan insert!#obviously he is not going to die as a child in this version #shang qinghua would not have that nope not again #also pls consider poor shen jiu who looks at this child that shen yuan has picked out for a best friend like '...really? that one??'#(it's up to you if he's shen yuan's actual brother from his first life)#(put there's a part of me that likes the idea that shen jiu also gets a second chance to spend more time with his brother)#a second chance for them to grow up together!#THAT SAID #RIP TO SHANG QINGHUA #WHEN SHEN YUAN IS OLD ENOUGH TO LEARN ABOUT ALL THE PAPAPA #the LOOKS shang qinghua is going to get #anyway here have a thing because I CANNOT add another au to my drafts thank you and goodbyyyyye

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celtic-crossbow · 5 months

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Blood Ties Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, blood, injury, vomiting

A/N: This chapter is admittedly self indulgent. I love Daryl whump and I’ve been kind to him physically for most of the story so far. Not anymore! That being said, I feel like I should have split this into more than one chapter because—to me—the quality suffered because of the length. Anyway, on with the show!

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Moodboard by @dannyo000

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

The sun was shining through the open curtains when you awoke. You scowled at the rays but the gentle heat that your skin was absorbing seemed to sooth the irritation. You stretched stagnant muscles, not even venturing to suppress the moan invoked by the action. You let your head fall to the side, finding the opposite margin of the bed empty. Daryl had already left. You shouldn’t be surprised. He was a hunter. Your variety were early risers. Well, you were admittedly a bit of a slacker.

Your stomach felt moderately uneasy but not unmanageable. Hershel must have given you that injection while you slept. Your IV was disconnected and a glass of water sat on the bedside table, this time closest to you. You picked it up after gliding your legs off the side of the bed, taking slow careful sips. You were just placing it back on the table when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in?” You weren’t sure if it was Hershel or maybe someone else who lived in the home. It felt odd to invite them into a room that didn’t belong to you.

Carol peeked inside and smiled before opening the door fully to enter, a young blonde girl right on her heels with a glass of something…colorful. “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?” You accepted the woman’s embrace.

“Better.” You smiled reassuringly when she pulled back to get a look at you. “Who’s this? And what’s that?” Carol looked behind herself on one side and then the other before stepping aside.

“I’m Beth. My daddy is the one that helped you.” The girl was just that: a girl. She was older than Carl and Sophia but still a kid. “We made you a fruit smoothie. Patricia says it’s good for you and shouldn’t make you sick.”

You offered her a tight smile and accepted the drink, fearful of not only the taste but the consistency of the thing. You’d never done well with solid things being made into liquids. With an uncertain frown, you took a small sip. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Holy shit, that’s good.” When you took another drink, a smiling Carol put a hand on your arm.

“Go slow.”

You nodded, tilting your head at the pile of clothes in Carol’s arms. “Are those for me?”

“Mhm. Thought you might like to clean up and change.”

“Oh my god, you read my mind.” You took another sip and made a grateful noise that had Beth giggling. “That is really good.”

It was early evening by the time you had showered and decided to venture outside. The nap in between was desperately needed. You were still a little weak from your ordeal.

It was your first glimpse of the land. Beautiful fields with horses and cows out to pasture, while the blue, cloudless sky blanketed it all.

Blue like Daryl’s eyes.

You frowned, shaking your head at yourself. “Where the hell did that come from?” You brushed it off easily and approached the little camp your fellow group mates had set up. It felt odd being around them all without Daryl being somewhere nearby but it wasn’t bad per se.

Lori looked up from the bin of laundry and smiled at you. It was small and you could sense something behind it. Nevertheless, you returned it. It wouldn’t be a horrible thing to get to know everyone better. You made two steps in Lori’s direction before noticing Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Dale huddled together out of the corner of your eye.

Normally, you’d think nothing of it, except you happened to catch Dale risking a glance in your direction. His expression pinched, concerned. He was quick to look away but it was too late.

“What’s going on?” You asked, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your jeans. The way they all looked between one another spoke volumes. There was something they didn’t want to tell you.

Shane did that thing where he shoved his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looked around at nothing before meeting your eyes. “Nothing for you to worry about, darlin’. We got it under control.”

You couldn’t help but sneer at him. “Don’t call me darlin’ and I can decide if I should worry or not. Rick?” The officers shared a look with Shane shaking his head but Rick seemed to disagree.

“Daryl took a horse out today to look for Sophia.”

You shook your head and raised a brow inquisitively. “Okay?”

“The horse came back. Without him.”

Your stomach dropped before twisting with a feeling of dread. “You’re going out, right?”

“Well, this is Daryl. We’re gonna give him until nightfall and set out first thing in the morning if he’s not back.” Rick explained. The incredulous expression you donned must have been enough encouragement for him to stammer out further explanation. “We can’t risk going out and not making it back before dark.”

“But it’s okay for Daryl—who could be hurt—to be out there alone all night, right? Are you fucking serious right now?” You were finding it increasingly difficult to keep your anger in check or your voice at a low volume.

“Listen, missy, you don’t have a lot of right to say much of anything around here! Let me tell you something—” Shane began. You were having none of it.

“Oh, shove it, Dudley Do-Right!” You hissed. You had spun away and started looking for Daryl’s tent, missing the undoubtedly furious—but comically memorable—expression on Shane’s face. “I’ll go find him myself.”

You heard Rick’s frantic footfalls before he stepped in front of you, palms out. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t let you go out there.”

“Let me?”

Dale joined Rick, taking off his hat as he spoke. You weren’t sure why he did it other than maybe attempting to show you some form of respect. “Daryl would be less than thrilled if something happened to you.”

“I thought I didn’t have any rights around here?” You crossed your arms, eyes sliding to the side when you heard someone approaching from behind. When they didn’t move where you could see them, you felt your hackles rise. They must have not been informed that you were also a hunter. “If you touch me, you risk losing a body part.” You spat over your shoulder, venom dripping from every syllable. “And I promise you, it’ll be something you’ll definitely miss.” Shane gave you a wide berth as he circled within your sight, hands up as if he were being detained.

“Look, Y/N, we know that’s Daryl’s baby.” Rick dropped his hands to his sides, bringing one back up immediately to rub at his forehead.

“And how do you know that?” You knew it was a stupid question. The archer hadn’t left your side the entire time you were unconscious. After you awoke, he was at your beck and call: bringing you food, making sure you drank enough, watching over you as you rested.

“You were unconscious. You didn’t see him when he brought you here.” Rick was trying so hard to be nice and you knew he meant it. He was a genuine person.

“He was off the rails! Rantin’ and ravin’ like a lunatic!”

“Shane, you’re not helping.” Rick had tilted his head, directing his statement at his partner but keeping his eyes on the ground at your feet. When he spoke again, his gaze found yours, full of kindness and concern. “We just can’t take any risks.”

Regardless, you would not be deterred. “I’m not asking you to. In fact, I’m not asking at all.” They allowed you to sidestep around them, not following you but you could hear them muttering loudly amongst themselves.

Finding Daryl’s tent was a piece of cake. You used what you knew of him to conclude that he would be the furthest from the rest. Once inside, you found your pack and knives sitting to one side, surprisingly in a neat pile. In fact, the entire space was orderly enough for you to scratch your head and second guess if you had indeed entered the right tent.

His bedroll had not been used, the cot not set up. That made sense. He had spent the nights in the house with you while you recovered. You could still feel the warmth his body gave off even with several inches between you. Damn him for going off alone.

He did have some goodies in his area that you were happy to borrow. Some dried jerky, a length of rope, some extra clothes (for him, just in case), a meager amount of medical supplies (also, just in case), and a flashlight. You’d give it all back. Maybe.

Knives holstered and bag on your back, you bent down to exit the tent, standing to come face to face with Carol and Lori. Throwing back your head, you groaned. “Not you guys, too.”

“Daryl made it pretty clear that the baby is his.” Lori spoke first. “We’re gonna worry.”

“You’re new, but we’re all in this together. Daryl, too. He’s out there looking for my girl, after all.” Carol held out two canteens of water. “Maggie and Glenn aren’t back yet. That shot Hershel gave you isn’t gonna last much longer. You need to stay hydrated.”

Before you could react, Lori handed you two apples and a can of kidney beans. “You need to eat too. Fruit and protein are good for the baby and for nausea.”

“Thank you.” You turned to allow Carol to place the items in your bag, getting caught in a hug on your way back around. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Carol nodded while Lori took your hand and squeezed. “We’ll handle the men. Go on. Daryl left out that way.” You turned your attention to the direction she pointed and gave a nod, jogging off before anyone could intercept you.

Situations like this were when being a hunter and tracker was beyond beneficial; it could be potentially life saving. Finding the horse’s trail was easy. The shape of the hooves indicated whether the mare was coming or going, as well as the depth, indicating whether or not Daryl was in the saddle.

He had gone some distance, that was certain. Being on horseback allowed him to cover more ground but he gave up the advantage of being close to the paths. It had to be harder to see any trails from horseback. Then again, he was a marksman with his crossbow. He was eagle-eyed for sure.

You had been tracking him for at least an hour, the sun getting lower and lower. Rick and Shane had been right about one thing: Daryl would raze that farm to the ground if he came back to learn you had gone out alone. Still, you had to think he’d find it at least a little funny that no one volunteered to go with you. Big strong manly men letting the petite sickly pregnant woman go in the woods all by her lonesome. You snorted at your own thoughts.

You paused to check the sun’s position in the sky, estimating you had about an hour of daylight left. Even if you abandoned the search and went back at that moment, it would still be dark when you made it. You weren’t hungry, which you considered might be a bad thing, but you were thirsty. Pulling the bag from your shoulders, you crouched to dig through the contents for one of the canteens. It was easily found toward the top.

“Small sips, small sips.” You reminded yourself. You didn’t yet feel nauseated but tempting fate was not an activity you regularly enjoyed. You did enough of that in the woods with Daryl and now had a baby in your belly for your efforts. You were screwing the lid back onto the canteen while simultaneously scanning the tracks you had been following, when you noticed a drastic change. “The horse startled.” You whispered urgently. You were quick to set aside your bag, moving low to the ground to inspect each print. “She reared. Fuck.” The next set of hoof prints were not as deep. “She threw him.”

You stood quickly, ignoring the very slight bout of light-headedness. “Daryl!” You whisper-yelled as loud as you dared. Efficient as you were, you could only handle so many walkers alone. Again, best not to tempt fate. “Daryl!” When you had made a 180, you saw a drop-off. You felt the nausea then, but it had nothing to do with your condition. You placed a palm against a tree, just in case you were to feel any sudden dizziness. You’d rather not topple over and go tumbling down the rocks into the bloody…water. “Oh fuck.”

The red was billowing out into green and yellow clouds in the water, showing it had been there long enough to dilute a substantial amount. “No, no, no. Daryl!” You moved hastily down the edge, following the water hopefully toward land. You had called louder only to be met with silence. Maybe he was out and gone. Back at camp and ready to have your head on a platter for going after him. Maybe he was nearby and would appear momentarily and call you an idiot for being so loud.

Neither of those proved to be the case.

When you spotted the gravelly riverside, you easily found the hunter. The sound you made was somewhere between a sob and a whimper. He was only halfway out of the water, his legs submerged up to his waist. The blood in the water was still a dark red, indicating active bleeding. There was something protruding from his left side that looked suspiciously like one of his bolts. Your first thought was that someone had taken his crossbow and shot him with his own weapon. However, it was lying just above his head, his hand loosely wrapped around it.

You were past the point of thinking rationally. He could be a grade A asshole but he was your baby’s father. That was enough reason to try your best to get him out of the fucked up predicament he had somehow gotten himself into.

It wouldn’t stop you from cursing his name the entire time though.

“How the hell am I supposed to get down there?” You paced the ledge, pulling at your hair. The slope was steep and littered with rocks, limbs, and roots. You couldn’t risk falling. You wouldn’t.

But there was so much blood.

“Think, Y/N!” You crouched down, tapping your fingers against the dirt while willing Daryl to move. To yell. Anything. “When I get you out of this mess, Daryl, I’m going to string you up by—” Your eyes flew wide, a gasp leaving your parted lips. Scrambling back to your bag, you dug through it haphazardly until your fingers wrapped around the rope you’d swiped from his tent. “Yes!”

It probably wasn’t long enough to get you all the way to the bottom but it would do to get you low enough for a fall not to injure you. You’d have to be creative, regardless. You couldn’t rappel down; the length was definitely not enough for that. You also couldn’t tie it to a tree on the ledge either. It would take too much rope. You needed to move down the slope a bit and use one of the tree roots.

Which meant taking a risk.

“I swear if you die, I’m killing you.” You muttered, while shrugging your bag onto your back. Your ass met the dirt somewhat roughly in your haste to get moving. The body could only lose so much blood before— Anyway, you had to go. You moved down carefully, keeping your backside firmly on the ground whilst you prodded rocks and limbs to ensure they would hold your weight. There was a sturdy, sizable root just a few more feet. If it was embedded deep enough, you could use it to get you down safely as well as get you both back up.

You were nearly there when your foot slipped from the edge of a rock. It was easy to right yourself, given how carefully you were moving but it didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your nose. Looking down, you realized you had grabbed your stomach instinctively. With a calming breath, you gave your tummy a pat. “We got this, little thumper.”

The root was easy to get the rope around, secured with a bowline knot. You then loosely secured the end around your waist, high enough not to snap taut around your belly if you were to fall. It’d probably break your back, honestly, but eh, you were optimistic.

You let the slack fall and grabbed on a couple of feet below the knot. “Here goes nothin’.” You started down at a faster pace than before. You couldn’t slide on your ass the whole way, that would take forever.

Daryl didn’t have forever.

You called his name every few seconds, as quietly as you could while being loud enough for him to hopefully hear. You made about three-fourths of the way down when you heard a familiar sound that made your blood freeze. Your head snapped up to some foliage across the riverbank, panicked eyes zeroing in on the walker making a beeline for the same figure you were trying to make your way toward.

“Hey!” You shouted. You waved an arm frantically but the stench of blood had the corpse’s entire focus. “Goddamnit!” With no alternative, you ripped off your flannel and put it between your hands and the rope. Bracing your weight mostly on the root above, you stood slightly and all but ran down the slope. Each time you misstepped, you threw your weight onto the rope. It would sling you sharply but with nowhere else to go, you could get right back to the descent.

Unfortunately, the rope eventually ran out.

Eyes on the walker getting entirely too close to Daryl, you scrambled to untie the line. “Fuck!” The corpse had dropped to its knees and was crawling the last few feet. You yanked your knife from the holster and cut yourself free in a single swipe, barreling toward the water. “Get away from him!”

It finally noticed you, looking your way while Daryl’s arm was in its rotten clutches. Your knife sank into its skull with ease. As much as the smell made you gag, you grabbed the thing as it toppled and pulled. You couldn’t let it fall into the water. Not with Daryl having an open wound.

Panting through tears, you freed your knife and crawled toward the archer. If you had been one second later, he’d have been bitten. The way that thought devastated you down to your very soul frightened you. You checked his arm first, just to be sure. No bites. No scratches. There was no time to revel in that relief. You stopped to brush your fingertips over a cut above his right temple. From the fall, you surmised.

The most concerning injury was that it was indeed his bolt impaling his side and it seemed to have gone all the way through. “Damnit, Daryl, what happened?” You felt lost, hands hovering while your chest began to tighten with the all too familiar heaviness of impending panic. “No, you can’t freak out. You cannot freak out.”

First thing was first. You had to get him out of the water. He would be lucky if bacteria hadn’t already seeped into his wound. You could only pray that Hershel had antibiotics in his possession.

You shed your rucksack close to a nearby tree. The area would give you a view of the entirety of your surroundings. With Daryl injured, you would need to remain vigilant. You were responsible for the safety of three now.

Moving him would be difficult. It would be pulling dead weight, and was most definitely over the weight limit a pregnant person should be messing with. But you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay, little thumper. You just be strong in there while I get your dumbass father out of this mess.”

It was a struggle to get him angled on his right side. You couldn’t drag him flat and risk disturbing the bolt lodged in his skin. Hands tightly gripping his forearms, you began to pull, your boots sliding in the gravel. It was going to be quite the journey but you were moving him little by little.

With a strained grunt, you paused and leaned forward to put your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Just as you leaned forward to grab hold of him again, a cold slimy hand grabbed onto your bicep, yanking you back. How had you not heard the walker approaching? Wasn’t pregnancy supposed to heighten your senses?

“Fuck!” You grappled with the corpse of a man, finding it tough to keep his clicking teeth away from your arm. He was pushing you back easily but you couldn’t let go to get to your knife. One wrong move would result in a chunk being ripped from your arm. Your muscles were tiring, being pushed to their limit. To make matters worse, you could see another walker shambling its way toward the scrap. There was no hope of fending off two of them.

You cried out in frustration and lifted your foot to connect the toe of your boot roughly with the corpse’s knee, causing it to stumble. You had one shot. With your forearm pressing into its throat, you were able to grab your knife and sink the blade into the soft skull with a sickening squelch. There was no time to catch your breath as the second one slammed into your side and took off your feet.

Your legs were pinned under its body, forcing you to battling at an awkward angle to stave off its attempts to rip into your thighs. Your knife was within reach, but grabbing it meant one side would be vulnerable.

“Goddamnit! Get off me, you decaying bastard!”

The walker shifted and gave you the opportunity to bend your right knee and place the sole of your boot against its abdomen. A solid kick forced it back. You were free to scramble backward and grab your knife, but when you lifted it to strike, you spotted another walker crawling toward you, its empty eyes giving you a glimpse of your fate. Ripped open, half eaten only to rise again; mindless and starving for a taste of flesh.

This was it. You’d done all you could. You’d fight them to the death but they had you. It was only a matter of time before—

A bolt pierced the second walker, entering through its temple. It landed in the dirt with a dusty thud. You knew exactly what had happened and once the last walker was dead, you would survey the damage. You flung yourself forward and drove your knife through its right eye. It fell still, its weight heavy on your lap.

“Goddamnit, Daryl!” You exclaimed.

The hunter was on his knees at the water’s edge, swaying dangerously. The left side of his body was now void of the bolt, rivulets of blood dripping from his saturated shirt. His crossbow fell from his grip as he pitched forward to land on all fours.

“Shit.” You wiggled free from beneath the walker, sheathing your knife before dropping to your knees beside Daryl. You laid a gentle hand on the middle of his back. “Hey, let’s get you over there so I can take a look at you.”

“Who…came with…you?” He asked breathlessly, his head remaining bowed as if he just didn’t have the strength to lift it. Hell, he probably didn’t.

You knew he wouldn’t like the answer. You hated to upset him but you wouldn’t lie. “I came alone.” He visibly tensed, fingers digging into the dirt and rock below him.

“Why…the fuck…would ya do tha’?”

“Because the horse came back without you. Because our baby needs their father.” You reached for his bicep and pulled him up onto his knees so that you were able to put his arm across your shoulders. “Because I was worried about you.”

He gave you a look from the corner of his eye, his head still hanging. “S’a shit reason…ta risk the… two’a ya.”

“Did you miss the other two reasons?” You shot back, getting your legs under you so you could lift him without pulling your back or stomach. “Selective hearing, I swear. On three: one. Two. Three!” You managed to get you both upright, but Daryl was quick to curl forward with a sound much too close to a whimper for your liking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine. Jus’…” He trailed off with a languid wave of his hand. You took that to mean he was ready to move and began the short walk to the tree. It didn’t take long but he was somehow even more pale and sweating by the time you helped lower him to recline against the trunk. “Found…found her doll.”

“What?” You weren’t really listening. With his shirt pulled up, you could get a good look at the wound. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but still far too much for your liking. “Did you really pull out that bolt?” You asked while leaning around him to see the back as best you could.

“Y’ain’t…ain’t listenin’.” The hunter gave you a weak shove, barely moving you at all. “Found…Sophia’s doll.”

“She was here.” Looking around, you saw nothing and you would not leave him to go track. “Where’s the doll?” Daryl jutted his chin toward a downed tree that was close to the shallow water. Even going that meager distance from him felt like you were leaving him unprotected. However, you knew he would hound you until you obliged his request.

You jogged over, your muscles tired and stomach beginning to feel ill at ease. Sure enough, there laid the doll. You snatched it up and returned to him, taking a moment to place the toy in your bag and pull out supplies.

“How did this happen?”

“Fell…fell on it.”

“Graceful.” You smirked, ignoring the weak middle finger lifted toward you. “Let’s get this bleeding under control and get back to the farm.” You raised his shirt again but this time he seemed to take notice and went rigid.

“It’ll keep, jus’ leave it.”

Your mouth gaped. “You can’t be serious.” You admonished him. “I’m not sure you noticed but there is a literal hole in your side. We can’t go back without some sort of treatment first.” His usually bright blue eyes were cloudy when he looked at you. “It’s nearly dark. Stop arguing with me and let’s get this done.”

“Ain’t enough…time ta…get back tonight.”

“We can’t stay here, Daryl. We’re sitting ducks.” You started grabbing other things you needed even as he tried to talk you out of it: food, water.

“I can. Go on… back. Come back…back tomorrow…with help.” He winced when he pressed a palm against the wound so he could shift to a more comfortable position.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Y/N, s’not—”

“I said no, Daryl.” You reached for his shirt again and he didn’t stop you but there was a panicked undertone in his eyes. “Just far enough for me to see the wound, okay?” A visible relief; his shoulders dropped and he let his head fall back against the tree.

The bleeding had slowed, showing signs that it was beginning to clot. That was great news but it didn’t replace all he had already lost. The wound needed a proper cleaning and stitches, both of which you were not well equipped. You could handle it if you had the supplies. You’d sewn yourself up plenty of times.

With a sigh, you got up to fetch your flannel from where you’d left it near the rope. You were already tearing it into strips before you returned to Daryl’s side. You tried to be as quick as possible; taping down gauze, folding pieces of your flannel to press over those. Lacking enough to make a compression bandage, you tied pieces of material together.

“Almost done.” You had to lean into his space to pull the makeshift bandage around his back. His tired eyes flitted back and forth between yours while you found yourself glancing at his lips. You cleared your throat and sat back on your heels. “This is gonna hurt but just try to be as quiet as you can.”

Daryl watched you for a moment and then nodded. He visibly tensed and closed his eyes a mere moment before you pulled the material tight around the wound. To his credit, he merely grunted but the hard lines of pain on his face told a different story.

“There. That’s the best I can do right now.” You were beyond concerned. The thought of spending the night there with the archer being so grievously wounded was intimidating. You knew there was no other choice. One of the canteens was on the ground beside you where you had placed it when grabbing out supplies. If he was going to stand any chance of surviving, Daryl had to cooperate. This should be fun. “I need you to drink some water. You’ve lost a lot of blood. We have to keep you hydrated until we can get out of here.”

“Nah.” Much to your chagrin, he turned his head. “Ya need… it more… than I do.” He was beginning to look dazed, fighting off the overwhelming urge to allow his body to rest.

“Stop being a brat and drink the water.” You pressed the canteen to his lips, dropping your mask to wear your concern like a second skin. “Please. I promise I have enough for me too.”

You thought he might argue or once again refuse, but he finally parted his lips with a sigh. You tilted the canteen, flinching when his much too cold hand covered yours to help control how much he was getting.

“I need to build a fire. Keep it small.” You weren’t really talking to him but he hummed in response anyway. He was cold and clammy. You’d bet money that would be worthless in that world that if you checked his pulse, it would be racing. “I think you’re going into shock. I need to get you warm.”

“M’fine.” His voice was quiet, too drained to offer up a convincing tone.

You went about gathering what you could find that could hold the highest possibility of burning. “You know what, keep telling yourself that. Maybe your stubbornness will pay off.” Placing some rocks down so you could control the flames, you placed your tinder bundle in the center along with some sticks and wood chips for kindling. You had to do this the old fashioned way. Daryl was watching you with slow blinks as you went about your method.

You thanked whatever deity that was listening for your experience in the wilderness. You were nurtured by the woods growing up. The trees were like family, offering shade, protection, and a means of warmth or preparing your meals. You had learned the ways to survive. Granted, back then, walking corpses that wanted to eat your intestines weren’t a thing. Scared as you were, you knew you could make it. You could make it. But now, you had to keep Daryl alive as well.

“Finally.” You sat back with a smug grin, watching the fire burn. You just hoped it would be enough. “Come on, let’s get you settled closer to the fire. Then I’ll heat the beans I have. Daryl swatted at your hands.

“M’fine here.”

You huffed through your nose. “No, you’re not. Your skin is freezing. I don’t have any blankets. We need to keep you warm.”

“Fine.” He began to lever his way to his feet, growling with annoyance once you swooped in to help him. “Can do it….can do it myself.”

“Shut up and let me help.” You didn’t let go and he didn’t try to force you. He was panting by the time you lowered him down to lie on this back. He couldn’t be comfortable. “Um, one second.” There wasn’t a lot left of your flannel but you could make it work. Folding it to the best of your ability, you gently lifted his head and placed the article beneath it. As an afterthought, you pulled the clean shirt you had grabbed for him and draped it over his upper half. It would have to do for the time being. “Okay, just rest and I’ll wake you for some food and water in a bit.”

Hours passed agonizingly slowly. You had tried to get Daryl to eat but he had refused. At least he drank the water. You yourself had eaten a third of the can of beans. Everything seemed to be going alright until you found yourself regurgitating into the bushes. Your stomach was turning inside out, now rejecting even the water.

Carol had warned you this would happen but you couldn’t wait. You didn’t regret it either. Daryl would have surely died had you not gone in search of him.

Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you staggered back toward the fire. You were steps away when you realized that Daryl was…talking. And not just talking, but conversing. There’s no one there.

It felt wrong in some ways to move closer; to be able to hear him. It was as if a person was sitting right next to him. Daryl’s eyes were open; mere slits but open.

“Screw you.”

“A girl. They…lost a little..girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Tried like hell… ta find ya, bro.”

Bro? Daryl had a brother. It was unknown if he was alive or dead. You only knew from Carol. Daryl never let you that close. He was hallucinating which was bad. Very bad. You took a step forward, ignoring your stomach’s protests for the time being. Should you wake him?

“We went…back fer ya. Rick n’ I, we…did righ’ by ya.”

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

“Don’ talk…’bout her like that. Y/N…she’s…diff’rent.”

Wide eyes blinked. He was talking about you. Granted, it was during a moment of psychological weakness but still. It felt even more wrong to allow it to continue.

“I ain’t gon’ be…like our daddy. My kid…ain’t gon’ be like us. Like you or me.”

Your heart ached for him. You knew nothing about Daryl’s childhood but now you knew it wasn’t pleasant. Shaking your head, you kneeled next to his arm and placed a hand against his cheek. No fever. This had to be coming from the head injury. “Daryl.” He seemed to be looking right through you. Still, he lifted a hand and let the back of his knuckles brush along your jaw.

“See, Merle? Told ya… she was diff’rent.” His hand fell away, blue eyes disappearing behind heavy lids.

“Daryl?” You said urgently, fingers searching along his neck for a pulse. It was there, albeit a little fast but there. You felt weak and allowed yourself to fall back onto your ass, scooting until your back was against the tree.

From what Carol had told you, Daryl’s brother was vile. He was toxic and the younger Dixon had changed slightly without his influence. She had said Daryl was brash and intimidating, preferred to be alone. Hated to be touched. Yet he had sought out your company twice a week like clockwork. He had talked to you, brief and unimportant statements and questions, but he had talked. He had let you touch him. Intimately.

“She’s…diff’rent.”

It was dangerous to let your mind wander down the paths it had created from his simple words to a brother who wasn’t there. But let it wander, you did. Maybe Daryl didn’t just care about the baby. Maybe he was impertinent toward you because you had gotten too close. Maybe you had managed to penetrate the walls he had built to protect himself.

Maybe—just maybe—you had allowed him to pass through your own defenses.

And that was more terrifying to you than any walking corpse in a dystopian world.

Taglist:

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greenboyfriend · 5 months

Text

pick an image! (tarot card reading)

image source image 1: a purple blob with many holes across its membrane, and a divot separating itself in two. hopefully, looking at this thing, you don't contract trypophobia. image 2: another wonderful blob, this time in blue. many little orange spikes peek out across its surface. the contrasting colors really make this image pop! image 3: less blob like, but still blob-ish, this yellow lad has many spindly arms. the better to hug you with, my dear!

1.・。.・゜✭

although you may feel like you've reached the pits as of late, the empress assures you that there are many, many good things ahead of & around you, so long as you lean into the energy of the chariot. you need to stop feeling like the victim! sure, you may be, but there is a time and place for self pity, and now is not it. some of you- though not all- may also be acting as a martyr, letting others step all over you. this must change! if you're unsure of where to start, going out into nature may help you find balance. it might also be a good idea to enjoy the things you do have at the moment, and you'll find that you have more than enough of what you need. your current challenge is to embody the chariot! maybe you're resisting it a bit, it's ok, we've all been there. but this has the potential for great results! fixate on your goal and use everything in your power to propel yourself towards it. it may take some time, and you may have to take multiple steps to get there, but that victory will be oh so sweet. you will have to resist your impulses to get angry, or for some, to put others before you. but the 9 of pentacles nails the point home: you need to do what is best for YOURSELF, using your own methods. you're already set up to succeed! just keep your head level, and resist the urge to give them a piece of your mind. i promise, once you've reaped what you're sowing now, it will be twice as satisfying as lashing out.

(10 of swords, the empress, the chariot reversed, 9 of pentacles)

2.・。.・゜✭

you're holding out against something. you're saying no, refusing, struggling!... im sorry to be the one to tell you, but you've gotta give it up. look, im all for resisting authority, but within this situation, rescinding your position will be beneficial. think of it as taking a step back in order to take two steps forward. you're going to have to go in the total opposite direction, to put others first and try to see things from their perspective. know that you're operating from a safe place, too, and that, no matter how things go, you will be protected. you may even be blissfully unaware to some of the worse aspects of this situation. you will need to find a solution that lasts. you don't have to do this on your own, whether you need help with resources or anything, asking for help is completely ok. it may feel like a sacrifice to change your mind, but this is the path that will leave you with a clean conscience. this situation likely has to do with family.

(7 of wands reversed, ace of pentacles, the hanged man, 6 of cups, 10 of pentacles)

3.・。.・゜✭

much like those who chose image two, you will also be or already are doing an about-face, where you overturn old priorities into the new. it seems like this is going to take a lot of tinkering to get just right, and will require that you have the perseverance to see it through. it won't be easy, but, as the king of pentacles' energy shines through you, anything can be made possible! being committed to your task and able to adapt as your situation changes will serve you well. don't be afraid to admit you were wrong, to ask for help from multiple places, or to take a rest after getting knocked down. this is all part of the process. the queen of cups gives you the added strength of patience, kindness, and a finely tuned intuition. pay attention to your dreams and immediate gut reactions, and use them as building blocks to further reach your goal. if you're like me, who wants all the questions to be solved as soon as they appear, taking your time and allowing yourself to wait for the perfect moment is not always easy-- but take this as a means to strengthen your resolve. we are all prone to different skillsets, patience being one of them. maybe finding help in this area would prove useful to you?

(king of pentacles, the hanged man, temperance, 9 of wands, queen of cups)

thanks for reading! if ur interested in getting an in depth reading with me, send me a dm or an ask!

#tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a picture #pac #pick a pile #pick a photo

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baileypie-writes · 4 months

Note

Hello! My name is Korey! I've recently been seeing your blog pop up whenever I search for veneer stuff and when I tell you I am STARVED for content- (I understand that there might be more content out there but I haven't been able to find any ;-;) I personally love your headcanons and the way you write everything and I was really hoping if you could do a Veneer x Male reader? And don't worry!! I read your rules so I have a basic idea for the story!!! You can do headcanons or a one-shot, either one works!!!

So; Masc!Reader is like a tall intimidating guy that dresses rather formally, often in reds whites and blacks. HOWEVER! They are SUCH a softy. Like, they have the voice that could scare anyone but they love stuffed animals and like dressing up in cute animal onesies!!!

When Veneer first met this gentleman, Reader would often keep to himself at first because he didn't want to accidentally scare him, but Veneer is immediately head over heels just because he sounds and looks cool. But as soon as the Reader says that they love bunnies and start opening up more he is just SWOONING-

And when Veneer starts ranting about how he thinks Reader is cool to Velvet, she is just; "That guy?? He's terrifying-"

I'm so sorry if I made the request too long, please let me know if you need more info or if you can't do this request! I will definitely understand!!!!

A/N ~ Aww this idea is so cute! Love all the details you added! I decided to do headcanons, cause it’s better for me to get all my thoughts down. Hope you enjoy!

~Veneer with an Intimidating, but Soft Boyfriend~

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Reader: Male

Relationship: Romantic

Genre: Pure fluff

Warnings: None!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ I feel like Veneer is naturally drawn to tough looking guys. So obviously, he likes you the moment you meet. He thought that you were just too cool! He wasn’t scared like most people are, he just wanted to get to know you!

~ When he finds out that you’re actually just a big softy, he falls for you ten times harder. Like, you’re just so cute to him.

~ He’s in love with your voice! He barely texts you, because he prefers calling. He just wants to hear you!

~ You love plushies? Well guess what, you’re now getting a new one every week. Veneer is big on spoiling you, so be prepared to not have any room left on your bed. Plushies everywhere!

~ Veneer buys you guys matching animal onesies. Multiple sets, in fact. Each with a different color and animal theme. His personal favorites are the rainbow unicorn ones.

~ Sometimes he forgets that most people perceive you as scary. He’ll get confused when people are nervous around you, until he remembers how intimidating you look to them. So he tries his best to make people see you as you truly are: kind and caring!

~ He personally loves how you dress formally. He thinks it makes you look so handsome(not that you’re not already). Sometimes he wears the same style so you two match.

~ Veneer sees you as his Prince Charming. His night in shining armor. His soulmate. And he calls you all of these things as nicknames. His sister hates it, thinking it’s super cheesy. But he couldn’t care less.

~ Secretly want you to carry him around bridal style. It adds to the whole Prince Charming thing. If you actually do it, he’ll literally swoon.

~ Veneer loves how much taller you are than him. He loves when you lean down to kiss him, or when he has to stand on his tip-toes to reach your lips.

~ Before she met you, Velvet created an image of you in her head based on what Veneer says about you. Let’s just say that she was surprised when she did meet you. You were definitely not what she was expecting. You? Sweet and soft? How?

~ Velvet is honestly confused on how Veneer isn’t scared of you. She finds you terrifying. She physically jumps when you just ask her a simple question because your voice sounds so scary. Veneer doesn’t get it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#trolls 3 band together #trolls 3 #trolls 3 x reader #trolls 3 veneer #trolls veneer #veneer x reader #veneer x reader fluff #veneer x male reader #veneer #baileypie-writes

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lifblogs · 2 months

Text

Better Late Than Dead

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: Tech/Phee Word Count: 1268 Summary: Tech arrives on Pabu for the first time since he was rescued from Dr. Hemlock, and put his mind back together (mostly). A special someone is there waiting for him. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Disclaimer, I have PCS (Post-Concussion Syndrome) so this story could be a mess, it could be great. I don't know, but I tried, and I had fun. First story I've written since I hit my head. I am sooooo nervous about it for some reason. This fandom seems like nothing but kind, though. If you read it, thank you. READ ON AO3

Tech paused getting off the ramp. Once he stepped off onto Pabu he would no longer just be on the Marauder with his family. He would exist in a public space, with people who… might not understand, who would see him differently. He was different.

There were some stares from the crowd, but he couldn’t track all of them, faces blurring and disappearing as he watched. But maybe those eyes were still on him.

Subconsciously, he touched the back of his head, feeling the metal plate there that replaced part of his skull, felt the lines where his scalp had split, where either through injury or one of his many surgeries his brain had been exposed. His new and enhanced left eye (replacing the gouged one from Plan 99) searched the space before him frantically, but he tried to take in what the right saw first: bright, blue skies with white, puffy clouds; a calm ocean for kilometers on end; happy people in colorful clothing—survivors, every one of them. How could such a place exist when he’d been through such horrors in Hemlock’s dark labs? Now it was like this beautiful place only half-existed.

The beauty was what his right eye saw. The left one… He hadn’t had a chance to reprogram it yet. Most of what he saw through it was a dizzying array of heat signatures, structural integrities, and the best places to shoot a target. According to his eye, everyone was a target. This was all superimposed over his regular vision from his right eye. The confusing signals to his brain usually left him with the feeling as if his eyes were being scooped out (half a phantom pain and reminiscent of his real horrors), and it would throb up into his head. With the metal plate added in, he had more headaches than he could manage on most days.

Still feeling anxiety churning in his gut; cold, clammy fear gripping the back of his neck and stripping him bare, he held up his new datapad. Tech decided to do a quick check of his metabolic system, and the absorption levels of his various injected pain meds, and their half-lives. This was done through a chip implanted at the base of his skull. Unfortunately that had required an extra surgery, seeing as that hadn’t fit in the area where he’d needed his skull repaired.

His datapad beeped quietly, and a yellow bar showed up near the top. He’d need to re-inject his left hip soon.

Tech glanced up, the real galaxy around him becoming too real. Coming towards the ramp with a hesitant smile and shining eyes was Phee.

His heart suddenly seemed too big, blood somehow beating hard all across his torso, even as it crawled up his throat. Phee. He really had thought of her, even remembered one instance of Hemlock torturing him for mentioning her name. He shuddered, his mechanical left leg shifting in a way that seemed too obvious and inhuman to him.

Tech wasn’t the same.

Am I even Tech?

No, no. You’ve… you’ve been over this already. Done the work. I. Am. Tech.

And he had thought about Phee in what he had thought would be his last moments. He’d surprisingly had the time to think about a lot of people.

He’d thought about his last-minute realization, and he’d mourned what could have been. And now… there she was. Here he was. Pabu. Safety. Phee.

Tech took a deep breath, tried to swallow back his fear, and stepped down the ramp, all too aware of how he looked now. Feeling clumsy with this changed body, he struggled to put his datapad back on his belt. One last thing to put between this moment and the next, the inevitable.

Phee met him at the bottom of the ramp, letting him step off. For a moment the voices around them dimmed, but neither of them spoke.

Oh no, she’s horrified. She’s disgusted. She’s—

“You look different.”

Blunt, as always.

“Oh.”

“I think I like it.”

“You… do?” Tech asked, caught off guard as he usually was with her. (How could anyone script conversations with a flirtatious, bold pirate?)

She shrugged. Was she… crying?

Some of his vision blurred. His eye malfunctioning? No. His right one. He was crying.

Hesitantly, she touched his shoulder. Tech jumped a little, but let her warm, assuring touch stay there. He wondered what that hand felt like—strong, calloused.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

Was this him? All these differences, and injuries, and modifications?

Well, he was still Tech, so he supposed that made the plate in his skull him, the chip, the cybernetic leg, and eye. Still… Tech. Just different. A new Tech.

“I suppose.” He was surprised to hear himself speak.

“Then of course I like it! But I have a bone to pick with you.”

Tech almost backed away, startled, as her finger prodded against his chest.

What bone?

What—Oh!

“Seven months?!” she went on, voice raised and rough. “I don’t see you for seven months?! And all I could get out of Mr. Face Tattoo was that you were ‘indisposed.’”

“Sorry I’m… late,” he got out, as if that somehow summed up everything that had changed his life, that had even affected hers.

That’s when a sob left Phee, and her tears spilled, and she cupped Tech’s scarred face in her hand. It was calloused, just like he’d thought it’d be. Something about her touch was reassuring and invigorating all at once.

And it was kind.

Tech hadn’t realized how much he’d needed someone outside his family to support him until that moment. It left him weak in his right knee, and he might have trembled.

Phee sobbed again, and then got out with a smile bright enough to rival the stars, “But still—better late than dead, I always say.”

Tech held her hand against his face for a second, marveling at the feeling, her words. Then he wasn’t sure who pulled who into an embrace, but suddenly she was flush against him, her heart beating fast, chest moving with her sobs, a wild scent of ocean salt, island fruit, and some kind of warm spice surrounding him. With his chin tucked against her shoulder, and her head resting against his he learned her hair was a softness he’d never felt before.

“Though of course you had to lose one brown eye on me,” she joked. He was surprised when it didn’t hurt, not from her.

“I’ll try not to lose the other one.”

“You’d better. What am I supposed to call you now? ‘Brown Eye’ doesn’t sound romantic.”

“We could… make it romantic,” he ventured, voice a soft murmur against her.

Phee laughed, and pulled back, patting his cheek. “Honey, I’m not sure you know what romance is.”

For the first time since Plan 99, months and months ago, Tech laughed—something he’d thought he would never be capable of again. And, he thought, maybe he’d like to do it again. With Phee.

“I’m smart,” he assured her, watching as she wiped away her tears, wishing he could do it for her. He went on, surprising himself, “I’m sure I can learn.”

Phee took his hand in hers, and Tech was startled by how much he enjoyed that her hand was smaller than his.

“Well, come on then,” she said, starting to drag him along, towards society as a whole new person. “You’re gonna have a lot of studying to do.”

Tech smiled, somehow, as he followed her, leaving just a little bit of that dark lab behind him.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #phee genoa #tech x phee #techphee #techphee fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars tbb #star wars tbb fanfiction #fanfiction #tech #writing #my writing

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neonscandal · 4 months

Note

This week is Sk8 3rd anniversary.... So for celebrating, can I ask a few things :

-Who are your fav character from this series? Why?

-What are your fav moments from this series? -What are your opinions on this fandom's famous ships : Reki/ Langa, Cherry/ Joe, Adam/ Tadashi?

Season 2 and an OVA are coming (eventually)! Which is more than we can say for other series' so I'm going to remain delusionally hopeful. I think it'd be nice if, instead of announcing long awaited continuations, new seasons dropped like Beyonce albums. Without warning and like an unexpected blessing. Just like this ask so thank you for reaching out!

FAVORITE CHARACTER

Sk8 has a wonderful band of idiots who I adore but Cherry is, by far, my favorite. Most specifically through the interactions he has with Joe because they are just so catty and mean to one another but you just know it belies an affection from their entrenched history together whether you consider them a ship them or not.

I love that Cherry had this rebellious era and continues to do so as a respectable adult while juggling such a disciplined craft and career. Like, that dichotomy is just 😘👌🏾. Goals, honestly. He maintains this split by ensuring that his S persona and his everyday persona remain mutually exclusive similar to how Adam conducts himself. Which, now that I'm thinking about it, might be kind of sad but he is, somewhat, of a man of contrasts.

Like, the way his talents splinter is so interesting. He is a founding member of S wherein he remains a threat, an established and respected calligrapher... plus, I feel like he customized Carla himself. What a nerd! Plus, Cherry is so gender. ✨

THOUGHTS ON SHIPS

Reki & Langa - idiot x idiot, I love it? But also, how silly to show someone something you love so intensely only for that love to envelope them so completely. Both in how they receive your hobby but also in how they just become a part of your life. Plus, Langa sees Reki's strengths that he takes for granted and its so necessary because they both think the sun shines out of each others' ass. Also, I see them as a reincarnation of AshEiji from Banana Fish.

Cherry & Joe - Yes. Was that not evident from above? Yes. They fight like an old (and sassy) married couple and then will have a moment of saccharine sweetness that's just... too much. There's also a hilarious sense of patience Joe must have to adapt to Cherry vs. Kaoru and its more evident because there's who the pair are when they are around others, regardless of who the others are, and then who they are when they're alone. Like, why put on the act, guys? Just kiss already.

Adam & Tadashi - As long as it's consensual, I guess, but I'm sure Tadashi could do better.

Oka & Shadow - Okay, but go with me here. Please thank the chokehold umikochannart had on keeping this ship sailing before they wiped their IG of all evidence.

Adding a few other artists guaranteed to give you the brainrot because I fell down a rabbit hole while looking for umikochann and fan artists deserve so much appreciation for covering the spread when we are awaiting new content so go follow them and join their patreons, buy them a kofi and bark on all their posts because we are not deserving of their labor: angrymorilas, bunbun.ji, @pochiikou and @ratcarney IG.

These artists are my gift to you. As a gift, that means that we should love and appreciate the people whose talents enable us to experience the characters we love even more and be thankful for, however long the stretch, the time that our favorite characters and ships were their muses. And to subsequently not be a prick when their muse changes.

⚠️ Spoiler warning for S1 of SK8 the Infinity anime.

FAVORITE MOMENTS

"Push me, Reki." - needs no explanation.

Reki defending Miya's honor - When you see Miya's backstory, his isolation is really sad and makes him vulnerable to Adam's predation but Reki punched well above his weight to defend Miya and it effectively brought the kid into the fold and I loved that. And that's on the power of friendship. ✨ Reki really subjugated everyone in that friend group and is not appreciated enough for it.

When everyone cockblocked Joe - Not every show needs a beach episode. This one does.

Sia La Luce after hours - the fact that Kaoru, after being bride carried by Joe, broke out of the hospital just to go running back to Joe is just so... beautifully chaotic and unexpected. Add a zest of Jonah Scott murmuring "We're not alone, right, Kaoru?" and I am undone.

When the might of Reki's rain wheels kicked in - Overcame insecurity by utilizing the gift he'd had all along? AGH. So perfect, so proud.

When Reki's laughter melts into that of young Adam's - only because that was really sweet

Not in the show but: sharing this series with my niece and nephew and them loving it just as much as I do. They're pretty young so the Venn Diagram of "Shows I Love" vs "Shows I Can Share With Them As A Discerning Adult" has a pretty narrow overlap. So imagine my surprise when my nephew randomly makes a SK8 joke or observation or when my niece drew fan art of Carla? We also sing and dance and laugh during the intro and outtro so I hope they remember the series affectionately when they're older.

#neon asks #anon asks #sk8 the infinity #matchablossom #renga #kaoru sakurayashiki #sakurayashiki kaoru #kojiro nanjo #nanjo kojiro #reki kyan #kyan reki #langa hasegawa #hasegawa langa #miya chinen #chinen miya #oka shokichi #shokichi oka #hiromi higa #higa hiromi

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

Naomi Novik's Scholomance trilogy: When Rousseau comes to Hobbeswarts

The Scholomance trilogy is Naomi Novik’s take on a “school for wizardry”:

It.

Is.

Superb.

Novik takes a belt-sander to all the crumbling tropes left by lesser writers to reveal fresh wood beneath, fashioning something breathtakingly new:

https://www.naominovik.com/category/scholomance/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/29/hobbeswarts/#the-chosen-one

Here’s the premise: the wizards of the world live in constant peril from malificaria — the magic monsters that prey on those born with magic, especially the children. In a state of nature, only one in ten wizard kids reaches adulthood.

So the wizarding world built the Scholomance, a fully automated magical secondary school that exists in the void — a dimension beyond our world. The Scholomance is also an extremely dangerous place — three quarters of the wizard children who attend will die before graduation — but it is much safer than life on the outside.

The Scholomance’s builders all hail from “enclaves” — magical palaces that have also been built in the void — and the enclave kids are the elites of the school, just as their parents are the elites of the world. Outside the scholomance, every “indie” wizard dreams of a place in an enclave, where they and their children might find a modicum of safety.

Inside the school, the indie kids suck up to the enclavers for four solid years, in the dim hope that they and their family might earn a place as second-class citizens to the enclaves. Indeed, the only reason the enclaves allow indie kids to attend the Scholomance is so that they will be servants for their own children, and cannon-fodder to stand between them and the monstrous hordes.

The Scholomance is a cross between Lord of the Flies and Harry Potter: an adult-free, highly lethal environment with no adults, where interactions between kids are strictly transactional. There is no love, nor honor — only the brutal logic of how much each person can bargain for from the others around them.

By the time I’d read the first couple chapters, I was thinking of it as Hobbeswarts, a place where life is “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Novik’s school for wizards is a place where the supernatural is very definitely “red of tooth and claw.”

Enter the protagonist, Galadriel “El” Higgins, whose mother is a legendary indie healer who raised her in a yurt in a Welsh forest commune after she graduated from the Scholomance already pregnant (El’s father died in the final graduation battle for their year, sacrificing himself to save his pregnant teen girlfriend and their child).

El isn’t just an indie, she’s a “loser kid”: one of those indies who is looked upon with contempt by the enclavers and unlikely to find a crew who will protect her through her years of schooling — let alone the lethal “graduation,” where seniors battle their way through a dense cloud of malificaria, who devour fully half of the kids who survive that far.

But El isn’t an outcast because she’s a weakling with nothing to offer to her social betters. Far from it: El is, if anything, too powerful — so powerful that when she casts even minor workings, they cause major damage. While other young wizards are given low-powered defensive spells by the Scholomance, El is handed apocalyptic superweapons that can raze whole nations.

El does her best to hide all this, but something shines through. She gives off the kind of “evil sorceress” vibes that make her a social pariah. That sinister aura, combined with her prickly character, quick to anger and slow to forgive, leaves her isolated through her first two years of school.

And then, as the story starts, El has a run-in with Orion Lake, the golden boy of the ultra-powerful New York City enclave. Orion is one of the school’s best fighters, and he alone among the student body seeks out malificaria to kill, leaping to the defense of weaker kids and demanding nothing in return.

After Orion defends her, repeatedly, from monsters she was prepared to deal with herself, she treats him to the kind of tongue-lashing that only an evil-sorceress-in-waiting who has spent years on the periphery, cordially loathing the popular kids, can dole out.

This is the meet-cute that begins El and Orion’s journey to graduation and beyond, as they perform a kind of social magic trick that has no supernatural component, inadvertently and haltingly bringing solidarity to the Scholomance, in a kind of Rousseauvian revolution that could transform the lives of the entire student body — and perhaps the whole wizarding world.

I first read Novik’s fiction last year, devouring her nine-volume Temeraire series, a retelling of the Napoleonic Wars in a world where dragons are real. The Temeraire books have it all: swashbuckling hand-to-hand combat; grand, sweeping battles; a huge cast of beautifully realized characters; a brilliantly wrought geopolitics, and a through-line that is fantastically tight, plotted to a fare-thee-well:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/08/temeraire/#but-i-am-napoleon

I had neglected the Temeraire books because I am generally not a fan of historical fiction, nor high fantasy, nor military stories, but Novik found depths in all three of these forms that I had never imagined, innovating fresh angles that transformed me into a true believer.

The Scholomance series performs the same trick. Novik’s handling of the geopolitics and class warfare of the wizarding world — revealed through the subsequent two volumes as she progressively widens the tale’s aperture — make JK Rowling’s attempts look like they were scrawled in crayon. By a toddler.

This is true all the way down to the micro-level: Novik’s thrilling innovations in high-stakes combat-school battle-tactics make Ender Wiggins look like a piker (and also makes me wonder if there’s some intentional wordplay in the rhyming surnames).

And when it comes to complicating the “chosen one” trope, Novik leaves Rowling and Card so far behind in her dust, they basically disappear.

As for the cosmic horror of the void and the monsters that it spawns, Novik out-Lovecrafts Lovecraft, in a manner to rival such great post-Lovecraftian subverters as NK Jemisin:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/09/the-old-crow-is-getting-slow/#i-love-ny

Novik is part of a longstanding and brilliant tendency in genre that refuses to cede all the best, most engrossing tropes to racist pigs like Lovecraft, warmongers like Card, and bigots like Rowling. She wrestles these ideas out of their hands and works them, revealing the poverty of those reactionary writers’ shriveled imaginations.

I read the Scholomance books as audiobooks, listening to Anisha Dadia’s superb narration as I did my physiotherapy laps in the pool each day:

https://libro.fm/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&q=scholomance+novik

I was delighted to discover DRM-free editions on Libro.fm that would play on my cheapo underwater MP3 player:

https://sewobye.com/products/waterproof-mp3-player-for-swimming-underwater-sport-waterproof-headphones-clip-mp3-player-sewobye-8gb-shuffle

When I finished the final book yesterday, I literally gasped aloud. As with the Temeraire series, Novik’s intricate plotting manages to sprout from a small personal tale to a world-shaking planetary-scale upheaval, and nails the landing in a way that is nothing less than dazzling.

What!

Writer!

Have you ever wanted to say thank you for these posts? Here’s how you can do that: I’m kickstarting the audiobook for my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon’s Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they’re DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

[Image ID: The covers of Naomi Novik's Scholomance trilogy in sequence from left to right: The Last Graduate, A Deadly Education and The Golden Enclaves. Each has a kind of brushed-gold effect frame around a solid rectangle on which is a woodcut-style figure (in order: a keyhole, a book, and a portal with an eye showing through it. The rectangles are, in order, forest green, black, and brushed gold.]

#pluralistic #audiobooks #worldbuilding #geopolitics #class war #the chosen one #cosmic horror #tropes #school for wizardry #naomi novik #fantasy

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siriannatan · 6 months

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Left at the Altar - ScottfWhip

This is what happens when I watch too many videos about crazy wedding stories.

Shout out to that one lady who carried on with her wedding party even if her fiancee ran away.

Scott had no idea what to do. He stood on the stairs to the chapel. Just informed by one of his fiancee's... ex-fiancee's groomsmen he was stood up. On his wedding day. What was he supposed to do? Go in and tell everyone 'Sorry, Jimmy liked his best man better...' That'd just make it all feel even more sad.

"You okay?" Scott jumped to his feet turning to see another of Jimmy's groomsmen. Old friend, fWhip if he remembered the introduction. He was becoming painfully aware of how little he knew about Jimmy and his friends. Butt fWhip was cute and seemed genuinely upset with Jimmy and worried.

"I'm holding it together but I feel that if I have to come in and tell everyone I'll fall apart," Scott confessed, messing his hair. He held back so far but Jimmy was already twenty minutes 'late'. It was a shock no one left yet.

"You got somewhere to hide? I can say it or... You can just leave, Jim's the jerk here," fWhip offered with a shrug. "Not the first time he ditched someone, but... he never escaped a wedding before... Just go home if you can't stand staying, I certainly won't blame you."

"Jimmy took our ride... ugh... What a mess..." Scott grumbled, thinking about possible hiding spots.

"I... It's dumb... I could give you a ride. Quickly text my brother so he can explain it, he owes me a big favour... It's dumb," fWhip mumbled as the murmurs from inside got louder as everyone wondered what was going on.

"Offering to help me escape my own wedding? Sure, why not," Scott shrugged. He might as well let the day go completely crazy.

fWhip nodded and ran off for his ride. He was soon back with... a freaking motorbike. "I only have one helmet," he gave Scott an apologetic smile as he offered the one helmet to him. "We should hurry. I just texted Sausage that you approve guests knowing," he added and helped Scott with the helmet. He was never on a motorbike.

But now he was on one. Desperately clinging to fWhip. Only realising they're both in damn suits. He had a hard morning, okay. Very form-fitting suit. And fWhip looked unfairly nice in his. Full black nicely contrasting his pale complexion and copper-ginger hair.

fWhip didn't take him directly home. First they went for fried chicken sandwiches. "I know how weddings work, I was my sister's best man. You must be hungry," fWhip explained at the parking lot. "And people might go to your place to look for you," he added as Scott slowly realised that fWhip took him to a spot farthest from the wedding venue.

Scott just nodded and let fWhip handle the breakfast and everything. Himself just sitting down. For the first time looking at his phone. Nothing from Jimmy. Some worried texts from family. 'Too tired, couldn't handle it, will deal with everything tomorrow,' he responded to a few most important people before turning his phone off.

"Got our order," fWhip smiled awkwardly, taking a seat opposite of Scott. "I'm really sorry about Jim... he's..."

"Jimmy? I felt something was off since morning. He wasn't answering my texts," Scott sighed staring daggers at his phone as if it could dare to come back to life on its own. "You said it's not the first time he did something like this?"

"Prom. Totally ditched me. Apologized profusely a few days later but I would not let us be more than just friends... I really didn't think he'd do it on his wedding day," fWhip confessed, staring at the order number screen. "I only met Tango at his bachelor party, it didn't seem like they were that close..."

Scott sighed. He was about to say something but their order was called. As they ate Scott swapped the subject to try to get to know fWhip. He was, kind of, his knight in shining armour. Or on a shining Harley, at least.

And what a knight he turned out to be. It only took Scott three days to settle all remnants of the wedding with fWhip's help. As it turns out he's a lawyer. And this wasn't the first wedding he had to help 'clean up'.

Three years later, Scott got proposed to again. By a handsome lawyer with a Harley motorbike, a cute smile, and tattoos.

#my stuff #my stories #fanfiction #empires smp #empiresshipping #empires fwhip #empires scott #scfwhip

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helix-studios117 · 13 days

Text

Halo Reloaded: Dusty

Based on this prompt.

Corporal John "Dusty" Matthews was having what you might call a 'bad day.' One minute, he was on a routine sweep in a supposedly abandoned sector, and the next, he found himself accidentally teleported onto a Sangheili battle-corvette. As far as Dusty was concerned, being aboard an alien ship without so much as a "by your leave" was less than ideal. He wasn't an explorer or a diplomat; he was a marine, better at shooting things than discussing intergalactic relations.

As he tiptoed down a corridor that looked more like an art gallery (if art galleries were designed by giant, war-loving aliens), he hoped his standard-issue boots didn’t squeak too loudly on the sleek metal floor.

Then she appeared. The door at the end of the hall slid open, and out stepped not the hulking warrior he expected but a Sangheili who could only be described as regally striking—tall, with the poise of a dancer and the kind of natural command that made Dusty straighten up without thinking. Her armor was less 'battle-ready' and more 'ceremonial chic,' inlaid with stones that sparkled even in the dim light.

"Is this translator working? Okay, listen," she said, her voice firm but surprisingly melodic. It was the kind of voice that made you want to agree first and ask questions later.

Dusty looked around, half-expecting cameras to reveal this was some bizarre reality show. Finding none, he focused back on her as she continued. "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend so that my parents can get off my back."

"I’m sorry, what now?" Dusty blurted, his response a mix of confusion and disbelief.

The Sangheili princess sighed, her mandibles flaring slightly in what Dusty guessed was frustration. "It's quite simple. You, a dashing human marine, are my boyfriend. We met during negotiations, fell in love despite our differences, and now you are here to meet my parents. They won’t pressure me into any advantageous but loveless unions if they think I am already committed."

Dusty processed this, his mind racing. "You want me to... help you trick your parents? With all due respect, ma'am, I'm just a marine, not an actor."

Dusty scratched his head. "Just a quick question—why me? And what makes you think I won't just turn tail and run?"She stepped closer, and he instinctively took a step back.

"Perfect!" she clapped her hands together, causing Dusty to jump. "A marine is straightforward, honest. That’s exactly what we need. Less acting, more being yourself. Can you do that?"

"...Sure. But if we're going to do this," he said, adopting a more serious tone, "I need to know your name. Can’t be lovebirds if I don’t know who you are."

"Thelara," she answered quickly, extending a hand, which he shook, noting again the surprising gentleness in her strong grip.

"And how exactly do we sell this fairytale romance?" Dusty asked, trying to ignore the absurdity of his situation.

"Just follow my lead, compliment me often, and look like you're enjoying yourself," Thelara instructed, already walking back towards the way she came, expecting him to follow.

"Compliment you on what, exactly? Your... shining personality?" Dusty quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"That’s a start. Oh, and try to look smitten, will you? Like you can't believe your luck," she added over her shoulder.

Dusty attempted a smitten look, which felt more like a grimace. Thelara glanced back and chuckled. "We might need to work on that."

As they approached what Dusty assumed were the royal quarters, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement bubbling up alongside his apprehension.

Playing the part of a lovesick human in an alien court wasn’t exactly covered in basic training, but then again, neither was accidentally teleporting onto an alien flagship.

"Stick close and let’s not screw this up, okay, Dusty?" Thelara whispered, as they paused before a grand door.

"Lead the way, Princess," Dusty replied, mustering a confidence he didn't feel. He figured if he was going to pretend to be in love, he might as well enjoy the performance. After all, how often does one get to romance an alien princess?

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #helix studios117 #halo reloaded #ultimate halo #writing prompt

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angeloddity · 2 years

Text

Anything that Touches

steve harrington x fem!reader

A heatwave in Hawkins leaves everyone scrambling to stay cool, desperate for any relief from the high temperatures and humidity. You take the opportunity to get some ice cream at the mall. The fact that your crush works at Scoops Ahoy is just an added benefit.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 4,200

a/n: It’s been so hot everywhere and I think we would all enjoy the heat more if we were getting through it with Steve Harrington.

Melt verb.

To make or become liquified by heat.

To make or become more tender or loving.

You were unaware of the heat outside when you woke up in the morning. Your bedroom was shaded by the tall trees in the yard, only the barest hints of dappled light allowed to pass through the window. A box fan placed on a chair circulated air across your shoulders like a gentle breeze, its steady hum constantly called you back to the brink of sleep—pure bliss. It took a while for you to finally move.

When you eventually did convince yourself to get out of bed, you glanced briefly out your window to the world beyond, trying to discern how the day might go. Everything was still, only the barest hint of movement flitted through the leaves. The sun was shining, seeming almost brighter than usual, and sparse, fluffy white clouds drifted at a lazy pace through a sea of the brightest blue. From the comfort of your home, it looked like a beautiful day—the kind of day that cradles you in its soft heat, holds you close, lets you know that everything will be okay. The perfect day for a summer treat, something cool and sweet.

Maybe if you had bothered to check the weather, to even glance at the local news just once before you decided to leave your home, you would have chosen to remain in the safe confines of your cool house. Maybe the nonexistent rumble of lawnmowers in your neighbors' yards should have been warning enough. The view outside your window of cotton candy clouds and mellow sunlight is not enough to know if a day in the Midwest will truly be beautiful, after all these years you should know better.

The blast of heat that struck you as soon as you opened the door was enough to make you question if you had somehow been transported to some new world. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Somehow during the night Hell had bubbled up between the cracks in the pavement, seeping into the air of Hawkins, thick enough to choke. It warped the asphalt in the street, mirages of puddles at the edge of your sightline, spreading upwards in waves around you, distorting your vision of the cars parked along the curb. The humidity hung in the air like a second layer of clothes, thick enough to buoy you like one of El’s sensory deprivation tanks.

It wouldn’t surprise you if the soles of your shoes half melted somewhere between the walk to your car or the walk across the asphalt of the crowded mall parking lot. It should have been easy to guess that the mall would be more busy than usual.

Now, standing in the concourse of the mall, surrounded by crowds traveling in from all over Roane County, you’re starting to wonder if the better choice might have been to just buy ice cream from the grocery store. You doubt the store would have been very busy, nothing like the mall. It would have been closer to home, a short trip with the same reward. Well, not quite the same reward.

Steve Harrington doesn’t work at the grocery store.

You’ve known of Steve for as long as you can remember. You’ve known the sound of his laugh, the pull of his smile, the stupid jokes he would make instead of paying attention to what the teacher was saying. Steve has always been there, on the periphery of your existence, but you doubt he ever even knew your name, not before Will vanished.

Too shy, too weird, not pretty enough. Why would the King of Hawkins High ever notice someone like that? Someone who prefers listening to the song of cicadas and crickets from an open window than Madonna blasting at a house party. No, King Steve never would have noticed you when he was at Hawkins High.

But now? Smile softening his features; stance relaxed; and stupid, silly, adorable sailor uniform adorning his body—now Steve knows you.

He calls out to you as soon as you enter Scoops Ahoy, eyes igniting with something warm enough to churn your stomach, to start the buzzing in your head and the tremors in your hands, fingers aching for him to grasp them with his own, to hold them like an anchor.

“Hi Steve,” you reply, waiting until you’re close enough to the counter to speak normally instead of shouting like he had. “Seems like a busy day at the mall.”

“Oh, definitely. Everyone is trying to escape the heat. I’m just glad I’m not working at the pool this summer.” Steve passes a scoop of ice cream to a child, drops of bright blue already melting from the scoop and down the cone onto the kid’s hand. Steve turns to you, giving you his full attention. “What can I get you today?”

It takes a moment for you to decide from the many flavors available. Long enough for someone to step in line behind you, the person seeming to grow agitated immediately upon realizing that you don’t know what you want. But Steve doesn’t rush you, just chatters idly, scooping your chosen flavor when you finally do make a decision. You get it on a cone, ice cream already starting to melt. Steve’s fingers brush yours during the handoff, a small thing, enough to send a dusting of rosy pink across his cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with the ice cream, anything to keep you from staring, to notice. You lick the runaway drips before they can reach your hand.

Steve trains his eyes on you, a steady brown gaze holding you in place—intense. The very heat you had been trying to escape floods your own cheeks, warms your chest, your ears, everything.

“Thanks Steve!” You smile at him, the sweetest thing he’s ever seen, and for just a moment he’s left stuttering.

“No problem.” He moves to run a hand through his hair, a habit of his that only gets worse when he’s nervous, only to be blocked by the hat atop his head. He bumps it, causing it to shift, the AHOY now reading at an odd angle.

You only Look back once as you leave Scoops Ahoy, just to see Steve one last time. You expect him to be focusing fully on work again, the line having built up a little behind you as the two of you chatted. He’s getting the order ready for the next person, but he’s looking at you too.

You wave, a small thing—barely a lift of your arm, a stretch of fingers. It’s an awkward motion. You’re surprised that Steve even sees it. You’re half embarrassed to be caught longing when you’d only just parted ways. But he smiles brightly back at you, nearly dropping his ice cream scooper as he does. He tries to play it off with a heavy exhale—a full body breath—and another smile. Your heart shouldn’t be fluttering as much as it is.

—♡—

“You are a dingus with a capital D.”

Steve startles, turning quickly and brandishing the ice cream scooper like it might actually do some damage if he were suddenly attacked. Robin's head pokes out from the “Captains Quarters,” the clouded pane of glass slid to the side just enough for her to watch Steve in the midst of yet another trainwreck. This time the disaster left a line of disgruntled customers in its wake—customers that Robin just might have helped with if she were a more sympathetic person, but she’s technically on break and not inclined to clean up yet another of Steve’s romantic messes.

Unlike most of Steve’s attempts to ask a girl out, where he strikes out big time no matter how much charm he claims to possess, this disaster was caused by his continued inaction.

“What was I supposed to do, Robin? Just put her on the spot? And somewhere so public? She would hate that,” Steve justifies. He brings a hand to his face, rubbing as if he could wipe away his frustrations.

Most of the time when Steve asks someone out he doesn’t expect anything to come of it. Maybe a few dates, a distraction, at the very least proof that he hasn’t become a total loser. But he knows you, knows your little quirks, the things that make you laugh, make you nervous, make you you.

The two of you have been friends since Nancy Wheeler opened Steve’s eyes to the reality of the world (or worlds) around him. And he’s been harboring a crush on you since you both went to the Wheeler’s New Year’s Eve party. At midnight you had kissed Steve on the cheek, just a short peck, and he’s been a goner ever since.

It’s a giddy, ridiculously tender crush that sets his face aflame each time he even thinks of you, one that leaves him daydreaming about a future with you that he’s not sure he’s allowed to have. He’s been desperate to either get over his feelings or work up the nerve to ask you out, but has ultimately been failing miserably at both.

“You two hang out, don’t you? Just bring it up the next time you’re together. Or don’t, but I’ll definitely judge you if you don’t.”

“Robin—“ Steve begins to protest, but another customer comes up to the counter, forcing the conversation to be put on pause. He deals with the customer as quickly and as cordially as he can, more interested in the woes of his failed dating life than the man ordering an ice cream sundae. The customer takes forever to decide on his toppings, and Steve rushes to get the dessert together. One handoff of cash and a cup later and the transaction is complete. As soon as the customer is gone, Steve turns back to his coworker. “Robin, it will happen when it happens. These things take precision, you can’t rush them.”

“You’ve liked her for what, half a year now? Or at least longer than we’ve been working together. It’s clear as day that the feelings are mutual. My advice: make a move before she moves on.”

Steve huffs out a sigh, exasperated. He goes to run his fingers through his hair, once again being stopped by the stupid hat. This time he tosses the offending article of clothing on the counter, too frustrated to care about company policy.

“You could at least come out here and help,” Steve argues, lips downturned, crease forming between his eyebrows as his irritation grows.

Robin simply shuts the window. She is, after all, still on break.

—♡—

Two days later the heat still hasn’t broken. The sun roasts everything it touches and brownouts occur sporadically across town. Everything outside is melting. Lawns are turning brown despite routine watering, people are grumpy, and the humidity seems to be increasing. Two days later, Steve is, for the first time ever, grateful to be working at Scoops Ahoy, if only for the constant blast of air conditioning filtering through the ice cream shop.

Apart from the continued heat wave, the day is uneventful. Steve serves ice cream, goofs off with Robin, and lets the group of children that he seems to have taken under his wing (despite their lack of appreciation for him) sneak into the movie theater through the back door. Just a regular, boring, but air conditioned day.

The mall is busy again, though not as crowded as it had been the last time you came. People seem to have given up on leaving their homes for any reason other than to go to work. They avoid spending any time outside even if going outside means reaching a cooler destination. You, however, decide the reward of ice cream is worth the journey to the mall.

The possibility of seeing Steve again definitely helps sweeten the deal.

He doesn’t expect you to come back so soon. He’s on break when you arrive, tucked away in the back room doing his best to drown out the sound of customers placing their orders. The sliding glass windows only do so much to provide a sense of privacy, the textured glass warped just enough that Steve can’t see who’s in the store.

It’s a short break, just long enough for him to decompress, to not think about ice cream flavors and annoyed customers for only a moment. It’s an opportunity for him to breathe.

There’s a knock at the window, Robin’s form blurred by the glass but close enough to distinguish who distrubed the brief peace. The blue of her uniform is the detail that stands out strongest through the window, even as she backs away from the pane once more, returning to the counter.

Steve contemplates the decision to just not acknowledge the knock. It would be a small form of payback for Robin’s choice not to help him a few days before, but it doesn’t take long for curiosity to get the better of him. Steve gets up, slides the window open with more force than he really should use on the rickety track.

“What now Robin?” he nearly snaps.

It only takes a second for his gaze to lock on you, with your shining eyes and kind smile. You’re wearing a shirt with sunflowers on it. The pattern is fitting for the season.

Pretty.

Steve quickly shuts the window again, hustling to leave the break room and talk to you, shoving Robin out of the way in the process. She hasn’t taken your order yet and Steve’s not about to let her.

“Hey Sweetheart, what can I get for you?” The pet name slips out before he can stop it. You don’t seem to mind.

You greet him with a smile and a quiet “hello,” sending his heart racing and cheeks warming beyond the point that air conditioning can mask. By the time Steve finally feels in control of himself again, he’s already scooped your ice cream and is passing it off to you. Secretly he hopes your fingers will brush again. It’s such a small thing to want so desperately. He’d feel foolish if anyone knew, but it doesn’t happen this time.

“It’s on the house,” Steve says. He keeps his voice low, not wanting anyone else around to hear. “Since you’re my favorite customer.”

It’s just a small gesture, technically he isn’t supposed to do it, but the risk is worth seeing the look on your face.

“Steve, you’re the best!” You lean across the counter, free hand placed firmly to keep you from toppling over, and press a kiss to Steve’s cheek, just like you had at that New Year’s Eve party. It’s brief, soft yet firm, enough to short circuit his brain.

“It’s no problem,” he somehow manages to say.

He wants to tell you that you’re his favorite, you're his best girl, that he’ll give you whatever you desire, but the words catch in his throat, sharp like a pill swallowed dry, unmoving. He wants to ask you to be more than friends, even more now that he thinks maybe you feel the same. Why else would you have kissed him? He hopes you feel the same. Instead he’s choking, nothing coming out, not even to breathe. It takes a moment for the thoughts to form into something tangible, something that just might make sense.

You’re gone before he can finally get the words off his tongue, lost in the crowd, out of sight.

He let you go again.

—♡—

For the first time in a long time, luck is on Steve’s side. Or maybe it’s not luck, maybe the universe just grew tired of him dragging his feet.

It’s as he’s driving home from work, only a few hours later, that he sees you again. You’re lying in the grass under a tree, the shade engulfing where you lay while the rest of the grass burns bright under the evening sun. He recognizes your shirt, the one with the sunflowers on it. There's a plastic bag lying next to you, one you hadn’t had when you visited Scoops Ahoy just a few hours prior. It boasts the familiar label of the local grocery store, the contents scarcely staying inside.

He stops the car, nearly forgetting to take the keys with him as he runs to your side, afraid that something terrible happened. He calls out as he rushes to you, hoping for a response. As he drops to your side he’s happy to see you’re conscious.

“Hi Steve,” you greet, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, a content look on your face, like everything is right in the world, like seeing him makes it right.

“What are you doing? Are you alright?” He panics, hands gently running along any skin he can find, searching for an injury that isn’t there.

“I was walking home from the store and I got too hot. Have you seen the dogs in town? They’re all hot too. They keep lying down in the grass instead of going for their walks, and they seem much happier when they do. I thought I would give it a try.”

“Is it working?” Steve asks, relief palpable in his voice. You aren’t injured, just taking a break.

“A little,” you reply. “The grass is cool and the breeze feels nice, but it’s still too hot.”

You huff a little, slightly annoyed that your plan didn’t work as well as you had hoped. You still need to walk the rest of the way home before you can cool off properly. You wish you had a damp washcloth, something to lay across your neck or your face. You think the cool water against your skin would bring just enough relief to make the heat bearable.

You just wanted to buy some fruit from the store. You had a little money to spare, thanks to Steve, and thought some fruit in the evening would be nice. Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen to walk in the middle of a heat wave.

“Let me give you a ride,” Steve says, though it comes out as more of a demand than a choice. It’s too hot to be exposed to the heat for so long.

“But Steve, my house is out of your way,” you claim.

“Doesn’t matter,” he states. “That just means I get to spend more time with you.”

You give him that smile again, that lazy pull of lips, like you can’t help yourself. It's a small thing, he loves it. He doesn’t love that you make no attempt to stand, or even sit up. You just keep smiling at him.

“We should get going.” His voice is a sigh, more air than sound, breathless.

It’s only then, once you’ve been prompted by Steve, that you finally sit up. You’re closer to him than he thought you were, his knees practically pressing into your hip, face a mere foot from his own.

Grass sticks to your arms and he reaches out to brush it off, the brief contact making his skin buzz.

He can’t help himself.

Steve brings his fingers to your cheek, only the barest pressure. You melt into him, somehow softening even more from the slight contact. His fingers trail up, around your ear, back down to your neck where he holds you with his whole hand—not enough pressure to keep you there. You lean into the weight of his palm, content with the contact despite the heat.

He leans in slowly, entranced, and still you remain with eyes half lidded. He presses his forehead to yours first, another chance for you to pull away, to push him off if you want. But you just tilt your head slightly, a better angle for when he finally does kiss you, and that’s exactly what he does.

It’s gentle, as lazy as your smile, a slow melding of lips—sweet as a sundae. The kiss doesn’t last long, it’s still too hot outside, but it’s perfect in its brevity.

Steve presses a few more kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your temple, all for good measure, and you melt further into him, pliant beneath his touch.

“Come on,” he sighs. “I’m serious this time, let’s get out of the heat.”

“You’re the one who got us sidetracked!” Your voice is laced with giggles, too giddy not to show it.

“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty,” Steve claims, grinning as he does.

The two of you hop into his car, sighing in relief as the air conditioning kicks in. You keep your bag of fruit by your feet as Steve drives, leaving your hands free, and Steve takes the opportunity to reach across the center console to take your hand in his.

—♡—

It’s cool in your home. The sun casts nothing more than a glow through the windows, a quiet light. The ceiling fan in the living room is enough to keep the heat outside at bay. If you keep the lights off you can trick yourself into thinking it’s even cooler than it really is.

The house is quiet, no one else is home.

Steve follows you in at your invitation, trailing behind you, wide eyed, moonstruck, content. He keeps your hand in his, fingers tangled together, as the two of you pass through the living room to the kitchen. Steve sets the grocery bag of fruit on the counter, having insisted on carrying it while you walked from his car.

“That way you can have a hand free to get the door,” he declared while you walked up to the house. He said it with a grin, boyish and proud. He said it like he’s getting exactly what he wants.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you ask, looking through your refrigerator to see what you can offer him. The task is made more difficult with only one hand to work with, but you don’t really mind. Steve seems indifferent about the drink, so you grab two glasses for iced tea, just in case he changes his mind.

He only lets go of you when you need both hands free to pour the drinks. You bring your glass up to your cheek, pressing it into the soft skin there, hoping to steal some of the chill. It leaves a wet spot behind on your skin that Steve brushes away absentmindedly.

You take the opportunity of having both hands free to set the fruit in a bowl on the counter to let it finish ripening, then you hop up on the counter yourself. Steve comes to stand before you, pressed between your thighs, dark eyes taking you in.

It’s your turn to explore.

You bring your hand up to his cheek, outlining the bone, his brow, the length of his nose. His eyes close for just a moment longer the next time he blinks—adoring. And you think, maybe he’s wanted this as long as you have.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. He brings your palm to his lips, presses a kiss there before continuing. “On a date. We can do something quiet, just the two of us, go on an adventure.”

“I’d like that,” you say, leaning in close.

The second kiss starts out just as slow as the first, having no need to rush. This time, however, there’s no concern or fear that the feelings are one sided. There’s no need to hold back. He’s soft against you, holding you ever closer. Steve bites your lip gently, pulling just a little, and you open for him. Your hand finds its way to his hair, tugging at the already messy strands and he sighs into the kiss.

You want to hear that sound again.

Your hands keep wandering as his find their way to your waist, the back of your neck, anywhere that allows him to pull you further into him. Maybe you’ve both wanted this for too long. You’re unable to pull away now that you know you can kiss him, could have done so at any time and he would have kissed you back like this—hungry and desperate.

He leaves a trail of kisses across your jaw, down your neck, and you can’t help but sigh, still breathless but not wanting him to stop. They’re open mouthed but gentle, a light press of teeth followed by kiss swollen lips, the pressure not enough to bruise but enough to drive you crazy. You almost wish he’d mark up the column of your throat, but the heatwave has shown no sign of stopping and you can’t cover marks in this weather.

Instead you guide Steve back to your lips and kiss him a few more times for good measure.

It’s a while before you pull back, take a breath, settle. A lazy smile pulls at your lips. Steve’s own smile matches yours, eyes half lidded, warm with affection. He’s never looked so beautiful.

The tender way he holds you leaves you dizzy, sticky with fondness. You don’t know how you’ll ever be able to let go of him, too desperate to keep him close. He shows no sign of wanting to pull away either, too content to move. How did you get so lucky?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things steve #season 3 steve makes me so soft I can't stop writing about him #he looks like a cartoon character i'm obsessed

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concussed-to-pieces · 1 year

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Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Pairing: (Eventual) Pro Hero!Mirio/AFAB Villain!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: As an individual with a pretty unimpressive Quirk, it hadn't taken long for you to stray from the straight and narrow. Until, of course, a certain pro hero from your past turned up on your doorstep…

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our first installment! I will never get over the Hassaikai arc. If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know 💚 Enjoy!

Tag List: @hijackser @nonstop-haikyuu @zombiexbody @buttons-beads-lace @swift-omg-no @ectoplasmictoast @tartimaar-bloggeth @plaguedoctorsnake

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore, emotional duress, mentions of death and financial hardship. Stay safe!]

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes, then checked again.

Nope, still there.

You shot backwards with a stifled swear, raising your hands in a defensive stance. "How the hell did you find me?" You snarled, noting as you did that you were probably not in as much trouble as you had originally thought.

The shining paragon of heroism currently slumped in the hallway of your apartment complex…well, he had definitely seen better days. His normally-pristine white suit was stained and torn in multiple places, and even as you watched a few more polycarbonate pieces clattered from what was left of his yellow visor. He finally raised his head to look at you and you were stunned to see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Despite that, Lemillion still mustered up a smile for you. "Hey, I uh…I need a favor. Didn't know where else to go."

Flabbergasted, you did the only thing you could think of, which was shutting the door in his face. You began the process of locking it all over again, your hands trembling as you did. "What the fuck," you hissed, resting your forehead on the worn wood. Before you could turn the last lock, however, you found yourself hesitating.

Didn't know where else to go. He had looked like he was in a real bad way. Clearly he was desperate, if he had made his way to your previously-unknown address. You heaved a massive sigh of frustration, then jerked back the latch bolts and yanked the door open once more.

"Oh, you're back! That's great. Sorry to be a bother." Lemillion sounded like he was torn between laughing and crying, as if he couldn't even believe what was going on. When you seized his arm his breath hitched and you realized belatedly that it was blood his suit was stained with. The lighting out in the hall had always been pretty poor; you could be forgiven for missing a few details.

"Get in here before someone sees you." You muttered, relaxing your hold to something a bit more delicate. Granted, you knew damn well that he could phase free of any grip you might have had on him, but this was a show of trust on his part so you grudgingly relented. He leaned heavily on you while limping through the doorway, his left hand holding the tattered remains of his suit closed at the hip on his right side. "Sit on the bed, I have a lot of junk on my chairs so that's kind of it."

"I'm sorry about all of this, I-I just–" Lemillion tried to start up again so you gestured curtly in his direction before beginning to secure the door.

"Be quiet," you growled, slamming home that final satisfying latch. "I don't know what happened, and I don't care. Is all of this something that can be handled here or do you need to get to a med center?"

"I…" Lemillion paused, then admitted, "I'm not…really sure." He glanced up at you through what was left of his visor, smiling again after a second. "Glad I made the right choice, though."

"Did you, Golden Boy? Because all I have to do is send one simple text and it's over for you." You retorted sharply, reeling internally from how blasé he was being about this whole affair. "We chalking this incredible trust up to a head injury?"

He laughed and then grimaced, a few tears making their way down his face. "You…might be on to something," he groaned, finally peeling his hand away from his side.

You felt your stomach lurch at the sight of the mangled skin on his torso and you shuddered, fighting back the urge to get queasy. "Shit, Lemillion, what the fuck." You snapped, "you compromise my location-"

"I didn't know where else to go!" The young man cried. Those same words he had said in the hall, laden with fresh desperation, but you weren't having it.

You fired back, still trying to keep your voice low, "literally anywhere but here, Golden Boy! What the fuck do you mean?!"

"It was the Hassaikai, I--I got shot with something," Lemillion babbled, his voice cracking, "some kind of Quirk remover, w-we knew they were developing it but we didn't think they'd advanced to the point where it was functional and now I…so my Q-Quirk is…" He broke down into tears, burying his face in his hands.

"Holy shit." You said weakly. "Man, I…look I know we aren't on the greatest terms, but I'm sorry."

"Nighteye is dead because of me." Lemillion sobbed, "I wasn't able to…I saved Eri but I couldn't–"

Fuck. "They got Nighteye?" The young man simply nodded in reply, clearly too distraught to answer verbally. You swore again under your breath, eyes darting to the door nervously. If the Hassaikai were serious enough to take out an experienced pro like Nighteye, it would be small potatoes for them to end you and the wounded Mirio. "Okay, okay. It's okay. It's alright. Is there someone you can call or-"

"I can't go back! I can't--Nighteye–" the hero choked out hysterically, coughing and then gripping his wounded side. "Please, I–"

"Shh." You hushed him curtly, holding up a hand. "Shush. Cry, do what you have to, but you need to keep it down. I…I'll see if I can get a house call."

Lemillion reached out, stained fingers grasping at the hem of your shirt. "Help me." He begged, tears continuing to spill down his face.

Shaken, you replied, "Hey, I'm gonna', okay? I just don't want my neighbors to get suspicious."

His face fell and the grip on your shirt tightened while he appeared to stare at the floor. "Thank you." He finally said thickly, releasing you. "I didn't know…I've never had to–" His words trailed off, head lolling to the side. It was quickly followed by his entire body, the young man appearing to lose consciousness. You rushed forward, catching his shoulders and managing to ease him flat on the bed.

There was blood smeared on your blankets. You puffed out a breath, thoroughly wary and more than a bit confused. Then, you fished your phone out of your pocket and scrolled through your contacts.

"Hey Jund, I need a favor…"

…

The aforementioned Jund was a dark-haired, solidly-built man with a propensity for smoking indoors. He showed up as you were still in the process of scrubbing away the traces of blood in the hallway, having the audacity to raise an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, it's bad." You answered the unspoken query softly, opening your door and ushering him into your apartment. "Ah ah, put out the butt. No cigs in my hovel." You chided, waiting until he grudgingly stubbed out the cigarette in the proffered ashtray before you continued, "so like I said, I'm not a hundred percent sure what happened. He passed out on me, but-"

Lemillion abruptly lunged through the doorway of your bedroom, the young man nearly falling flat before he grappled the frame until his knuckles whitened. "Get away from them!" He yelled, taking a wild swing at Jund.

The large man caught his arm, giving him a withering look. "You're just going to hurt yourself more, idiot." He gruffed out. "I ain't here to do anything but help. Don't get your panties in a twist."

You, for your part, put your face in your hands. Your embarrassment was all-consuming. "Can you tell we dated in high school?" You mumbled through your fingers to Jund, who snickered.

"Dating Lemillion? I didn't peg you for the goodie-two-shoes type." The older man said with a sidelong grin.

"I was young," you stressed the word. "Neither of us were exactly established in our career paths back then, either."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet." Jund teased, forcibly walking Lemillion backwards into your bedroom. "Now listen squirt, because I'm only gonna' say this once," he growled at the hero who was continuing to struggle against his hold. "I'm gonna' help and it's gonna' suck. You come at me again and I'm leaving. Got it?" Jund then tipped his head towards you. "Look, they called me here. They trust me. I'm not on anyone's side here, and I'm not gonna' rat anyone out. Consider me a…temporary ally."

Lemillion thrashed again and then went limp, glaring at Jund while clutching his side. "Fine." He panted eventually. If looks could kill, Jund would have been six feet under.

"Wonderful. Now shut up and let me work." Jund beckoned you closer, tapping your arm. "Roll up the sleeves and I'll get started."

…

Mirio wasn't sure how he was still conscious. His eyes kept sliding closed and he forced them back open, uncertain of where he was. Was he on the street? In the stairwell? No, no, he was sitting down on a bed.

You had let him in?

You had let him in.

Relief made his shoulders droop. He was safe then, at least for now.

Pain shot through his core and he jerked upright, eyes flying open once more. You were there though, hands on his shoulders to steady him even as he writhed. "Easy, easy." You breathed, shooting a look to the side. "Almost done, Jund?"

"There's still a shell in his shoulder." That man grunted and Mirio felt something grate against bone, the hero arching his back in an unintentional effort to escape the agonizing sensation.

His breath hitched, then seethed between his gritted teeth. Mirio fought the urge to continue thrashing, his entire being screaming to get away from the source of the pain.

You gripped tight on his shoulders, that mild discomfort helping to ground him ever so slightly. "It's okay," you murmured, your voice oddly quiet. "Almost there." Mirio sobbed out an exhale, his fingers clawing for purchase on the blanket beneath him. You shifted then, scooping his hands up and holding them tightly to your chest so he couldn't move. "Almost there." You repeated firmly.

"Done." Jund said abruptly, the tall man making his reappearance. His hands were stained with an odd purple hue, the color nearly turning Mirio's already empty stomach inside-out. To say nothing of the bullet he held pinched between his thumb and forefinger, its hypodermic needle tip gleaming dull red.

The hero retched, flinching when he realized that your own hands were the same violet shade. You hadn't seemed to notice, simply thanking your large compatriot.

Jund brushed you off, telling you in a no-nonsense tone that, "you'll need to eat soon, the damage was extensive."

"Yeah, I can tell. I'm pretty light-headed." You admitted with a wry smile. "Doesn't help that I started with an almost empty tank. Ketchup packets and hot water are a poor substitute for tomato soup."

"Guess I'll be waiving my fee then." Jund grumbled. "Again."

"Wait, I have-" Mirio's hands felt like lead as the young man fumbled with the side of his utility belt. He finally managed to extract a few wrinkled bills, which he pressed into your palm. "I can get more, I'll just need to be careful. Security on my ATM cards and stuff." He tried to explain, the words thick and difficult to say. Exhaustion dragged at him even while he watched Jund shake his head.

"Keep it. The fee is a joke. I only charge the big shots who can afford it." The older man pointed out, "you're a fugitive, from what I can gather, or bare minimum you're in some deep shit. Save those dollars for when you'll need them, kid." He then tipped his head towards you. "Buy them some real food and lay low so you can heal."

…

Jund's Quirk, while wildly useful, took a heavy toll on him if someone wasn't able to share the burden. The lanky man waved off your offer of a beverage before he left, simply giving you the instructions to, "force him to take it easy for a few hours." He also carefully placed the bullet into a ziplock bag you provided, his face troubled.

Mirio had fallen asleep relatively soon after Jund had finished, the younger man still arguing the merits of paying his 'fee' even as his voice got softer and softer. Once Jund departed you took a moment to heave a sigh, then straightened your shoulders and got to work.

The blankets would need to be washed, and while it might be paranoid to think that you may already be under surveillance, you weren't about to risk leaving your apartment with your bloodstained bedclothes. The shower would have to suffice.

Slinging your two light summer blankets into the bathroom, you then rummaged around in your combination broom closet/linen closet/general catch-all storage closet for your laundry supplies. A stain remover for sure, but you'd have to dissolve it before adding it to the fabric as the rinse water would need to be cold to help lift the blood.

Ugh. So you'd need to find a container for the stain powder (one that could be rinsed out or disposed of), and then you'd have to run extra water for the whole endeavor. Ugh ugh ugh. You doggedly got to work, grumbling mentally the entire time you swished and scrubbed at your blankets in the bottom of your shower.

At least the powder worked, despite your annoyance over the process. You ended up arduously wringing the blankets out and draping one over the shower door while the other took up a sprawling residence stretched between your two kitchen chairs, which were both laden with the buildup of your junk mail. With that particular trial managed, your stomach rumbled.

The clock on your stove was still blinking 12:00 from your last power outage, when you had finally given up on trying to keep it current. You checked your phone for the time, and then resigned yourself to rustling up something to eat.

You were up to your waist in a lower cabinet chasing down an eye-laden potato when you dimly heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

You froze.

"Can I ask where your cups are?" Mirio, how was he even able to move.

You nearly brained yourself on the lip of the cabinet door in your haste, quickly turning to face the young man with your hard-earned prize in hand. "Upper cabinet by the sink." You answered his question, your voice faltering a bit.

Mirio looked awful. His nose was red, and his eyes were bloodshot with lurid purple circles beneath them. Despite his appearance, he just nodded and then used the counter like a crutch so he could limp across the kitchen. "I'm still…pretty sore." He explained, like he assumed you wouldn't know.

"Mirio it's been less than four hours since your lung was unpunctured, you're lucky if all you are is sore." You chided, moving to open the cabinet for him. His hand landed clumsily on top of your own on the handle and the both of you flinched, Mirio moving back a step and you yanking the cabinet open. "Uh, sorry. Just a little jumpy." You tried to apologize, the reality of your situation catching up with you. A hero (former hero?) had come to your residence in search of aid. What the hell kind of mess was this?

You quickly filled the cup from the tap, handed it off to Mirio and got to work cutting the eyes out of your lone potato.

"Whatcha' doin'?" Mirio asked after a moment.

"Trying to figure out how to feed two people with one sad legume." You grunted as your knife caught on a particularly stubborn eye, then huffed in frustration when you accidentally nicked your knuckle. "Ow, dammit."

"Hey, easy." The blond man admonished, continuing, "look, just take what I've got. We can go to a corner store, pick up some stuff."

"Excuse me, 'we'? Golden Boy, you're the one who came here all in a panic over being spotted!" You pointed out.

Mirio blinked down at you, seeming confused. "Yeah, but your Quirk can change how I look. So it's fine."

Ah. So that had been why he sought you out. You weren't sure why that deepened your irritation, but you found yourself setting your jaw and digging back into the potato. Abruptly the knife sank into a mushy spot and your heart sank as you realized the potato had gone bad. "Come on, fuck's sake." You swore under your breath, chucking the offending tuber in the trash and resting your hands on the counter.

"Did…did I say something?" Mirio asked awkwardly. "Wait, wait, did you lose your Quirk-?"

"No, I didn't." You cut him off, dropping the knife in the sink and washing your hands. You then turned, giving his face a hard look. "I just won't be able to do anything about the bruising. You know I've never been able to change skin or mask injuries."

"Oh. Well it's a relief that you haven't lost your Quirk." Mirio's smile looked hollow and wrong. "Was kinda' worried there." His eyes strayed to the ziplock bag on your counter while he spoke.

You placed your hands on either side of his face, furrowing your brow in concentration. Your Quirk allowed you to change superficial things like hair or eye color and hair length, as well as offering limited control over more advanced things like bone structure. It was relatively simple to soften Mirio's striking features, masking the well-known hero with the guise of shaggy dark hair and smaller eyes. One final adjustment of his cheekbones and you nodded to yourself, content with your handiwork. It had taken you ages just to master working in vague symmetry, so as not to leave the subject of your Quirk stuck in the Uncanny Valley for the hour of use you could provide them.

"We still need some sunglasses to hide that bruising." You mused aloud, turning to your kitchen table and shoving the majority of your junk mail aside to unearth your lone set of shades. "Throw these on and we can make the run."

…

Forty minutes later Mirio sat impatiently on your bed. You had refused his offer to help, stating that since he had paid for the food he shouldn't need to prepare it. "I can cook, y'know." He called at your back, a little entertained by how nasally his voice sounded. You must have altered the shape of his nose. Those sunglasses had nearly slid off his face numerous times.

"I remember well what you considered cooking." You snarked dryly, "I was in the hospital with food poisoning for three days, Golden Boy."

"I'm also not fourteen anymore, Sunshine." Mirio retorted, his old nickname for you rolling off his tongue before he could think. "I've needed to keep myself alive. Can't exactly fight villains when I'm stuck in the bathroom, now can I?"

"Well I certainly couldn't, but knowing your overachieving ass I'm sure you'd manage somehow."

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but you seemed irritated. Mirio grimaced at himself after a second of thought; of course you would be irritated! He had just shown up at your doorstep while you were clearly trying to lay low and pretend to be an ordinary member of society. The life of a villain wasn't an easy one, and while he didn't agree with it he wasn't entirely devoid of empathy. You had always been pushed to enter a career of public relations regardless of your own wants or needs, to the point where the pressure became too much and you had dropped out of high school. After that, you had essentially vanished from social media and the public eye.

Seeing you in the field, recognizing you in the field and realizing that you weren't pursuing a lawful career…it had been sobering. Mirio knew that it would hardly be the first time he may have to engage with someone he had known in his youth. The world was a hard place if you lacked an attention-grabbing Quirk. He just hadn't expected you to be someone he would trade blows with.

Despite the clear mismatch of the two of you, the organization you partnered with had clearly trained you well. You consistently managed to evade Mirio, even with his considerable strength and powerful abilities. The few times you had engaged him head on, you met him with such ferocity that he was left stunned. Whatever had happened to you through the years must have been…difficult. At least, he hoped that's all it was.

The only reason he had your address was because he had been looking up old classmates in the city database out of boredom. He couldn't really say why he had never turned you in.

Well, that was a lie. He could, but he brushed it off as bias. Plus, it wasn't as if your particular villain gang was up to anything more nefarious than petty robbery or the occasional smash and grab. With the Hassaikai on the loose, resources had been stretched pretty thin!

The Hassaikai.

Mirio's fists clenched tight on his thighs, the young man staring at the floor. They had succeeded, sure, but the loss of Nighteye, his own hand in his mentor's death…

Togata hadn't realized he was crying until he felt you tug his chin upwards. The look you gave him was inscrutable and felt like it went on forever, the former hero forced to sniffle and wait for you to let go.

But all you said was, "dinner's ready," and Mirio wasn't sure if he imagined the sympathy in your eyes before you released him.

"Sorry," he apologized on instinct, rubbing his eyes. "You must think I'm pretty dumb, huh?"

"I think you coming here was pretty dumb." You allowed stiffly, passing him a bowl. "You being upset about…stuff, is totally fine."

"Is there anyone-" Mirio paused, swallowing a bite before he continued, "in your group with any sort of analysis capabilities? For the bullet."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. You probably knew that already though."

"Figured it wouldn't hurt to ask." The hero exhaled, thinking hard. That complicated things immensely, to the point where he was essentially out of options. His stomach twisted, threatening to make his dinner reappear. Oh sure, he had known deep down that there was no point in running from the scene. He had known that he would eventually be tracked down and made to answer for his hand in Nighteye's demise. He had just been hoping there would be more time for him to mentally prepare, more time for him to grieve the loss of his Quirk and his mentor.

But it seemed that time was not on his side.

"I'll have to turn myself in, then." Mirio said quietly. "The bullet is really important evidence and while I'm…not really ready to face the music, it would be pretty selfish of me to hide out and endanger you further just because I'm being a coward."

You turned to look at the window, squinting in the dim light of the morning. "How about you sleep on it, then decide?" was your reasoning. "There's not much you can do in your current state. Get some rest first, screw your head on straight, and then you can decide. You're probably pretty fragile right now." An unexpected sob fought free of Mirio's throat, like the finishing touch on your sentence. You made a gesture, as if to say, see? "You need rest. For real this time."

"What about you?" God, he hated that his voice sounded so weak.

"I've got enough time for a quick nap, my shift doesn't start until ten." You stood up, stretching with a groan. "Can't believe I had to stay up all night to deal with this."

"I…I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Your hand landed on his head, rumpling the hair that was slowly returning to its regular blond hue. You didn't actually say anything, but Mirio got the impression that he might be forgiven.

Part Two

#mirio togata #bnha mirio #mha mirio #aged up characters #lemillion #pro hero mirio #pro hero!AU #villain!reader #pro hero!mirio #reader has a quirk #eventual romance #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #shie hassaikai #mirio imagine #pro hero lemillion #enjoy!

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plushii-gutz · 10 months

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Part 4 of Thorns - may have gotten a little silly here for my own entertainment. Thank you to my lord and savior Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven-way 🤭 you may recognize another character here owned by @bear-cubs-art-things and a new fellow owned by @plantsaredabest

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶

Light has yet to shine outside. The horrible storm had seemed to pass, or in the least, the worst part of it. Viola's powdery blue eyes flickered open, woken by the sound of the creaking floor. Pereskia walked past, carrying a freshly cleaned hoodie. The bowgart stretched her arms and rolled partially off the couch, lazily sitting up with her hands patting against its soft fabrics aimlessly before coming across her glasses. She put them on, blinking a few times to adjust to her returning vision. She hadn't noticed the human kid on the floor, observing her. She looked kind of sticky, red and blue stains on the shirt she wore

"Eh? Never seen someone with glasses before?"

Lily tilted her head. Viola copied her move mockingly.

"Is it the hands? Four arms? It's not unknown among monsters, but I get it. Not a common characteristic on Amber, other than maybe floogulls and Bowhead."

She moved her arms as she spoke, adding a bit of body language to every word.

"You'd think having more fingers would make it easier to count, but no. Can't juggle well, either. They're great for climbing, though. And surgery. Once did a whole amputation on my own."

Lily seemed a bit grossed out at the comment, giving a nasty "bleh!".

"Oh yeah, the medical field is disgusting. Had a mammott come in with an abscess the size of a quarter on the side of his face. The stuff that came out was straight green."

"Ew!"

"Viola!" Pereskia yelled, returning to the living room. She held the now patched-up hoodie Lily had arrived in. The stitching wasn't the best, but it held together - including the blue ears. "You better not be botherin' that kid!"

"I'm not, I'm not. Where's Enya?"

"They're finishing breakfast. If ya want something, I'd recommend hurrying. It's getting cold."

Perry offered the hoodie back to the kid, who happily tossed it back on. With another yawn and a final stretch, Viola followed the barrb to the kitchen. Lily stood behind, cleaning her mind of the disgusting visuals.

Pereskia had made quite the breakfast. Stacks of pancakes, fresh fruit on every plate, syrup spilling onto the tablecloth. Enya was a sticky mess but seemed delighted.

"Wow. You really outdid yourself this morning," Viola commented.

"I might as well clean out the cabinets," Pereskia sighed, cleaning off Lily's plate. "I'll be honest, though, I doubt the new owner of this shop is moving in. The island is a mess."

"Shocker."

"Yeah," Enya chimed in, wiping her face clean. "The next ship will be arriving soon, too. Hopefully, there's enough room for everyone."

"Speaking of which, what's the plan for the kid?"

The kitchen fell silent. Pereskia turned to the table, taking the empty plates and adding them to the sink.

"I've been thinkin' of that all night," She spoke her thoughts. "I thought of making a disguise, but I don't have much to work with anymore. Sold most everything last night."

"I mean, we can look around outside," the bowgart suggested. "If I can find the right stuff, I might be able to throw something together, albeit terribly. Hey Perry, you know how to sew, don't you?"

"Not much - just what my mama taught me. I'm more than willing to learn a couple of things for th' kid, though."

"You seem to know what you're doing. I'll take Enya with me, they know the island better."

Enya agreed to the plan, though it held a bit of hesitation. She wasn't sure if the island's residents had stopped their brutal revolting against her, despite their anger being towards Cecilia. Perry seemed to pick up on her worry like a breeze in the air.

"You make sure to keep Enya safe. You remember the situation we got 'em out of, don'cha?"

"It was yesterday, Pereskia."

"I'm bein' serious."

"So am I."

With an agitated huff, the barrb excused the two. She ordered for them to take the shop exit, though, to keep Lily more hidden. They agreed, leaving Perry behind to resume packing her belongings and a few more things for the kid.

The shop was a mess. The windows had caved under the pressure, now shattered alongside the human's entrance. Pots had fallen over and broken apart, gardening tools laid about. Enya led the way, clearing the glass and making a path for Viola to cross. She thanked them, reaching the outside world. The sight was hardly any different.

Trees with sticky sap had snapped in half, stones tossed about. Buildings had collapsed inwards or fallen, leaving monsters to sit out on the gray island in the cold. Others pulled blankets from the remnants of their homes, warming the weaker. They walked along what remained of a stone path, taking in the state of the land.

"Viola!" A familiar voice called. "Over here!"

It was Jaiden, standing near a destroyed house with Baloola reaching inside. She can't seem to grab whatever it is she needs. Dragging Enya, they rushed over.

"She's trapped! We can't get her out!"

"Who? What?"

"Tabby! My cousin! She can't breathe in there!"

"Alright," Viola kept her cool, taking action. "Jaiden, Baloola, you hold up the wreckage best you can. I'm not short, but I'm small enough to fit in. Enya, you go back to Perry's and get the medical kit."

"But we just-"

"Go!"

"Ok."

The two sisters held up either end of the collapsed house. Viola crouched down, barely able to squeeze into the tight space. It's a claustrophobic hell, suffocating with jagged wooden spiked poking from every angle. Her arms pushed aside rubble, inching her forward until she found a blue furred hand. She used her horns to move aside anything hanging, making the monster more visible. She was crushed but alive. With a firm grasp on both of their hands, Viola pulled Tabby from the unseen debris that trapped her. She moved back carefully, hoping nothing was being pulled or broken.

The outside light began to seep in. Viola freed her legs and hind arms, only to find herself stuck with her horn caught onto something.

"Are you ok?" Baloola asked. "Why'd you stop moving? C'mon, it's cool out here!"

"It's.. hold on."

The bowgart looked around, taking a rag and wrapping it around one of the many broken wooden boards. She bit onto it, put her legs against the ground, and began to rip both herself and Tabby out of the wreckage. With a sharp yell of pain, Viola tore her horn off in a harsh jerk and snapped free. The Sooza is rested on the ground, Enya standing prepared.

"Holy shit, your horn!" Jaiden worried, helping Viola to her feet.

"It's fine - Enya, the kit."

"Right h-here!"

Viola got to work, having Enya support the patient upwards to make breathing a bit easier. Tabby jolted awake, tense. The two held her down, trying to keep her still.

"Tabby - listen to me, Tabby. You got caught in a collapsing building, and you're in a state of shock. You're riddled with adrenaline and can't recognize pain."

"Pain, I'm not in pain! There's no pain. Let me go!"

Viola moved back, revealing a horribly broken leg. Tabby stared for a long time, mortified. It was enough for her to allow the doctor to get to work.

"It's a compound fracture. We need to get them to a hospital, this requires surgery for a fix. I can suture other open wounds, but this will need something I don't have."

"How do we get her there?" Baloola asked. "Will she be ok?"

"Next ship," Enya answered. "It should be here soon. They might have stuff to help her on board, too!"

Viola wrapped the wounds as much as she could, biting the excess bandages off and keeping it tight.

"Enya, do you have any updates on when the ship will arrive?"

"Uh - I-I'd give it another 30 minutes?"

"Alright, that's not too bad. Keep them off the leg until the ship arrives. I'll try and get someone on board to bring out a stretcher. Until then, I've done all I can."

Viola took a step back to make sure her words were true. Baloola had dropped down, giving Tabby a strong hug that surprisingly didn't seem to hurt. Must be stable enough.

"All I can do," She echoed. Her attention turned to the fallen house, poking her head back in and finding the missing horn. A couple of harsh tugs, and she yanked it out. Gross, but It will come in handy. She checked around, grabbing a piece of wood that was a relatively good match of colors and taking it too.

"Hey, Viola," Jaiden said in a soft tone, pulling her friend aside. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do. Quite literally, actually. If I had the right stuff, your cousin would be doing backflips in minutes, but I digress - you're welcome."

"Heh. Hey, would you be up to hanging out? As a thank you."

"Tabby's bone is poking from her leg, and you're asking someone you've known for a whole hour if they want to go out?"

The pompom shrugged. Viola quirked an eyebrow, looking Jaiden up and down.

"You're weird. I'm down."

"Wait, really? Sweet! Uh - you happen to be going to Plant Island?"

"Yep."

"Alright, cool! I'll be making plans. Do you want my number?"

Enya looked to Baloola, to Jaiden, then back to Baloola. They share an expression that was barely readable to anyone other than themselves. They pull the purple monsters apart, Viola needing to return to Pereskia's as soon as possible. Before they reached her shop, Enya is able to find a couple of blue blankets. This should help!

Inside, Perry had set up the sewing machine. Thread twisted along her fingers as she looked over instructions, printed on old paper that had browned over the years. Lily wore one of the barrb's old coats, laughing at the oversized sleeves and flapping her arms. As stressed as Perry was, she couldn't help but smile. How sweet of a child she was gifted.

"Did ya find anything useful? Oh - honey, your horn.."

"I know, don't rub it in. I have an idea, though."

Enya laid the fabrics down as Viola rolled out their plan. Enya and Pereskia were tasked to work on making a pair of extra arms, as well as two sets of matching gloves and one pair of slippers. While they were doing such, she planned on carving the block of wood to match her other horn.

"So we're making her into a bowgart?" Enya asked.

"Yep."

"Now hold on," Perry stepped in. "Why not a barrb? Or.. a Flowah, maybe. Just makin' suggestions."

"Well, we don't have the right colors, and I feel that may be a bit harder to do. For our level, at least."

"Your horns are far lighter than a normal Bowgarts. Wouldn't that throw others off as well?"

"Wouldn't putting thorns on her be uncomfortable?"

Enya had to split them up. After a bit of reasonable arguing, they agree to do the bowgart disguise. It was easier and involved the materials they already had. Work began on the arms, Viola carving away at both the wooden block and her horn, making them smaller to match Lily's size. Perry soon learned that she had quite the knack for sewing. She adapted quickly to the loud machine and tedious work of thread and patterns, allowing Enya to branch off and work on the slippers. Lily stood tall for the measuring and fitting. Soon enough, their work was finished. Viola added the last part: the headband with curled horns.

"Not bad," she praised herself.

Lily shook her head, shaking the horns and having them clink against one another. They were far from stable, but a couple more drops of hot glue did the trick. She seemed to find the whole outfit more silly than serious, but whatever made her happy made Perry happy, too.

"We really need to go," Enya warned. "The ship is probably about to leave."

With a collective agreement, the four monsters ushered out the door. Perry dropped her hat on Lily, hiding her rosy face behind it, and kept her close as they were finally able to leave.

Jaiden stood near the islands edge, seemingly waiting for Viola. They chattered as they walked on board, the rare monster not questioning who the monsterling was once. Though annoyed, Pereskia followed behind with the kids hand in hers.

"Wait.. Enya?" She turned back. "Are you comin'?"

The kayna stood behind, accompanied by a group of fire monsters offering her their apologies. They had plenty of time to recognize their mistakes and their anger. They were remorseful for their actions, wishing deeply for a second chance.

"I think.. I think I'll stay here."

Their warm amber eyes met Perry's.

"Maybe Amber Island has a chance. We'll need a leader to help rebuild it, won't we?"

Viola looked back at Enya, putting together her expression with ease. She gave a nod of approval, almost looking proud of them.

"Well, hun.. I'll be sure to send ya letters," Pereskia promised. "I wish you the best of luck."

As the ship began to move, the two monsters waved their goodbyes as the island was left in caring hands. Another flame that will never be smothered, and a new flame that only now began to grow.

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Plant Island had a far less disastrous storm, though this didn't seem to surprise anyone. With Viola's help, Tabby was taken into Plant Island Hospital minutes within arrival. Baloola chose to stay by the sooza's side, bidding the group farewell as they left for their homes. Pereskia carried Lily with the kids head on her shoulder, worried of being singled out by Jaiden. Even with the worry, the walk was calm.

"I don't live too far from the hospital. Moved closer since I worked there, made the drive easier, if at all. I guess it's just for convenience now."

"Being a doctor must have been crazy. I've seen and heard the stupid stuff my family gets into. Can't imagine having to work with it every day."

Viola reached into her scarf, pulling her phone from it as it played its default song.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Jaiden asked.

"The scarf has pockets," Viola answered plainly, accepting the call. A bit of talking and planning goes by before the cell is tucked away once more.

"I have to stop by a patients house. Might be a while until I'm bale to get back."

"Didn't you say your licenses were suspended or something?"

"Oh hey, my house is right there to the left! Here, Perry, these are the keys in. How about you make yourself at home while I go deal with this boring work stuff. Jaiden, you said the house you're staying at is a little farther down?"

"Uh - yeah, but -"

"How about I walk you home? I'll meet up with you in a little while, yeah?"

Though confused, Jaiden nodded and went along with it. Viola left her behind, mumbling every annoyance she had in her head as she left to the castle hidden deep within the woods.

Many hours passed before Jaiden had even gotten so much as a text from the lilac-furred monster, updating her that the bowgart was on her way. She couldn't help but be a little upset, yet her excitement pushed through it. She waited eagerly at the door, waiting for the expected knocks. The wait wasn't long, Viola arriving quickly.

"Hey!" She said, panting. "Sorry about that. Got a little caught up in a.. situation with the patients."

"It's fine," Jaiden assured her. "Come on in! I wanna show you something. And uh, don't mind the mess - this is Baloola's place, not mine. She likes her colors."

The interior is as weird as the exterior. It was overly colorful, white walls covered in a sprinkle-like pattern and plenty of decorative paintings of sweet treats and family photo's. Rainbow lights hung from the ceiling, confetti covering the floor and sticking to their fur as they walked to the pompom's room. It was different than the rest of the home, having warmer and darker colors and cool air. A table sat near the back, covered in material and an abundance of sewing supplies, and a lazily decorated bed with gray and purple sheets.

"So," Jaiden began, "I didn't really make any exact plans. Just playing it by ear, you know? But I do have a question."

"Shoot."

"Wanna look awesome?"

Jaiden opened her closet, revealing rows upon rows of hand-made jackets, shirts, pants, everything. Only a few contained tags, indicating they were store-bought. Viola looked through, inspecting the amount of detail and care put into each.

"Wow.. did you make these?"

"Yep. Started as a way to pass the time and pay less. Made a few things for family and friends. Years of practice later, I think I'm pretty good at it."

"Well, this would have been useful earlier."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Do you have anything for four-armed monsters?"

"Oh yeah, plenty."

They laid out the many options, Viola picking what she will and won't wear. There wasn't a particular theme, just having fun.

"Your fur color goes well with most of these if you ask me. I think the easiest way to start is with a white crop-top and a black leather jacket - it's an easy kill."

"I'm not really looking into killing any more monsters."

"What?"

"I'll take the jacket."

The rare monster laughed to herself, setting the items aside for the other to slip into. Viola was weird, but she was digging it.

"Alright. How do you feel about stupidly ragged pants?"

"Not happening."

"Shorts?"

"Depends. Chain?"

"Yep."

"Deal. Give me a belt as well."

"Your words are my command."

Another item was added. Viola debated on fingerless gloves, still unsure of how all-out she was going. She wasn't one to dress up, not knowing what goes good with what. In the end, Jaiden assured her that it shouldn't and likely wouldn't matter. All that matters is whether or not Viola enjoyed it.

"Your lashes are naturally glorious," she commented, "but if you're up to it, how about some make-up? Just extend things a bit more, yeah?"

The bowgart agreed, letting Jaiden work her magic. A bit of eyeshadow, a bit of mascara. She added a simple spiked choker around Viola's neck to bring more silver to the outfit, letting her get a look in the mirror.

"Damn. That explains my social media following."

"You look great! Shit, I even impressed myself."

Jaiden put together her own outfit, relatively the same as Viola's, with the shorts swapped out for a red plaid skirt and matching red choker with a silver heart instead of spikes. She also debated on swapping out the top as well, only deciding against it moments before leaving.

"Where to first? You're the one who asked me on a date," Viola teased.

"It's not a date!" Jaiden snapped back, shaking herself clean of the statement. "Ahem. I really appreciated your help back there with Tabby, and I was thinking we could go somewhere to just have fun. Initially, I planned on going to Barry's because it's karaoke night and the drinks are cheap, but I thought it was a bit.. weird. I mean, you're a doctor! Aren't you supposed to be against drinking? If I'm being honest, I kind of rushed asking you."

"Oh, I could tell. About the drinking, It's not that we're against it. It's all about moderation and not waking up in someone's backyard the next day, if at all. I'm personally a bit indifferent on it, but as a professional, I can easily push it aside. I'd be lying if I said I haven't gotten tipsy myself."

"So.. Barry's later tonight? Until then, if you want, we can stop by the arcade nearby. Their pizza is the best!"

"Sounds good to me. I don't have a lot of cash on me, though."

"Never said you'd need it."

"But-"

"Nuh-uh."

Viola chose not to argue, though she still planned on using a bit of her own money.

The arcade, titled "Pixel Playground," seemed surprisingly lively inside with monsters young and old. The front half of the building was nothing but the classic retro games and machines that were to be expected, the back having the iconic white plastic folding tables and chairs and holding a birthday party. They did pick-up orders as well, which Jaiden began to put in as Viola went to purchase some tokens. The tokens were an old, almost rusty looking silver, stamped with the arcades mascot.

"The pizza will be another 30 minutes 'cause of the party, but at least that gives us time to break some joysticks," Jaiden joked.

"Hell yeah. I got us 20 tokens each, so that should be enough to keep us entertained."

Viola scanned over the many games with Jaiden by her side, finding a particularly dusty one to play. It was a fighting game with fuzzy speakers and a chipped screen. Its name and logo were faded, barely able to read 'Critter Catastrophe!'

"Sweet Galvana, I remember playing this all the time!" She praised.

"Critter catastrophe: the perfect game for 10 year old monsterlings."

"I was 12, actually."

"Oh yes, my bad. Wanna play a round?"

They each slip in a coin, the screen going black and booting up the character select. Viola chose the same critter she had when she was younger, the Cold Island bun, and Jaiden selected the Plant Island bird. A sense of nostalgia washed over her as her mind moved back to older times.

She remembered how he always chose the Earth Island critter because of its firey abilities, always having the advantage over her snowy creatures. She only ever chose it because it was where she lived - Cold Island.

"You're cheating!" She'd accuse.

"Nope," he would answer, "Just better at the game than you!"

Viola would get mad, even more so when he'd ruffle her hair afterward and take his winning tickets. He'd promise to get her a soda, finally getting her mood back up to continue searching for other games to play. They would try the claw machine, only once ever winning something. They would climb around in the play place, making friends with whatever monsters were there. After the day had passed, they left before it got too dark. He'd offer her his gloves, even when she brought her own. It was always so cold..

"Viola? Hey, the game's over."

The bowgart blinked a few times, having to remember and recognize where she was.

"Oh. Shit. Sorry, I sort of blanked out."

"You also kicked my ass in this game! How about another round?"

Viola nodded in agreement with a small grin, starting up another match. They spent the remaining time swapping between games and giving a few claw machines a chance and failing. They took the pizza out to the sidewalk, enjoying it in all its unhealthy glory and debating their next stop. It was around noon now, so it would probably be smart to begin their walk to Barry's. They did such, knowing it would likely be crowded if they were to arrive late.

The front of the building had its iconic green and purple neon lights, displaying its name proudly behind a glass barrier. The two walked in, taking a seat on the barstools and being introduced to a drumpler named Lars. He asked what they would like to start off their night. Simple margaritas will do! They came in at a good time, getting their drinks before a plentiful of monsters began to pour in.

The stage is taken on by other Plant Island residents, the music filling the room and their voices with joy. All singing is good singing if it was joyous, is it not? Viola remembered the tales of how monsters were made to sing a song in unity, praising the island and the Celestials. Sometimes, it was just for fun.

"Hey, you should go up there," Jaiden nudged Viola's side.

"I don't know.. I'm not exactly the most vocal of monsters."

"Neither was I, but it's nothing a bit of practice can't help with. And drinks, of course."

"Sure, sure."

"Hey, we all have our ways. Lars! Hey, give me something a little stronger, bud!"

The drumpler took their empty cups, bringing them back the stronger drinks they desired.

"Try an' be careful with these, ladies," his coarse voice jokingly warned, snickering.

The rare monster downed hers in seconds, sitting up and requesting a turn. Viola sat back, watching as her friend took the stage and began to sing. The song sounded familiar, perhaps something from a cartoon she had watched in her younger days. It was clear she knew the song by heart. Jaiden had quite the vocals, definitely experienced. Or perhaps it was natural? It didn't matter - it was lovely. She seemed to be enjoying herself, too, adding a bit more movement to every lyric. She finished with open arms, accepting the crowds applause and returning to Viola's side.

"I'm a bit of a celebrity here," she laughed.

"I can see why. I might need a few more of these before I get up there," the bowgart said, shaking her now empty glass.

"Whatever helps you find your voice!"

With a bit of alcohol and a lot of encouragement, Viola agreed to the challenge. They pondered on what song to choose, what kind of music. Should it match her appearance or be the polar opposite for the sake of comedy?

"Just remember what I said earlier: it shouldn't matter what others think. Just do what feels right."

Viola nodded, leaving to the stage after finalizing her decision. Her worry shot up at the many eyes, only being drowned out by the first few beats kicking in through the speakers. She took a deep breath, facing this obstacle the same way she had every other. Soon, she felt nothing in the room but herself and the music. As it went on, a sense of accomplishment seeped into her blood. She felt.. proud? It was hard to tell - it's been a while since she had to really think about it rather than accept it at face value.

Viola twirled the microphones wire in her hands as she sung her song, giving most every monster a glance of the eye and particularly Jaiden, who voiced their support from the barstool. Viola wasn't one to show off, but for once, she held the stage in a positive light. The air felt clear as day and carried every lyric with ease, bringing the bar the show of a lifetime. Any anxiety she held had washed out into the night. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was Jaiden. Why does it matter? She wasn't seen in this moment as any of the negative things she had done. She was just another singing monster - and seemingly a good one at that! She was digging the attention, really.

She finished her song with a bow, passing the mic off for the next monster and returning to her friends side. The pompom slid over a couple of waters, making sure both of them would be at least a little sober before their leave.

"Damn, Viola. Didn't know you liked karaoke that much!"

"I don't," she chuckled with a shrug. "That's the first time I've done anything like this since high school."

"Shit, really? Dear Galvana, my high school years were spent blowing shit up behind a Leafy's!"

The two chattered back and forth, Viola seeming to drift more towards present stories rather than the past. She learns of Jaidens parents, an epic pompom and a rare mammot, who weren't particularly strict with what she did but disapproved of her hobbies. Viola spoke of her work in Plant Island Hospital, the many wild patients she has had to deal with in the past and the ones she deals with now.

"I can't go into much detail about them, but this guy has maybe ten monsterlings? All in one house. They're the ones I had to check in on earlier. Don't get me wrong, they're well behaved, but he's really young and it's a huge responsibility. Not that I have a kid of my own."

"What about the kid you watched over on the ship? The bowgart - I thought she was yours."

"Eh. Well, sort of, but she isn't mine, she's Perry's. I just keep her from.. getting sick."

"Oh. By the way, are you and Perry like a thing?"

"Oh no, not at all. It's a long story. She hates me, but she lives with me. That's all you really need to know."

"Ah, gotcha."

From the corner of her eye, Viola could pick out a familiar face within the crowd, growing closer. She could recognize that deep colored coat of fur anywhere.

"Holy shit. Hey, Blue!" She called out.

"Viola, hey! It's - it's been a while!"

"Damn right, it has. Get over here!"

The bowgart took a seat with the rest, happy to reunite with an old friend.

"Wow, you look.."

"Different, I know. I'm trying something new - Jaiden made most of this, actually."

Jaiden gave a small "yup" to the words, seeming a bit distant.

"It's - uh, I think it's nice! it looks good. Really good. It suits you." Blue stammered. Viola couldn't help but pick up on something she admittedly didn't expect.

"I didn't know you drank," she changed the subject.

"Oh, I'm not here for the drinks - Twig is."

It wasn't long until the aforementioned monster made his presence clear. Seems to be somewhat known around these parts.

"Heh, that's Twig, alright. How about you? Haven't been able to give you a check-up either."

"Well, not much, really. I was able to visit Cemila not too long ago for her birthday! She and Indigo are doing well, too. As for me, I'd say im doing alright. Per usual, Twig got himself in another scuffle, so i had to get him patched up. I noticed you were gone.. Did something happen? If - if you want to tell me, of course."

"Long story. My medical license aren't suspended or anything, and there's a chance I'll be back at the hospital soon enough, but I have a while until they figure it out. I don't think I can go into detail. Legally, at least."

Blue nodded along as Viola spoke, adding in his own commentary occasionally. It was fun to catch up, nerding out on random topics along the way. Twig took a seat on the other side of Blue, chiming in now and then to reinforce he was present. There was a bit of hostility at first, but he seemed to mellow out quickly with a couple of drinks. The deep blue bowgart had a hard time speaking to either, feeling a bit overwhelmed and an obvious increase in stuttering. The two wouldn't admit to it, but they found it hilarious.

"Oh no," Jaiden spoke up, lowering her head to the counter.

"What?"

Another monster seemed to be walking closer to the group - a pompom, to be exact. She wore a long blue tie, matching the blue marking of its eyes. Instead of the deep orange and yellow markings most pompoms had, it was more red. Along with this, her abdominal area had a unique white coloration to it.

"There's this one pomily member - we don't really talk about her much, she's.. we don't really know. It's kind of like the case with Baloola where we aren't sure if it's a pompom or a whole other species. She's.. weird. Her name is Creature."

The monster reached the bar, practically knocking Jaiden from her spot and taking it.

"Hey," it spoke, trying to hold a grin.

"Not going to happen," Viola hissed, turning her attention to the bar.

"Oh come on, pooki- Please! I meant please. I said please."

"She's not interested," Blue sat up.

Creature hopped from her stool, staring right into Blue's eyes. They didn't break the stare until she was mere feet away from him.

"Uh.. what's going on?"

"I'm so sorry, Viola," Jaiden sighed with embarrassment, hiding her face in her palms.

Creature dropped onto all fours, chasing after Blue and barking up a storm. Viola squinted, watching the chase circle the entirety of the room and into the back. It doesn't seem as though any actual harm was done, but annoyance was a different story. Tables fell over, and many drinks were spilled. Twig ran behind, cussing and threatening the whole time until Creature finally stopped and fled to the door.

"..Jaiden? What the fuck?"

"Oh my god. I don't know which one, but oh my god. Look, if you want to call it a night, I can walk you back to your house."

"Hey, hey, it's alright," Viola assured her friend. "It's nothing new. You'd he surprised how much attention lavender fur can get you. Besides, I'm dressed like.. this. Not to toot my own horn, but I feel awesome."

Jaidens mood seemed to change with these words, muffled laughter coming from her.

"Hehe.. you do look pretty great."

"Heh.. how about we go get some fresh air? It's getting weird in here."

Viola gave Lars a 20 dollar tip, leaving from the front door and feeling cold winds brush through her fur. Blue and Twig followed behind, cleaning themselves of spilled drinks and other sticky residue.. Gross.

"Well.. I would say that was new, but you never know in the monster world," Blue chuckled awkwardly. Twig picked a few things from his friends hair, dusting him off.

"Yeah, I'm done being out and about for tha' night. I think that thing bit me."

"Oh, it definitely bit me."

"Can we go home?"

"Yeah.."

"Hey," Viola walked over. "It was good seeing you again. My schedule is probably going to be really open, so.. you know where to find me."

The other bowgart nodded, glad to know an old friend was back.

"Ahem," Twig brought the attention back to himself. "Home?"

"Ok, alright - let's go."

As the two began to leave, the taller stood back for a bit longer.

"So. That was fun and all, but uh.. just lay off the Blue talk. How 'bout it, doll?"

Viola's smile flattened immediately. She rolled her eyes with an agitated sigh.

"Oh, please. If Blue liked you so much, he's more than capable of leaving my side for yours."

Viola grabbed onto the leaves of Twigs head, pulling him down to her level.

"And don't call me doll.. Alright?"

She let go, the shrubb jerking himself back and shaking himself off. His mind boiled with every horrible thing he could do, but Blue's presence cooled him off as he caught up.

"Wow, drama alert!" Jaiden laughed.

"They love each other. I just keep him on his toes so he'll make a move sooner."

"Wow. You're insane, you know that?"

"I do. So, still need a walk home?"

The pompom smiled, putting her hands into her pocket as they made the trip back home. They joked and teased, agreeing to keep in touch. Viola thanked her for the encouragement, though she wasn't sure how often she would show off again. Jaiden thanked her back for being a friend, as well as a huge help.

"By the way, do you need this back?" The bowgart asked, tugging at the choker around her neck.

"Nah. It looks good on you."

The sun lowered slowly over the distant buildings and mountains, the lights of the surrounding streets illuminating the sidewalk in a cool teal. Cars sped pass. Critters began to sing. The song never left - it only changed.

#fanfiction #thorns msm #msm oc #fallen stars msm #writing a characters outfit was way more fun than it should be #im cringe but im free #my singing monsters #msm #msm au

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