#my mind is an enigma this absolutely exists in my brain now

[whalesforhands]

since dyf!mc has a staring problem, how much would she stare if she saw suguru with his hair down for the first time?

did u mean before or after she has a crush on him LOL. either way, her reaction is still the same

warnings: geto-centric post, ily geto and my apology for doing bad things to him

If Gojo Satoru was dazzlingly beautiful, Geto Suguru would be the definition of hypnotically captivating.

His narrowed, purple eyes that screamed mischief and trouble, his broad and toned form that boasted his strength. To simply his charming, affable demeanor. Anyone would be lucky to have him.

But your favourite part of him? The sheer beauty that encompassed him. His presence. The dark, mystifying beauty that shrouded him in mystery. An enigma that you want to slowly take apart piece of piece and just simply admire what he simply was.

And admire you will, for you were shamelessly looking at him right now.

Luscious, black locks that cascaded only slightly past his upper arms, smooth and slightly damp from the shower he just took.

Evidenced by the towel that hung low around his hips and his bare upper body.

You don’t think you can tear your eyes away from his head, despite the absolute feast for the eyes that was the rest of his body.

His hair. It’s gorgeous.

You’re gulping even as he tries to hurriedly tug his bathrobe on, back turned to you only to show off even more of his beautiful tresses that shined beneath the light of the bathroom, swaying with his movements as you are just entranced.

“I didn’t…” He coughs awkwardly as he ties the waist of his robe. “Hear you come in.”

You’re far too taken by his existence to think of anything else now. Your brain has been for too mesmerized.

“Suguru…” Your eyes are constantly acknowledging the way droplets of water are slowly sliding off the ends of his locks.

“Can I brush your hair?”

——

You’re seated upon the side of his bed, Suguru’s head resting on your knees, his back turned to you as you slowly comb through the smooth hair whilst he sat on the carpeted floor.

It’s stress relieving.

(And he’s too tall even when you’re both sitting down.)

“Suguru.” Your hand is threading itself inbetween his locks, gently massaging his scalp.

“You’re too pretty.”

You hear him let out a light chortle.

“Am I now?” You feel him shifting his body, front now facing you as his hands settle on your hips. Pulling you forward as he rests his cheek against one of your thighs.

You continue to brush through his hair with your fingers, satisfied with the silky smoothness of it. As you mindlessly let your mind wander.

“Shoko’s still prettier.”

You hear another handsome laugh again, and feel another nuzzle into your lap.

“My biggest competitor, it seems.”

You wordlessly continue to feel his head, tilting his head up to look at you, staring into his dark crevices.

You say nothing, simply smiling and reveling in his presence as you hold his face in your hands.

You feel happy.

“Yoooo!” Satoru bursts into the room, snacks in his hands as a waving Shoko trails after him.

“Unannounced sleepover time!” He plops down right next to you on the bed, causing Suguru’s head to bounce lightly as he rolls his eyes at his intruding partner.

Shoko is settling down onto Suguru’s pillow, laying down as she scans through the snacks Satoru brought along.

“You all can do as you please,” Suguru begins, his hands dragging you forward and tugging you towards him, arms now circling your waist and pressing his head into your navel.

“I’m staying right here.”

Notes:

“Hogger!”

“Dirty cheat!”

Shoko and Satoru eventually physically dragged him off of you since his hug was making you sleepy.

“You’re not going to sleep yet! The night is still young!”

You all sat in a little circle and did each other’s hair.

You -> Shoko -> Suguru -> Satoru

You gave Shoko little pigtails that caused Satoru and Suguru to lose their heads laughing at.

“WAHAHAH, IT DOESN’T SUIT HER AT ALL!”

“But she’s cute…!”

Suguru is desperate to hold back his laughter. “Very…” He snorts a little. “Cute…!”

“You all better watch yourselves tonight…!”

Shoko gave Suguru space buns.

Suguru tied Gojo’s hair into little bunches with several hairties.

“My little cactus.”

Satoru isn’t particularly skilled. Whatever he gave you ends up being a mess as the other 3 miserably try to stop themselves from laughing.

“You’re… So pretty!” Shoko holds your hands as she says it, her face red as she tries so hard to not lose it.

You’re glowing with happiness at her praise. You genuinely think Satoru is good with hairstyles now.

When everyone fell asleep, Shoko drew on Satoru and Suguru’s faces with permanent marker.

Suguru was given cat whiskers and other feline details.

Satoru was given the ugliest moustache she could draw with a messy beard and monocle.

You couldn’t stop laughing the entire morning.

#geto x reader x gojo #geto x reader #jjk x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader #dyf au #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #getou suguru x reader x gojo satoru #geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

[bubaluv]

So I linked a clip of this Trivia Trot episode on my twipie bingo but I didn't watch the whole clip, I just went back and watched it and WOW these horses lesbian

#especially in the appledash category ironically #i just love the banter in this episode a lot #i wouldn't doubt it if the vas came up with most of these lines #RDs RIGGED and **don't choke** GOT me #it may be because it's 2am but like. with only the slightest of tweaks this could deadass be a bar trivia episode #like the chars act just goofy and over the too enough for them to be. just a scosch hammered honestly #like bear with me idk if this makes any sense but in a bizarre alternate universe where the show is more adult #i could see this being like a late season 1 breaking the ice episode 💖 #where you see all the characters be a little less restrained and they all bond over seeing these goofy sides of themselves #my mind is an enigma this absolutely exists in my brain now #/slaps myself/ dont make another au dont make another au DONT make another au #also ignore the heart in one of the prev tags my hands are dumb lol

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

@jellydeans: so are cas and jimmy novak just up in heaven existing at the same time @katebushstandean: #jimmy moves to heaven timbuku so that dean stops trying to make out with him every time they run into each other at the heaven grocery store

LINK

Thanks for letting me write this, guys!!

AO3  (2.1k)

The thing about Heaven was that it was whatever you wanted it to be, and most of its residents wanted it to be familiar.

Technically, Dean didn’t need to fill his car up on gas anymore, but there was still a gas station just down the street from where his new home was placed. He didn’t need to sleep, but he still had a large king-sized bed he made sure to make use of at least once a day. He didn’t need to eat, but there was a thriving supermarket that catered to whatever he was feeling like eating and always boasted the freshest ingredients for when he wanted to get a little fancy with his cooking.

Like today, for example.

Bobby had said he doubted Dean could make a proper souffle, so obviously Dean had to make the old man eat his words - and a souffle.

Dean stared at all of the different options of eggs, trying to decide if “free-range” vs. “organic” actually meant anything in Heaven, or if it was just meant to give him some sort of familiarity.

He grabbed the “free-range” option and moved on to the dairy.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye in the meat section across the way, and the way his heart stopped in his chest when he turned to look would have killed him if he wasn’t already dead.

It was Cas.

Cas, who Dean had spent every day thinking about since he’d left. Cas, who Dean had been trying to find ever since Bobby told him he was still around. Cas, who Dean still had unfinished business with.

He’d spend hours in bed, staring at the ceiling of his room and rehearsing just what he’d say when he saw him again, but in those scenarios Cas had shown up on his doorstep or in the passenger seat of his car where they could have a moment to just be .

He’d never been buying hamburger meat.

Dean rushed forward, cart forgotten, and skidded to a halt in front of Cas, just as he looked up in surprise.

“I love you -” Dean said in a rush, heart pounding, head reeling, “Of course I love you. You’re - fuck - you’re everything I could ever want and I’m - I’m so damn sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t have me, too.”

Cas blinked at him, and it was in that moment Dean realized something was wrong.

His expression, his hair, the way he moved, the way he was dressed - all of it was wrong.

None of it was Cas, he’d just been too overwhelmed to see it.

“Oh, uh... hey Dean,” Not-Cas said, and finished putting his selected meat in his basket, “I didn’t didn’t know that you died. Um, if you’re looking for Castiel -“

Dean turned and ran out of the store.

*

What were the fucking chances that in all of Heaven, he and Cas’s old vessel were neighbors?

Dean gunned the gas pedal on his car as he drove endlessly, trying to walk himself through what exactly had happened the day before.

Jimmy Novak was here.

Jimmy Novak who - last Dean checked - hated him.

Dean had just spewed his feelings all over him without even thinking about the possibility that he wasn’t Cas. He’d been wearing a sweater vest for crying out loud - but he was willing to forgive himself for that one because he didn’t really know how Cas would dress if he had the choice.

His hopes had soared so high when he’d seen the familiar figure, only to be dashed the moment Jimmy had opened his mouth. They sounded absolutely nothing alike - and Dean yearned for the deep gravel of Castiel’s greeting.

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened.

Where was Cas?

Didn’t he know that there was nothing keeping them apart now?

In what could only be an act of fate smiling down on him, Dean zoomed around a corner near the Heavenly library, and instantly had to stomp on the brakes of the Impala as a trenchcoat-clad figure stepped into the previously empty crosswalk.

Old habits die hard - Dean was still going to brake for Heavenly pedestrians, especially ones that looked like Cas.

Cas turned to look at him, eyes wide, and Dean shoved the driver’s side door open in a panic. The trench coat was unmistakable this time.

“Cas! Cas - don’t go okay? I gotta -“

Cas shook his head sharply and let out a breath.

“No - Jesus Christ - it’s still me, you idiot.”

Dean gaped at him as his brain tried to catch up with the conflicting bits of information it was processing.

“...what?” He heard himself saying.

Had he just wanted it to be Cas so bad that he’d ignored all the signs?

Jimmy gestured at himself like it was enough of an explanation.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“But - but you’re wearing his trenchcoat! ” Dean said, waved at it like maybe Jimmy hadn’t realized he was walking around as the mockery of the angel who’d once shared a living space with him.

Jimmy placed an affronted hand on his own chest.

“It was my trenchcoat!”

Frustration boiled inside of him and Dean quickly slid back into the car and slammed the door shut behind him.

He sped off, once again running from what could have been.

*

Dean was sulking under a pile of blankets in his bed when there was a knock at his door.

He ignored it.

After a few moments of silence, the knocking came again, louder and more insistent this time.

Grumbling to himself, Dean threw the blankets off and trudged down the stairs, flinging open the door with a scowl.

A person with nearly combed hair was standing on the doorstep holding a six-pack of beer in one hand and had a sticker on his shirt that said, ‘Hello, my name is Jimmy’.

“Very funny.” Dean said flatly.

“It’s not funny. It’s just in case you try to kiss me or something.” Jimmy held up the six-pack expectantly. “Can I come in?”

Dean didn’t appreciate the ribbing, but he didn’t mind the beer.

And after accosting him twice he might as well let the guy do what he wanted.

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grumbled and left the door open as he walked back inside and flopped onto his couch. “Why are you here? Don’t you hate me?”

Jimmy hummed as he set the beer down on the coffee table and took a seat opposite Dean.

“I don’t not hate you.” He said with a shrug. “But last time we talked you were trying to convince me to chain myself to a comet again and I can’t say I appreciated it.”

Dean grunted in acknowledgment.

“I’ve been in heaven for a while now. It’s nice here. I take a yoga class with my wife.” Jimmy smiled at him. “I think I’m in a much better mental space now to consider liking you, especially if we’re going to be neighbors.”

Dean winced.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like Jimmy, it was just… that was Cas’s face. It wasn’t , but it was. Was he really going to have to be constantly taunted with it?

“Look man - I’m sorry about - you know. That.” Dean waved a hand in the air generally. “But you don’t have to do all this. I’ll stop harassing you.”

“That would be nice,” Jimmy said, opening one of the cans and taking a swig, “So, considering the things you’ve said to me, I take it he finally told you he loved you?”

Dean paused, still raw every time he thought about it.

“You knew?”

Jimmy smirked.

“That angel’s love for you permeated both of our beings so potently I’m amazed I don’t love you.” Jimmy said, like it was the kind of fact you could drop casually. “Though even I will admit, as a happily married heterosexual man, that having a man as handsome as you proclaim your love to me in the middle of a grocery store was very exciting.”

Dean dropped his head into his hands and groaned loudly.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Jimmy said, “That first one was pretty good. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”

“He’s never gonna hear it.” Dean muttered.

“Sure he will. You’ve already practiced it twice.”

“I can’t find him!” Dean said, and looked back up, “He’s here somewhere, and I can’t find him. It’s killing me.”

Jimmy held out a beer can.

“Good thing you’re already dead.”

Begrudgingly, Dean accepted the beer and opened it.

“I just. . . I just wanna see him again.” Dean took a long drink. “I want to talk to him. Tell him everything. Share everything. If he wants that.”

Dean let out a long breath, expecting Jimmy to interject with a quip.

He looked over at him when nothing happened, and Jimmy was smiling at him in a way that Dean could only describe as ‘fond’.

“What?” Dean said, indignantly.

“Nothing.” Jimmy said innocently. “You’re just not what I expected.”

Dean looked away.

“Anyway, you asked why I’m here,” Jimmy took another drink, “I’ve seen Castiel.”

“What?” Dean jumped to his feet, beer can dropped to the floor and forgotten about. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I’m an enigma,” Jimmy shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the plush chair, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know as someone who has literally been in Castiel’s head - I'm pretty sure I know the reason he’s not showing himself to you.”

“Well, fucking spill.”

Jimmy paused.

“Why do you love him?”

Of all the things Dean had been expecting Jimmy to say - this wasn’t it.

Dean sat back down.

“Why?” He asked, a little breathless. “Why does it matter?”

Jimmy shrugged again.

“I guess -” Dean said, trying to unspool his emotions from the knot they’d made in his heart, “He’s - he’s Cas. He cares . . . so much about everyone and - and he’s selfless and kind and he fucking saved me in more ways than just one. He’s always been there for me and Sam and he’s just… he’s just. He’s just good . I’ll never deserve him, but I want to try.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath.

“He pulls me away from the edge, man. I just love him.”

Jimmy nodded once, set down his beer can, and in a bizarre turn of events, began yelling at Dean’s ceiling.

“Did you hear that, Castiel? Not one goddamn thing about how you look! Nothing about me or my vessel!”

Dean stared, dumbfounded.

“Wh-”

“He doesn’t care what you look like! Can you please just come talk to him so I can stop playing marriage counselor for you two?”

Care how he - what?  

What was happening?

Before Dean could fully compile all of the new information, there was a hesitant knock at the front door.

Dean whipped his head towards Jimmy, who was smiling in satisfaction.

Nearly tripping over himself, Dean rushed to the door faster than he’d rushed towards anything in his life, and swung it open.

In front of him was the wavelength of celestial intent that Dean had always known existed inside of the vessel of Jimmy Novak - the glint of angelic creation he’d caught glimpses of in the glow of his eyes and in his healing touch. The being was massive and stretched high into the sky with what was (maybe three? four??) pairs of wings scraping the clouds even further above everything. He was flaming rings and rotating divine faces that Dean could barely comprehend - he was raw power and all-knowing eyes.

On the front of his form was a sticker that read, ‘Hello, my name is Castiel’.  

“. . . Hello Dean.” The voice rumbled through the air like thunder.

“Cas?” Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I - yes. I’m sorry. I lost my vessel to the Empty - this was the only way -”

“I love you, too.”

The rotating faces on the form towering above him froze in place.

“I do! I love you, Cas. Okay? You didn’t let me say it back before - and if I’ve ever made you feel like I couldn’t love you back, I’m so fucking sorry. You deserve better.”

“. . . you love me?”

Dean nodded, his heart clenching at the disbelief he could hear in Cas’s voice.

“ Even as this?”

“You’ve always been this.” Dean swallowed. “I fell in love with the angel, not the vessel.”

“Dean. . .”

Dean smiled up at him in understanding.

“Just a shame that we’ll have to get a bigger house.”

“Oh I can -”

And as Dean looked on, Castiel began to shrink. The form didn’t change - he was still as striking as he’d been the first time with his wings and halos and faces still firmly in place - but he was now maybe one foot taller than Dean instead of one hundred.

“- make myself more manageable.”

Dean grinned and took a step forward, giddy and thrilled that this was finally, actually happening

He reached up, resting a hand on one of the divine faces.

“Bite-sized.” He murmured fondly.

Jimmy’s voice cut through the moment from somewhere behind them.

“Just so you two know - I. Am. Moving!”

#spn #destiel #destiel ficlet #spn coda #jimmy novak #akasdflks I barely know what this is guys I'm sorry #sometimes I write

[tsarisfanfiction]

Did You Know Dragonflies Eat Bees?

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Mechanic, Scott

An old nemesis has returned.  Luckily, IR have a new ally to counter them with.

Day 15 of @whumptober-archive “feed a cold, starve a fever” and I went with the rather odd but amusing prompt of bees.  Not really much to say about this one, except that the concept made me laugh and when I hit on this interpretation of the prompt I was absolutely delighted!  It was also supposed to be short, but it’s one of my longest whumptober days so far...

Langstrom Fischler was back. It was a name the Mechanic was vaguely aware of, although he’d never actually crossed paths with the other engineer, but from the faces of the Tracys as John made the proclamation, it was not a name with fond connotations as far as International Rescue were concerned.

One crash course of an explanation later, as Mr and Mrs Tracy all but threw him into Thunderbird One to help Scott on site – an unheard of situation – and he had some idea why the name of the man alone was enough to provoke a sea of displeasure.  He also found out why he was being shovelled out to the danger zone.

Brains was presenting at a conference and was unavailable for consultation.  The Mechanic had turned down an invitation to attend said conference and wondered if that had been a smart decision in hindsight.  IR’s other engineer-minded brain, Virgil, was out with Gordon on another rescue.

“Besides,” John had told him wryly as he yanked on an IR uniform he hadn’t even known existed – a dark brown version of Brains’ own, complete with iR insignia on the chest and a shoulder patch that seemed to detail a Scorpion Mecha – “if there’s anyone here who’s an expert in throwing dangerous machinery at people, it’s you.”

That wasn’t an unfair assessment and, unlike if it had come from Scott, felt more like an in-joke than an attack – although with John, he could never quite be sure.  The space-dwelling Tracy was still rather an enigma to him.

For his part, Scott didn’t seem particularly perturbed at having him along for the ride, although when the Mechanic decided to stow some Mecha – now with the yellow paintjob of IR equipment and INTERNATIONAL RESCUE stencilled on in black, which was also something he hadn’t done – on board, there was a raised eyebrow.

No comments, or refusal to load them on, though, which turned out to be a good call by the pilot; upon disembarking, not waiting for the Mechanic to push his way out of the jump seat restraints, Scott was immediately flooded by several tiny flying things. It wasn’t easy to see what they were, but the younger man hit the deck in a way that clearly wasn’t planned and didn’t get back up.

Fischler was known for making dangerous technology, and this call out had been much of the same, according to John.  Apparently it was even a revival of the same sort of thing they’d been called out to before – drones designed to increase crop yield and end world hunger.  It was a logical assumption that those drones had been what had attacked Scott, especially as they were still swarming the young man alarmingly.

What they were transmitting, and how they were doing it, was a question to be answered after neutralising them.  Small flying drones, meet big flying drone.

His Dragonfly Mecha was large enough to need Thunderbird One’s cargo hatch to open so it could drop out; the Mechanic didn’t know all the ins and outs of Scott’s Thunderbird, but he knew where the door controls were.  They fell open seamlessly and his yellow-painted Mecha swooped down like the predator it had once been, before being converted to IR use.

The conversion hadn’t included removing the electrical discharges, nominally kept in all the Mechas for a quick and dirty disabling measure for hard-to-reach electrics. According to the stories he’d been regaled with on the flight over by both Scott and John, who seemed determined to make Fischler out to be the most dangerously incompetent engineer in the world – not that the Mechanic disagreed with their assessment from what he was hearing – Fischler’s drones were difficult to catch and even more difficult to shut down.

A short, sharp burst of over two thousand volts emitted into the centre of the swarm did wonders for short-circuiting the entire batch at once, electrical arcs flying from one to the other until the entire group were fried beyond repair.

He caught one as it fell out of the air and scrutinised it.  It was an impressive enough piece of work, although clearly containing a fatal flaw if it was attacking people.

“My bees!”  The man of the hour, or so the Mechanic assumed, came hurtling towards them, red-faced and clearly furious.  He pocketed the device and set his Mecha, still sparking in a gentle suggestion not to get too close, patrolling the air around Thunderbird One, just to make sure there were no more drones that might target them and try to cause more damage.

Then he knelt down and checked Scott’s pulse.

“You destroyed my bees!” Fischler repeated, coming to a halt in front of him and wailing at the pile of mechanical carcasses.  “You International Rescue people are vandals!  Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?  And my reputation!  Getting funding is almost impossible since you obliterated my weather drones – everyone claims I’m ‘unsafe’ and ‘delusional’!  It was only a minor malfunction!”

“Minor malfunctions don’t almost kill people.”  The Mechanic stepped back as Scott’s limbs dragged themselves into some semblance of practical arrangement and pushed himself shakily to first his knees, and then his feet.  A stumble against Thunderbird One sent currents arcing from the Tracy to the metal, and Scott groaned.  “Your creations are too dangerous, Fischler.  One day something you create is going to kill you.”

“Oh, phooey,” the hack engineer waved off, “you’re just jealous your lot can’t come up with anything this good.  That flying monstrosity up there is awful – look at it!  It’s bulky, no aerodynamics at all, and that paint job.”

That was the Mechanic’s creation he was insulting, and he was having none of it.

“It’s safe.” Scott’s defence of it was faster than he could find words, as cutting as a laser, and entirely unexpected.  “That Mecha doesn’t go out of control, or try to kill people.”

It had done, once upon a time.  Scott himself had been on the receiving end of it, as had most of his brothers.  It was one of the reasons the eldest Tracy brother refused to forgive him.

But now he was defending it? Defending the Mechanic’s creation?

“My bees were totally harmless until you came in here with your third rate technology and upset them with its inferiority!” Fischler blustered.

Scott straightened up, legs trembling slightly and clearly struggling to hold his weight after the shock they’d taken.

“What’s their voltage and current?” the Mechanic asked, shifting slightly to draw attention onto him and away from the struggling Tracy.

“Their what now?”

How was this man an engineer?  “How many volts do they discharge, and how many amps does it run at?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Ten?  A hundred?  An amount, who cares?” Fischler dismissed, and the Mechanic was starting to get tempted by the idea of introducing him intimately to a well-constructed Mecha.  It wouldn’t kill him, probably – their current was theoretically non-lethal, despite the high voltage – but it might shut him up.

He wasn’t sure Scott would even mind if he did, judging by the thunderous yet resigned look on his face.

Electrocuting people was, however, a no-no in the big book of rescues, and even the big book of being a decent human being, which he was trying to follow.  Still, there were other things he could zap.

“How many more of those things do you have?” he asked, gesturing to the dead pile of scrap metal.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Fischler pondered, hand on his chin in a thinking pose that was almost comical to look at.  “There’s the F swarm, then the I swarm, the S swarm, the C swarm, the- hey, why do you want to know?”

Taking into account the man’s obvious hubris, the Mechanic calculated that at eight swarms.  If the one he had destroyed already was one swarm, that left seven to find.

He sent his circling Dragonfly Mecha in the direction the engineer had come from, and set it scanning for charged equipment.

“Good thinking,” Scott praised, still seeming a little unsteady on his feet.  The Mechanic wished he’d go back inside the Thunderbird and sit down before he fell down, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen of the man’s own accord and he certainly didn’t have the clout to make him. Undermining his authority in front of an idiot like Fischler would also be a terrible idea.

Full of clear resentment for International Rescue, and clearly more interested in fame than his creations, giving the man anything to latch onto could prove dangerous down the road. There was even a risk that the Hood, should he ever find his way back out of jail (he’d done it several times already; the Mechanic was half-expecting news of a breakout any day), might try to recruit him.  He certainly hit the motivation boxes, if not the skill.

Then again, the Hood had picked up those teenagers and called them the Chaos Crew before letting them loose with technology they didn’t appreciate.  Skill wasn’t always a requirement in the Hood’s pets.

“What is that thing doing?” Fischler demanded, fearlessly invading the Mechanic’s personal space to glower up at him.  The saying about fools and angels sprang to mind.  “Call it off immediately!  This is vandalism!”

“This is a public service,” the Mechanic corrected, ignoring the nuisance in his personal space if only because stepping back would definitely be seen as an admission of weakness.

Hovering above his wrist display, the holographic imitation of the Mecha sent out a burst of electricity and numerous small electrical signals winked out of existence.

Fischler let out a sound that could only be discovered as a wail.  It went ignored as his Mecha moved on to the next nearest area of signal density, and the Mechanic wished he’d brought more of them along.  Neither the Scorpion nor the Ray Mecha would be any good for the remaining work, but as an afterthought he pulled out the Scorpion to patrol around himself and Scott, who still didn’t look great.

If he was honest, the Mechanic didn’t want to be in Thunderbird One on the homeward journey if Scott sat himself back in the pilot seat in that condition.

Fischler jumped back as the guard-Mecha passed near him, sparks flying threateningly from the stinger.

“No respect for genius,” the man muttered.  “One day, one day I’ll show you what I can do and you will worship it.”

“Trust me,” Scott interjected, a grin on his face that the Mechanic was fairly certain was aimed at Fischler, and not sharing something humorous with him, “no-one will be happier than us if your technology doesn’t try to kill people the moment it’s activated.”

From what the Mechanic could tell, that would eliminate the majority of their dangerous technology-related calls.

Fischler huffed, turned around, and stalked off.  Scott’s legs caved the moment he was out of sight, and the Mechanic grabbed his arm before he crumpled back down to the ground.

“Bees,” the man grumbled, hauling himself back upright and finally, to the Mechanic’s relief, staggering his way to the pilot’s chair, which he collapsed in rather ungratefully.  “Of all the things he chooses to make, he goes with bees.  John, how much more will it take before we can get him shut down for good?”

“I’ll call the GDF,” the ginger said immediately.  “Are they all destroyed?”

The Mechanic looked down at his display again.  “One more swarm to go.”  The Mecha let out one more discharge and then the rest of the icons vanished.  “And gone.”

“Good work,” Scott grunted. “Load them up and we’ll return to base.”

“You’re not planning on piloting?” he checked, looking at the shaking fingers and pale skin.  “You-”

“I’ll pilot,” John interjected.  “Don’t worry, Scott’s not piloting after that shock.”

“Hey!”

“No piloting until you’re checked over,” the ginger said unrepentantly.  Not interested in getting any more involved in the discussion than he was already, the Mechanic turned his attention to his returning Dragonfly Mecha and directed the patrolling Scorpion Mecha to clamber back inside the Thunderbird, ready and secure for take-off, whoever ended up piloting.

By the time both were secured, Scott’s pilot seat had retracted into the Thunderbird, and the Mechanic climbed the ladder two rungs at a time to enter her belly.  The brothers were still discussing the piloting situation – more of a one-sided argument that Scott was clearly losing – and he strapped himself into the jump seat again, ready for lift-off.

John was the one that took control in the end, much to the explosive frustration of Scott and the Mechanic’s internal relief.  Not that Scott wasn’t a fantastic pilot – he was well aware that the eldest Tracy brother ranked amongst the best pilots in the world – but with shaking hands and an off-colour pallor, the Mechanic wasn’t even sure he’d stay conscious the whole flight home.

Thankfully for the Mechanic, as the only other warm body around and therefore the only possible administer of emergency first aid on the flight, he didn’t pass out.  That didn’t stop the cluster of Tracys in the hangar once Thunderbird One slid to a stop on her mooring, however, with the elder generations leading the pack and fussing over Scott the moment he stepped out of his Thunderbird.

Even without the concern of Scott’s health, the Mechanic hadn’t been expecting any recognition for his first rescue.  With everyone fussing over the pilot, he was certain that he wouldn’t be noticed at all, and slunk away to offload his Mecha and check the Dragonfly over for any wear and tear after the successive discharges.

A hand on his arm pulled him up short.

“So, how did you find it?” Mrs Tracy asked, a glint in her eye that he couldn’t quite read.  Turning to face her, he was taken aback by the several pairs of eyes on him, all curiously awaiting an answer.  Scott was leaning heavily on his father, who in turn had a tight hold on him.  Behind them, it appeared that Virgil and Gordon’s rescue had concluded and they’d returned home, now standing alongside Alan and behind their brother and father. John’s hologram hovered out of Scott’s comm, and even Kayo was lurking in the shadows at the back.

MAX was projecting Brains to complete the set, and a lump settled in the back of his throat.

“The man was an idiot,” he managed, and a swathe of chuckles rippled through the family.  He rested a fond hand on the Dragonfly Mecha, in hibernation while it awaited its checks.

“Did you like it, being out there?”  It was Alan that said the question he could tell they were all looking for an answer to.

“Would you do it again?” Kayo added, making some of her brothers jump as though they hadn’t realised she was there.

The first question, he didn’t have an answer to.  The second was somehow easier, the words emerging without needing to think on them.

“Yes,” he said, looking at her.  “Yes, I would.”  He’d never thought he’d want to do it – be on the front line, throwing himself into danger to save others – but seeing his Mecha defend people, save them brought something warm to his chest.  This wasn’t what they’d been made for, originally, but it was what they did now, and it suited them so much more than their original purpose ever had.

Scott shifted, catching his attention as Mr Tracy tightened his grip on his son just a little more.

“In that case,” the eldest brother – IR Commander, distrustful even after everyone else forgave him – said without a hint of disdain marring the small, satisfied, grin that had crept onto his face, “welcome to International Rescue.”

#whumptober2021 #no.15 #bees #thunderbirds are go #fic #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #the mechanic #scott tracy #langstrom fischler #john tracy #thunderwhump #thunderfluff

[kirinda-ondo]

You know him, you either love or hate him (or are moderately confused by my sudden dive into this hyperfixation); we're talking about Orko because I have a lot of feelings.

As a disclaimer, I am not gonna claim to be some kind of superfan. I am not aware of every single iteration of the lore and all of its secrets. I don't know anything about the DC comics. I'm only halfway through the 2002 series as of me writing this. I am not someone you want to have discussions on the wider Masters of the Universe.... universe with. However, after watching Revelation, the entire Filmation He-Man (and some of She-Ra, cause he was there too), and going on a deep dive of storybooks, annuals, and minicomics courtesy of He-Man.org and the lovely people who submitted their scans there, I do feel pretty qualified to at least talk about Orko.

So, with all that being said, I'd like to get into a little bit of backstory, if only for my followers who came to this blog for completely different things and are wondering where the hell my love for this funky little wizard dude came from all of a sudden. Truth is, Orko is actually one of my earliest faves! Mind you, I only had limited access to Masters of the Universe as a kid, only seeing a couple of rented VHS tapes and later getting my hands on a small pile of the Golden Books from Goodwill, but apparently it was enough for Orko to  imprint himself into my brain. However, also due to my limited exposure, he kind of got shifted to the back of my head as I got deeper into other things. I still knew for a fact I liked Orko a lot though, even if I couldn't quite remember why anymore.

And then Masters of the Universe: Revelation dropped on Netflix. I'm not gonna get into my opinions of that show lest I open a flood of irrelevant discourse (for those uninitiated, it is a bit... divisive, to say the least). However my feelings on the matter did encourage me to go and watch the original and well, holy shit I love Orko more now than I could have ever comprehended as a kid. He is THE quintessential underappreciated comic relief character I tend to gravitate towards, and then some.

But before I get into that, let me back up a bit and explain. Orko is a Trollan, a race of magical little dudes that are basically floating sweaters with hats and covered up faces. Out of these Trollans, Orko is an incredibly fucking OP archmage. Like, they straight up call him Orko the Great, he's so powerful. But then, he gets caught in a freak storm that whisks him away from his home dimension and into Eternia. Immediately, he runs into a young Prince Adam, who is trapped in a swamp/tar pit and needs rescuing. Orko, being the upstanding lad that he is, uses his magic to save him but in the process loses the item that allows him to focus his magic to the swamp (in the 80s version, it's a medallion, but in the 2002 series, it's a wand). Worse yet, the magic (and dare I say the very laws of physics) in Eternia works pretty much the opposite as it does in Trolla, so he's been incredibly nerfed.

So basically, Orko is trapped in a topsy-turvy world away from friends and family, a world with magic he is fundamentally incompatible with. Ouch. He's not completely screwed, however, as he is rewarded by the king and queen for his heroism and appointed... the court jester. Double ouch. He surprisingly doesn't seem to mind though. He genuinely does enjoy entertaining people, even when his tricks only ever work like half the time because he's basically a Mac program trying to run on a Windows computer.

It's not all horrible though, as he does quite literally get adopted by the royal family  and thus sort of become the entire palace's weird son/little brother (despite being older than many of them. He's very, very child-coded largely for the purposes of being a stand-in and example lesson to the actual children watching). But also, more importantly, he becomes one of the very select few to know that Adam and He-Man are one and the same.

But outside of secret-keeping, he is actually a pretty valuable ally to have against Skeletor and his dudes because even though his magic is kind of screwed up, when it does work, he's still one of the most powerful mages on Eternia. In various materials, he's created floods, a second winter, and hell, he can literally explode himself and still be perfectly fine. He's also really clever and can weasel his way out of a number of situations. In one episode, for instance, he manages to convince someone that he's He-Man and Adam is his "assistant" in order to free him from captivity so the day has a better chance of actually being saved.  He's also got the ability to just be really frustrating and incomprehensible to the point that villains who capture him sometimes either don't want him or don't know what to do with him anymore, which is honestly really funny. In an episode of She-Ra, the villains tried to scan his brain but because the inner machinations of his mind are that much of an enigma, he got diagnosed a weirdo and broke the entire machine. Absolutely delightful.

However, there's a lot more to Orko than just comedy and bungled magic. He's actually surprisingly complex!

See, going into this, I expected Orko's whole situation be played entirely for laughs while the sadder implications of his existence go entirely unaddressed. Coming off the heels of characters like Cobalt and others I enjoy, I'm used to this sort of treatment by writers. But they actually don't do that. The depressing subtext is for once, actually TEXT, which was INCREDIBLY surprising to me. We actually get to see another side of him, a side that hates that he can't be taken seriously no matter what he does, a side that is well aware of all the trouble he causes and feels like a burden to those around him. He actually runs away on multiple occasions, fully believing that he's unloved and everyone would be better off without him, even if that couldn't be further from the truth (a point which the Sorceress hammers home with multiple straight up magical video presentations, and in the 2002 series, a literary adaptation, of why he is loved and important).

Underneath all the hyping himself up that he does, there's a lot of insecurity. He's someone who desperately wants to be loved and respected and feels that without funny magic tricks to entertain people, he has no inherent value (which is incredibly relatable if you are also known by people as The Funny One). At one point he agrees with the notion that he doesn't feel like much more than a pet, which is absolutely heartbreaking. Even when he gets the ability to go back and forth between Eternia and Trolla, his feelings of inadequacy now extend toward his family, worrying that his own uncle, the one who taught him everything he knows and greatly contributed to him being Orko the Great back home in the first place, wouldn't be proud of him. Being on Eternia highkey wrecked his shit, man.

However, even when given the opportunity to go back home for good, he always chooses to stay because he's loyal as hell. Even if he needs some reminders, he does know he's needed not just in the fight against evil, but just because his friends and newfound family genuinely love him. It's heartbreaking, but also incredibly wholesome. I did not even remotely expect a comic relief character like this to get this much depth and respect from the writers, especially not from the incredibly campy and cheaply animated 80s series. I am genuinely so unused to this.

But I think that's also what separates him a bit from his fellow Silly Kid Appeal Characters That Kids Fucking Hate ala Snarf Thundercats or Scrappy Doo. He not only makes a concerted effort to be an actually useful ally, but he's also in fact very self-aware of his status as one of these characters. He knows he screws up a lot but he actually tries to accept responsibility and fix it. It makes me wanna root for the lil dude. Now I understand if someone isn't a fan of the brand of humor he brings to the table, or feel like he's simply a distraction from the Cool Buff Dudes Fighting Each Other, but I hope you can see why he might also be a really appealing character to other people, both kids and adults alike. I mean, he was popular enough to be embedded into the canon despite originating from the cartoon and not the toyline for a reason, after all.

Orko is a fun, entertaining, but also complex, heartwarming, and relatable character. I know there is a faction of people that would disagree with me, but I don't think you need to change him all that much or make him a super serious character to be more appealing. He's already got a lot going on that a writer could easily work with. It all just depends on where you decide to focus. Take a lesson from the show and accept that he's fine just the way he is.

#kateh rambles #a defense of orko (aka 'i can't believe the subtext is actually TEXT this time') #i feel like there's more i could say but i can't get my thoughts organized let alone enough to have it flow with the rest of this #so there could be a part 2 at some point? maybe? i don't know #orkoposting

[utterlyinevitable]

Time Bomb

III.

I.  |   II.

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 3.2k Warning: angst, trauma, panic attack Summary: OHSY Chapter 13 rewrite with the trauma we should have had.

A/N: I was going to have this be one long fic but it read just as jumpy as the canon chapter so imma split it up into 3-4 parts. I’ve been sitting on this for weeks and not really happy with it but yolo it’s as good as it’s gonna get! Enjoy 💗

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III.

Following an all-too-short lunch with Jackie, Becca reposed in the residents lounge for the rest of the day, alone, save for the somewhat reassuring chime of silence which was suspended throughout the room, and a riveting new journal that she held in her hands as she waited on labs to come back for her only patient, Farley. 

Esme stepped inside the newly renovated room, closing the thick wooden door behind her and spinning a pen anxiously between her fingers. The atmosphere changed immediately - whatever calmness Becca found in this modern solitude vanished with her enigma of an intern’s presence. She moved to sit across from Becca without saying a word. 

The two of them sat there in complete silence for a bit. The only sound was the rattling of the central heating from behind the ceiling panels and the taps of the pen Esme was still spinning between her hands. 

Becca folded the article on her lap. She couldn’t focus on it anyway. 

“Esme? Everything okay?”  

It was impossible to miss the sullen look on Esme’s face - as if the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders and crushing her completely. She looked at Becca for a long moment, never meeting her eyes. Esme’s stare scanned the resident before her; the one resident responsible for her mentorship, the one she’s supposed to trust, the one who’s known to have faced great ethical dilemmas. All Esme could see was the same struggle staring back at her - only worse. 

“Not really,” she huffs, crumpling back into the couch cushion. “It's Levi. His situation... it's really getting to me.” She took a pause to lick her dry lips. Then dove into the guilt eating away at her, “He's in so much pain every minute of every day. He's miserable, Becca. His whole life is agony, and he can't even tell anyone. I put my stethoscope to his chest a few days ago, and he teared up.” 

Becca could tell Esme was trying not to cry, hiding her emotions behind the brick wall her angry tone provided. Trying to be strong. For whom had yet to be determined.   

“Could you live like that?” 

“Honestly…” Becca sighed as she bit her cheek, “I don't know.” 

The last two weeks had Becca contemplating her own existence more than ever - a unwarranted side effect of escaping death. And in all those restless hours she hadn’t settled on a solid statement. She hadn’t found the right words to completely encompass and make sense of the endless agony tearing her apart. 

She wished she could have switched places with Danny and Bobby; it was her fault they got caught in the crossfire. But Becca was selfish. So selfish for not wanting to die. 

Rebecca Carolina Lao did not want to die. She could not die.

She’d worked hard her entire life - devoted her youth to her studies and cultivating the best resume she could. Her life had only just begun. She finally had the career of her dreams and… 

What else is there to live for? 

Those around her. Her friends. Her family miles away. 

She couldn’t leave them. What would her mom be like if she had died without saying goodbye? She was strong but no one is strong enough to bury their child. Would she have her buried, or cremated and kept close to her heart? How would her roommates cope with the loss of another friend? How would they cope with taking on her share of the bills on top of inevitably losing their jobs in a few months? Who would pack up all her stuff and where would it all go? 

Becca didn’t know any of these answers because she wasn’t in that position. 

Through all of her pain, she fought like hell to stay. 

As she sat in front of Esme, Becca’s mind briefly wandered to what it would be like to be in Levi’s position. If she couldn’t hold anyone’s hand anymore, or hold a pen or a book without pain… or kiss Ethan… 

Would she be strong enough to live without everything she holds dear? 

No. 

She could not imagine her life ending any time soon. 

“So what do I do for him, Becca? How do I help?”

The pen stopped rotating and the heating system lulled to a dull hum. 

“You try... To respect his wishes,” she said with a resolute nod. “That could mean finding new experimental treatments, or it could mean accepting the fact that he doesn't want any more surgeries, even if you think they might help. He doesn't have any good choices right now. You have to make sure he knows you care about him first and foremost.”

The damaged girls looked at one another. The words settled and the air shifted.   

Esme balled her fists against the loose fabric of her scrubs at her thighs. “Yeah... that makes sense.”

“Levi's been through a lot, and it makes sense that he doesn't want to get his hopes up for no reason. But it's your job to try to get him well.” 

“I just wish I believed we could actually do that. Fix him.” Esme sniffled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, straightening up resolutely. 

Becca’s eyes softened. She remembered how it felt with her first terminal patients. That absolute helplessness didn’t compare - not any more. 

The thing about being terminal - the silver lining - is foresight. People with incurable conditions have time to come to terms with dying. They have time to make amends. They have time to live the rest of their days on their terms. They have time to say goodbye. 

Unlike Danny and Bobby. 

Esme rose to her feet, wild determination in her eyes. “Levi's an amazing guy. I'm gonna help him... somehow.”  

“He is,” a small smile pricked the corners of Becca’s lips. “I'm glad he has you to look after him.” 

“Thanks, Becca. This really helped.” The standoffish intern smiled back and headed off towards her mission. 

And once again Becca was left alone in eerie silence.  

***

Stir crazy and mind bouncing too much for the walls of the small lounge to handle, Becca decided to make laps around the hospital. She spent the rest of her afternoon reacquainting herself with the wards and spending time comforting premature babies in the NICU. 

Babies. 

How can you be sad around babies? So full of life and promise... 

Becca was walking past the E.R. on her way to check on Farley when she ran into Ethan. 

His face lit up when he saw her; she looked better. She had pulled her hair back into a neater bun and there was a ghost of a smile present among her features. Looking up at him there seemed to be a glow about her, glowing in the faint way that only someone with a new lease on life could. Maybe Ethan was wrong. Maybe she did need to come back to work and face her fears head on. Maybe what was best for her was the distraction and promise of doing good. For once he hoped beyond all hope that his assessment would be proven wrong. 

The sweet coloring in his eyes sparkled and the small cracks of crow's feet peeping at the corners sent a joyful warmth throughout Becca’s body. Just the sight of him gave her enough purchase to let out a large gust of air and with it most of her reserved tension. 

Ethan. 

He was here and she was safe. 

For a fraction of a moment they both forgot they were still in the hospital. 

“I've just been with your landlord,” he said slightly softer than his normal cadence, giving them both reason to stand closer in the busy lobby.  

“How is he?” Becca shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, keeping herself from reaching out to him in such a public place.  

Their eyes never strayed from one another. The sparkle in his azure’s matched the glow of her heart as she gazed at him. 

“A pain in the ass.” The sides of Ethan’s mouth perked upwards just a hair. “Medically, however, I'm waiting to see if any bacteria shows up in his cultures. If he has meningitis, we'll need to-” 

Suddenly, the ambulance bay doors burst open cutting him off. Their heads whipped towards the door where an EMT was wheeling a new patient in.  

With skilled precision the EMT rattled off. “I have a patient here. Unconscious female, 50's.” 

Becca and Ethan took a brief look around the E.R., but the few doctors on duty were busy with other urgent cases. 

“We'll take her,” he says just as Becca’s feet carried her to the gurney in an adrenaline-fueled rush.   

Unconscious woman. Shallow breaths. 

Becca’s muscle memory took over well before her brain could catch up, gently slapping the nameless woman’s deathly pale cheek. Everything happened so fast. Becca’s vision was filtered by a vignette secluding her from the world. The only thing pulling attention at the center was the woman before her. This patient barely breathing and clinging to dear life. This patient with frayed graying hair, soft creases and a pale white face with a structure she’s seen before. 

This woman’s not going to die. 

Becca wouldn’t have it. On the third slap to her boney cheek the darkened edges faded and Becca could finally see the bigger picture. 

The moment she made contact, it clicked. 

Becca’s jaw dropped as she registered the features glaring back at her. 

“Oh my god…” she whispered to herself. 

This can’t be. 

Nervously looking over her shoulder Becca called, “Ethan,” 

He raised his brows, ready to jump in and help at her command. 

Before he could take a step forward Becca quickly elaborated, “It's your mom…” 

Time kept spinning and every second this patient came closer to losing life. 

For the first time in his career Ethan was rooted to the spot. 

Of course this would be how they meet after 25 years. The universe had been playing a sick and morbid joke on him lately - Dolores, Naveen, Becca, and now the woman who was dead to him long ago. 

“Ma'am?” Becca tapped her again, trying to jostle her awake. 

Becca’s eyes further assessed the woman’s state. Blue lips and fingertips. Memories jolted through her on the backs of the numbing adrenaline of her first ever case with Ethan - 

She’s losing life. 

Just like Danny and Bobby and... 

Becca pushed the constricting feeling of paralyzation aside. This woman cannot die on her watch. Another life will not be taken from her. Regardless of who they are.   

Ethan watched Becca move frantically around that woman. The reassuring color she finally found had drained from her face completely. Without having to ask he knew how Becca was feeling, because he felt it too. 

He didn’t want to help this patient. He wanted to turn on his heels and let the powers that be take control. To let whatever power that took her away from them all those years ago to come and take her away now. He couldn’t look at her. The nerve of that woman. But Ethan Ramsey took an Oath and there was a patient who needed his expert care. 

With herculean effort Ethan shook himself out of his trance and leapt into action a split second later.  

“How's her breathing? Listen to her chest,” he instructed.  

“Shallow. Pupils are small and unresponsive…” Becca responds, moving to check their patient’s arms for any telling signs. 

And she finds one. 

Track marks. 

She bit back the gasp threatening to call Ethan’s attention. 

Ethan… 

As much as Becca wanted to protect him from this - from the deep seeded, constant pain his mother inflicts - her job came first. Becca was a doctor and her attending needed to know the diagnosis. 

“It looks like an opioid overdose. We need to wake her up.” 

She didn’t take her eyes off of his mother, willing her awake with every fibre of her fragile being. Calling up to that invisible force that spared her life only weeks ago for just one more favor. Just one more delay to the inevitable. She greedily needed her to survive. Needed his mother to open her eyes - there was no other option. 

Death would not come today.  

“Louise?” Ethan finally acknowledged the woman. His voice bellowing, pricking goosebumps on Becca’s skin. “Dammit!” 

Ethan brushed past Becca and ground his knuckles into his mother’s sternum. 

“Hnnng…” Louise whined; her eyes opened for a moment and Becca caught the same baby blues blankly staring at her then rolled back in her head. 

No.

Doe eyes wide and full of diluted terror Becca announced, “I'll get the naloxone.” 

She hurried to find a bottle of the drug in a cabinet by the nurses station, quickly preparing an injection in her unfaltering hands as she moved back towards the gurney in ten steps. Then without an ounce of hesitation, stabbed the needle into Louise’s shoulder. Ethan’s mother drew a deep, shuddering breath, eyes fluttering as she slowly pulled out of her unconscious state. 

Becca’s breath caught up with her. 

She’s alive.

That was all the assurance Ethan needed. 

“Alright, she'll make it.” Ethan pulled his rubber gloves off and stepped away from the gurney and where Becca still rooted beside it. 

“Nurse? Keep an eye on her. We're done here.” 

Becca wasn't done. She was sinking in the feelings surrounding her. She felt like she was drowning in the onslaught of waves overtaking her - waning adrenaline, fear, terror, inadequacy, remembrance. Death looked her in the face again today. She evaded him once more. 

Becca 3, Death 2. 

What quarter were they in? When will this duel finish? 

She doesn’t know. It’s an inevitable prolonging. A battle she won’t win for long. 

When is the end? 

She’s consciously terrified of losing. 

Becca’s rooted in place as the waves began rolling towards her. Everyone moves around her in fluid sweeps. She sees nothing and everything all at once. Her line of sight coated in blanched static. 

When the nurse took over and shook her out of her trance, Becca noticed Ethan promptly striding from the room without another word. This wasn’t the Ethan she knew; he would never leave a patient this soon. And this wasn’t a patient… it’s his mother… who nearly died if it wasn’t for him… 

Becca swallowed her bile of trauma and chased after him through the storm; 

“Ethan!” 

The haunting she felt in her core didn’t matter. The shadow taking tallies over her shoulder didn’t matter. None of that mattered. She had to push past it all and be strong for him now.

He was elusive. She didn’t even hear his footsteps stomping through the hall and rattling through her, not even the vibrations ricocheting off the steel foundations. His long legs couldn’t have taken him too far. Scanning the corridor, Becca noticed the door to the on-call room a second away from shutting. 

Ethan.   

She finds Ethan hunched over a cot in the empty on call room. The room is dark - only one clinical light is glowing in the far corner of the cramped room. His hands balled into tight fists, the whites of his knuckles reflecting the little light away from his crumpled face. 

She gingerly sat down beside him and ran a gentle hand over his back. 

“Ethan?” Becca whispered a few moments later “Are you alright?” 

Warm air flowed indignantly between them. 

“She does not get to do this to me.” He huffed in his deep voice laden with the sentiment of a broken child. ”She does not get to make me feel bad for her.”

“I’m sorry.” Becca couldn’t say anything louder than a whisper. Her own despair still gripped into her like a vice.  

“Don't be.” Ethan shrugged bitterly, though not enough for her to let up on her calming caresses. “This has nothing to do with me. That woman isn't anyone I know.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. They let silence hang and their minds clear. It was Becca who asked the most pressing question from their earlier observations: 

“Do you think your dad knows she’s using?” 

“...I don't know.” 

He grinds his hands further into his eye sockets, willing the newest image of that woman from his minds eye. Becca continued soothing rubs up and down his back and placed her chin on his shoulder so she could look at him more closely. 

“It’s okay to be sad,” she mutters. 

“I'm not sad. I'm... I'm…” Ethan dropped his hands and they hung between the gap of his legs. His eyes squeezed shut and she can make out the small droplets trapped against his lashes. “Angry.” 

“That's okay, too.” Her free hand moved to begin tracing nonsensical patterns over the thin, starchy fabric at his forearm. “Anything you're feeling right now is okay.”

His clouded eyes flew open. 

“I'm…” he begins to speak before pressing his lips together tightly. 

He huffed, shoving off her embrace and stands. 

“I have to get back to work.” 

“That was your mom, Ethan. She nearly died. You can take a minute. It's okay--” she began to plead. 

Becca was trying to beg him to stay. To lock the door and let them hold one another for a while. So that they can fall apart and patch one another up with unconditional affection. She needed this just as much as she knew he did. 

But Ethan didn’t give her the chance to ask, to make the all too enticing proposition as he bound across the room. He didn’t even bother to turn around; his eyes shut tightly and hand reached for the metal knob. He inhaled a deep cleansing breath; 

“No, it isn't. There are patients that need me much more than she does.” There was a finality in his tone that frightened her. 

Becca’s jaw slacked. 

Ethan didn’t leave a second for her rebuttal. For her to beg. Not even a quirk of the neck in her direction to see the matching brokenness in their eyes.  

The door shut loudly behind him, his footsteps echoed down the hall. 

She wanted to chase after Ethan. He needed her now more than ever. Another person in his life could have been gone in a swift, unforgiving instant. If the effects of seeing their patient on the brink of death was this bad for her she could only imagine what he was going through. Though Becca couldn't move, couldn’t force herself to run through the halls and break down the barriers he’s just put up sky high. He’s pushing her away again; she can feel it. 

Resigned, Becca gave up the great fight. 

When the rattling of his exit dissipated and all that reached her ears was an unnerving peace, she laid down, hugging the plastic wrapped pillow tightly to her body. It smelt like clean and disinfectant and morbidly hospital-like. She wasn’t able to lose herself in this horrid smell. She ripped off the case with as much strength as she could muster, freeing the mass-produced cushion. The squish of the mildly firm pillow through the hypoallergenic fabric wasn’t helping. It still carried all she needed to forget. Rolling to face the wall, curling into a tight ball and burrowing her face in the pillow she let out a vital, subdued scream. The damn was shattered and her emotions spiraled freely for the first time in days. 

Everything was all too much.

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#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart

[yetremains]

“❗” + What is Grandmaster Hasashi and Scorpion to you?

Send a “❗” to force the truth out of my muse.

It had been a sudden ask, a demand really, that invoked the spell of truth. Certainly not something easy to answer, as the ancient warrior crossed her arms firmly. How could one begin to explain the complexity of the situation she finds herself in? How the mind and heart ached in equal measure for something long lost, and yet the odd contentment of just being within a familiar presence, even if it was not exactly the same person. The Grandmaster was his own man, but still held that same soul, the same man, with those same eyes. But there were several differences all the same. God it was... complicated... and yet... Simple? Yang could feel her brain hurting just trying to get the proper words for such. But at the same time, it wasn't exactly something she wanted to say out loud, it was strange enough as it was. She did not wish to put any uncomfortable weight upon the man. That anxious and guilt ridden predator within the mind ever prowling even in this moment.

"Someone special." A low sigh escaped the woman, stance shifting ever so slightly. Of course that wasn't going to be the accepted answer, nor simple. This was something that demanded some sort of clarification. "That individual is someone whom deserves so much more than what fate forces upon his shoulders. He's an impossible enigma that burns brighter than any flame could hope to achieve." One hand lifted with a pulled tight expression, gloved hand freely running through her hair. Words, words, WORDS! English could fail so fantastically at times, even for someone whom could weave them together in music and song.

Eternity could stretch into the unknown but every time there would be certain bumps along the way that would repeat. But on the flip side of that infinite coin was the same warm welcomes and support. Perhaps one should merely speak the mind even if it could sound absolutely insane, and take some form of comfort in the truth that had been forced. "Grandmaster Hasashi is someone whom I won't give up for the world, and will take great care for. Him as he is or as Scorpion, both are facets of him, and I accept it all, sharp edges and cracks. I'm happy to know he exists here and now, even beyond time, no matter how hard my heart may beat or skip. He is a piece of me I'll never loose. And I'm thankful to have been welcomed as a friend. That is good enough."

#sasorikigai #Reborn. Risen. Redeemed. Grandmaster || sasorikigai #Warriors Spirit Never Fades || MK Verse #(( madam you say that now BUT )) #(( we know how badly you want to engage. )) #(( Yang is going to loose that self control really soon you just watch. )) #(( Soon enough that 'friend' will be more. ))

[drstone-writings]

Hello~~ welcome to the kingdom of science!! Can I request a good ol SoulmateAU for senku :> Thankyouu!!

hello! thank you for requesting! this is my first writing so I hope you enjoy 😊💞

word count: 2.7k

Soulmate AU! Ishigami Senku

Soulmate? Huh, that’s 10 billion percent ridiculous for Senku. He doesn’t believe in such kind of things especially if it involves romanticism, he is not a big fan of that and never in his wildest dreams that he ever thought of having a soulmate. By just having science beside him is already enough for the science user.

For Senku, having a soulmate is like engaging yourself in the illogical aspect of life and showing vulnerability. He knows how love can do complicated things to which it can also damage the rationality of human beings. And that’s the last thing that Senku ever wanted. In spite of being a science freak, he’s not an uncultured swine to not know about what love is, of course, he also watched some romantic films which is a miracle for Senku since he’s not into that kind of genre. Sci-fi is his favourite of all, like duh? It’s already obvious.

Watching how love can make people become stupid and do sorts of things that they haven’t done before. It gave more Senku a reason to not associate himself with romance, it’s really terrifying and Senku doesn’t want to not use his big brain.

In other words, he didn’t drift his mind to know who his soulmate is, it doesn’t matter to him anymore.

And Senku was kinda confounded at the words that were printed on his wrist; “Are you the sorcerer that they were talking about?”

They said that you will find your soulmate when their first word was the one that was marked on your wrist. Senku was weirded out, assuming that her soulmate is an uncanny girl to say these words to him.

Like what the fuck is this sorcerer thingy? It was comical to Senku, he couldn’t comprehend as to why those words are the first one that you’ll say to him. You only gave him a headache.

When the world turned into stone, Senku began to commence his plan by building civilization from scratch, and he needs to save 7 billion people even if Tsukasa was against his idea and hunting for his head. The only thing that can stop the kingdom of Tsukasa is to destroy them and admit defeat by utilizing science.

Thank goodness that the primitive people that he encountered which are: Kohaku, Chrome, Suika, Kinro, Ginro and Kaseki helped him to fabricate the modern technologies and medicine to cure the unknown illness of Ruri. As Senku was doing something, he heard light footsteps behind him. He thought that it might be Chrome and ask him about the ingredients that they needed to acquire for the medicine. However, as he turned his head to take a glimpse at the person, his eyebrows instantly raised once he saw a new face that entered his lab.

“Are you the sorcerer that they were talking about?” once those words slipped out from your mouth and played in his ears. Senku’s eyes flew open and jaw hang since it was all too familiar to him—no scratch that! He absolutely knew those words, it’s actually the words that were imprinted on his wrist.

Now he already knew the reason why it was your first words to him, it was too unexpected and indistinct because his soulmate was actually from 3,700 years, a primitive person where everyone doesn’t know anything about science. Moreover, he totally forgot that he has a soulmate and it still exists until now. How humorous, it seriously astonished him.

Senku suddenly chuckled and rake his fingers through his hair, he was still in disbelief and surprise at the same time. You were baffled as to why he was chuckling, you didn’t even say anything funny so why is he laughing at you? Before you can speak, Senku interrupted you.

“So you’re my soulmate?” a smirk spreads on his attractive face, thus your eyes widened upon hearing his question. Why? Because his statement was the exact words that were printed on your wrist, it was indeed shocking for you. You couldn’t believe that your soulmate was the sorcerer that was the talk about in your village, your mind still couldn’t process that the long-awaited of your life is finally happening. You’re finally in front of your soulmate that you’ve been waiting for.

You don’t want to admit it but he is actually attractive in some unidentified aspect, it was an enigma to you, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest and as if your breath was stolen by some unknown spirit.

“I—uhh… I can’t believe that the sorcerer was my soulmate,” you uttered, staring into his red coloured orbs that resemble the colour of the blood. The smug face of Senku grew wider once he suddenly thought about a wonderful idea.

“Honestly speaking, I really don’t believe in this soulmate thingy, heck I even forgot that soulmates still exists,” he chuckled and walked closer to you. “What’s your name?”

You blinked before reluctantly answering him. “Y/N.”

Senku deviously smirks and put his hands on your shoulders, gazing at you with a blatant ulterior motive. “Well then, Y/N, I’m Senku, it’s nice meeting you by the way and I know how you’ve been waiting for this moment, but sorry to spoil your excitement since we’re doing something really important and we need more manpower to lessen the workloads. As your soulmate, can you help us gather the materials that we need? Your soulmate really needs your help.”

You only stared at him with utter incredulity as you could distinguish the mischief laced in his voice. But since your soulmate is now in front of you and waiting for him for a decade, you don’t want to slip the opportunity to be with him, hence you immediately agreed to his proposition.

Oh, you have no idea how Senku felt so accomplished knowing that he acquired a member of the village to his science kingdom, and the bonus is, it was his soulmate.

Truth be told that the aspects of a soulmate are absurd to him, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he’s kinda pleased to meet you. It’s really unexpected and shocking, but he doesn’t want to waste his time and idle for a minute since he has 7 billion people to save.

After months of meeting Senku, you already grasp his personality well. He indeed loves science with all of his heart and he has this galaxy brain that no one could ever compete. Senku is a man with conviction and true to his words, despite not interested in love and soulmate thingy, he’s actually the kind-hearted man that won’t leave his friends behind and would voluntarily help them with the best of his abilities.

You’d be lying if you say that you’re not seeking for Senku’s affection because you knew that once you encountered your soulmate, you’d spend your time together by knowing each other and do some lovey-dovey stuff. Unfortunately, your soulmate is not that kind of man, he has this 0% sweetness inside his body, not only 0% but actually a negative.

His eyes are only for science and you couldn’t compete with it, Senku loves science more than anyone and he would die first before throwing it away. Well, true that Senku acknowledges you as his soulmate, but you don’t want to lie to yourself that you’re not feeling lonely and seeking some small affection from Senku. However, there are still instances where he’s going to praise you because of your hard work and giving him some ideas as well.

It’s really a nice feeling to receive some praise from the science user, every time he compliments you, you could feel the fuzzy feeling within your heart and stomach-churning pleasantly. Especially whenever he’d pat your head and ruffle your hair because you would surprise him with something valuable.

And that’s enough reason to make your face explode due to so much blushing.

Oh, Senku doesn’t have any idea that you want to squish him with a hug.

For Senku’s point of view, adding you in his kingdom is certainly the best choice that he had made, well, in the beginning, he was already thinking of how he’s going to lure everyone in the village with his kingdom. In spite of that, he’s actually grateful of you for giving him the scantiest idea and is a great help to fabricate his stuffs.

Unbeknownst to you, Senku really appreciated you being concerned for him and the one who would initiate to ask him if he needed help. He really likes your diligence and the little things you do for him like asking him if he’s alright, telling him to eat and not to sleep late, cooking for their breakfast and mostly, being so kind to him.

Senku isn’t stupid to not discern your actions, despite those uncalled gestures you show him, he’s 10 billion percent sure that you’re conferring your affections in a subtle way. He was shoving that thought away and focusing himself with tons of workloads, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he would sometimes take a glance at you doing your work.

The side of his lips would curl every time he’d watch you being so engrossed from your task. And it was really unusual for him and so not his character to think about you when night had finally come. His mind would wander to you, smiling and having fun with everyone even if your task is taxing. Senku admired your pertinacity and compassion that you emit, heck you even have higher stamina than him despite that he’s a man.

Yet again, affection isn’t in his vocabulary, he doesn’t know how he would show them, considering that romance never leapt in his mind, and he really isn’t good with women specifically if they have feelings for him. It’s a pain in the ass.

Fortunately, you aren’t the kind of person who would push themselves and pester them just because they are your soulmate. He was kinda relieved that despite being the person that you’d end up with, never once did you question him when it regards to romance and soulmate.

He sees you as an understanding and a chill person. He was grateful for that and kinda glad that his soulmate isn’t the annoying person who’d bother him to give you his attention and complain about him not being the affectionate man.

As the days go on, Senku thought about giving you a reward for your hard work, it’s not much but he speculated that it will make you happy somehow.

Senku knows that you’re once again at the cliff where you would usually hang out when you’re done for the day. Hence, he went to the said place and searched for you, once he reached the destination, he saw your figure facing your back at him and sitting in the middle while looking at the sky painted with millions of stars sparkling brightly at the overcast sky.

He wasted no time to saunter towards you and scoffed to notify you that he’s in the area. You hastily snapped your head to him and eyes slightly augmented upon seeing Senku behind you.

“What are you doing here, Senku?” the said man merely snickered and fiddled in his pockets before tossing you something that causes you to panic and caught it before it lands.

“That’s your reward for your hard work, I don’t know the things that you like, but that’s the only thing that popped in my head. I know girls like that kind of things.”

You only gawked at him then shifted your gaze at the thing that he threw at you, eyeing at your hand, your eyebrows arched once you spotted an unknown silvery thing that he had given you.

“What’s this?” you asked with confusion. Senku elicits a sigh before taking it in your hands.

“Turn around.”

“Eh?”

“Just turn around if you want to know.”

Reluctantly complying the science user, you turned around just like what he says and wonder what he’s going to do. Ahh, you just remembered that this is actually the first time you’re alone with him since he’s always with Chrome and Kohaku discussing science again. Suddenly, you felt something cold on your neck. Then your eyes settled on the silvery object that Senku gave you, your soulmate actually helped you wear it around your neck.

“That’s it, that’s how you use it. Back in our time, girls love those kinds of things and it’s an accessory for women like you, it’s called a necklace.” Senku explained as a curt smile plastered on his face.

Staring at him with jaw slightly agape, you gaze at the necklace he had given you and graze your hands at the well-carved crescent moon as its design. You don’t know what to feel at this moment, but one’s thing for sure, you are beyond ecstatic right now.

Lifting your chin to look at the man in front of you, momentarily, a sweet and sincere smile spreads on your face while holding the necklace in your hand.

“Thank you, Senku, I’m really happy today. I will surely treasure this until I die,” you mused.

As the moonlight strikes your face, defining the angles of your features, Senku was taken aback upon his vision of you was becoming more eminent in every second that would pass, as if the Goddess of the moon, Selene was knocking him out of his science senses to drift his all attention to you and realize how breathtaking and beautiful you are. And for the first time in Senku’s life, he admitted to himself that you are indeed beautiful and no lies intended.

Well, thank you, Goddess of the moon, for making Senku realized.

Senku snapped out from his trance and chuckled before stepping back. “Well, that’s only my purpose here, and now that I’m done I should go back to the lab, I need to think of a plan on how we will destroy Tsukasa’s kingdom kukukuku.”

Before the scientist will take his leave, you stopped him from his tracks when you speak.

“Senku, before you go… can I hug you even just for a second?” your voice was barely audible, but Senku heard it loud and clear. It took him by surprise and his jaw dropped onto the ground, doesn’t know how he will respond to that.

He only stared at you looking down while fiddling your fingers. Thank God that he couldn’t see your intense red face due to so much embarrassment.

It took him a minute to catch his breath and snapped him out of his daze, Senku meekly scratched the back of his head and glanced at you with disinclination. Since he doesn’t want to spoil your happy day and this is your first request to him as your soulmate, he had already decided.

“…Go ahead, only 5 seconds though.” Hearing his answer, your face lit up and feel your heart beating vigorously. You observed Senku’s awkward expression and you couldn’t help but softly chuckle before running towards him and engulfed him with a hug that you’ve been wanting to happen ever since.

Senku slightly lose his balance when you suddenly ran into him and hugged him, he doesn’t have any idea on what he should do, he isn’t the type of guy who knows intimacy and he’s not into cheesy things since it’s not his forte. It was really uncomfortable for him and never once in his life he had received a hug from the opposite sex. It was all foreign to him.

“Thank you… I’m glad that you’re my soulmate.” Senku’s gaze drifted towards you, your face was buried into his chest and your hug squeezes as if this is the first time you hugged someone.

Senku suddenly felt a fuzzy feeling in his heart, this new emotion was foreign to him and he couldn’t fathom as to what it was. Despite that he’s an intelligent man, in these kinds of things, he doesn’t have any clue about it. Senku is a beginner to this stuff.

Subconsciously, Senku’s hand found its way on your head and pat it with gentleness, his eyes soften and a sincere smile crept on his visage.

“Yeah…” was all he says. The 5 seconds that he had said turned into minutes.

For some unknown reason, he wants to stay in this position for a moment and feel the warmth of your hug that was giving him the relaxation that he needs. it was indeed a pleasant feeling to which he doesn’t want to stop this moment for a meantime.

Having a soulmate doesn’t seem so bad after all.

#dr stone x reader #senku ishigami x reader #ishigami senku #senku #senku x reader #ishigami senku x reader #dr stone imagines #senku ishigami #dr stone #dr stone scenarios

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 13

Thankfully, for Muska’s sanity, the next day the gate was repaired (because apparently it had been broken) and there were no reporters at the gate. That was probably due to Nedzu hounding them ‘politely’ which is honestly scarier than being called out.

She wasn’t too sure if blackmail was involved but she wouldn’t put it past him.

The day started normally, meeting up with Greenie and Gravity, the nicknames stuck, and heading into class. Bakugo was in his seat that morning, which considering yesterday they hadn’t seen him, was startling but she ignored him since he was treating the world as if it didn’t exist.

They spent the morning talking relatively quietly and when Iida approached to join Muska didn’t scowl or glare so overall, it was a calm morning. Well, except for Greenie’s subdued personality from the first day of school.

So it was a Bakugo thing.

Shoving that to the back of her mind for now, Muska focused on listening to the present conversation. She would have to talk to Eras about what to do while going forwards. Eras had always been strangely aware of the emotions people were feeling and what caused them to feel that way. Picking apart their behavior and posture to read them like a book emotionally so she could respond properly without harming the other person. For someone who hated dealing with her own emotions, she made damn sure to respect and treat others with care. Always telling them that what they were feeling was valid and that their response was normal for them so they shouldn’t have to change themselves just to make others more comfortable. If only she would take her own advice.

She was yanked back out of her musings when Aizawa walked through the door, his face set carefully blank as he reached his podium and commented about how it only took 8 seconds to quiet down that time.

“Today’s heroics class will be special,” a red quirked glare shut off the conversations and cheers that wanted to spring loose, “we will be taking a trip to a separate building on campus. You can choose whether or not you wish to wear your costumes or gym uniforms to go there.��

A very pointed look settled on Muska and traveled to Midoriya. Ah, obviously since their costumes were ruined (Midoriya’s more than her own) they would end up wearing the gym uniforms. She gave a subtle nod and Aizawa returned his gaze to the general class.

“Go head to the locker rooms and meet me at the buses.”

Leaving out the door much like the first day before the assessment tests, Aizawa was gone before her classmates could even ask questions. This time, thankfully, they got the memo relatively quickly and they all filed out to head to the locker rooms seconds after their teacher left.

Muska and Midoriya ended up being the only two who were stuck in the gym uniforms and honestly, yea that was expected. Why wear school sanctioned uniforms if you could be dressed as a robot. Speaking of robots, Iida was blowing a whistle, of all things he could carry around on himself, and was directing the class to line up in some kind of order. Taking his responsibilities as a class representative, which Muska had no clue what those responsibilities were, very seriously.

“Line up in two lines by seat order so we may properly board the bus!”

The class, reluctantly, started to get in those lines and Iida seemed to be quite proud of himself until he saw her. Muska was, admittedly, very confused and was just standing off to the side. Her facial expression betrayed none of her inner emotions and stayed carefully blank as she stared at everyone who in return stared back at her.

“Viridis-san! Why are you just standing there?! We need to get ready for the bus!”

Slowly, so slowly in fact that her neck should have creaked, Muska stared directly at Iida. Her eyebrow slowly raising until her face showcased confusion and she deadpanned,

“I have no clue what my number is Iida, what the fuck is a student number?”

Silence covered the class. The chirping of birds could be heard in the distance and Aizawa, who was just standing off to the side to avoid them, looked like he wanted to just take a nap. Muska could understand that on an emotional level.

Suddenly, because class 1-A can’t stay silent for long, a burst of laughter echoed from the line. Uraraka was clutching her side as she laughed and Midoriya stared at her, confused for a second, before a drawing realization appeared on his face.

“Ah, Viridis-san You sit behind me making you student number 19. I’m student number 18.” Midoriya elaborated.

Nodding, she headed over to stand behind him as Uraraka’s laughter seemed to subside into quiet giggles. When she finally looked up to see the bewilderment on her classmates' faces, she snorted before going to explain.

“After the practical exam, Viridis let it slip that she’s actually from Canada and despite living here for a while, she isn’t used to the way everything works due to habit.”

“I was homeschooled too so not much interaction with classrooms here anyways.” Muska added.

3 apologies from Iida later and 2 snorts from Uraraka that were reprimanded without heat, the class headed onto an open layout bus. Which warranted an extra snort from Uraraka and Muska at Iida’s down trodden expression.

Muska sat down next to Midoriya, he seemed to need a comforting presence nearby and he was kind and not touchy feely so it’s a win-win situation.

---Midoriya Pov---

Midoriya is confused.

It had all started with the practical entrance exam (That he absolutely tanked if it weren’t for the rescue points, god he was such a disappointment-) , Well, to be completely honest it had started in the auditorium where the practical was debriefed. Muska, who is an enigma herself, had taken it upon herself to reprimand Iida for calling him out. Saying his muttering was normal. That it was a natural way to think and therefore a testament to how serious he really was. He… He doesn’t really know how to deal with that so ignoring it seemed like a good option. (He was too used to teachers jeering and calling him creepy, that his muttering was an annoyance-)

Then there was her reaction to his rambling when she had caught him after Uraraka released his gravity. She listened and responded. She didn’t call him creepy, or drop him to deal with his injuries on his own. He didn’t even introduce himself and yet she was already responding to his questions and elaborating on what her quirk actually did! It was such a surreal experience.

The next moment when he was thrown for a loop, again, was while they were in the infirmary after Kacchan got… upset again. First, Muska introduced him to her guardian (who looked ethereal, her skin had a not quite alive appearance to it and her voice was as smooth as silk when she addressed him. Movements were graceful and fluid, yet a bit stilted with worry and anger(?) that he knew was not directed at him.) She had thanked him for saving her ward.

Midoriya didn’t know whether or not to be worried about the supposed body hiding capabilities but he chooses to believe it was a joke.

Then came his less than optimal decision to tell her that he hasn’t always had a quirk. (He was so caught up in her belief, in the casualty of the statement, that he was a hero, that he craved more. To know that wanting what he was working towards wasn’t wrong-) She just… blinked and asked why it mattered. Why being quirkless mattered when it came to being a hero.

He cried again at that.

Now, he was sitting beside her on the bus. The bus heading towards a special heroics class. Her casual decision to sit next to him was mind blowing. Not really talking, but then again Muska rarely talked unless it was quips or sarcastic responses. (He could tell she meant for none of it to be harmful, he knows on an instinctual level after having nothing but disdain and hatred aimed in his direction-) His nerves were still a little shot, school environments have been nothing but bad for him since he was 4, but having her beside him was soothing. There was someone here that he knows doesn’t care. Who doesn’t see him as any less for what he had been. This thought is what untenses his shoulders, why he relaxes when he saw her sit next to him when they first got on the bus.

It had been 5 minutes in when Asu- Tsu-san had asked him a question that had him tensing again.

“I apologize in advance since I’m blunt to a fault, Kero, but I say what's on my mind. Your quirk is similar to All Might's, Kero.”

The words “similar to All Might's” rang like warning bells in his head. Pounding against his skull as he scrambled, reaching in his thoughts for an explanation that wasn’t damning when he felt something strange.

It was as if something, gently, pried his thoughts away from the jumbled mess that they were. Soothing wash of clarity smothered his worries and he gave Tsu- san a small smile.

“In a way, though that’s probably due to strength enhancement quirks being more common than people expect. Just not to the length that All Might’s is.” He responded.

Strange, was all he could think as Kirishima cut in saying something about broken bones. The attention effectively mitigated. He had definitely never calmed that quickly before, he didn’t even stutter. It was as if his anxiety was just… washed away? He racked his brain for an explanation but came up empty.

Yet, it seemed familiar?

He was drawn out of his thoughts when Kacchan had started yelling and he was beyond startled that Kacchan was being teased. The bus arrived at the location and they all filed off the bus and headed over to the “USJ” as was explained by Thirteen, (Thirteen!) and he listened to Uraraka fangirl much like himself when it clicked. He turned his head ever so slowly to glimpse at Muska. She was standing behind them, slipping her phone and headphones back into her pocket, and Midoriya distinctly remembered an instance where she had shown off this specific ability before.

The reporters.

He subtly raised an eyebrow when they caught each other's eyes and Muska smirked.

He gave her a small and soft (relieved) smile and turned his attention back to his teachers. Gratitude settled in his chest as he listened to the exercise being explained. Hopefully, today will be a good day. He might not even break his bones!

Oh how wrong he was.

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

Tags:

@baguettehead

#bnha #mha #bnhafanfic #mhafanfic #bnhaoc #mhaoc #AU

[a-lil-perspective]

Hunter x Reader

A/N: What nobody asked for. I didn’t think a title would be appropriate for this particular piece of work. It really doesn’t coincide with any Star Wars themes, save for everybody’s favorite Sergeant making his debut within. It’s more of a Lil perspective. (Lol I’m sorry my last two brain cells have no sense of humor) For context: I have been absolutely suffocating lately, in every sense of the word. It’s almost indescribably oppressive, so I wrote this in desperately seeking comfort and therapy. Just a fragmented depiction, addresses underlying mental health issues and sensory disorders—in carrying my own subtle semblance of it, I love exploring those complexities with Hunter. It turns out soft. I think. Also, if you squint hard enough, you will see some song lyrics scattered throughout the fic in the form of thoughts. I wrote this in the format of Reader, though it’s practically a self-insert, I’m just not brave enough for those particular pronouns. :) Sorry in advance if this doesn’t apply to you...

▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️

Isn’t anyone trying to find me... Won’t somebody come take me home...

The silence was prodding. Hunter’s gaze darted to your tense form numerous times over the span of several painfully long, anticipating minutes. Each time, your lips remained pulled into a tight line while your extremities fidgeted in repetition. Agitation hung thick in the air. A terse statement of Y/N’s mystics echoed off the walls, to no-one in particular.

“I think... I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes incredulously searched you. “What do you mean?”

You see me standing, but I’m dying on the floor...

Your fists reflexively clench in grabbing at any semblance of weight to prevent your form from being dragged down into the mental abyss. You could feel it’s foreboding pull. It’s impending chaos.

It’s coming.

“Talk to me, Y/N...”

Your grip slackens, and you slip right over the edge. Hunter is too late to grab you.

I only want to die alive...

Your broken, unbridled guttural cries in response to the months of overwhelming emotional suppression caused Hunter to wince, and his own sensory receptors gain enough momentum to inwardly complain. He instinctively stuffs it down before kicking into action.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m here—”

Electric. The touch. His touch. It pricked, and the very fine hairs adorning the skin along your arms instantly retaliated to the calloused padding of Hunter’s fingertips caressing. It exacerbated your state of distress and just like that, your neurons overloaded. Sharp, stale air seeped in between your grit teeth and inhalation of insecurity.

Your sudden intake of breath and harsh flinch caused Hunter to cease in brushing up and down the outer region of your upper arms. His eyes narrowed slightly and quickly picked apart your stance. It greeted him like an old adversary with the remnants of a longstanding history, and a discomfiture swirled around Hunter at it’s painful familiarity.

“I can’t do this...” You breathe out despair.

The existing in general? The physical connection itself?

The latter wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it. It certainly wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, somehow, the glint in Hunter’s shifting irises reassured you that he was privy to your suffering, to some degree; he knew. He understood.

Of course he did.

For who to better understand heightened tactile sensitivity than Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99? He was neither confounded nor dissuaded by your particularity in the slightest.

It had always been an inherence of yours; a rather obnoxious caricature within the conundrum, some obscure accessory buried in your already heavily packed bags. An extra ingredient that completely screwed up the recipe. Constituted as awkward, plain and simple; the dramatized detail never became easier to address with age, and the thick lump of disdain in your throat only grew.

You set your jaw in frustration. How to even begin picking up and putting together the pieces of a person who’s constantly missing one, or several. You were never satiated, equanimity never extended it’s stay for long; simply just renting. There was always something, someone, leaving a smoking hole in your chest, forcing every euphoric guest out.

I seek to cure what’s deep inside... frightened of this thing that I’ve become...

Your features twisted in agony and discomfort that accompanied the stoked episodes. It made you bitter. It threw you to the streets and dubbed you a martyr before satirically exposing, taunting at the misfortune of your dealt deck of cards. It was downright embarrassing, obtruding. Trepidations instantaneously trampled your meager, sensory overloaded form each and every time. Your bitter, corrosive laugh was all the evidence in that moment; a feeble reminder of your hypocrisy.

Because how, pray tell, does one’s physicality simultaneously experience both a revulsion for tactility and desperate craving for touch itself? You never understood exactly the way the two collided and contradicted themselves. Your teeth clamped your tongue in quelling the deprivation and plea for more rising in your throat, while your neurons worked to whisk your form as far away from the man as possible—away to the repetition of obsolete emptiness and desolation awaiting to greet you. As always.

“Let me help, cyare.” Begging... the man was hurting for you.

Don’t want to say yes, don’t want to say no...

Your mind ached. You can’t stop the pendulum in your head. Forced to look through a kaleidoscope of melancholy. Pleas echoed in a cavernous empty shell, but fell on deaf ears. Tears cancelled their appointment, and the well currently ran dry. There was... nothingness. And you fought the growing complaisance with the notion. Numbness was terrifying, and being terrified was numbing. You didn’t do well with attitudinal changes, seeking restitution more than ever while you wholly acknowledged the aspect of a ginger touch; the literal power within one’s fingertips to effectively mitigate your suffering. An opportune moment standing before you, his brows furrowed in sympathy and the corner of his lips angled in assuring you of his patience.

But the sharp pang and quick successions of staccato rhythm reverberated deep in your chest and only exaggerated your pain. Curse your heavy heart. A huff of breath incited subtle movement in the loose strands hanging over your profile, to which Hunter borrowed a moment in reaching out to sweep the curtain back.

Your head was under water, yet... you were breathing just fine. You just had yet to find the damned drain to expel the pernicious and suffocating sea of psychological terror into.

I just need to clear my head... don’t let it go to your head...

You quiver under Hunter’s intense appraisal, and shame swirls thickly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Please.” He immediately interjects, his palm turns upright and opens invitingly. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

Just tell him what you need.

“I... I don’t know.” Your admission speaks in a whisper of loss and uncertainty. You roll the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, the lump returns to your throat, and it’s crawling. Your gaze flickers.

“Just focus on me, cyare.”

Another catch: you can’t maintain eye contact to save your life. Kriff your soul. “That won’t work.” Your eyes anchor to the cold floor as sheer panic and the sturdy walls themself began to rise around your trembling self.

I can’t come alive... I want the room to take me under... Feel myself fading away...

“Okay—it’s okay,” he soothes. Hunter fervently wracks his brain—the way he decompresses and approaches his own form of stimming is slightly different; it’s different for everybody with a hyperactive response to stimuli. It took the Sergeant years to cultivate those particular penchants and even longer to tailor and perfect them to his predilection. If anything, he felt slightly apprehensive in the success of his methods.

Your hands that now wrap tightly around your rigid form are currently the only familiar pair of hands granted permission to access the area. You give a brief squeeze and teeter on the balls of your feet.

Hunter didn’t require a sniper’s nonpareil eyesight to see right through your peculiarity, even if he was briefly taken aback at it’s sudden effervescing. Truthfully, he should’ve picked up on it days ago: at your fierce denial and subtle panic over Hunter’s harmless offer of a massage after you had worked out a particularly stubborn knot kinking his lower back—a simple requite of mutuality, or so he thought. At the time, the Sergeant found himself shrouded in enigma over your reaction; seriously, who—other than him who barely tolerates it—doesn’t enjoy massages? It now made perfect sense. He fought the urge to self-deprecate over his ignorance.

“I’m suffocating, Hunter.” You choke, and the cadence of your voice is like a knife twisting into his heart; he gleans vicarious pain from your own.

Clarity suddenly lights up the Sergeant’s features, and you’re briefly hyper-fixated with the way the inky but slightly faded outline of his shadowy tattoo fluctuates in natural contortion with his many facial expressions. Just behind his eyes he beholds his brothers—

‘I’m suffocating, ori’vod’...

Hunter remembers...

Of the exact way he presses against Tech in order to smother his vod’ika’s fleeting bouts of anxiousness—the pressure nearly breaking the kid’s goggles on more than one occasion, and the way he compresses Crosshair’s shoulders in squeezing out the pent up anger to placate amidst the sniper’s wavering, and the position of which Hunter managed to encompass his brawny brother in a comforting embrace whenever the big guy experienced despondency—that is until Wrecker quickly outgrew his ori’vod and began flaunting his own prowess of overpowering hugs.

The difference between the scenarios was minimal. Hunter knew exactly what to do. Like second-nature to him, his nurturing instincts fully kicked in and determination spread through every fiber of his being, quashing the previous buzz of his own nerves.

Hunter didn’t know how well he could alleviate your emotional pain, but there was something he could do for the neurological aspect, and hopefully, one could ease the other...

Hunter ambles up to you and in one swift motion, secures the length of his arms around your upper back, noting the delineate contour of toned muscles and shoulder blades poking into his forearms that now drape across before his hands encircle and come to firmly rest on each shoulder. Firmness. Pressure—for your state, this depiction is key. He determinedly pulls you to him, unrelenting in a tight grip. The position of the crown of your head settled neatly under his chin, and stray hair peppered his textured features with tickling kisses as Hunter dips his head to softly press his lips to your roots.

I wish that I could bring you back to me...

With your face suddenly buried in the man’s chest, you come to distinctly acknowledge two immediate sensations. One; the man is warm. Not the muggy, stuffy warmth of Tatooine that is unpleasantly abrasive and dry; but a soft warmth that permeates, stoking memories of baked goods within the cushion of a heated oven warmly enveloping you each time it’s doors open, and seeking to melt the hardened encasing that is your tense muscles. It eases you towards a serenity. You have a ways to go before you can make out the sign in the distance, but Hunter himself is one step forward along the path.

Two; he smells amazing. A faint smoky sultry, an obscurely mesquite scent, slightly tangy and reminiscent of raw timber that is both luxurious and intoxicating; a sweet smell you’d classify as anything but cloying. Like he bathes with suds of fresh mountain air and luscious forests. It’s soothing, and your mind immediately associates the tangibility with a daydream and mercifully blesses you with the glimpse; of your husband having just entered your cozy homestead from a day of hard but fruitful labor in his intricate works of carpentry within the serene seclusion of temperate countryside enveloping your favorite planet—

Handle with care... say you’ll be there...

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cyare—is this okay?” Hunter momentarily shifts and the rich baritone of the Sergeant’s voice resounding through his broad chest reels you back while he briefly tenses at your pending answer.

It was okay—your head was still swimming in an infinitely deep ocean of thoughts, but the way his hand slips from it’s position on your shoulder to cradle the back of your head before curling around the soft locks equates to the physical manifestation of a life preserver cast to your drowning form.

Your muffled confirmation and sheepish thanks warmly enveloped Hunter, as did your hands shifting to wrap around his broad frame in reciprocation. His grip tightened, and he patiently waits for you.

Hold.... Hold on... Hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady...

Hunter refrains from trailing to stroke further along your back; the sneaking suspicion that the sensation might further tip off your nerves. So he remained stationary, and deciphered the way you seemingly favored a firm, weighted grasp and a grounding touch over ghosting fingertips and light, feathery textures. He could relate to that.

But Hunter couldn’t stop the hum of contentment that escaped his lips at your fingers having absentmindedly wandered up to twirl at his ebony tresses. He, personally, loved your soft, well-placed strokes full of deliberation and meaning, and only you were allowed to grace him with them.

Hunter could feel your heart hammering against the veil of his blacks, and his ears hearkened to the rhythm of your burdened breaths. He shifted his weight and began to gently sway with you, unsure of the words to say.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” your conscience suddenly prods.

A snort fills the air. “Oh, I would’ve figured it out soon enough. I’m kinda smart like that,” Hunter cringes at his corny sense of humor, but he swore the faintest of chortles rumbled beneath him.

He grants a final squeeze to your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive areas along your arms, before pulling back to address your face. Trouble and distress still graced you, and Hunter laced his fingers with your own. He thumbed at the worn flesh encasing your defined knuckles, a relic indicative of steadfast manual labor. You slowly exhaled at the touch; pressure along the palms and backside of your hands was soothing to you. You often wrung them to keep preoccupied when there was no warmth to solidify the muscle, fingertips drummed erratic tempos along your thighs whenever the mood struck, and loud cracking of the stiff joints in transient tics was a regularly becoming thing.

Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new...

Hunter tugged lightly in ushering you to the cot, firmly planting himself on the worn, creaking edge before his gaze met yours in awaiting approval. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible nod of your head in confirmation. Hunter leaned back on his full weight in gesturing you with him, and your form followed suit as you found yourself abruptly layered directly atop the rugged plains of his chest. The quirk of his lips told you he didn’t mind being used as a body pillow. Hunter’s arms suddenly turned up empty to rest above his head.

“I want you to be comfortable. No brushing. Just tell me where to put my hands.” He clarified, and appreciation bubbled in your chest. You contemplated for a moment.

“Just... hold me close.” You began to guide his hands to the exact position. “Please.”

His limbs obeyed by wrapping snugly as a hand found rest at the small of your back, and the other nestled itself slightly higher up the expanse, fingers splayed. Hunter solidified the closed space, and not even a muted ray of light could pass between the two forms.

You found solace within the cage of well-endowed muscle, slowly suppressing your nerves on each side and physically shielding you from the works of mental oppression. But his touch left you hyperaware; from an overtly suffocating insecurity towards every part of your body now lingering against his own, to the precise and tranquil thrum of his heartbeat in contrast with your racing one. Your stimuli sparks again in response to the stress.

“Y/N.” Hunter cuts through your tension, his voice laced with concern—you cannot calm yourself down, and you’re certain your mind absolutely loathes you. “Everything will be alright, I promise—don’t tense up, baby. Relax against me.” You angle your head so that one side of your face plants to his chest; you wish to better hear his sturdy heartbeat. You suddenly remember your own. It’s still beating. Resounding; indicative of purpose. Your breaths; symbolizing life.

Just keep breathing... my air...

“That’s it. Just breathe.” Hunter encourages. He reaches up to press against your temple in stroking at the hairline. Unbound locks cascaded around each other, a mixture of two colors softly tangled on either sides of the furniture. You lost count of your numbered breaths in the midst of solitude when a question unveils from your thoughts.

“How do you do it?” Your words trump the stagnant silence, a desperate inquiry that peaks through the fibers. You tilt your chin to better regard the man.

Confusion tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “Do, what?”

“Anything...” you unload, and there’s a crackle to your voice. “The stress, the sensory... how do you manage? What’s your anchor in this wretched, kriffing life?”

A smile creeps up Hunter’s features, and his deep, reflective pools burn through you. “I’m looking at my anchor. And she helps me manage just fine.”

Your eyes blow protuberant and you manage to stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Honey, you are it.” His satisfied smirk grows wider, digging into his cheeks.

Something twitches at the corners of your lip and pulls into an upward curve; the feeling is tight, foreign. Your cheek muscles are unsure of how to compensate for the expression. You can’t remember the last time a smile has naturally graced your features. Now, it’s genuine. It’s... nice, and the hot rivulets currently streaming down your face are in a unanimous agreement.

Hunter moves to cup your face and thumb below your eyes, and his lips kiss the salt away. You grab hold of his forearms and shut your eyes.

“You want to know how I manage?” He croons in determination, “When my visual is overstimulated, I close my eyes and focus on the features of your face ingrained in my memory. When certain auditory has me weak at the knees, I remember the lull of your voice, comforting. When my nerves are on fire and I want nothing more than to be physically desensitized, it’s your soft touch that acts as a blanket, covering, making it easier for me. You make it better. Me better. Life better.” Hunter finishes his declaration in lovingly swiping at your face once more, expunging your pain. Words make a prompt exit along with it.

Your lips find purchase at the stubble along his jaw, in response. You love being able to fully make out the intricacy of his irises, now that you’re lovingly gazing into them. When you exit your captivated trance—his eyes are beautiful—you vaguely note with a twinge of pride that the encounter was indefinitely your longest standing record for maintaining eye contact. Another gentle smile fills your features. You remove your weight from him.

“Take this off?” You shyly tug at the collar of his blacks, seeking his consent, respectful of his own sensory receptors and their boundaries.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hunter sits to quickly shed the upper article of clothing. He pulls you on top once again, and you are relishing in his bare skin. Your fingers map out a path of their own volition along the various textures and scars dotting the pectoral flesh.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier,” Hunter nonchalantly called you out. Your brows furrow in confusion. “There was something different on your face when I first held you. Just a flicker. But you looked... happy. Content, even.” Hunter smirked. “Hope you’re not planning to keep all that happiness to yourself.”

You certainly weren’t planning to. You recalled the picturesque and beckoned it forth... there was your sign of serenity. Just the shape of it, but solid, and clear. Hopeful, and promising, just on the horizon. It made your chest flutter, and ebbed away at the heartache. You realized Hunter’s brow arched in anticipation.

“How would you feel about working in carpentry?” A chuckle. Hunter was thoroughly humored, and surprisal was briefly evident on his features.

“So I can build you and I a house? To fill a bunch of babies with? Gladly.” He chased the daydream alongside you, and it was your turn to borrow the surprise; your mouth hung agape as heat crept through the apples of your cheeks. Hunter’s laugh boomed as a hand fit under your chin to close your parted lips. He wished to use his own to do the trick, but, another time.

“I’m with you.”

#The Bad Batch #Hunter #Hunter X Self #I don’t know what to tag this as. #I just want to be comforted by Hunter #oop I may be sobbing now #but it... feels better #it’s a Lil thing

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 40

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 40: A Beautiful Songbird

You were caught up in his kisses. Those sweet tantalizing kisses. The ones that make your insides go all fuzzy, that make your brain go all fuzzy. When his hands started to roam that’s when your brain woke up when you woke up. You pushed him off of you.

You had to get your head on straight. He looked confused and enraged again. You move passed him, trying not to get cornered again.

“What about her,” you ask, this time it was your voice that was raised.

“What about who?”

“Phasma. Ap’lek looked like he was ready to fight her on the spot. If anything happens to her from all this I will never forgive you.” You crossed your arms and stamped your foot like all of the wives in the old Hollywood films.

He narrowed his eyes at you but took out a communicator and barked a quick order that sounded like, “leave the captain alone.”

His body language then shifted into something you didn’t recognize, “I missed you.”

“Cut the crap. Why am I always the last to know what’s happening? Why are Hux and Mitaka always letting me know what you want? Why can you not message me or talk to me yourself? I feel like a songbird in a cage that is only brought out when my master wants me to sing.” You were mad, all of the feelings from the last few days were boiling up now. You were sick and tired of being manhandled around and told absolutely nothing until you absolutely needed to know.

He didn’t answer, he just proceeded to stare at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but you wished you did. You wished you knew the man in front of you but you don’t. He was an enigma.

“Who is Skywalker?”

“No one.”

“Fine then. I guess you won’t answer and even if you did it probably won’t be the truth will it?” You were fuming, but you could see something boil up in his eyes. “Who is the scavenger?”

That did it.

“No one,” he screamed.

For the first time, his lightsaber was ignited in his hand. He looked ready to kill you. You backed up, slowly until you found your back against the wall. He was stalking towards you. But before anything could happen he extinguished it and dropped it to the floor. He made his way over to you traping you against the wall once more.

With quiet malice, he said, “you will not speak of her again.” His hand had hooked itself under your chin once more. His lips found your ear, “never again.”

Chills crawled down your spine. Who was this man? What happened to the one that was here before he left? Surely he was a bit nicer.

Your hands were pined by the Force above your head. “Do you want to know why I left?” His eyes were now boring into your soul.

You tried to nod but his hand still held your chin so you whispered “yes.”

“I went to kill him, to protect you. I only have one more task and then you will fully be mine, no more sharing.”

Sharing? Who was he sharing you with? And then it hit you like a load of bricks. Ben Solo, he went off to kill Ben Solo. Now he only had one more task to fully kill him. Was this why he was acting so different?

You gained a little courage, “Did you kill Skywalker to help kill him?”

His hand shifted up to caress your face once more. These mood swings were going to kill you. He swallowed, “Yes, and I would do it again.” His eyes looked clouded over like he was in some sort of haze.

“Who do you have to kill to finally have me?”

His eyes broke through their haze and his jaw clenched. “His mother.”

So this is why he never spoke of his parents, of  Ben ’s parents. He needed to kill them in order to kill him. In order to have you all to himself. To fully be Kylo’s. Somehow this both thrilled you and scared you at the same time, but it mostly scared you.

His lips came crashing to yours. The hold that the Force had on your hands released. Whenever he kissed you it was like all the rational parts of your brain shut off and stayed off until he started to touch you elsewhere. The hand that was trapping you against the wall found its way to the small of your back. And held you flush against him. The hand that was caressing your face applied thumb pressure to your cheek causing you to open your mouth. His tongue snuck in encapsulating you into a deeper kiss.

You heard him moan into the kiss, into your mouth. You felt hot, your body and mind betraying your rational thoughts. But then again your brain shut off when he kissed you. But luckily for the rational part of your brain, the hand on the small of your back started to wander down towards your ass.

You tried your best to break the kiss, to push him off of you. It slightly worked, he stopped kissing you and let you go, but you were still trapped against the wall.

“You never answered my previous questions.”

“No, but you are a beautiful songbird Kitten.” He leaned in to try and kiss you again.

A/N: A short chapter but hold on tomorrow’s is longer and quite a ride. 

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo x you #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #sw first order imagine #star wars first order #a soul to mend his own

[vincent-frankenstein]

32: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” With Logicality?

Ooh? I haven’t written Logicality in months! This’ll be fun :)

Summary: Logan comes to a startling conclusion, late one night.

Warnings: Uh insomnia, panic, it’s Very Soft but also the ending is ambiguous and not very happy, lemme know if there’s anything else!

Logan was hardly one for sentimentality.

This came as a surprise to absolutely no one. He understood the concept of nostalgia, knew that some people could benefit from the occasional bout of reminiscence — but he also knew that Thomas was not one of those people. Nostalgia only served to hinder them, in small doses, and incapacitate them in big ones.

Furthermore, nostalgia had nothing to do with his core duties. Sure, a side could stray from their core duties and enjoy other pastimes, if they were so inclined, but Logan was not so inclined. Each of his hobbies looped back to his own core; he even carefully structured his relaxation so it would contribute to his duties. Everything he did, he did for Thomas. Anything that didn't fit his role couldn't be allowed to be a part of his routine.

Nostalgia hardly fit his role.

So why couldn't he stop reminiscing?

It was late, later than he'd usually allow himself to stay up, and he was unfortunately cognizant. He found himself dwelling on a series of memories, each just as strange as the last. They had no connecting qualities, no hint towards why his brain had decided to string them together like an ill-advised PowerPoint presentation.

Well... that wasn't entirely true. Each memory had exactly one thing in common: they all involved Patton.

Odd, was it not? They cycled through his mind in a seemingly endless loop — Patton bringing him tea, Patton listening to him read, Patton wrapped in blankets on the couch, Patton Patton Patton —

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. It was becoming increasingly evident that he wasn't going to get any sleep that night. A frustrating outcome, but an unavoidable one; the more he stressed himself out trying to force sleep, the harder it would become to actually fall asleep. He needed a distraction.

He stood, pulling his tie into place around the neck of his onesie, and left his room. A book and a cup of tea would do nicely as a distraction, and maybe he'd be able to salvage a few hours of sleep from the relaxation they'd bring. He figured it was possible, so long as he was able to banish the thoughts of Patton from his mind,

He turned the corner into the kitchen and froze.

"Oh!" Patton whirled, slipping into a twirl on his soft socks, a smile lighting up his face. "Hey, Lo! What's got you up so late?"

Logan took a split-second to curse his very existence before he snapped away his onesie, his formal clothes appearing in their place. Patton's face fell ever-so-slightly and Logan pretended his chest didn't jolt at the sight. "Salutations, Patton," he said. "I came down for some tea."

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" Patton said, with a sympathetic grimace. At Logan's nod, he turned back towards the counter, sliding the kettle onto the oven with a little hum. "Me neither, hun. Any particular reason?"

"I don't know," Logan said, his least favorite phrase in the entire English language. He stepped further into the kitchen, leaning up against the counter as Patton poured water into the kettle. "You don't have to do that."

"Nah, it's okay! I was re-heatin' some of the cookies I baked earlier, might as well have 'em with some tea." Patton's hands fluttered down by his sides as the kettle began to steam, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. "You want some cookies, too?"

He shouldn't. The excess sugar would only worsen his insomnia, making sleep all the more difficult to obtain. But... "Of course," he said, stepping around Patton to reach the fridge. He drew from inside the greatest of the indulgences he allowed himself, and Patton grinned.

"I was planning on reading until I feel capable of falling asleep," Logan said, as Patton lifted the kettle and poured steaming water into their two mugs — Logan's a deep blue, freckled with stars, and Patton's patterned with puppies. "Would you care to join me?"

"Only if you read to me," Patton said, with a soft smile that sent Logan's heart into an illogical bout of arrhythmia. He hadn't read aloud to Patton in... quite a while. Once, they had all gathered to listen to him read each and every night, but one by one the other sides had left him behind until only Patton remained. And even then they had grown apart, until Logan stopped reading aloud entirely.

He hadn't noticed how sharp the absence of that one small pastime had felt until Patton mentioned it just then, and he paused, eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly. Patton lifted a brow, and he cleared his throat. "I don't see any reason not to," he said, with a forced air of nonchalance, and Patton beamed.

Patton — who was the best at summoning, next to Roman — led the way out into the living room, where he snapped his fingers, sending a deluge of blankets and pillows cascading through the room, gathering into a large fort in front of the couch. Logan settled into the center, placing his mug of tea on the table.

"Impressive design, Patton," he said, admiring the fort's spires, the twinkling fairy-lights spilling down inside, casting golden light across the room.

Patton chuckled. "I dunno, teach," he said, and Logan internally braced himself. "Are you sure it's fort-ified enough?"

"And you ruined it," Logan said, with the tone of someone who had to truly force their annoyance.

"Ah, you're right," Patton said, settling down by Logan's side. "This is the best I could get unless I built it by hand! But that would've taken a —"

"Don't you dare —"

"Fort-night," Patton finished, stifling his giggles behind his hand as Logan sighed. "A whole fort-y days and fort-y nights, yknow —"

"Cease immediately or I won't read to you," Logan said, his eyes narrowed. Patton pressed a hand to his mouth to stop his laughter.

When he finally had it under control, he smiled up at Logan. "The floor is yours, teach!"

"Falsehood," Logan said, lifting an eyebrow. "The floor is Thomas's."

"There we go," Patton whispered, pulling the plate of warm cookies closer. Logan shook his head; Patton was an enigma he could never truly hope to solve.

He closed his eyes and scanned along his bookshelf, fingers tapping against his thigh as he searched for an adequate book. He allowed himself the barest hint of a sentimental smile when he found it: a very old, very worn edition of The Secret Garden, bound in velvet. He lifted his hand, and the book appeared.

"Oh!" Patton gasped, eyes widening. "Oh... oh my goodness! Is that the copy that Thomas' teacher gave him in fourth grade?"

"The very same," Logan said. "Or, well. A metaphysical approximation of it. Does this suffice?"

Patton only cooed in response, his hands pressed up against his cheeks, his eyes closed as a happy smile spread across his face. "So many memories," he whispered, and Logan nudged against him to rouse him from his reminiscence. He opened the book and Patton leaned against him, his head dropping to rest on his shoulder.

"Chapter one," he read, his voice soft. "There's no one left."

Young Mistress Mary had only just reached her uncle's mysterious manor when Patton fell asleep, head drooping down towards his chest. Logan shifted, settling the book in his lap as he guided Patton into a more comfortable position.

Patton sighed gently in his sleep. He looked so... serene. It was a stark contrast from his usual demeanor; Logan could hardly remember a time when Patton wasn't absolutely full to bursting with energy, bouncing and twirling and jumping. Even in his saddest moments he still moved, shifting from one foot to the other, hands fluttering around. But now he was just... still. Quiet. His glasses askew, his golden hair falling in twirled ringlets across his face, his cheek pressed into Logan's chest, he breathed, peaceful.

And Logan found, somehow, that he was peaceful as well. For the first time that night, the cacophony in his brain had slowed to a quiet buzz in the background, easily ignored. Sleep tugged at the edges of his vision, blurring the world at the corners; he slid his glasses off his face and shifted again, falling into the warmth that Patton exuded.

It was odd. The very thought of Patton had been enough to keep sleep at bay before, but now his presence alone had calmed Logan down enough to sleep. The conclusion to be drawn was that he benefited, somehow, from Patton's company, that the other's existence was of great importance to him, that —

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh. Oh no.

How? Why? He wasn't built for this; he wasn't supposed to feel love! A healthy camaraderie with his fellow sides, perhaps, but not this. Not this.

"How did you do this to me?" he whispered, his thoughts pouring out of him. Sleep fled; he shifted again, twisting his hands in his lap, foot tapping against the ground as he thought. "This makes no sense! I'm not supposed to — that is to say, I shouldn't even be capable, and yet —"

The conclusion was as obvious as the existence of gravity, and came to him as easily as breathing. It weighed him down into the ground, stacks of doubt placed on his shoulders, and yet filled his lungs with air all the same, until his chest felt lighter than it ever had before.

"And yet," he said, whispered, breathed. He looked down at Patton, at the mess of curls pressed up against his chest, breathing ever-so-softly, and his eyebrows furrowed. The next words spilled from his mouth without forethought, with the hazy abandon of late-night honesty. "And yet, I — I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified."

He truly was. What did this mean? For him, for Patton, for Thomas? For the mindscape as a whole? If Logic was capable of something so... illogical, what other flaws existed in their system? What other problems would eventually come to light? There was no denying the feeling curling through his gut; it was just as Roman had described it, once. It was fire, but it didn't burn. It was air, but he couldn't breathe. It was love, and he couldn't believe it.

"...Do you mean that?"

He stiffened, a sharp gasp piercing his lungs. Patton pulled away, his eyes wide, a soft pink flush painted across his freckled cheeks, and he searched Logan's eyes. "Are you... are you really...?"

With a strangled noise, Logan shoved himself to his feet, tripping over the blankets piled around them as he forced as much distance between himself and Patton as he could.

"No, please —" Patton scrambled to his feet. "Lo, it's okay —"

Logan shook his head. His chest ached; freezing panic crystallized through his bones, and he took another step back. Patton struggled to reach him over the sea of blankets and Logan forced himself to breathe, forced himself to tear his gaze from Patton's.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and sank out.

#logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #sanders sides #celeste's portfolio #AYYYYYY im sorry i saw the opportunity for angst and i took it #ill probably write a conclusion to this!!! #this was a nice breath of fresh air tho i havent written logicality in .... i think a year? #probably more #thanku for the request! i hope u like! #i love the idea of logan and patton being Book Buds #bexxbeauty

[stars-and-rose]

|Heart Point| Chapter Three

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Logince (Especially in this chapter!), Prinxiety (Eventually), Logicality (Eventually) and Remceit (Eventually)

Summary: Some bad news leaves Roman feeling down, and he makes a reckless choice that ends... surprisingly well

Word Count: 2,016

Trigger Warnings: Cursing

<<Previous Next>>

Chapter Three: "I'm great at Romance," he says, kissing one of his best friends

Roman was not having it today.

Just two days ago, he had been screaming from the rooftops about how great he was at romance, and about how he could easily get a boyfriend. Now, he was leaning against a locker, contemplating bashing his head off it.

He was getting over the breakup! Keyword there: was. That was before he'd learned Vance and his new girlfriend were going for Prom King and Queen. Then, it hit him that he was single and alone again and fuck, it really sucked.

Before Roman could decide that bashing his head off the locker and getting amnesia was the best way out of the situation, he felt warm hands grip his shoulders. He looked down and caught Patton's sky-colored eyes, which were clouded with concern. "Hey, Ro. How are you holding up today?"

Roman sighed. "Hi, Pat."

"Have you heard… things?"

"Things such as Vance running for Prom King with his new girlfriend?"

Patton winced. "Kiddo, I am so sorry."

"It's fine. I can't say I didn't expect it. Maybe not as fast as it happened, but I knew it would happen eventually. Vance was never one to mull over something, he just took what he had and went with it." Roman muttered. He tried to walk away, but Patton tightened his grip on Roman's shoulders.

"We'll get you a new prom date, okay? A better one, who will appreciate you for the prince you are!"

Roman couldn't help the ghost of a smile that formed on his face- Patton really did know the magic words to make him feel even the slightest of bits better. "Thanks, Pat. You're the best."

Patton grinned at his best friend. "Any ideas? I think Emilie from your science class might have a little chemistry with you! Or maybe Thomas from study hall?"

Patton listed out some potential matches, but Roman really wasn't that interested in any of them. The people Patton were talking about have never sparked any romantic feelings in his chest. As much as he hated being single at the moment, he didn't want to date someone just for the sake of dating them.

"Ro?" Patton dropped his hands from Roman's shoulder's, waving them in front of the brunet's face. When Roman's attention was back on him, Patton asked. "Hey, why don't we go get lunch? If we get some food in you, you'll feel better. I think the student council is selling pizza today, and Remy overhear it's from that good parlor in town"

"Actually-"

The cursed WHAT WILL YOU DO screen popped in his vision again, offering two fantastic choices.

Choice one: MOPE

Choice two: MOPE

"Gee, I wonder which one of these I'm going to choose? It's the hardest decision I've ever made. What shall I do?" Roman let out a pissed off huff. "I guess I'm going to go mope." He reached out and clicked the second option, and the world became alive again.

"Actually, Pat, I'm going to take some time for myself."

"Of course, kiddo. Call me if you need anything." Patton replied.

"You know I will," Roman promised, watching his best friend walk towards the café.

Roman, a few minutes later, found himself sitting on a bench on the school's second floor, a notebook in his lap, a pencil in his hands and his brain filled with absolutely no motivation to create anything.  after staring at the blank pages for a solid minute, Roman decided that the empty notebook wasn't helping him feel any better at the moment. He slipped it back into his bag. Just as he did, the door of a nearby classroom swung open. Roman looked up and made eye contact with his favorite nerd. "Logan?"

"Salutations, Roman." Logan greeted, walking towards him.

"Hi." Roman greeted back.

"If I thought you were going to skip out of a class, I wouldn't suspect it being lunch. It is quite possibly the last one I'd expect from you" Logan mused.

"Hey!" Roman let out an offended princey noise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are undeniably social. Lunch is the prime period for being social."

"I'll give you that." Roman patted the bench, offering the spot next to him. Logan accepted. They two sat in silence until Logan broke it.

"I overheard the announcement of Vance and Cassidy running for Prom Court. Do you-." Logan shifted, a bit uncomfortable with the words. "-wish to speak about it?"

"Not really," Roman mumbled, eyes downcast. "I just want to forget that it's happening."

"All right," Logan replied. After a moment, Roman felt something rest on his knee- Logan had rested his hand gently there. "I understand that you are hurting."

Roman hummed. "Do you?"

"I believe I do. Sometimes, it seems you gain feelings for someone, yet you know getting involved will only lead to disaster. Even though you are aware of that, you still desire it, and it becomes frustrating and mildy self-destructive. And since the heart is an enigma, you suffer through it. I apologize for that tangent, but what I simply meant was that if you need someone to talk to, I am here for you, Roman. I might not be as equipped for the situation as Patton, and I might not have his skill for making others feel better, but I still can offer my assistance."

Roman let out a soft laugh, grinning at his friend. Logan met eyes with him, a bit of confusion in his dark eyes. "What is it?"

"Logan-"

The damned menu flashed in front of Roman's vision again, and his stomach dropped at the options. One: "I KNOW YOU LIKE ME, LOGAN" or Two: RUN AWAY.

"What?" Roman whispered, staring. "These are my only choices? What if I just want to continue talking to Logan without any of that?" Roman gestured at the choices with annoyance. Nothing happened. A sigh escaped Roman's mouth. "Well, I'm not going to just run away. And I can't keep avoiding this. It's now or never, I suppose."

Hand shaking ever so slightly, Roman pressed the top button and the words came out of his mouth before he could blink.

Faster than Roman had ever seen him move, Logan was off the bench, standing and looking down at Roman, eyes wide. "Oh."

Roman rubbed behind his ear sheepishly, not knowing what to say.

"I thought I was being subtle. I apologize Roman, this is not what you need at the moment."

Roman stood up next to him. "You don't need to apologize-"

"After your break up- I cannot expect- I'm going to go-" Logan spun on his heels, preparing to flee.

Roman grabbed his arm. "Logan, wait! Don't go."

Logan turned and faced him, taking in a deep breath. The stood in a fragile silence for a moment, until Logan shattered it "I am deeply sorry-"

"There's no need for you to be." Roman shifted his hand from Logan's arm, so he had their finger intertwined. He pretended he couldn't feel his cheek's heating up or see the soft red forming on Logan's face. "We've been friends for a while now… maybe this is just how things were meant to go."

"I- I'm not sure if that is true-" Logan started, but Roman interrupted him.

"Maybe it is."

"What is happening right now?" Logan breathed.

Roman opened his mouth, and then the menu screen appeared. A loud curse fell from Roman's lips as he studied his options. The first option was the same RUN AWAY! as before. But now, the second option read MAKE A MOVE!

"This is it. I'm going to fucking kill Damien. I don't care if I get sent to jail for the rest of my life, I'm going to kill Damien with my bare hands." Roman muttered angrily. His head spinning, Roman knew what he was going to choose. He was already knee deep and hey, maybe this would work out. It was Logan, after all. The same Logan who got soft in the eyes when explaining one of his interests and had a rebuttal for any argument and was definitely pretty on top of everything else.

His fingers pressed down on the second button.

At that moment, Roman threw caution to the wind and common sense out the window. He leaned closer to his friend. "Lo... Can I kiss you?"

Logan blinked rapidly. "Excuse me, what- wait, disregard that, you may-"

Consent given, Roman took his hands away from Logan's and threw his arms around the slightly taller boy's neck. His green eyes met with Logan's coffee-colored ones for the briefest of seconds. Then, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips to Logan's.

Kissing Logan felt safe. It was a gentle kiss, soft and secure, like finding your favorite book and tracing your fingers over the familiar words and rubbing your hand over the worn spine. Logan's lips tasted like the mint Chapstick he always wore and the faint hints green tea.

Then they broke apart, and Roman opened his eyes. His attention was drawn to the symbols floating over Logan's head, and a gasp escaped his mouth. Right before his eyes, one of the hearts flickered from existence.

Was he that bad of a kisser?

Roman's mind was still short-circuiting, apparently, as he blurted out, "You lost a heart- was my kissing that bad?"

Logan's face flushed. "No! Roman, your kissing was satisfactory- beyond satisfactory."

"Then what happened?"

Logan made a face. " You have become much more perceptive lately... We've been friends for so long, it must have given me a bit of a whiplash. It almost felt like kissing my brother."

Oh. Ouch. That could do it.

Roman must have been making a face because Logan quickly responded. "It's probably due to the fact I've perceived us just friends for so long- it is an adjustment. Maybe we shouldn't be taking this so fast, we skipped most of the basic steps."

"The basic steps are boring," Roman mumbled, causing Logan to let out a light chuckle.

"Well, either way- maybe we can try this. Maybe a romantic outing in the near future?"

Roman smiled. "A date sounds good!"

"Well, this has been an eventful few minutes. If you'll excuse me, I need to go to my dorm room and process this." Logan replied.

"Go for it. See you later, nerd."

A smile ghosted itself on Logan's face. "Goodbye, prep."

Roman watched as Logan walked away, a smile forming on his face as he watched him go. His thoughts were racing, and he was finally processing what just happened himself when he was interrupted by a voice. "Well, wasn't that sweet."

For God's sake, Roman knew that voice. He looked up and saw the senior from two nights ago- Virgil- leaning against the wall at the top of the nearby stairwell.

Roman, maturely, stuck out his tongue. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting ready to ditch my next class."

Roman fiddled with a piece of his hair. "Guessing you saw all that."

"Yup." Virgil nodded, and Roman noticed a few silver piercings in his ears that gleamed in the school's lighting.

Roman sighed. "That was none of your business."

"You're the one who keeps wandering into my brooding spots, Princey."

Roman huffed, crossing his arms. Virgil slid down the railing of the staircase and walked over to Roman. "You should be going soon. Unless you're planning on skipping your next class?"

"I'm not taking on your  bad habits, Dark and Gloomy"

Virgil laughed, and the bell rang. "That's your cue."

"Yeah, I better get to class," Roman said. "And remember, that scene you happened to see? None of your business."

The dark haired boy snorted. "And you're still under the impression I care."

Roman laughed. "Bye, Virgil."

The junior watched as the senior flashed him a peace sign and walked back up the stairs. Roman suspected he was heading back for the roof. How hadn't he been caught up there yet? Eh, that was irrelevant. What was relevant, however, was that he had a date with Logan and a possible second chance at romance.

Taglist!

@jadeace115

@to-precious-to-process

@kittycake574

@kaioanxiety

@amazable01

#logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #prinxiety #logicality #janus sanders #sanders sides au #logince #remceit #heart point au #heart point #emily writes #video game au #fluff #cursing tw

[buckybarndoors]

Delicate

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: The reader, like a lot of girls that the famous James Buchanan Barnes has run into, can’t seem to take her mind off of the enigma that is the frosty-eyed, beefy, softie of a soldier. He, as he is known for, strictly keeps to himself. So a kitten must do what he has to in order to get things going.

Requested?: Nope! But my requests are always always open!

Words: 2,982

Warnings: None? Really? Unless you melt at the person that is James Buchanan Barnes. It’s just pure.

A/N: First tumblr post! It’s pretty small, but I still hope you all enjoy. And, if you do, please don’t forget to leave feedback! <3

James Buchanan Barnes was an enigma that I just couldn't figure out.

First off, I suppose, I must admit that I am, undoubtedly, not the first person to attempt to figure out what composes the inside compound of the large supersoldier and what causes the inside of his brain to work the way that it does. But, with that being said, it must also be made clear that the information that had just been given must also prove that the job was a lot harder than anyone would assume it to be, if many people had tried, yet failed, to get a peak of the workings of James Barnes. Not because of his past, or the troubling rumors that I've heard over the many, many years of being one of the very few people that had the privilege of being able to claim that a small handful of the Avengers, aka 'earth's mightiest heroes', could trust, but because of the things that my eyes have actually witnessed him do starting from the day that he had moved into the compound, even when I hadn’t even known that I was doing it.

It wasn't like I had taken much notice of him when he had first appeared in the newspapers and headlines as 'The Mysterious, Dangerous, Winter Soldier', nor did I attempt to make our brief introduction any longer considering that I had quite actually run into him at about three in the morning in the compound's kitchen with absolutely no warning, wearing just a thin nightshirt and my Star Wars pajama pants. To put it simply, he had scared the absolute shit out of me due to his impulsive silent nature and the fact that I had not been prepared to see a shadow behind me while humming the tune to ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ and making myself my fourth cup of coffee that late night/early morning.  It was almost as if my intrigue for him had popped out of the blue, startling me so suddenly on a random day of the year without any kind of warning or notice beforehand, and whether that was a good thing or bad thing was still yet to be determined. 

Perhaps one could say that he grew on me, but I simply refused to believe that it was anything more than my weird so-called fascination for him.

It all seemed to be going well of course, with me just being creepy and staring at him from afar whenever he entered a room or when he just happened to show up at one of Stark's parties that I often got ignored at, and him completely oblivious to my simple existence. I didn’t have any intention of talking to him or crushing the little bubble of admiration that I held for the kind of person that I found him to be from my many witnessings of his character throughout my observations and deductions, I simply just enjoyed gazing at him from afar. Like a piece of artwork, or a dream that you just didn’t want to ruin by actually chasing for it. And I was perfectly content with the way that things were in that very moment in time.

That is, of course, until the night when a kitten came bounding into my room as if it were the mightiest lion to ever exist.

The creature itself was barely the size of my computer mouse that sat on the desk opposite of my bed, with paws that were way too large for its body and limbs that kept stumbling over each other as it furiously made its way towards me with such a passion that I could almost assume it was on a mission given by the late Nick Fury himself. The color of its fur was almost as dark as the shade of black that was reserved for the night sky outside, apart from a small patch of white that was placed on the tip of its tail, contrasting harshly against the bright blues of its young eyes which looked up at me in curiosity as it continued to run straight for the bed that I was currently seated atop of. A beautiful, delicate little thing that almost seemed to be created just for the sole purpose of saying ‘awe’ at it with big googly eyes like I was currently doing now.

I, of course, not expecting the sudden kitten sneak attack that night, was innocently wearing the classic outfit that I had worn the night of meeting the Winter Soldier himself, a classic night look of mine, while sitting on top of the cream duvet placed on my bed; piles upon piles of files and paperwork fanned around my body as I leaned against the headboard. It was, yet again, one of my many sleepless nights filled with stressing over the work day that had happened before, an unsurprisingly empty cup that had once been filled with coffee just minutes before placed innocently on my nightstand as if it was the most normal thing in the world for a human such as myself to stay up so late and long.

It had always helped me to work with a window open and my bedroom door propped with one of my many classic records playing, somewhat alleviating the claustrophobia that was going on in my head from the endless rush of words that I crammed inside of it; some of the perks of living on the lower levels of the compound. But even then, it almost seemed like I was close to bursting at the seams that night, for the pressure behind my eyes was beginning to grow more and more forceful and I could feel my fingers twitching harshly against my thigh as I shifted my legs every few seconds. Ah, the beginning signs of exhaustion along with my bad habit of overworking myself until my breaking point.

But, there came barreling in my knight in shining armor: a kitten I could practically poke with my pinky finger and most likely damage its rib because of the action. And, surprisingly following it with his hands extended in front of his hunched over form? None other than James Barnes himself. 

“Come on little guy, don’t make me run for you,” The man pleaded, his voice hushed as he rushed forward and scooped the tiny creature in a delicate cradle, completely oblivious to my presence in general as he looked down at the animal in his hands. He seemed to be dressed for bed as well, apart from the large jacket that was slung over his shoulders and arms and the fresh scent of the New York night air that still lingered on his frame that hinted towards his nightly outings that I already had a slight suspicion of him going on. Apart from the night that we had met, where he had also been wearing that very same jacket on his way back inside, it wasn’t rare to see his familiar form in the dead of night walking past my open doorway without a second glance in my direction, undoubtedly on his way outside with a head full of thoughts. “What’d I say about running off? We can’t do that, especially while everyone’s trying to sleep. I’ve already invaded my welcome way too many times, bud-”

Oh so suddenly, James seemed to have suddenly noticed just where exactly he was, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch as he tears them away from the kitten in his hands at the sound of my Doris Day record that currently played, eyebrows furrowing. It was actually visible to watch as the wheels turned in his head, slowly analyzing my topaz colored walls, my bare computer desk, and record machine, before slowly inching over towards my bed. Where it was then when his gaze met my own sheepish one, the embarrassing heat of a scarlet blush tinging my cheeks and the tips of my ears as I raised my hand and twirled my fingers in greeting. “Hello there, Sarge.”

For the first time that I have ever witnessed it, the man in front of me almost seemed to be speechless for a second, the kitten in his soft hold squirming ever so slightly as he held it closer to his clothed chest and cleared his throat awkwardly. It was one of the few times that I had ever actually seen him have a human response towards a situation that he seemed to not have a certain grip on, considering that in every other social interaction he always seemed to want to be the ‘silent and stoic’ type while his old friend did most of the talking for him. Whether he did that out of fear of opening his mouth or just genuinely not enjoying the company that he was forced to keep, I have yet to find out. For I could only work my magic from so far away before even then I come rendered clueless without actually needing to know the person first.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize that this was someone’s room. The door was wide open and I-” He shook his head, cutting himself off mid-sentence and almost seeming to chuckle at himself as he held the kitten up in the slightest as if the action worked better than any excuse he could possibly think of. “I didn’t realize just how much of a troublemaker he was going to be until my parental instincts kicked in. Who knew that taking a kitten off the street would be such a bad idea?”

I waved a hand in the air, shrugging it off and allowing my other hand to drop the piece of paper that it had been holding in order to place it back into the pile that it had been in off to the right of my body. In a curious manner, I found myself hanging to his words, for it wasn’t often, even in my many days of what I liked to call ‘Barnes Observation’, that I had heard him speak more than a few words at a time. The fact that he was even speaking to me at all was a large step, and whether it was the fact that he was purely off-put by the entire situation or perhaps just the lateness of the night, I couldn’t help but be thankful for it. “Don’t worry about it, happens to the best of us I suppose. But I do have to say that he looks a lot like you. Must be a proud Dad.”

Strangely enough, I found an odd sense of satisfaction flowing through my veins at the sound of the man’s laugh as he stroked behind the kitten’s ears, the corners of his lips twitching upwards slightly at my words. By then, he had neared closer to my still open doorway, lingering stiffly even though traces of humor still remained on his face, as if he felt out of place even in his own body. It was a hard sight to see, but still, the smile remained on my face nonetheless as I watched with a knowing gaze. “Again, I’m sincerely sorry for interrupting your night. I guess I should try and go and convince this little guy to go to sleep at some point-”

Of course, as I had expected, the man was trying his hardest to leave as fast as possible, and I sure couldn’t blame him. Even I was embarrassed for him, but I couldn’t help but admit that his reaction towards the entire problem that he had quite literally stumbled into was nothing less than adorable; like a kid caught stealing, except much more innocent. It only added on to the many personalities that I had found belonged to the man in front of me, and I couldn’t help but be the slightest bit disappointed as I watched him step away. For I was almost positive that there would be no other time apart from tonight that we would ever have a conversation like the one we had just had, even if it was just a few sentences back and forth. It was just the way it seemed to be, and who was I to change that?

But, almost as soon as his foot took a single step out of the doorway, the creature in his arms seemed to let out the most pitiful, purely distraught cry that even made me rise from my spot on the bed out of pure fear for the little thing’s well being, nose curled and spine arched as it attempted to shrink out of the man’s grip. James, startled as ever, took a step back into the room at the sound of it, and in that second it was as if nothing had even happened at all, the creature as happy as ever as he looked up at the man with eyes glowing like two round moons.

“If that wasn’t a mighty roar, then I don’t know what is,” I stated, still startled and on edge as James and I met eyes before simultaneously looking back down at the kitten who now seemed to be staring at me almost expectantly. Somehow, I couldn’t help but give in to my brain, and the creature who almost seemed to be as devious as the God of Mischief himself, as I continued. “You’re free to stay here until this little guy calms down if you want to. I’ve got snacks.”

James smiled slightly. “Well since you asked so nicely. Why didn’t you mention the snacks earlier?”

After clearing out my seemingly endless piles of reports and papers, it was almost an instinct to comfortably settle myself on my bed, elbow propped and hand smushing my cheek as I gazed between James Barnes, who took up a similar position opposite of me, and the small creature that laid out between us along with the small bowl of cheesy puffs that the man had insisted on munching on. His jacket had been shed more than a little while ago, along with the record machine that he had gawked over for a time long enough that it would definitely be a memory imprinted into my brain for a long while. That is, of course, after he had furiously changed the record from Doris Day to Frank Sinatra with an almost smug grin. And from then on we had talked the night away, the sky outside growing a significant shade brighter than when we had first started. We just couldn’t seem to find it in ourselves to stop, and I sure as hell hoped that he didn’t plan on it anytime soon.

“So Steve told me that you’re some of the...Avengers’...therapist?” He questioned curiously, eyebrows furrowed as he pets the kitten’s spine softly, lip caught between his teeth for a fraction of a second. “He kept trying to convince me to come to you because he thought it would help....”

“And why didn’t you?” I responded quietly, fidgeting with the drawstring of my pajamas. At the beginning of our conversation, James had asked me what in the world my pants even meant, and it had lead me into a wild discussion talking about the entire plot of the marvelous franchise that was Star Wars. And, surprisingly enough, he didn’t seem to be bothered by my large tangent. He even seemed to have been smiling through most of it all.

“I didn’t want to burden anyone” He paused then, before adding. “Everything that went on, and that still sometimes does, in my brain would be an immense burden to everyone I tell,”

“Was it true that you think you invaded your welcome? Do you think that you don’t deserve your place here?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me right now?”

“Are you trying to avoid the question?”

A heavy silence lingered between us for a few seconds, settling in between our two bodies as he avoided my gaze and I tried everything in my power to not observe him while he did so. From what I could tell, I hadn’t exactly touched a sore spot for him, but more so seemed to have trapped him in a corner that he didn’t exactly feel like divulging to me at that moment. Of course, I wasn’t the kind of person to make him tell me. So, instead, I went for the gentle assassination path.

“From what I can tell, James, is that you belong more here more than most of us do, and that’s not just me pulling shit out of my ass to make you feel better.”

“Is this how you are during therapy sessions? Because I’d love to see how Stark responds to something like that-”

“Hush, Barnes, I’m trying to work my magic.” Sighing dramatically, I continue as if burdened by his interruption. “What I’m trying to get at is that maybe the more you dwell on the things that you’re scared of, the more you let your demons control you, the less that you’ll realize just how much people want you around and the harder it is to live above them. It’s going to take a long while, but eventually, you’ll figure out how to enter a room without feeling like the world is about to collapse if you open your mouth and say what’s on your mind, James. And I’ll be waiting here to tell you “I told you so.””

For a second, a heart-wrenching second, James’ small grin disappeared, as if I had just flicked a switch and turned off the guy I had been talking to all night. But, as all seconds seemed to do, this one passed as quickly as it had come, replaced with an even softer, could-make-the-coldest-of-hearts-melt kind of grin as he finally looked down at my frame in a way that took me by surprise. He didn’t say anything at first, his fingers stopping in between the strands of fur that belonged to the sleeping animal between us. Until, that is, finally:

“Please, Y/n. Call me Bucky.”

#Bucky #Barnes #Bucky Barnes #Marvel #Sebastian Stan #Fanfiction #Imagines #Imagine #Writing #Captain America #Steve #Rogers #Steve Rogers #Original #Fan #Stan #Sebastian #James Buchanan Barnes #James Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier

[absolutelyxosmittenxo]

Imagine: How miscellaneous RWBY characters express how much they love you.

RUBY ROSE: Little Red Riding Hood is flushed in the cheeks, incapable of containing her excitement to the extent you encourage herself to breathe before passing out. "You're just so cool, amazing, really cute, and I just really, really, really love you a whole lot! I can't believe you're dating me and oh my goodness I can't breathe-"

WEISS SCHNEE: Conveyed as the anime archetype 'tsundere', it simply depends on the circumstances. In your company, the heiress holds your gaze tenderly, delicately folding her hands together and speaking honestly. "I love you so much. Thank you for taking the time to know me, and letting me discover who I truly want to be."

BLAKE BELLADONNA: Distance has been asserted considering the past experiences shared with Adam Taurus - the Belladonna's daughter is mortified of what threat infatuation could pose. Yet you've seeped through those cracks; within, a timid, open minded and merciful girl desiring nothing but unity for everyone. She is smiling softly, ears exposed freely as they flick every which way. "I've been afraid for so long - but when you came into my life, I decided I didn't want to run away anymore. Now, I can fully admit I love you, and know you love me for me."

YANG XIAO LONG: "You actually stayed here with me," the bombshell blonde utters, implying abandonment was an emotional obstruction she faced more than desired. Her mechanical arm quivers under the pressure of her anxiety; but as she concludes you are there, you won't leave, she takes a moment to breathe. "I want to be there for you, like you always have been for me. You mean the world to me."

PENNY POLENDINA: Whether Professor Polendina invested in hardwiring the concept of romance or love into the robot's system, she was adapting to the idea. Little by little, she was learning more and more. Sometimes, Penny jumps to the opportunity to wrap her arms around your neck, squeezing the very life out of you. "I love you! I love you! You're the bestest friend I could have ever asked for."

JAUNE ARC: "I know most underestimate me - well, I'm sure pretty much all of Beacon did," Jaune laughs dryly, evidently wandering to the bitter moments of being seen as underwhelming, even by his own family. "But I know there's people who believe in me. Even then, I was so dumb, and ignored them, and once I realized they cared, they were gone. I won't make the same mistake twice. I love you so much, I can't bear to lose you like Pyrrha."

NORA VALKYRIE: Born a rambler, once her lightning strikes, there's no way out of it. "You're always just so adorable, strong, wonderful - mhm, Ren, more pancakes, please! - When you said you wanted to be together-together, I just couldn't pass the chance up!" Through a mouthful of ooey gooey, syrup soaked pancakes, she says, "I love yoooooooooooou!" 

PYRRHA NIKOS: Destiny was debatable; was it predetermined, or was it belonging to you as you paved your own pathway along life? It was a definitive question the invincible girl pondered frequently. But the very fact you try your best to bring joy into her life, in spite of potential doubts of your worth? She is absolutely smitten. With a light stroke of your hair, and caressing your cheek, Pyrrha smiles warmly, "You are everything to me."

LIE REN: Ren relies on subtlety to depict his emotions. One could say his motto is "Actions speak louder than words." Indeed they do, considering whenever push comes to shove, his affection manifests itself in simple ways. Particularly holding your hand. You could be clinging to your very life line, hope fading as the world seems to be plummeting into oblivion. However, once the huntsman intertwines his fingers with yours, you realize everything will be okay on the end.

SUN WUKONG: His velvety smooth, cream yellow tail is embracing the branch haphazardly, as he awaits your presence. As soon as you stroll on around, the monkey faunus seizes the opportunity to execute his plan. Dropping down, Sun swoops in, kissing you square on the mouth as you emit a surprised squeak. "Love you, babe!"

NEPTUNE VASILIAS: It was gentle leaning, inspecting your features, admiring how lovely you were. He was a love sick fool - you had the flirty boy enraptured, head over heels, considering himself every term to describe how much he was falling deeper in love with you. Neptune adores you. "Gosh, you're cute," he smooches you on the cheek, How'd I get so lucky?"

COCO ADEL: Her expressions of love are never discreet; Fox, Velvet and Yatsuhashi are subjected to her attempts of showing it often. Before you awaken, the gunslinger equips an appealing color of her lipstick, and inscribes a few words upon the mirror. In the morning, as the time signifies you must rise to the occasion, you venture into the restroom, only to see what Coco had left behind. "I love you" written in lipstick, her signature emblem implying it was her.

VELVET SCARLATINA: Each picture was worth a thousand words - upon every photograph snapped, Velvet could sense the devotion, sweetness, heartfelt moments and even beyond emanating from the scenes captured. Thus, she compiles them to the best of her ability. The shy bunny is internally bouncing off the walls as she hands you the album she created, confessing with rosy cheeks, "Every moment we share reminds me of why I love you so much - so, I thought, why not show you all the moments we have had together?"

OZPIN: Millenniums were spent contemplating pensively, having people lose faith in him, watching everyone else perish as he was forced to wander the Earth. The academy's headmaster has suffered severely. The thought of having you cease to exist while his soul remains is ingrained his mind. But Ozpin concludes worrying for the future isn't going to be helpful. For now, he must cherish what he had. As he sees you sleeping soundly, and leans over, pecking your temple, he truly can say, "I love you to the moon and back."

GLYNDA GOODWITCH: Left to mend the broken pieces of a once content Vale, Glynda has suffered the hardships of immense, overwhelming grief. Ozpin was off to reincarnate wherever his soul wound up, students fled across the kingdom, majority barely seeing the light of day since the fall. But you didn't leave. As you raise Glynda up, explain how grateful you are for her efforts, how Ozpin and all the students are proud of her, she is reminded of why she fell in love with you. "Thank you for staying beside me in this time of hardships - you mean everything to me." 

QROW BRANWEN: Alcohol flooding into his brain, the uncle of Ruby and Yang is spouting lyrical nonsense. You sigh in response to your beloved's irrational babbling, having his head rest in your lap. He is the equivalent of a toddler following a few or several alcoholic beverages. "I love you~" Qrow would confess constantly, trying to smother you sloppily in kisses, breath radiating the worst of odors before passing out. After waking up the next day with a hangover, the Branwen groans from the migraine, apologizing for his goofiness. "I don't know how you do it, but thanks for putting up with me."

WINTER SCHNEE: Family was a touchy subject to graze on in terms of a persuasive yet spiteful father neglecting his children unless they were needed to serve a purpose. All the soldier considered to be family, for the most part, was her younger sister, and butler, Klein. However, it's a rare sight to see as she disentangles her luscious white hair from its bun, and she is witnessed smiling so sweetly as she peppers you in brisk kisses. "It isn't often someone comes into my life and makes it more worthwhile - but you have helped me cherish it even more." 

JAMES IRONWOOD: His body was composed not of flesh and blood; metal prosthetics filled the spaces of appendages deprived of him. Yet James was as handsome, wholesome, and endearing as he always has been. With the man's chest exposed, ebony bangs slightly out of place as you both had just woken up, you rest on the edge of your bed. He's breathing gingerly, as you stroke your thumb under the surface of his palm. Raising your hand to his lips, he kisses it, expressing, "I love you so dearly." 

OSCAR PINE: He wouldn't be the kid he was prior to merging souls with a seemingly immortal man. No longer a farmer hand reduced to playing the role of feeding livestock and raking hay. Now, he was thrusted into the life of a new incarnation of the one meant to defeat an unstoppable force. Through it all, though, Oscar was falling in love. He plucked the loveliest flower he could find, stroking the back of his head nervously as it offered it to you. "I know there's so much going on right now, with there perhaps being a war, people trying to kill us constantly - it's just crazy. But you give me a chance to breathe. And, as silly as it might sound, I really love you for it."

CINDER FALL: Perhaps the wicked woman's upbringing was similar to Cinderella, yet she couldn't seek the happy fairytale ending her inspiration was fortunate enough to have. Or, at least, from what we have seen. To you, Cinder is an enigma, much to be explored as she is in pursuit for power. But you turn the tables as she stops the world to get off with you. Having you close your eyes, Miss Fall indulges you in her, lips touching yours endlessly, and you are on the verge of fainting from being so breathless. "Do not think - succumb to these urges to embrace me, and I shall never let you go. Maybe you and I can find that happy ending we desire, as we rise to the top, and all else fall." 

ROMAN TORCHWICK: Smoke drawls from the cigar tucked in between his lips, the con artist grinning as you curled yourself around his waist. Being pummeled by fifteen year old girls weren't exactly confidence boosting, but at the end of the day, to have you be so loyal and endearing has his heart skip a beat. Roman parts the cylinder momentarily, "Dear, have I ever mentioned how much I adore you?" 

MERCURY BLACK: One, two, three - the liplocks multiplied as the mechanical marvel covers your body in kisses. He doesn't hesitate to express his dedication, although preserves it for private settings, sprinkling playful banter here and there. The assassin's son swipes away any residue residing on your mouth, smirking, "Babe, you're my one and only - don't let anyone tell you otherwise." 

EMERALD SUSTRAI: In your arms, the master of thieves believes she is finally at home, a safe haven where she can not worry about going hungry or being reduced to filth. She isn't manipulated to conduct misdeeds as she is by Cinder; you have compassion for her, saving the time to make her happier and make her feel loved. Really, Emmy never anticipated to receive such affection. But as the thief dissolves into your embrace, she whispers, "God, I love you." 

NEOPOLITAN: As far as we are concerned, the killer queen waving around a lethal parasol cannot emit sound from her vocal chords. But verbal obstacles won't stand in the way of this tiny antagonist. Neo props herself up on her tip toes, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. No hidden intent, yet you have your worries. Of course, your expectations are evaded, as she stands on top of your feet, kisses your lips, and signs the typical romantic phrase for you. 

SALEM: Externally, Salem appears monstrous, depravity consuming her as revenge drives her motives. Beneath the surface, however, the eternal being exposes gentleness, in which she nurtures you, raises you up, refusing to let you crumble. "I have lived as long as you can imagine. It's scarce, for someone to catch my interest as you have. Ozpin's dominion shall fall apart, so long as all is executed as it should. As I seize control, you will forever remain by my side. That much I can promise you, my love."

ILIA AMITOLA: "I always wanted Blake to look at me the way she did with Adam," the memory causes the chameleon's heart to throb undeniably, "I was hopelessly in love with her." Alternating accordingly to her emotions, Ilia's speckles changes to a pink resembling cherry blossoms.  "But now that I've met you, I can forgive myself for my past mistakes. I don't need to blend in - you love me as I am. And I love you just the same."

#rwby imagines #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #lie ren #sun wukong #neptune vasilias #coco adel #velvet scarlatina #ozpin #qrow branwen #oscar pine #cinder fall #roman torchwick #mercury black #emerald sustrai #neopolitan #salem #ilia amitola #penny polendina #glynda goodwitch #winter schnee #james ironwood

[kunalkarankapoor]

The Evolution of Vasu/Mohan

'Ello, again. This is long, so ye be warned. Yeah, so usually I only do this when silently reading, zealously following, and throwing mental gushing fests over an actor's honest-to-God awesome acting isn't enough to feed my utter obsession. Basically, I like to think that I have a life outside imagining [fictional] male characters galloping in my direction, on white horses, hair blowing in the breeze, and all that jazz. But darn Kunal's thick curls, soulful eyes, crooked smile, charm, and seriously breathtaking performances. I surrender. I'm smitten. The only actor who has ever managed to win me over with his first emotional scene is Mishal Raheja and I always thought that enigmas like him happened just once in a lifetime. But holy maccaroni, I've experienced it twice in mine. I'm in love with Mohan Bhatnagar. It happened overnight. I've been watching the episodes back to back, season one and two, and then last night it hit me in the head like a giant brick: Mohan is awesome. I love him. He is the love of my life and the father of my 10 imaginary children. Go figure. Being me, I decided to do an analysis, in my head. Then I realised how overwhelming that can be because, you know, too much stuff crammed in there already and not enough brain storage for more. Don't judge. We're all limited species. Like Plath once said: "Is there no way out of the mind?" No, not really. But I can relieve my thoughts, at the very least. I remembered IF and thought "they made that forum for crazy people like me to obsess together, because sharing is, after all, caring", and here I am. To be honest, I don't think that I would've fallen half as hard for Mohan if it hadn't been for Kunal portraying him. I've never watched any of his interviews, I don't know anything about him -- except that he has a gift; the ability to emote thoughts and emotions with nothing but his eyes, a jerk of his head, a twitch of his mouth. It's so real, so genuine that I can't always separate the actor from the character. The way that he shifts between shades of an emotion -- sad, hurt, tortured, and even contrasts such as innocent and mischievious. It's absolutely awe-inspiring. I love watching him, studying him in every shot. He's a piece of art. Poetry in motion. And the man has style. 1. Mohan Bhatnagar, I'll save you That is my first thought every time I watch an emotional Mohan scene. Every single time. My next thought is: I'll taser whoever hurts you. For real. Mohan is a kaleidoscopic character. With a thousand shades. And Kunal does a stunning job of bringing each shade to life. In fact, some of the shades seem so intricately portrayed that I'm almost sure that its existence is the very result of his performance, not a penned down description of the character itself. My favourite scenes with Mohan are probably the ones in which he's been on a mad internal rollercoaster, ending up emotionally wrecked, spilling out his guts and his most painful thoughts to whoever might listen -- Kunal's performances in those scenes leaves a physical ache in your chest. You heave when he heaves and you exhale when he exhales. It's an intense experience and one that makes you believe that there's still beauty left in this world. You just have to look close enough to catch it. Because it's in the smallest details. And once you see it, the full impact of it will slam into you, knock the air out of your lungs. Mohan is imperfectly perfect. He is selfless, kind, and honest to the extent that he loses a part of himself in the process of being all of those things. In fact, he sacrificed so much for the people he loved, so much more than he could really afford to lose. He took the blame and the pain that came with. He was always focused on being what people wanted him to be, being what people wanted to see when they looked at him; he never allowed himself any kind of freedom to make the mistakes that human beings make. And when he did end up making any, the reality of it consumed him and he self-destructed. Even though it was not always entirely his fault. It wasn't fair. Because he was put on a pedestal and people expected something from him that no human being could ever deliver; perfection. Yet he knew that he was flawed. Yet he strived to be what they saw. Spiderman. Hero. Flawless. Though, even heroes have flaws. I love how he even expressed it in words at one point, shouting at Nanhi that he isn't perfect, that he hasn't had a role model in his father, that he tried and failed at times, but that his love for them was never flawed. When he poured his heart out, putting her in her place, in a way, I wanted to cheer and then I just wanted to hug him, because he looked so hurt, so lost. In those scenes, in those moments with Nanhi when she blamed him, you really saw the amount of pain that he carried around, because nothing made his heart bleed more than having Nanhi distrust him, reject him. She was, after all, the first Vyas girl that he loved. The one he believed would always, always recognise him, understand him, support him. That's what she usually did. She defended him much like a shield defends a warrior. He was her warrior, and losing that position in her eyes, losing that respect all but destroyed him. Another scene with Beera, in which Mohan was drinking, I cried. Because that scene was heartbreaking. You could feel his pain in the sound of his voice, in the weight of his words, and in the look on his face -- that even his best wasn't good enough. The most impactful part of it was how as human beings we can relate to the emotion through Mohan [and Kunal's portrayal of him]; when we do something with good intentions and then the people we do it for distrust our intentions -- it burns. I've got too many favourite scenes with Mohan, but that entire scene with his drinking, spilling his emotions, looking shattered, and then stumbling through the door half-carried by Beera, humiliated in front of his daughter -- GAH. It killed me. I was so furious with Megha and Nanhi. I understood them. I got it alright. The sense of betrayal. The bitterness. The hurt. But in that moment, I just wanted to tie them both to a chair, shave off their eyebrows, and laugh at their horror. Because nobody hurts Mohan and gets away with it. Nobody. They really had no clue what their blame and rejection was doing to him. And seriously, I wanted them to fight for him for once. Not the other way around. Mohan did his best with the resources he had. He tried to become a responsible father for the children. He didn't run when Megha was paralysed. And he stuck around for six months post Addu's abduction in the search for him, drinking himself half to death in the process over his guilt and self-hatred. He left when he thought that his wife and daughter couldn't stand the sight of him anymore, yet he didn't stop taking care of them financially. He tried to keep his promise and tried even harder to mend broken hearts, even though his own was equally broken and no one tried to mend his. But his best wasn't enough. I noticed how his relationship with RJ differed from his relationship with both Megha and Nanhi. There were no pretenses when he was around RJ. He could make mistakes, apologise, knowing she would forgive him, knowing she would need him and love him regardless -- that he would not fall from any pedestal in her eyes. With Megha and Nanhi, it was almost as if he had to constantly prove himself. His love. His loyalty. And it took just one misstep to blow away everything that he had ever done for them. Mohan's carefree nature faded in the second season, but I caught glimpses of it when he interacted with RJ and, sometimes, Nanhi. But it was like he lost this significant part of himself the moment Addu was taken, the moment that he'd been blamed for that loss in their lives. 2. Vasu Bhau, another nuance in Mohan's persona I know a lot of people miss Mohan [so do I], but Vasu in himself is intriguing as hell and I don't mind if he sticks around for a while. He's got that whole "I break bones" rugged attitude, but he also has Mohan's heart and that makes all the difference. There aren't many actors who can pull off this many shades of a character, taking him on a journey from lively to calm to stormy. We're talking about the same character undergoing a metamorphosis multiple times. Mohan is soft and warm and safe. Vasu is hard and cold and unpredictable and he carries a darkness with him lessened only by the fact that he has Mohan's heart beating somewhere in his chest. I actually see Vasu as a part of Mohan that was suppressed and has now manifested, of course, in its extreme form. We all have a dark side, as they say. Plus, I genuinely just enjoy darker and a bit twisted characters, especially when they're depicted by actors such as Kunal who can add layers/grey zones to their character and a vulnerability, making them seem redeemable. Kunal's chemistry with his co-stars is crackling. But I especially enjoy scenes between Vasu/Mohan and RJ, Vasu/Bala, and Vasu/Ayi. They make me smile and laugh and cringe in that order. 3. Not forgetting the writers Kudos to the writers, of course, for penning such interesting characters, giving the actor an opportunity to portray them and show what he's capable of. What I truly appreciate about this show is that, unlike many others, the writers give every scene time to play out [focus on the characters and their emotions], and the character his required space to give viewers their daily fix. The dialogues never fail to impress me, either. The writers' penned scenes for the character gives Kunal the chance to portray his character in all its glory and deliver his awesome performances, adding the needed dimensions that cannot be scripted, making us live his character. For every scene that I watch Kunal perform, he becomes even more charming, beautiful, flawless in his portrayal of Vasu/Mohan. Why didn't anyone tell me to watch NBT two years ago?

By Elysia (27 August 2013)

https://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=3715914

#kunal karan kapoor #actor #artist #ana