#A) normal did something as a kid he doesn’t remember and Hero held a grudge and was just never nice to him

[weird-unlimited-ramblings]

Honestly fuck sparrow and his relationship with his son, give me that fucking sibling drama content.

I wanna know what went down with Hero and Normal, like with everything we found out in this episode it made me realize. That Hero is like the only person that Normal knows and has met personally that he hates BEFORE FINDING OUT ABOUT THE DOODLER (even the people I would say normal hates know it’s like morally bad people) . Like what the fuck happened. Genuinely, like he never explains why he doesn’t like his sister. And he doesn’t seem concerned that Hero is out maybe fighting the mayor/mayors supporters by herself. Like he was even worried about Scary after she helped Willy kill a man.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndaddies #I WANT SIBLING CONTENT #Like why #the only thing I can really think of it relating is either #A) normal did something as a kid he doesn’t remember and Hero held a grudge and was just never nice to him #B) Hero noticed her families toxic patterns #and is just doing what she thinks will break them and hasn’t realized that Normal genuinely hates her #It could be something completely different #also I don’t count Tony #cause Normal was like they were enemies but he respects him #and like man didn’t even tip his sister at work

[the-wiresmarvelau]

T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.

Peter and his Friends are allowed to design the compound and couldn’t help but riddle it with secret tunels and hallways. While Peter installs said hallways he makes some new acquaintences who he has to help and gets help from.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Chapter 2: Dramatic enterance No. 1

The prisoner took a deep breath, closed his eyes and concentrated.

Concentrated on his knees and legs; tucked away underneath the weight of his torso.

Concentrated on his shoulders; tense and raised up to his ears.

Concentrated on his forehead and nose; laying on the insufferably warm stone floor.

Concentrated on the pain, pulsating in his black left eye and on the ripping, burning agony emanating from his lips, tong and cheeks; sewn together with silver wires and chains; embroidered to look like a wide, cruel silver grin.

"A silver chain to bind a silver tong" Odin had said while watching as the young, terrified guard pulled the wires through Loki’s parted lips.

The young man had shaken all over and rambled on about how stupid it was of him to mention to his peers that he liked to sew, then he wouldn't be punished for ‘enjoying a girl's job’.

All the while the prisoner beneath him glared at the allfather, determined not to cry out in pain and to stay in the present…

Because otherwise his head would bring him back in time to a scene oh so similar to this one.

Only that he hadn't been bound by chains then but by a dwarf, standing on his calf’s and hands, pushing down his shoulders.

The hands sewing his mouth shut hadn't shaken then.

He hammered his head against the floor, with a frustrated grunt.

These memories kept distracting him from the only chance, of preventing to collect more of them.

Loki wanted to scream in frustration but knew it would do more harm than good.

So, he took a couple deep breaths to calm down and began to concentrate again.

He concentrated on the hot stone against his shins and the top of his feet; And on the bruises all over his legs and sides, most of them either strained or compressed by his folded position on the floor.

Concentrated on the heat in the cuts and abrasions on his back. Loki still hadn't figured out when exactly he would be beaten; the periods of peace between the beatings where too irregular to follow a pattern.

Concentrated on his throat and the feeling of dry air grating through it with every breath he took; like sandpaper over chalk.

He concentrated on every fibre of his being looking for the small, tiny bits of magic he held; gathered it in a bundle just below his sternum and - when he felt like he had mustered up almost everything he had left - he began to channel it in a shallow rivulet and pushed it.

Pushed it up his chest, down his right arm into his wrist and from there: past the handcuffs that had until a few days ago, not only suppressed all of his ability to rebuild his own magic, but also kept him separated from his power’s origin and made him numb, blind even, to the magical streams, he knew were all around him.

But the guards had been sloppy.

One of the whip strokes had caught on his handcuffs and carved a small notch in the metal of his restraints. Just big enough to allow his magic to regenerate the tiniest fraction of his original power.

Not powerful enough to heal the numerus wounds Odin’s... "audiences" left behind. But sufficient, to ... say.. Send an illusion to his mother dearest.

Adopted or not, he loved her more than anything and he needed her to know what her husband was really doing to him over the past few years in the dungeons.

She was still under the impression that his punishment was simply isolation and had even send him a few books, which Odin had ripped apart and burned before his very eyes.

But before he could visit Frigga, he needed a plan.

During the time he had magic available again, he had tried to find out more about the Avengers, he had encountered back then on Midgard.

It would be the last place the other Gods would look, as his crimes there were the newest. But that didn’t mean hiding anywhere else was easier.

Additionally: Midgardians were far stricter regarding what did and did not count as a crime; while that might not sound advantageous to his cause, regarding that he had killed several dozen Midgardians. But by treating their prisoner much worse than was agreed upon, his captors violated those morals too. Thus, justifying a relocation.

Since the Avengers called themselves heroes, they probably had the moral compass to see it that way.

But for some reason, they seemed to have splintered and were preoccupied with what seemed to be the aftermath of whatever had divided them.

While he searched for others who might be able to help, the ravenette stumbled over a promising individual.

"Spider-Man" he called himself.

From what he'd gathered, the spider themed hero wasn't an Avenger but he had a close bond to Stark.

Otherwise, Ironman wouldn't've shown up, mere minutes after the aforementioned spider had been stabbed in the side, to bring him to the tower personally.

He also didn't kill any of the criminals he encountered and seemed repelled by it; rather trying to talk them into seeing their wrongdoings and changing their ways.

Additionally, he probably didn’t have a personal reason to dislike Loki; While the Avengers might still hold a grudge against him because of what happened with the Chitauri and the thing on the hellicarrier.

All in all, the spider seemed to be his best chance.

His only chance.

Keeping that in mind Loki focused on creating an illusion of himself on a, more or less random, roof within the young hero’s territory.

Since he wanted to be recognised, he gave the illusion the armour he had worn during the battle of New York, minus all the golden parts.

That way the boy could recognise him from pictures more easily, but he didn't look like he was going in for a fight.

He didn't bother to conceal the glowing that would give away the illusion’s nature. It was best to play his cards open, if he wanted to be trusted.

But he masked his black eye and other injuries.

His goal wasn't pity and his pride kept him from showing such vulnerability to a stranger.

The Jotun was aware though, that he might be forced to reveal his physical state; either as prof for the mistreatment or because changing his appearance drained a bit more magic than simply projecting himself.

And just like that, he waited.

It didn’t take long until he could see the kid swinging around. Loki tried not to turn around as the hero swung by.

Had he seriously not noticed him?

Normally the boy seemed to be automatically drawn to anything odd happening in his vicinity; did an illusion not register?

Giving in to his desire to look around just the tiniest bit, he turned his head a little to the side.

Relief flushed over him as he saw a red silhouette on a nearby roof in his periphery vision.

Spiderman looked at him. That meant that he had noticed the god.

Now he had to hope that their conversation would go well.

“KAREN..? activate ’don’t tell mom Protocol’ please”

‘Are you sure Peter? Whoever that is could mean you harm’ KAREN objected.

The worry in her voice sounded so real that the boy had to remind himself that she wasn’t, in fact, human.

“I’m sure,” he replied; sounding anything but. “If they wanted to hurt me my Spidey-sense would warn me about it”

‘Alright. Just remember that I am calling Mr. Stark the moment they touch you’

Peter couldn’t help but smile a little at how protective she sounded.

He began running over the roofs in the direction of the green shining figure.

They didn’t turn around when the hero arrived on their roof; They just lowered their head and brought their hands to the back, the palms turned up to be visible.

Even though the teenager wasn’t familiar with such behavioural customs, he understood that it was meant to show that they didn’t want to seem threatening and wouldn’t be the one to initiate this conversation.

“Excuse me?..” the younger one started, cringing at how childish he sounded.” Do I know you?”

Great. If he was wrong and this was a stranger, he had just made himself sound like a creep. And even if this was Loki, he couldn’t say that he knew him.

“You might have heard of me” The ravenette answered.

Slowly he dared to turn around; still carefully telegraphing his every move but conscious to make his movement seem graceful and smooth.

“Yeah, one could say that. You’re Mr. Loki, right? Thor’s brother?”

The addressee gave a single nod, taking the chance to bring up his head a bit.

He didn’t like to be personified over his adoptive brother, but rather Thor being the first association than the destruction he had caused while under the influence of Thanos.

“I thought you were grounded, for like.. forever?” the boy asked curiously; tilting his head to the side.

“How fortunate, then that this is only an illusion” Loki replied. He had seen the other one sassing pretty much everyone he had come across and hoped that mirroring that would make him more likable.

Otherwise, he would be screwed, because that was how he was used to speak and to change the way you speak long-term is tiresome.

But there seemed to be no need to.

“That explains so much. But what about the distance! Isn’t Asgard really far away? Or does that not affect illusions? ... Doesn’t matter right now! What is your illusion here for? I assume it`s not just to enjoy the view.”

The Jotun almost bit his lip, before registering that that was not a good idea in his current state.

“I’m here to ask a favour. -Or rather for help.” In that moment he regretted that he hadn’t led into this talk with a prepared speech. Asking for help was difficult.

“For you as in your people? Or you as an individual?” The Spider powered teenager asked, cautiously.

‘And I messed up.’ The Jotun thought ‘Of course he wouldn’t want to help me’

But the Midgardian continued before Loki could answer.

“I’m just asking, cause if it’s something all of you can’t handle, I wouldn’t know what I could do about it. Mr Stark would be a much greater help with that kinda thing.” He was about to continue on but shut himself up.

His teachers hated it when he just rambled on, and the face before him showed too little emotion to figure out if that was the case here, too. Better safe than sorry.

That was not what the trickster had expected.

“It’s not that kind of problem. And I doubt the Ironman would even be willing to hear me out, no matter what I’d have to say.” It was worded as a statement but the prisoner’s raised eyebrow seemed to ask for conformation.

“Yeaah.. You might be right on this one. He tends to hold on to grudges. But we’re working on it! He-..Anyways what can I help you with?” The young heroes body language changed like a boomerang from shy and embarrassed to excitedly proud and back to shy again.

If his conversational partner hadn’t been so utterly exhausted, he would have noticed how often he had cut himself of in this little time alone.

“Right. You see, the whole being .. ‘grounded’ as you described, it.. isn’t actually this. Harmless.”

The shorter tilted his head to the side and the lenses in his mask did a creepily good job at conveying a mix of scepticism and confusion.

“I know this sound unwarranted considering what happened. A-nd I wouldn’t be here if it was only the lifetime in prison that was agreed upon b-but.. It isn’t”

his voice broke and the image flickered, revealing the true appearance of the magician projecting it.

Curled on the ground with dried blood and open wounds covering almost every inch of his back and shoulders.

He had lost concentration a bit as memories and sensations washed over him for a second. Threatening to take over his thinking but he managed to push back.

This was his only chance.

He couldn’t mess up now. Now that somebody seemed to listen.. to care.

When he had gathered himself and looked up, He saw the eyes of the mask before him, wide with shock, and the body beneath it stiff.

Frozen in time.

The prisoner tried to make his image smile.

But it was drenched in dread and sadness. And his body froze; resembling the boy in front of his eyes.

Slowly, the stiffness in Peters body seemed to melt.

A finger twitched.

His arm began to inch upwards, while his shoulders began to sag.

The second arm wrapped itself around his waist, plucking at his suit subconsciously.

And, in a move that surprised even himself, the brunette pulled down his mask. Clutching it in his fist as if his life depended on it.

Peter didn’t care about KAREN`s protests right now.

He needed the god to understand, to know. That he believed him.

The Spidey-sense still hadn’t made an appearance, even though it normally alerted him to anything directly threatening him including his secret identity. *

Like pulling his mask of while people who might tell on him could see.

But he was either too absorb in what was happening or Loki just.. didn’t pose a threat whatsoever.

The god of mischief before him couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

How could a genuine superhero, for which paranoia and distrust seemed to come with the profession, trust him enough to reveal his otherwise hidden identity.

Just like that.

One of his titles literally was god of lies.

“I need somewhere to stay.” He whispered after a few beats of silence “somewhere I can rest.. And serve the rest of my sentence. Without – Odin, finding me.”. He didn’t bother to move his image’s lips.

The spider teen still needed to wrap his head everything while also trying to find a solution for this situation.

“Riiight... Uhm-..there’s uhh. Maybeishould.. no - he wouldn’t” It really didn’t help that to his already frantic thoughts, his super sense started to act up now; Telling him to PUT ON THAT MASK and TURN RIGHT.

He let out an irritated huff before following his instincts.

“Okay. I-I’ll figure that out. D-“

‘If I could remind you who you’re talking to. It may be in your best interest to hand over those matters to SHIELD or Mr. Stark.” KAREN chimed in.

“Not right now KAREN, I’ve got this. Mr. Loki, do you know how to get here? Because I have no idea how to get to Asgard let alone free you. Finding a hideout should be easier.”

His answer was a nod and after a beat of silence: “I should be able to contact . my mother in a few days. If I am correct she does not know of my treatment and will bring me here.”

Loki had carefully observed the Midgardian’s behaviour. Something to his right must have distracted him, for he turned his head that way before putting on his mask again. But there hadn’t been any movement nor was there anything attention-grabbing; just the roof and more buildings.

And then he started talking while scanning the street to their left with his eyes, only to stop in the middle of a word for several seconds and dismiss something his illusion’s ears couldn’t perceive.

For anybody else that would be a clear sign of hallucination, or worse; But he knew that this mortal before him had his own set of special skills and since Stark always seemed to talk to a somebody in his suit it wouldn’t be impossible that Spiderman’s suit was sentient too.

It wouldn’t be too farfetched to say the boy had his reasons.

“And what if she won’t?” the teen’s voice was small and just this side of trembling.

A few seconds went by in which the older of the two just stared at the younger in front of him.

His vision was unable to focus on the figure; But his mind...

His mind couldn’t seem to hang on to anything but the small frame in front of him.

On the hunch in the narrow shoulders; the tilt of his head, down and a bit to the side. On those slim hands and fingers who couldn’t seem to stop plucking on the black web covering the suit. On the fear in his voice and the knowledge that not once over the course of this talk did either of them lie. And not once did the hero lose a single bad word about him.

It took him a few second to gather his bearings.

By the time he was able to concentrate again, he had sat up, kneeling on the ground.

The body in front of him mirrored his position. Heavily suggesting that his illusion had yet again slipped to resemble reality.

He didn’t bother altering his appearance again. Instead, he tried to listen.

What first sounded like a murmured stream of incoherent rambling soon cleared up to be cautious, soft-spoken reassurances.

Things like ‘it’s gonna be okay’ ‘I’ll get you out of there’ and a lot of ‘safety awaits’.

Again.

Not once did he lie. Not once did he use present tense and not a single sentence invalidated the hurt he felt in that moment; like all the typical, sweet nothings people normally said would have done.

It broke the ice giant’s heart. To realise that this young, naïve mortal knew enough about pain and panic-attacks to be aware of such details.

“It’s alright. I’ve got it together again” He said and briefly masked his illusions mouth with a smile.

He got a nod in return.

“Does she need my name to find me? Or should I set up some sort of signal?” the boy asked. Trying to get the conversation on a more positive note again.

After all.

The God’s appearance had pretty much answered his question.

“I doubt she will miss someone running around in bright red spandex. I didn’t see that many people doing it.” He joked.

The teen knew this reaction all too well. Humour to distract from whatever it is you don’t wanna think about.

He would let it slide this once.

“But I’m not in my suit all the time!! What if something happens and she has to find me during the day?! Or I’m not allowed to go out that night?”

‘Right.’ The Jotun thought. ‘Midgardians keep their young under close surveillance much longer than we do.’

“I could show her an image of you.” He answered. “She will inform you of when and where she can hand me over.”

While saying that he had closed his eyes. Exhaustion clear on his face.

“Yeah! Sure. Gather your strength. I will prepare something for you.”

“I can’t thank you enough” were the last word he heard from the god, before the apparition disappeared, letting Peter alone on the roof.

Alone with his thoughts.

Down the street to his left stood a woman in a window, holding a camera.

She hadn’t managed to get a shot of the vigilante’s face. Or see it for that matter.

But she knew he had taken his mask of. Revealing his face to a green shining figure, strangely resembling the Norse god of mischief.

‘well done Jones.’ She thought ‘this might just become useful in the future.’

*I took this from the comics. In those Peters spider sense alerts him to anything threatening his interests, even bluffs while playing poker or reporters and cameras during identity compromising situations.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

#peter parker #loki #loki marvel #tw mention of violence #tw mention of torture #chapter 2 #chapters #mcu #fanfic

[captainxsassafras]

Angel Voice

Ok, so this is really the first piece of writing I've actually finished since I graduated from college. Haha, yeah. I've been a bit of an unproductive writer the past lil bit, BUT I'm here today and I finished this. Not gonna lie, I am hella nervous for this. It's nothing emotionally involved or really intense (ok, there’s not angst, but I get real emotionally involved in fluff, so maybe I’m a liar), but I read the idea of Shinsou doing ASMR from secondhand-trash and the anon over there and, ya know, magic happened! Haha, I kid. Just cuteness, a few saucy phrases here and there! Please be kind to me!

(Also, I’m so sorry. I will figure out how to put stuff under the cut. Please be patient with my tech illiterate ass!)

@queensynderella

@secondhand-trash

Angel Voice

Shinsou x Reader

Warning: lots of fluff?, attempted assault (not Shinsou!), suggestive comments, a hot mess of a reader!

Word Count: Just over 5000... I think.

~~~*~~~

Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. You had not slept at all. Not a single wink.

Sorry, kind sir. I have no spare winks to give. No winks here.

This had been going on for months. Months!

It was starting to affect you.

Hahahah… That was a lie. It had been affecting you. You were just adaptable and great at lying so nothing was really wrong! 

…Ok, that was a lie too. Your sleep schedule was shot. Your brain was shot. Your work was… by some miracle still ok, but you weren’t about to keep betting on that.

So, here you were. Finally off work and almost falling asleep waiting for the train in the humid, afternoon heat. 

This is probably what Hell feels like. Sleep-deprived, foggy, humid, and full of sweaty humans.

You jolted fully awake from a doze as the train arrived and people began crowding against you.

Yippee. A crowded train with strangers pressing in close on absolutely zero sleep.

Nevermind. This was Hell. Waiting for the train was just the appetizer.

Your phone buzzed.

It was your best friend. She knew that you'd been having trouble sleeping and had been your solid rock. She'd been your support when it started and had helped you brainstorm remedies when it had continued. So it wasn't really a surprise when she sent you a link to an asmr video with the message, 'he has the voice of an angel! 😇 if this doesn't help you sleep, nothing will! luv ya boo! good luck!!! ❤❤❤❤❤' 

She was right. 

His voice was deep, but soothing. He spoke in a soft, calm cadence that immediately put you at ease.

The video in question was a request from a viewer. It was a description of a calm hike through the woods on a nice day. 

It was heaven.

You had your first night of decent sleep in months.

(And if you were being totally honest, you did actually cry a bit when you woke up feeling more rested and clear-headed than you could remember.)

From that point on, you fell asleep listening to 'Angel Voice' every night. 

And quickly discovered that you couldn't listen to the more...exciting rp videos before bed! They sent your poor, stupid heart wild and kept you wide awake plus some tasty adrenaline! Definitely not the desired effect! Not unpleasant. Just kinda detrimental to the whole helping-you-sleep thing.

But his calm, descriptive videos and dulcet voice sent you straight to dreamland. 

For a month straight you fell asleep to his tones and barely bothered to look at the voice artist's name.

Angel voice worked!

***

Ok, now you were tired. 

A frantic call to work this afternoon had you covering your sick coworker’s shift. This meant you were both awake way later than you had recently been staying up and you were working with a double shift's worth of leftover energy.

Ok, you were dead. Running on empty. There was no leftover energy.

You dumb, tired feet trudged along the stupid, dark street and your dumb, heavy purse cut into your stupid, aching shoulder.

But despite your exhaustion, you still held a canister of pepper spray--safety off, thank you--clutched tightly in your hand. 

The hackles on the back of your neck rose. The hair on your arms stood on end. Chills ran down your spine.  

You could feel eyes on your back.

Someone was watching you.  

It was a very unpleasant feeling this late at night all alone on a half lit street.  

Ugh, this street was so different after dark! 

You normally made your way home during rush hour when the street was busy with foot and vehicle traffic, well-lit by the sun, and full of chatter and life.

It was almost lifeless and eerily quiet now. 

Creepy. 

It needed more streetlamps. 

Humming very quietly to yourself, you tried to keep your mind off of the intense foreboding grabbing at your chest.

That same shivering chill ran through your body right before a harsh hand clawed at your arm, jerking you back. You cried out as your sore shoulder twisted and adrenaline-fueled panic surged through your entire nervous system.   

You whipped around, pepper spray at the ready and a fierce scowl on your face, to empty the canister straight into the guy's eyes.

You wrenched your aching shoulder out of his hand. Without conscious thought, your foot rose and met his groin in a beautifully placed front kick. 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

We have a winner!

He fell.

A convenience store! There was a convenience store nearby! 

Heart pounding, you fled to the little 24 hour convenience store across the street and, from the safety of the front counter, called the police.

Your frantic eyes scoured the area near the man, waiting to see if he would rise and run. 

Although, you did get him pretty good. You hoped he wouldn't run away. That'd be a) frustrating because you didn't really have a way to identify him so he'd probably get away and b) scary because you kicked him in the nuts! Guys held grudges for things like that! 

Was that movement?

It… didn't seem like the attacker was moving… 

Oh! It was another guy and it looked like he was wearing a costume!

A hero?

Looked like it! He was tying the felled grabber up with… not sure, but it was incapacitating the guy who grabbed you, so yay!

You left the store and slowly approached the man. 

"Um, hi," you said with a hesitant wave. "This was me." You bashfully gestured to the man still lying (now tied up) on the ground.

"Hey, there. Thanks for doing my job for me," he replied with a bit of a smirk. He had a deep, slightly rough voice and up close you could see dark, wildy messy hair.

Uh-oh. You needed to explain. This was absolutely self defense!

"He, uh, grabbed me from behind and I kind of panicked and, well…"

"Don't worry. I saw what happened. He started following you a few blocks back, but I couldn't do anything because he hadn't done anything yet."

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You felt sick. He had… he had been following you?

Your knees trembled.

The hero noticed and stepped forward to you.

"Hey, hey. Come here." 

He led you to the curb and sat you down, a hand rubbing comforting circles on your upper back. "It's gonna be ok. You clearly know how to defend yourself, so I wouldn't worry about.."

His soothing voice soon began to pull you out of your fear and calm your racing brain. His hand continued rubbing your back in rhythmic motions and soon your shaking began to slow and finally stop. Your thoughts came back to the moment and you noticed something. Something very familiar...

"Holy shit. Angel voice!"

The hero stopped his rambling speech, one eyebrow raising in an amused arch. He didn't say anything else, just waited for you.

"Do you do asmr?"

"Uh… yeah?"

Boy, you wish you could've captured his face.

Befuddled?

Was that the right word?

Yeah. Pure befuddlement.

Then blushing. 

Holy hell! He was blushing! It was really hard to see, but the slightest bit of red colored his cheeks in the dim light.

"Thank you so much!" you cried, maybe a bit loudly. He flinched just a little, looking surprised. "Ah, sorry. But seriously! You're the reason I've been able to sleep for the past month! I've been having sleep issues for almost a year and a friend sent me one of your videos and, well, tada. Sleep happened!" It was your turn to blush. 

The look he was sending your way now was… hella cute. He looked delighted. Elated. Even in the dark, his eyes were shining and he had a goofy little half smile that lit his whole face with happiness. 

The smile highlighted the bags under his eyes and you briefly wondered if that had something to do with his decision to make asmr videos. The thought fled when he raised a self-conscious hand to rub the back of his neck and started speaking.

"I'm glad they've been helping you!" The very corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit. "It makes my night to hear that!" 

His deep voice wasn't loud or overtly excited, but it was warm and full of sincerity. 

Your stomach did a stupid flip.

Nope. Not happening. You refused to be a hero groupie. Too much drama. Too many fans picking each other apart. Too much shade. You needed sunshine and most groupies you knew threw shade like confetti.

Also, he was a professional at work. This was his job. You needed to respect that.

A deep internal breath had you back where you should be. Thanking a professional hero for helping apprehend a man who had attacked you and thanking him for his generous work that helped you sleep well. 

The two of you talked quietly for a few bit waiting for the police to arrive. It was nice. You asked about hero work. He asked about your job. You two chatted about a couple of random things and by the time the police arrived your chatter was comfortable and easy. 

Everything after was a whirl. You had to give a statement. They needed to take you to a hospital just in case. The hero gave his witness statement and then had to leave to help out with a robbery in a different neighborhood. 

You left for the hospital looking back and feeling little starbursts of melancholy disappointment needling your chest. 

You'd probably never see him again.

Ah, well. Guess he'd stay Angel Voice. 

***

Shit.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. 

This was stupid. 

You had barely talked to him for a half hour. And, yeah, he was sweet. Ok, he'd been crazy nice. And so fucking attractive. He'd been easy to talk to and the conversation between you two had been entertaining and full of wit. 

But you had no way of directly contacting him. You'd looked him up, but hadn't gotten much info on him. It looked like he was an underground hero, so that made a lot of sense. It, however, did not make it any less frustrating.

You didn't know what you'd do if you managed to get ahold of him anyway!

"Hi! You sorta bagged a guy who tried to assault me (but I took down first) a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since then even though we had like a half hour conversation, half of which was you coaxing me out of a panic attack. Want to go on a date?"

Of course, you could always comment on one of Utube videos, but that had about a 1 in 1,000,000,000 chance of working and felt a little too…. Stalker-fan.

There was also the raging guilt and embarrassment you felt over crushing on a hero who had just been helping you as part of his professional work. He had been at work! It was part of his job to comfort you! He was literally in the business of saving people and making sure they were ok. And that was exactly he had done. He didn't need to be harrassed because your dumb brain said, 'Oo, shiny!' when he smiled. He had been at work. You shouldn't read anything into his behavior, because there really wasn't anything other than a pro hero doing his duty.

Nope! You needed to get over this.

A notification buzzed and you checked your phone.

Mind_kitty has posted a new video! Watch now!

With a defeated sigh, you deferred the notification for later. You could listen and relax on your way home from work.

A movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you snapped your head up as a coworker hustled over with a look of panic on their face. 

Uh-oh.

***

And now, here you were, sitting wearily on the train and hurtling towards home.

Ugh, what a day.

After everything that could go wrong had miraculously (horrifically? Fiendishly? Miraculously seemed too positive…) gone up in flames at the same time, you had spent the rest of your work day running around like crazy putting out all the fires (only one of which was, in fact, a literal fire so not actually a terrible day).

Your feet were sore and a headache that had started with your coworker's news and grown from there threatened to overwhelm you.

There were still a few stops until yours, so you slipped your headphones out of your bag and opened your Utube app. 

Thank you unlimited data!

You found Angel Voice's latest video and began to play.

(Ok, you now had actually figured out his Utube username and finally bothered to remember it, but he'd started as Angel Voice to you and it just worked in your mind!)

Ahhhhhh…

Why does he have such a great voice? It was perfect! Deep and smooth and perfectly made to whisper sweet (or not so sweet) nothings in your ear while you gently played with his wild purple hair. Fuck, his hair was so pretty! You'd bet your left buttcheek it was soft as clouds…

Ugggghhhhh... Fine. 

You were crushing on a pro hero. 

Are you happy, universe? 

Your fated journey to become a groupie had begun. Might as well accept it and focus on more important things… like Angel Voice's hair.

Or, you know, his voice…

You fell into the sound of his speaking.

Hah, it was like an automatic reaction at this point. Your shoulders started to unknot and that stereotypical breath you didn't know you were holding in rushed out in a grateful sigh.

However, it didn't take you long to realize that he hadn't started into the asmr immediately as you were expecting. Paying more attention, you rewound the video to the beginning and actually listened to what he was saying.

"I'm not sure exactly how to do this." He let out a dry half chuckle. "I haven't completely convinced myself I should. But, um…"

He paused with a frustrated sigh, then seemed to take a deep breath. 

"Ok, to hell with it. I'm doing this. Dear, girl I met the other night who took a guy out by kicking him in the nuts."

Was he talking about you? Was there another girl who kicked a guy in the nuts on his patrol? Damn, he met a lot of kickass girls on patrol! Good for her! She was getting a personal shoutout from Angel Voice! 

"I know it might seem kind of weird to be doing this over Utube, but I missed my chance at first, then the police arrived and everything was crazy and I had to leave to help out another pro."

Wow, sounds intense. Bet that was stressful. Oh, wait. Hah. You knew it was stressful.

"So I blew my chance to ask for your number."

He wanted her number? Damn! Super lucky girl!

Wait, this wasn't an rp video was it?

You pulled out your phone to check, but the title and description didn't mention any kind of rp. Aww! This was real! And it was adorable!

A tiny piece of sad ripped itself free of the fuzzy feelings you were experiencing. He had been so kind and you'd had such a fun time conversing. It would have been really amazing if this were for you. You had really liked the piece of personality you'd been able to see.

"I'm really hoping you'll hear this video, and hear it in time, because I'd love to go get coffee with the girl who accidentally body-slammed her coworker on her birthday."

Holy.

Shit.

That…

THAT WAS YOU!

That had been you! Your stupid coworker had snuck up behind you at the end of the day in a semi-dark area of work and shouted in your ear to scare you.

It had worked. 

You'd been so scared that you'd grabbed him, flipped him over your shoulder, and body-slammed him into the floor.

And… and you'd told Angel Voice that night as you sat talking about some of your more notorious takedowns. 

This was for you.

This video was for you!

What the fuck?!

This video was for you!?

You had to rewind a hot second to hear what came next.

Then you had to pause and go back yet again, because your mind was in such a frenzy and your heart was beating so loudly in your ears you couldn’t concentrate on what was being said!

“So if you hear this and, um, you’re interested at all, girl who took down a fully grown man in five seconds, I’ll be waiting at the spot we first met at five pm today. I, uh, really hope I’ll see you there again.”

The video ended. 

Your heart was still aiming for professional drummer in your chest.

You could see him raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck with that last statement. He’d done it that night and you could picture it in your mind. 

Wait! What time was it?

4:50 pm.

No.

Nonononononono!

You were going to miss the meeting.

You were still six train stops away from yours and that alone would take you fifteen minutes! Not to mention the next fifteen minutes it’d take to get to the meeting place! 

Of course, that was walking speed. You could run.

Frantic eyes looked down at your shoes. Not exactly running shoes. 

Whatever, you’d make do.

You wanted to see him again.

You could just imagine the disappointment on his face if you didn’t show and that melancholy from earlier reared its weepy head and cried out in frustration because you didn’t want to hurt him!

And you really wanted to see him again!

The next fifteen minutes were the most agonizing you could remember enduring in recent history. This was worse than the time you spilled coffee on your favorite author and his manager had yelled at you for five minutes while they changed! I mean, that had been pretty bad, but the author had been incredibly nice about it after getting back and even mentioned it humorously in the book you had asked them to sign. It was still easily the most awful you'd ever felt and you’d really wanted nothing more than to run away.

This. Was. Worse.

So much worse because you couldn’t actively work towards your quickly approaching deadline and destination. You had to sit there… waiting.

Your leg was bouncing up and down and a few fellow train riders were giving you slightly concerned looks. You were too wound up to care.

Finally, finally!

You arrived at your stop, hurried off the train as quickly as you could without being the absolute worst human ever, and ran.

Your shoes remained on your feet until you almost killed yourself stumbling over them, then they were in your arms.

Decorum be damned!

This was a matter of life or date! (And preferably not death by shoe!)

You made it to the spot where you’d met him at exactly 5:12 pm.

You were sweaty. 

Hell, that was an understatement.

You were pretty sure you’d left a trail of sweat behind you and you could feel it running in rivulets down your back. There was probably a stain back there… And on your armpits… and on… everywhere.

You knew your hair was an absolute mess. 

But as bad as you knew you must look, you felt worse.

Your lungs were on fire. You had absolutely no breath left in your entire body. It felt like you had a knife in your side. In both sides actually. Your entire body was trying to imitate an oven with the level of heat radiating off your skin. Your legs were simultaneously wobbly and shaking and you weren’t sure you’d trust them taking another step at the moment.

And now you had sweat in your eye. Stinging.

But none of that even mattered. 

All of that was stupid and trivial and inconsequential because he wasn’t there.

You’d taken too long.

He was gone.

No vibrant purple hair and sleep-deprived eyes.

No stupid half-smile.

That melancholy came back and instead of quietly tugging at your heart, it hit you square in the chest with an emotional cast-iron frying pan. 

No.

No!

Damnit!

You’d really wanted this.

He was… he was so fucking witty and kind that night.

He’d been soft and understanding and hot. And fucking adorable.

And… and… he wasn’t there.

Fuck.

You slumped in place.

Every ounce of your physical exhaustion caught up to you in an instant and you felt the mortifying sting of tears trying to sneak their way out of your eyes. 

Talk about adding insult to injury.

It wasn’t that bad. This wasn’t that bad.

So, you didn’t get to meet up with a cute hero for coffee. Big deal. Poor unfortunate soul. It was nothing to cry about.

But you’d really wanted to see him again.

Guess it didn’t matter anymore.

You turned, ready to march across the street to that convenience store and buy half of their ice cream, but something tickled your brain.

Something out of the corner of your eye.

Your head whipped around.

There!

It was a flash of purple down the street.

Your eyes snapped to that portion of the sidewalk. 

It was purple hair.

Crazy, wild, tousled, purple hair!

You knew that hair!

But your stupid legs literally wouldn’t run anymore. And he was far enough away that you wouldn’t catch up if you could run.

You reacted without thinking.

You really acted without thinking.

“ANGEL VOICE!”

You shouted his name at the top of your lungs.

Sorry.

You shouted your own private, very personal nickname that you had only spoken out loud to your very best friend and, unfortunately, him.

In the middle of a crowded street.

During rush hour.

Your brain was an utter masterpiece of stupid.

You stood there, frozen with the realization of your own idiocy, as the head of purple hair stopped, looked to the side, looked to the other side, then tuuurrrnnned around.

Made eye contact with you through the busy crowd.

Then doubled over laughing.

You couldn’t hear him from where you stood, but you could feel him laughing.

You could see it in the way his bent shoulders shook and his torso convulsed, nearly spasming with the force of his laughter.

And there you stood, still stuck to your spot.

You’d called him Angel Voice out loud in a crowd out loud in front of a bunch of strangers out loud.

And as much as you wanted to run, you couldn’t even twitch.

Not as you watched him finally finish laughing and fully turn to face you. Not as you watched him begin to walk toward you through the throng of people (just beginning to turn back to their own business in the aftermath of your outburst). Not as he stopped directly in front of you, a delighted smile on his sleepy, stupidly attractive face and the corners of his eyes still just slightly crinkled with laughter.

“Hey there,” he said and it felt like the softest slap to the face you’d ever received.

Your frozen body finally remembered its fight or flight reflexes and, wouldn’t you know, you suddenly learned how to fly.

As you turned to bolt, Angel Voice reached out, calling to you.

“Hey, wait! You’re just gonna run after all of that?”

He didn’t grab you.

That detail broke through the panic.

Even though he reached out with his hand, he didn’t grab you.

You stopped.

“I wanna run because of all that!” you blurted.

His chuckles sent a wave of heat down your spine, both embarrassed and… otherwise. Ok, fine! He had a sexy voice! And it turned you on more than you liked to admit! 

Who let him have a voice like that?

It was not freaking fair!

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Fuck, he sounded sincere. 

You slowly turned around, face still burning.

You two stared at each other for a minute.

A smile crooked your lips.

“So, uh, what’s a place like you doing in a voice like this.”

Silence.

“Fuck.” 

Your hand came up to rub at your forehead as he began laughing again. A full, big laugh instead of a chuckle.

“I should probably just give up on the talking thing, shouldn't I?”

“I hope not. I could listen to you all day,” he said with a small grin.

And now your heart it was afluttering.

“I feel like that should be my line,” you mumbled, watching him catch his breath from all that big old laughing through the fingers splayed across your face.

There was a pause in the conversation. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it hadn’t really achieved comfortable silence.

“So, um.”

You looked up from your hand.

Good fuck, he was doing the rubbing the back of his neck thing again. Illegal. Freaking illegal is what that was. No man should possess that level of cute.

“I mentioned grabbing coffee in the video. I’d like to assume you being here means you’re interested?” The sentence ended with a slight upturn, indicating a question. He looked up at you, uncertainty in his gorgeous violet eyes.

Why the hell was he uncertain?

This mortherfucking hottie with a voice made for swooning (and spooning) was nervous about asking you to coffee (adateadateadateadate).

Without thinking, you voiced this exact thought out loud (sans the date portion... and the spooning. Spooning was for non-dumbasses). 

Angel Voice looked absolutely floored.

“I’m sorry, but do you own a mirror?” he asked. There was a tension in his voice that almost had you shrinking into yourself.

Ouch.

Damn.

Ouch.

Well, at least he was blunt.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You met him on the floor.

Dead. Ass.

He just called you gorgeous.

There was a set to his jaw now and a sort of light in his eyes. He looked very… determined. Set, was what you’d call it. He seemed very set on a decision.

"It was great talking to you the other night. I can't get out of my head how funny and smart you were. And you're so fucking cute I want to wrap you up in my jacket and stay there forever."

His face was blazing red now. His ears too. Ok, that was hella adorable. You felt your own self flush with happy bashful feelings. I mean, he himself had just supplied you with the sappiest, schmoopiest mental image you’d really ever conceived.

“I’d really like to go get some coffee together.” He went quiet for a minute, seeming to mull something over in his head, and that stupid hand came up to rub at his neck again.

Ugh, he was gonna kill you with that! 

“Would you go on a date with me?”

If your heart was fluttering before, it was nearly palpitating now!

“Yes! Please! I mean, yes I want to go on a date with you!”

He smiled, a breathless, bewildered, almost (dare you think) dorky smile. It was fucking beautiful.

"Wow," he exhaled.

A snort escaped you. "Again, I feel like that should be my line."

But you smiled back.

And there you both stood, almost dazedly smiling, little happy thoughts buzzing through your minds. 

“We should probably head to a cafe if we’re going to get coffee,” Angel Voice finally murmured.

You started.

The both of you were standing like idiots in the middle of the sidewalk, just staring at each other.

“Coffee, right. Anywhere in mind, Angel Voice?” The nickname slipped out almost by accident.

He held out his hand to you and you took it gently. 

“Angel Voice, huh?” he laughed quietly. “I think I can go with that.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault! You still haven’t told me your name.” You sent a playful tug along the arm you held by the hand and felt a little thrill of joy when he returned it just as playfully. "You're officially Angel Voice until you enlighten me."

The two of you had started walking. He seemed to have a destination in mind. Man with a plan. Nice.

“I know a cafe nearby. Do you mind?” he asked, softly pulling you along in invitation while leaving enough slack for you to object if you wanted.

Man with a plan who asked nicely. Nice.

“Not at all, Angel Voice.” You had a point to make and a guy to tease!

He chuckled again.

“My name is Hitoshi. Hitoshi Shinsou.” That slightly devious grin crept back onto his face. “But Angel Voice works for me.” He snuggled in close to your cheek, the side of his body leaning comfortably into yours. Then he whispered in your ear and you nearly fell over. "Especially if you're screaming it as loud as you did earlier."

Good lord, your knees nearly collapsed. 

His voice, his stupid voice, saying such a frisky thing so close did such a number on you that you couldn't respond for a moment. It was all you could do to keep breathing.

His voice was going to be the death of you! You couldn’t think. Should you respond? What did you say to that? Something equally as frisky! But his voice!

He tensed a bit at your lack of response. 

"Was that too much? Did I cross a line?" he asked, still speaking low right in your ear.

"Son of a bitch, if you don't stop that right now, I'm gonna jump your fucking bones right in the middle of this street." Your voice was full of urgency, but if he didn't stop you really were liable to unleash every single ounce of wild attraction you felt towards him at that exact moment, street full of people be damned!

He stopped walking.

Oh, shit. You could hear the Cheshire grin.

"You mean, like this?"

You sagged against him, letting your knees tremble. Your hand, still tangled, clutched his tightly.

His chuckle this time was less… benevolent than before. "What? You called me Angel Voice." His thumb ran soothingly over your hand. "I had to see if I could tempt you."

You couldn't help it. You turned your face to bury it in his jacket. What a magnificent, teasing butthead you'd just gotten yourself tangled up with. It was amazing!

"That’s going to come back to bite me, isn't it?"

“All the time.”

A tiny little butterfly crept into your stomach. You didn’t want to read too much into it (although after his teasing, you didn't really feel like it was reading into things), but ‘all the time’ sounded like there was going to be, well, plenty of time. It was a very welcome, warm idea.

As soon as your legs de-noodled (Hitoshi making snarky comments like a brat the entire time), the two of you continued on in an easy silence, exchanging teases every so often. The sun was setting and the entire world was covered in golden tones. Rush hour was winding down and the foot traffic in the area was dissipating, leaving a much more comfortable number of people around.

Your brain focused on the soft, warm quality of the light, the muted shocks of excitement zipping through your lower back, and the soft weight of his calloused hand surrounding yours. 

You gave a little, light squeeze.

"I'm so happy I ran, Angel Voice.”

He just chuckled and squeezed back.

#welp there you go #shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha shinsou #mha shinsou #shinsou fluff #hitoshi shinsou fluff

[radamazard]

But I’m Weak

What was so wrong with being weak? Not everyone could be ridiculously strong after all.

Nino had always struggled with the extremes of being okay with who he was and what he felt the world wanted him to be. But he never thought that he’d have to feel that way with Alya…

————————————————————————

Nino bit back a sigh, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Alya drone on and on like a CD that had gotten scratched and played a single sound on repeat for eternity. It wasn’t that he particularly hated listening to her rant. Heck, it was normally pretty inspiring. His girlfriend had passions that burned brighter than Paris itself and he greatly admired that.

But he wasn’t exactly a fan of some of her opinions when it came to… certain topics.

“It’s just- he’s so WEAK, Nino! Like, you’re facing LITERAL Satan here. I don’t think a friendship speech is gonna bring this bitch down. Sometimes you just have to let your fists do the talking, you can’t just…”

Weak. There was such a negative view on that word. To be weak was somehow seen as lesser, as though being unable to fight back was a particularly bad thing. Strength was so ridiculously glorified that it was honestly exhausting to constantly hear about it.

Sure, it was good to be able to defend yourself and fight back if shit went south, there was no arguing that. But what was wrong with wanting to be peaceful? With not wanting to be the one to deliver that first blow?

Nino himself had never been much of a fighter, and he knew he probably never would be. Outside of defending those he loved and cared about, being skilled at knocking someone’s block off just wasn’t his thing. Nor did he really want it to be. That’s what they had the rest of the heroes for, right?

Though he had decked Hawkmoth with his shield that one time….

To be fair, the man had DEFINITELY deserved it.

“- don’t even get me started on his moral fibre. This bitch has the backbone of a liquified jellyfish. ‘Oh, you’re sad about your mean step dad? Sure, we’ll go take him out for ya, it’s not like you spent THREE seasons trying to murder our asses and slaughtering LITERAL CHILDREN. We totally forgive you!’ Like, miss me with that garbage, you just have a weak ass moral code!”

Maybe Alya’s example there wasn’t all that great. But what was wrong with offering people second chances? Not everyone managed to start off as a good person. Not everyone could say their past was clean and that they’d always done their best to be the kindest or best versions of themselves.

Perhaps that one hit hard because Nino knew he hadn’t always been the person he was now.

Once he’d been bitter, been a quiet loner who kept to himself and didn’t bother to help those around him.

Once he hadn’t tried to see the good in others, hadn’t been a person much worthy of friendship.

Once he’d ignored bullies so he’d be left alone, had ignored when people were sad and had brushed off any attempts at friendship people had made.

It wasn’t easy, thinking back to the person he’d once been, who’d been so disillusioned with the world that he’d chose to use music to block it all out, to block everyone out. Of course that had changed when he had met Adrien. The guy was loyal and kind and had clearly been rather lonely, stuck with only Chloé as a friend and alienated by the rest of the class. Perhaps Nino had seen a little of himself in him? Being alone and not knowing how to really make connections. So he’d made an effort, and Adrien and him had been inseparable since.

Not only that, but those that had known him before, that he’d shrugged off or coldly ignored, had welcomed him with open arms. There had been no judgements for his past self, no need to prove himself. They’d simply accepted him with kindness.

How could that kind of forgiveness and empathy be so bad? Why was a weakness in holding a grudge seen as something negative?

“... and you know what? Here’s what frustrates me the most. I know it’s stupid, okay? But just let me rant here,” Alya continued on and Nino barely held back a snort.

“I can take him being a friendship babbler who always tries to talk down the villains. It’s corny, but whatever, it’s anime. I can take him inviting the baddie into the team. It’s a popular trope, I know, and people LOVE seeing the asshole redeemed. But you know what I CAN’T take?” she asked, her lips pursed in a tight and her brows knitted tighter still that he almost feared she’d bust a vein.

“Nope. Gonna have to enlighten me here, babe.”

There was beat of silence, done obviously for dramatic effect that had Nino rolling his eyes in an annoyance that had been slowly building since the beginning of this whole rant.

“The romance. It’s HORRIBLE. There’s nothing worse in a romance story than an unlikable romance,” Alya stated. “He’s so ridiculously weak when it comes to her! It’s pathetic and really, really painful to watch. How that’s anyone’s OTP I’ll never understand. It’s not sweet. It’s not cute. It’s just… sad.”

Ah. There it was. The part he’d been waiting for and dreaded hearing the most.

Because he could understand being frustrated with a pacifist. In a life or death situation you often had to act and act fast. Failing to do so meant the loss of life, and no one could root for that.

He could get why wanting the asshole to have a happy ending was annoying. Not everyone was redeemable and some assholes really didn’t deserve that kindness. Assholes like Hawkmoth, for instance.

But to rant with a flaring passion about how pathetic being weak when in love was? That really stung. It stung because he knew, without a doubt, that he was EXACTLY like that. Nino knew that love made him weak, in so many senses of the word.

It made him weak in the knees everytime Alya smiled at him, like somehow he was all she needed to brighten her day.

His breath weakened whenever she kissed him, her lips sweeter than any confection he had ever tasted.

When those pretty pools of toupe drifted over to him, and Nino could swear in those moments that he was witnessing the sun itself rising in those eyes that hypnotised him with such ease… his heart would skip a beat so dramatically he feared it would become weakened the process.

Not to mention how completely and utterly weak he was to her in general. How Alya’s laugh had him melting, how every little ‘I love you’ had Nino drifting off to his own personal heaven. How he couldn’t hope to say no to her when she came to him with excitement glowing, shimmering from each and every pore.

He adored her to the point of ridiculousness. To the point of weakness.

Was that so wrong? To love someone so dearly that it made you feel weak and defenseless, yet in all the right ways? As though you could afford to be that way, to push away the fears and insecurities to love wholeheartedly.

Why was that a bad thing?

Minutes passed as he dwelt on this, and Nino didn’t even notice how deep in thought he’d been until he felt his girlfriend poking his nose.

“Earth to Nino. You alright there, babe? You’re frowning hard. I mean really hard. Harder than when we saw that sci-fi flick last week,” Alya attempted to joke, although the concern was etched clearly into her features.

“The ending totally ruined the whole dystopian aesthetic they were goin’ for and was a lazy ass ass pull…” Nino muttered, his gaze dropping down to his lap. Yet even with his eyes off her, he could still feel her concern for him, could still feel her eyes on him, worried.

“But that’s not what’s bothering you now, right?”

His head shook and Alya shuffled closer, laying a hand over his clenched fists. Funny, how hadn’t he noticed he was doing that until now?

“... No.”

“Do you wanna talk about it? I think I used up more than my allotted chunk of words for the week, so I’m all ears,” Alya ushered, her voice so gentle and warm that Nino almost felt guilty for his own shit storm of feelings. Here he was, making her worry over a god damned anime rant. What kind of boyfriend was he?

“It’s… It’s dumb.”

“If it’s upsetting you then it isn’t dumb. I cried over burnt fries last week, remember? And you promised that shit wasn’t dumb.”

A weak chuckle escaped Nino’s lips, despite the swirl of negativity that still twisted harshly from deep within him.

“True, but I don’t have the excuse of my body throwin’ a fit over not having kids once a month and messin’ with my emotions,” Nino retorted, to which he earned himself a soft flick to the back of his hand.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to get upset over that kind of stuff too. You wouldn’t let Adrien call his emotions dumb, would you?” A slow shake of her boyfriend’s head told her she’d won, and Alya had to really fight to keep the smug smile from her face. No, that would only make things worse right now.

“Nah. Of course I wouldn’t…” Nino muttered. “So I guess you’re gonna keep this up until I spill, huh?”

“Yep. So you better hurry up and talk, babe. Because I’ve got aaaaall day and nothing more important to do than listen to you.”

Ah, there she went, saying stuff like that so casually that it made him feel absolutely cruddy about making her worry in the first place. But Nino knew his girlfriend well, and Alya was a woman of staggering determination. If she wanted an answer, she nearly always get it.

So it was with a sigh that Nino finally gave in.

“... I’m weak, Als,” he admitted, in a voice so quiet and small that Alya had to lean in to properly hear it. “I’m not a fighter or strong. I believe in givin’ assholes second chances. Heck, I was one of them! And I…”

There was beat of silence, as Nino lifted his gaze and distressed gold fell upon Alya’s face.

“I’m weak to YOU. You make me weak each an’ every time we’re together, babe. I’m pretty much a living, breathing example of all that crap you hate. I- It makes me…” Nino trailed off, as the realisation of just why he’d been so hurt by her words dawned upon him.

“... It makes me wonder if you hate all that in me. If you hate those parts of me. That you…” That she no longer loved him. That was what he truly feared. Because if she hated those parts that he resounded so strongly with, didn’t it also make sense that she’d fallen out of love with him?

That maybe Alya had just stayed out of pity? Or because she was too nice and didn’t want to break his heart, even if she longed for someone far better than him, someone far stronger?

“... You might not love me anymore?” Nino finished in a broken whisper.

He hadn’t even realised he was crying until he felt Alya’s hand upon his cheek, tenderly brushing his tears away with the pad of her thumb.

“Nino…” she whispered, with such a guilt ridden sadness that only made him cry more. “Is that what you really think? That I secretly hate you? You, my wonderful, gorgeous, kind, loyal, selfless, adorable, brilliant, dorkishly amazing boyfriend?”

There was no judgement in her voice, no teasing or sarcasm or snark. Only a lulling sincerity as she pulled Nino into her arms and held him tight as his silent sobs soaked her shoulder.

“I could never hate you. I don’t need you to be some amazingly kick ass hero with muscles like Chat Noir or a killer left hook like Ladybug. You’re already amazingly brave and courageous… Not everyone needs to be a fighter and you’re the protector this city needs. That I love,” Alya said, her voice gently firm and flooded with a love so warm that it only served to make Nino cry harder.

“I never knew you back when you were an ‘asshole’. I only got to meet you when Adrien did, and the Nino I’ve always known has been the warmest person that I’ve ever been lucky enough to meet. But even if you were an asshole before, that doesn’t mean you aren’t deserving of friends. I… sorry if I gave you the impression that I thought that about everyone. You know I hold grudges and that’s a me thing I have to work on, not a you thing, okay?” She felt Nino nod weakly in her arms, and in turn Alya pressed a feather light kiss to the crown of his head.

“... And I- … I wasn’t talking about weakness like that. Nibuimaru lets Sonshōko beat the living shit out of him without a single complaint! He doesn’t even seem upset by it. It’s like for him, that’s how chicks are. And it’s played for laughs that’s it’s all cute and that kind of stupid shit, like ‘aww, look how weak she makes him!’. That’s not cute. That’s a weak ass relationship based on abuse,” Alya stated, only pausing to hold Nino just that bit tighter or as she felt the shakes of his sobs rock her. It was honestly heart breaking, to know that her ridiculous rant about some shitty anime Adrien had recommended had caused him so much pain and doubt.

“I’m just as weak for you as you are for me. You know that, right? And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s real cute how smitten you are with me, and those stupidly love sick puppy looks you send my way… They make my heart flutter and my stomach does flips like Ladybug on a sugar high… I could never hate that. I could never hate you, Nino,” she whispered, and her aching heart clenched as Nino finally looked up at her, glasses smudged from all the crying, cheeks tears and eyes all red and puffy. What was worse was that desperately hopeful look in his eyes, as though he had truly feared that she no longer loved him and he was clinging to her every word.

…. For how long had these thoughts been kicking around in the back of his mind? Alya didn’t know, nor did she care. Because from this moment on she swore she’d make Nino feel every bit as loved as he had for her, as he continued to do each and every day, even when he was feeling cruddy.

Never again would he have to doubt that really loved him.

“I love you. I love you so GOD DAMNED much, okay? I’m sorry I had you doubting that…” Alya finished, and before she could even hope to verbalise her promise Nino’s lips were against hers in a wet and desperate kiss. It was one she returned full heartedly, pouring every ounce of love and affection she held for the guy in her arms into it, just hoping it would reach him and somehow ease his fears and pains if her words had failed to.

It was minutes later when Nino broke away, a damp yet genuine smile now pulling at his lips, that Alya finally felt that things might be alright between them once more.

“I love ya too, Alya. So freakin’ much,” Nino rasped on out, as Alya pulled him back on into her all encompassing embrace. “You… You really meant all that?”

“Every word of it. So you’re weak. Who cares? I don’t need some macho, masculinely fragile, eternally perfect meathead. You’re everything I want and need, babe. I promise that.”

His heart fluttered with joy and he practically melted into Alya’s arms. In that moment, even if it would take a while to fully squash his doubts, he felt safe.

He was weak. What was wrong with that?

Nothing, Nino thought. Nothing at all.

#Nino Lahiffe #Alya Cesaire #DJWifi #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous #Hurt/Comfort Fic

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Jonah (ao3 link)

Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Series: Flashwave Week 2018 (Destiny Series)

Summary: In which Barry goes to sleep and wakes up to a very different universe.

And it's all because Leonard "Destiny of the Endless" Snart couldn't keep his big mouth shut while reading the literal Book of Destiny.

Oh, well.

A/N: @flashwaveweek - Flashwave Week: Accidental Marriage

——————————————————————————————

Barry, as he so often does, wakes up feeling tired.

Not physically, of course; his powers make sure that even minimal amounts of sleep are enough to fully revive him.

Wouldn't want the world to go without one its heroes, Barry thinks bitterly.

Most of his mornings are spent like this, now: awake, but trapped in bitterness and regret. He's not sure when exactly it started, this endless frozen atrophied bitterness - when Joe's new baby died, maybe, or when Wally was killed, or when Caitlin was mind-wiped until she didn't remember any of them, or when Cisco went temporarily evil and killed so many people that even the defense of mind control didn't swing the jury back in his favor.

He has new members of Team Flash to back him now, but it's not the same. He knows he can't let himself get close to them or they'll just be targets as well, more than they already are.

Everyone he's close to is a target.

Like Iris.

Oh, Iris...

Maybe that's when the bitterness started, when Iris sat him down - months ago, now - and held his hands and told him that while she still loved him, she thought it'd be better for both of them if they weren't married anymore.

Barry doesn't blame her. He wouldn't want to be friends with a Jonah like him, either: mysterious disappearances at every turn, weird twists and turns what feels like every week, never any normal life, and poisonous honey to draw in every maniacal villain in existence, it felt like.

Even the Justice League, in which he put so much hope, is fracturing: Batman's latest protégé brutally murdered and Batman lashing out against them all as a result, Superman's identity and Earth parents under threat, Diana offered an irresistible chance to go home again for a rest, Hal sent far away...no one has time or interest in their alliance beyond the moments of utter necessity, which seem to happen about once a year or so.

Nothing like the group of friends who can understand the pressures of heroism that Barry wanted it to be.

And that leads him back to where he is: bitter and tired and unable to get up.

"Bar!" Iris' voice rings through the door, causing Barry to violently start. Iris hasn't lived in what was once their mutual apartment since she'd moved back home to take care of Joe, who was near-catatonic with grief. Sure, she still had a key, but she never used it... "Barry Allen, I know you have super-speed, but if you don't get up now, you're going to be late. Or, more importantly, we're going to be late!"

Barry doesn't recall any plans he had with Iris. Honestly, Barry doesn't recall the last time he spoke with Iris, even though (even after everything) she's still his anchor.

Is this another trick? Another villain's scheme?

Only one way to find out.

He gets dressed and goes into the kitchen, where Iris is rifling through the fridge, though she looks up when he walks in.

"There you are, lazybones," she says, grinning at him, and Barry has to take a step back, because he hasn't seen Iris this healthy, this whole, this happy in - years. Even before she moved out. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet."

"Cold feet?" Barry echoes helplessly.

"More like hot feet, I'd say," another voice says with a laugh from his blind spot, and now Barry's really twitching because it's been forever since he heard that voice, it can't be, he's dead, but no, Barry turns and there he is.

Eddie Thawne is sitting at Barry's kitchen table with a newspaper and a wedding ring.

"You're letting the puns get to you, babe," Iris says, going over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "You planning to go villain on us?"

"Hey, I don't necessarily get my puns from the villains," Eddie protests mildly, smiling up at her with that devoted, loving gaze he's always had for Iris, the one that won him Barry's affection even despite their competition. "Maybe I get it from my wonderful pun-using award-winning journalist wife. Have you considered that possibility, Mrs. West?"

"I have indeed, Mr. West," Iris says haughtily, but with a grin. "And I'll have you know that your wife just reports what's out there - Barry, you're pale. Did you forget your midnight snack again? You know your metabolism goes screwy when you don't eat enough."

Barry shakes his head and shrugs. He can't think of what to say. He can't think of - anything.

They look so happy.

"Sit and eat," Eddie says, looking at him with a frown. "Did we - did we actually wake you up? We didn't mean to."

"Like Barry would've slept through our kids getting ready to go school," Iris says, but she sounds doubtful. "They're total elephants and we do live right upstairs..."

Barry and Iris didn't have kids. They'd wanted to, of course, in the beginning, but then there was what happened to Nora and they'd never quite managed to get over that enough to start trying, not before the tragedies started - or worsened, really, it wasn't like their lives weren't full of tragedy before...

"Nora?" he croaks.

"No, Don and Dawn," Iris says, looking puzzled. "They're the maniacal little kindergarteners; little Nora's still cooking." She taps her belly, which now that Barry pays attention he notices is curved out slightly. "As you well know. Are you okay?"

Barry opens his mouth to tell them that there's been a timeline alteration, that someone's changed something - Eddie's alive, after all, and he shouldn't be - but then he stops.

If he tells them there's a timeline alteration, then they'll want to help him try to fix it.

They'll want to send him back.

Back to a world where he lives in his big apartment alone with the wreck of all his dreams, where Iris has quit her job to care for Joe, where...his friends...his friends...

"I think I have temporary amnesia," Barry says apologetically. "Can you catch me back up?"

"Uh, sure," Iris says, blinking at him. "Is this a Justice League thing?"

Barry shrugs apologetically.

"I'm going to text Diana very angrily about this," Iris says, who's never had Diana's phone number. No one had Diana's phone number, and once she went back to Thermiscyra it was a moot point anyway. "Or maybe Selina."

"Selina?"

"Batman's wife? Catwoman?"

"Oh," Barry says faintly. "Right. Her."

Batman got married?!

"Barry, please sit and eat something," Eddie says, coming over and putting a warm hand on his back. "Whatever's gone wrong, we'll help you fix it, you know that."

"I know," Barry says, his throat tight. "Uh. Can I ask you - about everyone else?"

"Sure," Iris says. "But then - as soon as we finish our appointments today - we're taking you to STAR Labs for Caitlin to check you."

"Caitlin's - at STAR Labs?"

"Well, no," Eddie says. "Only sometimes. She got that job in that hospital - Head of the Metahuman Wing, remember? Her and Killer Frost both?"

"Of course he doesn't remember, Eddie," Iris says. "He has amnesia."

"Well, I don't know how far back the amnesia goes -"

"Cisco?" Barry interrupts, a little desperately. "Joe?"

"Cisco's at STAR Labs," Iris agrees, clearly puzzled. "Probably setting up for his first class of the day -"

"Class?"

"Yeah, the Flash Engineering Corps," Eddie says, looking amused. "Best scholarship program in the Twin Cities - plus you get to work for a superhero while saving up for college. Iris' idea, of course."

"Shush, you. Joe's - well, Joe's probably dropping Jenna off at school after her dentist appointment, then dropping Cecile off at the DA's office, and then going into work at the CCPD as usual, I guess?"

Barry swallows hard. Caitlin herself, Cisco free, Joe aware...

There's got to be a catch.

"Oh, crap," Iris says abruptly. "Our appointment! Barry, we can deal with your amnesia later, but if we miss this, they won't let us have another, and then you won't have a suit for your wedding!"

...wait, what?

"Uh," Barry says.

"Listen, here, Barry Allen," Iris says. "I know you and Mick would probably get married in your underwear and a bathrobe if we let you, but damnit that is not going you happen, you get me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Barry says automatically, saluting her so that she laughs and punches his arm lightly.

His mind is still reeling. Mick? As in, Mick Rory? Formerly the supervillain Heatwave, most recently member of the Legends, kind of depressed almost all the time?

They're getting married?!

This can’t be right.

Barry checks his phone for confirmation. There’s a WhatsApp group chat titled “Justice League” that’s filled with jokes, that’s the first thing he notices – did Batman really just send around a bat emoji? really? will wonders never cease? – but Barry’s Facebook definitely seems to suggest that he’s marrying Mick Rory and that everyone is sending him congratulations on it.

“Barry,” Iris says. “Appointment. Time to get moving.”

There's a knock at the door.

"I've got it," Eddie says, and is at the door opening it before Barry can say anything - you don't open doors, you don't know who's waiting behind those doors with a gun and a grudge, that's how we lost Cecile, except here they didn't lose Cecile. "Oh, Snart, what are you doing here?"

Snart?

Wait, no, this is good - in Barry's universe, Snart had recently returned from the dead to assume some sort of mystical magical position or something, something Constantine called "Destiny of the Endless". Barry's not entirely sure what he does - it seems to involve a lot of reading - but it did mean that he spends most of his days in his garden house outside of time.

And if he's outside of time, he wouldn't be affected by the timeline changes!

"- just need to borrow Barry for a bit," Snart is saying apologetically. His hood is up over his head and his eyes are glowing that inhuman blue that Barry's still not used to, and he has his ridiculous Book in hand; he's definitely still Destiny here. "I'll get him to the fitting, don't worry; just meet us there."

"Fine, I'm trusting you," Iris says, shaking her head at him. "C'mon, Eddie; you can drop me off before you go to work - Barry will catch up later, apparently. But don't you dare be late, Bar!"

"Uh," Barry says.

"Later than usual," she amends.

"Okay," he says, because that seems slightly more plausible.

They leave and Barry turns onto Snart. "Do you know -" he starts, only for Snart to interrupt.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Barry stares at him. "Oh god," he says. "It's affected you, too."

Snart scowls at him. "It has not," he snaps. "But I promised Mick those'd be the first words out of my mouth."

That seemed pretty plausible. Mick could get Snart to do just about anything.

"And I am," Snart adds grudgingly. "Sorry. I guess."

That sounds more like it.

"You're behind the timeline change?"

Snart winces. "Bit more than a timeline change," he says. "I'm - listen, I'm new at this whole Destiny thing, okay?"

"...yeah..?"

"I was - multitasking."

Barry's never heard that word imbued with such gravitas portending doom.

(Does the ability to do that come with the Destiny job?)

"Okay, and?" he asks.

"Turns out that's a bad idea," Len says grimly.

"What did you do, Snart?"

"I was reading from the Book," Snart says. "You know, the one that describes how reality operates?"

He shakes it pointedly.

Barry just gives him a look.

"Anyway, Mick was on my case about - something - and he mentioned you a few times - as a good influence or something - and, uh, I may have lost my temper a bit -"

"Snart. What did you do."

"I said, 'if you like Barry Allen so much, maybe you should marry him'," Snart says, looking hideously embarrassed.

As he should.

"What are you, five?" Barry asks. "I haven't heard that used as a comeback since first grade."

Possibly third. Maybe even fifth.

Barry was never really good at comebacks.

That's not the point.

"The point is," Snart says, "is that by saying that while reading the Book, reality got a little...confused."

"Confused," Barry says flatly.

"It - may have reshuffled itself into a world in which you and Mick are getting married."

“No kidding,” Barry says. He’s already figured that out. “And I don’t remember the new backstory because…?”

“Speed Force,” Snart says with a shrug. “Protects you from timeline shifts for the most part, or at least your memories. You should start getting the memories from this timeline in a few months, though.”

“Just like it was with Flashpoint?” It’d taken all summer before Barry’s old memories started fading in favor of the new ones.

“Yeah, like that,” Snart says.

Barry considers this. “…can it be changed back?” he asks after a long moment.

“It can,” Snart says. “But Mick doesn’t really want to – there’s some friends of his on the Legends that died. Sometimes in pretty nasty ways. Anyway, they’re back now. But he says I have to check with you as to what you want.”

“My memories of this world will start coming in in a few months?”

“Yeah. You’ll still remember the old world, though; it’ll just be overlaid with, like, important event memories so that you're not always asking about backstory.”

“Okay, then,” Barry says.

“…what does that mean?” Snart asks suspiciously.

“It means ‘okay’,” Barry says. “Thus far, this world seems a lot better than the one I left behind so, you know, screw that.”

He wasn't able to stay in Flashpoint because what he had to give up was so great, but the world he's left behind now? The world of misery and death and the endless despair of being a Jonah?

Seriously.

Screw that.

“You have a whole brand new set of enemies,” Snart warns him.

“Not exactly a new experience,” Barry says with a shrug. “Cisco and Caitlin can catch me up until I get the memories.”

“My sister’s developed plant-related powers and lives in Gotham now.”

“…weird and not exactly on-theme for her, but that sounds like Batman’s problem, not mine.”

“You kind of have to marry Mick.”

“Have to?”

“The entire reality rewrite is based on it,” Snart says. “The whole thing won’t fix into place until you both say ‘I do.’”

“But we could theoretically get divorced afterwards?”

“Yeah, no problem. It’d take you a year, legally speaking, but you can do it.”

A year married to Mick Rory, in exchange for Iris happily married with kids (and living upstairs, no less), Joe still functional, Cisco free and teaching, Caitlin at a hospital, a proper Justice League friendship group, and even some of the Legends brought back?

Yeah, like that’s a tough choice.

“I’m in,” Barry says. “Can I talk with Mick about this? He remembers everything, right?”

“Yes, he does, and he’s coming back tomorrow,” Snart says. “Legends, you know, they’re not always great on timing.”

“I do know that,” Barry says. “Uh – how does Mick feel about it? The marriage thing? Does he just want to pretend our way through it, or…?”

It’s not like Barry would really object if Mick wanted to give the marriage thing an actual go. He’s touch-starved, he’s apparently single, and he’s always been aware that Mick is ridiculously hot.

No pun intended.

(Damnit, villains!)

Snart smirks.

“Like I said,” he drawls. “He likes you. In fact, he likes you so much that he oughta marry you – and look at that, so you are.”

Barry shakes his head. “Whatever,” he says. He’ll talk about it with Mick directly; that’ll make more sense. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a suit fitting to go to.”

Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s arrived early enough to still help out with the cake-tasting selection…

(Mick ends up making all the cake samples. Barry would marry him just for that.)

#flashwave #flashwaveweek2018 #barry allen #leonard snart #mick rory #iris west #eddie thawne #my fic

[leonawriter]

Those Under My Command

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Summary: Same AU as/semi-sequel to ‘To Write A Hero’. 

The plus side to being of a higher rank in Shinra's army than Sephiroth for the time being was that even when he couldn't avoid being in the now-teenager's company, at least Cloud was the one in charge.

Small mercies, when he realises that the cause of his nightmares really is just a kid on a battlefield.

Cloud had normally been in command of Genesis' forces, something that had sat uneasily upon him at first, but after the first weird meeting where he'd looked around for an ex-SOLDIER First in a tattered red coat and recently cut but still sort of wild-looking hair, he'd needed a minute to recognise that the scrawny redhead in Second's reds with an attitude problem was Genesis. It was easy to fall into habits, but just as easy to forget, and treat the kid more like Denzel or any of the other kids he'd started to get to know after Geostigma had been healed by Aerith's rain.

He'd only had one mission of sorts with Angeal under his command so far, and he'd reminded Cloud of Zack - enough that sometimes, only seeing the sword attached to his back, Cloud had almost called out Zack's name, before remembering that Zack wasn't there, and this kid was someone else. Other than that, Angeal was probably the easiest to deal with. Mostly because he was new, and Cloud didn't know a damn thing about him. The fact that he actually listened was helpful too, though.

He's sat on the edge of base camp, wondering yet again who the hell thought any of this was a good idea - the war, the SOLDIERs, finding this damned Promised Land that the President wouldn't admit didn't exist - at least, not the way he wanted it to - or the time travel business, all of it, really - when a trooper came up to him, nervously, with a piece of paper in their hands.

"New orders, sir," and he absently noted the female voice as he nodded. "You're to take SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth's squad down the river."

Cloud's eyes narrowed, and although for a moment he tenses, wanting to snap as he feels the tension in the entire world hung on a thin thread, he breathes it all out in a sigh.

He hates it. He hates himself, for going along with it. But if he didn't, then... that would be just as bad as letting it all happen, and at least by being involved, he can make sure that casualties stay at a minimum. Both for Shinra, where most of these people didn't have a damn clue what they were even fighting for, and for Wutai. 

He winces every time he remembers just who it is this war is against. 

Sorry, Yuffie, he thinks to her, almost wishing she could hear him and understand. But if there's any way I can help this come out better than before... that doesn't make it better, though. It doesn't make it right. You'd probably hate me, and I can't say I'd blame you.

...

There's a trap laid in wait not far from the other side of the river, because of course Wutai had known that they were coming, because some of their people had been left behind, and even if nothing else Cloud was known for not leaving anyone behind. It was the least he could do, but sometimes, it really did come back to bite him - and he was never the only one affected by his decisions, now. As if there'd ever been a time when he was.

He'd been able to manage everyone into surviving, at least. Mostly helped by the fact that with Sephiroth under his command - and wasn't that something that he'd never thought would come up - most of the people they went up against who tried to kill them, ended up dead.

It was hard to watch. Both because he knew that the people who were dying were just trying to protect their homeland, and because every time Sephiroth fought, Cloud could see glimpses of the nightmare that he would one day become.

The only consolations were that at fifteen years old, Sephiroth was, like Genesis, shorter, although it was was more long, gangling limbs that anyone else would barely know what to do with, slightly shorter hair, and the fact that not only was the trademark coat gone, but he was wearing the exact same First uniform that he'd remembered Zack wearing. 

The same one they'd tried to get him to wear, once they'd worn him down to the idea of working for Shinra, or thought they had. 

The other thing that separated past and future, was the fact that Masamune was nowhere in sight yet, and although up until now that had been a relief, because it was hard enough watching the boy who'd grow into someone he still had nightmares about-

He only just caught a trace of panic that wasn't his own echoing in his mind, filtering past all of the blocks and barriers he'd put up, a mental link that given his body was still the same one from the future he'd come from, still existed, or existed once more. The details didn't exactly matter when he noticed what the situation was at a glance, a ninja having gotten close enough, Sephiroth having misjudged his strike, and Cloud could see what would happen next almost like a vision.

Instead of letting the opening be taken advantage of however, he found himself having moved fast enough that there was still dust flying in the air between where he was and where he had been, his sword blocking the strike that would have found its way into Sephiroth's side.

The Wutai ninja took a little more to fall, unconscious more due to the mastered Sleep materia Cloud had taken to carrying with him than the blows to his body or head, and then Cloud had turned to Sephiroth.

Not the Nightmare. Not the Calamity. Not even a Remnant.

He was just... a kid.

"Next time you run into trouble, don't just deal with it on your own." Tifa, you'd probably smile at that. And then call me a hypocrite. He almost wished she were there right here and now, but she'd probably have found it harder to get over the fact that this was Sephiroth. Not that Cloud had found it easy himself. "Maybe when you're with other units you're a big deal, but when you're with me, you're under my command, and you're my responsibility."

The look Sephiroth gave him was cool, cold, and if he hadn't felt that swell of panic earlier, then it would have shown perfectly how disdainful the boy found being spoken to like this was.

"I didn't need to be saved," Sephiroth said, standing up without accepting the hand Cloud had held out. "And if I had been injured, then it hardly would have been a serious incident. I would have prevailed, and your concern is well-meaning, but misplaced."

Cloud sighed as the teenaged future silver general walked off, leaving him to wonder what to do with an unconscious Wutai ninja.

...

The next time he sees Sephiroth is actually later that day, because he'd done something he'd have assumed he'd gone crazy for if he'd told himself just a few days ago that he would - he'd actually called for Sephiroth to come to him.

"Sir."

And, of course, now that the silver-haired demon of Wutai was here, he didn't even know the words for what he wanted to say.

Cloud sighed, and shook his head.

"Do you... even know why I was worried back there?"

Sephiroth frowned.

"Honestly, no." Cloud closed his eyes. Perhaps this would be easier if he pretended it was any one of the other SOLDIERs that he'd had under him at any time. Any of them. "We've never truly met before this mission, and you seemed to be avoiding my presence for some reason, even though Genesis and Angeal both said that you were a decent military strategist and leader. I had assumed that you held some grudge against me."

Some grudge, he thought, if that isn't ironic, I don't know what is. Tifa would be right - I am a hypocrite. I can't just help someone half-heartedly, after all.

"I said back there," Cloud said slowly, picking his worlds carefully, "while you're under my command, you're my responsibility. I didn't just mean you, either. I meant everyone. All those troopers, all those Seconds and Thirds. I'm the leader, at least, I am here... so that means I look after everyone, and make sure we all get back to base. And if I see something going wrong, I step in. That's what the leader's supposed to do."

Sephiroth didn't say anything for a minute, the frown on his face not lessening one bit.

"We are of equal rank within the SOLDIER program, despite you, as far as I know, having only appeared some months ago. I'm going to be promoted soon, as well. At which point, you will no longer have any command over me."

Teenage Sephiroth-speak for 'I'm not a kid, don't treat me like one', huh? The thought almost made him laugh, and he shoved it down and out of the way to poke at later. He recognised it all too well from Denzel, and several of the other kids, too.

"If I hadn't stepped in, you'd have been stabbed in your side the moment your balance was off, because you'd misjudged your reach," he said bluntly. Sephiroth's eyes widened a fraction - just enough to know that the message had got through. "You're used to wielding weapons bigger than you are, aren't you?"

The question had come out softly, because this was, if he'd admit it, the first time he'd ever thought of this. All of the different parts of Sephiroth's childhood, and everything that had contributed to what made him who he was, and he hadn't thought of this one thing in particular before.

He hardly needed to see the slight, almost imperceptible nod, in order to know that it was there. The emotions burned through him in an instant of rage and shame born of frustration and who does this man think he is, seeing right through me like that? before the heady feelings died down.

"There was no reason to train me in smaller, weaker weapons when I would simply have to unlearn how they handled as soon as I moved on to the real thing."

Cloud nodded, seeing how that could have happened. And also in understanding, since moving from the Buster Sword to something smaller and shorter had always created issues; that was why he'd had the Fusion Sword made.

"You need something with longer reach, or you need to train yourself out of those habits," he said with a vague feeling of detached horror at the words. What was he even saying. As if he needed this younger Sephiroth becoming even more like the one he remembered. "And you need to stop underestimating people."

The slight change in expression told Cloud that what he was getting for that remark was nothing more than just sheer stubbornness.

"I do not."

He didn't even bother to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

"You think you're the best they've ever made, and that makes you untouchable. It doesn't. No one's that powerful. All it takes is a moment when you're off your guard. That's all."

Sephiroth, with Jenova's head cradled under his arm, not even looking at the trooper or paying him any attention even though Cloud had picked up Zack's Buster Sword, adrenaline helping him carry it and then to stab the man he'd once thought of as a hero. Sephiroth, turning around in shock.

Sephiroth, so certain of victory that he couldn't even be bothered to go full out, only to end up dead once again, fading back into the lifestream.

Sephiroth, the kid-

"And that's when they strike."

Cloud shrugged, trying to dispel the uncomfortable memories. 

"That's... when you let someone else help. And not always in a fight, either."

"I'll try to keep that in mind, then."

Maybe this'll make a difference. Maybe it won't. But I can't just not do anything, even if he is... Sephiroth.

Who'd now decided that the discussion was over, and was walking back to the door of the tent. Stopped, and half turned around, his silver hair mostly hiding his face in an all too familiar way.

"Hojo - and the others - still want to know how you defeated me when we first... met."

"Hojo," Cloud said, not bothering to hide how much even the name of the man disgusted him, "can come out here and fight me himself, if he wants to know that badly."

And they can take him home in body bags when I've done, just to make sure he doesn't come back like the cockroach he is.

He almost missed Sephiroth's head nodding again, and an odd noise that might have been a laugh.

#ff7 #final fantasy vii #ff7 stuff #commander strife verse #Leona fic #as I said on AO3 there's another bit I'm still wondering if I'm gonna add