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#and it’s not like the man isn’t talented but like. as soon as i remembered where i knew him from i never regained focus

letaliabane · 2 years

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Caged

on the night of rhaenyra’s wedding, the tension is high between the broken bond of two former lovers. with jealousy brewing, will they fall back into each others arms?

genre: angst, major smut +18!, major jealousy themes throughout, make up desperate sex, slight choking and a spank or two, fluff towards the end

You could feel someone watching you keenly from the corner of the room. More like glaring if anyone took notice of the deep frown, furrow of his brow and clenched jaw as you mingled with the hundreds of guests gathered for Rhaenyra’s wedding.

‘Your lover seems most perturbed this evening Y/N.’

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes towards Laenor Velaryon who came to your side, the man who was to be Rhaenyra’s husband.

Having grown up with the Princess meant you knew the Prince well, visiting often with the rest of his family. And he was one of the very few people who knew about your relationship to the Commander of the city watch, and also about its untimely end.

You glanced towards the Commander. He looked absolutely sinful.

Dressed in dark navy blue, wild curls pulled back to allow his features to be accentuated beautifully by the candlelight that danced around the room.

If you had your way you would’ve dragged him out of the room and showed him who he truly belonged to. He had been on his knees for you before.

But the woman now hanging off of him let that thought burn away from your mind. She was trying to grab his attention, breasts barely covered by her low hanging dress.

You scoffed.

‘I couldn’t less about how he feels. And you know very well he isn’t mine, not anymore.’

The Prince raised his eyebrow, glancing between you and the man on the opposite side of the room who had his eyes locked on you, clearly ignoring the desperate woman beside him who was losing her patience.

‘Jealousy certainly isn’t your colour Y/N,’ He said before drinking the last of his wine. After placing the goblet down he stretched out his hand towards you with a bow, nodding towards the many of the guests who were dancing. ‘But why don’t we give him a show on what he’s missing.’

You couldn’t help laugh, throwing back the rest of your drink, barely savouring the rich bitter flavour before taking his hand, allowing him to lead you through the crowd.

Very soon, Laenor and you had enraptured many of the guests, twirling and dipping to the beat that was played by the talented musicians before continuing to switch partners.

You were so caught up in the moment, in the sudden happiness you felt, that you hadn’t bothered to look over to the corner of the room.

You couldn’t help but laugh, earning a fast twirl from a tall gentleman whose name you failed to remember, only to find yourself in a very familiar embrace, arms wrapping around your waist, hands spread across your back.

Looking up to meet blue grey-hued eyes, those of which belonged to you former lover, faces mere inches from one another. You pulled away, dropping briefly into a low curtsey.

‘Ser Harwin.’

‘Princess Y/N.’

He bowed his head before taking your hand into his, guiding you in the next dance.

You felt magnetised to him unable to break your gaze as you circled one another, hands meeting before he spun you, pulling your back against his chest.

The room slowly faded from existence, and it was almost like old times. How he’d sneak you out an dance with you under the stars, humming a deep but soothing tune, your head rested against his chest—

‘How are you my lady?’

You shivered, feeling his lips pressed against your ear, his beard prickling your skin, daring to press an almost kiss just behind your earlobe

‘I’m fine.’

You despised the break in your voice, the hurt that dripped from them. Harwin held you a moment longer before letting you unravel from him, keeping ahold of your waist as you once more circled each other.

‘I wish I could believe that was true. But I know your are anything but fine.’

‘And what makes you think you know me?’

‘Oh I know you very well my lady, so much that I knew you would try to test me tonight.’

Your eyes flew to him, annoyance rushing back to replace the hurt.

‘Who had a woman hanging off his shoulder. Bet you copped a good feel while you had the chance didn’t you Commander?’

Shaking your head, you turned to leave.

‘Do you think it’s easy for me?’ You heard him mutter through gritted teeth behind you, ‘You think its enjoyable to watch you dance with every brute here with their filthy hands all over you?‘

‘You are the one who ended things between us!’ You hissed, twirling to face him head on, the fabric of your gown caressing his body, ‘You who dropped me at a moments notice and became infatuated with others! You didn’t even fight for us-’

Harwin’s hands suddenly grasped your face causing a moan to leave your lips unwillingly, thank the seven hells for the music and the stamping of feet thrumming throughout the hall.

You wanted to pull away, to look away but it was like his gaze had you in a trance, neck straining as you looked up at him.

‘I would’ve burned a thousand times over for you Y/N. I still would,’ His voice rough as whispered heatedly, his lips caressing yours, ‘I did what was best for you.’

An overwhelming wave of emotion rolled over you, tears springing to your eyes before corroding into a deep rage.

With all your might you shoved him away from you, his hands falling away from your face.

Though he barely moved a muscle, a flash of hurt crossed his eyes. He hated being the source of your sadness. Even with the thundering of drums he heard your cry, tears running down your cheeks.

‘You had no right to decide whats best for me Harwin!’

Before he could move towards you, you slipped into the crowd, weaving through the mass of bodies, escaping his sight at the top of the stairs.

Slamming the door to your quarters, you quickly removed the suffocating gown, unable to handle the heat and heaviness of the uncomfortable material any longer.

Your breath heaved, rushing to undo the bindings of the corset, almost an awful remind of the burden you carried.

A bound princess unable to follow as her heart wishes.

The dress fell from your body, landing onto the marble floor leaving you bare before the roaring flames within the fireplace. Just when you pulled your shift over your head, the loud rapping of knuckles knocking interrupted the silence.

But the pattern of the knock made you look back to the door. A secret knock you knew all too well.

Your feet padded against the floor before you found yourself in front of the door, hand hovering hesitantly over the golden handle. Deep down the hurt still crept, the anger and sadness, and if you opened the door, you knew that would all pour out, perhaps in the worst way.

With a deep breath, you threw the door open only for Harwin to push forward fast, pressing his lips firmly against yours slamming the door behind him with his foot.

For a brief moment slam your fists against his chest but as he presses kisses to the corner of your mouth you couldn’t help but pull him closer, moaning as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

‘I hate you,’ You growled against his mouth when he finally pulled away, tears stinging your eyelashes.

Harwin couldn’t help but chuckle softly, resting his forehead against yours gently, his hand cupping your cheek. You noticed his eyes were misty, the sadness evident.

‘Do you really?’

Your heart broke at the mere whisper. You wanted to say yes, with your whole chest. But you couldn’t.

Closing your eyes you leant into the warmth of his roughened palm, humming in content as his thumb caressed your cheek. Opening your eyes once more, you looked up at him.

‘I could never hate you.’

His smile was gentle, eyes roaming your face, reacquainting himself with all the things he loved about you. Tipping your chin up, he nuzzled his nose against yours before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Exchanging brief but loving pecks before it turned heated once more. He gripped your hair, tipping your head back so he could tease your neck with his lips, smirking at the sounds that left you as he marked his territory before sucking at your weak spot.

Moaning, you ran your own hand through his hair, ripping the tie from it and letting it flying somewhere across the room, letting your nails drag over his scalp.

Harwin growled against your collarbone, leaning up once more to smash his lips against yours messily. Suddenly you pulled away from him, stepping backwards when he tried to grab for you, causing his eyebrows to furrow even as you gave him a wicked smile.

‘Take your clothes off Harwin, now.’

He moaned unashamedly, and you couldn’t help but giggle, trying to retain your sensual stance.

The man that was known throughout the kingdom as ‘Breakbones,’ one of the strongest men, keeled at the likes of you.

Slowly he pulled the blue material over his head, tossing it into a corner of the room. His hands trailed down his toned scarred chest, unbuckling his pants. It was his turn to smirk, watching you bite your lip hard, legs pressed together at the sight of his cock.

He paced over to you, his fierce kiss making you spellbound. So much that you didn’t notice how he bent down to easily pick you up with one arm, bringing your legs around his naked hips and never letting his lips part from yours. He made his way to the classic chaise, sitting down to have you straddling his lap.

You wrapped your arms around Harwin’s neck, feeling the rise of his cock against your inner thighs. Smiling against his lips, dropping your hips lower, you rolled your hips against his.

His head fell back with a moan, eyes closing as the pleasure coarsed through him, large hands trailing to squeeze your ass. Immediately you took the chance to kiss and lick down his neck teasingly, marking his skin just like he had to yours just moments before, continuing to roll your hips.

While you were distracted, Harwin gripped the top of your shift, your moan and the loud shriek of tearing cotton music to his ears. Your breasts spilt out from the shreds of material that fell to cradle your hips before he let it fall to the floor. He leant up, wrapping his mouth against your nipple, his other hand giving the other a squeeze.

‘Oh Gods!’ You cried, eyes rolling back.

Even though the entire castle was at the wedding feast the possibilities of stragglers passing by sent heat straight to your core.

The pleasure became unbearable, the swing of your hips and Harwin’s mouth already setting you on edge. With a weak sob you grabbed his head, pulling his face up to kiss him. You groaned into each others mouths, your naked chests pressed against each other tightly.

Harwin looked up at you, both hands cupping your face. His eyes roamed from your face down your entire body with a loving smile, shaking his head.

‘Your so beautiful.’

Out of all the colourful phrases he had every whispered to you, that made you bashful. You dipped your head away from his intense gaze, smiling as he chuckled.

When your eyes returned to his, you noticed they had darkened, and once more you fell under his spell.

Slipping your hand down between you both, you grabbed his cock, causing him to hiss. You pumped him in your hand, watching his expression and smirking as he whimpered, evidently trying to hold back his noises,

Grazing your nose against his, you stared into his eyes as you lifted your hips and manoeuvred his cock beneath you, allowing it to notch at your entrance before ever so slowly sinking down.

You moaned loudly into Harwin’s mouth who breathed heavily, gripping the cushion hard he was afraid it would rip beneath his grasp. Your eyes threatened to close at the familiar pressure that filled you, savouring it. It had been so long, so so long.

‘Are you okay?’

You nodded as Harwin whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his upper lip in reassurance.

His arms wrapped around you, removing any fraction of space between your bodies. And slowly, you began to move your hips once more, exchanging mere whispers of moans and gasps.

But when the pleasure began to build, the emotions began to gallop within your heart and mind. The anger, the sadness, the hurt from all the months of separation.

The very memory of Harwin, in all his glory and decorated armour, leaving you at the gates of the Red Keep tore through your mind. The words ‘I never loved you’ ringing in your ears.

He may have done what was best for you, and you loved him for it, but no one ever could tame a dragon even if they tried.

Harwin’s eyes flew open as he was shoved back against the corner of the lounge, staring up at you. Your face was an expression he was very familiar with that was anything other than pleasure.

'Y/N-'

But as he went to sit up, your hand shot to his throat, your grip firm. Not to hurt (as if you even could), but to show him you were in charge, and you could see that he knew it too, sinking back into the velvet cushions.

In that moment you were an absolute vision to revel in, sweat dazzling your skin, the fire behind silhouetting your body like a goddess.

And just like that you began to swivel your hips once more; deliciously slow, eyes never leaving his. You watched as his abs tensed, face scrunched in desperation and pleasure.

You growled. ‘Your mine Harwin Strong, and only mine.’

He nodded but you tighten your grip, turning his face to look you in the eye. ‘Say it, I want to hear you say it!’

‘I’m yours my love—I’ve always been yours!’ He gasped, dipping his head so he brushed his lips against the pads of your fingertips.

You keeled at his words, your breasts bouncing as you fastened your pace tenfold. Your hands fell to his chest, trailing against the scars that decorated his skin, nails digging into his chest causing him to roar, his hips lifting to meet your thrusts.

Your body faltered at the sudden pleasure that shot through your body, gasping and throwing your head back.

Harwin took the chance to sit up, his turn to grip your jaw. His expression was firm, voice a couple of octaves deeper, ‘And that means you are mine Princess.’

You cried as he thrusted upwards into you, smashing his lips against yours, swallowing your moans. And in a flash, he had you pressed into the velvet cushions of the chaise, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders while the other held your bottom off of the lounge, continuing to thrust into you hard.

‘Your turn beloved,’ He heaved against your ear, his heated breath batting against your neck, unable to resist nibbling there teasingly. ‘Tell me who you fucking belong to.’

Even if you tried, you couldn’t speak, left incoherent by the pleasure that raked through you in waves, your nails digging deep into the wooden frame of the chaise.

A firm smack to your ass made you squeal, your whole body trembling, bringing your attention to the man over you who smirked down at you.

‘Speak up, I want to hear you!’

Tears spring to your eyes, the pleasure and emotions overwhelming you as you gasped desperately, trying to find your voice.

Your lover noticed immediately, leaning over to press sweet kisses across your face, whispering against your skin reminders that he was right there, that he was with you.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

‘I’m yours—I’m yours! Please Harwin I’m yours, I’m yours!’ You hoarsely cried, not caring who heard you.

You wanted everyone to know you were claimed. No one else could have you. No one except Harwin Strong.

‘Please please don’t stop, please!’

‘Never. I’ll never stop.’

He kissed your temple sweetly before trailing his lips down to yours, his kiss firm as he increased his thrusts. His arm around your back moved blindly before finding your hand, removing it from the wood before entangling your fingers together squeezing hard.

Your nails dug into his back, pulling him even closer. Every time he hits deeper, your eyes rolled back, chest heaving, your climax climbing closer and closer.

‘Come on Y/N, let go for me sweetheart, that’s it.’

The moment the praise leaves his lips, your whole body trembles violently and your pussy grips hard around Harwin’s cock.

You gasp into his neck when he slows briefly, only to return his thrusts harder, sloppily but faster than before. He threw his head back with a feral growl, teeth barred and eyes squeezed shut tightly.

Clasping his cheek, you bring his face back down to yours. You stare into his hooded eyes as his lips graze yours, foreheads pressed together.

Suddenly, his expression faltered and he moans loudly against your neck, his hips tightening and warmth enveloping your insides, whimpering as you were filled with his seed deep inside you.

Weak gasps leave your lips as Harwin continued to press into you with gentle thrusts, before finally he comes to a halt. Too overwhelmed to move you stay as you are, legs shaking around his hips, his hand still holding yours while the other comes up to cradle your head.

Even with the gentle fog that settles over your mind, you can’t help but dot kisses from behind his ear to his shoulder, caressing his back, the whimpers that leave him making you smile.

Moments, or maybe hours later, Harwin barely rolls to the side, most of his body still resting upon yours, hissing softly as his cock slips out of you, resting wet against your thigh.

Silence remained between you, his head tucked against your neck, nose nuzzling at your skin gently.

You whimpered as his fingertips suddenly danced across the skin of your cheek drawing a mindless pattern. You bit playfully at his thumb as it caressed your bruised lips. His deep chuckle reverberated against your chest.

You turned your head towards him with a tired smile, his hand trailing into your hair, bringing your face closer to his.

He brings your still entangled hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle ever so gently, still staring into your eyes. Gripping your hip, he slings your thigh over his hip once more as he rests on his back, bringing you to rest against him.

‘I love you Y/N.’

You smiled up at him, only realising tears were falling when his hand comes up to wipe them away. Leaning your body against his, you slowly press a kiss to his lips.

‘I love you Harwin,' You whispered just for him, running your hand through the hair that fell over his eyes.

You knew he loved you, but fear still dug deep into your heart like a knife. Staring into his eyes, you allowed your knuckles to caress his cheek.

'Please don't leave me again ...'

Harwin felt his heart tear at the quietness of your voice, and the vulnerability glazed in your eyes. He cupped your cheek, 'Never. I won't be making that mistake again.'

Pulling you in close, he pressed a firm kiss to your forehead before letting your head fall to rest against his chest. His hand drifted down your back, fingertips dancing comfortingly against your skin.

And once again, you felt whole.

harwin masterlist - masterlist

a/n: I have never spent this time writing a smut story, nor this nervous to release it! Hope the wait was worth it!

tagged (if your tag isn't working DM me and we'll try and fix it up!): @thesithdiaries @dazecrea @ppeuppeuppeu @a-sunflower-in-bloom @siren-of-the-deep-sea @ccallistata @agoldin @vivilingme-blog @my-dark-prince @derzauberermitlilabademantel @blooomsstuff @starxdame @alexslittlegirl @budugu @piper570 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @words-way-of-life @m1tzifa1ry @gibbsgirl7 @b0xfullofdarkness @hueanhdang @criesinsagitarius @nicolewithanee @starxqt @ateliefloresdaprimavera @akilababs @lakamaa12 @iwillboilyourteeth @littlebirdgot @venus2eros @akinatrix @rainazinha @missusnora @hadesismybaby @b3nzeynep @rosemalachi

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fuckyeslilkim · 10 months

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Lil Kim's Squat Pose Is Iconic. Its Photographer Discusses it for the First Time

In a rare interview, Michael Lavine discussed the day he shot Lil Kim’s Hard Core cover, the booklet, and that feisty, nearly 30-year-old poster we just can’t get enough of.

Even though Michael Lavine has photographed OutKast, Ghostface Killah, JAY-Z, Missy Elliott, Foxy Brown and many others, he didn’t start out capturing larger-than-life rap acts. Like multiple moments throughout his career, he just fell into the next phase of artistry, which was deifying a generation of Black storytellers.

Lavine’s interest in photography goes way back. He led his high school’s yearbook committee as the head photographer. Soon after, at Washington’s Evergreen State College, he studied traditional street photography in the style of Robert Frank and Garry Winogrand. While in Washington, he befriended the group responsible for the record label that became Sub Pop, and documented a then-emerging sound that, to this day, continues to inspire chart toppers. He wasn’t interested in being married to any particular genre or group though, because boxing yourself in isn’t the move. “I just never felt comfortable kind of being pigeonholed in anything to my own detriment. It's not good for business to do that,” he said. “You're supposed to kind of dive in, not pull away. But that's just how I was wired. I wanted to do my own thing.”

After fostering the trust of music industry greats (“I started working for Rick Rubin. He was one of my first clients and he hired me to shoot a bunch of his Death American acts because he was starting to do metal at that time,” Lavine recalled) and becoming a Black Book highlight, he fell into shooting some of the biggest rappers on the scene. His knowledge of capturing Black talent helped. “I was very good at skin color and doing warm skin tones and lighting people,” he said. “For some reason, I think there was this problem with white people who didn’t understand how to light Black people, which was just ridiculous.”

In short, he came, he saw, he snapped. Legacies were cemented in the process, most notably with an image of one of the greatest female rappers that has become one of hip-hop’s most beloved and recreated photos — Lil Kim’s iconic squat seen ‘round the world.

Below, the retired photographer gave Okayplayer a rare interview where, for the first time, he discussed the day he shot Lil Kim’s Hard Core cover, the booklet, and that feisty, nearly 30-year-old poster we just can’t get enough of.

This interview, which took place over multiple conversations, has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.

When did you first meet Lil Kim?

The date was 7/30/96. The anniversary just passed.

What was your first impression of her?

My impression overall was she was not like she is, as in the present. She was very quiet and under the thumb of Big Un. Remember Big Un?

Are you talking about Lance “Un” Rivera?

Yeah. He was there. He was the man in charge of her and was kind of in control of the shoot. Kim didn't say a word. I don't think I spoke to her once about anything, but we had a nice rapport in front of the camera. She was great and we made a lot of pictures together, but I felt like there was this circus going on around us and it was just me and her. You get this intimate bond with your subject a lot of times. She's in her lingerie and rolling around on a bed. So, I was trying to be my normal, respectable self, and being professional and making the images with her in tandem.

I would direct her like, "Let's try this. How about coming over here? What if we lean this way?" There were a lot of sets. We had rented a brownstone in Manhattan probably. It was a couple floors. It might have been two floors. So there was a bedroom, a little balcony, a fireplace, and those big doors.

I interviewed Kim last year and she told me she just kind of dropped into the squat pose naturally.

It was very spontaneous. When you're doing photo shoots, at least when I was working, it was an organic process and you let things happen. It's like a creative flow. Whenever you have a creative director there holding out a [composition] like, "Here, do it like this," it just was always bad and kind of nothing. It was like the safest way to get whatever it is that they had in their minds. But to make a great photograph you have to let things happen. You just have to go with it.

There was no layout for her to do that pose. It just was natural. Part of it, I spent a lot of time low angle, meaning I was always kind of lying on the floor, crouching down myself. So, it's possible that one of the reasons she did it was because I was probably sitting on the floor looking up at her because that's kind of how I do. My style was based on the hero, meaning my job was to make people look like heroes with iconic style.

My style was based on making people look cool and giving them lots of options. So, we would take a lot of different kinds of photographs. I used different kinds of lighting. We moved very quickly. A lot of things happened and it was very much an exciting experience. Somebody had a set prop person there bringing flowers. For the cover shot, we had all those flowers in front of the fire, and the bear skin rug we brought that in. It was a normal hip-hop shoot. I was intimidated. It was a very hard day. Everybody was being kind of tough and intimidating, and nobody would talk to me.

Were you scared?

I was never scared, but they all had guns. It's not that I was scared..scared is not the right word. It's more like I felt kind of out of place a little bit. I didn't even speak with Kim. I was dealing with Un mostly, and Un had a lot of ideas. So we were trying to do all the things. I was getting coverage for him. He wanted to have her hold the honey bear. Remember, there's a shot of her holding a honey bear on the black satin sheets? We had a lot of props. I had a props guy. His name was Jerry Schwartz. He was very good and we had brought a bunch of stuff.

So, for example, I remember Puffy came in for a shot and I did one shot with Puffy and Kim together. And Puffy, I worked with him many times. He didn't even say hello to me.

I was just like, “Really? Do you have to be that way? You're so cool you don't want to embarrass yourself talking to the photographer, actually acknowledging him?”

I never really felt at home around Puffy. I think at that time, because I don't think he's like this anymore, but at that time he was — and I know this happened to several other people that I've witnessed throughout their careers — they're really striving. It's very hard at the beginning and they'll push, push, push. They're just about their thing and they don't care about you. So, he was yelling at everybody all the time.

On set that day?

Not that day. Other days.

Oh, just in general?

Just in general. Barking orders. But that day he came in briefly and we did the shot and then he left. There's one shot, I don't know if you've seen it, of them together on a wall. I don't even know why he was there. I can't remember. He had something to do with the record, I guess.

"There was no layout for her to do that pose. It just was natural," Lavine said of the image.

The image came out as the poster, “Lil Kim Coming Soon.” When you're there that day, you have no idea what images are going to stand out. Zero. There's just no way anyone could know. It isn't until there's time to contemplate the session when you edit it and you start to live with the images. And the graphic designer who, I can't remember who it was. Maybe you can find that out.

Maybe.

Let's see if there's a name on here. I don't know. Big Beat records? I don't know who that would've been. Atlantic maybe? I think it was Atlantic Records, no?

Lil Kim was [signed to] Atlantic.

It was Atlantic? Maybe it was, I don't know who it was. Liz Barrett? There were a bunch of people in the Atlantic art department at the time. I could probably look at the invoice.

Do you still have the invoice?

I don't know. Let's see if I do. '96...

If you do, you're the best records keeper of all time.

Yeah, there's Kim and Puffy right there. I have the whole job here. Ed and Carl were my assistants. The location was 24 West 10th Street. That's where we shot it. Here's something for you. Ready for this?

Yes.

So, these are notes from my conversation with the manager. "Little Kim. Female. She's the other woman, somersaults in bedroom, not raunchy. Doorway of bedroom, satin sheets. Blouse, undone. Honey in hair, on bed and on phone. Down pants. Unbuttoning pants. No whips and chains. Classy, sexy, lush, lustful. Candles in the background. Fruits and chocolates." There you go.

The notes Lavine was given prior to the Lil Kim shoot.

So, those were the notes that you were given before the shoot?

Yep. Those were the notes I was given before the shoot.

"Not raunchy" really stands out because I think you conveyed that.

"Not raunchy" — peekaboo, sexy shit.

Oh, man. Well, you did it. You accomplished the goal. And that actually flows really well into my next question, which was what do you believe they were trying to convey with the shoot?

It was funny that they hired me because I was known for not exploiting women in my photos. That was one of the reasons I didn't ever shoot women because back in the day, you were expected to shoot women with clothes off. I refused to do that and I never did it. I think this crouching picture was the raunchiest picture that I had ever done. Actually, that's not true. I did one once. But it was not my normal style, shall I say.

But also, it's an empowering image. I just generally felt uncomfortable sexualizing women throughout my career. That shoot was uncomfortable for me because I had to do that, and I think she was a little unclear as to what she was doing herself. I have no idea. I didn't talk to her. I'm not sure what she was thinking. Years later, I talked to her because we were both well complaining about this image being bootlegged.

She did mention that during our interview. That people were making t-shirts and making their own memorabilia.

It's completely illegal what they're doing, and it's got to be the most bootlegged image of mine. It's like whack-a-mole, you can't stop them. You send out your lawyers and then they just shut down and open with a different name. I could probably go out, spend some time and sue them all and she could, too. Who has time for that? If you have a lawyer and you have a lot of money, you could do that.

That sounds like a lot.

I mean, it's unfortunate. But she was talking about trying to do some merch of her own. The smart thing to do would be to get a deal with Merch Traffic or somebody that does merch, and then they would take care of trying to squash the illegal competition. But I thought that she was going to maybe have that happen this year, but I haven't heard from her.

But the image is just getting more and more famous. It's funny, you never know what kind of resonance an image is going to make and impress upon the culture at the time when you make it. It's rare that there's an instant classic. It's very hard to have that kind of impact these days just because of the nature of social media. Back then, there was a poster and that poster was the only poster. There was no other place to see it but the poster.

Now, it's everywhere.

That image really stands the test of time. Very few images stand the test of time like that image that I've worked on. It's one of my more recognizable images and I have a lot of them.

You do.

So, what can I say? It was a perfectly nice day. She was lovely. We had a nice rapport. The pictures came out great. I continued to work for many years after, and I'm retired now.

What made you jump into hip-hop photography?

Well, that's a funny question because I think my whole life, until recently, has been me falling into things that I wasn't planning on. I was driven to do photography so I was on that path. But if you would've told me my senior year, my fifth year of college, I was going to be shooting rock bands for a living for the rest of my life, I would've said, "Really?" I would've had no idea. But that fifth year [of college] I got a job to shoot a rock band and it just turned into —

The rest of your life?

It turned into the rest of my life. I never said, "I'm going to be a rock photographer." I never said that until I was one. Then, I had no plans on shooting hip-hop. It was an up-and-coming market at the time. I didn't know anything about it. I was friends with Kurt Cobain hanging out at rock shows, and really was unaware of a lot of hip-hop.

I did some hip-hop jobs early. I shot De La Soul, who I loved. I shot a few bands and hip-hop acts that were popular around that time. I got to know a lot of people in the business over time because I worked in it for so long. I was really close with Groovy Lou, who I loved as a stylist. June Ambrose. A lot of people.

But this was a defining moment. That shot, that poster when it came out, it made a lasting impact. It's still gaining speed. At that time, nobody knew who she was.

Did you know who she was?

I might've heard her name but not really. I just got hired on jobs. That's how I learned about people. I listened to the record before anybody else heard it. I got it first. But a lot of people were that way — I would learn about them on the job. That's how you learn because if I'm shooting 100 jobs a year, I don't have time to do anything but the job that's in front of me.

Did you listen to the album before the shoot?

Oh, I'm sure, of course. I don't remember the exact moment I listened to it but I always did. But that was part of the job, and we listened to it all day long during the shoot because that's what we did.

When did you realize that photo was really making waves?

Well, I think it happened over time. Obviously, the poster immediately was like, “OK, that's intense.”

Was it everywhere? Was it all over town?

It was everywhere. And when the poster came out it was powerful. It was a dramatic statement and it sent shock waves immediately. It was clearly influential at the time, I will say that. It was shocking and effective. It put her on the map.

Do you think it put her on the map more so than the cover?

Oh, yeah. The cover, who knows what the cover looks like? Nobody does.

#lil kim #lil' kim #rap #queen of rap #rapper #hip hop #queen bee #female rapper #female rap #hiphop #fashion #90s #squat

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pluviophile-imagines · 2 years

Text

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l and @sipsteainanxiety for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

“Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

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milkistay · 11 months

Text

this, for now — bc

synopsis. after 12 years, you reunite with your childhood best friend, chan, who comes back home from his idol life in korea.

pairing. childhoodfriend!chan x gn!reader

format. imagine

word count. 1.5k

a/n. this could also be seen as platonic...i believe. there’s nothing explicitly romantic, just two very close old friends yearning for each other. kind of bittersweet, too.

"do you remember when we'd go here after school?"

it’s maybe a few minutes before sunset and you’re walking around your old childhood neighborhood with someone you never thought would see again this soon: chan, your old childhood friend. the streets are painted a strange tone of nostalgia; it’s like you’re walking through hazy memories, dream-like and familiar. sometimes, you’ll spot a house or a street corner that sends you back to your 13-year-old self so strongly, you feel as if you’ve shifted to the past. but then, you look to your left and you see chan, who has so obviously grown up, and you remember all the time that has passed.

he’s grown taller, of course, with broader shoulders and bigger arms. he’s lost most of his baby fat in his face—his jawline is much more apparent, as are all of the sharp angles in his features. you can almost barely recognize him. almost, because you don’t think you could ever forget the little things in chan’s appearance that make him who he is. he smiles and there's something about it that makes you ache—there’s your old best friend again, happy and smiley.

chan’s pointing to a convenience store up ahead when he asks his question. the storefront hasn't changed a bit——still displaying its ice cream cooler next to the front entrance, its 3-for-1 cough drop deal, and its blue and yellow ATM. you could find your way through the aisles in your sleep, despite the 12 years that have passed since the last time you and chan slipped in, exhausted after a long school day, and left with candy and soft drinks. sometimes, you'd spend the afternoon at the nearby park, the sun on your face and the grass under your thighs as you complained about your teachers and took turns trying to catch m&m's in your mouths. other times, you'd head straight to chan's house and play games in his living room, even staying for dinner.

"of course, i remember," you tell him. “it hasn’t been that long.”

maybe 12 years isn’t that long. maybe it is. it feels long, that you know for sure.

in those past 12 years, you've watched chan move to seoul and follow his dream of becoming an idol, growing more talented and more mature with each comeback photo and video that pops up on your social media. in between your busy days, you could only catch glimpses of his rapidly-evolving career and his sudden rise to stardom. with each stray kids photo you saw, the chan you knew so intimately appeared to turn more and more into a stranger. the boy from your childhood grew into a man and you weren't even there to see it.

but he returns to australia after all these years and he smiles at you and suddenly, he's the same 13-year-old who swore, pinky interlocked with yours, that he'd never stop being your best friend. he was chris again.

and you tried. of course, you tried to keep in touch. he cried in your arms before he left for the airport and promised to call you every day. but being a trainee was busy and being an idol was busier and you had to grow up and move to college and find your own future too, so, after a while, his daily calls became weekly, then monthly, then a rarity. you learned more about his life through stray kids youtube videos than you did through his own words. and you were so happy for him, of course. but you missed him so fucking much.

“do you remember all of our sleepovers?” you ask, praying he does.

please remember us. please remember me. please tell me i still have a place in your life.

he doesn’t even take a moment to think: “yes, yes i do.” he’s grinning now. “we’d basically live out of each other’s houses for a week, just: school, your house, games, dinner, sleep, wake up, school, my house, listen to music, dinner, sleep. god, that was fun.”

“remember hannah would always say—”

“that you were basically her other sibling?” chan finishes with a laugh. “yeah, i think she saw you and me together more than she saw just me alone sometimes.”

you laugh with him. “she said she couldn’t imagine anything pulling us apart.”

“yeah,” chan concedes. “i couldn’t imagine anything either.”

the both of you fall into a sudden silence that’s tinted with an awkwardness that would’ve never existed when you were both 13 and inseparable. it’s a silence of grief, mourning the past determination to stay best friends forever and never leave each other’s sides. during those sleepovers, you’d brainstorm the rest of your lives together—how you’d live in the same dorm in college, then get an apartment together, adopt a dog, and grow up side-by-side.

was it foolish that you believed in it? was it always just wishful thinking? over those years spent apart, you’d ponder what could’ve been—what your life would look like if chan never moved. it was always bittersweet and you found yourself longing too much so you decided to stop. there’s no point in thinking about what could’ve been—it isn’t, so just focus on what is. and ‘what is’ is a life where chan lives across the ocean and you’re creating your own separate worlds. the too-harsh reality.

"god, you have no idea how much i missed this," chan admits with a sigh, looking up to the sky that was slowly turning shades of pink and orange.

you offer a chuckle. “yeah, it’s nice to be home, i guess.”

"no, no," he begins. "well, yes—i missed my family like crazy, like you wouldn’t believe—but i’m talking about this." he gestures to the both of you. "us. i missed us."

"oh.” somehow, you weren’t expecting that. “well, someone moved away," you say with feigned accusation.

he lets out a laugh. "i did, didn't i?” he thinks for a moment. “i don't regret it. i love my boys, i love our fans, i love what we're doing. i just…i miss you,” he says, plain and simple. “and i wish there was some way that i could've had it all. you're the one thing that's missing from my life.”

during the times you pondered what could’ve been, you always came to the conclusion that you were the only one thinking about it, that chan had forgotten you. it hurt a bit, but you thought it was the best way to see it if you wanted to move on from the past.

but this—you're the one thing that's missing from my life. fuck. you didn’t even realize how much you had been aching to hear that chan still thinks about you. fuck, how can you move on?

"i wish you could've had it all, too. i miss you. so fucking much.”

he sighs. "and there's no way for you to somehow have the urge to relocate to seoul?"

you laugh. "i want to, believe me when i say that. but..."

he nods. "but."

"i have a life, too, you know. a job. friends. i can't just leave."

"i know, i know. i just—"

"me too." you offer a sad smile. "me too."

the sky turns pinker as the sun sets. the neighborhood grows dimmer.

“so what now?” chan asks.

“what do you mean?”

“i miss you, you miss me, what are we supposed to do now?”

“is there anything we can do?” from the way his expression falls, you can tell he was hoping for a more optimistic answer. “we’ve spent so long cultivating these lives exclusive of each other, is there any way to weave one another into them?”

“you could move to seoul…”

“i can’t.”

“i could move back—”

“you won’t.”

“i could—”

“no, you couldn’t. and you won’t. i know you won’t and you know i won’t let you.”

“i know.” he sighs. “i know.”

“i think this is all we can have.”

“this?”

“this—you and me, coincidentally back home at the same time for a few days, reminiscing for a bit, then parting ways again.”

he nods, reluctantly agreeing because it’s true, as unfortunate as it is. “for now,” he adds optimistically. “maybe, one day, we can figure it out.”

“maybe,” you say, not thinking you’d believe it. but as you say it, maybe foolishly, you find a little hope.

“i’ll take it. i’ll take what i can have. i’ll have this, for now.”

he offers a smile and who are you to not give him one back?

#bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #bang chan reaction #bang chan headcanons #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #chan x reader #gn!reader #skz x gn!reader #bang chan x gn!reader #skz chan x reader #childhood friend #childhood friend skz #childhood friend bang chan #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines

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falkarph · 1 month

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DRAGON'S DOGMA 2 STARTERS

rp prompts taken from the video game dragon's dogma 2 by capcom. some have been edited.

❛ a good sleep will ensure we’re prepared for the morrow. ❜

❛ i shall go to the grave with a smile on my lips, for i have no regrets. ❜

❛ this is the second time i’ve watched over you like this, isn’t it? ❜

❛ as i understand it, 'tis boorish to speak when you’ve naught to say, so i shall hold my tongue. ❜

❛ we‘ll see each other again, you can count on that. and when we do, you’d best be ready for the fight of your life. ❜

❛ i had nearly given up on myself, yet 'twould seem i am not without talent after all! ❜

❛ i learned the words but this is the first i use them. ❜

❛ don't bring trouble to my door, you hear? ❜

❛ 'twas never my intent to deceive you. i simply feared that if i spoke the truth, none would wish to involve themselves with me. ❜

❛ i dare not enter the palace. but i would fain escort you to the castle entrance. ❜

❛ pray visit me if you’ve the time or inclination. ❜

❛ all is preordained. even my death at thy hands. ❜

❛ there’s no shortage of ne'er-do-wells out there, willing to claim their medicine the only cure that they might inflate its price. ❜

❛ what are you doing? unhand me this instant! ❜

❛ love is as twin to madness, they say. they are bound fast, as night is to day. ❜

❛ oh, unwring your hands, you fool. as if anyone in this palace would dare say a word against me. ❜

❛ i find myself on edge when you stray from my line of sight. ❜

❛ save your honeyed words, traitor! ❜

❛ you would leave one of your own to die? ❜

❛ my efforts led only to my own ruin. ❜

❛ i believe i cautioned you to keep your drunken revelry in check. ❜

❛ they say you should be thankful for your life, but simply being alive isn’t the same as living, eh? ❜

❛ 'tisn‘t the first time i’ve taught an unseasoned whelp the meaning of betrayal. ❜

❛ my vision’s growing worse by the day i fear. ❜

❛ if i had but better known your heart, i could have shared in your burdens. ❜

❛ 'tis not my conscience that called me here, oh no. i simply cannot stomach acts of cowardice. ❜

❛ doesn’t seem like you and i are going to share a drink anytime soon. a shame, really. ❜

❛ and what business have you here, in the nobles' playground? ❜

❛ we’re lost, plain and simple. ❜

❛ 'twould seem my time here has reached its end. can’t say i‘m happy about it. ❜

❛ i possess no ill intent, i assure you! i merely wished for a closer look. ❜

❛ alas, though he was a just and goodly ruler, there is not a single person alive who remembers his name. ❜

❛ it can be a blessing to forget—and to be forgotten. ❜

❛ the flesh may rot, the soul, fragment. yet power—power endures. ❜

❛ no one has any care for me beyond my title. ❜

❛ another dogged adventurer, come to take my life? many have tried, and, as you can plainly see, all have failed. ❜

❛ naught can be achieved without sacrifice. ❜

❛ follow me. and, pray, take care not to fall behind. one can easily lose their way here. ❜

❛ if e'er you’re in need of a hearth to return to … then let it be mine. ❜

❛ i may be past my prime as a fighter—but i can still teach. ❜

❛ s‘pose it must make you feel a hero, seeing the person you caught yourself sitting behind bars. ❜

❛ do you think you can exact change in this world through good will alone? ❜

❛ reckon your road‘s been a long one. ❜

❛ i so hoped you’d visit. is that strange? ❜

❛ such knowledge has been known to cost a man his head. ❜

❛ shall we hunt a few monsters to start the day off? ❜

❛ the world shall not change with my death. ❜

❛ wilt thou slay me, or be slain? ❜

❛ 'twas all a farce and i the fool, exulting in my wooden crown. ❜

❛ do as you will. i care not what befalls me now. ❜

❛ i never knew how vast the sky was ere i left home. ❜

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompt #roleplay meme #sentence starters #rp starters #rp sentence starters #my prompts #dragon's dogma prompts #dragon's dogma 2 prompts #i'll make one for dark arisen eventually #maybe

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scotianostra · 3 months

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One of Scotland's' most iconic films, Local Hero was released on February 18th 1983.

In the days before mobile phones we used to use things called phone boxes when we were not at home, and the phone box in Local Hero has become as iconic as the film itself.

There aren’t many films that have a 100% Tomatometer , on the movie website Rotten Tomatoes, backed up by an impressive 87% audience score, it should be all you need to know when choosing a movie to watch, expecially if you haven’t seen it before. IMDb also rate it highly with 7.4 out of 10.

Bill Forsyth’s oil-refinery comedy isn’t billed as a weepy. It is, however, a love poem to Scotland, and that’s what brings the lump to my throat.

Quirky, wry, gentle are words most often used for this comedy on the movie database site, IMDb, the starting point for many of my posts about those Scots in the acting profession in my posts. They brief story line on the site does not hint at the emotional turbulence you might soon be experiencing. So maybe it’s just me being a big sissy. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost the plot. All it says is "An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don't go as expected." The film is so much more than this and it stands the test of time much better than other Forsyth films like Comfort & Joy and Gregory's Girl, well in my opinion anyway!

Crackpot Texan oil magnate Felix Happer (Burt Lancaster) gets the idea that a small Scottish fishing village would be a marvellous acquisition for his so-rich-it-makes-you-sick company, Knox Oil and Gas, so he sends an executive gopher named MacIntyre (because that sounds Scottish, yeah – played by Peter Riegert) to close the deal and get the pipeline pencilled in.

“Mac” is met by some local “dork” called Oldsen (a young Peter Capaldi), who attempts to steer him through a tartan microculture that includes a lawyer-cum-publican/hotelier (Denis Lawson) who tapdances while standing on a chair shouting “Stella” – the name of his ever-randy wife; there is a super-hard marine biologist played by Jenny Seagrove who, after delivering a short lecture on the North Atlantic drift, ends up helping Oldsen to find that pistol in his pocket; and then there is a scene in which a very whisky-sodden Mac calls Texas from a red phone box on the harbourside, a phone box that has featured in so many peoples snaps when visiting Pennan in Banffshire.

Other bits of business in the film involve a salty Russian seafarer and overflying warplanes. You can see how it got the comedy tag, and I haven’t even mentioned the thing with the rabbit. And you can see how Mac ends up smitten.

This is all top material from a very talented writer/director, with photography and music from Glasgow born Mark Knopfler matches the acting and direction perfectly. But on first viewing I found myself asking halfway through, “What is this film actually about?” After not very much thought, I came to the conclusion that it was not a How Things Never Go According to Plan story, but a love poem to Scotland and the Scots. A bit slushy, but never mind. It’s only a film.

The scene when Mac phones to describe the Northern Lights, to me is very special, but the scene that prompted the lump in my throat at the end of the movie is when, having failed in his mission to secure the Knox refinery deal and mutilate one of Planet Earth’s most beautiful locations, Mac returns to his frigid steel-and-glass Houston apartment. He stands at his kitchen counter wondering what to do next, the hushed march of oil capitalism buzzing gently outside. He pulls from his coat pocket a handful of pebbles and shells, smelling one of them poignantly remembering as he spreads them on the work surface.

As Knopflers music gently plays he goes to his balcony and looks out to the city......the scene fades to black, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, perhaps ringing and the credits begin as the horns of Going Home blast out.

Others in the film include Rikki Fulton, Alex Norton, Kenny Ireland, John Gordon Sinclair and of course Burt Lancaster.

#scotland #scottish #history #cinema history #comedy gold #move #classic #Bill Forsth

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kittenfangirl20 · 15 days

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*Lucifer watched as Adam’s band practiced, Adam was the lead singer and lead guitarist, Lucifer was amazed by the talent the first man had, Eve was even part of the band playing the bass guitar and she would sing along with Adam, the band comprised of different angels, but it was the first man and second woman who were the stars of the show*

Adam: Luci, come up here, remember I told you that I wrote a song for you to sing in too, I want to try it out.

Lucifer: I can’t, what if I am not good enough.

Adam: That is bullshit, you are the Archangel of Light, your voice has always left me entranced. Sing with us.

*Lucifer knew he meant more for Lucifer to sing along with Adam and Eve with the rest of the band just happening to be there, he pulled off his hat and coat before rolling up his sleeves and getting on the stage*

Lucifer: Forgive me if fail and make everyone look bad.

Adam: You are the Demon Prince of Pride and absolutely gorgeous, don’t let insecurity control you.

*Adam handed Lucifer a microphone and the band struck up the opening notes and Lucifer sang the lyrics that Adam wrote for the song, Adam and Eve soon joined in singing, Lucifer thought of Eden when he would sing with Adam and thought of how it would have been like if he had been there when Eve arrived instead of being on the run with Lilith, their voices went well with each other and Lucifer such a warm feeling inside at singing with the two people he loved, he was so lost in the singing that he didn’t realize that residents of the hotel gathered to hear them sing, when the song was done he saw the little audience and blushed*

Charlie: That was so amazing dad, I love it when you sing. In fact I missed it.

Angel Dust: You rocked.

Alastor: It was acceptable, but then again nothing can beat jazz.

*the whole group knew for Alastor that was him giving high praise, later Lucifer was sitting with Adam and Eve*

Lucifer: It has been a long time since I had so much fun.

Eve: Adam always went on about how amazing your voice was and I can say that he wasn’t exaggerating.

Lucifer: Thank you, in fact you sounded amazing yourself Eve. Adam, I always loved your voice, I am so happy that others can hear it.

Adam: Singing was always my passion and it helps me connect with others. I know that is silly.

Eve: It isn’t, I think it is sweet.

Lucifer: She is right, you have a rare gift that needs to be shared.

*Adam just smiled as they continued talking*

#hazbin hotel #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #adam #hazbin hotel adam #redeemed adam #angel adam #adam/eve #adam/lucifer #lucifer/eve #eve/adam/lucifer #adam’s band

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 1 year

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you belong with me (part 1) // fred weasley

Summary: You’re stubborn, so when your best friend tries to convince you that Bucky Barnes isn’t the right guy for you, you try to prove him wrong. In the process, you end up in a place you thought only existed in books, where you meet the one.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (eventually)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: unrequited love, bit of angst, panic attack

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @error501beta for proofreading this!

ＢＥＦＯＲＥ　ＹＯＵ　ＲＥＡＤ： This is a Marvel x Harry Potter fanfiction. You’re 17 and you are Wanda sister. For the purposes of this fic the year on the MCU is 2017. Civil War events have not happened and everyone lives in the Avengers Compound. The year on Harry Potter is 1994, around The Goblet of Fire.

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“He’s so hot,” you sighed dreamily. Steve and Bucky were sparring in the gym a few feet away from you. It had become a habit for you at this point to watch the two supersoldiers train, if only to discreetly check out the brunet.

You weren't sure when your infatuation with Bucky had started, but one day you found you couldn't take your gaze off of him whenever he was in the same room. You weren't sure if the older man had noticed your lingering stares, but if he had, he had never mentioned it.

“And yet way too old for you.” The voice startled you, and you jumped, diverting your focus away from the two supersoldiers and toward a much younger man with a sly smirk on his face.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “What do you want, Peter?”

“Dreaming about your knight in shining armor again?”

Now, if anyone knew about your crush, it was Peter Parker. Much to your dismay. Peter was quite insightful; it only took him half an hour in the same room with you to figure out your crush on the winter soldier. And boy, did he enjoy teasing you about it. That's what best friends do, right?

“You know, you should get over it already. It’s not like he’s gonna notice you anyway.”

“Why is that?” You asked, annoyed.

Peter was about to laugh, but then saw your serious expression and decided it was best if he didn't. “Come on, Y/N/N. It's amusing to see you yearning for him, but you don't really think you have a chance, do you?”

“Is he too good for me, or what? Is he out of my league? Am I not good enough?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Peter clarified quickly. He had no intention of offending you. “But you’re 17, and he’s like…” He paused for a moment, mentally calculating the supersoldier’s age. “A hundred years old?” His statement came across as more of an inquiry.

“Alright. First and foremost, I'll be 18 in a few months. Second, he was 28 when HYDRA captured him and, considering he spent most of his time in a freezer, he didn't age all that much.”

“He’s still 11 years older.”

You shook your head. "I don't see the issue."

Peter gazed at you for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether you were serious or joking. “He probably thinks of you as his little sister.” He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it was obvious Bucky Barnes didn’t return your affections.

“Then I’ll dress more maturely, “ you shot back.

“It’s not the clothes, Y/N. It's the age difference. It's not like you can magically become older by snapping your fingers.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, knowing by the smirk on your face that he had unintentionally given you an idea.

Peter was well aware of your’s and Wanda's talents. And, while it was obvious that the older Maximoff was more powerful, you were also an exceptionally gifted witch. He'd seen you accomplish amazing things, but he wasn't sure whether age manipulation was one of them.

“I can create an illusion,” You began, drawing out the strategy in your brain. “I’ll make him believe that I’m older, that way I’ll catch his attention.”

Illusion manipulation was one of your favorite abilities. Mostly because it had the potential to get you out of trouble. You could manipulate people's perceptions of what they saw, heard, touched, smelled, and tasted. The plethora of effects you could achieve had so many uses, such as confusing targets, hiding and masking objects or places, leading targets to inadvertently harm one another, and so on. Yet you still hadn’t reached your full potential.

But you weren’t fighting aliens or HYDRA agents, you were just trying to get a guy, and you were powerful enough to manipulate the senses to the point the illusion was indistinguishable from reality to the target. Which in this case was Bucky.

“So you’re gonna mess with his mind?” You were pulled back to reality by Peter's voice. You had nearly forgotten he was there for a second. “I think the poor guy has been through enough brainwashing. Don’t you?”

Of course, you were aware of what Bucky had gone through. He still had nightmares about HYDRA’s torture. So Peter was probably correct, messing with his mind wasn't the best way to win him over.

“Even then, you’ll still be 17; you’ll be lying to both him and yourself,” Peter added.

“Well… what if I don’t have to lie? What if I actually can age up?”

Your friend looked at you, puzzled. “You can do that?”

“Not with my magic,” you grinned, “but there's something that might help.”

It was true, you couldn't use your magic to age up a few years, at least not that you knew of. It would be a lot easier, but you'd have to ask Wanda, who would want to know why you were asking. Then you'd tell her, and she'd try to talk you out of it. So you’d have to take the difficult path.

“So… what are you gonna do?”

“Thor brought some cool Asgardian stuff yesterday. And by cool, I mean magical. I’m sure there’s something there that can help,” you explained. “And if that doesn’t work I have a Plan B.”

“You really have everything figured out, huh?” Peter looked at you in disbelief. “The Asgardian stuff is in Mr. Stark’s laboratory. How are you planning to get in?”

“At night, of course.”

Your sister knew something was up. You’d been reserved all night, and that's what was giving you away. Wanda knew you like the back of her hand, and when you were quiet, she knew you were up to no good.

Throughout dinner, you and Peter had been exchanging glances. He’d obviously wanted to sell you out, but your murderous stare had stopped him. Also, Peter considered himself a good friend, and he didn’t want to betray your trust, but he also knew you were bound to get into trouble.

It wasn't until Wanda had knocked on your bedroom door late at night that you realized how obvious you had been, and you only hoped the rest of the team hadn’t caught on to your weird behavior.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Your sister sat beside you on the bed. You tried to keep your cool as you looked at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried, but the look Wanda gave you was unimpressed.

“Is this about Bucky?” Her question caught you off guard. Did she know? “You can't fool me, honey; I'm your sister. And you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Stop getting inside my head,” you chastised her. You hated when she did that. “It’s a huge invasion of privacy, y’know?”

“You never tell me anything. You’ve left me with no choice.” When you didn’t reply, Wanda spoke again. “There’s nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s totally normal for an older guy to catch your eye when you’re young.”

You got off the bed and looked at her, a scowl on your face. “Why do you keep treating me like a child?” You demanded, your voice raising. “I’m not a kid. I’ll be 18 in a couple of months.”

Wanda remained irritatingly calm despite your obvious frustration. “I know, Y/N.”

“Then why is it so difficult for everyone to see that a relationship between me and him isn’t impossible!?”

Exasperated, the Scarlet Witch sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had never pictured herself in this predicament. Wanda was more than just your older sister; she was also the only mother figure you have ever known. Yet she was certain your late mother would have been better at this conversation than she would be.

“Look, Y/N. No one is saying it is impossible in the long run but as of right now it is. You know everything Bucky has been through.”

“How come everyone uses that as an excuse to tell me to back off?”

“It’s not an excuse-”

“It is! I'm sure no one would object if I were your age.”

“Oh, honey, I know how tough it must be to be young and surrounded by older people. Especially men. But I also know there's someone else out there who's perfect for you, and that person isn't Bucky.” She stood and approached you, standing in the middle of the room, brow still furrowed by the conversation. She hesitantly wrapped an arm around you in a side embrace, which you did not return. “Why don't you go to bed and we can pick up where we left off in the morning?” She suggested, “Perhaps we can go to that coffee place you like?”

You turned to face your sister. The rational part of you understood that Wanda meant well. But you were stubborn, and irritated by everyone treating you like a child. You’d never cared what others thought of you; growing up in an orphanage had given you tough skin. But it hurt that you didn't even feel like an adult in Wanda's eyes. She was your big sister, your mentor. She was everything you aspired to be. But she didn't consider you an equal; just the little sister she had to protect.

The silence became uncomfortably quiet. Wanda remained at your side, waiting for a response.

"I'm helping Peter study for his test tomorrow. Maybe another time."

You gave in to your petty side. Wanda's face dropped, and her hopeful smile faded. It made your stomach turn, and you had to look away.

"Okay," she murmured and kissed your temple softly. "Goodnight."

She was halfway out the door when she turned to you. “I love you, Y/N. And I want the best for you. Always. Please remember that.”

And then she left the room.

The conversation left a bittersweet taste, but you tried to block it out. You were determined to get what you wanted, and no one was going to stop you from getting it.

The lights were off and the compound was quiet. The hallways, living room, and kitchen were empty, providing you with the perfect opportunity to make your way to Tony’s lab.

“Where are you going?” The sudden voice in the darkness made you jump. You turned on your heel, only to face the man who had been taking over your dreams for the past few months.

You were like a deer caught in the headlights. Bucky catching you was the last thing you expected. You had checked the time before leaving your bedroom; it was 3:00 in the morning, so why was he wandering around the compound at this hour?

The winter soldier kept staring at you, waiting for you to respond. “Where are you going?” you decided to shoot back, and a light chuckle left his mouth.

Now that you thought about it, this was the first time Bucky and you had been alone in the same room. With another avenger always around, you couldn't ever enjoy the man’s presence just for yourself.

“Looking for trouble?”

You put your hand on your chest, pretending to be offended. "Do you really think so little of me?"

“I may not have been here that long, but I know you have a habit of getting into trouble.”

‘Does that mean he has noticed me?’

“I don’t look for trouble. Trouble finds me.”

“Of course,” he let out another chuckle. A wave of giddiness rushed through you, he found you funny.

“You gonna rat me out?”

Bucky looked at you, weighing his options. You looked back at him expectantly, with a pleading expression on your face. If he told Tony or someone else that you'd been wandering the compound after midnight with ulterior motives, you'd have them on your back the next night and wouldn't be able to carry out your plan.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he spoke again. “It would be our little secret.”

His words made you smile, and you could feel your stomach turn. You were about to thank him when he interrupted you. “But if there's any damage done in this building tomorrow morning, be sure you’re not getting away with it, kid.”

Kid. There it was, that dreadful word. ‘He probably sees you like a little sister’ Uninvited, Peter's words echoed in your mind. You felt your shoulders slump and your smile fade.

Bucky misinterpreted your expression and said, “Just promise me you’re not doing anything bad.”

“I promise, Buck.” You wanted this conversation to be over. It was only cutting you deeper and delaying your plan.

Bucky bid his farewells and returned to his room. Tears that you had been holding back ran down your face. With your sleeve, you wiped them away. “I promise that tomorrow you won’t see me as a kid anymore,” you whispered to yourself.

You received the second surprise of the night when you reached the laboratory door only to find Peter resting against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” “What took you so long?” You both asked at the same time.

“Look, even if I think this is a terrible idea and I’m still hoping you reconsider it, I’m still your best friend.” He said, “You've stood by me through all of my ups and downs, so it's only fair that I stand by you now. If you fall, I fall.”

On the spur of the moment, you dragged Peter against you, throwing your arms around him. He wrapped his arms around you just as tightly. “Thank you, Pete,” you murmured.

“What are friends for?” he said with a gentle smile as you were freed from the hug. "Now, how are you going to open the door?" he asked after you were free. You smiled at him, thrumming your fingers, as a spark of red light emerged from the palm of your hand. The sound of the lock opening with a satisfying click echoed in the empty corridor seconds later.

“Like that.”

You both entered the room as quietly as possible. The slightest sound could give you away. “Wow, there are such cool things in here.” Peter looked amazed. “You think Mr. Stark would let me use this?” he questioned, holding up a serpent-shaped headpiece.

“Why would you want to use that?”

“Because it’s cool.” Peter placed the crown back in its place. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“I don’t know. Something magical.”

“Everything here is magical.”

You kept your gaze fixed on the goods on the table. You were relieved that Tony hadn't yet secured them in a different location, as you knew he always did whenever Thor brought something from Asgard. A sword next to the serpent crown drew Peter's attention. You scowled. “What exactly is this? King Arthur’s Sword?

When Peter saw the blade, his eyes widened, and you smacked his hand away before he could go for it. “Don't touch it,” you warned. “A sword isn't going to help me.”

A trident. A casket. A blade. A hammer. An axe. None of this was of use to you. But then Peter picked up something you hadn’t seen displayed on the table before, “What about this?” He asked.

You took a look at the object. It appeared about a foot in length. Perhaps made of crystalline material, but it was the demonic heads on both ends that drew your attention.

“It’s a wand… I think,” Peter pondered. “You said your magic couldn't make you age up, but this thing might be able to.”

“Where did you get that?”

“It was in there,” he said, pointing to a glass dome with a yellow base in the other corner of the room. “The things that are kept away from others are usually quite unique.”

Peter carefully placed the wand in your palm once you extended your hand. When your skin made contact with the mysterious object, you felt a surge of energy race through your body. It was excruciating. It was agonizing. It felt like a massive weight had dropped on top of you, limiting your movement. Peter's eyes widened as your eyes glowed bright red. You let go of the wand, which landed with a thud on the floor, and your hands began to emit your signature red glow, as they did when you used your magic. The only problem was that you weren't. At least, not voluntarily.

“What’s going on?” Your friend's voice was filled with worry.

You couldn’t respond. To begin with, you had no idea what was going on. Second, you were being pulled backwards by what felt like an almost magnetic force. Peter's reflexes were rapid, and he tightened his grip on your hand, hoping to draw you back to him, but whatever this thing was, it was stronger than him, no matter how much super-strength the teenager possessed. You could feel your hand slipping away from his.

And then, before he knew it, you flew across the room and vanished.

You landed painfully on the hard ground. Still dizzy from what had just happened, you pushed yourself up off the floor, looking for your friend, but you didn't come across Peter. You weren't even in the laboratory anymore.

‘What the hell?’

You looked around, still disoriented. This wasn't the compound, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes. It seemed to be a corridor.

“Where am I?” you muttered to yourself.

The stone walls, floor, and vaulted ceiling were the first things that caught your eye. The arches on the left showed not only fresh green grass but also the sun shining… which didn't add up. You were in the lab at around 3 a.m. Maybe a little later because your conversation with Bucky delayed you. Even so, it was too early for it to be daytime.

‘Why does everything look so… old fashioned?’

The more you looked around, the more obvious it became that you were far from home. You thought about Peter, and how everyone was going to blame him for this. You remembered Bucky's words about you constantly looking for trouble. You thought about Wanda, and how disappointed she would be in you. She couldn't have a minute of peace because of you. If it wasn't Principal Evans phoning to inform her how you blew up the science lab, it was a call about how you let the frogs go and how they somehow wound up in Ashley Miller's lunch.

But this? This took the cake. This wasn’t a high school prank. This was serious, and you knew that no matter how many apologies you gave her, she would never forget it, and it had most likely permanently broken her trust in you.

Your ears began to ring, your heart pounded against your chest, and your hands began to shake. You had no idea where you were, but you were certain you didn't want to be here; you wanted to go home. You wanted your sister to wrap her arms around you and soothe away your fears; providing comfort and safety. However, you were stranded in god-knows-where. Alone. Defenseless. Scared. You collapsed onto the floor, your legs clutched against your chest. Breathing was difficult. Extremely difficult, as if you'd just finished a marathon.

And you cried. Your chest clenched as bile surged in your throat.

You weren't sure how long you cried but by the time your breathing even out, your legs were numb from the stone floor.

“Are you alright?” You raised your head in response to a soft, worried voice. Only to see three individuals staring at you with concern — two boys and a girl.

You stared back at them with your shiny eyes. They appeared to be a few years younger than you and were wearing what looked like robes. The cogs began to turn in your head.

You stood up to wipe your eyes after realizing you'd been staring at them for far too long. “S-sorry,” you stammered, your hoarse, cracked voice still audible.

“It's alright,” the girl said sympathetically, “Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, I just had a moment, but I'm fine now.”

“Are you American?” This time, it was one of the boys, the ginger of the two, who spoke. He was staring at you oddly. Perhaps because he just caught you bawling on the floor just a few moments ago, perhaps it was because you were still in your jammies. But the fact that it was your accent he picked up on first perplexed you.

You weren't sure whether to tell the truth or not. You weren’t American. You'd only been in New York for a few years, but you and Wanda had caught up on the accent quickly. Although you slipped and sounded more Sokovian when you were upset sometimes.

You choose to nod.

‘Maybe it’s better to lie.’

“Are you an Ilvermorny exchange student?” The girl asked, her voice filled with eagerness.

If these three people, whom you have never seen before but still looked extremely familiar to you, and the lion embroidered on their robes weren’t enough to give you an idea where the demonic-styled wand had sent you, the mention of the fictional American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sure was.

You took a few seconds to respond, but you gave what you believed was the best answer; after all, you didn't know how long you'd be trapped in this universe. “Yeah, I am.”

“Hermione Granger,” she said as she extended her hand for you to shake. “These are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.”

Ron nodded his head in greeting, and Harry waved his hand shyly.

“I’m Y/N Maximoff.”

Another person made their presence known in the passageway, interrupting your conversation. A tall woman approached you, dressed in a huge dark green robe with her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. “What exactly is happening here?”

She stared at the three younger students before turning her attention to you. When she narrowed her eyes, you knew you were screwed. She had obviously noticed there was something wrong with you.

“Professor McGonagall, why didn’t you tell us we were hosting an exchange student?”

The woman ignored Hermione's inquiry and opted to dismiss them, making it clear, at least to you, that she wanted to talk to you alone. Despite their protests, they obeyed and made their way to class.

“Now, why don’t we go to my office so we can have a chat?”

You gulped. You could tell the question was rhetorical, and she wasn't expecting you to agree. So you simply followed her. The other students passing through the hallways gave you strange stares.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fic #harry potter imagine #fred and goerge weasley #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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smartycvnt · 1 year

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Only a Fool

Title: Only a Fool Pairing: Matt Jackson x Reader Prompt: 3. "I don't know what's wrong with me anymore." "You're in love, that's all." R WC: 735

If looks could kill, the way Matt was staring at Daniel would have killed him. Nick and Kenny had noticed that Matt was distracted almost immediately, but it had taken both men quite a bit of time to figure out why. Kenny had figured out pretty early on that Matt Jackson had a thing for the new talent recruiter that Tony had hired, Y/n Y/l/n. He didn't know how Matt and Nick knew her exactly, but he knew that Matt was very attracted to her. It was more than that though, Kenny could see it in the way that Matt stared longingly at her. Whatever feelings were there had been buried deep inside of him for years, and Kenny just wanted Matt to man up and say something to her.

"I bet if you asked her out, she'd stop talking to Daniel," Nick said, surprising both Matt and Kenny. The other two men looked over at Nick, who hadn't looked up from his phone since he gave up on trying to talk to Matt. "What?"

"Why would I ask Y/n out? She's clearly very into Daniel. I don't get it, but to each their own and all." Matt's words were unconvincing at best. Nick glanced at Kenny, who was already rolling his eyes. The three men stood there together watching Daniel and Y/n talking to each other. Matt pretended that he didn't care, whereas Nick and Kenny both seemed legitimately curious about what the other two people were talking about. To their knowledge, there wasn't much overlap in Daniel and Y/n's interests outside of wrestling. Y/n had made friends with a lot of the wrestlers, especially the ones who she helped to bring into the company.

"Matt, are you sure that you don't want to talk to her? You seem kind of tense just watching them," Kenny offered. Matt shook his head as he turned away from them. He unclenched his jaw and fists, neither of which he could remember clenching.

"I don't know what's wrong with me anymore. Action gave Y/n a hug the other day and I yelled at him to keep his hands to himself." Matt looked genuinely ashamed of himself, like he had no idea what was going on with himself.

"You're in love, that's all. There isn't anything wrong with you Matt. Kenny's right, you really should just talk to Y/n." Nick placed his hand on Matt's shoulder and turned Matt towards Y/n and Daniel. "Go on, only a fool would let a woman like that slip away."

"A-are you sure?" Matt asked. Nick nodded as he shoved Matt in that direction. Matt stumbled a little, but was on steady footing by the time that he reached Y/n and Daniel. "Y/n, do you have a moment?"

"Of course, what do you need Matt?" Y/n asked. Matt was surprised how quickly she turned all of her attention on him. Part of Y/n's charm as an employee was her ability to be pulled in fifteen different directions without missing a step. Nick had always sworn that she always dropped whatever she was doing whenever Matt asked to speak with her.

"I know that this is kind of weird since we work together, but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out with me for dinner sometime? It wouldn't be like when Nick and I asked you to come into the business, but more like a date. Well, actually, it would be a date," Matt said. Y/n glanced over at Daniel, who looked a little too smug for both Matt and Y/n's liking. Matt was scared for a moment that he had been too late, that Daniel had swooped in and asked out the woman who had been on Matt's mind since he met her, even after over a decade of knowing her.

"I'd love that. It'd have to be relatively soon because I'm headed to New York for the next few weeks to scope out some indie shows and smaller schools. Apparently, the next best thing is currently training in Brooklyn," Y/n said as she glanced back at Daniel, who had just spent the past 20 minutes talking her ear off about new talent. Matt relaxed a little at the news that Daniel hadn't asked Y/n out.

"Great, I'll see you tonight."

#my writing #aew #aew x reader #matt jackson x reader #matt jackson

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silaslich · 2 days

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It’s My Heart, I Can’t Cut It Out

Simon Riley x John Mactavish

Wc - 5.7k | chapter 2 of ? | chapter 1 if you missed it | check cover art for tags+warnings

It’s to the sound of screams, that John awakes.

The air in the room is stagnant and heavy.

It’s his own screams that have pulled him from his nightmare, a common reoccurrence since the incident - and sometimes even before. An interminable occurrence, each time he closes his eyes he finds a pair staring back at him; they’re young and hopeful and happy. He remembers Gary as if he had seen him only yesterday, he often wonders what he would look like all grown up.

Would he have ended up taller than John? Would he have followed his passions in Herbology and traveled the world in search of wacky and wonderful things to study and cultivate? John can only wonder, when he feels a pain in his chest that bothers him like an old aching joint, he lets his mind stray to what could have been. To what should have been. Sometimes the thoughts make him sad, but more often then not he finds that they bring him a sense of comfort; because he knows that if Gary were still alive he would live his life to the fullest no matter who was watching.

John’s chest heaves and sweat drips from his forehead, running down his spine, his sheets are soaked through. He’s gasping for breath as he tries to settle his aching lungs and his eyes scan the darkness - but there is nothing there.

There never was.

Seeing flashing images of a lanky-ginger teenager with eyes like green marbles are not new to John; but the haunting spectacle of a bloodied beast with dauntingly familiar eyes and great huge fangs makes his skin prickle - he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

He had placed wards around his room soon after he’d arrived, a common courtesy, to save anyone within earshot from losing sleep the way he does.

A silencing charm had been the first of many measures he put in place when unpacking what little things he had brought with him. John knows that his mind isn’t what it once was, he needn’t take the chance of finding slips of parchment slid underneath the crack of his door that are scrawled with angry lettering telling him to shut the fuck up.

The young wizard rubs his eyes, pressing his fingers into the sockets, cursing the pressure that sits behind his bad eye - rooted deep in his skull. It’s as if something is burrowed there, buried deep in the tissue, he can feel it pulse. All of his diagnostic spells bring up nothing of the sort. Only angry-smoky swirls of black and green, weaving around his mind, he doesn’t understand it.

Einar must sense John’s distress, he hoots quietly from his perch, fluttering his tortoise-shell coloured feathers in the darkness, the wizard can’t see him but he appreciates the birds concern.

Last night, Price had stared at John with a knowing look in his eyes, the pair illuminated by the full moon overhead, nestled within a blanket of stars. He might have only been an outside informant during John’s career as an Auror, but Price always kept in touch with the team of Aurors that were following the same cases as he was, not because it made his job any easier- but because he genuinely began to care. Through many means he was able to tutor and reprimand, shaping John and his team into strong and talented Aurors.

Price had been an Auror for many years, but after much consideration and deliberation on the Ministry’s behalf he became an outside man. While he remained under the Ministry’s jurisdiction, he was able to better navigate his way around less standardised means of obtaining information and assets. Under the guise of a transfiguration professor and deputy headmaster; John Price was able to sever the red tape.

Price knew of John’s potential; his strengths lay in brewing up powerful potions used for both offence and defence, as well as healing and emergency first aid, but there was so much more then that below the surface. John was a fighter, as selfless as anyone could possibly be, and as much trouble as that landed him in, Price admired it. The way he would lay down his own life in the line of duty, to save countless others, it was the sign of a natural born Auror.

The proficiency in John’s wand-work and one-on-one combat was remarkable, an underdog of sorts, a bookworm with an interest in cauldrons and a childhood dream of becoming an Auror. Price had laughed.

He saw many just like him come in and out of the programme, some not even lasting a day, but with every challenge thrown at him - John flourished.

Right up until the day of the incident. John had thrown himself into the path of a curse that was meant for another, ending his own career and disfiguring himself physically and mentally - forever, it seemed.

While he was honoured for his bravery and selflessness, John still felt cheated.

Price can tell it hurts. While he can’t empathise with John, he can help him through the grieving process, and he can at least try to understand what this must all be like for his friend. For everything to change so suddenly, to leave everything he’s ever known and move into a completely different field altogether - it’s daunting, it’s scary.

He understands, and Price vows to be with John every step of the way, he feels he owes it to his friend after everything he has sacrificed in the name of wizard kind’s safety.

John feels his eyes sting, too safe in the comfort of his old captain, he sets his jaw and tries to gather his racing thoughts. “Should we head up?” The young wizard queries, “m’shattered from the train”, while it isn’t entirely a lie - it’s at least something to change the subject.

Price scans John’s face a final time before nodding, releasing his hand that’s clasped to John’s shoulder. “Of course mate” he smiles softly, “oh- nearly forgot”, Price pulls out his wand and with a quick flick there’s a bright pop of light, as quick as the light appears - it’s gone again, leaving a large bottle of Firewhiskey clasped in Price’s hand. He hands it over to John, smiling toothily as the younger wizard inspects the bottle, it’s the expensive sort.

John smiles, the gift is lovely, it’s thoughtful - it appears Price still knows him well after all this time. “Think we should break this open when we’re inside” John eyes Price, gauging his reaction, the older man smiles wildly.

“I won’t tell the headmistress if you won’t”.

John doesn’t bother trying to get back to sleep, his nightmare has left him too unsettled and unnerved - images of the human-like beast still burned into the darkness when he closes his eyes.

Instead, he starts his day, cleaning and dressing himself before he sets about organising all of his paperwork that’s stuffed haphazardly into his satchel. While he’d gone over all of it on the train he still doesn’t feel ready enough, he’s knowledgable enough for this job, probably more so then he needs to be - but John worries he won’t fit in.

He’s unserious at the best of times, he can’t stand the thought of having to take charge over a room full of teenagers, even when he was a student himself he never focused as hard as he should have. Despite the fact that his dream was always to be an Auror, he was never the smartest student, barely scraping through his mock exams to meet the passing marks. He puts his success down to Gary, without his death John would have never locked himself away and used books as an escape for the amount of hours that he did after his best friend died. It’s only because of Gary that John knuckled down with studying as a way of escape, an easy distraction to dissociate himself from the way his world was practically crumbling around him.

He worries that his students won’t take him seriously enough that he can take them through the academic year and get them all up to scratch for their exams; but he’ll sure as hell try his best.

John has always been good at faking it until he makes it; he’s always had to plan and adapt, through both school and his Auror career. It’s a big part of life really, assessing new situations and acting accordingly, choices that in some cases, can mean life or death. He wants this to be the same.

Until he gets into the swing of things, he’ll just pretend, despite the nerves and negative thoughts, he’ll teach his classes and do exactly what he has been brought here to do.

He’s here to teach potions. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Nothing else is expected of him. It’s a simple enough task, he needs to recite what he knows in a way his students can follow and learn, and at the end of the day - he’s somewhere safe, with people he knows will keep him safe.

It’s time that he lets the past go, whats happened has happened and he can’t change it, so he needs to move forward with this new chapter in his life. Despite the way it stings and even if he thinks he’s not good enough, it’s time to move on.

A few hours later, and it’s a more appropriate time for breakfast. John easily navigates his way to the Great Hall, everything is steeped in nostalgia, it sends goosebumps rippling across his skin.

He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed Hogwarts, the day he left he’d vowed that his days there were behind him - how times have changed.

The gleaming suits of armour stand to attention as he walks by and the portraits natter absentmindedly amongst themselves, it’s all just background noise.

The set up of the Great Hall seems a tad overkill, especially considering the fact that not all of the professors are back for the start of term yet. Some clearly try to hold on as long as possible before returning, due to their families and other commitments, John doesn’t share this problem.

The four house tables are as they usually are, but It’s only a few sections of each table that are adorned in silver plates and huge bowls; filled to the brim with everything from bacon and sausages to fruits and porridge. There is everything that anyone could possibly want, this is something else John finds he’s been missing.

Price is sitting at the furthest end of the Gryffindor table, shoving a forkful of black pudding into his mouth as he thumbs idly through a copy of The Daily Prophet. Another thing John has missed, the domestication of life, no more hiding and running, no fear for resting or eating - worried something is lurking around the next corner. Nothing is hiding here, preying in the shadows and waiting for Price to look up from his paper so it can pounce.

John hurries over and sits across from the older wizard, returning the smile he earns as he begins piling food onto his plate. “Morning” Price offers up, rolling his eyes when he looks up to find John is unable to reply, his mouth too full of toast. Price closes his paper and sets it to the side, leaning against his elbows on the table and looking pointedly at John as he eats his breakfast, John feels his gaze and meets it - confused.

He swallows down his bacon and clears his throat, suddenly uneasy. Price purses his lips, looking from his plate to his hands, his fingers fidgeting with one another. “Did you sleep well?” Price asks, finally, still seeming sheepish. John thinks for only a split second before he answers, “not really” he replies, honestly. “I think I just need more time to settle, firewhiskey didn’t help as much as I hoped it would” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I haven’t slept well since the incident-“ he has to swallow, “I’m not sure if it’s connected but I keep having these strange- sort of dreams” the words are a jumble from his lips, falling quicker then he can catch them.

Price won’t judge him, he knows this, but he still hates the thought of becoming too vulnerable. It’s different when you’re fighting fit and at the peak of your career, some self reflection is normal - it’s healthy. But talking about his thoughts and feelings when he feels like he could barely cast a counter-curse if he tried to, it’s a new low John has not yet met - not until now.

The older wizard nods in acknowledgment, still fidgeting with his fingers, he brings up his hands to rest his interlocked fingers against his lips, still thinking deeply. John watches, carefully, he can see the way Price’s eyes linger for too long on his scar again - his throat burns.

Price clears his throat, refocusing John’s attention, “John” he tests, still seeming tedious about the topic he’s trying his best to address. The younger wizard feels dread bleed down his spine, the fork that’s gripped in his palm is slick with his sweat and he tries his best to not let his mind jump to the worst case scenarios.

I’m sorry son, this just isn’t working. You’re just not ready for this. We’re going to have to let you go.

His mind is racing again, and once it goes, John struggles to get it to stop. It’s irrational, he knows this, and that’s why it’s so frustrating. Watching the ball get away from him, and he’s physically unable to run toward it and catch it. He hasn’t even been here for twenty-four hours and he’s already thinking that he isn’t good enough, it’s a blow to his self confidence for sure.

The sound of Price clearing his throat breaks John out of his own head, gaining back his focus. “I wasn’t completely honest with you when I offered you this position”, the admission comes as a surprise, in John’s head, Price has never hidden anything from him. Price is a clean-cut, say it how it is kind of man, there’s no mincing of words or beating around a metaphorical bush - his dread turns to intrigue.

John cocks his head, setting his fork down onto his plate and mimicking Price in the way he leans on the points of his elbows. Price starts up again, “as soon as I heard about what happened to you I knew that I wanted you here, I thought it would be a great stepping stone” he says, “I didn’t know the extent of your injuries so I thought that even if it was on a temporary basis that you could come here to recuperate, I realise now that isn’t the case” Price wets his lips before he continues on. “I want you to do well here and I want you to make this role your own, in whatever way you see fit, I know that when we originally exchanged letters about the position that you were worried you wouldn’t be suited to a teaching position - but I can assure you that isn’t true”. John feels something twist in his chest, he wants to believe Price, he really does. Yet, there’s something deep inside of him that thinks it’s all wrong, that he doesn’t deserve the recognition or the praise. Just look where he’s sitting, how the mighty fall. Price seems to falter, just slightly, “what I’m trying to say here John is that I really think this is what you were meant to do, you were a great leader and a great mentor out there - you can still be that great here too” Price smiles, not trying at all to hide it, he watches as John smiles - convincing yet forced.

But what has this got to do with Price being dishonest about something?

John opens his mouth to speak but is quickly shut down, “but” Price quickly blurts out, “that being said, there is still one major thing that I haven’t told you” John cuts in, “what could possibly be so bad that you’re so-“

“Simon is here. In the school. He’s our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor”

Price’s words cut through John like shards of ice. Out of everything he could have possibly said, John would have rather been told that there’s a right of passage to becoming a teacher here, meaning he must fight an Acromantula and win if he wants to stay. He can’t digest the words, Price must be kidding, this has all got to be one big elaborate joke at his expense - but Price isn’t laughing.

Yet, John is. It’s punched out of him in a way that hurts, it makes his chest ache with the effort of it. He’s laughing because this can’t be real, after everything else that has been going wrong in his life lately, he has to exist in the same vicinity as a man he would gladly never lay eyes on again for as long as he lives.

Price wears a look of concern, watching as John’s amused expression morphs into one of pain, he quickly clutches at his head, pressing his fingers against his bad eye. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ jokin’” John whispers, more to himself than to Price, but Price answers, whispering too. “I think it’s best that the two of you talk, sooner rather then later” Price notes John’s grimace, “it’s a good opportunity to break the tension before the start of term”.

While it makes logical sense, John has never seen himself as a logical man, he’s more of a suck it and see kind of man. You’ll never know if you never try. He’s always jumped in head first with things and thought of the consequences after, and up until recently it has always worked in his favour - so he doubts he’ll change anytime soon.

John stares at the half-eaten food that’s starting to go cold on his plate, he finds that he’s just not hungry anymore.

He had wandered aimlessly for hours after breakfast. Retracing steps from his adolescence, it all felt so strange, he’s seeing everything from a new perspective - he’d grown significantly after leaving Hogwarts. Mentally and physically.

While yes, the years had passed, not much had changed within Hogwarts, not really. The portraits on the walls still greeted him as he traipsed by, telling him he looked familiar, the staircases still moved at the most inconvenient times and the elves still popped up in the most random places - usually scrubbing the floors or polishing the many suits of armour that stood around the castle.

It’s unproductive, John knows, but he’s still trying to wrap his head around what Price had told him.

Simon is here. He teaches here.

John never knew, but in fairness, he had never asked. He’d like to say it’s because he doesn’t care, but in actuality, it’s because he cares too much.

He’s always cared too much when it comes to Simon Riley, he’d lie once more and say that he doesn’t understand why, but they both know why. They’ve always known.

Thinking back to when he last saw him, John realises just how long it’s been, it’s three whole years since they last saw one another. While it isn’t a long stretch of time by any means, a lot has changed for the both of them in that time.

John sulks around the hallways, still not really knowing how he should feel, he feels betrayed by Price but at the same time - it was going to come to a head at some point between him and Simon, sooner or later.

They have too many shared connections not to bump into one another eventually, John supposed it was better that it would be on his terms rather than just a chance encounter in the street.

At some point, John reaches the kitchens, having descended the spiral staircase towards a lower part of the school. He had originally been aiming for his old common room, but found himself distracted by the smell of something baked and sweet.

There’s too many times to recount when he had snuck his way into the kitchens. The term ‘snuck’ being used very lightly; the so known ‘head elf’, Posie, was particularly fond of him. For reasons unknown, perhaps it was because he was kind, most wizarding families were - at least the ones that didn’t have their own house elves.

It was safe to say that John didn’t have to tickle any pears to get his hands on sweet treats outside of meal times.

The wizarding families that still owned house elves were often of old blood, purists who believed that muggle-wizard relationships were utterly blasphemous, the topic of half-bloods and ‘mudbloods’ being seen just the same.

John came from an old wizarding family, but one that held absolutely no social status, they had no interest in that sort of thing and also saw nothing wrong with the idea of muggles and wizards coexisting and starting families. It was an outdated way of thinking in their eyes, their family name went back for hundreds of generations, as far back as Hogwarts itself being created.

It meant that John treated Posie and the other elves like they were actual living creatures rather than something unworthy of basic wizard decency. It wasn’t overtly rare at Hogwarts in John’s time for most of the students to be kind and gratuitous, it had been on the up and up over the years, but Posie still had a liking for John that couldn’t really be explained.

She catches sight of him in the kitchens, having to crane her neck up even more than she did when he was a teenager, he’d gotten so much taller since leaving Hogwarts. Posie practically jumps for joy, she pulls him by the hand towards the rows of tables, they mimic the ones in the Great Hall. She presses all different kinds of pastries into his hands, forcing him to try a bite of every single one, filling up his pockets with tarts and scones when he insists he needs to leave before he’s too sick and heavy to move. She’s as spritely in her older age as she had been ten years ago, chatting John’s ear off about what he’d been up to since he’d left, telling him how much she’d missed him and how often she’d thought of him and hoped he was doing well. “Posie was thinking of you John” she tells him, sneaking more of her homemade sponge cakes into his trouser pockets, “Posie was wondering when she would you see John again” she crushes John’s fingers in her dainty palm.

It warms John’s heart, knowing that the elf hadn’t completely forgotten about him after all this time, he hadn’t forgotten about her either.

“Well, you look worse for wear” Price’s sly grin only annoys John even more, he reeks of vinegar and his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin as he sits across from his old friend , again, at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

He hadn’t spared the Hufflepuff barrels a second thought, he obviously wasn’t going to go in, it didn’t feel right considering he was a professor now, even if the students were still yet to arrive. Yet, it seemed he still got a little closer then he should have, almost jumping six-feet in the air when a sudden jet of vinegar from the barrel hits him right between the eyes - soaking him completely through.

John grimaces, “I’d almost forgotten how funny you were” he says sarcastically, his eyes scanning around the room. Price raises a brow, “he’s not here you know” he speaks between forkfuls of cottage pie, “he had some things to attend to, won’t be back for a few more days”.

It’s as if an invisible weight is lifted from John’s shoulders. He wasn’t scared of seeing Simon, it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dreading it, but he wasn’t scared. He just didn’t want to be caught off guard, he wants to know exactly what to say - but he can’t even begin to think of how he’d start that conversation.

He has a feeling Simon won’t be the most forthcoming either.

John scoffs, “what makes you think that’s who’m lookin’ for” it’s a rhetorical question, one he doesn’t intend for Price to answer, yet he does anyway. Price laughs, “your heads been on a swivel ever since this morning, your poker face is shit mate” as Price continues to laugh, the only thing John can think to do is mimic him - completely caught out. “Away a bile yer heid” the Scot spits his words but the venom is misplaced, aimed back at himself for being so transparent, he’ll have to get a grapple on that before Simon returns.

John wonders what’s pulled him away from Hogwarts in the first place. Perhaps he’s married now; maybe he even has a child, the possibilities are endless - and each new one John thinks up makes him feel more sick than the last.

Price and himself eat the rest of their meal in peace. It’s casual conversation for the rest of dinner; they talk about the upcoming school year as they leave the Great Hall, and they discuss this years Quidditch World Cup as they ascend the staircase that leads to the staff common area. With each hour passing hour that the late afternoon bleeds into the early evening, the bottle of firewhiskey drains closer and closer to the bottom.

The conversation has turned, and from there it begins to plummet.

“It really hurts y’know” John says, out of the blue. Price thumbs his glass, watching as the amber liquid sloshes and licks up the side of his glass, “your head?” He asks.

John tightens his lips, “no” he kisses his teeth with a wet shmack-ing sound, “ma head hurts but that’s no what a’mean” his accent begins to thicken as the alcohol thumps through his bloodstream - slow and lazy. John gestures his arms around the room, “this hurts” he starts, “should be out there killin’ those bastards that did this” he snorts, gesturing to his eye, “cannae even do tha” he grits his teeth and Price can hear it from where he sits across the other side of the coffee table.

Price sighs, “they’ll get them John” he says, “I’ll make sure of it - trust me on that one”, Price knocks back the rest of his drink, wincing at the sting of it against his throat. John scoffs, “trust” he repeats, “don’t know the meanin’ of the word do I” he mumbles to himself as he stirs his whiskey with his finger. “Don’t say that” Price’s words are curt, quickly bitten out, John doesn’t bat an eyelid. “S’true though” John slurs, “looket wha happened to Si” he wipes his nose with the backs of his fingers, the booze is making his mind slip. The older wizard bristles, “don’t start that John”, he’s serious. Yet, John is ignorant to it, the words just keep on spilling. “S’ma fault he had to leave” a laugh falls from his lips, it’s a solemn one, masking the real pain that his words bring to the surface, “ma fault he’s stuck teachin’ ‘ere” John’s chest hiccups.

“That’s enough!”

Price has raised his voice and it cracks the veneer that the booze has built up around John’s rationality. His eyes are wide and wet when he meets Price’s hard glare, whether or not the words are true, Price doesn’t want them speaking out into the open - because it means they mean something.

John watches as Price sighs, his thumb and pointer finger clutching the bridge of his nose, he refocuses his eyes on John before he opens his mouth to speak. “You did all that you could with what you had” Price reiterates, “if not for you John, then Simon may not be alive today” the words feel like a dagger to the gut, John isn’t ready to hear it all. The event itself is still so fuzzy, it was a blur of blood and teeth, the telltale sounds of agony as John tried his best to fully heal Simon before he was too late - to no avail.

Price is suddenly closer, and the wetness behind John’s eyes threatens to breach, “Simon appreciates everything you did John, no one could have done any better”, John shakes his head, forcing the dull throbbing-pain to creep back up on him.

He could have done better, he should have done better.

Sleep escapes John that night. He’s partly grateful for it, because he knows what waits for him in the darkness of slumber - the beast. As exhausted as he is, it’s hardly worth it in his eyes, he can brew up something to mask the fatigue, something to simulate sleep; but he can’t brew something to fix his shattered mind.

Not a cure at least. Draught of Peace could right him, but it would fade eventually, it wouldn’t last long enough for him to deem it worth while. It would just mask everything, it’d coat the surface but deep down he would still feel everything just the same.

The booze makes his limbs feel heavy, but his mind always seems heavier. He blinks slowly, seeing nothing in the darkness, he can hear Einar preening his feathers and he can hear rain beating against the windows. John tries to focus on those things, to keep himself awake, he can still relax, he just can’t fall asleep. He’s frightened, because he doesn’t understand, the incident and the nightmares must be connected - it’s too coincidental, but how?

John has never seen a creature in real life like the one in his nightmares. So he can’t understand why it seems so familiar to him, like he’s looked into those eyes before.

It’s too vivid, it’s too clear for him to not know what it means, when he closes his eyes even now, he can see it as clear as day.

As he lays in bed, trying to focus on the way the raindrops batter against the window, he hears a loud thud outside of his door, like it’s coming from the corridor. It makes him jump, he sits bolt upright in bed, quickly switching on the light that sits on his bedside table.

A few seconds pass by, and John listens carefully, his eyes wide and darting as he watches the crack beneath his door - looking for any kind of movement.

Another thud. He summons his wand into his hand, and despite the silencing charm on his chambers, he stays deathly quiet as he stalks towards his door. Another thud, heavy footsteps it sounds like, the beyond ancient floorboards of the school allow no one to sneak around.

John thinks himself stupid, it’ll just be a professor, or someone else wondering around the school. It’s probably one of the resident ghosts, there’s a number of them that float freely about the castle, some are nicer than others.

Just as John peels himself away from his door to go back to bed, a deep guttural growl bleeds through the crack under his door. It makes his blood run cold, the saliva in his mouth dries up instantly and his heart begins to race a mile a minute.

He’s heard that growl before.

John groans, suddenly clutching for his head, a deep shooting pain lodging itself behind his bad eye. Something inside of him cracks, whatever is causing the pain is connected to the nightmares and the strange beast he keeps seeing.

Without thinking, he swings open his door, wand in hand and poised to strike. Sweat gleams over his bare chest, he’s wearing nothing other then his ratty-plaid pajama bottoms, his chest heaves and his lips are bitten back into a sneer - not feeling at all ready to deal with whatever awaits him on the other side of the door.

He’s right to feel that way.

Simon stands alone in the darkness, illuminated by the soft amber light of the lamps that line the corridor walls. He looks oddly disheveled, sort of out of place. His clothes are askew and there’s mud on his hands, his hair is tousled and wet with what looks like sweat and - blood?

John is taken aback, he flushes with embarrassment, looking like a jumpy idiot, even an ex-Auror shouldn’t react quite as extreme as that. But he doesn’t know what to say or do, he lowers his wand and straightens his posture, eyes fixed on Simon’s face - it’s been so so long.

Simon’s face is devoid of any emotion. Even his eyes don’t shift or move upon seeing Johnny, nor does he react to having an Auror pointing a wand in his face, fully capable of blasting his head off if he had mis-identified him.

Simon simply stands still, and when his eyes do move, it’s only to look Johnny up and down entirely. From his bare feet to his wide-heaving chest, right up to his now mismatching eyes. His gaze lingers on the scar, on the mark of his curse, but still - Simon’s expression doesn’t change at all.

It’s only seconds that pass but it feels like hours to John. He stands stock still, processing the man that’s standing in front of him, a man he once called his friend.

Were they even friends anymore?

John watches as Simon moves forward, heading straight for the door that sits beside John’s room. He watches him unlock the door and step inside, without a single word.

John is left alone in the dimly lit corridor, his heart thumping against his sternum, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

What the fuck is going on?

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 8 months

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Glamour

In which Gale comes clean to Agnes "Agi" Wildheart about a glamour he uses. SFW.

“Knock, knock!”

Gale smiled to himself as he shut the book he was reading. Sitting in his tent, he had been anticipating the arrival of his lady. My lady. My sweet, talented, beautiful, amazing, kind…did I mention sweet? “Come in, darling!”

Agnes Wildheart peeked her head through the folds of the tent opening and grinned. “Hi, love. I have a surprise for you!” Closing the tent flaps, she walked to him and kissed him softly before taking something out of one of her many pockets. “Ta-da! Someone had some Waterdhavian chocolate, so I bartered some stuff I had lying around for it. I thought we might share.” Holding out the chocolate bar, her expression was bright as usual.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Gale. I love chocolate. I love her. I would love her covered the richest chocolate imaginable and lick it off her body, but… He put on his best fake smile and waved a hand. “How kind and thoughtful, my dear! However, I think you should have it yourself. You deserve it. A worthy treat for a beautiful lady!”

She raised an eyebrow. “But I want to share with you, love.”

No, you don’t. I don’t bloody need it. What I am going to need is another pair of trousers soon. They’re already so tight, and she’ll think I’m just—

Her smile turned into a frown. “Hey, are you okay? I can go if you want to be alone—"

“No, no! It’s not that. I want you…here with me! Yes, with me here! Us! Together!” Try to sound less desperate, man! He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I…” You need to tell her. Sooner or later, she’ll find out especially if we…you know… Gale motioned to the other chair in the tent. “Please.”

Agnes sat warily in the chair, still holding the chocolate. “Did I…did I do something wrong?”

Shit. He offered a reassuring smile. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong. Me, however…” Chuckling nervously, he felt his heart beating through his chest. “Well, a question for you, Agi---what do you know of glamours?”

She wrinkled her nose, her frow burrowed. “Glamours to change appearance? I casted one for a friend a while back for a theater production they were in.” Her eyebrow raised once more. “Why?”

Because I’m a weak and vain man. A hand traveled to his earring. “You see this isn’t just a very fashionable piece of jewelry, my dear.” He smiled ruefully as he touched it. I’m sorry. I’ve lied to you enough, and now here’s another fucking lie.

The glamour shimmered away.

Gale’s gaze was fixed upon Agnes.

“Sorry, was it supposed to do something?”

Gale blinked. “What?! Don’t you see?!”

Agnes squinted. “Well…you certainly filled your tunic, love…and your pants…and your hair is a bit grayer…” Her smile returned, her free hand touching one of his. “Still very handsome, if I do say so myself.”

Did she…No, she can’t have. But I think she did!!! Gale laughed nervously, bringing her hand to his lips. “My lady, you’re full of boundless kindness shown towards such an undeserving fool…” He had not noticed her put the chocolate on the side table, nor did he notice her move until she was standing in front of him, her face meeting his.

He did notice her kissing him. A slow, passionate kiss that Gale happily remembered they shared the previous night at sunset. His hands found their way to her wide, soft hips, while hers cupped his face.

“Gale love, look at me. Look at me.” She whispered, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“If the lady commands.” He chuckled, his eyes now meeting hers. We both have brown eyes. Can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.

“My love, I’m not angry about the glamour. I’m not angry at you. I’m just angry you felt like you had to do this in the first place.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips before continuing. “I’ve been teased about being bigger ever since I was a little girl. I didn’t think anyone would love me after a ‘friend’ humiliated me when I asked him out. But when I told Mum, she looked at me and said, ‘Agi, if they can’t love you inside and out, then they’re not worth it.’ And that’s stuck with me ever since. I love you, Gale---inside and out. I meant what I said about you still being very handsome.” Her cheeks turned bright pink, something Gale discovered quickly that he enjoyed. Such a pretty blush on a pretty woman. “And I bet you’re great to snuggle with—OH!”

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. He kissed her soundly and held her against him. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. “I love you.” He huffed, his forehead touching hers. “You’re a marvel, you know that?”

Wrinkling her nose, she giggled. “The Wizard of Waterdeep telling a sorceress of Baldur’s Gate that she’s a marvel? I’ll need to note the day and time for future reference.”

Gale barked a laugh. “No need. I’ll simply tell you every moment of every day, darling.” I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.

“If you do, then I’ll die of embarrassment.” Laughing softly, she kissed him. “But truly, you are handsome, and for a man nearing his forty-first birthday,” oh dear, her cheeks are red now. “You’re very sexy.” Ah, tomato red!

Gale’s eyes twinkled as he tickled her sides softly. “And for a lady just past her twenty-fifth birthday, you’re simply perfect.”

Giggling, Agnes lightly smacked his arm. “You’re also quite naughty, love. Come on, let’s have some chocolate and a cuddle.” She picked up the bar and sat on the bedroll, tapping the spot next to her.

“There’s nothing I’d like more, my dear.”

Gale stood.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

Agnes’s eyes widened.

Fuck my life.

“Oh dear, where those your pants? Don’t worry, I’ll make note that we need to pick some up next time we find a trader or inn or some shit.” She took out a small notebook, one Gale knew she used for inventory, and wrote it down. She smiled reassuringly at him. “All good.” She pat the spot next to her again. “Gale love?”

“One moment.” He undid his trousers and got them off, tossing them on the far side of the tent. Goodness, she looks like she wants to devour me. A smirk tugged at his lips. Nothing wrong with some flirting. I know she loves it. “Does the lady want the shirt removed as well?” He winked. Especially since she likes all of this!!!

Agnes nodded wordlessly, watching Gale in wonder.

Well, here goes nothing. He pulled the shirt over his head and then sat next to her on the bedroll. “What does the lady think?” Gale whispered, leaning into her ear.

With a gulp, Agnes nodded again. “Y-yes, very good.” She looked at him intensely, seemingly drinking him in. Raising a hand, she appeared as if she would reach out and touch him but stopped. “I had no idea you’re so hairy.” She said, a small smile on her lips. “That didn’t show up when we…erm, you know…had magic sex.”

He chuckled. “Magic sex is certainly an accurate way to describe the lovemaking we did in the stars, and yes, I am quite hairy.” Fuck, does she hate it? All signs point to no but let her answer. “Do you…?”

She quickly shook her head. “No! I mean, I like it. A lot. Makes you even hotter actually.” OH?!?!?! Her face was turning bright red. “I mean, you’re still really hot without it! And with it! And just…oh sod it.” Agnes opened the chocolate bar and shoved a piece in her mouth, causing Gale to laugh.

He shifted on the bedroll to be against her and pulled her into a hug. “I must say, darling, you’re very adorable when you’re flustered! I should do that more often!” Not all the time. Don’t want her to think I’m actually teasing her. I can’t hurt her…even a little. It would break my heart. Pressing a kiss to her red hair, he rocked her gently. “How’s the chocolate, my love?”

Swallowing, she sighed happily. Always a good sign. “So fucking good. Sometimes you just need some chocolate, you know?”

Gale gave an affirmative hum as Agnes broke a piece and held it up for him. As he bit into the chocolate, he recognized the taste immediately. Oh fuck yes. Master chocolatier Andresson’s handiwork. My favorite. And Agi likes it too. I’ll make sure we always have some at home…hold on, Gale. She may not want to continue this after our little adventure or may want to stay in Baldur’s Gate. Her whole life is there---family, friends, her puppy…

“A-are you sure you’re not tired? I could go, love.” Her worried voice brought him out of his increasingly depressing thoughts.

He closed his eyes. “Thinking too much.” Again. Always. Constantly.

Agnes turned a little in his arms so that she was not facing away from him. A hand began stroking the thick dark hair on his chest. “Stay here with me, love. Stay in the moment, Gale. Just think about us, right here, right now…everything’s okay. We’ve having a cuddle and some chocolate.” She murmured softly. “Want some more chocolate, love?” She offered him a piece, which he took and ate. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “I have an idea! Lay down and close your eyes!”

“O-oh? What—” Before he knew it, Agnes was laying down on the bedroll and looking at him expectantly. I suppose I better get right to it then. Can’t keep the lady waiting! He did as he was told and closed his eyes. “What do you have planned, my sweet sorceress?”

He could hear her smirking. “You’ll see, love.”

The air is filled with magic.

Her magic.

Wild.

Untamed.

Like her beautiful curls. Gods, how I love running my fingers through her hair.

“You can open your eyes now.” Agnes said in a soft whisper.

Gale could not stop the massive grin that appeared on his face when he opened his eyes. The ceiling of the tent was enchanted to look like a snowy winter night.

“It’s not nearly as impressive as when you changed the entire night sky, but I still think this is a good first attempt.” She said with a self-satisfied smile.

“First attempt?! Are you telling me, darling, that you’ve never done this before…just now?!” Gale sputtered.

Agnes wrinkled her nose and giggled. Gods, she’s so cute when she does that. “Well, erm…yes? I thought it would be nice to try to do. Make it even more romantic, but I didn’t want to copy what you did.” She turned onto her side and snuggled against Gale’s large hairy but apparently appealing belly. “I remembered when Mum and I went to see some relations up north, and there was a festival of some sort going on. It was snowing. People were everywhere having a great time. Lots of hot cocoa and tasty snacks. Children were ice skating…and I thought…maybe we could go sometime.” She’s touching my chest again. Goodness, she really does think I’m attractive. “I mean, that’s if you want to continue this when this is all over.” She added quickly, her eyes darting downwards.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Gale laughed heartily. “You needn’t worry about that, my dear! I’m afraid you’re stuck with this fool.”

Did I think I would find love with a beautiful dwarven sorceress while we both have tadpoles in our heads and I have a bomb in my chest?

Absolutely not.

Was I surprised that I found love with the loveliest dwarven sorceress with all the above happening?

Oh yes. Definitely.

Am I ecstatic that she loves me and wants this to continue?

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Giggling, she planted multiple kisses on his chest. “Well, that means you’re stuck with my fat ass.” She stopped, a smirk appearing on her lips. “You hear that Mystra? He loves my fat ass, and I love his! He’s mine now, so fuck off!”

***

After an amazing, romantic night, Gale applied the glamour. We talked about it. She said I can do whatever I feel comfortable with. I said I would be fine with keeping the glamour on around others, but when we’re alone, it’s off. As he opened the flaps of his tent, Astarion stopped his conversation with Halsin.

The vampire grinned, his fangs shining in the sun.

“So Gale, when are you proposing to dear Agi?”

“I-I beg your pardon!”

Halsin’s eyes went from Astarion to Gale and back again.

“My good man, if a woman told my deity to fuck off and that I belonged to her now, I would be buying a ring at dawn!”

When things are settled, I will.

Before Gale could response, Agnes (her face is as red as a tomato) smacked Astarion on the arm. “You naughty man! Gale can propose to me whenever he wants!” OH?!?!!?!?! Then I will write to Mother’s favorite jeweler immediately. “Now, months from now, years—”

“Not years, darling.” Gale snarked, pouring a cup of honestly not bad coffee.

Most of their comrades laughed as Agnes walked by Gale to pour herself some coffee. He always noticed the little full of love for me looks she gave him including one right now. He felt a wriggling in his head. His gaze locked onto hers.

I’d marry you tomorrow if I could, love. I honestly thought no one would be interested in me as a person, as Agi, because they know my last name. They know my mother is Countess Luci Wildheart, head of the Wildheart Ironworks. But you were…are! Oh goodness, you are interested in me and not only that—

Interested?! Darling, I love you.

Right yes! Sorry was getting to that. Anyways, you love me for me, and I love you for that.

I could say the same for you. Not interested in my power, my supreme command of magic, my boundless intellect—

Gale.

Of course! You love me the man---flawed, hairy, and—

Incredibly sexy!

So you say, dearest.

The connection between the tadpoles was severed just as Wyll began speaking to Agnes. He smiled to himself as he imagined him romancing her at that winter festival and picked up not one but two butter rolls.

If she doesn’t mind it…likes it even…then so do I.

#dwarf!Agi #BG3!Agi #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #Agnes Wildheart #chubby gale is canon i am not sorry #fat dwarf sorceress and fat human wizard find love on the road #body image issues #weight gain #these other other other other other two dorks #astarion bg3 #halsin bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #plus size tav

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unsightedjoker · 1 year

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Spider-man: ATSV NSR AU

Ok, I usually don’t post stuff and only reblog and like stuff but since i just watched Spider-man ATSV and I really liked it that it hasn’t left my mind and won’t leave it any time soon I’m still so hyped I feel like sharing this. I was on my way home when I started to listen to the NSR soundtrack and the inevitable happened just remembering the premise for the game and what happens in the movie I started connecting thoughts and this entire AU happened.

My writing isn’t the best to make a fanfic that does justice to my ideas at the moment and hell if I can’t write I have even worse at drawing so making fanart for this is also out of the picture.

For anyone who doesn’t know NSR (No Straight Roads) it’s an indie game from 2020 that’s very underrated from what I’ve seen. The plot is very simple a Rock duo Mayday (a guitarist) and Zuke (a drummer) enter a competition made to scout for new talents that want to join NSR, a company that besides functioning as a music company works as the main energy supplier for the city by using a Mcguffin that transforms music into energy. Anyways NSR turns out to be a group of EDM artists that have complete control over the city and never allow any other genres to join especially not rock, so after getting rejected and suffering a city wide power outage (which NSR is completely inmune from) our rock duo decides to start a revolution to bring back Rock and take down NSR by hijacking their concerts. If you have not played it take this as a recommendation the art style, gameplay and music are reaaaally good (worth mentioning the music for each boss is dynamic it starts as EDM but as you start having the upper hand the music turns into a rock version of the same song).

The premise for the game and having Gwen and Hobie right there in the movie made this AU inevitable in my mind so I’m sharing it here.

So the characters I’ll be using changing for the AU will be the two main protagonists and the 6 main bosses of the game.

First off the protagonists

Because it’s a guitarist and drummer Gwen and Hobie take Mayday and Zuke’s place that one seems a bit obvious to me. It can also be Gwen and Miles but I ended up choosing Gwen and Hobie. However instead of starting their movement after being rejected by NSR they’re fully into their revolution agenda and hijacking the EDM concerts

DJSS

The first boss is Dj Subatomic Supernova and honestly that one was also an easy pick as he directly fits with Spot, especially because of his last phase in his fight where his face breaks and it looks like a black hole ejecting black matter or whatever. They’re both also so self-centered and silly.

SAYU

Sayu is the second boss and consists of a virtual idol (like Hatsune Miku) made as a project by four adolescents so for the au she could be made by peni parker and the virtual reality spiderwoman (i can’t remember her name :’) ) but idk who else could be put as one of Sayu’s creators in this AU.

YINU

Yinu is a child pianist prodigy so for her I’d go with Mayday Parker, since Yinu also gets help from her mother during the fight I guess Mary Jane helps her or maybe Peter B. idk? It’s just that Yinu’s dad in the game is dead and that’s also one of the reasons she plays her piano because her dad taught her. Yinu’s character is supposed to represent the lack of control child prodigies have in their lives because their parents or guardians are in charge of making all the decisions during their youth so I imagine Hobie would spend a bunch of this confrontation telling her to go wild and start doing whatever she wants to do while Gwen would tell Peter or Mary Jane to pay more attention to Mayday and be a better single parent, culminating in the piano solo at the end of Yinu’s boss fight

1010

So this one’s a bit weird but hear me out. 1010 consists of a boy band made up by 5 robots that are almost identical with the exception of their color and hairstyle so in this case it’s five alternate versions of Miles Morales robots as a boyband while the original Miles (the one that isn’t a robot) is Neon J (the creator of 1010) in this AU. I ended up choosing Miles for this one because despite how much Mayday says she despises them she has a crush on 1010 and while Gwen and Miles wouldn’t really act like Mayday and 1010 respectively I still chose this because of that.

In a similar way Gwen has a crush on 1010Miles but she isn’t entirely into it because the Miles robots have an artificial vibe to them like prefabricated charm and personalities, they can fool a lot of people but not everyone. Once one breaks and the real Miles comes out to replace it they start focusing on him, Gwen and Miles throughout the fight start to realize they like each other mean while Hobie goesout of his way to show how he’s in the wrong as he should question the stuff they do and shouldn’t be following NSR, by the end when they defeat Miles he ends up accepting it and actually rooting for them to beat the remaining members.

I’m using an action figure as a substitute for robots lol

EvE

This one I reserved for my favorites Nadia (EvE) and Pavitr. Eve happens to be an eccentric artist and Diva that is the second in command because of her skill. There’s a couple of reasons I chose to have Pavitr in Eve’s place:

First, during the briefing before her fight it’s stated that the “instrument” she uses to make her music is her body and mind in contrast to all the previous artists which have actual specific instruments (from sinthesizers to a piano) which doesn’t explain much until you get to her fight and see her dance, she dances (and probably uses a bit of magic as well or something) to make her music. If I’m gonna give the ability to make music through the movement of their body to anyone it’s gonna be Pavitr.

Second, during her phases Eve shows she can warp the space around her in what she refers as the Diva’s realm and from what I remember the part of diva’s realm is supposed to be a reference to Deva’s realm and Devas are deities from hinduism if I’m not mistaken, so there’s also that.

Last but not least I like a bit of angst. In the game its shown Zuke and Eve used to have a good relationship as they were a duo and know each other closely to the point Zuke knows what’s going on in her mind while many don’t, however after a certain incident they disbanded. Similarly in this AU they used to be a duo until they received an invitation to join NSR, Pavitr wanted to share his music and art and be in contact with everyone in their community so he accepted, this however was a deal breaker for Hobie so they disbanded. Once he got his position Pavitr could share his music however after being put in a pedestal he no longer could keep in touch with his community as much when he wanted leaving him feeling isolated and only focuses on his craft now as a way to cope. Their fight besides being about taking him down would have the purpose of mending Hobie and Pavitr’s relationship.

TATIANA

This one was also very obvious Miguel takes Tatiana’s place. To begin they’re the respective leaders of their antagonistic faction but also majorly because the entire story of NSR and ATSV happens because both of them had a very specific personal problem and instead of dealing with it by themselves or getting help to solve it they decided to make it everyone else’s problem and never even try to recognize that maybe they’re wrong.

And that’s it that’s all I have in my mind

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lostinforestbound · 3 months

Text

WIP Tag Game

Oh my goodness, I've never been part of a WIP tag game before! How exciting!!! Thank you so much @dutifullylazybread for tagging me!

As part of this game I will tag @underdark-dreams, @graysparrowao3, and @el-tur-el! Absolutely no pressure!

This is a WIP of my fic Third Time's The Charm, the first chapter. I aiming for three chapters thanks to the title; this is Rolan with a M!Tiefling!Tav, who's implied to either be a fighter or barbarian type. I have the Tiefling body 4 type in mind when writing him! I plan to write this with Rolan's POV.

Just a disclaimer, it has not been edited quite yet so it may look a little rough, and may be rewritten later!

Later in the night, he just drank wine while Cal and Lia chat with the other Tieflings partying. The wine wasn’t good, nothing compares to Arabellan Dry, but what else was there to drink? Cal seems to be looking for someone in particular but isn't finding them. He looks disappointed.

As he wonders about Cal, he didn’t even notice the brute approaching him until his giant form sat next to him with his own alcohol, the bark of the fallen tree groaning from the extra weight. He covers up how it startled him quickly, tilting his head up towards the brute with a bored expression.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m here to drink.” He says nonchalantly, sipping on the bottle. “Impressive display of magic earlier.”

His nose scrunches up, yellow eyes settling on his flaming ones with a glare. “Was that sarcasm?”

“No. Are you self-taught?”

Why is he even asking?

“I am! And a man with many talents, is going straight to Baldur’s Gate to learn from the best: The Great Lorroakan.”

He sees the imposing Tiefling roll his eyes, putting his bottle down briefly to stare out at the water surrounding the camp.

Wait wait, why did he roll his eyes?

“What?” He demands, posture straightening as he grows defensive.

“Nothing. Just heard he’s a cad is all.” He mutters, deciding to pick the bottle back up and taking a long swig.

“Common gossip and rumors! He’s the greatest wizard in all of Baldur’s Gate. I’ve never imagined he would answer my letters.” He states with a happy sigh, idly swirling the liquid in his bottle. “I will become his apprentice as soon as I arrive. I cannot be late.”

The Tiefling stares at him for a moment, seeming to be searching his face. For what, Rolan had no idea. A lie?

“All right then. Good luck to you.” Tav eventually settles on.

“…That’s it??”

“If you’re looking for someone to argue with, find someone else.”

“You-“

“You talk too much.”

He settles a death glare on Tav's form. “Prick.”

Tav slowly looks at him with his own glare, determined to play his game. “Entitled fuck.”

“Dumb oaf.”

“Prickly bastard.”

They both stare each other down, faces too close but neither of them breaking their stare. He feels Tav's hot breath ghosting over his lips, and the tension could be cut with a knife.

“You’re insufferable.” Tav huffs, suddenly gripping Rolan’s jaw and kissing him firmly.

He moans in surprise at the force but isn’t against it. In fact, his face gets incredibly red and still before he remembers he can kiss back.

It’s not like this is his first kiss. He’s given and received kisses before, he’s not some kind of reserved prude. But this is first one that’s so heavy. Hot. He’s completely out of practice.

Something about being desirable to Tav makes him throb in his pants, though it also may be the way Tav's tongue is tracing his bottom lip, seeking entry.

#bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x tav #bg3 #forest-writes #holy rolan empire #wip

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firstofficerwiggles · 3 months

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Uhm, would it be possible to do a letter from both Luke Skywalker and Din Djarin? Like not at the same time but a romantic one where the reader is in a polygamous relationship with both of them for your 1200 follower celebration? If not a romantic one with Luke is just fine. Something sweet, lots of pet names maybe spicy but not a necessity. I’m 24 but I don’t know if you can tell by my blog. If you can’t like I said spicy isn’t necessary. I work in a care home for the mentally disabled helping care for people who can’t care for themselves and when I’m home I work on a novel I’m writing. I’d love if either of those could be mentioned in it. I don’t really have anything specific in mind other than maybe mentioning my hobby of painting landscapes. Maybe I painted Luke or Din one in it? I dunno.

This was an interesting idea so I came up with a bit of a twist on my original idea. Instead of a written letter, let’s say Luke was recording a message for you and Din just couldn’t stay silent and had to chime in. They’re on a mission together for the New Republic…

Luke: waving to the camera Hi love! We hope you’re doing good at home. This mission is off to an interesting start.

Din: leaning into view with a sigh If by interesting you mean we got lost and almost crashed, then yeah, it’s been interesting.

Luke: pushes Din lightly Now, now, don’t upset our sweetheart, we’re all fine, totally fine. Things might not have started well but they’re on track now.

Din: skeptical huff

Luke: sheepish smile So anyway, love, we’re here and we’re good, but we miss you very much. I hope your work isn’t too stressful today. You’re so kind and you take such good care of the people there.

Din: They’re lucky to have you, cyar’ika. He nods to emphasize his statement

Luke: all smiles Yes, just like we are.

Din: Just remember to take care of yourself too. We don’t want you to wear yourself out.

Luke: Yes, maybe take some time to do some painting, it always seems to relax you. And you know how much I’m looking forward to seeing that one with Din and me that you’ve been working on.

Din: You’re very talented, cyar’ika.

Luke: You’re incredible, sweetheart, we both appreciate seeing the art you create. He shivers a bit It’s getting a little chilly here, I wish you could be here for cuddles. I guess I’ll just have to make do with our tin can man here.

Din: does his oh really? helmet tilt I’ll make us a fire, I wouldn’t want your little butt to freeze. He chuckles and looks at the camera I wish you were here too, cyar’ika, you’re much softer and you smell the best out of all three of us.

Luke: sticks his tongue out at Din and starts a fire with his lightsaber

Din: laughs Well, look at that, our Jedi has many tricks up his sleeve. You don’t have to worry, cyar’ika, we won’t be too cold without you, but we will miss you like crazy.

Luke: softly smiling we’ll be home soon, sweetheart but until then remember how much I love you.

Din: I love you too, cyar’ika, with all my heart.

They cuddle up together by the fire and wave at you

Send in an ask for Wiggles' 1200 Follower Celebration

#the mandalorian #din djarin #luke skywalker #din djarin x reader x luke skywalker #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #wiggles follower celebration

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ratkingssillyboy · 7 months

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So I’ve been wanting to read the rest of the royal ranger series and figured I’d reread the main series first as it’s been around six years since I first found them, after reading the first book I’m just so glad that it holds up to how fantastic it was the first time and I have ALOT to say.

-The way that Will and Horace grow so much in just the first book, I mean we have Will whose main defence is running and finding a hiding spot but is still witty and a fast thinker to a brave resourceful determined young man. The training my boy is put through is ROUGH but he doesn’t even think of trying to get out of it or wishing he wasn’t a rangers apprentice, we get to see as he matures and simply grows into himself just…the steadiness he has in him by the end of the book, he has a long way to go but we get a glimpse at the man he’ll become.

Horace has an even greater arc, we see him as a simple minded bully (which he absolutely is in those early chapters) but then we see that he’s a natural swordsman who has his own insecurities. We then watch as he’s confronted with the trio of bullies and still unsure of the traditions and usual ways of battle school we see as he soldiers through taking their shit and STILL managing to keep up to a degree, the way that it still affects his school work and social life was perfectly depicted like on harvest day where he lashed out at those he cares about was brilliant but also him not keeping up with school work which when the issue is taken care of becomes much easier for him. But through it all we get to see as he matures, now he isn’t that bully we saw at the start he is a talented loyal friend who is willing to try and take down a boar to keep someone he’s been awful to safe and then witnessing Will do the same for him, making a promise that he soon fulfils regardless of his own injuries

Just watching Will and Horace, these two boys going from school yard enemies to the mature young men who would absolutely die for the other by the end of the book was fantastic, there was no force behind it like it felt so natural and easy once they were able to actually see the other and how far they both had come since the choosing, and it isn’t perfect there’s still tension but they’re friends

- speaking of the boar attack, when Will shoved his face into halts chest and cried? I sobbed as well, absolute puddle of a mess because of course Will would cling to halt after such a terrifying ordeal, and halt just?? Comforting him??? Like the heart attack this man must of had watching his son apprentice facing down a massive boar with a bow and two knives, that hug absolutely healed something in halt John told me so himself.

- I remember originally reading the books at age 12-14 and not comprehending why Will asking so many questions annoyed halt but now at the age of 20? I get it, I finally understand this poor tired middle aged man. Though the absolute dead pan wit this Halt gives Will with each interaction made me wheeze.

- Can I just say, Will meeting Tug? Like he has no idea that he's just met one of his most loyal dedicated companions, just them meeting and growing such a strong bond so quickly I mean the way Will was TERRIFIED when Tug came to his defence during the boat attack and Will could only think of the injuries Tug could get, Tug would not have been Wills horse for long at that point maybe a few months at most and already Will is so attached.

- Gilan, it's wild to think about the fact I'm now around his age? Like he's actually so young????? I just love his dynamic with halt, the respect he shows him while also being the little shit he is is perfect, and the big brotherly way he is around will I just know he's so proud and impressed by this little 15 year old, he absolutely has asked himself if he was ever that silly as halts apprentice (the answer is yes)

-Old bob is a national treasure, I know that man has hit halt on the upside of his head at least once, feel it in my bones

- JUST WILL CHOOSING HALT OVER HIS LIFELONG DREAM I know Halt was holdin tears l just know it, like everyone knew just how much Will wanted to be a knight and yet when offered HE DECLINED because he loves his dad

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

#rangers apprentice #the rangers apprentice #halt o'carrick #will treaty #horace altman

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