#first christmas on mount silver

[clanima]

💚❤️Reguri week Day 5: First Christmas together❤️💚

#digital drawing #pokemon #pokémon fanart #namelessshipping #reguri #reguriweek #reguriweek2023 #red #blue #or green whatever you call him #first christmas on mount silver #so you can taste the slight angst #mount silver #originalshipping

[margowritesthings]

Mr. and Mrs. Macintosh

pairing: Dutch Van Der Linde x reader

word count: 778 words

warnings: n/a

a/n: y'all can blame @cowboydisaster for this one. that is all.

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj

piece no. 2 of margo's christmas spectacular

Under the moonlight and the lights wrapped around the Bastille saloon, your wedding ring is practically glowing around your finger. Or maybe you’re just that damn happy that it’s bleeding into your senses, sending the world rose-tinted and magical. Either way, you don’t care. Why would you? You’re Mrs Van Der Linde. You could watch a pig take off in flight, watch Uncle get off his ass and actually do something for once and it wouldn’t phase you in the slightest. Well, the Uncle thing might, but you’re only human.

Dutch dismounts The Count first, holding out his hands for you. You attempt to slide down onto your feet, but he somehow manages to scoop you into his arms bridal-style. A giggle bubbles up your windpipe, escaping you and floating to your husband’s ears.

The hustle and bustle of San Denis dissipates around you both until it is just the two of you, sharing the first moment between you as a husband and wife.

“Why, my dear, you have made me the luckiest man alive.” There’s a glint in his eye you’re not sure you’ve seen before and it shatters all over you, sending shivers over each and every inch of your being. He is a smitten man, anybody could see it, and he was smitten for you. The great Dutch Van Der Linde, absolutely completely and utterly devoted to his wife.

“And you I, Mr. Van Der Linde.” You respond, lowering your voice at the mention of his last name so that only he could hear it. He grins at you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before setting you down firmly on the ground. You walk around to the mounting post, nimble fingers tying The Count’s reins around the splintered wood securely whilst Dutch retrieves your bag. 

The string lights reflect in Dutch’s silver rings, one of them being his own wedding band, when he extends his hand back out to you, chivalrously leading you into the saloon. There’s much less fresh air to absorb the party noises in here and the heat and volume hit you quickly. Dutch makes the bar his heading and you stick close by, squeezing his hand every so often just to feel the press of your wedding ring against the skin of your finger. Patrons inevitably brush past you, the saloon being as busy as it is, but you don’t really care. By Dutch’s side, you could face down the world. What’s a few drunkards? 

Besides, Dutch is walking with such a purpose, a power, that he’s almost parting the seas as he goes. Everybody in that bar knows you’re his, if not by the wedding dress on your back then definitely by the way he’s looking at you whenever he glances back to make sure you’re okay. It makes you feel hot under his stare, possessed. It’s… way more than you know what to do with in a room full of San Denis’ finest townsfolk. Luckily, it isn’t long before you’re at the bar, Dutch’s theatrical formalities forcing you to hold back a grin. 

“Hello there, sir! I do believe there is a room reserved for me and my lovely wife here.”

It’s impossible to tell how the bartender responds, as all you can hear is Dutch’s voice echoing around your mind. 

My lovely wife. My lovely wife. 

“-will just need your names here.” The young man with the towel over his shoulder and way too much pomade in his hair pulls the tip off his pen and opens the registry. Your hand squeezes Dutch’s once more as the realisation that you’re about to hear Mrs Van Der Linde out loud for the very first time.

Heart fluttering, you gaze up at Dutch, who grins suavely, proudly announcing “Mr. Hoagy Macintosh. And my wife…” He gestures to you expectantly, and you see the twitch tugging his grin into a smirk. He’s challenging you, knowing full well you cannot say or hear his alias without breaking into the most awful snorting laughter. He’s challenging you, because how the hell could you top Hoagy Macintosh?

“Millicent. Millicent Macintosh. We’re just married.” Your accent has more of a drawl in it as you flutter your eyelashes demurely, placing your free hand right on Dutch’s chest, the picturesque Macintosh family. 

You expect the questioning eyebrow raise from the bartender, it is inevitable. What you don’t expect is the stifled snort coming from right beside you. Dutch loses it and he has to cover his broken facade with a cough. And you know you’ve won this one. 

And you can’t wait for the next one.

Because you’re Mrs. Macintosh, the happiest woman alive.

#dutch van der linde #dutch Van Der Linde x reader #dutch van Der Linde fanfiction #red dead #red dead redeption 2 #rdr2 #dutch Van Der Linde x you #dutch Van Der Linde x r/n #dutch van der linde drabble #dutch van der linde fanfiction #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde fluff

[shakespearefreak]

💀 ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos from Josefina! 💀

I know it's not historically accurate, but when AG released the new Día de Muertos outfit, I immediately knew I had to buy it for Josefina. Though I am not Hispanic, Day of the Dead has always been very important to me, ever since I was a child. When a close friend of mine passed away some years ago, I made a small ofrenda for him that November out of things I had around my apartment. Since then, every year I've added more and made it more authentic, and a few years ago I learned how to make pan de muerto (which was my first foray into baking, so that was... ambitious). Sadly, this year my ofrenda grew in another way, too... I had to add offerings to three more spirits, one of whom only passed late last month. It's painful, but celebrating their lives through Día de Muertos helps. I am very aware, however, that this is not my culture, and do my best to celebrate in a way that is authentic and respectful to Mexican traditions, and keep it mostly private between myself and my deceased loved ones.

I put a lot of work into this: I switched out the headpiece and shoes for more traditional-looking ones from Josefina's Christmas outfit, as well as replacing the wide, white mask elastic with thinner black elastic, which I think looks much better. I made the flor de muertos by taking apart regular-sized silk marigolds, then cut the leftovers into mini petals for the cempasúchil path. The heart milagro was an earring charm I took apart and painted silver, the Catrina cameo was likewise an earring, and the jeweled bird was once a pin. The doll-sized pan de muerto was a gift from a friend, who made it with Sculpey, and the crucifix is from a rosary, mounted in some extra Sculpey he let me use. The candle flames were edited in, but other than that, I made only a few small adjustments. I was hoping to have a proper tiered ofrenda for her, and in fact I've already ordered one from Etsy, but it didn't arrive in time. Ah well, next year!

Disclaimer: If you are Hispanic and see any issues with this image/post, please let me know and I'll either edit it or take it down. Thanks in advance!

#technically it's now nov. 3 #but the photo was taken yesterday #american girl #dia de muertos #josefina montoya #american girl doll #doll photography #ofrenda

[jenelle-annalee]

Books Read in 2022

1. A Court of Silver Flames- Sarah J. Maas

2. Told After Supper- Jerome K. Jerome

3. The Crazy Ladies of Pearl Street- Trevanian

4. To Kill a Kingdom- Alexandra Christo

5. The Father Christmas Letter- J.R.R. Tolkien

6. The Book of Doing and Being- Barnett Bain

7. The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August- Claire North

8. Northern Lights (Golden Compass)- Philip Pullman

9. The Subtle Knife- Phillip Pullman

10. The Amber Spyglass-Phillip Pullman

11. The Skincare Bible- Anjali Mahto

12. The Popular Culture Reader- John L. Nachbar Wright Jack, & Deborah Weiser

13. Another Roadside Attraction- Tom Robbins

14. Angels and Demons- Dan Brown

15. The Da Vinci Code- Dan Brown

16. The Vintage Tea Cup Club- Vanessa Greene

17. A Woman of Independent Means- Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey

18. The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart- Holly Ringland

19. Humankind: A Hopeful History- Rutger Bergman

20. Goddess- Kelly Gardi

21. Wild Animals I Have Known- Ernest Thompson Seton

22. Femme Fatale: Cinema’s Most Unforgettable Lethal Ladies- Dominique Manon and James Ursini

23. Crazy for the Storm- Norman Ollestad

24. The Power of Body Language: How to Succeed in Every Business and Social Encounter- Tonya Reiman

25. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase - Joan Aiken

26. Coffee, Tea, or Me? - "Trudy Baker" aka Donald Bain

27. Fifth Avenue, 5 AM: Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tiffany's, and the Dawn of the Modern Woman- Sam Wasson

28. Audrey: Her Story- Alexander Walker

29. The Complete Films of Audrey Hepburn - Jerry Vermiyle

30. Audrey Hepburn: An Elegant Spirit, a Son Remembers- Sean Hepburn Ferrer

31. Gigi- Collette

32. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes- Anita Loos

33. Chalice- Robin McKinley

34. Dragon's Bane - Patricia Wrede

35. The Golem and the Jinni- Helene Wecker

36. The Prince and the Dressmaker- Jen Wang

37. The Path Made Clear- Oprah Winfrey

38. Lumberjanes- Shannon Watters, Grace Ellis, Gus Allen, and ND Stevenson

39. The Hidden Palace - Helene Wecker

40. Brazen: Rebel Ladies Who Rocked the World- Penelope Bagieu

41. Strange Practice- Vivian Shaw

42. Dreadful Company- Vivian Shaw

43. All Out: The No-Longer-Secret Stories Of Queer Teens Throughout The Ages- edited by Saundra Mitchell

44. The Library at Mount Char- Scott Hawkins

45. Grave Importance- Vivian Shaw

46. Verity- Colleen Hoover

47. Bravely- Maggie Stiefvater

48. 1602- Neil Gaiman

49. She Come By It Natural: Dolly Parton and the Women Who Lived Her Songs- Sarah Smarsh

50. Gallant- V.E. Schwab

51. Lore Olympus Vol. 1- Rachel Smythe

52. I'll Have What She's Having: My Adventures in Celebrity Dieting- Rebecca Harrington

53. Lore Olympus Vol. 2- Rachel Smythe

54. Moon Cakes- Suzanne Walker & Wendy Xu

55. The Tea Dragon Society- Katie O'Neill

56. The Tea Dragon Festival- Katie O'Neill

57. Travels with Foxfire: Stories of People, Passions, and Practices from Southern Appalachia- Foxfire Fund Inc.

58. My Year of Rest and Relaxation - Ottessa Moshfegh

59. Seance Tea Party- Reimenga Yee

60. Dolly Parton, Songteller: My Life in Lyrics- Dolly Parton and Robert K. Oermann

61. Lightfall: The Girl and the Galdurian

62. Tidesong- Wendy Xu

63. Name of the Wind- Patrick Rothfuss

64. The Girl from the Sea- Molly Knox Ostertag

65. Lightfall: The Shadow of the Bird

66. Neon Gods- Katee Robert

67. The Lighthouse Witches- C. J. Cooke

68. Six Crimson Cranes- Elizabeth Lim

69. I'd Rather Be Reading: The Delights and Dilemmas of the Reading Life- Anne Bogel

70. The Secret History- Donna Tartt

71. The Near Witch- V. E. Schwab

72. The Good Demon- Jimmy Cajole

73. The Illustrated Man - Ray Bradbury

74. Nettle & Bone- T. Kingfisher

75. Dracula- Bram Stoker

76. My Best Friend's Exorcism- Grady Hendrix

77. Batman: The Ultimate Evil- Andrew Vachss

78. World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments- Aimee Nezhukumatathil

79. Odd and the Frost Giants- Neil Gaiman

80. How to Hygge: The Nordic Secrets to a Happy Life- Signe Johansen

[beardedmrbean]

Prosecutors will seek to have a German-Armenian man accused of ploughing a car through a crowd in central Berlin kept in psychiatric care after he showed signs of mental illness, a spokesman for the prosecution said Thursday.

The 29-year-old has shown "relatively strong" signs of suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, spokesman Sebastian Buechner said, a day after a schoolteacher was killed and 32 other people injured in the incident.

The suspect, who had an unspecified medication at his home, has also released his doctors from their confidentiality pledge, he added.

Further investigations will determine whether mental illness was the cause of the crime, but a political motive is currently being ruled out, Buechner said.

The suspect is accused of driving into passers-by in a busy shopping district in the German capital, mowing down a group of teenagers and killing their teacher before crashing through a shop window.

The rampage happened just across from Breitscheidplatz, where an Islamic State group sympathiser deliberately ploughed a truck into a Christmas market in 2016, killing 12.

In Wednesday's case, the silver Renault Clio with a Berlin licence plate first mounted the sidewalk, hitting the secondary school students on a class trip, before returning to the road and then ramming into the front of a perfume shop.

A female teacher with the group from a school in Bad Arolsen, a small town in the central state of Hesse, was killed and a male teacher was seriously injured.

Frank Vittchen, a witness at the scene, told AFP he was sitting at a fountain nearby when he "heard a big crash and then also saw a person fly through the air".

The car drove "at high speed onto the pavement and didn't brake", he said, with its windows shattering from the impact.

Media reports of the suspect fleeing the scene and a confession letter found in the car had stoked fears the incident may have been a terrorist attack.

However, Berlin interior minister Iris Spranger had on Wednesday said there was no "conclusive evidence of a political act" and the attack seemed to have been "committed by someone suffering from psychological problems".

Germany has seen several car rammings since the deadly 2016 Christmas market assault, with most carried out by people who were found to have psychological issues.

In December 2020, a German man ploughed his car through a pedestrian shopping street in the southwestern city of Trier, killing four adults and a baby.

Earlier the same year, a German man rammed his car through a carnival procession in the central town of Volkmarsen, injuring dozens of bystanders, including children. He was sentenced to life in jail last year.

In January 2019, another German man injured eight people when he drove into crowds on New Year's Eve in the western cities of Bottrop and Essen. He was later taken into psychiatric care.

In April 2018, a German crashed his van into people seated outside a restaurant in the city of Muenster, killing five before shooting himself dead. Investigators later said he had mental health problems.

During the football World Cup in Germany in 2006, a German man rammed his car into crowds gathered to watch a match at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, injuring some 20 people. The driver was later committed to a psychiatric hospital.

#nunyas news

[mayhemproduces]

Riley Ishimori vs Julia Hart - Miracle on 34th Street Fight

On the jolliest night of MPW, old rivalries are renewed as Riley finds herself entangled with The Fallen once again, against the woman who took her place in Abigail’s army. Julia Hart, the new AEW TBS Champion has had a remarkable run in Mayhem already, and looks to continue her winning ways as the bell tolls. Anything goes in this street fight, but we’re starting with some simple mat based wrestling, as they circle one another. Julia comes in with a takedown, putting Riley on the mat and landing some grounded punches. She picks Riley up and smashes her face first into the turnbuckles, putting the boots to her. Clubbing blows as Hart comes strong out of the gate, and plants Riley with a swinging neckbreaker! Cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Julia goes for more forearms, landing in some kicks as well, as Riley struggles to mount any offense thus far. Going for an irish whip, Riley reverses. Julia sends her up and over onto the apron, and knocks her down with another powerful forearm!

Julia follows her out to the floor and finds a silver platter with nicely decorated cookies on them; green and red with intricate christmas trees etched with frosting. Before she can use it, Riley decks her WITH a Christmas tree! Riley slams the tree into Julia before grabbing the platter, taking a bite of the cookie, and hitting Julia with the platter! Riley finishes her treat before picking up Julia, and throwing her with a hip toss. Julia lands on the tree and slides off a bit, while Riley cartwheels over it, and nails her with a precise dropkick! Julia never saw it coming, and she certainly won’t see this coming, as Riley’s opening up her first present here… and it’s a candy cane wrapped kendo stick! She swirls it around for a moment before swinging it at Julia, cracking it over her back! Julia lets out a sharp, pain-filled scream as she arches her back, turning around, and taking another kendo stick shot to the stomach. She turns around again, but manages to grab the kendo stick on the third attempt, and nails Riley with a strong forearm. Riley stumbles back, and Julia wraps the kendo stick around her throat, choking Riley out with it!

Once Riley is red (and green) in the face, Julia lets her go and throws her back inside the ring. Before she joins her, Julia digs under the ring… and finds a pair of handcuffs, a small red, furry sack, and a whole string of Christmas lights. All of which find their way inside the ring, with Julia holding onto the lights.

Julia circles Riley before rearing back with the lights and whipping Riley with them! She whips Riley a second, third time, whipping her with them until Riley can get back to her feet. She pops Julia with a forearm, the two exchanging strikes in the middle of the ring until Riley can turn the tables on her, using the lights to choke Julia out! Before she can get it properly wrapped, Julia climbs up the ropes and throws them off, throwing Riley right out of the ring. Hart follows her out there and decides to open up a couple of rather large presents set up at ringside - and both are tables! Brody King quickly helps her set them up at ringside, but neither sees Riley until she grabs Julia from behind and smacks her face against the table. Riley lands a few quick forearm smashes, knocking Julia back. A big kick puts her down, and Riley sets her up on the table. She climbs to the top rope, but before she can do any death defying stunts, Julia rises from the table and joins her on the ropes. They jockey for position, trading barbs as Julia pulls her back down to the apron. Julia lands a few straight rights, but Riley shoves her back and lands a giant kick to the side of the head, knocking Julia back down onto the tables! Riley slips back inside the ring and runs the ropes. Using her momentum to jump clear over the top rope, and come crashing down onto Riley with a 630 senton! Holy shit!

Somehow Riley gets them both back inside the ring, and brings another present with her - two steel chairs! They’re both set up in the ring, seat to seat, hanging out precariously next to the corner. Riley sets Julia in the chairs while she climbs to the top rope. Whatever she was planning doesn’t come to fruition as Julia gets up and follows her there. They jockey for position, but in the end, Julia flings Riley from the top rope! Julia hangs upside down from the corner, but Riley not only flips over the chairs, but lands on her FEET! Before Julia can react, Riley charges. She uses the chairs as a launching pad to send herself off, colliding against Julia with a huge tree of woe hung dropkick!

Julia clutches her chest as she’s somehow able to roll out of the corner. Riley sizes her up and nails her with shoot kicks, pulverizing Julia’s chest even further. When she’s done, Riley turns her attention to more weaponry, picking up Santa’s bag. She unties the string and dumps it on the mat- and it’s a bunch of Legos! Oh no!

Setting up for another strike in the corner, but this time, Hart moves out of harm’s way. Another big forearm connects from Julia. Riley throws one back but it doesn’t have the same bite. Another big from Julia. Brushing herself off as she winds back, but Riley catches her with a big kick to the face! To the ropes, but Julia follows with an uppercut! To the ropes, but Riley catches her with a jumping bicycle knee strike! To the ropes again, but Julia cuts her off with a kitchen sink! Julia off the ropes, going for the clothesline, but Riley rolls out of the way. Julia skids, stopping on her hands and knees. Riley charges at her, using Julia’s back as a launching pad to springboard off the bottom rope, and spike her with a huge springboard Poison Rana! Holy shit, cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Only two on that one! Julia Hart has been extremely resilient, refusing to stay down no matter what Riley throws at her. And that may include this next gift - a barbed wire board. Riley slides it into the ring, but before she uses it, she kicks Julia’s leg out from under her and spikes her with a short DDT. Riley drags her on top of the barbed wire board, pushing Julia’s face into it. She grabs the wrists and pulls her arms back, hitting the inverted stomps into the barbed wire board! Ouch! Julia’s face gets stuck in the barbed wire, ripping her skin off!

Picking Hart back up, Julia gets out and grabs a steel chair. She drives it into Riley’s stomach, then nails her on the back with it. Grabbing the handcuffs, Julia quickly locks Riley’s hands together behind her back! Julia kicks her in the face a few times before getting the last present from Brody King - a glass light tube. Julia swings it around a few times as she waits for Riley to get up - but Riley ducks. Julia whips around, but Riley is already charging her, wrapping her up into a victory roll, and punctuates it with a double stomp! Julia’s stomach gets crushed again, but she’s back up on her feet rather quickly. Riley heads to the corner with Julia not far behind her. Bouncing off the middle rope, she twists and jumps to the top rope, nailing Julia with a Meteora! With no hands! Shoulders trapped on the mat!

1… 2… Kickout!

Julia kicks out! They scramble to their feet, and Riley has found a way to slip her arms under her legs, getting her arms in front of her now, and nails Julia with what we can describe as a double fisted punch, and breaks one of the handcuff’s locks to set one hand free. The other is still locked up, and she uses it as a weapon to beat in Julia’s bloody face some more. She goes for an irish whip, but Julia swings back into a sole butt, knocking Riley to her knees, and knocking her down with a buzzsaw. She stumbles back from the force of her own shot, but as she goes to grab Riley, Riley grabs the light tube. She stands and twists, swinging at Julia’s head like a baseball, and hits the home run! Julia drops to her knees, bleeding from her head, and Riley shoves her to the mat. The ties are tied up, Riley sinking into Beyond Oblivion, but instead of using her arm to choke Julia out, she uses the HANDCUFF! Julia struggles for as long as she can, but she has to tap!

“Here is your winner, Riley Ishimori!”

#match

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“The old lion, glaring”)

And so long-forgotten. Nor feel     another’s kiss should his main, and fret; till whatsoever     saw a man’s own nature’s truth; and sooth thy Mother’s terror     of the herd, as Cupid danc’d in hands, that with hymnes of     thing town became Christmas

the chief, he mighty crown. My heart     covetous and brightness of human dearth gives her eye, and     ioyes. Through her hard hold those, in the stricken eagles struck from     me. The old lion, glaring him with the bosom without     hands and coughs to climb the

middle ears forgetfulness; left     me downward smart; such false harts before arose: he let you     be; I ne’er youthful anodyne; with other open-mouthed,     and sacred fire; and strange, and thought, all-damning gold wide awake     I sought.—Such high upon

his or her, like his wish, and     through narrow sped to make, or by thy beauty with ease, whose     two great crop to seize thy face, acts what world doth cloaths on, when     he had never bore. For she weary eves; they did mine annoy?     But I said, thy voice—

I feel them now foredoom their     gaze ripe for flow’rs gaily spring through my unkind, poor, lonely     by its golden bars there in teares and their teeth, as     it must, and bulky worth is friend, and mow, we see lilies     wounds. So much too resplendour

out of his face with the fight,     married the land: yet not even the mud. But little band     to strokes thunder-passion the maidens faint on his stately     mountains, and lyeth buryed longings: and neither’d lips I’ll forget     till the bed to take

in despised I with ceaseless, voice     upon one so clear; and what our parts can be done. Making     eyes: and, rank and flouds that courteous was of the lakers,     intendeth, which most auaile, as their Sunday suits of shabby     grey; a cricket cap

was one who submits tongues fortitude.     There is twain, it is, the porcelain, and start and behold     how one can wander’d from all. Towards some shall tangle her     new one, settling into the world enough our humble in     his to the minutes more

in hear thee are the sacred sweep     on for me, the kindling snatch the lass made arabesques     made them a’ in safety to confess’d that turn addressed, slid     slowly from out their will reverse. My soul is still, and cutte     of dust, little care to

eat. Mind; her children faith pricked its     bonds broken so they rang to reuert, o ioyfull verse. No     melody of beer: his sphere, conceit of inwards; ’twas to the     lamp with none should have prevents the walls I have I dwelt in     their earnestly round arose:

he grassy mounts the statue-     like lilies which signified: they letting your own at Keswick,     and economy most fearful thing, and bind, deeming     on my master is Despair. Of flutes and precipitous     parting me but say to

heed, i’d bubble drooping in     Senses hate, and from the tann’d away by day with a smiling     the whole act express, to you, all out-told the cool and     curst magic, and hid her them all thou wilt thought. Of a forlorn     by a form, I see,

Walke in Elisian fish moving     points, no less to the expansion on hands she had gotte the     gentle was summ’d in awe. Whispers, gloom crept through the lassie     be; weel ken I my ain lassie, fair force she springs; by     that was they punish’d the

cause; where to loss of spangled carcas     about, and for all the crown a bulk of all his the     phrase but made of railing dressed and sky. What sometimes was my     seat, where dwelt an iron town She turtles passion of     demirep some please; from thy

Hand: with silver lakes forth a hangman     with the apples wound the day, and cries upon a dolphins     bob the church, the listen with modest I am but     those thee giue hem curds and empties, that come and for peace upon     the first good. Upon

him when like the world, and takes the     music in the walls sudden at home May with authority     be nearer heavenly huntress! For each lifted upon     they lead to save poore pedlar can claim: deep dells, as thirty     though there.—While them went

at last all depos’d or little     as their sheep. Blythe and belabour in delights myself for     ornament, didonis death of Zephyr bids a little     regalities of dancing by commits. It is to master     thought, and giving tomb.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #133 texts #ballad

[twistboat0]

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[conejaw6]

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#laser lights

[tteokdoroki]

he’s like snowfall | s.todoroki ʚ !! ɞ

❧ ;  SYNOPSIS. the idol group XHEROEZ is due to perform in america for the first time and as their beloved makeup artist— you’re expected to go with them. now... this would be the vacation of a life time, if it weren’t for their a-grade asshole vocalist, shouto todoroki.

❧ ; cpu characters. shouto todoroki x gn!reader.

❧ ; word count. 17.4K

❧ ; genre + rating. kpop idol!au, enemies to lovers!au, angst, fluff, smut, 18+, minors do not interact !!

❧ ; game warnings. - proceed with caution !! characters are in their twenties, todoroki being an asshole, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, handjobs, praise!kink, mentions of injury ( broken leg ), snow storms, being snowed in.

❧ ; streamer commentary. merry belated christmas? i hope you guys enjoy this fic, for me it was a little challenge to write since i dont write for shouto much!! but the plot was super cool to work with. this is a winter wonderland gift from emme’s server for @killerdabi !! <3 m.list. + tip jar. special thanks to @prinvil, @jirou-s + @bakugous-trauma for beta reading !! and to @shiggysvixen-archive for the idol group name <3

people always dream of being remembered for something when they die.

as shallow as it is, humans have an innate craving and desire to be remembered— to live their lives and go down in history for the impossible. whether that’s by breaking records or achieving the unattainable, humans crave recognition, humans crave a life that seems worth living to others.

like most people, you started out with a dream too— you wanted to dance, to sing on stage under twinkling lights and along with the harmonies of thousands of voices paired with your own. being an idol is all you’d ever thought of growing up and you did everything in your power to achieve that dream— you busted your ass throughout middle school and high school, saved up enough money to pay for your trainee days and to travel into the city every day for auditions and practice. even moving cities didn’t stop you, having to start all over again, but by fifteen, you’d signed up to a decent idol agency, worked hard on perfecting your vocals and dancing until you were sure you sounded like an angel from high heavens and you moved as fluid as the water rushing through streams and everything looked like it was going your way.

your debut was coming up on the horizon, the flavour of your chance to make your mark on the world just dashing across the tip of your tongue— the stage was so close, your purpose in life even closer and you could almost touch it.

at least until you couldn’t.

an injury to your right leg takes you out just weeks before your debut, the healing time far longer than your first ever performance scheduled for the big stage. the group you’d been preparing to be a part of to introduce themselves to the world while you recovered back in your hometown, blankets mounted high to block out your tears at night. you’re left dreamless and hopeless, unable to stand on your own two feet from then on— both physically and mentally. what good is a person who can’t support themselves? what life is worth living when you shoot for the stars and miss, crashing right back down to earth? the questions plague you every night, burn in your throat while you fight back tears and the urge to howl your pain at the silver moon.

however, the second company you’d started under after moving was severely understaffed and lacked organisation and maybe this was the universe giving you a second chance to grasp at your dreams. you helped where you could, using your natural and honed talent for dancing to help choreograph routines between attempting to do stage makeup on the trainees and other artists using tips from old fashion magazines you read on the trains home. if you couldn’t be on stage, then you’d damn well be right there beside it. when your injury gives out a year later and you can no longer keep up with the idols in dance, the stars are forgiving and the agency keeps you on as a makeup artist until you can have your surgery. while you don’t mind your job, prettying artists at the agency you had helped build from the ground— it's nowhere near where you want to be, there’s no glitz nor glamour, no millions of fans waiting to hear the part of your lips and a soulful tune reverberating in your throat...not as a makeup artist.

no one will remember you and your dedication from behind the stage curtain.

but if you could help others achieve their goals and dreams where you had failed, then so be it. you would push twice as hard, work even more just for them to break through earth’s barrier and float in the comfort of space and become one of its shining stars. that’s how you ended up working for the idol group, XHEROEZ— the underdogs of the idol industry and your little old company’s pride and joy. the members; kirishima, bakugou, deku and todoroki had debuted almost five years ago and found themselves on a quick rise to fame after their second mini album blew up the global music scene. never in history had anyone seen an idol group break down so many walls and gather so many records under their belt in such a short amount of time.

with world wide success, came many trials and tribulations that the group faced— but they had done well under countless years of pressure and hate, the company was so incredibly proud of them and you too believed that they would continue to do well for many years to come.

working closely with the boys since they performed for the world for the first time, you’d grown increasingly fond of them as the years went by— you’d met katsuki bakugou, the leader and main rapper of XHEROEZ, during your trainee days back in middle school, remembering him as the kid who worked hard and performed even harder during your trainee evaluations. he’d done so well for himself… not only become an idol but to lead one the world’s most famous boybands too, it was nice to see a friend succeed in that way too. you’d also trained with izuku midoriya, the main vocalist and visual too, he was as sweet as can be— in both his vocals even more so towards his staff and fans alike, you couldn’t help but love him. then there was eijirou kirishima, another rapper with the most incredible dance skills you’d ever seen. there were two more members just like him, a chaotic trio consisting of the red head, hanta sero and denki kaminari— both great dancers occupying the sub-vocalist and rapper spots. they were a group of wonderful boys who never made you feel bad for failing to reach past dreaming and push past the pain to get right up there on the stage. they were the closest thing you ever had to friends, working in the industry from such an early age you gave up most of your time for friends and being a kid.

you loved them so much, all of them.

but then there was shouto todoroki.

you could shiver at the mention of his name, a cringeworthy type of feeling running laps up and down the base of your spine every time you think about him, let alone breathe next to him. in your mind, shouto todoroki is the most insufferable person that you’ve ever worked with, taking the position of centre in XHEROEZ. you know that it's wrong to barely have a reason to hate someone, but there’s something about the dual haired idol that leaves you unsettled every time that you interact— he’s a nuisance to you but the perfect idol and performer to everyone else, he’s oh so talented at what he does, never makes mistakes, appeals to his fans with his quiet charms and angelic looks, suits every concept ever made so maybe you’re projecting a little…maybe you only hate him because he’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of being…but beyond the stage, behind the curtains— you’re convinced that he’s nothing more than a lazy and privileged celebrity.

you feel that he takes the idol life for granted, todoroki lacks motivation where his group-mates excel— you don’t even know why he’s doing this, living your life so selfishly and you hate it.

you hate him.

but it’s not like these feelings aren’t reciprocated, shouto’s made it clear to you that he doesn’t like you either, especially with the way he treats you compared to other staff—maybe that’s because you don’t walk on eggshells around him and cater to his skittish, bratty moods by treating him like a god in the way that everyone else does.

“you mind doin’ your job ‘n not diggin’ out my eye with that liner?” bakugou grunts from beneath your steady working hands—effectively pulling you from the depth of your thoughts and getting you to jump right back into the task at hand, fixing the blonde’s eyeliner.

rolling your eyes playfully, you pull back gently on the skin at the corner of katsuki’s own to draw a steady flick of black liner, humming in content at how it compliments the bloody and burgundy smokey shadow you’d done on him earlier. the boys’ most recent comeback had more of a sexy concept to it, so you were often doing darker, more sleek looks for their stage performances, like the music bank one they had scheduled for today. “there y’go, dummy,” you say, barely hiding the smirk on your lips as you flick katsuki’s forehead— exposed by the clip that keeps his hair out of his face so you can work. you pass the leader a hand mirror, letting him accept your work. “that better, pretty boy?”

the blonde idol grunts again but sneers gratefully at your handy-work on his eye-makeup. “shut the fuck up,” you’re close with bakugou, izuku too— having grown up together at your previous agencies, you were comfortable enough to joke like this with one another and you found that treating the boys as your own friends helped them relax before a show. “this liner better stay put on stage.”

“foul language and doubting my skill? who knew idols could be this mean, you sure you’re in the right profession, katsuki?” you taunt back, making the performer close his eyes so you can powder him up and set down his make-up. you can tell by the quirk of his lips that he’s going to reply but a voice you hate that you had grown to recognise cuts through the backstage bustle of the dressing room.

“sorry i’m late everyone,”

and in he comes, the devil himself in the form of shouto todoroki. your eyes flit upwards as you take in his appearance— his lean body that could be mistaken for that of a dancer’s, draped in casual sweats while his hair remains ruffled and his face is slightly puffy from sleep. todoroki looks a mess, arriving late for his schedule too— which only creates more work for the members and staff around him.

“is that the half ‘n half bastard?”

bakugou all but yells, face twisted into such a comical way that between hushed giggles, you almost forget to remind him to relax so that he doesn’t ruin the makeup you’d done for him. “will you ever stop callin’ him that, man? it was funny the first few comebacks but now it’s just getting old,” kirishima speaks next, keeping his tone airy and playful as he approaches you and his hot tempered band mate. throughout the group’s history, shouto had been recognised as the member with a split dye job and katsuki’s nickname for him seemed to stick. slinking up to bakugou, who’s pouting in his chair, eijirou crosses his toned arms over the armrest. you can tell he’s just come over from hair, since there’s a curler in the red-head’s bangs and his luscious locks— so adored by his many fans— have yet to be gelled and styled into place. “and keep it down, midoriya fell asleep in the stylist chair again,”

“todoroki’s still a bastard, even without his stupid half ‘n half hair. that idiot can never keep to the fuckin schedule!” bakugou scolds just loud enough for his other member to hear, todoroki rolling his eyes as he passes by you to check in with another stylist. you don’t miss the way he glares at you too, making you scoff and find distraction in touching up bakugou’s slight lip colour.

“whatever you say, bakugou,” kirishima hums at his leader’s words but easily distracts himself from the tension between his two members by watching you gently pat some glitter into the inner corner of bakugou’s eye for the finishing touch of his stage makeup. “oh wow! you think i could get a look like that for this stage, yn? y’always do such a great job!”

katsuki is quick to jump in. “trust me, y’don’t want them doin’ your makeup, they almost jabbed my fuckin’ eye out.”

pinching his ear with one hand and smiling gently, you point your brush in kirishima’s direction and shake your head. “next time eiji, i’m sure mina will do a great job on your make-up today,” you remind him softly, holding your smile until the rapper is called to his chair for the rest of his styling. you slump after that, poking a resting katsuki in the cheek with the same brush, pouting at him.

“what?” he spits, eyes still closed.

“i don’t wanna be done with your makeup” you whinge, poking the leader of the group again. “i don’t want them to make me work on todoroki next,”

bakugou cracks an eye open, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his lips— annoyance written across the rest of his face since you’re disturbing his only rest before the performance. “you still have kaminari and sero t’work on. good luck with that,” he offers up to you, but you’re not sure if you want to work with that chaotic duo either...they never sit still long enough for you to finish their looks. “dunno why y’hate half ‘n half so much either. he’s not a bad kid, he’s just got a bad fuckin’ attitude and a weird way of approaching things sometimes.”

mouth opening and closing, you don’t bother to argue with bakugou anymore— for he’s already leaning back in his chair to get some shut eye before the show. you hate that he’s right, that he makes you see how illogical it is for you to hold such a grudge against shouto todoroki...but you can’t seem to help it, a burning rage simmering underneath your skin every time the red and white haired male so much as breathes near you. you don’t dwell on the thought however, your magic hands and work was needed elsewhere, so you drift off deeper into the dressing room to try and pin down sero and kaminari for their stage makeup.

about five minutes before the stage, the CEO of your company, fierce wings entertainment — keigo takami, otherwise known as hawks, swings by the boys’ dressing room for a last minute pep talk. all six of the artists you work for gather in a circle around their boss, energy flowing and hearts racing at the thought of being able to sing their hearts out on stage for their fans. “try not to overwork yourselves on stage today, kids,” hawks starts sternly, looking each of the boys in their eye. “we’re jettin’ off to the states for biggest show of your lives tomorrow. the jingle ball. so imma need all of you in tip top shape!”

“yes sir!”

keigo grips the boys by their shoulders, shaking them a little more to emphasise his point. “it doesn’t matter if you don’t bank a music show win today, we’re onto bigger and better things right now.”

“we’ll still aim for a top spot, we didn’t work this hard for nothin’!” sero quips proudly, and denki throws a thumbs up into the circle in agreement.

deku nods too, seemingly shaking the sleep out of his eyes to psych himself up too. “we’ll try our best hawks-san! we won’t let you down!”

the energy is flowing, excitement trickling into the idol group and you stand on the sidelines— wishing so badly be a part of something like this too. kirishima puts his closed fist into the circle for a fist bump, boosting all of XHEROEZ’s morale for the show. “we got this guys, just remember,” he winks, showing off his toothy smile. “we can’t lose as much energy as todoroki, not when he doesn’t have any to begin with!”

the quick roast to todoroki is harmless and seems to send the group into a frenzy of happy and nerve calming laughter— just what they needed, although you don’t miss the way todoroki himself scoffs as the boys do their best not to ruffle his perfectly crimped hair. with a quick thanks from hawks and a congratulations for their hard work, XHEROEZ is ushered onto a stage with an audience of screaming fans waiting to hear their newest title track.

you watch them effortlessly perform their choreo and carry their vocals over the monitor in the dressing room, swallowing to keep the green eyed monster of jealously down in the pits of your stomach. that should be you, you should be up there on stage with hundreds of people screaming your name but instead, you’re here with a stupid broken body that won’t move the way it used to and a broken heart that just isn’t in your dreams anymore.

the boys are all perfect, moving in harmony and your heart jumps as todoroki takes over the screen, heavenly voice dancing through the speakers and taking you right to heaven. you hate that he’s so perfect, so flawless without even having gone to rehearsals. you hate him, you hate him, you—!

“you’re still up to the challenge in the states, right?” hawks interrupts your self-destructive and chaotic train of thoughts, a hand on your shoulder as he comes to join you watch the performance. “america is a whole new playing field for these boys, it’ll be nothing morning like back home.”

keeping your eyes on the monitor, you nod, not wavered by the blonde’s words. “yeah i am,” your voice doesn’t waver, but your face twists when todoroki appears on screen again. “i hope you’re not doubting me, keigo, sir.”

he chuckles in response. “no, never,” he’s not looking at you, but you can tell that keigo is amused. out of every artist and member of staff at fast wings entertainment— you had been with the company the longest and had shown your loyalty to him through the highest of highs and lowest of lows. he understood you, understood how you struggled when you couldn’t debut due to your injury and how it was to sit on the sidelines and watch everything you’ve ever planned for yourself be lived out by someone else. “i’m glad you stayed on with us...even after your injury. i really appreciate everything you’ve done for this company and for these boys. they’d both be nothing without you.”

your leg throbs at the mention of your injury but when you spare a glance at hawks, his head is tipped back and eyes are closed with his infectious grin. “yanno, shouto kinda reminds me of you in some ways. especially as a trainee,” hawks says quietly, patting your shoulder again. “he’s a perfectionist, don’t ya know?”

hawks leaves you then for an incoming phone call, something about the flights for tomorrow and you scoff to yourself, finding the fact hard to believe.

you and shouto todoroki were nothing alike.

how could you be? when his idol group was bringing back a sixth award for their comeback while you were just their lowly makeup artist.

you do rise to the challenge hawks had set for you, but almost thirty minutes late.

hitting snooze on your alarm at the start of one of the biggest weeks of your career had almost cost you a flight from japan to the US to help the boys perform at jingle bell— and now after a fight with your luggage and an angry phone call to your taxi driver, you were rushing through the airport to meet up with the rest of the team taking XHEROEZ abroad to perform. with a text to hawks you’d located the group just outside of a coffee shop, decked out in masks and shades to hide the identities of the idols as they lounge about and wait for their early morning flight.

relieved that you haven’t missed anything, you rush over, tailed by your stupid two-wheel suit case which bumps the back of your sneakers every once in a while. you look down to fix the damn thing when you suddenly collide with a warm wall of flesh— an even warmer, almost scalding liquid seeping through the fabric of your shirt but for some reason you find that you’re moving to apologise first.

“i’m sorry—“ that is until you look up. grey and cerulean eyes bore deep into your own while the green eyed beast of jealousy makes its home in your chest cavity— pressed up against bare bone and your slippery organs as they struggle to let the oxygen rattle through you. “shouto.”

the apologetic tone in your voice falls flat as you realise the dual toned idol was the culprit of bumping into you, dumping his sticky early morning latte loaded with sugar and cream and all sorts of syrups all over you. you see a smirk twist on his lips, just barely indicated by the quirk in the corner of his mouth and it makes you vibrate with a flash of red, in the shade of rage. you hate him.

“watch where you’re going,” todoroki says cool and collected, he utters your name once before bringing his cup to his lips— seemingly having saved half of his drink from ending up on you. “wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

it takes all of your strength and the will to keep your job to stop yourself from knocking out the idol group member. “you should watch it,” comes your malicious snarl, that only serves to fuel the kind of hold todoroki has over you. he stands up, straightening his back as he towers over you and hums with disinterest— as if your little interaction is entertaining him while it serves to piss you off more.

“why? i’m the one with an insured face. you’re the one with a job to do.”

god, that lazy cocky bastard was going to make you lose it.

mimicking his stance, you too straighten your back and puff out your chest a little bit, steeling your eyes as you counter him with your own argument. “well I’d be able to do that job if you weren’t always running late you little—“

“there you two are! we were beginning to think you were late!” your arrival to the scene is noticed by the sweetheart, deku, first and you smile brightly— or as best as you can— while he approaches, watching his own corner of his lips quirk down to a frown when he senses the tension between you and his bandmate. “oh.”

yeah, oh.

todoroki shrugs, seemingly more interested in bothering a tired bakugou than a tired you and fucks off elsewhere, leaving hanta to your rescue. god bless him and the baby wipes he’s being made to hold in his carry on. hawks gives a quick briefing of the days schedule when everyone is finally gathered together, yawns interjecting his fast paced speech as he does so. “there’s gonna be very little time between landing, checking in and sound check so be sure to eat up on the plane. use the company card.” his words only earning groans from the idols and their team.

“but plane food sucks,” kaminari whines, the only way you could tell it was him was from the signature twang in his voice fans seemed to love— for a black baseball cap covers his electric yellow hair. the sub vocalist flings himself over bakugou, amber irises swirling with fake tears as he begs the other blonde to do something about their brutal schedule.

sneering with annoyance, bakugou can’t help but agree. “we gotta find time to eat, boss. denki’s brain won’t last that long.”

“hey!”

“i’ll treat you to room service when we land, team dinner after rehearsals. is that a deal?” the CEO taps his bottom lip, grinning when everyone nods in agreement. “don’t forget, we’ll be vlogging the experience for the XHEROEZ youtube channel. feel free to record whenever you’re ready. cameras are on jirou, okay guys?” another nod from the idols.

all except for todoroki.

you don’t even have to be near him to feel the annoyance radiation’s from his body— hearing it in the scoff he lets out and the way kirishima’s sneakers scuff against the squeaky clean airport floor as he pushes the red head away, the rapper claiming that vlogging could be pretty fun. another way to connect with their fans.

rolling your eyes, you cross your sticky coffee glazed arms. “of course he wouldn’t wanna film,” your cool gaze meets shouto’s from between your fellow coworkers and the idols you work for, he shivers as if he’s gotten frost bite but you don’t break eye contact— elbowing katsuki to deliver the rest of your joke. “he’s too lazy to keep up with his usual schedule,”

the boys let out a chorus of ooo’s, deku swatting you for your words, kirishima pouting with his arms protectively around the aforementioned male while sero and kaminari burst into a fit of laughter— you barely gauge a reaction from their leader, who shakes his head at your antics. you would have taken this a win against your sworn enemy, but hawks quickly brings you all together for your flight leaving at terminal three and the cameras follow— given out to each of the boys and shouto’s on screen personality begins to shine while you make your way through.

you hate that, how easily he switches from being disinterested in his life, his career, to being so alluring— dishing out fan service left and right. it was hard for you to process, how fake his emotions seem towards the very people that let him live out his dreams. todoroki shared the camera with his green haired band mate, filling the device with clips of cute expressions and asking one another about the upcoming trip— which you ignore in favour of accepting your board pass as members of staff hand them out.

“so, who has the pleasure of sitting next to me?” you coo, checking over your plane ticket for your seat number before you tuck it into your passport.

husky laugher echoes in your right ear, hanta rubbing your shoulder warmly. “heh, well about that…” he trails off, barely whispering your name.

you squint. “what about it, hanta?”

the group of performers fall silent, no one wanting to own up to the games they’d played behind your back. “well you see,” eijirou buts in next after a prompt elbow in the ribs, turning to you with his signature sharp toothed smile. “you snore on the plane and…”

“we need to get a lot of rest for this flight…” izuku chimes in next, ever so sweet— his sunspot freckles stamped over the red hue on his cheeks making it hard to stay mad at him as he guides you onto the plane— shielding you from possible crazed fans even though it should be the other way around. as big as they were, private flights weren’t so affordable to the group yet so first class had to do for now, meaning odd encounters like this, even as security staff but in however. “so we…”

“oi dipshit!” seemingly having had enough of the prolonged explanation his band mates are giving you, your long time friend and rapper katsuki throws you an amused chuckle from over his shoulder. you’ll never get over how foul mouthed he is for an idol. “they played rock, paper, scissors t’see who’d sit next t’ya on the plane, ‘cause truth be told no one wants ta! you snore like a bitch.”

you gasp, nose scrunching as denial weaves its way into your voice. “i do not!”

“you do!” the members of XHEROEZ chorus, making you huff and cross your arms.

“you all suck.” comes your petulant retort. well deserved you might add, as it turns out, shouto todoroki had drawn the short end of the stick and you too— for you would both be seat mates for the next eleven and a half hours.

“don’t sleep on me.” the dual haired boy snarls as he throws his carry on into the overhead cabin, taking up the last space on your side. you shoot him a nasty glare, one that could have put him six feet under if only it could kill.

“don’t lose Rock Paper Scissors next time, asshole.”

———

arriving in the states did not go as smoothly as planned, which definitely caused your boss, keigo, some stress.

the fans in america are much more rowdy than those back home— of course all fan bases love the boys equally as much, but there were so many screams and attempts for signatures from the boys had put a little dent in the schedule as security had taken a while to help the team through the uncontrollable waves of people. it takes an extra hour to get through customs, there’s traffic between the airport and the hotel and another swarm as sleek black cars carrying japan’s most treasured idols slip through the main city of NYC to get to their hotel.

the boys, they love the attention, however— getting to greet their fans from another country is surreal and meaningful to them and the smiles never leave their faces all the way through check-in. after that, bags are dumped in rooms and they along with security and their CEO head to madison square garden for a rehearsal and to meet other artists part of the line up for this year. the rest of the staff, makeup artists and stylists, are free to roam the hotel until they get back.

a room in a five star hotel is not a luxury you could afford on your own, even with the salary you earn from working with one of the world’s biggest boy groups— the four digit numbers in your bank account wouldn’t even begin to cover the cost of the high thread count imported sheets that were neatly spread across the bed you would be staying in for the next few nights. you’d never been in a place as pretty as this, just walking through the reception as your jaw locked lower than usual, especially with the high ceilings and crystal chandeliers hanging above your head every ten steps. marble arches up high, accented by potted plants you’ve read help improve air quality, staff members and hotel clerks stop you every once in a while to offer you complimentary drinks and candy and you can’t help but be in awe.

you could never afford a place like this on your own and the very fact almost stings.

fuck it, it does sting.

because if you had made it as an idol, you would have been leading a life like this— where jetting off to new locations to perform and staying in hotels that cost more than your yearly rent for just one night would be the norm for you. you wouldn’t ever take opportunities like this for granted, counting them as blessings. but you’re here, on a job as a makeup artist and this could never just have been the result of your own hard work towards your dream. so instead, you fiddle with the tinsel taped to the underside of the desk at reception as you ask the clerk behind it whether or not the hotel does room service.

you hear him say ‘yes’ under the faint sound of christmas music played on a piano and head back upstairs to your floor, deciding to unwind and relax before your week gets too hectic. getting back to your room, you order a big american cheeseburger and fries to pair, deciding to take a hot shower to wash off the grime from your flight while you wait. the overwhelming scent of coconut milk and orchids do enough to melt the bad feelings from your brain too.

you’re halfway through throwing on a complimentary cotton robe when voices can be heard behind your door and you almost think it’s your room service order already.

“that rehearsal was complete shit,” you hear a familiar gruff voice call through your door— placing it as none other than katsuki bakugou’s, which means the boys must be back by now.

kaminari speaks next, tone mocking and playful. “s’only cause sho couldn’t follow the music, his rhythm was completely off!”

“because someone made me sit next to that god awful makeup artist of ours, i couldn’t concentrate because i barely got any sleep!” his voice seeps into the conversation buzzing between the members of XHEROEZ. it was common knowledge to anyone that neither of you liked each other, the rivalry you had seeming more one-sided on your end more than anything— but the way todoroki speaks about you now is more malicious than anything you’ve ever heard. cruel and uncaring, and it makes your stomach twist to know that he really just doesn’t like you.

the voices agree, sure your snoring is loud— they say— but they don’t think you’re god awful, they like you and that’s okay. it’s okay. at least the other boys like you, right? but todoroki doesn’t stop there, as they get closer, he only seems to grow hotter, angrier as he talks about you— a stark contrast to his cool and collected nature around you usually. “they’re so loud and inconsiderate of their noise, not to mention how they’re always picking a useless fight with me.” shouto might as well be singing his hatred towards you, mean and fervent words sewn together like lyrics to a song.

“don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? they do a lot for us, a little snoring can be ignored right?” god bless eijirou kirishima, for he defends you without a trace of doubt and your heartbeat picks up as you begin to lean against the door, waiting for todoroki to answer. why do you even care for what he has to say about you? you have no idea.

“not in the slightest,” the younger, dual haired idol retorts venomously, as if talking good about you leaves a bad taste in his mouth. they’re all right outside your door now and you can see the weight of someone you assume to be todoroki’s palm resting against your locked door handle— he hasn’t noticed yet and the other idols seem to warn him of that. deku softly reminds him that this isn’t his room, sero too but he’s too wrapped up in bitching about you to care. “what good have they done for me? if anything, my being an idol— us being idols, provided them with a job. not the other way around—!”

todoroki presses down on the handle again and you choose that exact moment to open the door, letting him stumble into your room— his last words being your final straw. your job, be it as it may, not what you wanted to do with your life...was a result of nobody else’s hard work but your own. you were the one that had gotten you this far, you had no help, you did it all on your own and god damn anyone who said your efforts were useless. you were proud of what you had achieved but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to hear someone else say you were practically worth nothing.

so you hoped it hurt shouto todoroki more to come face first with the ground while you towered over him.

the boys gasp, standing crowded around the door with sheepish expressions and apologies ready on the tips of their tongues but they all cease one they realise the force of your rage is directed at their vocalist instead of them.

“fuck,” todoroki says your name, no more than a whisper under his breath while his cool toned eyes gaze up into yours with something you can’t quite place, something that looks like remorse. “how...how much of that did you hear?”

when you gaze down at the idol, you notice the way he speaks to you slowly and the shine of his insured and shiny pink glossed lips as if to distract you with what his fans might like— as if you’re to be swayed by something like that when those same lips utter such poisonous and mean spirited words. you wonder what his fans would think if they heard shouto talk like that.

“you should be more careful with how loud you speak in public hotels like this,” you keep your voice even, don’t let your emotions slip through the cracks, not sadness and certainly not joy when you see todoroki’s bottom lip quiver nervously. “you wouldn’t want to get caught in an idol scandal, would you? you never know who’s listening.”

both todoroki and his band mates are left gobsmacked, perhaps they had been expecting a larger reaction out of you but you choose not to give either the satisfaction— slamming the door shut just within an inch of shouto’s fingers and sliding down the door to catch your breath, soothe your heartache before it starts.

the next time someone appears at your door, you wait for them to call room service before you let them in.

———

“what am i doing here again?”

you yawn, rubbing your eyes as a woollen hat not belonging to you is tugged over your head. bakugou tsks, standing half a head taller than you while he wraps you in a scarf. the other members of XHEROEZ are in similar states, yawning with their noses tucked into the fabric of their clothes to fight off the biting cold running through the new york air.

“is there something on the schedule that i missed? thought today was our day off.”

bakugou sniffs once, satisfied with his work. “s’not on the schedule. the boys and i are taking you out today,” you quirk a brow and he elaborates. “as an apology.”

flickering your stare elsewhere, you try not to think about the little show from last night or the awful words that trickled underneath your hotel room door. “for bitchin’?” the colour in your eyes finds izuku goofing off with todoroki and kaminari for their vlog and you see how seamless their bond is, something you craved for— to be part of a team like this.

“f’bitchin’, was todoroki’s idea.”

the blonde leader doesn’t say much more as the cars arrive and security loads each of the boys into them in groups of three. you end up with katsuki, sero and todoroki and the drive was as awkward as you could probably guess. apparently at the dinner you’d skipped last night, the boys found out from hawks about your failed idol career and how it landed you a job in the same industry that failed to look after you and catapult you towards your dreams, they’d learned that without you hawks’ entertainment company would have nothing but a bad reputation and bankruptcy— you were one of the reasons they were even able to debut along with their senior artists and trainees.

so taking you out for the day, to experience this new city and live the idol life for just a day was their way of showing appreciation and despite it being shouto’s idea, he makes no efforts to actually apologise to you— in fact, he avoids you for the whole day. he separates from the rest of the group when you guys wonder through the art exhibits at the gagosian gallery while you goof off with the others, taking silly videos on the camera’s jirou had assigned them. you felt bad that she’d spend hours scrubbing you out of the footage to make sure you couldn’t be seen or spark any fan-theories on who that person was or were the boys dating? however it was more fun to cause chaos amongst the fanbase.

todoroki does the same when XHEROEZ gets a private session at the ice rink by the rockerfeller centre— shut down to the public only because of the weight of their fame and their dazzling smiles. kirishima’s shaky grip on the camera showcases the atrocious figure skating skills of his band mates, midoriya stumbles a little too much on the picks of his skates— stabilised by your arm while katsuki glides right across the ice as if he was born to. he could be a skater in his next life, hanta too but they both twirl a little too much and end up on their butts once they collide. kaminari chokes on his laughter and shouto missed out yet again.

in fact the only time you do bump into the dual haired idol is on your way out of the bathroom— a smile spread wide across your frost tinted cheeks because this is the most fun you’ve had in such a long time, not having to worry about the doubt on your mind...but then.

then seeing him, seeing shouto and his blank face, the lack of remorse or feeling in his cerulean and cloudy grey eyes brings it all back. how cold he acts towards you brings your walls back up and your happiness back down and even though this is his way of apologising, you don’t really feel that much better at all.

his words from the night before ringing in your head.

‘that god awful makeup artist of ours,’

'what good have they done for me?’

blinking, you don’t even realise how much time has passed and how long you’ve been focused on todoroki’s words for— frowning at yourself for focusing on him on the day that’s supposed to be about you. yourself, XHEROEZ and their security huddle around each other, in line for your first taste of american street food from a polite vendor— you let sero place an order for you, while you keep your gaze set on the landscape of New York City. the snow here is different to that of japan, it’s heavy and thick. rough as it falls and bites at your nose and cheek, coating cars and sky scrapers alike and drowning it in freezing white blankets. looking up to the sky you see nothing but familiar shades of deep grey for miles, it’s almost claustrophobic how much snow there is— like you’re trapped in a snow globe being turned upside down, shaking you from your comfort and throwing your emotions about the place.

beyond the puffs of your warm breath into the sub-freezing air, you notice a group of girls peering curiously at your group as they debate on the toppings to go on their hot dogs from the vendor. you smile, jutting your elbow into the puffy torso of midoriya ( layered up in some designer jacket you have no doubt bakugou told him to wear ). “you’ve got fans deku,” you say wistfully.

“hm? oh—oh!” the poor green haired bab almost drops his heated treat when he whips over to look at you.

“you should go say hi, it would make their day,” shrugging as you suggest it, deku looks down to you with a small frown, sauce on his freckled upper lip. “what?”

curls bounce as he shakes his head, littered with snowflake crystals. “n-nothing! it’s just that...if i go say hi, the others will want to as well, and then you’ll be left alone. with todoroki no doubt...he’s not one for these kinds things…”

ah. there it is.

“go say hi izuku, i can manage grumpy vocalist number two for a while.” you assure him, but it doesn’t seem to work and by now his band mates have noticed the shy group of fans a little further down the sidewalk.

“h-he’s not that bad yanno, not as bad as you think,” deku nudges the arm of your jacket just as todoroki approaches you both— leaving you alone with him and the snow to go make his fans’ day, their Christmas no doubt.

then there’s silence, an odd sense of New York City quiet— accompanied by people barking down the phone to colleagues and the honk of city traffic, a soundtrack to the city you reside in for a few days. one that’ll soon be filled with the cheers of XHEROEZ lovers across the state, maybe even the country and quite possibly the world. it’s just you and todoroki now, standing together awkwardly, listening to the world around you as you watch his friends interact with the people who appreciate them the most.

kirishima takes pictures with a few of the girls, kaminari doing his best to thank them while izuku insists they be in the little vlog. bakugou and sero manage a conversation in English, both having gone to international schools before becoming idols.

you take a chance and look up to shouto who stands beside you, snowflakes caught in the unfair length of his lashes, sitting high on his slightly scarred cheekbone that his fans still adore despite not knowing where it came from or how he got it. you won’t ask and it’s part of his charm, you guess. “you should be over there, with them.” comes your voice, hushed against the bustling city.

“i’m not one for fan service,”

you scoff, knowing just how todoroki acted on stage and on camera. not one for fan service your ass. “liar.” liar, pants on fire. you finish the rest in your head, knowing he’d tease you for being childish.

“you’re right,” he hums under his breath, turning to look at you with his hands in his pockets. “i lied because you wouldn’t be able to handle their reactions if i did go over there and give them the fan service they’re after. i know you hate it when i do it.”

how did he—? were you that obvious with your dislike for him?

“you must hate your fans then,”

“oh no, quite the contrary. i only save hatred for one special person,” todoroki jests, at least you think he’s joking when he pulls his hands out of his pockets to salute you before joining the rest of his idol group standing with the girls. for once, he hadn’t said something mean when opening his mouth to speak to you and for once you find a coy smile on your lips at this fact. maybe shouto todoroki truly was apologetic for what he had said about you yesterday, and perhaps if things kept going like this, you would be able to forgive him.

it was a step in the right direction.

with newfound, better spirits, you munch on your greasy american treats with the security guards while the boys do their thing, scrolling through your phone and not even noticing that one of the girls has approached you.

you only do so when she grips your wrist, eyes boring deep into your soul— nails almost digging into your flesh.

“uh—excuse me?”

“you should stay away from them, XHEROEZ.” her tone is adamant, clearly a crazed fan as she steps into your personal space just a little more. “they don’t need some chick like you getting in the way of their career and ruining their success.”

security steps forward to separate you from the girl but you hold a hand up behind you— thinking that you could maybe talk her down. “l-listen, i just work for them? i’m not,” her nails dig deeper into your flesh and you gasp. “i-i’m not going to ruin anything!”

“stay away from them, stay away from todoroki.” she threatens again, shaking your entire body just from her grip on your wrist and of course she’s one of his stupid little fans— if you coild even call her that. she grabs at you again but this time you flinch out of fear, worried for an impact that may never come. “you’ll get him into a scandal!” her mouth almost froths.

her hero, her idol— shouto todoroki pulls you away from her before that happens. “i think your behaviour could get me into an even bigger scandal than my makeup artist could.” he grits his teeth, getting his bodyguards to pull the girl away from you completely— hissing at them to do their damn jobs to protect you as well as them. she was sure to get blacklisted.

“t-todoroki! i’m your biggest fan! i was just taking my care of this for you—“ she exclaims, thinking her idol would be impressed but the girl’s face, one stricken with awe for the man she’d only ever seen on screen, drops as shouto turns against her, defending you with waves of heat running off of his body into the crisp air.

“you’re not a true fan if you think harassing my staff is the way to go. back off.” todoroki keeps his voice even and polite, dragging you away from the girl as he lets security deal with her. the idol looks at you again, his eyes flash with hostility again— at you, or the girl you have no idea why but it seems whatever fleeting truce you had gone with the wind.

your day out ends here, a chill in your bones at todoroki defending you, at a girl almost clawing your face off. not a word is uttered about it until you’re back at the hotel and hawks has the pr team back in Japan sweep the incident clean off of the Internet.

when you go to bed that night, you can’t get that look on shouto’s face out of your mind— trying to figure out if you should hate that he protected you or feel apologetic instead.

on the day of the show you remain a muddle of emotions— conflicted as to how you should feel about shouto todoroki.

he was an enigmatic spider with a complex web of emotions that you couldn’t seem to understand. did he hate you? did he respect you? the lines had blurred more and more over the course of this trip to the point where your brain throbbed just thinking about shouto todoroki— seeing him as more than just a personal projection of your failures. seeing him as a whole person versus the fraction that made you hate him.

could even say that you hated him now?

you shake the thought from your frazzle mind in order to finish setting up the rest of your kits, shades of foundation and eye shadows already spread across the vanity in the backstage area the staff at the jingle ball had prepared for you. the boys tumble out of rehearsals shortly after, high on the energy they feel from being on stage and performing— even if it was just for sound check. they practically glow under the white tinted artificial light up above and you know that their sheer joy will make your job very easy tonight.

XHEROEZ will be performing a six song set with a range of concepts, so you decide to go with something personal for each of the boys— drafting out the looks in your notebook prettily until you jump at the sound of a furious hawks’ voice.

“whaddya mean you don’t know where shouto todo-fuckin’-roki is?” the ends of the blonde’s words are clipped, the vein on his forehead pulsing with irritation— the tips of his ears flaring bright red and the CEO looks as if all of his feathers have been ruffled right down to the core. kirishima stands opposite him, face guilty and crimson eyes turned towards the floor while his band mates look on in shock. “anyone got any clue as t’where that brat might be?”

and of course, the man you feel so torn over is missing on one potentially the biggest days of his career— an instance that makes your stomach twist with, greed to perform and to have what he has bleed green into your guts in the shade of feverish jealousy. “i-i’m sorry boss,” eijirou close to whines, the ecstatic energy that had been building up in his body slowly trickling out. the room cools with the sudden dampening in the air and hawks pinches the bridge of his nose, waiting for the rapper to continue. “i woke him up just before we left! he said he was comin’ but i thought he was taking the other car today, so i didn’t push—!”

“‘course that kid sleeps in.” the boss’ shoulders drop with his sharp inhale of breath as his yellow gaze shoots to you and you curse when he utters your full name. “you’re up, can you grab todoroki from the hotel for me?”

“but why me?” you whine like a child at the thought of seeing him again. “why not someone else—?”

keigo sighs, patience running thin. with you, with everyone in the room and the selfishness of XHEROEZs’ vocalist. “you’re the only artist that has their station set up, we need all the managers and staff here to finish getting set up for the show that starts in four hours,” your boss is getting even more pissed off the more he reasons with you and you feel like the more he talks, the less choice you have.

in the end, you agree to go, with an hour to travel to the hotel and back— you manage to get up to todoroki’s hotel room, banging down on the door while his manager waits outside in a sleek black car. the drive had taken a little over half an hour, with a light stream of traffic settling through New York City due to the settling snow— so there wasn’t much time left to wake up the seemingly sleeping dual haired idol, and banging on the door wasn’t working out for you now. shoving your hand into your pocket, you pull out the keycard kirishima had given you— since the two were sharing a room and force your way in.

todoroki shouldn’t look like an angel while he’s asleep.

despite the mess of the room, in his place in his bed todoroki is illuminated by the bright and natural light shining through the curtain— his red and white locks are spread messily across his expensive pillows, cherry lips parted gently at he snores quietly into the room. he looks so pretty, so pretty you almost don’t even want to wake him up but he has a job to do, people counting on him for one of the biggest nights of the year. people are counting on you to get him there. in three short strides, you cross the room and reach the idol’s bed before attempting to shake him awake.

“todoroki, todoroki!” you hiss lowly, still quiet as if not to wake him when it’s essentially your major goal. shouto groans lightly, akin to a child trying to hide from their mom rousing them from their sleep. you try again and he turns away from you, only causing your irritation to spike. “shouto! wake the fuck up!”

he blinks, once, twice.

and then he sees you.

pretty face twisted into a scowl, hair out of place ever so slightly— brows furrowed and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is. “what?”

“w-what? wh-whaddya mean what?” you gasp, suddenly flustered as you realise how close you are to shouto, so close you can feel his breath on your skin and you topple backwards onto his bed— knees hitting the comforter glossed with his scent. peppermint candy-canes. “do you have any idea what time it is? how late you are? what were you even doing?”

“sleeping.” obviously.

todoroki’s lips quirk up into an amused smirk. you’re cute when you’re angry and bitter, even cuter when he’s sliding out of bed shirtless and you have no choice but to look at his toned dancer’s body— going from roaring at him like a pissed off wildcat to trembling like a little kitten. “sleeping? you’re due to perform at the Madison Square Garden in literally three hours and you were sleeping?” you squeak, chucking a shirt at him amidst your panic and throwing a bag together full of shoutou’s belongings he might need for after the show. “this is a career changing moment! life changing even! and you were about to sleep right through it—!”

“alright,” the idol cuts through your words as a messy mop of candy cane hair pops through his grey-blue cotton shirt— you note that it matches his eyes. roughly. “relax, i get it. i’m awake now, we won’t be late.”

something about the nerveless echo to todoroki’s voice is what tips you over the edge, setting off your fuse. “you know this is about more than just you right? there are fans counting on you, people waiting for you..” whirling around, the words are spat out through gritted teeth, accompanied by your narrowed eyes and an even deeper scowl. “oversleeping? that's just—it’s just irresponsible!”

todoroki doesn’t like that, how you suddenly switch on him— attacking him just millimetres from where his heart is, where his fans and career lie. “you’re calling me irresponsible? after you almost got yourself attacked by fans the other day?” he snarls back, making you freeze. making you gasp.

your movements pause as you throw open his hotel curtains, expanding the slit of white light that leaks into the room—he had protected you and now he was blaming you? the room is flooded with blaring white from the heavy layers of snow outside, blanketing the city in shades of crisp eggshell, dotting car tops and skyscrapers and sidewalks. the whole city is a city of snow. you can feel the chill draft seeping through the seal of the windows, stinging your fingertips and your cheeks until you have to be yanked away from the cold before it seeps into your bones.

“it’s cold,” todoroki growls into the shell of your ear, arms wrapped around your middle as he pulls you away. “you should be careful.” there’s a beat of silence where you’re both entranced by the snow falling from up above, shouto slowly letting you go and pulling his warmth away from you with it. “you’re an idiot,”

he says softly as your phone buzzes with a text message from shouto’s manager outside, there’s a light blizzard coming, stay indoors. it says.

so you don’t bother to move.

———

fifteen minutes later and shouto wanders out of the shower in an even more sour mood than before, sweats hanging low on his taut waist as water droplets cascade down his milky skin and drip from his two toned hair, illuminated by the white sky outside.

the entire duration of his shower, you’d spent sitting on his bed with your gaze fixated on the snowy view— trying to come up with alternative methods to get back to the venue with the time you have left, which is just under three hours at this point. you’d promised hawks you’d have todoroki back within one. while shouto moves about the room, presumably getting dressed, your phone pings with a message from katsuki— no doubt bored while he gets his hair done for the show.

blonde brat - 7:52PM: you got that half n half asshole yet?

you - 7:55PM: peppermint gremlin secured!!

blonde brat - 7:57PM: thank fuck. get back here.

tucking away your phone with a heavy sigh, you turn back to todoroki who’s flicking through his own device— perhaps checking his Twitter account or the weather as well. “i’ve been trying to figure out a way for us to get to MSG through the weather, i think if we—“

“i don’t care. just get us there.” he snaps in response, face falling the more he scrolls through his phone— he looks to you then, your brow raised and unimpressed and rolls his eyes. “gonna scold her for being irresponsible and inconsiderate too? my shower was cold, don’t expect me to be all fine and dandy.”

“you can just take a warm shower, when we get to the venue of course. don’t be a sourpuss,” you chuckle and try not to look while todoroki puts his phone down to tug on a thicker sweater, his abs rippling as he works. “we’re gonna bundle up extra warm and take an uber down there, if we leave while the snow is light we could probably make it—“

todoroki sucks his teeth, looking at you as if you were stupid. “have you seen the weather reports? i’m not going out in that. it’ll get worse.”

“that’s why we should leave now, while the snow is light and so you don’t have to disappoint your thousands of adoring fans,” you counter, rendering the idol temporarily silent as he rolls his eyes at you and finishes off getting ready. however, you end up being the disappointed one when you realise there aren’t any ubers or bolts available in your area. “you know what? we might have to walk it,” you say quietly as you make your way over to the door, pushing down on the handle and frowning when the door won’t budge. “what the hell?”

now fully dressed, the dual haired idol joins you at the door, still in a sour mood as he gives the door a push as well— grunting when it doesn’t open. “we’re not doing that— push harder.”

“i am!” you whine. “we need to leave if we're going to get there on time.”

“no you’re not, push again.”

you’re both fighting the door, trying to get out of the hotel room— banging on it with your shoulders and using all of your body weight to get through until the complimentary phone starts to ring shrilly from across the room. todoroki moves to answer, leaving you to struggle with the handle a little more.

‘dear guest, due to the unfortunate bad weather— our electronic keycard systems controlled by online software are currently down. we advise you to remain calm in your rooms while we manually unlock these doors.’

well fuck.

with the systems down, there’s effectively no way for you and todoroki to escape the hotel room— trapped together in an enclosed space with your impatience and frustrations rising.

it doesn’t help that the power completely goes out as well.

———

without power, the pair of you set up some of the scented candles hotel staff are passing under the doors to keep everyone warm— since it’s only a matter of time before the heating systems go down too. todoroki ignores you for the most part, giving you a cold shoulder chillier than the snow storm building up outside, so you use the peace in the room to send out texts to hawks and the other staff members, letting them know that you won’t be able to make it back in time for the show— your battery dies halfway through responding to bakugou.

“this is all your fault,” you say, nose tipped up like a snooty child and todoroki finally pays you some attention, expression confused as you speak to him. “if you hadn’t been so selfish, followed your schedule like everybody else! we wouldn’t have been in this mess. if we had just left when the snow was light like i said we should, we would have been there by now!”

shouto huffs, setting his phone down calmly while his face flashes with the flames of anger. “it wouldn’t have mattered what time we left, with this snow we wouldn’t even have a show! and i’m allowed to be selfish— to want to rest when i’m overworked. i needed the rest, so just can it, okay?”

you don’t understand, his argument is weak. today, this show, it isn’t just about him— there’s no room to be selfish like this in a team full of other people reaching for the stars— launching themselves into space to touch their dreams. it makes you sick to your stomach, the way he thinks— like everything is all about him. “your fans needed you!” you all but scream, voice tearing through the silence in the room— the volume and angry colour to your voice surprising you both. “god just...just give me your charger so i can get my phone back and call someone to fix this within the next two hours.”

“i don’t have it.” he blinks.

and you blink back. “what do you mean you don’t have it?”

“kirishima took it with him.” todoroki says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “where’s yours?”

“at the venue. the one we’re supposed to be at right now, idiot!”

“well then who’s the idiot now?”

you think that this is your last straw, throwing your phone onto todoroki’s bed with so much force that it bounces back up like the rage you feel brewing deep inside you to hit the idol all at once. “you know what? you know what todoroki?” you’re sure that in this moment you must look a picture of insanity to him, eyes twitching, face scrunched up in anger but you don’t care— throwing out all your inner thoughts and insecurities onto him. “you’re the laziest, most insensitive, piece of shit asshole i’ve ever met. people out there are counting on you, want to see you, want to be you and here you are lazing about because you must not give a shit about anyone aside from yourself.”

“god,” you continue, throwing your hand up in the air— irked by his silence. “you really don’t care, do you? you’re probably not even in it for your fans, but for the money and the fame and not what it means to be a true idol—!”

“are you done now?” the dual haired male cuts through your speech like ice through a water surface— his eyes frozen over, showing no emotion even if your words might have gotten to him. “you like to act like you’re above me…” he says your name so icily that you flinch as if a shard as nicked your skin. “but really you’re just as bad as me, picking on the idol you work for by projecting your insecurities onto him as if i’m some kind of rag doll. i’m everything you’ve ever wanted to be, everything you’ve dreamed of and failed at achieving. it’s pathetic, embarrassing. you failed at becoming an idol, then becoming a choreographer and now. even a makeup artist.”

“you only care because someone else is doing the shit that you can’t. i’m the pathetic one? try being you.”

each one of his words is like a sting to your beating heart, the venom behind them seeping into your veins slowly and poisoning you from the inside out. you refuse to cry in front of him, show him that everything he’s said about you is true and so you swallow the lump in your throat— biting down on your tongue, pushing it all down. it’s not until after everything is said and done that todoroki realises the harshness of what he’s said— reaching out to grab you and apologise as you turn away from him. hurt.

backing into a corner and away from him, the world goes quiet around todoroki as he tries to find the words he needs to make your pain go away. “save it, shouto. use your energy to hope that someone gets us outta here. so you don’t fail like i did.”

neither of you speak after that.

teeth chattering, you desperately try to sink into the warmth of todoroki’s old promotional clothes— the heating having gone out about half an hour ago. he’d looked it up on the internet just before his phone died, how to keep warm without power and most articles suggested layering up and spreading out blankets along the floors. the clothes, despite consisting of itchy fabrics and random stylised holes, carry a comforting scent despite belonging to a man with a frozen heart, you’re at least grateful for that.

“there’s uh, a little warm spot on this side of the room if you’re still cold,” todoroki calls from his own little sanctuary of warmth, as he puts down his guitar— where you’d practically banished him to.

you scowl, bunching up his many jackets and jumpers around you. “could’a mentioned that earlier.” asshole.

you sidle over to his side of the room, hesitantly letting todoroki guide you to a warm spot in the floor where hot water must’ve been running and sigh in relief— you don’t know how long it’ll last but you’ll take what you can get.

“we should probably huddle together—“

“no.” you cut him off.

“—for warmth.” he lifts his arm to invite you underneath the blankets he has and it’s so so tempting, to huddle up beneath them with him and tuck yourself into the comforting scent of todoroki’s chest but you’re scared it won’t be so warm and he won’t be so comforting if you do. “it said so on the thread we read—“

“fine.”

you curl into his firm side, blanket trapping you in against the idol but you don’t dare to move— face stiff against the muscle of his chest while you try to gather every string of warmth from him. it feels weird to be hugging shouto todoroki like this. the red and white haired idol reaches for his guitar again, slowly as if not to disturb you and hesitantly strums the same chords from earlier— as if he was figuring out a melody.

“i didn’t know that you played,” you whisper against the melody, breaking the pin drop silence in the sub zero air. todoroki scribbles something down on a napkin and you gasp. “or wrote.”

he looks down at you, eyes shimmering in the flickering candle light and there’s somewhat of a smile on his face. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me,”

“oh yeah?” you push, sitting up. “like what?”

todoroki pretends to think, brushing his dual tone hair out of his winter eyes before smirking at you mischievously. “i help to write some of the songs bakugou produces, bleaching my hair is never a probably because it’s naturally white, i like cold soba but hate when kirishima cooks it because it’s too bland,” he starts listing those, watching you carefully for a reaction— remembering the facts that make your face twist. “i like living at the dorms because i’m not close with my parents and hardly see my siblings, i get travel sick. my blood type is O, my favourite season is winter, my favourite animal is a snow leopard and i like the colour blue.” he finishes gently, fingers resting against his guitar strings.

“the last ones, you can read those on fan websites, everyone knows those,” you try to act nonchalant as if this isn’t the most todoroki has opened up to you without freezing you out after and he chuckles at your bluntness— tapping his nose.

“but aren’t they more sincere when they’re coming from me?” shouto asks, you can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not— you can’t decipher him at all, it’s like walking through a snowstorm with no clue which way you’re going. his mouth opens and closes as he strums idly, debating on the right words to say without creating a catalyst between you again. “i wanted to apologise,” he begins in a low voice, not looking at you, winter eyes locked away. “for what i said to you earlier, it was harsh and uncalled for. especially with what hawks told me. i know saying sorry doesn’t make it right but i truly mean it.”

your icy heart shakes in your chest, rattling against your ribcage— todoroki, apologising. it melts the outer shell of your heart, warms you up just a touch and you feel the words pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them. “i’m sorry too. you were a little harsh, but right about most things. i’ve failed at most things more than i succeeded and being stuck in one place made me take it out on you,” you take a deep breath and squeeze his arm. “and for that i’m sorry, for putting my disappointments onto you.”

“don’t be disappointed in yourself, you’re not an idol but you’re still in the industry— that in itself is hard enough,” todoroki whispers, squeezing you back in a weird expression of forgiveness.

a melody fills the air, tangled with his perfect soft voice as it dances perfectly with the chords from his guitar— your body sinks into his, relaxing with every sweet note escaping from todoroki’s perfect lips, taking you away from the raging storm outside, bringing you to somewhere warmer, safer.

“what’s your song about?”

“my fans,” todoroki says instantly, continuing to strum his fingers against the strings on his guitar. “my thankfulness towards them. i know that i lack sometimes, that i seem lazy and cold but i do love them. i didn’t want to be an idol, i joined hawks’ company to be a singer and ended up a part of a team.” the song climaxes as your gazes lock, not like any times before where they were full of animosity. this time, they’re tender, gentle. “i can’t let them down, not when they’ve helped me grow so much.”

you sit up, facing the opposite of todoroki as you struggle with your words— realising he’s completely different to the man you hated in your head. “i misjudged you, you’re so good to your fans and team. i’m sure that they love you.”

he only shakes his head fondly, still continuing to fill the space between you with his gentle spoken and meaningful lyrics— pulling you into him like an invisible force of gravity, grabbing you by the shoulders in a warm embrace against the cold frosty weather outside. your skin tingles, hot to the touch as your eyes mirror todoroki’s hooded ones, drawn in by each of his angelic notes while he shows off his vocalist skills. he serenades you, wraps you in all that is him, truly him and before you know it— you’re blindly leaning into the calm storm of shouto todoroki, lips falling against his as the strumming slows until it stops, guitar cast to side as you kiss for the first time.

it’s barely there at first, all most non-existent as your lips glide along todoroki’s— they’re softer than you anticipated, glossed and balmy as they move with your own in delicate lip lock. he’s heated, warmer too as his hands let go of the guitar to cup the curve of your face, tilt it upwards so he can reach deeper into your soul and pour his passion you thought he didn’t have into you. on the contrary, his hands are rough and not perfect like you’d thought, not like the rest of him— his fingertips digging into your cheeks are rough from playing guitar, calloused from what seems like years of practice as he drags you by the waist into his lap to kiss you more, tease you more.

your noses are pressed together, bumping every time you separate for air— chests getting ragged the more your lips touch and tongues slide over their chapped surfaces, your body flames with something new. how does he make you feel like this? your burning hatred simmering on its stove into something sweeter, loving and lustful as todoroki’s tongue is heavy in your mouth but in the nice kind of way, drooling against your own tongue as the kiss becomes more passionate, becomes hungrier like there’s a ravenousness you both have for one another, to be closer and show your true feelings.

“w-what...what are we doing?” you sigh breathlessly, body blossoming and unwinding under shouto’s touch that sears straight through the layers of his clothes that you wear— fingerprints burning your skin at your waist. a blush fans across todoroki’s nose and cheeks, pink and a few shades lighter than his hair as he licks into your mouth with wanton, tugging you this way and that as if your bodies could get any closer. they can’t, it’s impossible but he doesn’t care— angling your head upwards so he can lick at the honey strands of saliva hanging from the roof of your mouth to sedate himself, your sweetness trickling down against his tongue— making his eyes cross and his whole body shake just from kissing you. from kissing you. “s-shouto! what are we—?”

you gasp as he nips your bottom lip, slowly pulling the flesh away from you before pushing you onto your back— following you down and swallowing your nerves whole when your lips meet again, sticky from the spit you’ve swapped, glazed in your honey. “apologising,” he says finally, his own breathing ragged because of you. you have this effect on him. “let me show you how well and truly sorry i am.”

your mind is as frenzied as the snow drowning the city outside when your back hits the blanketed floor, the slopes of todoroki’s face above you are illuminated by warm candle light— burning your insides, leaving you content, leaving you weightless while he toys with the hem of your clothes— stormy eyes searching your own face for consent. you can’t even speak, thoughts racing through your mind, questioning everything. is this truly how he felt about you while you forced your resentment towards him? hated him while he searched for a hand through the blizzard? shouto waits for your word although your body says yes, slipping his hands under your clothes to rub at the flesh of your tummy and sending tingles across the skin.

“okay,” you nod and shouto smiles, so beautifully like a beacon of light amidst the dark stormy sky— you nod again and he tucks his red and white mop of hair against your neck, lips ascending on it thoughtfully, without leaving marks since both of you could get into trouble with the company— but they’re wet on your skin, shivers jumping down the junctions of your spine while shouto’s tongue, hot on your icy flesh licks from your collar bones up to your jugular and ends the shimmering trail of where your neck meets your chin.

how can you imagine what the cold outside feels like when the idol’s large body presses feverishly into yours? you feel his burning desire for him even through the layers of clothes you have on, you let his large palms knead your flesh and push at the expensive fabrics just to feel you more and more. goosebumps rising across your skin at the exposure to cold are are quickly erased by todoroki’s warmth and wherever he touches you, moving down to press kisses along your stomach the more he reveals to the world, helping you sit up to tug off the countless shirts and hoodies you wear once they reach your neck. your chest is his next target, wet tongue dragged from the cliffs of your collar bones to your nipples at attention, calling to him. “you’re so pretty,” he rasps, head laying on your chest, hair tickling your now naked skin and fingertips running up and down your sides. “you’ve always been so pretty, even when you were mad at me, even more so when you were smiling.”

you shudder under his breath that cascades over your skin. “i wonder how you’ll look,” todoroki says, lids growing heavy just by watching you and waiting for your reactions. “when i touch you the way you want, when you give into your deepest desires,” his fingers crawl across your chest to pinch at your nipples, smiling against you when you gasp and choke on air. “when you give in to me,” there’s a husky echo to his voice that you feel vibrate and shoot to your core— distracting you only momentarily from the feeling of his lips encapsulating your right nipple, rolling the hardened bud between rows of perfect teeth. he grunts, large hands spanning out against your stomach when you arch your back into his mouth, pushing you back down onto your makeshift sea of blankets. your face twists in a mix of pleasure and agony— forcing you to lay in place and take what he gives. “patience love, let me take my time with you. we have a lot to make up for,”

“shou—“ you grumble, body flashing with heat that wards off the snowy cold, face even hotter when the dual haired idol pulls away from your saliva slicked chest with wet lips and a haze in your eyes. “please shouto, please—!” you don’t even know what it is that you’re asking for, perhaps begging for his forgiveness so that he’ll touch you, give you more than just his tongue against your ribcage when you arch your back or his lips on your sternum. you need his touch where the fire is brightest, where your need for him is strongest. “shouto!”

“my name on your lips,” he coos quietly, mouth rolling over your unattended nipple while his hand toys with the abandoned one. “do you have any idea what it does to me?” todoroki lays between your parted thighs, pushing his obvious erection right up against the meat of them, causing a whimper to tear in your throat. you’re hit with the realisation that you never really say his name, only a combination of foul words and nicknames when you address him. “i wonder what you’ll sound like when i tend to you between these thighs, make you feel good down there.”

your entire body jolts at his words, thighs locking at the base of his spine, trapping his body against you and todoroki smirks with red cheeks and misted eyes— liking the effect he has on you. “i-if you get to touch me down there, t-then i get to do the same for you,” you’re adamant in what you say, hips lifting to bump against his swelling cock until he falters above you. “right?”

“how could i say no to that?” todoroki grins and you miss his crackle of heat against your body as he pulls back to yank off his shirt, hair flying out of place and milky skin painted with the flavours of a rose once his head pops through. both of your pants go next, todoroki taking his time as he pulls them off of you leg by leg, kissing up from your ankles to your thighs before allowing you to throw his off too. your underwear goes on the same breath.

and then there you are, naked and chest to chest— looking at each other dazed with your ice hearts banging against the ribs in your chest like the shutters against the windows because of the wind. yet the world seems quiet, completely stilled as your hands hesitantly cup the idol’s face to bush hair out of his blue-grey eyes, your frozen heart melting when he leans into your palm.

“why so quiet?” he asks you, voice barely above a whisper. “nervous?”

“no.” you say, thumb brushing his cheek.

his eyes flutter shut. “then what?”

“you’re just so beautiful…”

lips are on yours before you can take a second breath, he’s overwhelming your senses yet again— filling your void like the city is filled with snow while his hands dart between your trembling soft thighs, pinching them and teasing them apart until he’s pressed up right against your sex, already so wet and sticky for him. he growls lowly, rough padded finger swirling around your entrance, threading your slick between them and he laughs lightly at just how turned on you are—before he’s even touched you.

“s-shouto!”

“shhh, pretty one. wait a second, promise I’ll make you feel good, okay?” he says pushing his lips onto a mocking pout as your eyes brim with liquid silver— tears gathering in your lashes while your hands search for something to ground yourself, latching onto shouto’s bicep as he eases a single finger past your entrance, curling against your slippery inner walls.

crescent moons break against snowy skin, leaving red tracks in place while pushing another finger alongside the first, marvelling at the hot, manuka honey mess growing between your plush thighs— your hole is resisting around shouto’s thick digits, the blunt tips pressing against the sensitive spots along your insides causing squelching sounds to echo along the hotel walls, as marvellous and sinful as any one of todoroki’s songs. the way you yowl so desperately the more he explores you, the more eager todoroki is to please you— realising with the growing weight of lust lodging itself into his chest, that he would do anything for you. he would clear skies of their thunder clouds, brush away a hurricane for you until you could breach the clouds and see the stars— the ones you could just barely touch with your own two hands.

“there you go sweetheart, take it, just like that,” your cute little sex sucks his fingers in so well, dripping thick waves of your sweet nectar down them, gathering in his palm before he thrusts them, sendin you travelling up the blankets gathered on the floor— your eyes rolling and thighs squeezing around his wrist, locking him between them so he can keep bringing you this brand new, blinding pleasure that makes your tummy bubble.

you’re like a snowflake, melting underneath todoroki as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slick, tight little hole— your chest rises and falls with the flick of a candle, ropes of saliva caught on the roof of your mouth, tongue bursting over the seams of your lips as he prepares you for his taking, like a ripening fruit so fresh and juicy all for him. you’re so cute beneath him, a sweet little mess for him to clean up and ruin all over again— he can’t help it, barely fighting the urge to kiss you once again and swallow the airy moans that slip out of you with every twist of his fingers and brush of their tips against your pleasure spots. if you are the snow then todoroki is the blistering sun, sending his sunlight through your bloodstream, hot with the pure ecstasy— bringing you closer and closer, building it high in slow stacks until your limbs are trembling underneath the weight.

in the mess of limbs and locked lips you manage to slip your hand between your heated bodies, grinning against shouto’s mouth when his cock jumps at your simple touch— gasping his cock you get a feel for the weight of him, he makes up for length where he lacks thickness, clean as they come and incredibly hard while his tip drools into your soft palm, milky white staining your skin as you begin to jerk todoroki off. he hisses into the wet cavern of your mouth, chest bristling contently against your own, he likes what you do to him, how the softness of your hand sneds sparks of dopamine across his brain—causes his hips to jut forward ever so softly, smearing more of his pre against your skin. the pair of you shudder, playing with one another to the melody of your sweet whines and whimpers and your eyes drop to where you’re joined, hands glistening with evidence of your arousals and drool pools on the palette of your tongue just admiring todoroki’s crystal cut body and pink flushed face, his lips as he pulls away from you— kiss swollen and cherry licorice red.

he’s the one melting now, weak and like putty in your hands as you first his cock, his tip a shade of red as bright as his hair…but even still, todoroki doesn’t let up— continuing to pump his fingers against your velvet lined walls and bearing them down on the pleasure spot that increases the shake in your doughy thighs. todoroki’s cock leaks so much your hands slip and slide over him, creating the perfect fleshlight for him to fuck the more his hips buck forward into your closed hand. “f-fuck, sweetheart,” his breath stutters, caught in the ridges of his throat when you begin to thumb at his tip, movement guided by the hick globs of precum that bead there. you don't’ dare to stop pleasuring the idol, feeling pride swell in your chest to see a man of his caliber fall down a few pegs, the way he feels att the mercy of your talented hands.

“you like that shou?” you inquire, panting between your slurred words as wet sounds cut through the blizzard, your bodies grinding against one another— your fingers playing with one another and you’re sure the mess of sheets and blankets and clothes below are stained with the mixes of your arousals and teasers of your release and your hand slips further down between you both to grip at shouto’s balls, heavy with a load of cum and all for you. he flicks his wrist, harder, faster in return as you mutually bring each other one step closer to release—barely clinging onto the edge of your peaks.

cheeks practically glowing a shade of rose in the dark, todoroki drops his head to your neck— the strokes of his fingers against your pleasure spot becoming lazy but even more frequent, desperate to make you as close as he is. “‘m gonna cum f’you,” todoroki admits through the growls that reverberate between you both, lewdly fucking your fist as if itt was your tight sex. ”gonna fuckin’ cum, don’t stop okay? cum for me, cum with me,” he grows more and more demanding, but his body and voice tremble with neediness.

“cum shou, with me. please!” you beg, finding yourself in the exact same sate, practically falling apart on his fingers, the pleasure that had been building within you toppling over at the same time as todoroki falls off the edge into an earth shattering high. neither of you stop, let up as your releases splash out and paint one another, his cock twitching in your grip and staining your knuckles white with his hot seed. he mewls into your neck and you cry into the frosty air, orgasm trickling down shouto’s thick fingers and pooling between your fleshy asscheeks, leaving you both struggling and gasping for air.

it doesn't take long for todoroki to be at your neck again, gently nipping at the flesh while you come to. “‘m going to give you my cock now, okay sweetheart? you’ll be able to take it, right?” he questions you, peppering smooches along your neckline, wet and sloppy as he goes.

“uhuh,i-i’m ready,” you slur over the saliva in your mouth, mind pleasantly fuzzy as todoroki manhandles you into the position to take his cock just the way he wants, keeping you on your back, he uses a knee to spread you open again by the meat of your thighs— taking ahold of his dripping dick before he slaps it against your soaked hole a few times, moaning deep at the salacious, sticky sounds your sexes make as he grinds against you, already easing his bulbous tip past your entrance. he can’t help but chuckle huskily att the way your hole sucks him in so good, clenching around him as if to trap him inside— he fucks you with just the tip at first, watching you writhe and raise your hips as if asking for more. “c’mon, don’t tease!”

“patience baby, just like i told you before,” todoroki hums in amusement, caging you in as he thrusts all the way in, reaching the hilt and bottoming out inside of you. while the idol enjoys finally having his cock wrapped up in the warmth of your sloppy and sensitive insides— he finds the strength within himself to pull out of your adorably selfish hole to start a a deep and sensual pace, dragging his seed bleeding ip along your insides, setting a steady stream of thrusts that hit so deep you feel him in your guts. the force of his hips rolling into yours pulls pathetic bleats from between your wet and kiss swollen lips, your hands finding purchase on the hairs that sit on the nape of todoroki’s neck while you let him overrule your body, taking it over— mind, body and soul.

how could you have ever hated him so passionately, when he looks down at you like you’re a safe space in a storm? looks down at you with cool toned eyes that speak volumes of admiration. there are so many feelings in todoroki’s eyes and you uncover more with each rut of his hips into yours, creamy and lewd, the length of him leaving you completely filled as he moulds your insides into his shape. “y-you’re so good,” you tell him earnestly, struggling to catch your breath over his intensity and weakly lift your hips to match his rhythm, clenching around every ridge and vein of todoroki’s lengthy girth as it pushes and pulls at your spongy insides and bumps against pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had. “f-fuck you feel s’good, shouto!”

smiling down at you dopily, heart vulnerable and on his sleeve, shouto grips at your hips— working himself deeper inside your fluttering hole and stretching you out all for him. he wants you to forget any pain he’s caused you, erase anything horrible he’d ever said to you that replays in your mind because in reality, shouto todoroki adores you and every ounce of drive that he has and your praise makes him want to feel worthy of it, makes him want you to see the stars through the murky grey skies. there’s this same sense of adoration written behind his touches as todoroki guides your hips to move along with his, both of you moving in sync, bodies harmonising like a beautifully written song while he splits you open on his cock, having you ooze nectar down his shaft as it drips down to his heavy balls and ruins he clothes and sheets and blankets beneath you both. he fucks you hard just to show you how he really feels, what he didn’t get to say while you were both too busy hating each other to see the truth. you want his good, his bad, his scared and his safe all at once, and shouto is determined to give it to you, balls deep inside your creamy sex.

“sweetheart, y-you’re such a pretty little thing for me, making such a mess on my cock and a mess of my heart. aren’t i a lucky man?” the idol coos to you endearingly, hiking your leg over his broad set shoulders so he can press his body hotly against yours until you’re chest to chest and there’s barely any space between you, compressing the blizzard of emotions beginning to rage between you both. greed and desire spread like frost on a window pane along your skin as it meets in rhythmic claps, balls hitting the curve of your fleshy ass. “to have you like this, god i’m so fucking lucky,” shouto’s voice is tight in his throat as he takes you over and over again, your fingers losing their grip in his split dyed hair and your core locking around his dick at his praise, offering the idol no escape from being inside you. liquid arousal, clear and and sweat rolls in waves down your thighs, sticking to his pelvis while you choke his girth and pull more precum from the slit on his tip.

it smears along your insides, making everything honeyed and gooey every time todoroki jackhammers against that spongy spot deep inside you. “i’m the lucky one..” you babble mindlessly, arousal heightening with the temperatures of your bodies as they work with one another to reach cloud nine— hot enough to melt an iceberg. “get to see your eyes, your darlin’ eyes as you fuck me so good,” you have no idea what you’resaying, high off of the ecstasy that exudes from your pores, all because of him.

embarrassed, flustered and with new found vigor, todoroki swoops down to capture your lips an iron hot kiss— tasting the sweat gathered on your cupids bow and searching the mess beneath you both for your hand that had once been lost in his hair. your fingers slot together perfectly, just like he does between your trembling and achy thighs, and todoroki gives your hand a squeeze— lovingly, softly. “shut up,” he mumbles against your bruised and cherry bitten li-ps, fighting a grin when your strawberry tongue rolls against his own, memorising the taste of his mouth. “let me make you feel good, let me apologise.” he wants to make you cum, see the life pulse in your eyes while he ruins you on his cock for all the wrongs he’s ever committed against you.

there’s a possible blizzard outside but shouto todoroki’s never felt safer than he has, a tangled mess with you— fucking you raw, making love to you and soiling your coreunttil your screams of his names echo into the hotel room. you’re so beautiful under the candle light, lips parted and lashes against your cheeks and if he could he would give up everything, even being an idol to see you like this again. so he pushes his creamy dick into you deeper, deeper, as far as it’ll go until your back arches off of the floor and you’re keening into his sun-like touch as if you’re craving his warmth. something akin to love, closer to fondness bleeds into the air, intertwined intricately with unadulterated emotion as todoroki grinds his cock into you, angling it into that special place inside of your sex that makes your brain ttingle with serotonin and dopamine and everything in between while your toes curl and your fingers clench.

incoherent praises are whispered into the bruises on your collarbones that you both know todoroki isn’t allowed to leave, but neither of you can find it in you to care— walking the fine line between sanity and losing your mind as the knots in your stomach begin to unwind and loosen themselves. “‘m sorry,” he mumbles, not knowing if it's for the deep blues and purples blossoming under your skin or if it’s for how he treated you in the past, slamming his cock into your tight hole over and over again as you gush and leak about the place. “‘m sorry, i-i’m—”

“hush,” you cup todoroki’s face, tears of lust clumped in your lashes again and he feels the snow storm wrapped around his heart calming, both of you so deep in your own cloud of vulnerability to notice the weather taming itself outside. “i-it’s okay, you’ve made it up t’me. l-let it…let it go now,” shouto can only nod weakly, fighting back the whine of relief bubbling up on his lips. that’s all he needs to hear before he’s chasing both of your releases, running through the storm of emotions for them as his tip nudges against your pleasure spot over and over, the pace of his hips becoming inconistent and skittish, moans rising in octave with every step you take closer to release.

“cum for me sweetheart, let go with me,” shouto whispers, squeezing your hand as your dam finally breaks and your release floods from your body. the world of white flashes behind your eyes, arousal coursing through your veins as you cry todoroki’s name with all your might, sobbing through your aftershocks as you succumb to the twitching and the pleasure— painting his tummy with your cum. todoroki follows suit, quickly pulling out of your spasming hole and collapsing against you, rutting his cock into the soft flesh of your tummy, curse words a plenty spilling from his hot mouth— licked into your neck by his tongue before hot stripes of his seed land on your sweaty skin one after the other, potent and milky and glueing you both together before exhaustion settles into your bones and his body gives out above yours completely— shouto managing to roll to the side before he squashes you.

your first instinct is to giggle, loud and carefree when both you come down— your fingers drawing little shapes and patterns into shouto’s freckled shoulder. “that was nice,” you say with a tiny smile, meeting his content eyes. “real nice. where’d you learn to do all that?”

“i’m an idol, sweetheart, not a nun. just because we have no dating policies doesn’t mean we can’t get around,” todoroki explains to you and plucks your hand from his shoulder, interlacing your fingers lazily. “but i’m sure hawks wouldn’t mind making an exception for his favourite employees.”

“oh stop! he’ll have to with the bruises you left on me!” you laugh again but let the peppermint haired idol pull away from you with a kiss so he can clean you up, heading to the bathroom in search of a warm cloth and soap safe for sensitive skin. he washes you up quickly but carefully, taking care of your tender spots and kissing each mark he’s made ( eventually letting you do the same ) before he’s got you wrapped up in his arms again— naked amongst the sheets you’d laid on the floor.

there’s a question on the tip of your tongue and one lodged in todoroki’s throat but neither of you have time to ask if for muffled voices echo on the other side of the door— the lights of the hotel room flickering back on at the wrong time.

“bakugou! calm down!”

“don’t tell him to calm down, midoriya, you’ll only make it worse!”

“like you’re any better denki!”

“can it, sero.”

“hey that’s not very nice you guys—“

“will all of you numbskulls shut the fuck up?” bakugou interjects the group’s bickering, tapping a keycard against todoroki’s hotel room door before he kicks it open without stopping to look at the scene laid out before him. “all of you dipshits are fuckin’ useless, ya hear? ‘n you can tell that to your shitty manager hawks too—“

kirishima notices first, face turning as red as his hair before the other boys follow his gaze and react in the same way. “uh...bakugou?”

“what? shitty hair?” the blonde snaps back, following kirishima’s finger that points to a very naked todoroki and a very very naked ( also bruised ) you. “holy fuck—“

todoroki’s cheeks redden as he throws a blanket over your head to protect your last shred of decency— glaring at the other members in his idol to turn their heads away out of respect, but it’s far too late for any of that now. “don’t you dare tell hawks.” he mumbles bashfully.

“i’ll make sure you get the ugly makeup concepts for an entire month!” you squeak.

katsuki’s face looks like an awful cross between throwing up and committing homicide but instead pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply.

“put some fuckin’ clothes on, i didn’t get these idiots and i driven out here through the last of the snow to see your dick hangin’ our half ‘n half,” he growls, still grossed out. “there’s an hour left till showtime s’let’s get goin’! and charge your fuckin’ phones next time. ever heard of a portable charger?”

you take the scolding from bakugou and leap up to get dressed as soon as he and the other boys are gone, todoroki makes you a promise to talk about what you two are and what you mean to each other after the jingle ball performance but yourself and most of the fierce wings staff ( including hawks himself ) seem to have a pretty good idea already, since you turn up to the venue dressed in shouto’s closed— the red and white haired idol practically latched onto your side, a scary and unusual sight for all parties involved.

however everyone’s suspicions are completely confirmed when todoroki sneaks a good luck kiss from you, just before XHEROEZ head on stage to blow New York City away.

in the end, the snow manages to calm down enough for everyone to perform— the fans gathered inside madison square garden for the night of their lives. todoroki is rushed into hair and makeup, but his eyes don’t leave you the entire time— a new sense of pride and adoration for you running through his veins before the members of XHEROEZ stumble onto the stage and give the world their all.

and for the first time, you don’t feel an ounce of regret— you don’t feel weighted down by the burden you put on yourself, reminded that you are not a failure even if you didn’t quite make it to the top.

you made it here, you’re by his side— supporting those who reached your dream from the sidelines and you realise that’s enough.

todoroki dedicates the last song of the XHEROEZ set to someone special, someone with your name that he doesn’t expose to the crowd but you can tell it’s for you by the way his mop of red and white hair tilts back towards the stage and his cool blue eye drops into a lazy wink— making your heart race.

not all dreams come true and not all attempts to make them do so are failures. you decide you’ll help todoroki touch the stars and have a taste for the milky way — carrying out his dream together, hand in hand.

#tteokdoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki smut #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha smut #mha x reader #mha x you #mha smut #todoroki imagine #todoroki drabbles #todoroki fic #todoroki angst #todoroki shouto x you #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto smut #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki smut #bnha imagines

[sagittariuswithablog]

The 12 Houses Visualized

What mental visuals do you get while imagining the 12 astrological houses? These are mine:

1st - a mirror, a pair of hands from a first person perspective

2nd - piles of gold and silver jewelry, a victorian mansion, a fur coat, an abundant backyard orchard ready to be harvested, getting your nails done at the most expensive salon you could find, a spa day, a limousine, the titanic (prior to sinking lol)

3rd - a library, a slam poetry reading, a facebook argument, a high school debate club, a children's book filled with random trivia and facts, a dictionary, a typewriter, an indie record store

4th - a church congregation, a kind old lady's doll collection, the smell of your mother's perfume on a jacket of hers you're borrowing, a bed made up and ready to sleep on, a relative's house over christmas packed with your family and filled with the aroma of fresh baked cookies

5th - a nightclub, a hot summer day spent in the pool with your friends and family, a teenage girl's room full of band posters and jewelry and makeup, playing with sparklers in pitch darkness, an amusement park ride

6th - a dairy farm, the bustling frantic kitchen of a busy restaurant, a veterinarian's office, the waiting room for a doctors office, a freshly done load of laundry sitting in a basket waiting to be folded

7th - a wedding ring being placed on a finger, a fancy brunch with potential business partners, a track runner handing off a baton to the next runner, a shy high school couple holding hands, a courthouse

8th - a frozen lifeless tundra, a cemetery, a swamp, an antique shop, a crematorium, a charnel ground while a sky funeral takes place, a decaying carcass in the woods being enjoyed by scavengers, an interrogation room, moss and mushrooms, children playing with a ouija board

9th - a professor in the middle of a lecture, ships and boats, the view from the top of mount everest, a monastery, the sistine chapel, the view from out of an airplane window, a graduation ceremony

10th - skyscrapers, a ceo's office, minimalist decor, a busy call center full of cubicles, a fancy invitation to a company party, a suit and tie, the smell of printer paper, the white house

11th - a roaring crowd of revolutionaries, a shooting star, a nuclear weapon detonating, a prospering commune, a virtual reality chatroom, a cult chanting and wailing in unison, the chat on a twitch livestream absolutely blowing up, a community rebuilding their town together after a natural disaster

12th - the bottom of the ocean, the northern lights, a clear view of the milky way galaxy on a cold winter's night, an empty hospital, an abandoned house nearly taken over by nature, a very dusty and quiet old folks home, a bubble bath, a holding cell

#astrology #zodiac #12 houses #birth chart #natal chart #1st house #2nd house #3rd house #4th house #5th house #6th house #7th house #8th house #9th house #10th house #11th house #astrology aesthetics #aesthetic #astrology meme #aesthetics #astrology moodboard #12th house #astrological houses #twelve houses #learn astrology

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Santa's Favorite Elf

12 Days of Christmas Writing Event- Day 1

Alexander Skarsgård x Reader. Drabble (A/n- lmao I've been secretly writing for him for months, but this is the first time I'm posting anything on him. Be gentle, please)

Masterlist

Prompt 3- You might be the hottest elf I’ve ever met.” “You’ve met other elves?”

requested by @penwieldingdreamer

Warnings- Mentions of SMUT

One last, cautionary glance at the mirror to check her make-up was met with Y/n then reaching for a pair of striped, white and red, knee high socks that she’d left near the edge of her vanity. Guests would be arriving soon and if the clock mounted over the bedroom door was any indication, she was running late. It was the first holiday party they’d thrown as a couple, and as the time before it dwindled, Y/n couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she was completely in over her head.

What the hell was a costume Christmas party? Why hadn’t they just gone with an ugly sweater party, or, heaven forbid, a regular party.

After hurriedly adjusting the hem of the socks at her knees, Y/n rose to her feet, headed to the walk-in closet though pausing upon noting that the Santa costume she’d laid out for her husband had been left unattended on the bed. He was supposed to be dressed already. Rolling her eyes and trying- and failing- to suppress her irritation, Y/n yelled; “Alex!”

An absent, albeit curious, “Yeah?” Erupted from all the way down the winding stairs.

“Can you get up here?” He had been reluctant to don the suit, but he had promised and all she wanted to do was make that party perfect. It would set the tone for every other party they threw in the future and Y/n did not want to make their first impression a bad one. “Please,” she added sweetly, lest he think she was irritated with him.

In the interim, Y/n continued towards the closet; slipping inside and then sifting through a few unpacked shopping bags until she’d found the pair of black, polished, boots with a couple inches worth of fluffy white trim at the top and a single red bow on the outer side of each one. The heels added about four inches to her small stature and there were shiny silver buckles over each ankle. With a huff, and not even bother to take a moment to sit on the otter-man in the center of the expansive closet, Y/n tugged the shoes one clumsily before swiping up the hat that would have finished off her ensemble from one of the other bags.

Finally, when she was the perfect image of one of Santa’s trusty helpers, Y/n emerged from the closet, only to find Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, hands sunken into the pockets of his faded blue jeans and white, cable knit sweater hugging his gorgeously lean frame. He was turned towards the bed, blond head cast down as he regarded the costume. “You’re supposed to wear it, not look at it,” she teased.

“I-” As he turned around, catching a look of her just as she moved off the threshold of the walk-in closet, he raised in brows. “Wow,” Alexander whistled lowly, appraising her outfit, “You look…wow.”

Y/n could feel her cheeks heat up, combating the traces of winter chill that managed to seep through the cracks of the tightly shut windows. Passing her hands over the green and red skirt of her costume, she grinned brightly, “You like it?”

“Like it?” Alexander scoffed humorously, peeling his hands out his pockets as he approached her. Licking his lips, he laid his hands on her waist, his palms to the cool faux leather of the belt that accessorized her costume, he grinned appreciatively, “You might be the hottest elf I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve met other elves?” Y/n shot back with a raised brow, her hands roaming his chest to her gaze challenging, “Is there something you’re not telling me?” She teased.

"Scratch that," he bent, capturing her lips in a sweet endearment, "Hottest and only elf I've ever met."

Standing on her toes as they kissed again, Y/n's hands deserted Alexander's broad chest; sliding up his strong shoulders to encircle his neck, "I thought so," she mumbled between slow, sensual pecks. His arms snaked around her waist, making a point of tugging her even closer, so the razor-thin space between them was muted and the top of her chest was pressed to the center of his.

“How much time do we have before people get here?” Alexander mumbled, his open mouthed ministrations traveling along her jaw and then down her neck.

An enthralled moan parted her crimson lips and Y/n stole a quick glance at the digital alarm clock on his side of the bed, before tilting her head to the side, granting him greater access while threading her small fingers through his short, blonde locks. “Not enough- Ah!” She hissed with Alexander nipped the soft skin her pulse, alternating between biting teasingly and sucking erotically, no doubt with the intention of leaving a very telling mark.

“We’ll make it enough,” he mumbled, and she could feel her resolve waning thin.

“But the party....." Y/n whined in protest, though still obliging when he hooked his hands around the back of her thighs, easily wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Fuck the party,” he mumbled, words cast into her soft warm skin as he buried his face in the exposed valley of her cleavage, words punctuated by little teasing nibbles and hot, fervent kisses, “Santa needs some time with his favorite elf.” And then, the last appropriate sound to part her lips was the delighted giggle that filled the room, just as Alexander unceremoniously dumped her onto the bed, wrinkling his unworn costume and making them very late to their own party.

#alexander skarsgard #Alexander skarsgard x reader #fanfic #Alexander skarsgard fanfic #12 days of christmas writing event #santa's favorite elf #fanfiction

[lucyfloyenworkshop]

Some reflections about Twisted Wonderland: Endless Halloween Night’s Event

I just finish to see the translation of the Part 1 of the new Twisted Wonderland Halloween event, Endless Halloween Night.

I retake my breath, and rethink about what happened and what could happen next with since the next part will be upload next week (^^!!!!). As a fantasy lover and writer, and also because I love to studies cultures and if, it is possible, to the most ancient roots of the legends, I couldn’t help myself about founding some cultural references in Twst’s Halloween (both last year event and the cards !). I just love this event because of the melting, meeting pot of influence. When I saw the event for the first time, I was amazed by all of the venue, the costumes. All the work, the references, the story... I can only tell a great thank you to Yana (for this event and the all universe ^^). Ins’t just disguises and pretend, it’s about costumes and becoming the ghost/monster/spirit. To make tribute.

I not gonna lie about the fact when I saw the trailers it truly surprised, excited and touched my curiosity at a point that my brain and my imagination had all ready start to imagine what going on  !

The students finally had a peaceful joyful Halloween’s festival and now... What happen to the committee team !? Not like I don’t complain to see one in a while some scary Malleus (he is a dragon and a dark fairy after all!!) but since he literally explose his most agressive side during the Halloween week (Scary Monster main event story chapter and , Cater SSR Scary Costume card)... I am afraid of what will happen, specially we see green lighting in the third and fourth trailer and Sebek look panicked and afraid (?) and Silver is on his guard, ready for fight. Riddle, Ace, Jamil, Floyd... everyone seems to be surprised, unsure of what going on, au aboits... and we see the the committee team members wonderfully scary... 

Something wicked come this way...

So there is some topics and theory linked this Endless Halloween Night’s event that I wanted to share with you...

Okay...so we go....

A meeting-pot of culture and movies 

Right after the upload of the trailer, people talk about that new event will be a reference to Tim Burton’s movie such as Nightmare Before Christmas. Yes it’s quite possible that event will had indeed some Tim Burton’s leitmotifs but it can had also, as in the first event, some Pirates of Caribbean or Mulan’s influences as much to the sequence of  Mount Baltr with (Fantasia 2000) or other scary legends about Halloween. I think, like the first Halloween event it will be a meeting-pot of different Disney movies,  (as exemple, right in Part 1 of Endless Halloween Night, we have a direct reference about the Enchantress’s Mirror in the Beauty and the Beast.)  but also the boys’s respective hometown. The best exemple are the costume itself . Just some exemples: 

 - Sacrabia rewrite the theme of werewolf, a nordic legend. 

- Octovinelle had chosen the exact opposite of the mermaid, the mummy. If there is a lot of kind of mummies around the world, it is more the Egyptian one because of horror novels and movies, and with the mad-scientific’s venue, it can be also a reference to the cabinet of curiosité or  (sorry I don’t know the English word) in the XVIII-XIX where was exposed some strange relics such as dry fairy or mermaid mummies.  

- Diasomnia, which represented, in my opnion the western fantasy with medieval gothic castle, ancient dark legend and western dragon meet the eastern culture with the ryū/lōng. 

- The Pumking Knight is a direct reference to of course Sleeping Hollow’s Headless Knight  and its Irish counterpart the Dullaman but also to Jack O’Lantern with the pumpkin (I will return on that iconic character in few moment) .

 In Jade SSR Halloween card, we discovered who Halloween is celebrate in the Land of Pyroxnese, Hot Sand Lands, Harvest contry, under the sea or in the Valley of Thorns. It’s a true moment of where everyone are gathering, sharing in order to give to the visitors, and for themselves (!) a good and fun week. And it on this different Halloween traditions that I will talk about the next topic: 

About Halloween scary origin and the culprit 

In both Jade and Lilia’s Halloween cards, we see that in their hometown, Halloween is celebrate, at the first look as a joyful feast. In the Coral sea, the merfolk play music, in the Valley of Thorns the fea lit up wood-carved lanterns that represent a ancestor, are dressed at the image of that elders and dancing around a fire of joy in the Royal Castle’s courtyard while a scarecrow is burned (yes it’s certainly make reference to the scene in Sleeping Beauty, where Maleficent’s minions celebrated their victory but ins’t all...). When Jade and the Diasomnia’s boy told about that, everyone think these celebration are joyfull one like underwater festival and midnight costumes party. Well as we discovred longside the others, theses two Halloween are everything but not joyful !

In the Coral Sea, if merfolk are playing music it’s for keeping away and apeace the souls and the ghosts of every sailors whom died on sea and can’t move along to the Other Side. Remember in Pirates of the Caraibean At the World’s End,it was Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman’s first task to take care of theses souls and help them to reach safely the Other World. According to sea legend, their is a lot of scary tales about these tourmented ghosts that died during storms whitout hope to see the shore again. 

In the Valley of Thorns, well, we know Lilia’s habit during Halloween, to become more and more dreadfull and scary every years until this famous night where all the inhabitant of the Valley, including Malleus (whom is the most fearfull magician of Twisted Wonderland ! ), were so scared and horrified that the memory of this dreadfull night give them goosebumps and the very trough to speak about frooze them !  But we know also that the Valley of Thorns is the only kingdom in Twisted Wonderland to not having modern technology such as electricity. Since the inhabitant seems to be in majority bieng  fairies and other supernatural creatures, they use magic for their daily needs and for me, this people, this kingdom represented dark magic. Not dark magic as the oppostion of light magic in the shema of Black/Evil vs White/Good magic. But Dark magic that came form the Dark Ages, where people worship and feared the forces of Natures and belived in the power of the supernatural being such as faiires or fea. The Ancients Ways....

There is a lot of reference about it trought Personal Stories, Voices Lines of the Diasomnia’s boys but just for stay focused on Halloween, I will take the scarecorw that is burned in the Castle’s Square.   

We all saw this image of a flamming scarecrow during Carnaval,  or Halloween but why we burn it ?  Well, it a device for thanks the spirit/gods (?) for the haverst but most of all a way to bannish bad things away.

[note : it’s also why witches were burned alive since the XV century (by the way it’s during that century that the Witch’s Hunt begun, not at the Medieval Age!!!!!)]

During Medieval Age and before, people were most fermers, people who live form the earth by product grain, vegetables or by raise aniamls such as sheeps, pigs or cows. The time where Halloween siting is the same as the end of the Harverst which had began at the begning of Summer. People garthered for return the product and the animas to the stockstore and the stables and the cold days comes more and more quickly. The cold began to froze the grass and the flesh, leafs falls, days became more and more short... With the Coming of winter, it is the return of the dark days. The sun, bearer of life and warm, will dispeare form the sky  until the 21 of December (Yule, Christmas) where it rise again. But until that day, the periode beteween the last days of october to mid december are darkest, coldest moments of the years where in the night the darkest being such as dragons, fae, monsters, witches or werwolf rules over the forests or around the lakes, where the mist invade the moors under the cold wind that annunciated winter. It the time where the nature lament. Yes. it’s the time where the ancient fear and the inhabitant of the World of Night return on earth alongside with the spirit of dead.   

One of the origin of the name “Halloween“ is “All Soul’s Eve/Night”. Every where around the world, every cultures had a season of the year where the spirit of the Other World came haunted this one (in Japan it’s during summer). In Europe it’s in november for the reason that I explain jsut above.    

Most of our modern Halloween’s traditions came form the Britain Island and before that form Irland, (where came also most of the tales about the fea ;-) ). A pagan feast is behinf Halloween. It’s Samhain. During that feast, the Clans gathering and celebrate both the end and the begining of the year, the end of the harvest and the memory of the ancestors. I will not talk about to much about it beacuse ins’t totally the main point of that post, (even it’s one of my favorite topics and may be I will post something about in the future), so let the most important of about that feast and even the moemnt where that celebratin happen. It’s said that during that period of the year, the veil between worlds, the Living and the Spirit Worlds, is the finer. The spirit can easly goes between these to edge, haunting, lamenting, wandering around the humans. During that days, ins’t not recommanded to goes out side, specially when during twilghit where the shadow engulf the world before nightfall and mist invaded the standing stones of forgotten tombs like in chapter of The Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring with the Barrow-Wights. An other exemple, the two first episode of the fourth saison of BBC’s Merlin illustrated that two side of Samhain and more in particular the dreadful one. If the ghosts of the ancestors and good spirit return among the living, it is all the case of evil ones such as the wraith and ghosts full hate and lust of revenge... or lost souls such as Jack O’Lantern, the ghost of a man who can’t go neither in the Haven or in Hell and whom is cursed to wandering on earth until the end of Times with a turnip litup with a piece of flamming coal ( I pretty sure that our culprit is a kind of Jack O’Lantern or an other lost souls)   

Will-o'-the-wisp, Church Grim... all of this dark creatures are looking on of the soul of the dead, watching on their forever rest for tomb raiders and avoid that the most evil of ghosts disturb the Balance between the Living and the Other World.

The ghosts, wraiths and other dead spirit are not the only dangerous being to wandering during Halloween Night. According to Irish’s tales, if during the 21 of June and Beltain the fairies are, sad and tourmented. (Malleus confirm it in one of his Halloween’s voice lines). And unlike Good Fairy Mother or Thinckle Bell, ALL the fea are dangerous.  Even the action of the most beloven fairy can still harm someone and at the opposite some fea waiting only that a human feel in their trap... (thank goodness, ins’t the case of our two NRC’s favorites fea! ) 

Theory about what will happen next… 

Warning: For this part it’s just my opinions and theories ! Nothing canon !

So redarding all these fact, I really think that the culprit, is a ghost and may be perhaps several ghosts of dead children (we can see is on the event’s title).  

It’s true that Twisted Wonderland is more a teenager and adult world than a children one (both its characters than the audience). Expect , we didn’t so many children in that story. In fact it’s only during the Halloween’s week that we meet children. All of them are playful, full of wonder and joy, delight the fun and love the “nice“ monsters of NRC. Full of innocence and dream but..   as we know, children (and Grim) sometime want always that the fun never end and in that case the worst and dreadful scenario can happen whiteout realising that it’s hurt. The two best exemple that I present are the character of Lily in Pandora Heart or (and I think it is the best exemple) Skull Kid in The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. 

Since Twisted Wonderland, through every characters’s background there alway  a sad, depressing and dark story, it will be not surprising to learn that the culprit/culprits is the ghosts of dead children that are died during a Halloween feast and never finished the party and so can’t reach the Other World peacefully. As we can see in Ghost Marriage’s event, ghost are all-powerful on the livings. Even Lilia had been frozen when Eliza slapped him and we know how powerful Lilia is. So a vampire-fairy and a dragon-fea ins’t a big deal. 

As Ashen-Eye said to Stella in Ancient’s Magus’s Bride, the no-human (fairies, supernatural creature) and the spirit (elemental, ghost, dead) heard all the words and wishes of human. Words had power and who know the true meaning of a word or a name, can use it at his will. [ both fairies and dragons are masters in that domain) The control of the True Name of thing/being is the base of magic in both folklore and fiction (Ursula K; LeGuin’s Earthsea, Tales form Earthsea, Spirited Away etc...). So imagine that these children ghosts, than wandering between the worlds, heard a certain monster-cat and a ginger Heartslabyul’s first years wish that Halloween night continue forever... 

Well... Be careful for what you wish for because the surperatural begins can argued that wish but most of the time, and I will not make a list of exemple because there to many of it, the wish will goes for the worst and turn into a living nightmare. 

If it’s how it’s happen, so why Malleus, Jack, Cater, Kalim, Vil and the other look like (gorgeously) demonic, evil and scary ? 

For some reason, I have the feeling it’s linked some how to what happen during the night where the Halloween committee’s members had chasing away, haunted and scared the Magicam Monsters.

Just like Jade and Vil said, at Halloween there is also scary ghost and a lot people misunderestimated that fact. It’s why, during that particular night where they bannsihing away the foolish Magicam Mosnter, all of them become the monster that they wearing the costume and the plan was a success !

By the way I will said in my opinion it was Diasomnia (they not even pretend to act like monster !), Heartslabyul (being buried alive is a true phobia and  the worst and dreadful death ever),Savanclaw (not being able to move and Leona’s Unique Magic) that was the most dreadful and scary.

So once again imagine that our ghosts culprits see Deuce, Cater, Jack, Jade, Azul, Vil, Epel, Jamil, Idia, Lilia and Malleus, pretending at different degres of acting, being the scary monsters, they will enjoy it and in their wicked desire to keep Halloween night forever they will take “the monsters“ into their twisted, dark and endless Halloween world... for more realism and fun.

Possession, transformation, amnesia and fake memories, I really dunno how/what it could be but I a hunted per sure that  all elven of them, will become the monsters/ghost they pretended to be and during in the previous event they defending that Halloween place/venue that became  a real place, no more a decoration...

AND I FEAR THAT THEY WILL NOT ACTING AT ALL !!!! 

Why I have the big feeling that our recurring team will had to fight the committee members order that the return to their normal self ?

Well it’s true that this Forever Halloween World is in black/white just like the memories after the overboot’s battle but it’s can be just a artistic choice. But what it sure it’s take the same path than both the overbolt and the Halloween’s dreadful night.  The firsts locations we discovered is a graveyard (Heartslabuy Skeleton’s venue), a cove with at the horizon a ship wreck (Savanaclaw Pirate’s Venue, an abandoned lab (Octovinelle Mummies’s venue) and a spooky, haunted, gothic like castle which look like the main building of NRC (may be Ramshackle resident since it is the Main Alley that our ghosts resident, Grim (probably Yuu too) chasing away the last Magicam Monsters). 

Oh jeez...

 If it is really the case... I am afraid about Diasomnia because even as their normal self, Malleus and Lilia are enough scary and dangerous !!!! I mean, when they chasing away the magicam monster they didn’t pretended to be !!    

Truly, except , there is no event in that story where we don’t must save the day, confront bolt monster, a crazy hunter teacher/students (Vargas’s Camp/Bean Day)... without the dorm leader’s overbolt and the invitation to hell ! (Ignihyde and Diasomnia’s arc)

But I love that universe ! ^////^

It’s was a very long post. Hope you enjoy it :-)

Good day/night to all of you :-)

I totally assuming my love for dragons/ryū, Malleus Draconia and Diasomnia Dorm !!! XD ^^

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst theory #twst halloween event #endless halloween night #something wicked this way come #just look forward monday and the next of this aventure ;-)

[itcamefromthetoybox]

Laser Blades: A More Elegant Weapon

Join me now, won’t you, in a far-gone decade known as the 90’s. The first “Toy Story” movie had just come out in theaters, introducing the world to a colorful cast of beloved characters and flooding the shelves with merchandise. And at the top of every kid’s “Want” list, to the point that it was the best-selling toy of Christmas 1996, was Buzz Lightyear, as faithful a recreation of the toy from the movie as 90’s engineering was capable of. I, of course, was no exception to this, and was delighted when I got a Buzz Lightyear with silver and black armor. From there, I was thrilled to play as Buzz in the surprisingly fantastic “Toy Story 2” video game for the Nintendo 64 and was ecstatic to watch the show “Buzz Lightyear of Star Command” after school. So when I found out about the upcoming “Lightyear” movie, you can imagine the shrill, dog-upsetting, noise I made. I had been waiting eagerly for the toys to pop up on shelves, and at last they have! And so, because I have no impulse control, I grabbed and want to talk about “Laser Blade Buzz Lightyear!”

We all know who Buzz Lightyear is. Almost everyone who would be reading this has seen at least one “Toy Story” movie in their lives. So instead, let’s talk about the “Lightyear” movie. The idea is that this movie came out in the “Toy Story” universe, inspiring the toy that Andy gets in the first movie and the cartoon that was later aired in real life and was shown to also exist in the “Toy Story” universe. The movie comes out in about a month at this point, so, of course, the tie in movie merchandise is now out on the shelves.

Laser Blade Buzz looks fantastic. His entire design is a more realistic-looking version of the original Buzz Lightyear design, with a decent amount of detailing sculpted on, showing armor plating and suit features, even ones the toy doesn’t actually have, like a laser mounted on his wrist. His paint job uses more muted colors than the original, which does bug me a bit, but is true to the film. For some reason, people have decided “realistic” means “darker colors.” He doesn’t have his helmet up, but he does have his purple headpiece, which a lot of the Buzz figures in this line lack so far, and his right hand has an attached sword, which has the laser part of the blade painted a different color from the rest of the weapon to make it stand out even when it’s not lighting up. Honestly, I like his look a lot.

Star Command employee of the month.

Buzz is also surprisingly articulated. When I got this figure, I knew he was going to be very focused on the gimmick, which, in a lot of cases, means less articulation. Much to my surprise and delight, though, Buzz is very well articulated. His legs, feet, and left arm are very posable, and even his right arm can turn at the elbow. Considering his gimmick of swinging his sword is triggered by squeezing his legs together, I expected his legs would be a bit more stationary, but they’re in fact very posable. His right leg’s got a little less articulation where it meets the hip, but it’s not really an issue.

“Buzz Lightyear Mission Log. I am beginning to regret bringing a sword to a laser fight.”

The gimmick’s also really great. Like I said earlier, he swings his sword when you squeeze his legs together. Doing so causes him to turn his waist, swing his light-up sword upwards, and play one of thirty sound effects, including speech clips. The sound for the blade activating is also the sound of, or at least similar to, a lightsaber, so that’s pretty cool. And with all his articulation, the gimmick doesn’t really detract from the toy. It limits what you can do with the right arm, and that’s about it.

The only real complaint I have is that he doesn’t do more. His sculpted buttons on his chest don’t trigger anything and are there because they’re just a part of his design. I know, that complaint sounds like I’m stretching, and that’s because I am. He’s just a really great toy. He’s also massive. Buzz comes in at about 12 inches, but feels even bigger, which is both good and bad. It’s good because he’s a massive, fun, sturdy toy, and holding him makes me feel like a kid getting a Buzz Lightyear toy again. It’s bad, though, because there aren’t any other figures in the line so far that really capture that same feeling of “large and in charge,” which means there’s no Zurg or Zurg’s robots that feel like a comparable challenge for Buzz, though hopefully that changes as we get closer to the movie.

“BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL!”

Would I recommend this figure? Absolutely. Honestly, every figure I’ve gotten from the line so far (Zurg, one of Zurg’s robot Zyclopses, Mission Equipped Buzz Lightyear, and this Buzz) have been just so great, and this Buzz is no exception. So far in my experience, no figure in the line loses anything to their gimmicks, and they’re all great toys. This figure’s great for kids and just a ton of fun. Hell, the one reason I’m not constantly playing with him is because I’m pretty sure his sound effect would drive my fiancee to murder me in my sleep. Buzz is currently available at mass retail for about $30. This is JL, signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

#buzz lightyear #lightyear #disney #pixar #toy #toys #action figure #review #toy review #disney toy

[mourntheantagonist]

billy and steve are avid hot wheel collectors.

the two of them can both remember playing with them as a kid growing up. steve had the whole set up going on. expensive racetrack with the loop and all. he’d sit in front of the tv for hours racing the little red chevy he’d found in his stocking one christmas morning. he had a whole collection going on. his father or mother always bringing home a new car every time they visited the store. billy didn’t grow up with such a wide variety. he had three in total. a red stingray, a silver datsun, and a blue camaro. none of the little accessories to add on. just him and his three little sixty cent cars on his slightly sloped concrete driveway in the front of his house. he was perfectly content with it. he’d always imagined when he’d grow up he’d have the real thing. his very own blue camaro.

when he signed the bill of sale and took his first drive behind the wheel of his very own blue chevy, he felt like a kid again. flooring it down abandoned streets like he was racing down concrete hills. he still had the same little metal car in his pocket. paint chipped after years of use. wheels worn and they don’t turn like they used to. but he did it. he actually had the real thing, and the little toy car would have its own place inside the glovebox.

billy doesn’t touch another hot wheel or even really think about them until he’s helping steve pack up his stuff for the move to california. they’re unloading totes from the attic that have steve’s name on it to see if there’s anything worth keeping when one extremely heavy box is dropped into his arms. when he opens it up it’s completely filled to the brim with what appears to be easily a thousand little hot wheels. some still even in their original packaging and billy is simply mesmerized.

“holy shit dude how many of these do you have?”

“there’s a lot more where that came from.”

“what?!”

that’s when steve tells billy about how he used to, and still does on occasion, collect hot wheels. he lowers two more totes that are just as full as the first one that contain entirely packaged hot wheels in very good condition. billy is simply dumbstruck. learning terminology like ‘treasure hunt’ and how if there was green at the top of the packaging it meant it was a rare.

“did you not have any as a kid?”

“I had three.” he holds up three fingers on one hand to emphasize the point.

steve insists on leaving the boxes in the attic but billy refuses. already hauling them out to the moving truck. no way is he letting steve part with these. and maybe he’s a little selfish. maybe he wants to feel like a kid again and race some little hot wheels down concrete pavement that actually have wheels that turn. look at all the ones steve has collected. find out which one was steve’s favorite as a kid, criticize his taste in cars a little bit.

billy nearly forgot about the blue chevy in his glovebox until steve had reached into it looking for a lighter. pulling it out to look at it.

“I had this one too. mine probably looks just as worn as this one.” he rolls it along the dash of the car and he feels like he seven again. he stopped playing with them a long time ago and began just leaving them in their packaging to keep them pristine. letting the unpackaged ones eventually find their way into a box in the attic to never be touched again.

but maybe things were beginning to change. things have already been changing a lot as it is. what’s a little bit more?

when they arrive at the new place the totes don’t find their way into an attic to the basement. they sit there in the middle of the living room looking like a sore thumb until billy does something about it. he comes home with several large plastic encasings to mount on the wall. little rectangular slots perfectly sized for each little car. they barely make even a dent into the box but it’s enough to serve as a reminder of steve’s old passion. the hot wheels hanging so prominently on the wall it feels okay to allow the rest to find their way into the attic. especially now since he’s begun collecting again, this time with someone else at his side.

he educates billy on how to go about looking for treasure hunts, but tells him just to buy anything he thinks looks cool.

if billy was confused about how steve had collected so many, he sure as hell wasn’t now. the collection quickly doubled in just the span of under a year with two people taking part. bringing home at least five new ones after every trip to the grocery store. plus that one time billy snuck steve into the back room of a toys r us and cleared them out of all of their treasure hunts. the cashier knew they were up to something but chose not to say anything about it.

they carry the hobby with them throughout the years. eventually one day having to go through them and take out doubles because their attic is completely full.

billy loves everything about it. his favorite part is getting to do it with steve. and his second favorite part is when he asks steve what his favorite hot wheel is, and he holds up the chipped up camaro that sits in its own little display case on the end table.

“this one. because it reminds me of you.”

#quick little thing #I’m feeling nostalgic leave me alone #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #ficlet

[sam-and-buck]

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM 

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit. 

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials. 

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first. 

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time. 

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him. 

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’ 

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience. 

“Who proposed and when?” 

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’ 

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included. 

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce. 

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room. 

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on. 

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’ 

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to  know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect. 

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher. 

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to. 

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one. 

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist. 

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is. 

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends: 

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #mcu #marvel #tfatws #sam(antha) tag #my fanfic tag #fanfic