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#might convert it to a fic but anyway back to work

elliezato · 1 month

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❀˙⋆Summer With You⋆˙❀

Pairing: Ellie x Reader

-Modern au!

Summary: You and your friends decide to rent out a cabin on the beach over the summer. This was your last summer before leaving for college, so you wanted to make it memorable. This summer was going to be perfect. You spent your days in the water, taking In the moments in the sun with your friends.

It didn't take long for you to realize your feelings for your best friend Ellie.

The way her wet hair drips down her shoulders as she gets out of the water. The way her fingers strum the guitar as you gather around the fire. The way the stars light her eyes during late night swims. The way her smile grows when she’s with her girlfriend… It's all too much.

Will these feelings ruin your friendship and the whole summer? What will happen when it's time to leave Ellie behind for college?

Word Count: 4.4k

⋆˚✿˖°

a/n: Im back!! I've been in the summer mood recently and I just need to be laying out by the lake rn. I recently read "SYNS" by carmellie and was inspired to make this! I've really been wanting to write a slow burn, angst fic so I hope this turns out good.

I will probably split this story into a few parts depending on how long I want this to be.

This will be my first real fic because honestly I've only written smut in the past and I'm not sure if I like writing stuff like that. I might add a little bit of it every now and then in my stories but it's not something I want to continue to write.

Anyway, I'm super exited for this story! Please give me ideas for future chapters! I love to hear feedback on how to improve or what you guys like.

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Packing your bag was the only thing you weren't looking forward to doing on this trip. You always over packed and struggled to fit everything in your bags. Clothes and shoes were thrown all over your room as you pick out what you should pack. This trip is going to be 2 months long so you need enough clothes to last through the summer but not too much that your car will be over flowing.

"Eww, do not bring that" Dina says in disgust as you hold up an old one piece bathing suit from freshmen year.

You knew she was right, but you didn't have many options when It came to bathing suits. You packed it anyway, along with some other suits from the previous summer. The sun shined through your window, lighting up the room. It was almost noon and you needed to leave soon. The drive to the cabin would take the majority of the day so there wasn't much time to waste.

Dina helped you load your car with your bags. There wasn't a lot of room in the trunk but you two made it work. You slam the truck shut, making sure it wouldn't pop open from all the clothes. Your parents hug you goodbye in your drive way as you and Dina get ready to leave.

You get into your car and put the top of your convertible down. The breeze felt nice in your hair as you drove off. Music plays as you sing your heart out. This was going to be a good trip, you could feel it. Dina pulls out her digital camera and snaps a pic of you driving as your hair blows in the wind. Your sun glasses reflect the trees lining the road.

It's been a long time since you've been on a nice trip. Let alone with all your friends. Nerves start to build as you get closer to the cabin. Ellie and Jesse were supposed to meet you there. Recently it's been awkward with Ellie. Usually you two could talk for hours and spend every second together but things have been different.

⋆˚✿˖°

You noticed this sudden shift in your friendship during one of your sleepovers a few months ago. Ellie was sitting on the floor of your bedroom while you were getting ready for bed. She starts going on a rant about this girl she's been thinking about asking out. You don't know what happened but in that moment you felt this strange rage fill in your heart.

Ellie has always been open about girls she finds attractive but she's never made any moves. The thought of your best friend dating another girl upset you for some reason. You've never felt this before and decided to just let it go.

"She so pretty y/n! Like I really think I'm going to make my move" Ellie scrolls on her phone as she talks to you.

You look into the mirror while washing the rest of the soap off your face. "Go for it Els, you could probably pull anyone"

"Yeah, I know" Ellie says sarcastically, now putting down her phone.

She walks over to you and meets your gaze in the reflection on the bathroom mirror. Your eyes revert down to the counter. For some reason you felt your body tremble as she got closer. You couldn't understand why you were acting like this. You've known Ellie your whole life and never saw her as anything other than your best friend.

She picks up her toothbrush and you leave the bathroom. You lay in bed waiting for Ellie to finish in the bathroom. She noticed the sudden change in your demeanor. After a few minutes your friend turns off the lights and lays nexts to you in bed.

"You ok?" Ellie turns to look at you. Her hand rubs up and down your arm.

"Yeah, Im just tired" You lied. You were wide awake but the thoughts of Ellie swarmed your mind.

Things have been like this ever since then. Every time you guys hung out, you two always end up in awkward situations. You hated the fact that things felt like this. You almost convinced yourself that maybe your friendship isn't as strong and it use to be. Maybe you two are drifing apart. You prayed that this wasn't the case but it was the only logical way to explain the distance between you two.

⋆˚✿˖°

"Can we pull over? I have to pee and Im starving" Dina throws her head back into the seat.

"Yeah, I need to get gas anyway" You pull into a gas station and Dina runs in as you follow shortly behind her.

The area was very unfamiliar. There wasn't many people around. You walk inside the convince store and pick out a few snacks and your friend finishes up in the bathroom. You look over to pick out what you want and see a package of watermelon sour patch kids. These were Ellie's favorite. You guys use to walk to the gas station when you were younger and eat these on the curb in the summer heat.

You pick up two bags, one for yourself and one to give Ellie when you see her later tonight. Dina grabs her snacks and you pay. You quickly fill up your tank and get back onto the road. You put the top of your conferable back up now that it's getting darker and the air is cooling down.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Dina slept as you listed to music softly. Superache by Conan filled the car as your mind thought about Ellie. She was all you could think about for the rest of the drive. You were excited to see her, hoping she felt the same.

A few hours later you pull into the driveway of the cabin. You looked at the familiar car already in front of you.

"It looks like they're already here" You nudge Dina, trying to wake her.

You text the group chat, letting your friends know you arrived. As you get out of the car to help unload all your bags you hear your name being called out from a small distance. You look up and see Ellie and Jesse walking towards you to greet you and help with the bags.

"Y/N!! You guys took long enough." Ellie pulls you into a tight hug and then turns to Dina to welcome her.

Your eyes were glued to Ellie. She was dressed in a pair of jorts that ended a few inches above her knees. Her shirt displayed the album cover of her favorite band she took you to see last semester. She wore her old converse that probably need to be replaced sometime soon.

You guys walk into the cabin with all the bags. It was beautiful. Trees surround the land and fireflies lit up every now and then around the house. You could see a glimpse of the ocean from the front. You walk into the cabin and place your bags onto the floor.

"You guys have to see the view!" Ellie grabs your wrist to bring you to the backyard.

Dina and Jesse followed as Ellie opened the backdoor for everyone. As she opened the door you were met with the view of the beach in the distance. Lanterns lit the path leading down to a fire pit. Lights were strung across the yard, lighting up every inch. You closed your eyes and listened to the waves crashing in the distance and the bugs humming from the trees.

"Holy shit. This is insane!" Your eyes light up thinking about all the memories that are about to be made here.

"Lets go down to the beach!" Jesse says as he's already sprinting down to the sand.

"I'll be there in a minute, Im going to change into a bathing suit." You begin to walk back inside until you feel a tug on your arm.

"Come onnnn!" Ellie drags you down to the beach with everyone else.

There wasn't anyone on the beach. It was more of a reserved area for residents only. You kick off your shoes as you stumble down to the water. You watch as your friends run into the waves laughing and taking in the moment. Ellie looks over at you from the water smiling, motioning you to come in. You roll your eyes and walk into the water. It was oddly warm. You cringe at the fact you're still dressed in your clothes from the drive here.

You suddenly gasp as you feel yourself getting pushed into the water. "Hey!" You sit as waves crash over you.

Ellie looks down at you and laughs but it doesn't last long before Jesse pushes her in. "What the fuck!"

You're now laughing at the sight of her drenched in the water. She grabs your hand and helps you up as you two are now dripping wet. You look up and notice how bright the stars are here. Back home you can barely see the stars. The city isn't the best place for star gazing. You can feel your body start to shiver.

The wet cloths that cling to your body get colder by each second. Ellie notices and pulls you close. "Lets go back up and change"

You take your bag of clothes and bring it it your room. Your eyes widen when you realize the room you were sharing with Ellie only has one bed. You don't understand why you're in shock. You've shared a bed with Ellie many times in your life but for some reason you felt weird about it.

"Nice right?" She says as she walks past you into the room.

The room was nice. It was open and had big windows looking out to the ocean. You place your bags down next to the bed and pull out a pair of pjs. You feel her eyes on you as you walk to the bathroom to shower and change for the night.

You take your time getting unready. Turing on the shower as you slip out of your wet clothes. The water is hot and feels nice against your shivering skin. Fingers run through your scalp as you wash out the salty water, tasting it on your lips as it washes over your face.

You dry off your body and put on fresh clothes. You throw your wet hair up into a towel as you wash your face. As you exit the bathroom you notice Ellie is no longer in the room. You walk downstairs to the kitchen to see all your friends sitting at the island laughing.

"Were ordered pizza, I hope that's fine" Dina says smiling, then returning to her conversation

"Im literally starving, I could fuck up some pizza right now" You say as you sit and join them at the island.

"I think Cat is going to join us for a week. She's supposed to be here next Saturday" Ellie looks at you waiting for a reaction.

You immediately feel a frown forming on your face. You hated Cat. You hated how she practically stole Ellie from you, and now she's coming on your trip!? Ever since Ellie made her move on Cat they've been inseparable. She never referred to Cat as her girlfriend but you knew it was coming. The way Ellie looks at her. It hurts. You figured it was just because she doesn't spend all her time with you anymore. Maybe you're just jealous that Ellie's time is being taken up by someone else.

You were looking forward to spending time with Ellie on this trip and now she's inventing Cat? You felt your heart drop at the thought of Ellie spending the next week with her.

"That's exciting" You say as you force a smile but it's clear your upset.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. "That's probably the pizza" Jesse gets up and walks to the front door.

You make your way over to the living room with a box of pizza in your hands. You place the box down on the coffee table next to the other boxes. Ellie hands you a glass of water as she takes a seat next to you on the couch.

"What movie are we watching?" You feel Ellie's body shift next to you as she grabs the remote to scroll through the options.

"Want to rewatch Bottoms? I don't think Dina or Jesse have seen it yet."

"YES!" She searches up the movie and hits rent without any hesitation.

⋆˚✿˖°

The night was nice. You rested your head on Ellies shoulder as you watch the movie. The boxes of pizza are practically empty except for the left over crust from Ellie that she refuses to eat. The movie was almost over and you could feel your eyes getting tired. You've already seen this move a million times so you decided to go ahead and go to bed.

"Where are you going" Ellie looks up at you as you remove yourself from her arms.

"Im going to head up to bed. Im tired from driving all day. I'll see you guys in the morning" You smile and say goodnight to Jesse and Dina.

"Okay, goodnight! I'll be up there right when the movie ends." She gives you a soft smile in return.

The bed was comfortable. It was easy to get settled in as you wait for Ellie's presence. Your eyes close as you wait for her. You could feel yourself drifting off until you hear the sound of the door opening. Your body turns towards the door and you open your eyes to see Ellie walking into the room.

"Sorry, did I wake you up" She quietly closes the door.

"No, I was still up." You watch as she pulls out her toothbrush from her bag and walks to the bathroom.

She eventually joins you in bed. Her body was close. You could feel her settling into the mattress. The widow was slightly open, allowing the sound of the waves crashing to fill the room. The fan kept the room at a cool temperature as you pull the covers higher up your body.

"Do you like Cat" Ellie breaks the silence and turns to face you in the bed waiting for a response.

Her face was close. You could feel her gentle breath on your cheeks as she waited for you to answer. You knew you couldn't tell her the truth. She's your best friend. There's no reason for you dislike Cat, but you did, but you couldn't tell her that.

"Yeah. Why?" Your response was cold and blunt.

"You just always change the subject when I bring her up or you just seem to always get upset." She frowns. "I just really want you to like her because I think I'm going to make things official with her."

You almost was to cry when you hear those words come out of her mouth. Your heart aches. You knew this was coming but you prayed it wouldn't happen. You wished things would fall through between them. You hated that you felt this way. You wanted Ellie to be happy. You really did but you've been letting your emotions get in the way.

"Do whatever you want Ellie" You turn to face the opposite way. You didn't mean for your response to come out as harsh as it did, but it was too late.

"This is exactly what I was talking about. I don't understand why you're being like this" Her voice is harsh. "Ever since I told you about Cat you've been so distant. I don't know why you're being like this but clearly you need space."

You feel her get up from the bed. "Where are you going?" You sit up and look at her.

"Giving you space. You obviously are upset with me and I don't know why." She gets up and leaves the room.

You lay back down on your back as the tears that formed in your eyes begin to fall down your cheeks. Her words stung but she was right. You feel bad for being so short with Ellie, she doesn't deserve it. Your whole life you and Ellie have been so close. You told each other everything. The reason your friendship is changing was because of you.

After tossing and turning in the empty bed for a while you look over at your bag and see the candy you bought for Ellie but forgot to give her. You decide to get up and find her, still feeling bad about earlier. The room was dark and hard to navigate but you found the door. You walk downstairs to see Ellie laying on the couch. She's wrapped up in a small blanket, sleeping softly. You sit on the edge of the couch and look at her with a feeling of guilt settling in your stomach.

"y/n?" She slowly opens her eyes and looks at you.

"Im sorry Els." You look at her with damp eyes. "Im sorry I've been so distant and I'm sorry for being rude." You wipe your tears trying to gain composer.

Ellie sits up and wraps her arms around you, bringing you close to her body. She wipes your tears as she holds you. "Stop crying. Im not mad at you, Im just confused."

"I know and Im sorry" You rest your head on her chest.

You eventually lay down on the couch with her. There isn't too much room but you make it work. Your bodies press against each other as you close your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around your waist, still trying to calm you down. You quickly fall asleep, feeling that your friendship is returning to what it once was.

⋆˚✿˖°

You wake up alone on the couch, hearing chatter from the kitchen. Sitting up and looking over you see your friends making breakfast. The air smells of salt and pancakes.

"Look who's finally up" Jesse says teasingly as he flips a pancake.

"You hungry?" Ellie asks as she holds up a plate of food she had already prepared for you.

You get up from the couch and sit at the table. The kitchen had huge windows that had the perfect view on the backyard and the beach. The cabin was so pretty during the day. The sunlight lit up the whole house. You look up as you see Ellie placing a plate in front of you. She sits down and joins you for breakfast.

"Do you have any plans in mind for today" She looks up at you as she takes a bite of pineapple.

"I really want to explore this area and go to the beach." You smile at her as you spread the butter on your pancakes.

You put on your bathing suit and then some shorts over as a coverup. The weather was hot but not humid. There was nice breeze outside. There were a bunch of beach bikes on the side of the cabin for guest so you and your friends decided to explore on them.

Wind blew through your hair as you rode down the dirt paths from the cabin to the nearest sidewalk. Music played through Ellie's speakers as you rode. You eventually came across a small beach town with restaurants and shops. There were people walking through with friends and family enjoying the start of summer break.

You tied your bikes to a post and decided to walk around. "This place is so cute!" You take out you phone to take some pictures.

Dina points out a small local coffee shop and starts walking towards it. You guys enter the shop and order coffees to start your morning. Ellie wasn't a huge coffee person so she got a refresher.

"Els you need to try this!" You hand her your drink waiting for her to take a sip.

"No thanks. I really don't like coffee" She pushes your drink away.

"Seriously Ellie, its so good, you have to try it" You push your cup back into her hands.

She hands you her drink so you can try it as she takes a sip of your coffee. "This is disgusting!" She cringes as the taste of coffee lingers in her mouth.

She takes her drink back and washes out the bitter taste of coffee from her mouth. The coffee wasn't even strong, it was mostly washed out with a sugary creamer. You laugh watching Ellie's reaction to the coffee and took it back from her hands.

The town was small so it didn't take long to explore it. You guys planned on trying every restaurant here over the summer. The breeze from the ocean felt nice. The air smelt of salt and coffee.

You and your friends got back onto your bikes and rode down to the beach. The weather was starting to get warmer as noon approached. You set you bike up again the beach entrance and step onto the sand. You take off your shoes and toss them into your bag and walk down to the water. Ellie follows shortly behind and sits down on the towel that Dina places on the warm sand.

You join Ellie on the towel as Dina and Jesse head towards the water. "Im sorry about last night, I was just tired. I don't even remember why I was upset." You say looking at Ellie as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Y/n, it's really ok, I'm not mad. I just want us to go back to how we use to be" She admits as she meets your gaze.

"Me too" You smile and rest your head on her shoulder as you watch your friends splashing each other in the waves.

⋆˚✿˖°

The first week was perfect. You spent your days at the beach and cooking out in the backyard of the cabin. Jesse and Ellie set up hammocks in the back, so you guys could star gaze and talk until the sun starts to rise. Things were going better than you imagined. Your relationship with Ellie was better than ever. You two did everyone together.

"Cats going to be here in a few minutes!" Ellie impatiently checks her phone waiting for Cat's arrival text.

You sit at the island finishing your breakfast. The windows were open, allowing the fresh air to calm you down. You've been dreading this since Ellie first brought up the fact that Cat was even visiting. The thought of Ellie spending all her time with Cat made you sick. You didn't want to lash out again so you kept your feelings to yourself.

A ding from Ellie's phone interrupted your conversation followed by a loud knock at the door. "She's here!" Ellie jumped from her seat and walked over to the front door.

Cat stood at the entrance with her bag. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top with an opened button down on top. You took in the image of Ellie's face lighting up as she looked Cat up and down. You watched as she pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie leaded her into the kitchen with everyone else.

"Hi guys! Thanks for letting me stay for a few days" She smiles and then looks at you.

You return the smile but its obvious you're annoyed. Cat takes the hint and turns back too Ellie. They walk upstairs so she could put up her bags.

Dina looks over at you with a frown. "You ok y/n?"

"Yeah... why?" You look at her with a confused and saddened expression.

Dina caught on to your feelings for Ellie a long time ago. You've never admitted to them because honestly you never thought of Ellie in that way. At least not until recently. It's all been so confusing.

"She's only going to be here for five days, it'll go by fast" Dina tries to reassure you but it just makes things worse.

"I know, I think we'll have fun. And Ellie's happy" You try to convince your friends you're ok, and maybe you're trying to convince yourself too.

Ellie returns downstairs with Cats hand in hers. The sight makes you want to cry but you suck in your feelings and try to avoid them. You knew these next few days would be hard. Not only did you have to watch your best friend fall in love with someone else but you had to get rid of any feelings you have for her.

You didn't even know you liked her but it makes sense now. It's all coming together. Why did you feel this way? You've known Ellie all your life. Why are you just now realizing these feelings? The way she makes you feel when her fingers are running through your hair. The way she holds you close at night. The way she immediately drops everything when you need her.

Your thoughts shatter in your mind when you see Cats lips against Ellie's. You can't help but sit and stare. Ellie never told you they were official yet. Why didn't she tell you?

Your emotions took over and you left. You didn't know where you were going but your keys were in your hand and you were already half way to you car.

"Y/n!? Where are you going?" Ellie follows you as you walk out the door. Cat standing behind. She stands at the door frame as she watches you pull out of the drive way.

The air was much needed. You drove down the roads of the beach. tears building up in your eyes. You had hopes that this drive would distract you but the only thing on your mind was Ellie. Why did you let your feelings get the best of you again. She clearly doesn't like you. She has Cat.

You find yourself sitting in a cafe looking out at the beach. The thoughts Ellie holding you floods your mind. You hate yourself for feeling like this. What would she think if she knew about how you felt? Would this ruin everything between you two? Would your friendship be over for good?

You immediately snap out of your thoughts as you look down and notice a text from Ellie.

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a/n: Thank you for reading!! Im already working on the next chapter. I hope my writing gets stronger as I write more because I feel like this could be more detailed:( Please, please, pleaseeee give me feedback! I love hearing others opinions! Im excited to continue this story because honestly I have no idea where the plot is going to go yet. The next chapters should be longer as they come out. Im not expecting this to be too long but let me know what you guys want for the future chapters!<3

#ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #the last of us #tlou #ellie williams tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #wlw #sapphic #slow burn #angst #ellie williams fanfic #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams x female reader

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finalfrontierpublishing · 8 months

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A Case of You by @epitomereally

Happy (belated) Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day! For FFWAD, Renegade Bindery runs an event where we bind copies of fics for their authors and I was super excited to be able to bind this for a fellow bookbinder!

I'm rather new to the Drarry fandom but @epitomereally has been absolutely wonderful in providing fic recs and bookbinding advice. She is so so kind and I have enjoyed seeing the lovely books she has created for fellow authors, and somewhere along the way I hatched a sekret plan to bind a copy of her fic for her.

Some stats as usual:

97,262 words || 354 pages

body text: EB Garamond 11 point

accents: Bestaline Sans, Bell MT and Bembo Std

I had really wanted to do a design on the spine (both of us like doing some spine stitching as a design feature), so i really wanted to be able to put it in a bind for her. also my near obsessive fixation with spine stitching worked out in my favour because i settled on a constellation design and ran with it. the design on the spine is stitched with gold linen thread, and accented by some designs done in heat reactive foil.

for bookcloth, I settled fairly quickly on night sky blue so colibri elder made an appearance. I had a little trouble with colour matching for the endpapers with the endbands (i should have probably done pink instead of purple), but I still like the relative cohesiveness of the look of this book. Endpapers are Crepaldi, i am absolutely shameless about my stash.

I also was very excited because I learnt Affinity Publisher for this book!!! Zero regrets, it looks amazing, i am a convert I will never go back to Microsoft Word goddamn. and ME AND SIDE HEADERS - i love them though the book might have benefited from larger margins. THEY'RE SO SEXY MY GOD.

hehe, i may have also sustained a flesh wound while cutting the board for this book but HEY WE ALL EVENTUALLY HAVE ONE OF THESE THINGS (WHERE WE GOTTA GO TO THE A&E BECAUSE OF A BOOKBINDING MISHAP) BEAUTY IS PAIN Y'ALL.

ULTIMATELY I'M SO GLAD THE BOOK ARRIVED SAFELY TODAY AND I'M SO HAPPY SHE LOVED THE BOOK. when you bind for another bookbinder, it's both stressful and extremely endorphin-releasing because the other bookbinder both appreciates all the design choices you make as well as knows exactly where you might have fucked up.

ultimately, making a book is a small small gift for someone who so generously wrote a novel-length epic for free and shared it with the masses for a love of fandom.

anyway, go read this fic, guys, it's so so good, and SHE JUST WROTE A NEW ONE (IT IS ALSO EXCELLENT and i am savouring it WHILE PONDERING DESIGN CHOICES HEHEHEHEH)

Please check out her AO3 page here.

Other things I've been working on:

FOILED EDGES HAVE BECOME MY PASSION I HAVE NO REGRETS. @duran-binding and I have been excitedly getting everyone into sanding and THE LOVE FOR POWER SANDING AND DOING FOILED EDGES. Marissa has even succeeded with hidden fore-edge painting - ALL HAIL OUR EDGELORD who does marbled edges and hidden fore-edge painting and has so kindly shared all her information with others for absolutely free. ❤️‍🔥

#bookbinding #fanbinding #my books #drarry #epitomereally #harry potter #draco malfoy #a case of you #ficbinding #FFWAD #FFWAD2023 #renegadelovesfic #renegade bindery

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pluviophile-imagines · 2 years

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Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

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

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

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

masterlist || part ii ⟹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You live next door, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Miss Sunny?”

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s a really good painter.”

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

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

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re always welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanted to thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

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

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you lost it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

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

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

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

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

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes him tense. “What?”

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

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The girls’?”

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

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

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

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

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

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

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what you’re doing now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She won’t tell me.”

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

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

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

“Pleasure to meet you.”

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

“How valiant of you.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s just a step stool…”

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

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

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

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

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

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

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

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

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

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So..?”

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

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

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

It works. She perks up at the praise.

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

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

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

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

“Thank you!”

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

“Like… right now?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see…”

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

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

“Now you try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you’d better head back over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

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

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

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

“It seems to like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You take good care of it.”

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

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

“Mmm. I will.”

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

“Oh? Have fun.”

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

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning! You’re here early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

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

“But?”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“I… dunno what I can do.”

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

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

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t ready.”

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

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

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

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

“How’d your dad react?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

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

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

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why, exactly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your fine?”

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

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

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

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

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

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

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

“How much?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he now?”

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

“Your grandpa?”

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

“Really? What’d he make?”

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

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

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

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

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

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

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

“How’re you feeling, though?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trade secret.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“How much?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She broke up with him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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campbyler · 8 months

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hey guys it’s me again…i was wondering if we could see a (non-spoilery!) glimpse of your planning doc? i’d love to see how you guys are keeping the story going smoothly through the three of you and also just. what it looks like. if that’s ok.

ok love uuuu bye running into the sunset

since we got a couple of asks about this i'm just going to answer them together :-) it's been a hot second since we've talked about our writing process and since we have a few chapters now and are no longer at risk for spoiling Everything in one fell swoop, attached are chapters 1-5 from our official outline document! this is the one we use to actually navigate and reference for the fic as we write, but we've had two or three versions before this where we did the majority of the actual planning/going back on forth on scene ideas. those got really difficult to navigate after a while, so we cut out a lot of the commentary (we are hilarious. #trust) and fluff and made this one pretty bare-bones, but we have the entire fic planned out this way and have had it planned out before any of it was ever written! it definitely helps with continuity, because other than some minor changes to the dates and stuff (we realized at one point that like three chapters all occurred within the span of one week lol) and some retconning to some vestigial scenes from our original fic concept - which was very different in some aspects when we first thought of it back in january - we've stayed pretty consistent to this outline while writing. we also have a million other documents as well - playlist organization, an entire document we used to plan out titles lol, a google slides presentation breaking down the timeline, etc etc. thea and andi are much better outliners than i am because i rarely do it for my own fics but this process might have converted me fr. to some extent. anyways! enjoy snooping! or don't. lol. hope you like my commentary xoxo

(side note: chapter 5 probably had the most retconning of the chapters so far - the closet scene was one of the first ones we thought of for the fic and therefore heavily relied on how we originally imagined their dynamic to play out, which was really really different than how we ended up writing them! needless to say i definitely struggled with it lol. but it worked out fine. i think.)

#hopefully this satiates some curiosity #if anyone had it #this outline doc is not the most interesting i apologize #a lot of commentary was taken out so that it would be more consise and so we could scroll through it without getting lost #but our other one is too much of a mess to share. and also the commentary comes w spoilers #so. here #enjoy #asks #writing process #is that a tag we have. ik we have one #whatever i'll check later

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flowwochair · 4 months

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Doves and their Peculiar Taste (Aimevout) - Prologue

After much debate (and because apparently I have to wait to make an AO3 account????) I decided to post the prologue to the fic I have been working on here, depending on how long AO3 takes to release me from purgatory I might just go ahead and post the chapters I have so far on here too. NOTE: The fanfic starts with Aimée's engagement to Lannes and is meant to end with her wedding to Davout following her as she becomes disillusioned with Lannes and falls in love with Davout, who she meets by chance at an event hosted by her brother, the prologue is set before this. Although I tried to stick as much as possible to historical accuracy here there will most likely be bits that are not as accurate. I attempted to be as accurate as I could be to Aimée's initial engagement to Lannes and how things were going back then but I don't have a lot of specific info on that and the specific circumstances she was in and this fic is largely my own creative take on how the engagement was dissolved and how Davout and Aimée met. In reality, I don't even know if Davout and Aimée had met at all prior to their wedding, let alone have a soapy lovey dovey will they won't they slowburn romance develop between them. Likewise, I did my own take in characterization to some extent, I wrote the characters involved the way I see them/think of them, but some of them will change throughout the fic (notably Lannes, Davout, and Aimée). I apologize for any historical inaccuracies, like I said this is my own creative take about a very specific situation which I don't have a lot of insight on :((( . TLDR: there will probably be some historical inaccuracies here and there PLEASE dont be mean to me about it or I'm gonna cry and show up in your living room and throw up on your carpet, thank you. Anyways, enjoy.

Prologue – Scene 1

“An illegitimate child with another man?”

The words slapped Lannes back into consciousness as they left Bonaparte’s mouth.

“I find I should be concerned myself, my situation is not much better than yours, but, how do you feel?”

Lannes realized he had been venting to Napoleon without a second thought, and only then did the reality hit him. What now? Well, Napoleon was the best person to ask wasn’t he? “What now?” Lannes looked up at Bonaparte with a puzzled look, seeming almost as if half awake. “I guess I need a new wife”. Bonaparte could see his sorrow being converted into anger, typical for Lannes given his nature, “And have you thought of someone?” he asked, to which he earned a quick reply from Lannes’s increasing frustration “Fuck no.”

Bonaparte reclined on his chair, staring down at Lannes who sat on a camp bed, his back hunched, his eyes on the floor. “Lannes,” as Bonaparte called, he looked up, eyebrows still furrowed, “You’ve become a close friend to me… and what do we want in life if not to see our friends cared for?”. Lannes’s expression changed to one of confusion, “What? Do you have someone in mind?”, he didn’t like it when Napoleon was vague with him. “I have already sought connections for my sisters, they are cared for, however, they themselves have connections which aren’t.”

“Well honestly I’m not sure if I wanna think about women at all right now.” Lannes hastily got up as he spoke, grabbing his hat in the process and turning towards the tent’s opening, until Napoleon stood up and grabbed him by the arm, “God, listen to me won’t you” with a movement of his chin he gestured towards he chair he previously occupied, “Sit.”

“Fine”, Lannes sat “Hurry up.” “My sister, Pauline, is married to Charles Leclerc, you know him do you not?” “Yeah whatever I think so”, Lannes gestured vaguely. “Leclerc has unmarried sisters, one in particular who is at proper age, Louise-Aimée-Julie Leclerc.” “I never met this girl.” “I have heard and read snippets of her character here and there, she seems like a docile girl, well behaved, just a bit shy but perfect for marriage, especially as a rebound after something like this. Not to mention, by marrying her, you would be brought into my family through her connection to my sister. You would be cared for in being provided with a good loving wife, a wealthy familial connection to the Leclercs, and a connection to me.” He spoke more as if he were pitching a business deal than as if he were pitching a marriage.

Lannes still looked at him, but this time with some interest. It would seem the ‘sales’ pitch may have been successful at hooking him in. Access to wealth… a connection to Napoleon… a docile wife who would not give him a bastard child. “Huh… What does she look like?”.

“Brunette, brown eyes, small stature, she is quite petite.” Bonaparte replied, still in the tone of someone selling furniture. “Well you know how I am-“ “I do and I am hoping you would not take such a style with her.” Bonaparte replied sternly, “Her brother is quite protective of her Lannes, you should treat her as a crystal if anything.” “Sure… well, fine, let’s give it a shot.” Lannes said, standing up once again, this time with a much more interested expression. “Great.” Napoleon stood up as well, extending his hand towards Lannes, “I will propose the idea to Leclerc tomorrow, he has been looking for a suitor to his sister, surely he will be pleased.” Lannes shook his hand “Surely”, he said with a smirk.

Lannes, having put his hat back on, then left Napoleon’s tent, as Napoleon sought an aide to write a letter to Leclerc on his behalf.

Prologue – Scene 2 Egypt had been hell for everyone involved, by then the campaign was falling apart and if anyone knew this for certain it was its leader, Napoleon Bonaparte, his return to France was already in plans. One of the many men condemned to stay in the hellish uncaring desert was one Louis Nicolas Davout. In a situation not too dissimilar from that of Lannes, having recently divorced his wife for an incident of a similar nature, he was down on his luck, one of the few things which at the very least kept him alive was his friendship to one Louis Desaix. “Davout?”, Desaix whispered, entering Davout’s messy tent, a stained jacket sat in rough shape on a chair near his bed, where Davout himself was sitting, staring at his glasses, the left lens badly shattered.

“Still awake hm?” Desaix sat on the chair facing him, his eyes attempting to meet Davout’s downward gaze. “Mhm.” He didn’t speak much, he never did, even to his closest friends, but still Desaix could read him so well, and he knew Davout was tired, he had been for a while. Desaix gently took the pair of glasses from Davout’s hands, which made Davout look up at him, “I’ll get take these with me, and send you a brand new pair from France! Whaddya think?” Desaix smiled at him. Although his expression did not change, Desaix could tell Davout’s mood had lightened slightly at the interaction. “Have you thought about what I said to you?”, Desaix kept his eyes fixed on Davout, concentrating in reading his expression. Davout looked down again, making Desaix concerned. “I don’t see the point. I tried once, it did not go well, why should I try again? I doubt it would result in success, besides I don’t have much to offer, it would simply be a pointless transaction on both ends.” Davout answered in a matter-of-fact manner, he looked up at Desaix once more with a straight expression. “You just haven’t met the right girl yet, you’ll see”, Desaix had been insisting a similar plea to Davout for long now, it wasn’t the first time Davout had heard him say this. “I am to return soon… I could… I could sneak you, yes, in the ship back to France, and-“ “General Bonaparte would never-“ “I don’t care what he has to say! I’ll sneak you in, I’ll take you to France, maybe you’ll meet someone there! Maybe at least you’ll change your mind, I could-“ “Desaix.” At this point, Davout was looking at him with concern. Desaix realized he was failing at hiding his distress. “I’m sorry.” He realized he had lifted off the chair towards Davout when he was speaking, he sat back down. “I worry about leaving you alone, I really do.” He placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his knuckles. There was silence between them for a little while.

“I’ll be fine,” Davout spoke, as he did Desaix looked up at him, his smile slowly reappearing. “I suppose as long as I am alive I am fine”, Davout shrugged. “Surely”, Desaix chuckled. Hesitantly, he stood up. “Keep me informed Davout, we should meet as soon as you yourself return to France, which I am hoping will be soon.” “I’ll try to remember to write to you, but you should write to me when you get there.” Davout responded, Desaix laughed at his response much to Davout’s confusion. “I will, have a good night Davout, I hope you’ll be at the port before I leave.” “I am hoping you do not intend to-“ “I won’t sneak you into the ship I swear! I just want to say my goodbyes that’s all” Desaix spoke honestly. “I’ll be there.” In a rare sight, Davout smiled at Desaix. “See you.” Desaix gave Davout a pat on the shoulder before leaving his tent, still holding Davout’s glasses in his left hand. Not long after, Davout blew the only lit candle inside the tent, and tried his best to fall asleep.

Surely I’ll be fine.

#idk what's wrong with the line spacing and idk how to fix it xoxo #this is literally the first fic I ever wrote in my entire life please don't be mean to me #napoleonic era #napoleonic #napoleons marshals #louis nicolas davout #aimevout #aimée davout #aimée leclerc #jean lannes #napoleonic fan fic #fanfic

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miitgaanar · 8 days

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@soartfullydone asked: No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.” Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.” - Lemuel/Bastion

So. Uh. This was a whumptober prompt. But every month is whumptober if you really want it to be.

Anyway. I've dedicated the last eleven years of my life to trying to figure out how Lemuel Adelier ticks. I hate to admit that Bastion's been woefully neglected on my end. My studies did not include this bird man.

This was also my attempt to practice writing a fic that is decidedly not 4,000 words. I need to get better at writing shorter pieces, damnit.

I'm sorry to anyone who decides to read this. lmao ***

"Don't move."

Bastion Winalils lifted his hands in the air as if in surrender, though his shoulders remained rounded and a heavy, bored sigh escaped him. He could feel the tip of a blade digging into his back, the steel cold and sharp. It would be simple enough to offset out of harm's way, to vanish from his assailant's view within the span of a breath—only to then reappear behind him and rip the air from his lungs.

But that would be too simple, and this particular assailant too fun to poke and prod like a rabid beast.

"Is that any way to greet a friendly face, Captain Adelier?" Bastion intoned, daring a glance over his shoulder. Adelier's face was stone, his eyes hard and his mouth a firm, thin line. A roguish grin lit up the Black Tongue's pale visage. "And here I thought we had developed a rather cordial working relationship."

"I didn't call on you Ilgan Yag," Adelier spat, as if the word were poison upon his tongue. Oh, if only. "You'd best have good reason for defiling the Temple grounds with your stench."

"Does Ssael not open his doors to everyone?" Bastion needled further. He was rewarded with the tip of the sword pressing harder into his back. His grin only widened.

"Not everyone," Adelier ground out.

"A pity. A convert might very well have been lost this day."

"Enough. Do not toy with me. I'm in no mood."

That much was clear. Though Bastion couldn't say he'd ever caught the Soud in a particularly receptive mood. "Fine, then," Bastion said, lowering his arms to play at adjusting the hem of his gloves. A show of nonchalance, though his lips remained upturned in thinly veiled amusement. "Perhaps you can help me."

"I'd rather help a sow find her bliss," Adelier said flatly.

"Come now," Bastion said, turning on his heel to face the Soud. The blade remained level with his chest, those piss colored eyes boring into him with a fearsome ire, but he was otherwise unmolested. "I'm just following a bit of gossip. I simply wished to confirm it at the source."

Adelier's brow rose a fraction, inquisitive. Bastion had to smother the smirk that begged to take shape.

"What sort of gossip?"

"The most interesting kind," Bastion continued. "There's been talk of a caster amongst your lot. Talented, it seems. Can cast with nary a word spoken."

Adelier flinched, his blade faltering slightly. A surge of satisfaction flooded Bastion's veins, and that smirk appeared unbidden.

"Tacit casters are incredibly rare," he explained, the words laced with a not so subtle taunt. "Not to mention innate tacits. So of course I had to follow the trail and see for myself. Color me surprised when the source turned out to be the Lion's very own Delight." The moniker came out with more bite than he had intended, but the scars at his back itched, and only now did some relief for that old wound appear to be at hand.

Adelier's face seemed to blanch, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light of a looming dusk. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, the words gruff and forced.

"Your niece has been very busy, it seems," Bastion continued undaunted, his gaze flickering down to examine his nails. "Though I suppose she'd be your daughter now, yes? Congratulations on the nuptials, by the way. I would have sent a fruit basket had I been informed."

In a flash, Bastion found himself with that same blade pressed to his throat, the steel bitingly cold against his warm flesh as Adelier closed the short distance between them. Adelier was fairly agile for a man of his build. He had begun to harden himself in the few years since that dark, snowy night, the almost lithe form he had once sported now showing more bulk.

He should only know that his brutish ways would not save him—or her—should Bastion will it.

"I swear to God," Adelier rumbled, his breath fogging the air between them. "If you so much as come within ten yards of her, of any of them, I will flay you alive and leave you for your hallowed crows."

They stood almost nose to nose, close enough that Bastion could see the ragged edges of the ugly scar carved into the Soud's face. It twisted with the scowl that pulled at his countenance, turning his handsome features into something unsightly. That same petty satisfaction thrummed hotly beneath his flesh.

Bastion allowed himself a soft chuckle, the minute movement causing the sharpened edge of the sword to dig into the skin of his throat. A bead of blood welled under the blade, slowly trailing down the Black Tongue's neck and pooling within the hollow of his clavicle. Fury danced in Adelier's eyes, his piercing gaze seeming to pulse a fiery gold.

But before he could make good on his threat, or at the very least slit Bastion's throat from ear to ear, Bastion held his hands up once more as if in surrender—though his smirk did not once falter.

"Promises, promises, darling," he said, his tone light and taunting, and grabbed for the hilt of the sword. His free hand reached for that ever immovable silver torc at his neck and murmured something near inaudible, though loud enough for the khert to heed his call.

Adelier dropped the blade as if burned, the hilt glowing a bright orange and sizzling softly against the frost dusted ground—but before he could fully draw that second dreadful sword, Bastion had already vanished from view, his laughter echoing endlessly into the khert itself.

#Lemuel Adelier #Bastion Winalils #Unsounded #writing prompts #writings from mandalore #Ashley if you see this don't read it lmao

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libras-interactives · 2 months

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Do you have any OC’s for Lackadaisy who didn’t make it into the fic or who were made after you started writing? I love hearing about all of them so much

;v; wagh

So 2~3 of these kitties are connected to Devil's Moon characters but probably won't show up (or at least, will only be mentioned), and two arent related to it at all.

Viviana Carmina Holst - Slyvester's wife, who Ive thought so much about but may not even show up "on camera" LOL. A calico with auburn hair she keeps in a fairly old-fashioned style, to match her more modest dress. She's thin and has big, bright green-brown eyes.

She's quite sociable, observant, easygoing and a terrible cardshark. She loves company and doesn't get it nearly as much as she'd like; they live in a modest yet well-decorated home outside St. Louis city limits. Carmina comes from a large Italian family. She was the first of her siblings to be born in America. She's always been known as Carmina to them (there were already three Vivianas in the extended family), and Vivi to her husband.

Because she and Slyvester could not have children, they adopted three nephews after the boys' parents passed (Carmina's side). The boys are now grown and the two oldest are quite successful. The youngest still lives with them to help his mother, as Carmina is disabled and Slyvester works a lot, and they've yet to find a live-in nurse that suits them.

Carmina and Slyvester grew up together in the same Italian-majority neighborhood; his family is Danish and was one of the few non Italians on the block. Carmina's parents approved of him bc he agreed to convert, they knew he wasn't a drinker, and they were relieved their sickly daughter was able to get married and have someone take care of her for the rest of her life.

Flynn's Family - I've thought a lot about them but I don't think they'll be super relevant or come up, alas. His older brother Seamus is fairly important to the business, but rarely makes himself known. He has some pretty bad physical and mental damage from the war, so tends to be anti-social, plus years of Flynn's emotional manipulation have taken their toll. Tomas was the youngest and the golden child, died in the war. Flynn couldn't stand him. Sorcha was older than Tomas but younger than Flynn, I'm still unsure what happened exactly, but she's not around her parents anymore. They didn't really dote on her like they did the boys, or Tomas.

Their mother was tall and slender, while the father was more stout and broad, and a little shorter - only Seamus had his build and coloring, the rest of the children were looked and were built like their mama. All of them had orange and black markings but the Flynn we know is the only chimera.

I keep wanting to think of more for the family - their history, and appearances and whatnot, but then I pull back because it "won't be relevant" in Devil's Moon ... well, might do it anyway bc I just like writing family dynamics and drama, lol. I already wrote a ton about Carmina so might as well.

Okay these two are 100% not UTDM related and from an Arkham Horror board game/kinda tabletop bc we rp'd it a ton. The setting is 1920s anyway, and I forced my friends to play and make lackadaisy OCs (it was my birthday damn it 😂). These two characters rotted a crater in my brain for 2 weeks straight and I still like em a ton. Sister Marguerite was mine and Father Elijah was initially my partner's but I have since stolen him haha.

Sister Marguerite, formerly Adelaide Whitaker. Wheeww... so much to say here but I'll condense it. Originally from a wealthy East Coast family, she was forcefully sent to a "wellness and manners" sort of school for "esteemed ladies" that was really just a ruse to hide her pregnancy. It wasn't a Magdalene asylum/laundry, though. She lost the child, but a handful of nuns showed her such kindness (and she'd had religious-fixated OCD for years that her family actively made worse anyway) that she converted to Catholicism and began the process of becoming a nun once she was old enough. She's happy with her current life, enough that her OCD has lessened somewhat, but ofc there are still bad days. She often fixates on physical purity, baptism and "healing water"; most of her sisters chalk her "peculiarities" up to her extreme devotion and are willing to overlook her bad, spiraling days bc shes v dear to them. She's a good-hearted woman, quiet, and doesn't scare easily. Puts others before herself again and again.

As a cat, she's white with unsettling sectorial heterochromia, big slender ears, and an odd face. Lackadaisy cats are generally pretty cute but she's meant to be more "homely". Her eyes are more unnerving than striking. This is the photo that was the first inspiration for her, though this kitty is very cute, haha. If she were human I think she'd have bright eyes and a very plain face. I've drawn her but my art is pretty oof! I need to keep practicing bc her face and headshape in particular are kinda different.

Actually considered reworking her backstory to be one of Jack's many siblings; he did have a sister who ran off, but thats kinda irrelevant in UTDM rn. If anything itd be mentioned in an epilogue.

Father Elijah - A handsome man from a good Midwestern family. They were disappointed when Elijah joined the church, feeling like he was wasting his potential. He's always felt close to God and wanted to help others, but he's also a deeply scholarly person and loves theology, even if some things he studies would be considered heretical. This doesn't necessarily mean he's open minded, especially to those he considers "irredeemable", but he's always polite, protective of his flock and usually a pretty affable guy.

Elijah certainly has some kind of mental stuff rolling around in his noggin; I don't want to call it disorder or illness, especially since he doesn't really have a name for it at the time period (like Marguerite with her OCD). In the tabletop, they came to Arkham together as allies and quickly became rather ... obsessed with each other. He's very fixated with Marguerite, believing her to be a pinnacle of what a godly person should be, and later believing she can actually speak to angels (or is one??). He wants so much of her attention, to hear her opinions and interpretations of faith. To say he puts her on a pedestal is an understatement. Calling it "romantic" interest isnt the whole picture, and too simple for... whatever the hell he's got going on. Marguerite admires him deeply but in a more "inspired" way. Platonic is also too simple for what she's feeling, but her attachment certainly isn't as deep as his.

As a cat he's an orange tabby with pretty blue eyes. Meant to be a really tall good looking dude, a contrast to Sister Margy. Maaany women in the church have admired him but he's never considered or indulged in feelings like that until Marguerite; he doesn't even consider his appearance much. Just tries to keep tidy. I also terribly drew him real quick for the tabletop. I think his ears should have kind of a cute shape and he's got extra fur around his face :3 Still not sure on what sort of tail he'd have, though.

Shoutout to tabletop!Father Elijah who dual wielded a pistol and giant crucifix on the regular, constantly threw himself into danger to save Margie and slowly became twisted by the dark powers he was trying so hard to stop 👍🏽 One of my favorite scenes was both of them jumping into a portal together, then getting separated bc we rolled poorly and they both got HP/Sanity down to 0. Elijah woke up in the hospital in extreme pain, left without fully restoring HP and ran all the way back to the church to find Marguerite. They held each other at the altar for a while and she gave him her rosary bc he lost his crucifix in the void. and they promised to never leave each other again and stayed attached at the hip in spite of the usual eldritch horrors. normal arkham horror things. I'd love to make Arkham LCG cards for them; theyve already got custom cards for the 2nd edition board game (but now my other fixations and nerdness is showing so ill stop here).

(shoutout to that poor eldritch-corrupted NPC who sister marguerite believed needed a baptism to restore him, so father elijah held the dude down while he almost drowned and margeurte prayed over him and one party member witnessed all this and told the others so EVERYONE avoided "those catholic freaks" for the whole session sdkdskfs)

#most of my lackadaisy OCs went to UTDM in some way soooo yeah lol #its my baby what can i say #i also made canon Lackadaisy investigators for Arkham Horror 2nd #id LOVE to make investigators for the card game bc its so cool but alas i dont get to play much #so im not confident in investigator balance and abilities and such #god this is so niche even for this blog lol #anyway weird priest and nun my absolute beloveds #libra says #need a tag for when i talk really dumb shit #anons !!

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smolljester · 1 month

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i know i've mainly been giving facts about my Agent Four but it's because she's my main focus right now (i.e. MC of my current Splatoon fic) and also that she got done dirty by Nintendo. anyway, i'll share another one for shits and giggles.

Four's autistic. i try not to say it outright in the fic and only imply it, but i might as well confirm it here. before writing the fic i did as much research as i could on autism (don't worry, i didn't use autism speaks, fuck them) to try and get an accurate representation on a person with autism. of course, i did realise in the midst of my research that autism is a spectrum disorder and that it's different with everyone that has it.

with that in mind, i decided to base some of her behaviours off of my own despite not being autistic myself (i have ADHD/ADD). here are a few examples;

Four knows the different systems of measurement and quickly converts them into different lengths depending on what's convenient. (ex. metres to feet to inches to centimetres.) when she started working with Marie, she compared some of the enemy Octarians to the Salmonids (Octoboss = Salmonid boss).

in addition, Four has a mostly deadpan expression, but will convey her emotions in the form of her ears and posture. if her ears are perked up, she's listening to what you're saying and interested. if they're swivelled back and her back is hunched, then she's defensive. the list goes on.

one last thing is that her slang is 'not up to date.' she'll say things like "gnarly" or "wicked."

sorry for the long post, i just really wanted to talk about my Four. have a great rest of your day and don't forget to drink water.

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #splatoon oc #splatoon agent oc #splatoon agent 4 #autism #autistic characters

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apoptoses · 7 months

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You mentioned making vc friends and I was wondering if you had on advice on going about it or how you did it? I would love to make some friends in this fandom but I get worried interacting with people that I’m being pushy or annoying

HEY so this is by no means a perfect guide to online friend making but here's my thoughts:

Create the content you wanna see and let people come to you. Post your headcanons, your meta thoughts, your 3 am feelings about your blorbo and tag them. Like-minded fans will eventually find you and follow you and then you'll have some mutuals, and that makes it a lot less awkward to interact!

Comment on your favorite creator's works. You don't have to write a book report but if your comment lets them know 'hey, you wrote X and i see this character in the same way!' they'll likely comment back and you'll have a conversation. And if you converse enough eventually they might do what I did to others and DM you about a wip and boom! Friends!!

Comment on people's posts and send them asks about interests you have in common off anon. Like I really liked @hekateinhell's armand/daniel fics and she's all about armand/lestat, and I figured well...if we both like armand this much then she can probably convert me to armand/lestat. So I just asked her off anon what there is to like about them, and then we started dm'ing about them because I was convinced. And then we were friends!!

Understand that sometimes people are busy and can't respond every time. The only time someone comes off 'pushy' imo is if they comment on 100% of someone's posts and then start sending 'sorry for annoying you' messages if they don't respond to every comment. I feel like this should be common sense but I've seen people get really upset if their favorite user doesn't respond 100% of the time that is what's pushy.

If you wanna write fic or make art, do it! Put yourself out there, participate in some events like the upcoming kinktober. You don't have to post on ao3 or whatever right away, you can just write something short and post it direct to tumblr or put your art right here. It's nerve wracking at first but I swear there's no better way to meet people! And everyone has to start somewhere so don't worry about quality, just make something and your passion for it will attract people.

Other than that I feel like all there is to it is to be yourself, put your thoughts/creative works out there and you'll attract similar people.

And like with anything online, be wary. There's bad apples in every group but don't let them spoil your good time. If I let the first shitty response to a post run me out of fandom I wouldn't have made it a month on here lol And if someone gives you shit then either they're a jerk and you don't want to be friends with them anyways, or they're really miscommunicating and need to figure that out themselves. Either way you're within your rights to block them or delete their response or just ignore it and move on.

So!! Be friendly!! Be creative!! Have fun and friends will follow!!

#apoptoses answers

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bandedbulbussnarfblat · 23 days

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ok, so in this one fic that i'm gonna write, Louis and Lily are going to be Claudia's biological parents. just bc i wanna. but then i had this thought:

what if they actually were?

From what we know of the shows timeline Claudia is born in 1903. Papa de Pointe du Lac (I refuse to call him Daddy du Lac bc what the internet did to the word daddy. like, I'm from the south y'all. That's what I call my dad/father/old man. Or dickhead occasionally, but like, affectionately. Whoops, I'm rambling.) dies sometime in 1905.

I can imagine he's been sick for awhile, if only because the de Pointe du Lac's seem like the kind of family to have enough money to afford pro-longed health care. Hold on a sec.

26. That's the number you're wondering about, btw. How old Louis would be when Claudia was born. I know some of y'all might be trying to do the mental math, and imma save you bc math is evil. (we aren't supposed to tell you this working in education, but it's just like the worst. you have to stack numbers in your head and think about only one thing for a really long time--and i'm adhd in case you couldn't tell.)

Anyway, back to where I was. Up until a certain point, Louis could put off having had a serious girlfriend, or been seen visiting the brothels. First off, he's a good Catholic boy, so he gets a little leeway. And of course, there's Paul he's gotta look after. Then his daddy gets sick, so he's got shit to manage.

But a certain point he starts to feel overwhelmed, and he's at that age where he expected to start looking to settling down. So he does what all men at that age do to let off steam, and he gets a sex worker.

maybe there was something special about lily at the get go, or maybe louis just chose at random. but he got lily and they fucked. it might have been a sad sort of fucking, but you know, louis gave it his best. (he might even have enough enough of a gentleman to see that they had a happy ending. it's just the polite thing to do.)

and maybe he decides to really vent about what's bothering him. and the sex was meh, but the talking was nice. and over time, they faze out the fucking portion altogether. and lily becomes more than just a sex worker he pays for companionship, but a confessor, a priest to confess to all that he can't to his other.

but claudia could have been conceived during one of those earlier visits where louis like, had to establish his straightness. it would have been easy to hide in the early months before lily started to show. and she could have easily said another client got her pregnant. But like, in the hypothetical, she could have been pregers with louis' baby, birthed it and left it with whatever family member she could get to take it. aka the mean auntie.

(now like, irl, she'd be like, grabbing this opportunity by the throat. but this is the hypothetical, so roll with me.)

lily wouldn't want to tell louis she was pregnant with his child. she thought he'd try to 'do the right thing' and marry her, and the idea of her and her child being looked down upon by the rest of the family disgusted her. so she never told him. but by then she probably figured out louis was gay, and she did not want to be his beard indefinitely, having to stay all loyal and true to louis while he fucked guys

so like papa du lac dies and now lily can't just pop out like, surprise, i'm his baby mama. except you know, in the slang for the era. so lily keeps claudia hidden. and means to eventually one day tell louis.

(and you know, being the only girl that Louis sees, people probably see him as like his--jfc, idk how to convert this from trailer trash, but it's like where if you're with a guy and living together so many years legally you're married. except you're not it's just about--nope. I'm not going do it and go off on a tangent. Anyway, it's like whatever the cultural approximation is to that.)

but then there's this white french dude sniffing around her man who isn't technically her man but she's the closest thing to a therapist he's got and is also his trailer-trash-wife. so like, she analyzes the threat and works out the situation. Claudia can be Louis' daughter he never knew about. Lily can be his kept woman, or she could take some money and run away. It depended on whether he wanted Claudia to himself and lestat, or if he wanted to share with her. or if he wants claudia at all.

she lestat reads her mind when he visits her one night, and is like, fuck i do not want to have kids. so he kills her bc hey, if she's dead, no problem. (or maybe he vamps her in agreement that she never see louis again and goes somewhere far away to start a new life. i know it doesn't make sense, but i like to imagine a world where lily lived. escapism is fun sometimes)

is this theory insane? yes? but is it impossible? no!

(I use this as reference a lot. But mostly the pdf version i have downloaded bc my internet is a fickle bitch sometimes. So it's probably, like behind on updates with the new trailers.)

#crack theory #high posting #idk wtf i'm really talking about atm #i keep zoning the fuck out

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yesloulou · 1 year

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piece of paper, both chapters are excellent!! Ty... oh my...i went to check other works and supermaks only have maxiel, i'll have to convert...

🖤 spoiler alert 🖤 if you haven't read the piece of paper (a lestappen by @supermaks i would literally pay everybody to go read)

the premise is very much magic realism but i think bc of that the dynamics was so spot fucking on, reason being i don't think lestappen needs (nor should take) a lot of build up. they have this tension that just comes out of no where. but they also can't get all lovey dovey or hot and heavy straight away bc that's simply not realistic (funny im using the word realistic when literally talking about fictions but ykwim) soooo this premise or like a fwb setting in some other fics work wonders. also i think that's why they go so well with abo.

anyways. back to the piece of paper. charles thinking if this max kisses him he might hit him? genius. charles studying marks and sensations in his own body to figure out the nature of his relation with max in this universe? genius (and hot). charles keeping max's coat on when he went out into the rain bc it was cozy and 'max can deal'? intimate. hot. realistic and again. genius. i can talk about the piece of paper all day

im glad you're open to maxiel as well!!! good for you!!! bc

lestappen and maxiel are both fun and rich and beautiful don't let anybody tell you otherwise 🤍 for an easy to read first maxiel fic i also recommend these violent delights (mafia boss’ playboy son!daniel and bodyguard!max) and that old veela magic (harry potter au where they play for buckinghamshire red bulls the quidditch team!!!) have fun 😉

#by 'anybody else' im talking about ppl from both camps but mainly il-predestinato who had me convinced maxiel was some evil cult ship 🤍🤍🤍#anyways #im gonna bravely tag both #lestappen #maxiel #asks #*

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justabigassnerd · 2 years

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Group work sucks

Pairing - TASM!Peter Parker x reader

Word count - 1,496

Warnings - stress, lack of eating, mostly fluff

Summary - you're stressing about your final assessments and Peter is there to help as much as he can

A/N - yes I know another TASM fic you can pry them from my cold dead body. This is loosely based on what I'm going through with my assessments (I just don't have a Peter to help me out). Anyways I'll stop rambling. As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!

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Group work was the bane of any university student’s life. They required you to work with people you might not know very well for the sake of a grade. You had been put into a group for one of your acting classes and to your horror, you had been grouped with the worst type of people to work with. You’d taken it upon yourself to make the group chat and try to organise rehearsals, but you were constantly met with no reply, so you started to do everything yourself.

Peter had noticed you shouldering a lot of the workload for this group work and was growing concerned about how stressed you were getting. He walked you to class every day and when he asked what time your class finished you always told him you were going to stay longer to get in extra rehearsal time. But the girls in your group hardly turned up. On the rare occasion they did turn up, you’d find a room somewhere to rehearse and they’d stay for maybe an hour max before deciding they had done enough and wanted to head home. Leaving you to do everything yourself.

“You alright sweetheart?” Peter’s gentle voice made you jump slightly as you turned to face him, letting out a breathy laugh when you realised it was only Peter.

“Fine Pete. Just making some adjustments to the scripts.” You say, gesturing to the four scripts scattered on the desk. You had printed off four copies of the scene you were doing for the assessment and since no one had actually taken their script home with them, you decided to take it upon yourself to highlight lines, cut unimportant lines, add blocking notes and stage directions.

“Baby, you’ve been doing that since this morning. Have you had a breather?” Peter asks, concerned. He knew you were stressed about this assessment given your group's lack of communication, but he didn’t want you burning yourself out over it.

“I’m fine, I don’t need a break.” You say, turning your attention back to the scripts, picking up your pen and scribbling some more notes on the pieces of paper. Peter frowned when you turned your back to him and slowly left the room, concocting a plan in his head to get you to rest. He knew you hadn’t slept last night because he spent the night alone in the bed, hoping you’d join him at some point. When he had gotten up the next morning for his own classes, he found you working away at your desk in the spare room the pair of you had converted into a study upon moving in. He knew you hadn’t even eaten because his senses could smell food long after it had been eaten and the only scent, he could pick up on was the slightly burnt toast he’d eaten for breakfast before leaving the house.

Peter entered the living room and immediately bundled ten tons of blankets onto the sofa along with a ton of pillows. He made sure the pillows were fluffed and the blankets were the warmest and fluffiest of all the blankets you had in the house before grabbing his phone and ordering a pizza. He then went into the bedroom and changed into his comfiest sweatpants and t-shirt before grabbing a hoodie and leaving the room. As he grabbed the hoodie from the wardrobe he spared a glance at his Spider-Man suit before sighing to himself and closing the doors. Spider-Man could get away with not patrolling tonight. He needed to make time for Peter Parker stuff, and you were always top of his priority list.

After leaving the bedroom, Peter made his way back to the study and when he opened the door he found you still at the desk, head buried in your hands as your body shook slightly.

“y/n, love, are you alright?” Peter asks immediately, gently approaching you and placing his hands on your shoulders, gently massaging them as you lift your head, small sniffs escaping you.

“It’s too much. They’re not helping me at all. I don’t know what to do.” You whisper, looking down at the scripts on the desk as Peter moves to stand alongside you, pulling you into a hug as you wrap your arms around his middle and bury his face in his abdomen.

“It’s okay baby. It’s okay. We can figure this out together, okay? Let’s just take a step back.” Peter says gently, his hands running through your hair and rubbing your back to help you calm your erratic breathing. Peter doesn’t move as you cling to him, constantly whispering words of reassurance and comfort as your cries turn to sniffles before you pull away.

“I’m sorry.” You say, dropping your head in embarrassment as Peter shakes his head, kneeling down to be at your level, ducking his head to meet your gaze with a gentle smile.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re okay. I’ll help you, yeah? But first I think you need to take a break.” As if cued, the doorbell rings and Peter rises to his feet, gently tugging you off the chair with him.

“Go and get into something comfy. Steal some of my clothes if you want, I’ll let you off this once. I’ll meet you in the living room when you’re ready.” Peter says, booping the end of your nose gently, his grin growing when you laugh. It was a weak laugh, but it was something and Peter was just overjoyed to see a smile on your face. He leads you out of the study and watches as you go to the bedroom before going to the front door to get the pizza. Peter had ordered two large pizzas, just to make sure you could eat as much as you needed, and any leftovers could be saved for the next day.

When you had changed into your pyjamas, you grabbed one of Peter’s hoodies from the wardrobe and tugged it on with a smile as Peter’s scent invades your nose, immediately helping your shoulders sag in relief as the stress begins to relinquish its hold over you. You head into the living room, a singular lamp on in the corner of the room and the fairy lights you had hung around the room a few months ago after impulse buying them. You sit on the sofa beside Peter as he turns to smile at you.

“Your food, my love.” He says in an exaggerated posh accent while gesturing at the open pizza boxes as you laugh at his antics. You grab a slice from one of the boxes and take a bite, your stomach thanking you loudly as you blush in embarrassment, but Peter didn’t say anything, he was just glad you were eating. As you continued to eat, Peter opened Netflix on the tv and asked you what you wanted to watch. You picked a random comfort show you always fell to when you needed to calm down and Peter put it on before sitting back against the sofa cushions. After you had eaten as much as your stomach would allow, you sat back and let Peter pull you into his side, letting you rest your head on his chest as his arm winds securely around your waist.

“Tomorrow, we’ll send an email to your lecturer about this group stuff and I’m sure we can sort something out for you. Let them suffer without you.” Peter whispers, not wanting to disturb the calm atmosphere the two of you had created as the tv continues to play in the background.

“Yeah, we can do that. I’d rather work on my own. Group work sucks.” You laugh breathily, imagining how your group would crash and burn without you doing all the work for them.

“You never said that when we did group work together in school.” Peter teases, his fingers grazing your side as you squirm, holding back a laugh.

“I knew you. We were best friends before we started dating. You were one hundred times more tolerable than anyone on my course at this damn university.” You say, glancing up at Peter as he looks down at you with a smile.

“Shame we don’t have the same classes. Our group work would be impeccable.” Peter boasts, flexing slightly beneath you to get a laugh out of you, which he succeeds in doing. You then snuggled closer to Peter as you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. You tug the blanket over yourself more and Peter tucks the blanket under your chin as you giggle, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw.

“You’re amazing Pete. I love you so much.” You say as you return your focus to the tv, smiling as Peter begins to run his hand through your hair gently, messing with it occasionally before he nuzzles his nose into your hair, a smile decorating his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart.”

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shiny-jr · 1 year

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Oh my gosh I just took the damnation quiz and IT WAS SO GOOD. I read all the results and I am patiently sitting and waiting for more with immense excitement (especially Pomefiore and Diasomnia. You write Vil so well). I am super curious to see the roles MC will play in those fics. Iirc both the evil queen and Maleficent had a crow henchman that seems like a great fit, but also the invented role for Diviner was 10/10 and I would be so curious to see what you come up with, especially for Pom as some of the major roles at the Queen's side are already represented in the dorm.

In the quiz the endingsvwere all fantastic, but I especially adored the Riddle ending. The King of Hearts idea feels so obvious once you wrote it but I have never seen anyone use the idea before. The general dynamic was just AAAAHHHH. I also loved how MC interacted with the other characters. I screamed when Cater dropped the tea about the old king of hearts. I might have been converted into a Riddle fan--

I read your fics on Quotev back in the day (Possession of Malign was a fav of mine) and it was always a mood of "finally some good f--cking food" I am so glad I found your work again. :))) Hope you are having a great day and thanks again for sharing your lovely work!

Ah, I wish I got a little further on Scarabia's chapter but I've started classes so it's gonna take even longer to write (because they dumped work on the first day, WHO DOES THAT?). Anyways, I'll get it out eventually, I'll probably have a tiny bit of time to write on Friday and the weekend. Maybe. Hopefully. Pray for me y'all.

To be honest, I haven't decided what Diasomnia's mc will be because I haven't gotten that far. At the moment I'm trying to go in order, but if I get an idea that I really want to write, I'll switch over to the draft doc for the other dorm and start writing what I want to before switching back to where I was before. And actually, I had a sneak-peek for Pomefiore and Scarabia's part before! It was in the first one with the Heartslabyul sneak-peek, but I decided to remove the two and just update sneak-peeks in order, with each being about ten pages, more or less. Pretty generous and lengthy sneak-peeks, if I do say so myself. But the Pomefiore one will be up later, the Scarabia one will be first (again, when I have time to write for it).

But I'm glad you enjoyed the quiz and the results! I think Heartslabyul appears to be the fan favorite at the moment. Hoping to copy the goodness and intensity I had for that result into Scarabia, but again, we'll see.

Also another Quotev user that's giving me flashbacks? I started writing that stupid fic when I was in middle school, but I didn't publish it until early high school. That's insane though, I forgot that piece existed. Okay, moving on, I hope that when the next results are completed, that you may enjoy them! Thank you for reading my works, even the older ones!

#shiny speaks

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sandorara · 8 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Oh, this is so nice! And incredibly difficult, which has made me feel nice. Can you believe I have so many works I'm still pleased with that it was difficult to choose? What a pleasant feeling.

Anyway, in chronological order of posting, starting from the most recent. I've decided not to choose unfinished ones or co-authored pieces, so we're going decently far back right from the start.

1. See you in Eorzea - Yizhan & FF14, 69k, E I (M 28) picked up someone (M 2x) in a video game and I think they might be famous. Please advise.

Famous/non-famous MMORPG AU, meet cute in Sastasha. My longest work ever when I wrote it, and it was completed before posting anything. Still really happy with it, and, Yoshi-p should pay me royalties for how many converts it's created. I'm confident you do not need to know yizhan to enjoy it, if you would like to give it a try 💕

2. For the future you (the one without me) - Yizhan, 6.4k, T “Why Singapore?,” she’d asked him once, and he’d not known how to answer. An exploration of what may lie outside the few minutes the Vogue Film offered.

Inspired by a Vogue shortfilm Wang Yibo starred in, link to it can be found in the a/n of the fic. 9 minutes, very aesthetically worth it. I'm really happy with the atmosphere of this work, and I feel like it's very representative of my shorter, fleetier, ever bittersweet style. Am proud still. 🥺

3. Written, never said - cql - lwj & mianmian, wangxian, 6.6k, G ”I have a letter to deliver to young lady Luo Qingyang. It has arrived from Gusu today, with the quickest delivery.”

Thirteen years of correspondence, understanding and friendship.

My Mianmian and LWJ friendship agenda. Epistolary fic covering the years of WWX's death through Mianmian's eyes on the letters she receives and writes. I'm still happy with how this one conveys what I wanted to say. I'm pleased with it stylistically. And they deserved that friendship, IT WAS THERE, OK.

4. Sensations - ffxiv - wolexarch, 4.7k E ”Make it hurt, please,” he’d finally whispered, as each day, more of his body was being eaten away by the crystal, leaving him missing touch in places he did not know he’d wanted it.

A stand-alone AU within my wolfic series in which G'raha's crystallisation speeds up after the events of 5.0 and the completion of his mission. and with it comes loss of sensation. This one came to be when my dear friend @draiochteve prompted me to write "soft knifeplay". I love the bittersweet desperation and love I managed to convey in this one, and, I just want you to take note of the publication date: This was posted exactly a year before the release of patch 5.3. 😌

5. Nothing more than a willing substitute - ffxiv, asahi/zenos, 4.3k, E He would do anything to please his beloved Prince.

Oldest one here and I will admit I'm impressed that I still think it's worthy of this list, five years later. One of my first 14 fics, and definitely the most wretched thing I had ever written at the time. Mayhap one may call it my descent into the filth-pit. Asahi just made me feral, and it worked out. My dear gf @g0g0mi just desrcibed this one as "iconic", so. Unrecruited obsession love, swordplay, bondage, choking... there are things. IDK. My brand started here, OK. And, I think it still holds up. 😎

Thank you for letting me do this, it was quite the mood-boost! Will pass it on. 😊

#own fic #fanfiction #ffxiv #yizhan #cql

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justsomeguysadvice · 11 months

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RIP FF.net: How to save your favourite fic as an epub.

So since FF.net seems to have been shut down, I’ve seen a lot of posts about backing up your favourite fics.

Just a quick FYI, m.fanfiction.net still works, for now. FF.net bookmarks on AO3 also seem to work. But get in quick to save your favourite fics because who knows how much longer those links will last.

EDIT: @kagenoneko has helpfully let me know that FF.net is not gone; to access the desktop version of the site all you need to do is add www. before fanfiction.net. So “www.fanfiction.net” instead of just “fanfiction.net”.

Now, the quickest and easiest way is to use AO3′s download epub option.

But if you’re like me and you don’t like how the file is organized/laid out (theres no cover!), or you love a fic on a site that doesn’t have that option coughcoughLiveJournalcoughcough then heres some guy’s guide on how to turn your favourite fics into epubs.

First of all, a download list:

Calibre (yeah, you can convert files to epubs online, but Calibre lets you customise the e-book metadata that your device uses to organize files.)

Firefox add-on “Absolute Enable Right Click & Copy” (Don’t use Firefox? Google “Download Firefox”)

Microsoft Word or LibreOffice (LO is free and just as good as MW!)

But wait, random guy on the internet! What is the add-on for? Well, FF.net thinks it can stop you from highlighting and C&Ping text. FF.net is wrong.

Anyway.

Now that you’ve got your software, go ahead and C&P the fic into MW or LO. I recommend adding a page before the fic with some general information. This helps you remember all that useful information on the fic page. Below is what my first page looks like:

(Am I using a Naruto fic for this guide? Yes, yes I am. I’ve reached a point in my life where I have no dignity and no shame.)

Save that bad boy to your documents. Do not change the fic, remember it isn’t your work!

Now, open up Calibre.

Go to “add books” in the top left corner. Calibre accepts .doc, .docx, and .odt (LO’s file extension).

Now, at this point, the information boxes should be empty of everything except the title and, maybe, the author. If the author is wrong, chill, MW and LO sometimes save you as the author. Just change it to the correct author.

Anyway, now you get the fun fun job of reopening the fic page if you closed it. (Or, if you’re smarter than I was when I was figuring this out, you left it open. Go you!) Go over one button from “add books” (Or hit that right mouse button and go to “Edit metadata” then “Edit metadata individually”).

Most, if not all, of the information you need should be on the fic page. Some sites, like LiveJournal, will not have a lot of info, so you might need to wing it. You will need to create your own cover if you want one (look at my quickly thrown together one, they don’t need to be perfect. Mine has just enough info for me to know what fandom the fic is from).

The comment section isn’t very important, whatever you add there doesn’t show on the epub. I personally like to had the quick summery from the info page mentioned above.

Once you’re happy with the information you’ve added, hit “ok”. The row should look something like this (give or take whatever columns you have (I’ve personally removed some)):

Still happy with the info? Sweet! Time to move on to converting the file. Two buttons over from “add books” is “convert books”. Clicky.

One final chance to be really REALLY sure you’re happy with the info added, double check that the outcome format is epub (pdf is also there if you want it, but for e-books, epub is best. Reading something made of images like manga? I suggest pdf. But I also suggest a different program for pdfs.)

Still happy? Yay! Click “ok”. In the lower right corner, an arrow will appear over “Jobs: 1″. You can click “Jobs” if you want, but the conversion should only take a few seconds. If you click it, you’ll get this pop up:

Hide your old jobs if you want, its not overly important. I do it to stop the list looking to busy.

Once your file is converted, it’ll be saved where ever you stuck your Calibre file. Mines in a book file where I keep my ever growing collection of epubs and manga pdfs.

Upload that bitch to whatever your device is, however you upload files to your device. Personally, I rename the file to “Author - Fic Name” then drag and drop it into books on iTunes.

And boom: