#and resign themselves to their fate
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SpiderPool Steddie Part One
So, this is definitely gonna have multiple parts lmao
It's been bouncing around my brain for a while like the Addams Family Steddie AU lol
Anyway, lemme know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts ^_^
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Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls is, at best, a dive bar. At worst, it's a cesspit in which the scummiest people in the city gather to bask in each other's scumminess. To Steve, however, it's the perfect place to collapse after a long patrol, splayed out like a starfish on the roof as the music playing inside vibrates the building itself.
Steve takes a deep breath, setting his bat down next to him before pushing his mask to the bridge of his nose. He then lies down on the roof, wishing not for the first time that the city's light pollution wasn't so bad. Seeing the stars and hunting for constellations would really help him ignore the cracked ribs screaming inside his chest and threatening to break if he even breathes wrong.
All things considered, though, it could be worse. Steve doesn't have any morning classes, Vecna didn't beat him up nearly as bad as he usually does during their fight earlier, and his accelerated healing means Steve will be able to breathe normally by morning. Robin would tell him he has a very low bar when it comes to judging how shitty his life currently is, but she isn't here, so her opinion doesn't matter. Dustin would tell him he should try not getting his ass whooped in the future. Thankfully, he also isn't here, making his opinion as meaningful as Robin's.
Steve closes his eyes, letting his shoulders relax and trying not to think about anything. It sort of works until his entire body suddenly tenses, every nerve on edge and goosebumps shooting across his arms. He shoots up, ignoring the harsh twinge in his ribs as he turns in a crouch and grabs his bat. Steve clenches his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose to keep from groaning in pain, and feels relieved he didn't completely remove his mask completely.
Over by the door leading to a staircase is a guy with ripped jeans, a worn-out shirt with "HELLFIRE CLUB" across the chest, a jean vest covered in patches and pins, and hair pulled back out of his face with a few wavy strands stubbornly escaping his hair tie. He's breathing a little heavily, his face flushed like he's just climbed a few flights of stairs. Actually, he probably has.
"Woah," the guy says, his voice soft enough that Steve would have missed it if not for the enhanced hearing. The guy clears his throat and holds up both hands, showing off a bottle of Jack Daniels in one and a bag with a grease-stained bottom in the other. "Uh, I come in peace. I didn't realize the rooftop was taken."
Steve has no clue what possesses him, but he forces himself to relax and set the bat down. "No, it's okay. I can head out," he says, staying seated despite his words. He's really hoping the guy will insist he doesn't need to; his ribs are still aching like a bitch.
Thankfully, the guy flashes a grin and slowly lowers his hands. "Nah, you're all good. Not every day I get to eat next to a hero. Want some fries?" he asks, walking over and sitting a good two feet away so there's plenty of room between them.
He tears open the bag to create an impromptu plate and puts it between them, the smell of greasy and undoubtedly delicious fries tempting enough that Steve picks up a smaller one and pops it into his mouth. "Thanks. Where are these from?" Steve asks, glancing over as the guy twists the cap of his bottle and takes a swig.
"A burger joint two streets down and one street over. On the corner."
Steve nods, making a mental note of the directions so he can get a burger before swinging home. He's got just enough in his pocket to afford one. "So, got a name?" Steve asks, figuring he's already eating the guy's fries and they're about to spend some time together on this roof. He should know the guy's name.
The guy's grin returns, and he sets the bottle down between them as well. It's tempting, but Steve doesn't trust his alcohol tolerance to hold up while his body is busy fixing his ribs. "Eddie. Do I get to know your name, too?"
Steve snorts and leans away slightly, putting a bit more distance between Eddie and his entirely too-grabbable mask. "Nice try," he says.
"Worth a shot," Eddie says, shrugging as he picks up a few fries. "So, Spider-Man, what brings you to Sister Margaret's? You enjoy the gay metal scene?"
"What's the difference between gay and regular metal?"
"Our hair is better," Eddie explains, dramatically flipping the few strands of hair escaping his tie.
Steve has to hold back a second snort, taking another fry and chewing on it before saying, "I like resting here after patrol. The whole building shakes with the music."
Eddie lights up, his eyes brightening and his back straightening some. "So, you're a fan of Corroded Coffin," he says, taking another swig of the Jack Daniels. It's only now that Steve realizes it's already a quarter of the way gone, and he wonders if Eddie's liver can handle that much alcohol all at once.
"Is that the name of the band?"
"Yep. They play here almost every night."
"I'm guessing you like them, too, then?"
Eddie hums, amusement dancing across his expression now, giving Steve the distinct feeling that there's some secret he simply isn't in on. "They're the best band I've ever heard. Their music is incredible. They really push the boundaries of the genre. And their lyrics? Amazingly layered with at least three meanings per line. I highly recommend actually coming in for a listen one of these days," Eddie says, leaning a little closer to Steve.
A beat of silence passes in which Steve holds Eddie's gaze. Or, he holds the gaze on his end; he's sure Eddie can't actually tell with the mask covering his eyes. "You're in the band," Steve says.
"Lead guitarist and singer, yes. I also write the songs."
"You're incredibly critical of yourself, really grounded in reality."
Eddie barks out a laugh. "I just happen to know my worth incredibly well."
"You have all the confidence of a mediocre white man on a job hunt."
Eddie gasps, placing a hand on his chest as he looks at Steve. "How dare you call me mediocre. I am revolutionary at worst and the second coming at best."
"You know the second coming involves, like, an apocalypse or something, right?"
"I'm Jewish, why would I bother with the fine details?" Well, Steve will give him that. "By the way," Eddie says, gesturing to Steve's bat as he continues, "do those nails actually see any use? Or are they just there to act as a threat?"
Steve looks down at his bat, considering it for a moment before carefully holding the middle and offering the handle to Eddie. Now that he's giving them a few moments of attention, he's realizing the nails embedded in the end are a little rusty and definitely need cleaning. "I try not to be deadly with it, but Vecna's got these lab-grown demon dogs and bats that always manage to break through my webs," Steve explains.
He watches as Eddie takes the bat, weighing it in his hands before shoving his palm into the nails. Steve jerks, a wordless shout escaping his throat as he launches himself over the fries and in front of Eddie. "Are you okay?!" he asks, grabbing Eddie's hand and shakily inspecting the nails sticking through it. Fuck, those are going to be a bitch to get out, and he'll probably have to swing Eddie to the hospital for a tetanus shot.
Being angry doesn't even register in his brain as Eddie laughs. "Don't worry about it, Spidey," he says, pulling his hand off the nails with a slight wince. He wiggles his fingers, letting Steve have a front-row seat to the injuries closing. "See, good as new."
And he's right. The injuries are good as new. In fact, there isn't even any scarring, and Steve almost rips his mask off to take a closer look but stops himself at the last minute. Instead, he grabs Eddie's hand and yanks it closer, turning it over to check his palm, too. "What the fuck?" he asks, looking up at Eddie, still gripping his hand tight.
"Super healing," Eddie explains. "Like, super duper. If I ever get decapitated, just hold my head to my neck, and I'll be right as rain."
"I'd rather not put that claim to the test," Steve says, frowning slightly as he runs his fingers over Eddie's palms, just to make sure the injuries aren't somehow hidden from sight.
"You know, I kissed the last guy who touched my palm like that," Eddie says, leaning in again with that grin.
Suddenly all Steve can think about is how Eddie's lips do look soft. And it has been a while since Steve actually kissed anyone. And he does think Eddie is funny. And he does find himself wondering if his smile will taste like the Jack Daniels and fries. And...and...
And Steve needs to go before he does anything he shouldn't be doing as Spider-Man.
He jerks back, dropping Eddie's hand like it burns, and ignores the ache in his ribs as he grabs his bat and stands. "I, uh, I need to get going. Thanks for the fries, Eddie," he says, hurrying over to the edge of the roof.
"Woah, just gonna eat and run on me, big boy?" Eddie asks, scrambling to his feet and over to where Steve is climbing onto the edge of the roof. "That's not very hero-like of you. You haven't even left me your name or number. How are you gonna pay me back $2.50 for the fries?"
"I had five," Steve says, turning to look at Eddie as he webs his bat to his back and pulls his mask down over his chin.
"The economy sucks, man."
Okay, he's got Steve there. Again. "Nice try, Eddie."
"Can you blame a guy? Your ass looks great in that spandex."
Steve is suddenly relieved his mask is back down, covering the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. He'd think it was just a joke, but the sincere and somewhat goofy smile tugging at Eddie's lips tells him it's more genuine than anything else. "Thanks," Steve says, giving Eddie a two-finger salute before taking a step back off the roof.
He shoots a web at the edge of the building, using the momentum to swing around the corner. His ribs are killing him with the movement, but he still manages to throw a, "See you later, Eds!" over his shoulder before he's completely out of earshot.
Later, Steve will wonder how Eddie got his super healing, if he's that flirtatious with every guy he meets on the roof of Sister Margaret's, and if he'll be there the next time Steve swings by. But that's for later. For now, he's just enjoying the breeze rushing over him and thinking about Eddie's eyes and his smile and his long fingers.
#Steddie#Spiderpool Steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#spiderman steve harrington#deadpool eddie munson#it'll make sense i promise#also Eddie goes back into the bar and immediately starts bragging about flirting with spider-man#everyone immediately knows he's about to become Annoying (TM)#and resign themselves to their fate#Robin does the exact same when Steve gets home and tells her about Eddie#RIP everyone who has to live with these two gushing about each other
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so, i've been seeing a lot about the new BG3 epilogues, but i gotta ask: do you get a similar epilogue if you choose to become the absolute at the end? i know it's unlikely, but... i have thoughts about how that could go 👀
#baldur's gate 3#like maybe absolute!tav gets bored of being surrounded by mindless thralls#and magnanimously gives the party their minds back for one evening#not enough that they can fight back but enough to say what they're really thinking#i think it'd be interesting to see which companions have resigned themselves to or even accepted their fate#and which ones are still fucking furious#and it could depend on things like companion quest outcomes and relationships!#for example if you never killed cazador maybe astarion would be more resigned to his fate#bc tav isn't as cruel a master as cazador was and in a twisted way keeps him safe from being taken back in by cazador's compulsion#whereas if you killed cazador‚ he'd be furious. bc he had just had his first taste of real freedom and you took it away from him.#different flavors of angry for spawn vs ascendant astarion of course#or like if you were playing a shar cleric and shadowheart stayed a shar worshiper she might actually see your actions as a good thing#seeing you as taking control of the absolute in the name of shar#whereas if you'd encouraged her to forge her own path she'd be disgusted with your hypocrisy#things like that#basically: feed me the angst pls
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I meant more of a… in relation to how she’d feel about saving her father from the Canon. How would she balance her father’s willingness to sacrifice for the greater good versus her desire to hypothetically save his life? And how would she connect that to Miles?
Ohh! Thanks for the additional context!
She’d probably be pretty damn conflicted!! She’s a hero! She wants to save people!! But, she’s also a kid and now has peers who are older and more experienced than her telling her about Canon and how “things are supposed to go” to preserve the Multiverse. Miguel has “proof” that deviating would lead to disaster!
And she’d try to find comfort in the idea of fate, I think. Presumably, after ITSV, she experiences some BIG Tragedies and likely gets support and empathy from the other Spideys who’d be like “sorry, kid, it just Has to be this way.” I don’t think that mentality would stick, at first? Maybe she’d run an algorithm or calculations or make theories because (like Pavitr like Miles like Hobie) she’d believe that there’s a way to do Both, save people despite Canon and preserve the Multiverse.
But maybe the math keeps just not Working and she just gets tired and more Tired. And what does it really matter? It’s not like she can go back in time and save her dad anyways…. He made his choice (heroic yet tragic) and she’s had to mourn and live with it ever since. It’s not like she could’ve stopped all the Other Things that have happened since, either…
And then comes Miles. A friend, a teen she’d dismissed at first cuz he wasn’t up to snuff and there were other more competent Spideys to collaborate with… then their attempt to keep him safe failed and he proved them all Wrong. Peni watches as he learns about Canon Events and realizes his dad is going to Die.
But he doesn’t accept it. He’s going to prove them wrong, save his dad, stop Spot. He has the chance, and he’s going to Take It.
Maybe that wakes Peni up from this fugue state of resignation. She’s a Hero. She Wants to Save People. She didn’t get that chance with her dad, but she can sure as hell help Miles save his.
#spiderverse#atsv#atsv spoilers#across the spider verse spoilers#across the spiderverse#peni parker#I mention Pavitr because when he’s holding up that bus he Truly Believes he can do both#save the bus (and his gf) and save Inspector Singh#it’s almost funny and genuinely a bit tragic that the Spider Society is poised as this supportive collective of heroes#and yet they resign themselves to fate and lose that spark of Hope that gives Spideys the strength to beat the odds#oh also I am literally just spitting words here and don’t have the strongest grasp on Peni’s character#I was a big Spidey fan as a teen but the like decade since then has kinda expanded that in a way I haven’t caught up with#I appreciate folks resonating with anything I write regardless!!#anyways hope I addressed the ask properly this time!
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…coming to the realization that tav!oli is basically cinderella
#idk about her character in the actual fairy tale so im basing it of the disney adaptation#off* not of#and it’s obvi not 1:1#but#dead parents? being used as a workhorse for their whole lives?#putting others before themselves….#…..animal friends and singing?#oliver is an anxious mess and has resigned himself to his fate and doesn’t hope for anything different because what’s the point?#this is better than he deserves#cinderella has her whole ball thing so that’s all… different#lmao…the emperor as fairy godmother#the ‘get out before midnight’ is getting the tadpoles out and then stopping the absolute#wyll would suit the theme better as oliver’s li#and also he’s just. a fucking sweetheart?#in so many ways they’d be perfect together#maybe i’ll do a non-canon oli run where he ends up with wyll just to see#but poor guy doesn’t need to be saddled with oliver’s issues#he needs to be swept off his feet himself!#oliver and astarion can go be messy bitches together#also i’m sure if i have a hard enough think there’s nice thematic parallels between them or whatever#but i just like the idea of them levelling each other out#oliver raises astarion’s nice level and is ready to wait on him hand and foot#astarion brings out the tiny gremlin side of oliver and teaches him that selfishness is okay sometimes actually#bg3#oc: the oliver tag#bideo gaems#to the void with love
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Drove to the urgent care cuz I have a painfull infection and I didn't have any masks in my car and I had to drive home and not I don't have the fucking spoons to go back to the fucking urgent care
#resigned to my fate taking my fucking advil and getting yelled at for not cleaning the kitchen i fucking guess#r0b7#gif#im so fucking tired im so over it im so fucking tored ans over it im so fucking insanely over stimulated and exausted and tired#i need my life to get completely uprooted and rearanged or ill fucking die#if i have to see another one of my family members my brains gonna turn to glass and fucking shatter inside my skull if i have to clean the#fucking kitchen one more time these cunts cant fucking clean up after themselves leave fish rotting in a scummy pan full of water over night#so the fucking guy who hates fish can clean it fucking beel the soggy burnt skins out of that goddam pan i fucking hate you#i dont want to die but im so tired of being alive like this
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reworking chapters 20 - 23 of perpetua rn. i'm still keeping the old versions around in a separate doc but the character development in those ones felt a little off. damien shrank back too quickly, the aquarium thing would be better material for arc 4, and luna's talk with avery was getting too long and complicated.
#perpetua progress notes#imo the kids feel more like themselves in the rewritten version. avery especially bc it's fun writing him being passionate about stuff#but also at this rate damien watching the owl house / atla and re-evaluating his self-worth might become an actual plot point????#i dont. i dont know.#fun fact the perpetua script hardly has a written outline apart from the main story beats of the ex plot#its just a game of connecting the dots and planning things in a way that hopefully makes sense while also being open to new stories#like idk luna having a parental relationship with avery was not something i initially had planned. esp not a year ago.#but its in there and here to stay bc i love the idea of luna being generally resigned to his fate until avery was born.#and suddenly he had someone he wanted to protect. not like 'the world' or 'future generations' or even the other members#(who chose to perform to entertain the gods even for a little while). but an actual person.#uh. about minerva and luna as avery's parents. i think even if luna is kind and easy to talk to minerva still plays a bigger role#in avery's personal life. rn he's trying to be independent so he talks more to luna but after losing damien he goes back to his mum#at least for a while. but its a long while.
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You are the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; when a mix of common folk and soldiers drag you from your bed you are already resigned to whatever fate they have chosen for you. You are dragged out in your sheer silk nightwear and forced to your knees in the mud of the main road. Glancing up you see the figures opposite, the enemy, the great hulking orcs your husband angered. Above you, you hear frantic talking - frantic, useless. None of you speak their tongue.
Finally, in desperation, you crawl forward and bow your head, pulling your hair aside to bare your neck. Surely that cannot be misunderstood. You are willing to give your life for peace. The townspeople are hardly going to let you live either way.
(You are the chieftain of an orc clan reluctantly drawn into this skirmish as a matter of honour, and when the humans drag out a small, helpless one of their own and offer it you hesitate. It is dressed in silk and wears jewels at its neck and throat, which means it is important. As grotesque as the practice is to you, your sense of pride, you know they often exchange hostages between themselves. You glance at your second, who visibly rolls her eyes but nods. Any excuse to go home.)
The orcs do not kill you there and then, but take you; you cannot tell yet if that is a mercy or a misfortune. You are bound at the wrists and ankles and flung over an orc soldier's shoulder like a sack of grain, and passed between many of them during the journey. In their own language they joke and laugh as they pass you over, sometimes pinching at the bare skin of your thigh where your clothes have hitched up.
At their camp you are deposited in the tent of the chieftain. You have heard rumours of what they do with captives, and between being ravaged until broken or eaten alive you do not know what to hope for. You merely lie there, limp and trembling slightly, until you hear the sound of someone entering. The hulking orc chieftain looks at you, tusked face unreadable, then drags you upright by a fistful of your hair to briefly press a flask to your lips. When you have gulped nearly all the water he drops you, grunts and leaves. He does not return to the tent the entire night. You know this, because the low buzzing terror in the back of your mind doesn't let you sleep.
(You hardly know what to do with the little thing. Your comrades say it is easy to carry but odd, it is full grown by the look of it but doesn't struggle at all or even try to bargain in its babbling little language. Maybe it is unwell. You order it placed in your tent and give it water yourself, but it shows no more signs of life, dull-eyed and staring at nothing. You decide to let it sleep and go back outside to drink until you pass out under the stars and the warm summer skies.)
On the second night you are taken to a river before camp, and following the example of those around you, you wash yourself; as you return to the riverbank you find your clothes gone. The orcs watch you, even the smallest of them half-again your size. You swallow your fear and walk naked back to the chieftain's tent. Once there you lower yourself to your hands and knees on the bedroll, bare skin still damp from the water. You cannot stop him from taking you, but perhaps it will hurt less or be over faster if you comply.
The orcs chieftain makes a brief, almost hissing sound at the sight of you, but does not leave this time. Their hand brushes across your back and you can feel their claws retracting. They touch and inspect you like a prize hound and you keep your eyes to the ground, tears of shame welling up. Then he presses two large, blunt fingers inside you, and you brace yourself. He fingerfucks you lazily for a minute or so before suddenly growling something you don't understand and turning you on your back, so you scramble to reposition yourself and hold your legs wide. He cradles your face in both his hands as he slowly sinks his swollen cock into you, larger than you think you could ever take and stretching you painfully yet unable to look away from his face. Your husband used to force you to look at him like this only when he wanted to watch you cry, so you brace yourself for the firm hold to turn into hard slaps that leave your ears ringing.
(The little thing washes with the others and you are approaching the tent with an armful of fabric in what you hope is close to their size when you are hit with the unexpected sight of them uncovered in your tent, positioned as any orc begging to be bred would be. You have to smother a gasp and restrain yourself; it has been too long, and little thing's fragile shape and delicate features are somehow all the more appealing for their strangeness. But you were raised well, taught that all parties must agree before partners bed each other; you don't know their tongue to ask them. You seek permission from their body language instead, first touching their back, the curve of their ass and leg, then with tentative fingers in their soft tight little hole. They do not flinch or try to flee, and they wetten for your fingers. Surely you can continue? Forgetting yourself you ask out loud.)
You wait to be hit. It doesn't happen. You wait to used rough and hurt inside; it doesn't happen either.
The looming figure of the great orc warrior above you moves with an almost incongruous care, pressing into you slowly and then simply resting there until your body becomes accustomed enough to his huge cock that he can start to move without tearing you. It's almost as if his gaze on your face is tracking the small hitched breaths or softening of your expression to know when he can begin to carefully thrust. Yet that makes no sense to you. Men have never used you so gentle, why would a savage orc do so?
He is big enough it does hurt some little but that sensation is soon overwhelmed by another, unfamiliar and disorienting; a low heat building your abdomen, a curl of pleasure that makes you whimper. Another growl comes in response, so you try to quieten, but his expression - it is so hard to read, so different, but he does not look angry.
(You are confused and troubled, but the tight heat of the little thing is so perfect around your cock. They are acting like a new prospective mate, taking your body like a mate would, but when you watch their face to try and find the answers you'd normally seek out loud there is something missing. You fuck them very gently, as such delicate pretty things should be treated, and forget yourself enough to apologise out loud when they whimper. You promise them in words they don't know that you want to make them feel good, you will stop if they struggle even once, that they are safe with you.)
The orc chief finishes with a single deep thrust and you can feel your abdomen swell with how filled you are, a little of their cum already beginning to leak down your thighs. He pulls away and you instinctively curl in on yourself, protective - the sound he makes in response is urgent but more distressed than angry. He paws at you to uncurl, look at him again; as you tilt your face up and force your body to relax he huffs and lowers his great head between your legs. Before you can even process it his rough tongue is on you, and you can feel the smooth dangerous weight of his tusks against your inner thighs. The rush of banked pleasure is equally unexpected, as he coaxes a climax from you that leaves you shaking. Afterward you are gathered up like a doll in his arms, and for the first time in three days actually believe you may be safe. Very, very, tentatively, you reach for his face and pause halfway in question.
(The little thing flinches only afterwards, but it does flinch and you immediately fight back a rush of guilt and worry. Rank be damned, the clan will not stand for taking any person unwilling, even a human one. You try to comfort them with small touches, check their face for signs of what's wrong. They are unreadable. You check between their legs and can tell they did not quite find pleasure yet, so quickly duck your head to correct it. Perhaps that is what was wrong, because when their body responds they do not flinch away from being held close. They even reach for your face, and after you nod encouragingly they trace their tiny fingers over the ridges of your skin and kiss nervously at the smooth curve of your tusk. You thrill, but say nothing; maybe they have no idea what an intimate gesture that is. You just happily nestle close.)
You were the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; now, it seems, you are claimed by the warrior chief who bested him and the bedmate of a mighty orc who is gentler with you than said husband ever was and - slightly endearingly - buries his face in the crook of your neck with a low rumbling sound not unlike a purr when sleepy and post-coital.
.
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OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU
synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.
tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc
wc: 5.2K
In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.
You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.
“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”
You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.
Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.
“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.
Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.
He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.
“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.
“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.
“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.
“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.
“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.
Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.
“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.
“Then what’s the damn problem?”
The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.
“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.
Dream walker.
At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.
The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.
Until Okumura Yukiko.
At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.
When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.
Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.
Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.
Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.
Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.
Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”
Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.
Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.
And then everything stops.
Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.
Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.
“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.
The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.
“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.
“Do you go to school here?”
“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”
Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”
Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.
You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.
Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.
Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.
Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.
“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”
“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.
“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”
Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.
But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.
The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.
A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.
A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.
They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.
“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”
Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.
You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.
“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”
Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.
With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.
You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.
You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.
Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.
You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.
You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.
Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.
It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.
Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.
The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”
Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.
It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.
Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.
One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.
Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.
Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.
“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”
Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.
Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.
Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.
“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.
“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.
“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.
“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.
“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.
Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”
You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.
“You remembered this old thing?”
Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.
Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.
You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.
“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.
“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.
Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.
He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”
You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.
Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”
His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.
You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.
“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.
“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.
“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.
“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”
You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.
“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.
“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.
You give an emphatic nod.
“How mad is Kacchan?”
“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”
There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.
“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”
You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.
Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.
“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.
Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.
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In your survivor au, what do you think DogDay's reaction would be anytime he found y/n with CatNap? (That includes mostly when catnap snags y/n for cuddles)
just curious lol I wanna hear your thoughts
rage.
dogday has very little tolerance for catnap's tomfoolery, especially in the first few days of their attempt at coexistence. he keeps a close eye on both catnap and y/n, just to make sure the cat doesn't try anything.
of course, he can't be with y/n all the time. so perhaps there's an instance where he, poppy, and kissy are out on a walk while y/n is in town; he doesn't expect them back for a while.
however, y/n gets home a bit early. catnap, noticing the lack of opposition, sees an opportunity.
he watches. he waits for the right moment. then he pounces.
with a small dosage of red smoke (not enough to fully knock them out, but enough to make them slow and groggy), catnap steals y/n away to the barn, picking them up by the back of their coat. they struggle weakly as he saunters into the barn, heaving himself and his quarry up into the loft in one jump.
he gently deposits y/n into his nest before curling up around them. he settles, ignoring their slurred admonishing in favor of rubbing his face against their hair. he purrs. he's just taking the attention he believes he's owed, after all. they're so doting on the other toys...it's only fair he get some of his savior's attention, too.
as the effects of the red smoke slowly wear off, y/n sighs and seems to accept their fate of being cuddled. they can't exactly move the heavy, powerful limbs holding them close.
so, they talk to catnap. they try to convince him that kidnapping them isn't the way to go about getting attention, but the feline simply gazes at y/n through lazily lidded eyes. when their pleas for freedom go unheard, y/n resigns themself to their fate; instead, they tell him about whatever it is they got done that day. at least the occasional twitch of a large purple ear lets them know that he's listening.
meanwhile, dogday and the girls are returning from their walk, flowers and a few foraged mushrooms in hand. dogday sees y/n's vehicle in front of the garage, and assumes they're in the house. except, when he goes inside, calling for them, there's no answer. poppy yells for them too, checking the rooms upstairs.
"they're not here!" she calls back to dogday.
a chill goes down his spine and his hackles immediately raise.
catnap.
dogday is out the front door in a flash, snagging his axe (it's a normal size, but it looks smaller in his hands) from the side of the house on the way.
he runs towards the barn, knowing that's where that thing took his angel.
dogday kicks the weathered double doors in, head snapping in the direction of the loft. just as he suspected, catnap has y/n trapped between his deadly claws, prone and vulnerable.
"catnap!" he roars in outrage. "i swear if you've hurt them in any way, i'll—!"
y/n calls his name, and he stops. through his rage, he sees them. they're...they're not hurt. though he's glad to see them unharmed, he won't be happy until they're safely away from his enemy. he hears y/n sigh tiredly.
this isn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last.
they sluggishly pull themselves from between catnap's paws, and though the cat grumbles his discontent, he's obviously not looking to start a fight with the pissed off dog still brandishing an axe down below. the look y/n gives him cows him even more. he looks away, and allows y/n the space to stand. as much as he wishes he could keep them, their ever-so-loyal hound won't allow it.
he'll have to be sneakier next time.
y/n shakily stands up. they've built up some tolerance to the red smoke, but... it can still knock them off their feet if they're not expecting it. they make their way to the lofts' rickety ladder, only taking a few steps down before dogday is there, gathering them into one arm (the other still holding his axe, eyes never leaving catnap and ready to swing the moment the feline moves).
y/n sighs again. they rest their head on dogday's shoulder, slumping down as he quickly gets them out of the barn. they hear more than see dogday slam the barns' doors shut. they can feel how his breathing slows from its angry seethe, calmer now that they're with him.
y/n can feel how the large canine presses his head to theirs, giving an affectionate nuzzle that earns a little laugh from them. he huffs a bit, still upset that he wasn't able to stop them from being nabbed in the first place.
on their way back into the house, dogday leaves his axe on the porch, closing and locking the front door behind them.
poppy and kissy are in the living room, and they watch dogday carry y/n upstairs. poppy shakes her head and sighs. she's really not sure why y/n won't just let dogday kill catnap, especially since the feline keeps doing stuff like this. she puts that thought to the side as she and kissy decide on a movie.
dogday takes y/n into their shared room. he lays them gently on the bed, helping them remove their shoes and coat. y/n groans and pulls themself under the covers. the smokes' effects will fully wear off in a couple of hours, but for now it feels like serious jetlag. y/n closes their eyes.
as they settle in, they hear dogday sigh. as expected, he begins to settle himself next to them, curling up and holding them close. one large hand rests on their back, gently stroking their shoulder. y/n nuzzles into the soft fur of his chest.
as they fall asleep under the watchful eye of their guard dog, y/n hopes they can maintain some semblance of peace between their family and the stray in the barn.
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꒰ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲-𝐚𝐭-𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞… ꒱
word count: 950
contains: domestic fluff, crack, my shitty writing strikes AGAIN
zayne x female!reader
note: guess who's brainrotting again!! 🥰 I haven't posted for l&dps in a hot minute so uh here y'all go (those requests are still sitting in my drafts bro im so sorry 😔)
masterlist
⟡ …is fairly uneventful. but it’s the kind of unexciting lull that’s peaceful, not boring. you get up in the morning, turn the ac on, lay out his work clothes and shoes and towel for his morning shower, before heading to get the coffee machine going. you don’t mind having to get up so early in the morning for him; making his bento lunch boxes full of food that would be bound to get him through the day. zayne treats you like a queen, his hefty paycheck leaving more than enough for him to arrive home with a little bag from some expensive jewellery shop, presenting you with either a lovely gemmed pendant, a dazzling pair of earrings or stylish bracelets.
⟡ …is relaxing. when he leaves for the day, you having helped him into his coat and him bidding you goodbye with a long, loving kiss, you get to blast your favourite songs and get on with what housework that needs to be done. once the chores are completed, you can chill for the rest of the day—sometimes, you just settle for being a couch potato and binge your favourite dramas with an entire tub of ice cream, maybe do some baking (i.e., chocolate brownies or cake that zayne adores), or you head out to do some grocery shopping, treating yourself along the way.
⟡ …is amusing for those around to see. from time to time, zayne is rather in a rush and forgets to pack his lunch box that sits on the bench, ready for him to take. this provides you a perfect excuse to visit him at the hospital, tapping on his office door at a certain time when you know he’s free—which is, of course, lunchtime. the idiot usually works through his lunch break. the scolding he receives upon your arrival always has him quickly turning off his computer and obeying your orders.
“you forgot your lunch box again this morni—” looking up, zayne sees you standing frozen in the doorway, his blue bento lunch box in your hands, staring at him with this expression of pure disappointment that immediately tells him what’s coming. resigning himself to his fate, zayne steels himself for a lecture in 3, 2, 1…
“how many times do i have to tell you to actually take a break when it’s break time?” slamming the lunch box down on his desk, zayne watches his wife plant a hand on her hip and jut a finger at him, then the bento box. “do i have to come down here everyday to monitor you like a fussing mother hen? i’m going to start calling you at twelve pm, on the dot, if you don’t get your act together, zayne!”
slipping his glasses off, he reigns in his annoyance and reaches for his bento box. he can smell the still-warm food within it, and his stomach instantly rumbles in hunger. eating meals made by you is always a highlight of his day. “no need, my dear. i’ll set a reminder—”
“rubbish! you said that last week when i barged in here, catching you spending more time with your damn computer and documents than you do me.”
“love, you need to understand that i have a lot of work that needs doing—”
“of course i understand that! but whenever you skip your lunch breaks, you come home grumpier than usual, you grumble at me when i don’t do something right, and complain of a headache! it also sends your evol off kilter, putting you in danger! i hate to be that one nagging wife, but sometimes it’s like i’m taking care of a seven-year-old who refuses to eat his brussel sprouts, and then wonder why he’s not getting any taller.”
so zayne did as he was told and ate every morsel in that bento box under your strict, watchful eye. dr greyson ushers the other interns away from the office when he heard you two ‘arguing’, the young kids snickering to themselves at the sight of the unapproachable, frigid chief cardiac surgeon zayne hastily obeying his wife’s every order.
⟡ …is sometimes stressful. zayne occasionally has these vigilante tendencies, roaming around the alleyways way past his due hour home and wiping out all these wanderers without sending you a single text about it. it leaves you absolutely worried sick, and the beratings he receives immediately upon his arrival home are ten times worse than the ones he’s subjected to when he forgets his lunch box.
⟡ …means there are ‘terms and conditions’ established. he makes the money, but you run the shop. your shared apartment is spacious and very modern, yes, but there’s still quite a lot of vacuum cleaning and window-washing to do. zayne respects that you’re the woman of the house, and never misunderstand that your marriage is a mutual effort. you both love each other very much, and you hardly ever fight (apart from petty arguments over who’s doing the dishes tonight). just because zayne works all day does not mean he doesn’t have to pull his weight around.
⟡ …means his days off are spent sleeping in, making love, and spending what time you have together preciously. you’ll go out to eat or go for a walk along the beach. he’ll tell you about his week, you’ll comfort him over the patients he couldn’t save. it never helps that he always beats himself up over it. no matter how much you try to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that sometimes there’s only so much he can do, he’ll always feel responsible. zayne may seem like a cold, unfeeling man, but he’s likely the most empathetic, humane person you’ve ever met.
it's the RATE at which feminism leaves my body whenever this man shows up 🙏
I apologise for this, it was written on a whim when I am supposed to be studying for my history assignment due next week!! 🥰 oh well <3
and I'd just like to say this - if this has already been done before, then I can tell you right now that I did not know. I don't want to have another anon enter my inbox saying "erm actually this is really similar to [this person]'s post 🤓☝️" and basically accuse me of being a plagiariser. because I wrote this, as I said, on a whim while eating my avocado on toast after doing my dailies on l&dps, not after reading some other author's fic and going "hey im gonna write that", because bro ☠️ that's crazy. so if it is similar to someone else's, I apologise! I genuinely did not know (I can't stress that enough) 💛
#zayne love and deepspace#love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace x reader#lads zayne#zayne x reader#love and deepspace zayne#zayne fluff#zayne x you#lads#zayne#I have 54839753925943 things I should be working on but instead im posting this#pray for me guys im about to wither away completely 🙏#I also have a very bad headache anyways LOVE YALL!!#zayne love and deepspace headcanons#love and deepspace headcanons
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Fluffy Otp Prompts
(since a lot of people have seen this- pls consider sending in a writing request! i'm not drafting anything atm and need some stuff to write)
some cute otp prompts <3
A leaning in to kiss B, then pulling away but B tugs them back in and kisses them hard
A and B go on a horse ride together
B is having a breakdown, A comforts them and makes them feel all better
A and B finally move in together
It's their first date, A thinks everything has gone awfully but at the end B kisses them and tells them it was the best date ever
Picnic date!!
Soft kisses under the blanket in the evening
A gets in trouble at work, all they can think about is going home and collapsing into B's arms
A and B are watching a horror movie together, every time there is a jumpscare B jumps and spills some of the popcorn. A ends up confiscating it but now, every time that B jumps they turn over and tuck their face into A's neck
A tucking B's hair behind their ear on a windy beach date
On the same beach date, all the food and the crappy tinfoil barbeque they bought blow away and thye have to search for a pub together
The first time A is drunk (before they begin to date B) They absent-mindedly confess
A and B go to a party together, B gets overwhelmed but A notices and takes them home to spend time together
They get lost during a walk in the forest and begin to resign themselves to their fate and 'set up camp', then have to try to recover from the embarrassment when a lady walks by walking her dog and they realise they are, in fact, not lost. Just stupid.
Stargazing together. A is actually smart and points out constellations, B just points up at the sky every so often and says, "That one looks like a penis" or something along those lines
#prompt set#imagine your otp#write your otp#writeblr#writblr#fanfic#fanfiction#otp prompts#writing prompts#romance writing#fluff prompts#domestic fluff#domestic prompts#person a and person b#prompts#1k#writing#creative writing
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Space-Time apprentice
After many conversations with Clockwork, Danny decided to be his apprentice, partly because Clocky was the closest thing he had to a grandfather, and partly because he really wanted to travel back to the time of the dinosaurs.
Clockwork was well aware of that fact, which is the reason he made his lessons as difficult and cryptic as possible. And although it frustrated him, in the end Danny succeeded. Due to his core, at the end of the lessons he ended up becoming the "Master of Space", which was not the same as Clockwork but quite similar.
He didn't realize that being a "master" of literally anything was lonely. They also didn't inform him that being a halfa would give him immortality, Danny sighed sadly, at least Clocky kept him company.
Perhaps the reason for his future actions was due to that feeling of loneliness; After watching a new dimension being created, both Clockwork and Danny witnessed a baby wizard being born in Egypt on that dimension, he had immense potential (Danny found it curious that many events tended to repeat themselves as a constant in the progress of different dimensions, like the egypt creation for example)
Since he had never witnessed anything like this before and it reminded him a bit of Tucker, the Master of Space went to congratulate the little wizard. But when he said goodbye, he followed him! Like a duckling. Danny saw this and plead his mentor for help, Clockwork just shook his head, Nabu would be a future lord of order, but right now he was just a curious and lonely kid (and Danny got a headache thinking about the intricacies of the dimension).
Resigned, Danny stayed in Egypt for a couple of hundred years, he began to teach Nabu space magic and other arts he had learned over the years; Clockwork seeing that his apprentice had taken his own ward, decided to taught Nabu a bit about future vision, a useful gift for the boy. When Nabu eventually disappeared, they both decided to leave without leaving a trace behind, it was like they never existed, even if the people remembered them.
Danny just didn't expect his little Nabu to have turned into a ¿spirit? trapped in a helmet and other artifacts thousands of years later, of course he'd made some dubious decisions but thats was a little cruel for a punishment, even if he was not sure if Nabu did that to himself; The halfa felt lost, there was no manual of "I met my pupil after a long time and he is trapping people with his helmet and other objects to possess them"!? He swears, he checked on Ghostwriter library!
For their part, the Justice League was confused when the respectable and usually unflappable Dr. Fate began to jump on his heels impatiently as he looked out of the Watchtower, waiting for something, or rather someone.
#danny phantom#dp x dc#danny fenton#dc x dp#justice league#immortal danny fenton#Danny is the Master of Space#He is technically Fate master#He taught Nabu about magic and other stuff#Of course#Nabu never mentioned who taught him#it's a personal secret.#Danny and Clockwork sometimes get bored so they travel to see the birth and progress of new dimensions#They are immortals anyways#Nabu is excited to meet his guardian again#even if he knows that he will be scolded for the possession thing#in the past Danny let Nabu make his own mistakes#it was necessary for him to learn without a guide who could influence him#Just the teen looking Master of Space and his little (old) wizard apprentice#justice league dark#dr fate#Nabu
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i have been obsessing over this extremely short moment post-sunshot campaign for weeks now trying to put together a lengthier post about it, but i think the screenshots themselves arranged chronologically speak for themselves. so i will just post them and then talk about the framing, because i’m insane about it.
just about everyone else on this side of the banquet hall within the scorching sun palace is looking towards jin guangshan as he speaks—everyone except for:
1) jin guangyao, who is staring straight ahead with a startlingly flat and resigned expression on his face, despite being seated in a position of honour beside his brother, and
2) nie huaisang, who is obviously TRYING to pay attention, but his attention keeps wandering between looking at nie mingjue, and looking at jin guangyao
(also he gets no further commentary/acknowledgement from me but look at jin zixun back there just lounging in his seat like a smug spoiled brat. ugh. step on legos forever jin zixun.)
the camera shifts its focus while jgs keeps talking to zero in on jgy’s expression. this deliberately highlights and provides us the chance to see his expression in more detail. and it is so hard to discern what he is feeling specifically beyond “not great,” but what stands out for me is: he isn’t wearing his usual polite, customer service mask, the one he managed to keep in place both during the introductory sequence at the cloud recesses in the face of so much mockery from the jiang sect disciples.
so what is that expression? what is going on in his head that he can’t play the part that he’s perfect for years now, when he has supposedly almost achieved everything he ever dreamed of accomplishing for himself and his mother? i mean, i have my suspicions of course, because we know what is going to happen very soon.
and then—
—the focus of this scene changes, drawing our attention away from jin guangyao towards nie huaisang where he’s seated just behind nie mingjue. because nie huaisang is not paying attention to jgs’s speech or watching his da-ge. unlike everyone else in this banquet hall in this moment, nie huaisang is looking at jin guangyao, observing him in this moment where his polite mien has failed him, and god what i wouldn’t give to know what is going through his head!! because:
1) i don’t for a moment believe nmj told nhs the details of what transpired between him and jgy during their confrontation in the scorching sun palace. i don’t think he did this as a favour to jgy or to lxc, either. imo this decision would be consistent with nmj shutting down any discussion of what caused him to exile meng yao from the unclean realm back in… uhhh, episode 10?? when nhs, wwx and jc all converge in the unclean realm throne room to ask about meng yao’s fate. (yeah it was episode 10.) anyway for all we know this is the first time nhs has seen his old body guard/babysitter since he watched meng yao totter feebly into the wild blue yonder all those months ago, and now here he is seated in a place of honour between jin zixuan and his da-ge, looking perhaps even more miserable than he did while bleeding from a giant sword wound in his chest. it is entirely consistent with nhs’s character to be like ‘???? what is up with this??’ but not even he is bold enough to ask jgy what is up in the middle of this banquet, not with da-ge right there.
2) his expression is ALSO harder to read than it would have been when they were last together!! but there are clearly gears and cogs shifting and ticking and whirring behind his eyes, and the fact that the framing calls attention to nhs noticing jgy in this moment when it’s quite clear no one else does is one of many hints the show is dropping for us that nhs is more than just a lackadaisical and absent-minded second son. he notices things that no one else does—but, as with jgy, we are left to guessing as to what he is thinking, and what conclusions he is drawing.
well okay it looks like i managed to write a lot of words down about this after all!! go me.
#mdzs meta#jin guangyao#nie huaisang#he did crimes??? good for him 😌#let him have birds!! 🕊️#i am obsessed with their cql dynamic#gonna go to my grave wondering about what could have been if they had just noticed each other a little bit more
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the lakes (9) // finnick odair x f. reader
summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.
previous chapter / next chapter
midnight rain
5.1k words
warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, lots of violence/death/blood, like a lot of it, it's the hunger games, mentions of starvation and dehydration, injuries, mental illness, self loathing, casual dominance, savior complex Finnick, codependent relationship, reader has trauma relating to being too cold especially being cold + cold water we'll get into it eventually like next chapter, terms of endearment, nudity in a non sexual way, unedited, no use of y/n, Finnick washes readers hair
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You woke up too early, there was too much time for your thoughts to run on top of the fact that you'd barely slept at all. Mind full of reminders of the last time you'd been in the arena, how cruel fate was. At least you were still with Finnick, the protection of his arms, surrounded by his love, and you snuggled further into his grasp. Desperate to savor every speck of his being, of the moment before it could be taken away from you. You forced your eyes back shut, who knew how much sleep would be available in the arena, being well-rested could be an advantage. It didn't hit you until you sniffled that you were crying, it felt pathetic, how often you cried.
“I know you're awake." His voice didn't startle you, simply made you intertwine your legs with his even further.
“Don't wanna be." You buried your face in the crook of his neck, somehow even if there was no ocean he'd been swimming in for so long, his scent was still that of saltwater. It comforted you, like the smell of your home when the windows opened in the morning.
“I know, sweet girl." He nodded, arms having wrapped themselves tighter around you. An unspoken fear that if either of you let go it would be the last time. Tears peppered his neck and you already felt like it was lulling you back to sleep.
You weren't sure when your exhausted self had fallen asleep like that, but the next thing you remembered was Finnick softly whispering your name, announcing it was time. You kept your eyes shut and shook your head which broke his heart. Part of your brain reminded you that you volunteered for this, you could have been at home sick with anxiety, but instead you chose to be here.
“Come on, sweet girl, we have too." He whispered, voice so comforting it could have made you fall right back into your sleep. He was hypnotic.
“I can't." It was true, you couldn't have willed your body to move even if you’d wanted to. Your muscles felt like they'd shut down, frozen in place. He didn't push back with an ‘I told you so’ he just began lifting you up from the bed. Your head shook as he moved, “Please, Finnick.”
"Angel, we don't have a choice.” His voice was sad, but definitive. He wiped away the residual tests and tiredness in your eyes from where he'd say you on the bed.
Staring into his soothing eyes helped your stiff muscles loosen somewhat, but shame had begun to take over your brain too. “I'm sorry." You muttered, your voice cracked and was still heavy with sleep.
“It's okay, don't worry about it.” He kissed your forehead, "I've got you, sweet girl, I'll take care of you.” The guilt was almost numbing your body all over again, but it all reactivated when Finnick tried to step away. Instantly grabbing his hand and whining when he'd tried to pull away. “I'm just starting the shower." He reassured, but you didn't let go. So he sighed before resigning himself to it and just picking you up to come with him. He started the shower and put you down.
Maybe it had all finally hit you, the fact that your impending death meant you'd never have these moments with him again, but you felt completely robotic. Your arms felt heavy and you felt lonely the moment he was no longer touching you. Your fingers fumbled as you tried to get undressed in your stupor, but Finnick’s warm hands overtook your own.
“Don't worry about it, angel, I told you I’ll take care of you." You nodded dumbly as he began helping you undress. You'd spent so much time recently trying to prove you could do this you'd forgotten how nice it was to just let him take control, let him take care of you. As he helped you into the shower the warm water made you more tired which he could tell, “I'm going to have to make the water cold to help wake you up, sweet girl, just for a little bit."
You'd mumbled something incoherently probably trying to argue, but you couldn't, you needed your head in the game today. Finnick gave you a second before turning the temperature over to cold, you weren't standing directly in the water, so the residual sprays of water misted your body making you shiver. He cupped his hands under the water, collecting some of it.
“Tilt your head back for me, angel, got to wake you up." You did so and closed your eyes as the icy water hit your face. Although you'd never admit it to him, the water itself wasn't what really was waking you up, well it was in a way. The cold instantly put you back into the arena, the way you'd all been dripping and shaking in the freezing rain for days on end. “You okay?"
You nodded, “Yeah, thank you."
“Awake enough that I can turn the water back?" He smiled softly at you as your hands moved up and down your arms trying to create heat.
“Yes, please." You were grateful when he did, making it burning hot like you preferred. It all made you miss your home in District 4 where it was usually warm outside and the water reflected that, or every time it was cool it was combined with heat. So rarely did the weather and water coincide to be bitingly cold in those cases you just refused to leave the house much to Finnick's chagrin.
He led you into the stream of water, its full heat covering you as he wet your hair. When he was fully satisfied he took his time washing it, hands massaging your scalp. “You know hot water is bad for your hair." He whispered as he washed some fancy shampoo out of it.
“I don't care and don't even think about it." You gave a warning look to him, he had a teasing look in his eyes.
“How am I supposed to let the woman I love damage her hair like this when I'm taking care of her?"
“I'll get out."
“Well we wouldn't want that." You felt so peaceful while he continued washing your hair by the time he was completely finished you felt less robotic and more malleable. Finnick began scrubbing your body clean, who knew how long until you'd be able to do that again, if ever. You soaked up every moment in fear that it could be the last time you went through this routine. He made sure you were sufficiently soapy before rinsing you off and moving onto your face. You didn't even know the names of the various Capitol products, but he did it all with ease. It almost felt unnecessary, the size of your pores didn't matter when you were fighting for your life, but you let him continue. It was calming, made you feel loved, cared for.
“Thank you, Finnick." You said when he finished, pressing a kiss to his lips.
He nodded, “Go dry off, angel, I'll be out soon."
“Don't wanna leave you." Your arms wrapped around him once again as you shook your head.
He kissed the top of your head, “Okay, angel, just stand right there and look pretty.” You took a couple of steps back as he washed himself off too, far enough to avoid most of the residual water spray when he turned the water back to cold as he cleaned his face and hair. Soon enough he was shutting off the shower head and grabbing two towels. He grabbed your hand, helping you out of the shower. “I got this too, my love."
He tied his towel around his waist before he began to dry you off. You were easy to move as he dried your hair as much as he could before sitting you down on the edge of the tub to brush your teeth. It gave you flashbacks, once upon a time you'd been sat here in this exact bathroom, in the same position as he did the same thing for you. It solidified in your mind how you wouldn't be able to live without him, he knew what you needed more than you did. Maybe because he'd dealt with it all himself and no one to do it for him, but he was always there to force you out of bed, take care of yourself, make you eat a meal, go outside, and endless other things that could have slipped your mind in favor of endless sleep. When he was done with your teeth he once again helped you up to spit on the sink and let you lean into his side as he began brushing his own.
“Let's go get you dressed." Without a word he picked you up the moment he was done brushing and brought you back to the room. The clothes didn't matter much when soon enough Cambrie would have you dressed to enter the arena, but you let him dress you in whatever he picked. Once you were both dressed, be kneeled down at the edge of the bed. “How hungry are you?"
"Not really.” But you knew you'd have to eat, the possibility it could be days until you found food again wasn't slim.
"Come on, we're going to have to try to get something in you.” He went to pick you up again.
"You're really sweet, but I can walk.”
"Preserving your energy, angel.” He smirked and held you regardless to bring you out to the table. His chair pulled up right next to yours as he got you a little bit of everything, anything that could keep you full enough for a while in the arena. You ate slowly in a comfortable silence, savoring the food that you might never taste again. In your heart you knew it was the anxiety keeping you from hunger, but you pushed on out of the larger fear of starvation in the Games.
“Good job, angel." He said softly, at first you didn't know why, but then it hit you that he needed you to be properly nourished as a sign you cared about survival. He picked up a peach from a basket on the table and handed it to you which you accepted gratefully.
You'd only relish in its sweetness for a few bites before your designers entered the room.
“It's time to go." Cambrie already sounded weepy, but that wasn't why your heart stopped. Finnick grabbed your hands intently.
“You come find me right away and I'll find you. If anything happens, you scream for me and I'll follow your voice. Don't go trying to save anyone. Please, promise me that." He said soberly, eyes boring into yours to ensure you were fully committed.
"I promise, Finnick." He nodded slowly before wrapping his arms around yours and you melted as his arms got tighter, like he didn't want to let go. He reluctantly pulled away as the two of you stood, leaving the peach on the table. You grabbed his face, kissing him as deeply as you could and he instantly did the same. “I'll see you soon." You mumbled breathlessly.
“I love you so much, you deserve to live, remember that."
"I love you, Finnick.” He kissed you again before you both were forced to get on with it, to enter the arena where the unknown and uncertain lie.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Your heart was pounding in your chest as the platform began to rise, taking one last look at your stylist Cambrie who gave you a sickly sweet smile, she was convinced you would win and talked non-stop about all the benefits she would get if you did. But as the sky came into view you weren't so sure, different advice Finnick had given echoed in your head. How you needed to make your allies trust you, allow your instincts to take over, not freeze, stay logical, be wary of the environment around you, and about feeling guilty later.
Wind hit your face as you rose from the ground, quickly taking note of the environment. There was no sun out, it was cloudy, the ground was extremely muddy where the grasses were, but large chunks of dirty water made up different portions of the area surrounding the Cornucopia. You tilted your head to the side where you could see certain areas had trees, none of which were very green. It was mainly a marshland you concluded with some swamps dispersed throughout. Backpacks of supplies and different weapons lay scattered around the Cornucopia where most of the bounty lay, your allies had already agreed to go for it first thing. Not to hesitate when the gong ran out and to protect each other if someone else tried to attack. You couldn't see Conway from where you stood, but Marlowe wasn't far away on your left, staring intently forward and Birch to your right was looking around like you were. Meeting eyes for a second he just nodded his head.
It felt like the longest minute of your life, but soon enough the last few seconds were on the clock and the adrenaline in your body preparing you to spring forward. There it was, the resounding gong, and you jumped forward. Eyes searching for the closest weapon to defend yourself with. There they were, glistening with water, a few small knives and you lunged for them.
Right as your hands grasped them someone tackled you from behind. You felt your ear wet with mud as you turned over under the body on top of you, slashing your knife into whatever was above you, whatever had hands trying to grasp around your neck. Something warm hit your face as the hands went limp. You wiped your eyes with one hand to see a girl, you were pretty sure she was from District 8 above you. You pulled the blade out, pushing her off of you before scrambling off the ground, grabbing the remainder of the knives. There wasn't time to feel bad, you needed to get to the Cornucopia.
The boy from District 10? 12? Everything was too blurry, you just needed to survive, to get to everyone else. The boy caught your eye, he had a machete and before he could even come towards you with it, one of the knives flew out of your hand straight into his skull. He fell backwards and your brain told you to grab the weapons, keep going. Some small voice told you to stop, how messed up this all was, but your instincts said otherwise.
You finally saw Conway, pulling a spear out of the girl from District 3 you were pretty sure. Suddenly Marlowe was in your view too, picking up a backpack.
“Here!" You heard your own voice, but it didn't feel real and tossed the machete to her which she grabbed with ease.
“Thanks." She said quickly, and then Birch came out of the Cornucopia, bloody hatchet in hand. He had a backpack on and was holding two other ones. Throwing one to you and then Conway.
“We should fill them with what we can find before we clear out.” He said gruffly and you all nodded. You decided to grab an extra backpack as you all walked towards the Cornucopia, grabbing small weapons on the way to fill the bags. Conway and Birch went deeper inside as you and Marlowe looked around, keeping defense.
Thinking about Districts didn't even matter anymore, you could take stock later, one of the boys came at Marlowe with a sickle. You threw a knife into his chest, he took a step back, giving Marlowe enough time to thrust the machete through him. She pulled it out and grabbed the knife for you too, tossing it at you with a nod.
“I think we've got what we need." Conway's voice filled the crisp air. You dumped one of the backpacks contents into the other one, tossing the empty one on the ground before sliding the other one on. Marlowe picked up an ax before muttering something in agreement. As the four of you exited the Career pack approached. The air was tense, but it didn't make you nervous. It would be four against four, there would be no point in attacking now.
All of you kept eye contact as you passed by each other, Birch giving a brisk nod that the boy from District 1, Otto you thought his name was, returned one. So you all walked into an area with more trees, leaving the other pack to whatever was left behind in the Cornucopia.
“Do you think the water’s safe to drink?" Birch asked, looking around at the areas around you.
“It's muddy, it would have to be purified at least." You answered, trying to rub off the mud you could feel drying on your face.
“Who knows what could be inside it." Marlowe remarked, some sort of mutt ready to attack.
“We should sit here and see what we have, make a plan on where to camp and how to hunt." Conway pointed at a clump of rocks. Everyone agreed, it couldn't have been more than an hour yet you were all exhausted. Time was a construct here, they could make it day or night whenever they pleased.
Conway had two spears, a mace, a net, a water bottle, a plastic cover for rain, and some sort of bug spray.
“Oh my god, there's going to be some sort of poisonous bug." Marlowe shook her head.
“Maybe we'll get some more, we'll all share and use it sparingly." Conway said, filling the bag back up. When Birch opened his, you realized the bags weren't the same. You'd expected them too, but there were variations.
“Let's see we've got a hatchet, a sword, a serrated chain, a box of matches, this super small bottle of iodine, a tarp, and a random coil of wire, which I don't think is useful to any of us. Good thing we grabbed more than one bag." He remarked, leaning back on the rock.
Marlowe emptied out hers putting her axe and machete to one side, “A sickle, an empty bottle of water, more bug spray, thankfully, another plastic cover for rain, and these weird glasses.” She played with them in her hands.
“They're for seeing in the dark." You said, hand burrowing in the moss on the rock. “Um I've the throwing knives, a dagger, dried fruit, another bottle of iodine, and an empty bottle of water-” You internally thanked yourself for grabbing two, "Rope, more matches, a compass, and this metal bowl."
Conway nodded, “If we come across any more backpacks we should take them too." What he really meant was if you came across someone to kill them and take their things, but he didn't dare state it aloud.
“We should set up some snares, we can start a fire on the rock, so get some firewood, and fill the water bottles we do have." Marlowe stood up, axe in hand.
“What if someone sees the smoke?" Birch asked, sliding a bit as he stood.
“Then there's four of us and one of them, the Careers won't attack us, not yet. We can use the wire for fish-hooks, see if there's any to catch. I'll make a fishing rod and we can use the net." You filled the bag back up and stood on the muddy ground.
Birch nodded, “Good thinking." He smiled, he had the type of smile that was so infectious it made the most mournful times somewhat happier.
“Let's put on some of the spray first." Conway pulled out the bottle, shaking it. Trying to use it sparsely, save it as long as possible. All of you stayed nearby, but still split for your tasks. You made some rods with stray branches, cut off some of the rope, and wire. Setting them into the mud, if there were some fish you'd set up the net wherever you camped for future meals. Conway had begun filling up the bottles you had and putting in the iodine to purify what you did have. Birch had decided he would set up some snares and borrowed your dagger in case there was something he could kill before it even hit the snares.
Marlowe got done with the firewood the quickest, saying how back in District 7 there were punishments if quotas weren't filled fast enough so she'd been forced to learn how fast she could chop wood since she was a child.
“Caught anything?" She asked, setting down the wood on a tarp to keep it dry.
You shook your head, “No, I'm too worried about whatever poisonous bugs might be here to dig for worms. If Birch catches anything I'll use part of it for bait, I might just throw the net in though."
"Here I found some crickets.” Conway came over, hands cupped.
"Are we sure they're not poisonous?” Marlowe asked as she began setting up the fire.
"Looks like plain old crickets to me.” Conway laughed, grabbing on the rods to stick them on the hooks. Slowly, but surely the fish began coming in. “I'll skin and you keep catching?" He asked, squeezing your shoulder.
You smiled up at him, “Sounds good to me." Marlowe had a fire started the moment everyone was ready, hours had passed by the time you'd caught a good enough share, skinned them, began to cook them, and Birch returned with some rabbits.
“We should eat here and then move to find a different camp before the sun goes down." Marlowe was helping Birch with the rabbits while you cleaned off the knives being used for each thing. You'd eaten much better than you'd expected too, trout and rabbit, plus having water. You hadn't realized how hungry you were until you started. Immediately you began packing up camp, Conway filled up and purified the water bottles again before you all started trekking again. The temperature began to drop and the jacket stopped doing as much as it had been doing before, you all finally stopped at an area with more dense greenery and trees. Laying out the tarps and plastic covers to try for some warmth.
Then there the light was in the sky, time to find out which tributes were dead. Both tributes from District 3, the girl to Conway. You thought of that poor 13 year old boy's family watching their baby die and silently prayed he'd gone quick. No one from 1,2, or 4 which was unsurprising. Birch had killed the boy from 5 and the boy from 6 is the one who'd tried coming at you and Marlowe. That was the female tributes from 5 and 6 still alive plus both District 7 tributes, since they were both with you. The girl from 8 was you, but the male tribute was also dead, probably from one of the Career’s. Both from 9 were dead, both from 10 probably even more from the Careers. 11 was still alive, but you were right about thinking the boy who was going to attack you was from 12, his district partner survived though. 13 tributes left, 11 dead in one day.
Everyone was quiet, solemn. “I'll take first watch." Your shaky voice cut through the night air, after the silence had almost become unbearable.
“Me too." Conway's arms were around your shoulders, he wasn't particularly warm, but it was better than sitting alone. Birch and Marlowe agreed, laying down to get some sleep. You stared at the night sky, there were very few stars in the sky even if you knew they were artificial, it made you even more upset. Nothing would beat the feeling of you and Finnick sitting on the beach at night, staring at the stars over the glistening water as his warmth surrounded you like some sort of shield.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
“I'm just going to miss you so much!" Cambrie was bawling onto your shoulder. The Capitol woman who's whole life was ahead of her was crying to you, the one about to be sent to a battle of the death. “I'm going to dedicate a whole fashion line to you, it'll be such a hit." She meant well, she really did and that's what you reminded yourself.
“Including the wedding dress?" If anything it made you want to cry more thinking about how this poor, misguided woman still cared about you so much.
“Oh yes. With a train like you're walking on water and sea foam." She pulled away to blow her nose. “You just have to come back, gorgeous, I'll literally die without you." Ironic. “Maybe they'll be a hologram or something, won't be as good as the real thing, but you're my muse." The sickening part was definitely back, but she raised to be shallow so she was. A voice echoed around the room indicating your need to get on the platform. You hugged her one last time and she kissed you on the cheek, probably leaving trails of pink glitter but at least it was a proper goodbye.
“Thank you, Cambrie. I couldn't have asked for a better designer." You walked over to the platform that closed around you, giving her a soft smile as he waved a goodbye, tears streaking down her slightly purple tinted skin.
Your foot tapped nervously on the platform and you hoped that at the very least it wouldn't be a cold arena. You began moving up, sun, you could see sunlight, that was good, at least you'd have sunshine. The smell of salt air hit your nostrils and it shocked you, a smell you were pretty sure would be left at home was right here. If you died, you'd die knowing that wasn't the last time you were one with the salty waters. When you were finally all the way up you looked around anxiously, it was water, clear, seawater you had to swim to get to the Cornucopia or the rows of rocks that you could walk on. Jungle was on the other side of the beaches, but there were beaches that felt almost too good to be true, like it was perfect for District 4. The sun cut in the way of your vision making it nearly impossible to make out faces, but you couldn't find Finnick. You took some deep breaths, preparing to dive the moment the gong rang out. He'd go straight to the Cornucopia and try to find Katniss so you'd do the same.
The instant the gong let out you'd dived in, having eyed the nearest part of land so you could try and make the quickest swim there. It didn't take long and you were hoisting yourself on the rocks. Running forwards to the shiny structure where he had to be. A hand from the side grabbed your leg and you tried to kick it off, “Finnick!" You shouted as the person attached to the hand emerged from the side of the rocks, pulling you down. He was from District 9, a lot older, but he was still much stronger. Brute strength had never been on yours side, but you could tell it was on his. “Finnick, Finnick!" You screamed, trying to kick the man off of his. His hands grabbed your shoulders harshly before punishing them back, head roughly hitting the rocks. It was dizzying, your head felt like it was literally spinning and your nose made it feel like you were drowning. Hands flew up, your vision was somewhat blurry, but last time you'd been in this position you'd taken out Conway’s eye. Even if that kept you up at night, you could do it again. “Finnick!" Scratching at the man's face seemed to be doing very little besides delaying him as he tried to bat away your hands. Then he was coughing, sputtering blood all over your face the shock he seemed to be going through gave you an opportunity to kick him off of you, his weight on you made it a struggle but the adrenaline forced you to persist. He fell flat when you did escape and then you saw the axe in his back. You looked up, Johanna was headed your way.
You wanted to say thank you, but you felt somewhat frozen, your mouth tasted like iron, and she was somewhat blurry. “He's over in the Cornucopia, with Katniss." She said, tearing her ax out of the man’s back. Her eyes found Wiress and she went to get her, mostly because according to Haymitch it was her way in with Katniss, she'd only take Johanna if she'd saved who Katniss wanted.
Your hands went to wipe your face and there was more blood on your hands then anticipated then it hit you that your nose was bleeding, the shock hadn't allowed you to initially realize, but you probably looked like a mess of free falling blood. “Finnick!" You yelled, your head ached as you kept running forward. Through the ringing that had begun in your ears you could faintly hear your name being called. You finally caught sight of him running towards you, a seemingly reluctant Katniss behind him.
“What happened?" He asked, wiping some of the blood off of your face.
“Nine, Johanna just saved my life." Your mouth felt like it was filling with the blood as you wiped your face again.
“Well, I'll have to thank her sometime." Finnick smiled even though you could tell he was still concerned, so were you, the pounding in your head still hadn't gone away. “Here." He slid three small knives into your palm, “Grabbed them when I was in there for you, angel."
“Thank you." He quickly kissed you, getting his own lips getting smeared with blood. There were no complaints as he wiped it off and turned back to Katniss.
“Peeta! Peeta!" She was looking around frantically.
“Found him! Over here!" Finnick shouted, handing you his trident as he dived into the waters where Peeta was struggling to stay afloat. Katniss ran over as Finnick brought Peeta back to the shore.
“Peeta!" She helped pull him up and you all paused a moment as he gained balance. You handed Finnick back his trident. The ebbing pain in your head was finally seeming to lessen.
“Let's head out this way." Finnick said, arm around you as he began walking forward. Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus, and Enobaria continued on with their Bloodbath as your group made its way onto the beach and into the jungle. There were no supplies waiting around this time, you supposed they weren't intending for this to be a long enough game to need a survival kit just weapons. It felt safer though, you had Finnick, warm, protective, hovering Finnick. There would be no need to imagine the times you had with him when he was right there even if the plan was dangerous enough to get you both executed regardless of what happened in the arena.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
thank you so much for reading I was so excited to write this one, but I've been pretty busy so it took me a while to get finished but I'm so glad I did. thank you all for the feedback and support, if you enjoyed it let me know comments, likes, reblogs are all much appreciated and my ask box is always open. 💋
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#finnick odair#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair x y/n#finnick odair angst#finnick odair fluff#thg#finnick odair x reader angst#finnick odair x reader fluff#finnick odair x you#finnick x reader#finnick imagine#finnick x you
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Did i ever even show yall that I drew these guys as selkies
They stole their clothes from various ships
They also stole fish
And a couple captains hats
Emmet found clothes that fit him, but Ingo couldn't find any so he just grabbed whatever was closest
Emmet has a specific Rock he likes to sunbathe in. Ingo flops onto shore and just knocks out wherever.
Yes. They're just normal seals that are somehow in the pokemon universe
People try to catch them but the pokeballs don't work on them so they have just resigned themselves to their fate of having seal neighbors
They have been dubbed as "ah those two fucking seals again" by every fisherman in the area.
Some people think they're legendaries, but the locals more or less call them nuisances and tricky little things
They don't have in-between forms, they just have their seal forms and human forms.
Bonus older concept doodles:
#submas#emmet#ingo#nobori#kudari#subway boss emmet#subway boss ingo#pokemon#pokemon bw#selkie AU#just made this for funsies! but my friends on the server like them a lot so heheh i fleshed them out a bit more#my art#SIGHHSSS DONT ASK ME WHY THEIR SHIRTS ARE OPEN ITS FOR THE AESTHETIC THE AESTHTIC#I SWEAR I SWEAR I SWEAR
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Plot: Read to find out :)
Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al' Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, and Malleus Draconia + special platonic guest
Warnings: Mentions of depressive themes and anxiety. Spoilers for TW main story.
A/N: This is a doosy. I hope you like it. It might be one of my favorite works to date.
Difficult to notice, yet deadly if ignored. The smudge of black on Grim's magestone went unnoticed by many as the days at Night Raven College passed. Each as chaotic and entertaining to Grim as the last. Over time the spot grew. A dot turned into a speck, and the speck soon turned into a splotch. Which then became a streak, and finally a stain that screamed "Look at me! Notice Me! I am here!". It remained unseen, until an eerie sensation overtook our feline friend. One that sparked panic as his ability to cast magic dwindled - as if whatever was maintaining the stone was on the cusp of breaking.
By then it was too late.
Grim had no time to panic or think about what caused his magestone to sour. Neither did the Ramshackle prefect or any other student at Night Raven College.
Funny enough. The stress of yet another possible overblot occurring was enough for the last inch of purple to be overcome by darkness. Grim ran away from his friends in a panicked frenzy, afraid that they'll be hurt and scared for what pain he would feel. Arms yanked the school's magicless tactician out of harm's way - the prefect had solved many cases and would do so successfully again. They would save him.
Tension tight enough to suffocate hung in the air as students either prepared for battle or fled. All eyes watching Grim as he desperately tried to shake the blot out of his stone; yet, he never turned. No monster bleeding black ooze was in sight. Just a trembling cat.
Mass confusion overtook all as they looked between each other for answers.
"Looking for me?"
A monotone voice echoed from beyond the barricade of students. A voice many spoke to on a daily basis that normally sang with snarky quips and lovable anecdotes. Students barreled away from its direction as black ooze overtook the ground beneath them.
Screams fell to deaf ears as the the overblot manifestation crawled up their legs and encased those fleeing in a midnight chrysalis. Any who tried to fight received the same fate. It toyed with them mercilessly until they resigned themselves to their insignificance.
"Please stop running. It makes this much more difficult on me...but then again, when did that ever matter?"
Compared to other overblots, the prefect held no shadow. No presence. They stood idle - like a husk - as the blot wreaked havoc in their place. Lifeless eyes scoured a crowd of pleas and cries with no signs of feeling or mercy. Like they were a puppet.
Their eyes met his, and momentarily the darkness ceased its spread. As some students took the chance to run in the distance - they reach out a hand. His name stutters from their lips as a pitch-black tear fell to the floor.
"Riddle"
He gasps when you say his name. For a moment Riddle is caught off guard, and it's enough time for the ooze to begin crawling up his calf. His own magestone suffered greatly from trying to keep the dark magic at bay while aiding nearby students in their escape.
It's light flickers in his hand as he tries desperately to cast another warding spell. Alas, it was out of mana.
And Riddle is out of time.
He thought of his own overblot on occasion. Some parts were foggy, and others he could remember vividly enough to believe he was still there. Trapped in his own self-loathing. Scared. Angry. Vengeful.
Then there was you. Strong. Independent. Respected. You had merely been at his school for a few weeks and somehow managed to take charge of situations he could not begin to fathom. You saved him when he did not know he needed to be saved. Riddle envied it at the time. Wanted the ability to guide others and still be loved by them - like you.
At some point he no longer wanted to become you. He wanted to be with you. He was proud of your intelligence and always made sure you were aware that it was superior to many he knew.
He wonders what you are feeling. If you are aware like he was, or if you are in a slumber like the students you have captured. At least, he hopes that is what happened to them and you have not done any 'permanent' harm.
Riddle stops struggling when the ooze reaches his waist. He needs a new approach...your approach.
"MC...MC can you hear me?! You need to fight it! There is no logic in mass hysteria!," he screams above the chaos with clenched fists. Your eyes meet once again and Riddle sighs in relief. He may have a chance -
"I am not logical," you say calmly, and return to watching the chaos, "and I never want to be,"
The ooze stretches over his arms and in the distance he sees the remnants of his dorm succumb to the blot. His frustration overpowers his fleeting confusion at your words. Now red contrasts to black, as his face burns in anger.
"Clearly so! If you're going to behave so childishly!"
"Maybe. It will be over soon. Logic is unnecessary when there is nothing,"
"What's wrong with you?! Suddenly doing all this - what example are you setting for other students? You were a role-model to - "
"None. I was a role-model to none," the ooze halts abruptly at the top of Riddles neck and he strains his head away from it. You glare at him with clenched teeth, "I did not ask for their expectations. Since I cannot escape them or this place...I will be rid of them permanently,"
Your hands fly to fist at your head and your breaths become ragged. Riddle found the land mine he was looking for...and he greatly disliked the familiarity.
"Expectations are given to people worthy. You may not agree, but it is the truth. Every expectation you receive is determined by a bar that you have put into place. You are in control MC. You have always been in control," Riddle releases a breath as the ooze begins to recede to his shoulders.
You go quiet, and gaze down at the ink staining your hands in terror, "I failed everyone. I failed you," you cry, "I'm so so sorry,"
The ink recedes to Riddle's feet and he sprints to your side. He kneels and takes your hands in his. Around you, students escape as the blot begins to fade away.
"If anyone needs to apologize...it is I. Let it be known that I expect nothing of you other than your happiness. Even then, it is and always will be your choice..."
"Leona"
Leona tenses in place and his ears twitch. His guard is still on high alert, but his heart thrums in his chest at record breaking pace. For a brief moment, he heard your voice. Not the distorted mutilation coming from the blot...but your voice.
Weak. Fragile. Suffering.
His legs act alongside his head and Leona dodges the spike of ooze aimed for his wrist. His quick reflexes protect him from becoming trapped in whatever cocoon you were encasing other students in.
His first instinct is to use King's Roar...but doing so would hurt you in the process. There's no doubt in his mind that it's why you called for him. That...and one other reason. He knows you can handle it. You're strong. He's pointed out your admirable strength for a human on many occasions. From nearly fist-fighting a groom-seeking ghost, keeping up with his spell drive practices, lugging him across campus, to even outrunning the leech twins every other hour - your ability to take a hit was well known.
Even now. Leona did not predict that you could overblot, but your form does not surprise him in the slightest. If anyone was to reek with such raw power, it would be the one person on campus surviving through pure grit. Leona may have underestimated you in the beginning, but he knows better now.
"If you don't stop then I have no choice but to fight you! Is that what you want?! Because I don’t hold back. Not for you - not for anyone,” he threatens, yet it reaches no one. You don’t spare Leona a glace when he aims his wand at you, “Never thought you’d fall like this, prefect. Tsk. What a disappointment,”
Leona shoots a burst of magical energy your way, but it meets a wall of ooze. It molds around you in a protective barrier, blocking any attack and keeping others at a distance.
Brute force would not work. Yet it was all Leona could do in a situation with no tactical edge. No insult or snarky joke rewarded him with a response. You were merely toying with him - and it made him simmer in rage. As his mana quickly depletes, he begins to believe that ‘saving’ you is a lost cause.
“There was nowhere to ‘fall’ from. Gravity holds us in our place. You of all people should know this, Leona,” you lift an arm, and suddenly he’s pinned down and kneeling on the ground.
“The hell are you talking about?! You’ve gone insane - look at this place,”
“It’s not fun to live in denial Leona. Aren’t you tired of fighting a 'lost cause'? I know that I am…”
You approach and kneel down in front of him at eye level. A macabre underlaying in your movements as you sway in the sea of black - and it clicks.
Leona found his edge…and it burns. His stomach lurches knowing what he has to do. With all his strength he pulls his remaining mana to rip his arms from the ooze and grab your shoulders. Tightly. His claws dig into your skin and draw crimson.
“I will never give up,” he grits, “but I can reevaluate. I might not be first born but I’ll be damned if that stops me from getting what I want…and I was right to peg you an idiot if you're thinking otherwise,”
Your eyes narrow at his words, and suddenly every ounce of darkness in the area is pointed like sharp needles at Leona.
“Too bad you’ll die before-“
“Sure, like you have the gull to kill me? You haven’t given up either,” Leona speaks out confidently, “stronger than I am. You would never kill someone for personal gain…and you know it. Why else have you come this far, huh? To play mage? No, you’re doing it to live so quit throwing a fucking tantrum and grow up. Whatever it is that you want to do…,” he stands abruptly and you quickly pull the needles away - proving his point and he smirks.
“I’ll help you to do it, alright. So let everything go and only look my way,”
And you do. Leona catches you just as your consciousness gives out and all the miasma from the area slowly fades away. Not a scratch or sign of distress in sight….as if everything was a bad dream that NRC just awoke from. Leona picks you up and escapes the area quickly. Health now, theorizing after.
"Azul"
A shiver snakes down Azul's spine. Your voice hangs still in the air - clouding his mind and his eyes sting as he forgets to blink. He never pictured you begging. Not like the poor unfortunate souls he would ensnare with his contracts. Azul has heard you yell, he's seen you jump when startled and seen the color drain from your face when being scolded.
Yet, never desperate. Never terrified.
He doesn't know what to do. His magic is useless. Azul is useless...in the face of this. You.
Beautiful.
Even now. He finds you astonishing. The way you stand tall in a sea of black. He only sees you from behind yet even that feels like a forbidden pleasure. The miasma radiates from you like ocean waves on a calm evening. Your movements are fluid as you fall in sync with their flow and to Azul it's like you are dancing. Like an angelfish in the depths of the sea...you call to him.
Something cold and slimy wraps around his wrist in Azul's moment of weakness. It yanks him down and he's nearly dragged into a cocoon of black - almost. Luckily Professor Vargas is stronger. He grabs Azul by the shoulder and rips him out of the trap before demolishing it. Vargas' expression is steel as the blot retreats towards it's source...
You are reaching out in Azul's direction one moment, and in the next Vargas is standing protectively in front of him - blocking you from sight.
His professor yells, "Enough MC, fight me head on! I will protect these students with my-" and is blasted away before Azul can offer assistance. Just as he began to comprehend the situation...you overtook him once again.
A gust of air whips by and he squints. When his eyes open, you're a hairs length away from Azul's face - one move and your noses will touch.
Your hollow gaze bores into him, "Even in chaos, you won't look me in the eye. Your attention is always elsewhere," and his heart shudders.
He speaks without thinking, "My attention is never not on you," and he's completely forgotten about his likely injured teacher.
"Lies,"
"Truths," he breaths, "Even now. You are all I see," and he means it.
"You only look because I am now worthwhile," one of your hands slides up his shoulder and wraps around his bowtie, "I now have power to offer you. Would you like to make a contract?"
What was happening to him? Why...were the things he couldn't say days before slipping from his lips like butter.
His heart pounds at the offer. The power of an overblot at the reach of his fingertips...it's never been done before. If successful it would open doorways of new magical discoveries. Everyone would envy him-
and yet
'Azul,' your plea from earlier surfaces in his memory.
An offer has never disgusted him more. He cannot resist gagging at the thought..."Not on my life," he spits out in a haste.
You give no reaction to his distaste - or so he would think, if thick blot did not begin to curl between your bodies. Azul ignores the way it grips his clothes and steels himself.
"You do not need a contract to have me. You have always been - and will continue to be - my strength," he reaches to gently grab the hand around his neck, "this form is but a piece of you, yet I still cannot look away. You are everything,"
Insecurity. He doesn't know what could breed such a painful emotion in you - but from the way the world crumbles he must have assumed correctly.
You look away as the air begins to clear, and crystal tears prick the corners of your eyes.
Azul lifts his hands to your cheeks and brushes them away with his thumbs.
Beautiful.
"Kalim"
Quick on his feet, Kalim summons Oasis Maker to flush out some of the toxic mist spreading across the area. He falls into action like clockwork, guiding students out of the area and serving as a distraction until higher mages arrive. He is positive that the situation will be handled - except now you are not there to solve it.
Which isn't your fault. None of this is.
If anything, it's Kalim's fault. Which means he needs to work extra hard so that you don't blame yourself for anything. Which he knows you will do.
Because you're honest.
Which is something many people say about Kalim himself - they call it his fault. His 'defect'.
They're half-right. Kalim's honesty is not the same as yours. He chooses positivity and openness. You? It comes naturally. In ways that don't require a smile and energetic outlook on life. You are someone Kalim never has to second guess with - and that is a gift.
Your honesty is what Kalim loves the most about you. Your blunt nature and ability to stick with your gut. It is one of your biggest strengths...and he does not want you to lose it.
The way you called for him - knowing. You knew this overblot was coming yet said nothing. There was nothing that could have been done to stop it. Whatever you have buried beneath the surface - Kalim understands.
This image of you. This 'blemish'. It is your honesty. It’s your grimace every time someone comments on your “fortune” for getting free enrollment. It’s your relief when a harsh exam is over with, or when you lay in bed after a long day. Your excitement when Kalim takes you on a particularly adventurous ride on his flying carpet…your despair, when someone you care about is in trouble. It’s all of that wrapped in a bundle and put on display for everyone to see.
Kalim is scared. Not of you - but for you, because this emotionless monster wreaking havoc is what you perceive yourself as.
He feels guilty for not looking your way more than once. For leaving you to needlessly fight with the people you care about…but as the last student flees to safety he feels relief.
As he turns to face you with a grin - he feels happiness.
“Go on. Everyone’s gone now MC! Let it out!”
You turn away from fighting with your close friends. Ace and Deuce are weathered to dust and collapse on the floor. Rain still pours from Kalim’s signature spell and it mixes with the black miasma in puddles on the ground.
The two boys shout for Kalim to run - that you won’t see reason. He laughs and tells them not to worry before running towards you.
“Everyone’s safe now…you don’t have to worry anymore,” he says, and takes off his cardigan to lay over your shoulders. He adjusts it with a gentle smile and lifts his hand to wipe off a smear of ink from your cheek, “I hope you don’t catch a cold. I’ll take care of you, but I bet that wouldn’t be fun for you,”
“I was not worried,” you say, unblinking as he continues to fiddle with your garments, “the cold is irrelevant. As are you - flee you yellow pest,”
“Yes, you were,”
“No,”
“Yup!”
You slightly narrow your eyebrows at him, “and what makes you so certain?”
Your hand extends to the side at that moment, and ink lifts to encase the exhausted first years up to their necks, “would you like to join them?”
Kalim clutches the jacket tighter and ignores the panicked yapping of his friends.
“If that would make you happy, then sure! Take me! Just let them go…I don’t want you to be upset over this later,”
“And what makes you sure that there’s going to be a ‘later’?” You ask.
“Well…,” Kalim looks at his friends over your shoulder and then back to you, “because you know it too. Otherwise I’d be gone right now and so would everyone else. Deep down you’re getting ready to let go! And when you do we’ll all be ready to help you,”
Kalim pulls you into a tight hug. His arms wound over your shoulders and shield you from the rain above. A moment passes, and he feels your arms reach up around his back. Not once during the entire encounter did the ooze attack him. Even in a slumber of darkness you still held onto yourself. Just like Kalim knew you would.
“You really are a naïve idiot,” your voice - now full of sorrow - whispers in is ear, “I could have killed you,”
He hugs you tighter, “you could have, and I probably would have let you haha. Next time let’s talk - I’ll always be here for you,”
“I know. You always are,”
"Vil"
An explosion of grime blackens his uniform in a matter of seconds. It covers Vil from head to toe - soaking his hair, dampening his cape, and filling his boots. As students slip across the floor in an attempt to flee, Vil is halted in place by the sickening feeling of filth overtaking him.
Ever calm in the face of chaos, he pulls out a handkerchief to clean himself. The scene before him utterly dull and disinteresting.
"I expected more. Is this all that results from your spite?...honestly, prefect. At least put in some effort beyond this putrid slime,"
And he has you in his clutches. As he tosses the handkerchief over his shoulder, your head snaps robotically in his direction.
He eyes rake over you callously. Nit picking every little 'imperfection', from the bags underneath your eyes to the veins bulging out of your neck from strain. Vil's heels click against the ground as he approaches. Magic trickles from his fingertips and pushes away the barrier of blot that you've created. Effortlessly, he passes through it all.
At your feet kneels a new freshman from his dorm. A young man eyes him with a mix of fear and relief. Vil notes his shredded uniform and eyes bloodshot from crying - likely from begging for mercy.
He lifts his chin at the lad, "Run or fight. Pick now, Pomefiore students do not grovel," and the boy wastes no time escaping with a strained 'thank you'.
"He was not yours to free," your voice echoes. Airy and meaningless to Vil's ears and he watches as ooze captures the boy in a cocoon before he makes it ten paces away.
"It's hypocritical," Vil chuckles, "that you trap them like insects...or is it a metaphor? Do you feel caged, prefect?"
Vil raises a singular eyebrow, taunting you to respond. You do not, yet he expected such due to this 'artificial' state you've taken on.
"Of course you do. I certainly would...although I thought you more determined than resorting to an overblot's power to free yourself,"
Around Vil more people fall prey to your traps. Neither brute force or trickery allows them to leave the miasma's boarder, and he cannot help but feel a smidge of awe at the sight. To bottle the essence into a potion...it would be marvelous. The miracle of a magicless producing an overblot is astounding on it's own, yet the entire scenario is remarkable.
You are remarkable.
Arrows soar and he watches as Rook falls. The hunter turned prey - Rook becomes a bird locked away in a cage. Epel is not far behind him. A string of uncouth curses leaving the boy's lips when he looses his footing to the darkness.
Vil tuts, "If only I could make Epel submit so easily during mannerism lessons...perhaps I can learn from you yet MC,"
"Will you ever cease speaking?"
"First, rude," he sighs, "second, why not force me? People in an overblot state normally do not entertain chatter...what makes you special?"
You eye him, "I don't need to immobilize what's already broken," and he smirks. Of course you would say that of all things. Vil knows you better than you know yourself...he's observed up close and at a distance. Vil knows that you have doubts in him, in the school, in your friends, and in yourself the most.
but you cut no corners. Your dedication to being the 'perfect prefect' is something often admired...to where even your overblotted form is unconsciously maintaining it. Had you not kidnapped half the school in goo prison - none likely would notice an overblot walked the halls.
Until you spoke, at least. This gravelly undertone does not suit you...or does it?
"You may be correct," Vil raises a hand to his chin and pretends to think, "but you are not broken MC. Merely misguided. Your sheer determination has given you the strength to persevere, and I was convinced that it would be enough. I thought you and I to be similar,"
He reaches out and lays a steady hand on your shoulder. You look up at him through your eyelashes, and he takes it as a sign to reach down and hold your hand. His delicate fingers intertwine with yours.
"I was wrong. You are capable of more than brute force - so cage me. Otherwise you will have to hear my ramblings for all eternity. You won't, because you are more determined than I was to break through this spell...but go on and try. You have my cooperation,"
Your hand tightens around Vil's and for the first time since coming to your side - emotion is clear on your face.
Thick tears stream down your cheeks and Vil breaths out in relief.
"You're right...ugh, why are you always right ya pompous asshole," you say and bring his fingers to your forehead. A faint blush dusts Vil's cheeks and he smiles.
"I am the fairest, after all. My voice was bound to reach you eventually, my dear"
"Idia"
Oh no. Nononononon this can’t be happening. Not them. Anyone but them.
Great seven. He must have misheard amongst the screams or the reception in his dorm must have bugged out.
Whichever it is, Idia panics and yanks his earphones off of his head. Multiple monitors within his room show the catastrophe playing out from different angles. At the center is his main screen, which is black despite the video signal still being active. The moment his name left your lips a harpoon of blot shot at his tablet . Then there was nothing.
What the hell just happened? Idia thinks, a cold sweat dripping down his spine. His hair flares an anxious orange as he chews on his nails. The last thing he saw before dark was your face - void of expression yet morphed in pain. Then there was Ortho. His beloved little brother was trying to reach his tablet before everything snapped.
“Ah! What is this - the final boss?! Some kind of plot twist?! We think it’s all over just for a normie to blot? This is ridiculous-“
Despite the dark - Idia can hear. Muffled rustling echoes from the headset on the floor as he paces back and forth in his room. He knew there was a reason he felt so energized when you were around! Ortho said it was because he was …eugh…feeling things - but you were practically smothering him with your blot.
To energize Idia of all people…it must be strong. How the hell is he supposed to save you from that? No way!
"Big brother…please! We….need you!….MC….needs you!" Ortho's voice fades in and out but Idia can hear him clear enough. He halts in his tracks and clutches his head from stress. In one hand, he could stay in his room and let someone else handle you. In the other, he could leave the safety of his bedroom like an absolute idiot and try something. Anything - and pray it works.
He grabs a pillow and screams various curses into it. His hair flairs up into blood red from frustration and angry tears prick his eyes.
Curse him for being a total coward. Courage…bravery…they were your traits - not his. You stopped so many others and saved them - even him! A worthless wimp. You found a way and now he gets to live happily with his brother.
And despite it Idia can’t bring himself to return the favor. Who asked you to help him in the first place anyway!? Now he has a debt and … ugh, no. That’s not it. This isn’t about a debt and never was.
“Please! You’re the only one,” Ortho yells again and Idia can hear the sound of a battle. He looks at the security cameras to see blot covering the main building and slowly inching it’s way outwards. Not to long and it would reach him anyways…
He grabs his wand along with his uniform jacket, slips on his boots, and finds another one of his tablets. What’s he going to do? - Idia has a plan but it’s definitely something you’d take to a lvl 10 raid with friends and not a lvl 100 boss.
His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches the blot boarder. It flocks to him and he grimaces in disgust before barreling through - flickering through cctv feed on his tablet and making sure Ortho can stave you off until he arrives.
Ortho does, but the moment Idia enters the scene his brother falters. He’s swallowed up by blot right at the last second and Idia has no time to be frightened. The campus had become a sea of black cocoons by the time he arrived…and amidst them all you stood in silence. As if you were waiting for the chosen challenger…
“M-MC? What are y-you doing?! E-everyone’s d-d-dead?!”
“Not dead. Sleeping. Soon I will join them…as will you, Idia,” you say, and one of the cocoons opens to reveal his broken tablet. Idia’s hands shake when he realizes that there is no one else left.
It was up to him to save you. To save everyone and himself.
You begin to walk towards him and Idia takes steps back as you approach.
“Are you afraid of me, Idia? Oh - who am I kidding…you always have been. Worry not. There is nothing to be scared of here,”
The words you speak would normally comfort him - perhaps even leave Idia flustered and feeling protected.
But they’re cold. They might come from your lips but they lack meaning behind them and he can’t hear your voice. The way you say Idia’s name makes him shriek and hold his wand defensively.
He lets out a shaky breath, “I might be too dysfunctional for many things - but I’ve never been bested by a normie. Give back my brother!”
Idia quickly casts a spell -- and it hits! He fully expected you to dodge or for something to deflect it - but you’re struck in the chest. He jumps when you're sent flying backwards and into a wall. A sickening crunch accompanies the impact
He hurt you, and the realization costs him to shake harder. The thought of you resenting him for it makes bile rise to his throat -
"Shit- are you okay?? What kinda villain doesn't dodge an attack?" he yells but keeps his distance.
You pick yourself up effortlessly, and he's almost relieved - if not for the blood dripping from your forehead.
You lift two fingers to the cut, "That was an unexpected development," and bring them down to admire black ichor, "yet not unwelcome"
"Tell me, does it feel good? All this blot must be an endless source of mana...why not fight me? You know you want to,"
Idia always believed you were crazy, but this? What the hell were you feeling to become so creepy? He takes a step back and eyes you warily.
Idia grits his teeth, "The hell is wrong with you? I can't believe that I'm saying this but we're not in a game, idiot! I almost killed you!"
"Isn't it though?," you chuckle dryly, "it must be, considering how dangerous this world is. You agree, don't you? That hiding away is what's best when this," you gesture to yourself, "is what you find outside"
You've backed Idia into a corner with his own outlook on life as the ammo. He's lost for words. Unable to disagree since you are right - life outside is difficult.
"I-if I meant that then I wouldn't be here, now would I?" he smirks.
Yet you know better, "Truly? Then where were you before? I recall a young boy calling for his brother -for a 'savior' - long before you arrived"
You smile at the word 'savior,' yet it does not reach your eyes. In an instant you're in front of him, and Idia drop his wand in shock.
"Tell me - do you believe that you can 'save' me?," your lips point to frown, "do I even want to be saved?"
He goes quiet. That was definitely a villain monologue if he ever heard one...and if you currently weren't skirting death then he would cringe.
"Likely not," he whispers, "you have never needed to be saved. Out of everyone here MC, you are definitely the most meta character in this 'game,'"
You look down at him disinterested. Neither in his words or in how -for once- he is staving off your insults before they throw him into self-deprecation mode.
Idia gestures to the scene surrounding you, "I mean - just look at this! You've decimated half the school! I'd be crazy to think that sappy words and playing half-baked hero could stop this..." he places down the tablet in surrender and reaches out a shaking hand to grab your ankle. Blot curls from your body to his arm and he bites into his cheek to avoid shirking away, "...but I had to try. Normally when something bad happens - I wait for Ortho to step in. You too, you're so fearless that it's laughable,"
He glares up at you, his hair singing the floor surrounding him, "but this version of you took him away - and I know the real you is scared shitless. I may be spineless, but I'm not blind. You're freaking out more than I am at this mess, and I'm going to drag you back to fix it. I do not have the capacity to handle the social aftermath of being in the 'last survivor' trope, so let me save you, "
He pulls you down on top of him and secures his arms tightly around you. Idia doesn't let go through your squirming and the blot trying to worm it's way through his hold.
He can't save you alone, but he can make you save yourself. The crappy he speech was embarrassing enough so just give in already! Stop struggling and quit being so self-sacrificial. Be selfish for once and let him do something.
He longer he holds you, the less you struggle. The blot coating the area begins to clear as your body begins to tremble just as much as Idia's. Students begin to free themselves and he keeps you in a tight hold - for safe measure! Until someone comes to take you to the nurse! Definitely not because he can sense that you're crying, and is now conscious of the people staring at you both. He definitely is not trying to hide beneath you.
"Malleus"
All was silent. Malleus sat on the loveseat in his bedroom while reading a book to pass the time until nightfall. Then he would head over to Ramshackle dorm for his evening walk with his beloved. You would talk, and he would listen. The fireflies would light a path for you both to follow in the Forrest as he leads you by the hand. It is his favorite part of the day - these routine walks. Merely seeing your face brightens his mood, and having your attention solely on him is a kindness he does not deserve. He thanks whatever power that summoned you here every night before falling asleep.
The way you make idle chatter by asking about his day and take genuine interest in the mundane things he shares. Malleus' heart holds nothing but adoration for his caring sweetheart. He is attuned to every little movement, every mannerism and tick that sums you up.
Which is why his heart plummets and breath halts when your voice thrums in his ears. It was distant, but he would hear your call no matter how far.
What startles him most is the fear in your tone. You know well that he would allow no harm to befall you - ever. He has come to your aid countless times. During each you remain calm and ever the pacifist. Only asking him to support you in solving a problem.
This fear was new. He hadn't pondered it longer than a moment before Lilia burst into his bedroom.
"We have a problem. A big one," he says, with no trace of humor or playfulness in his voice.
Malleus all but throws the book at his bed and dashes out the door. With a poof, he vanishes.
Thunder and lightning echo across Night Raven College in his wake.
Malleus feels unsettled at the sight before him. He prepared for the worst - monsters, explosions, a psychopathic twink named after candy. He was ready to shield you from all evil and banish whatever made you to say his name in any tone other than bliss.
What was he to do, when faced with you? A corrupt, stomach-churning, inconceivably warped version of you...but still the person he cares for deeply? He cannot use force. That is for certain.
Then there is the matter of the students. In one corner a defenseless few cower together, as those braver stand guard to fight off figments of blot. He hears familiar voices in the distance - some cursing you and others pleading. They notice him and cry out in relief. That is a first - very few find his presence comforting.
"Malleus? How curious, that you'd join me before nightfall," you appear in front of him. Waves of miasma fly off you but it does not bother him in the slightest. As if he was infectious, the blot filters around him in waves to find its next victim.
His eyes visibly soften at what you've become, "MC...what should I do? How can I help you?"
"Help me? I am fine," you say, and he notes your dazed appearance. As if he was a figment of your imagination and you can see beyond him.
"No, you are not," he reaches out, "you are hurting. You would never dream of harming others. You are overcome by negative emotions,"
"I do not feel 'overcome' by anything. They are the ones who chose to run. I merely stopped them. If everyone would comply then I wouldn't have to hurt them," you slap his hand away and Malleus glowers, "they asked for this. You are as well, if you decide to oppose me,"
Retreating a few paces back, Malleus rethinks his approach. He cannot help you if you can't tell him what is wrong, but he cannot deduce what's wrong if you think he is 'opposing' you.
Malleus knows that he can end this with the snap of his fingers. It would save all of NRC's students, but in the process you could be hurt - and in his humble opinion, you have suffered enough. The mere memory of this incident will leave you in emotional pieces that he is more than willing to help collect. He cannot do the same for physical parts.
"I will not fight you," he says definitively, "but I will not leave you either. I promised to protect you and I do not go back on my word. Until the day you are willing to listen, I will wait for you,"
"and what if that day never comes to pass?"
"Then I will wait beyond forever. Until you give me a chance to repay the kindness you have shown me, and ensure nothing causes you pain ever again,"
Malleus is genuine despite the cries of his school mates and teachers. He has no doubts that you will see reason, be it within the next hour or in the next millennia. You will never be too far gone because he will be there to keep you within reach. He is willing to wait.
You clutch your hands at your sides, "Kindness? I have never been kind. Only desperate,"
Malleus steps forward and removes one of his gloves. He remains at a safe distance despite wanting to hold you in his arms. Instead, he repeats his earlier actions and holds out a hand.
"Desperation can take many forms. Anger, anxiety, impulsiveness, - but you have always acted in the interest of others. Even now, in this state, you believe your harmful actions are necessary to 'stop' people and admit not desiring to hurt them. You may not see it, but you are kind,"
You stare at his ungloved hand before laying your own on top of it. Normally your skin would be a welcome warmth against his reptilian temperature, but your touch is like ice. He lightly wraps his hand around yours, and steps forward to rest his chin on your head.
"I'm cruel,"
"No, you are caring,"
"I hate this place. I only help because I have to,"
"You dislike being trapped, yet cannot help but care for the people here,"
He lifts his hand behind your head, and pushes your face into the nape of his neck. The air begins to clear, and he smiles in relief.
"I might hurt you," you say softly, and clutch his sleeves.
"And I will forgive you,"
"Grim!"
In your last sane moments, you call for your friend. The little cat that's been by your side since the very beginning. He was scared to become a monster...but Grim knew deep down that you would save him. You're his best friend! You always bail him out of trouble.
So what should he do? Tell him MC...what can Grim do to help you?
He's scared. You both may make up a team, but he's always been the troublemaker while you are the intelligent one! He might brag about a test or two - but he can't make a plan! That's your job!
The floor shakes under his paws, and he loses his footing. The black magestone slips from his claws and is lost to the crowd. There is no strength in this little body. He normally runs into your arms when it's time to run.
Hands grab him by the scruff of his neck and Grim's hoisted in the air. He struggles against your grip, but is forced to look at your face.
Do you know how many suitors he has had to scare off because of that face? You're beautiful - which pisses Grim off because people keep trying to sway his henchman away from him.
Do you know how tiring that is? Protecting you from jerks and wannabe's. You don't have any family here to help. He owes them that much since you are HALF of the reason that Grim gets to be a student.
You've always been naïve when it came to other people...too honest. Which Grim took advantage of from time to time - but only he can do so! You are his meal ticket after all!
Your grip on his neck is tight enough to prevent him from escaping, but it doesn't hurt. As you look on at the people trying to fight - some to escape like wimps and others to 'save' you - Grim gives up. If you're determined to destroy the school...well, he can't stop you. No one can. You always find a way to make things work in your favor and Grim secretly thanked the Great Seven that you were not his enemy. Until now, that is. Now he's cursing them out heavily in his head.
The students fighting. Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, - anyone and everyone who's become your friend. Some yell for you to let Grim go and others focus on trying to make you see reason all together. They can't get close.
If you weren't 'busy,' Grim knows that you'd be there with them. Being bossy as hell and taking charge. He wishes that he had that courage.
You finally move when everyone has fallen. With Grim still in your grasp, you walk across the sea of blot to admire your work. It's then that a glimmer catches Grim's eye, and your foot kicks the dropped magestone from before.
You reach down to pick it up - cautiously.
"Is this yours?" you say, and hold it up to him. Grim's eyes widen and he quickly snatches it in his paws.
Upon close inspection, he sees that he was mistaken before. In the far corner a sliver of purple stands out against the black stone. You could be saved.
Grim could stop this.
So he does what he does best, and clings to your side. His claws dig in to your waist and no matter how hard you pull he does not let go.
"It's my fault you're like this, right? I annoy ya and demand things all the time. I'll stop getting ya into trouble - I promise! I won't mess with your lovelife or steal your snacks anymore. I'll start studying for tests and help clean around the house! I'll even quit stealing your phone! Please just give me my friend back - "
Somewhere amidst his garbled sniveling - you stop pulling at him and instead begin to stroke his fur. His last resort resonated with the ounce of kindness that still remained. As you held Grim safely in your arms, the world shifted back to normal.
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