#i have assignments i need to turn in this week and then ill be pretty much free other than going to college cause i shouldnt have hw
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I finally started to actually play vault hunters thanks to Hermit vault hunters series and i am so fucking hooked and my grades are gonna pay for that for sure
#don't ask me about my gear im level 23 and all my gear is shit#except for a pretty sweet crown but like..... im struggling over here#but vault hunters is literally so addictive i might be hyperfocused to be honest#i have assignments i need to turn in this week and then ill be pretty much free other than going to college cause i shouldnt have hw#but like. i need to do something other than vh to do that you know#and its hard#half the reason i started playing were theminecraftbee to be honest#vault hunters#shitpost
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BABY PULL ME CLOSER - G. SATORU
SYNOPSIS : your boyfriend is in dire need for your attention. unfortunately for him, it’s the finals week.
a/n : im loving writing for jjk and this man makes me so ill about him.
GENRE : fluff
PARINGS : student!gojo satoru x student!reader
WARNINGS : mention of childhood pet dying once. reader is referred to as girlfriend.
The finals week was here.
Usually, there is nothing wrong with that, except for being overworked, stressed, and dehydrated, but for gojo satoru, that wasn't the worst.
No, far from worst. For him, the worst thing was being unable to be with his cute and pretty girlfriend.
"Without whom I'll die." he once declared.
There was he now, dreamily staring at you as all of your attention was stolen by those goddamn books. Satoru swears he's gonna burn them all one day.
He wonders whether those dried trees are more important to you than your loving boyfriend, him, who has been begging for your attention for days.
He huffs as his begging stare seems to have no effect in melting your cold, cold heart. Though he has to admit, the concentrated pout and the furrow of your brows do look cute on you as you slave away on the revision and assignments and last-minute projects.
He's tried everything that he could do without your presence. Played games with suguru, and caught up with his friends (which is just suguru and a very pretty and chill lady, ieiri, despite him being popular). Now, he can't go out and get food without his lovely girlfriend, could he? no, that'd be blasphemy through and through.
"Babyyy." he whined for the umpteenth time, laying on your bed as he mindlessly scrolled through social media to find topics to talk shit about with you later.
You sighed and turned to him, exasperated with his antics.
"Can we go and get food?" he asked as his bottom lip jutted in a pout you couldn't say no to. He knows you can't say no to that face, it's too cute.
"Satoru," you stared, frowning. "We've talked about this," you told him, conflicted. You wanted to take up on his offer, you do. You want to take a break too. But you just have so much work. You aren't sure you'd be able to complete it if you stopped even for a minute.
“My love, my darling, my sugarplum honey bun, can we please go and get McDonald’s?” He pleaded.
Gojo Satoru was simply irresistible.
From the first time you’ve met him, you’ve found out that he’s scarily good at getting people to do what he wants.
He looks so cute like that. His pretty eyes watery, his soft, pink lips formed into a pout, his face flushed.
He’s always gotten his way with a face like that.
So you’ve taken it upon yourself to be more resilient and tell him no. He needs to learn.
Also it’s funny how he always looks aghast after you’ve denied him something, like you’ve told him his childhood pet died or something.
“No, toru, we can’t.” You shook your head, looking up at him. You don’t dare try suggest that your boyfriend help with your work, not after…last time where both of you got distracted and ended up making out instead of getting it done.
“I have to get this paper in by tomorrow.” You said firmly, turning back to your work, holding back a snicker as he gasped dramatically.
Here it comes.
“So you don’t love me anymore, huh? Is that it?” He said, narrowing his eyes at your form, hunched over your desk. He takes it back, you’re not cute anymore.
“Is your love for me really that weak, baby?” He lamented. “That’d you’d break under the pressure this easily?” He cried.
“Do you want me to kick you out?” You take it back, he’s not cute.
“Then you won’t be able to see me for real.” You muttered, but it was enough for him to hear.
That made him shut up real quick.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#suguru geto#shoko ieiri#hidden inventory arc#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo satoru fluff
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special attention pt. 3
dottore x m!reader
Request : HI- I noticed you have your requests open so I'm super excited! I love your writing sm. If possible, can I request like a continuation of your Dottore and fatui! Reader? Maybe one where the reader (sub & bottom) is assigned under another harbinger so all of his attention has been on this other harbinger instead of on Dottore (dom & top)? If not then that's okay! - Anonymous
Synopsis: Dottore has enough of his subpar Agents and decides to take you back.
part 1 | part 2
a/n -> i did it omg. super sorry ive been gone again! life was a bit busy but now that summer is coming up i might be able to write these a bit faster. im not super proud of this one since im kinda rusty rn but i hope this is at least decent! also, sorry for the sudden change in appearance!
wc -> 3.4k
cw -> anal fingering, anal sex, spit as lube, desk/office sex, choking, slight overstim, pretty vanilla overall ig, he's kinda possessive so there's that, not beta read
"Stupid, incompetent—" The Harbinger before the cowering Fatui subordinate cut himself off with an agitated sigh. It was quiet for a few moments, save for the agent's nervous breaths. Dottore wasn't one to get irritated very often, let alone angry. Perhaps the results produced by his previous agent skyrocketed his standards – or maybe this one was just dumber than an idiot.
"Please, help me comprehend how you lost not one," The Agent looked just about ready to sink into the floor. "not two, but six bases?"
The subordinate struggled to answer, mouth gaping open and closed as their hands shook in ill-concealed fear. Maybe in different circumstances, he would've given an amused quirk of his lips, though this was the last thing he needed right now. Instead, his lips curled into a scowl.
"W-We were... Overwhelmed..." they stammered pathetically.
"Clearly," Dottore said, impatiently tapping his finger on his knuckle. "I'm certain you're capable of speaking properly."
"We were ambushed by a horde of Mitachurls..." There was a beat of silence.
"And?"
They did not answer. "Don't tell me you lost all six because of mere Mitachurls."
Dottore's frown deepened. "That seems a bit coincidental, don't you think? If you're going to lie, do it well." He sighed. "Dismissed. I'll see to it you're placed back under basic training."
His voice held a monotonous tone to it that made the Agent fidget in place.
"It was a mistake—"
"Dismissed. I've already given you a chance to explain yourself. I have no need for your negligent incompetency."
He watched as the Agent hurried out of his office, and he had half the mind to yank them back inside when they slammed the door shut. He ground his teeth, irritated with the turn of events. He was going to need a new subordinate. Again.
He sighed. Not one of them managed to regain lost fortresses within a week, and he's been losing more than he thought possible. He, number 2 of the Harbingers, lost more than number 11. He was angry, above all else, but there was also the undeniable burn of humiliation at that fact.
It nearly surprised him how weak the soldiers sent to him were. Or perhaps they were always this way, and having you raised his expectations tenfold. He knew your strength and self-control were, by far, your best virtues, and it so happened to be what others were lacking. You were sent away to another Harbinger to keep the other Agents in check, and while he may have been the slightest bit proud to have managed to acquire an Agent that proved to be what everyone else needed, he was growing tired of having to wait for your return.
He shoved the articles that struck irritation through his chest into a drawer and stood from his chair. Quickly striding out of his office, he set out to search for you.
It didn't take him long to find you, though it was purely an accident. You were swiftly walking down the echoing hallways with a few papers and a relic that he didn't care to identify before he called your name.
"Agent [L.Name]," he spoke, his voice even.
"Yes, Lord Harbinger?" You paused in front of him after offering a slight bow. You fidgeted. "I apologize for the urgency, but Lady Arlecchino requests that I hurry with submitting my report."
"I am rescinding my permission to allow you to work under someone else." Even with your mask on, he was easily able to discern your surprise. The slight curl of your fingers was a dead giveaway, though, to any other person, it might've come off as idle shifting.
You were at a loss for what to do. You couldn't go against your current superior, but you also couldn't defy the words of one of the highest-ranking Harbingers that was still technically your boss.
"Lady Arlecchino said that I must hurry in delivering this item, and I'd rather not break her trust..." you trailed off as you observed him under your mask, something he was no doubt doing to you under his.
You nervously ground your teeth at the frown that crossed his face but remained steadfast with your words.
"Your loyalty is a virtue, but I'm afraid you've placed it upon the wrong person." He positioned his hands behind his back. "I will handle her when the time comes. Now, you respond to me."
"Yes, sir," you said after a moment. While you felt a tinge of relief at finally being able to work under him again, you felt a bit uncomfortable with leaving an assignment just as you were about to finish. But you knew you were going to have to set aside what you felt at the moment - you had a feeling something was off.
You thought about asking him what was wrong but decided against it with hopes that he'll bring it up himself. He wasn't the type to search for someone unless he needed them.
Your shoes tapped against the cold marble floors as you walked silently, following behind at a respectful distance. It didn't take long for you to reach his office, neither of you wasting time to get in.
"During your absence, many others have arrived to take your place. None of them have managed to produce quality or successful reports." He handed you a few papers for you to skim through. Without missing a beat, you did what was wordlessly told and blinked slowly underneath your mask. How could someone possibly fuck up this bad?
You startled a bit when you felt a hand rest on your hip, but maintained your usual demeanor.
"Would you like me to train the new recruits? Starting from there prevents more of this from happening," you questioned, curiously peering at him over your shoulder. "Or do you suggest otherwise?"
Dottore hummed. "I suggest that you assist me in relieving some of the irritation the others have caused."
You swallowed as anticipation bubbled in your chest. "Of course, my Lord."
"Mask." Was all he said, voice demanding and stern.
You wordlessly nodded, raising your hand to remove your mask and hood. There was a prickling sensation on the side of your face where his gaze bore into you, studying every twitch of your muscles. You could feel your skin grow hot, and with the way the corners of his lips slightly raised, he could see it, too.
Your nerves were abuzz with excitement, pooling in your gut that spread outwards towards your fingertips. You resisted the urge to rub your thighs together for some semblance of relief, clenching your jaw tightly.
"Already? Were you anticipating this from the start?" he mused, dragging his fingertips across your crotch. "How needy."
He squeezed lightly before abandoning the area, placing a hand on your chest to slip it underneath your thick coat, silently urging you to take it off. You did without complaint, finding the fur inside overbearing. You tried to toss it on the floor as neatly as you could before his hands found themselves beneath your shirt, gliding his cold, gloved palms over your scalding skin.
As quickly as they came, they left, only to push you down onto his desk. Your breath was caught in your throat, curling your fingers into a fist as you reveled in how he dragged his hands down your body to curl his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants. He wasted no time in sliding your pants off, swiftly pressing a palm against your aching cock.
You sighed at the touch, shifting your hips forward in search of relief. He gently squeezed and stroked you through your boxers with a quiet, condescending laugh.
He pinned you to the desk by the top of your back and began grinding against your ass, leisurely thrusting while observing the way your hands twitched to stimulate yourself even further.
With an amused smile, he suddenly pulled away completely. You shivered at the absence of his body heat, peering over your shoulder to send him a questioning look.
"I must thank you for your assistance," he said, rounding the corner of his desk. "I feel quite relaxed, now."
"I-Wh..." you stammered, trying to peer through his mask despite the lack of eyes.
"What's the matter? I'm afraid you need to speak up if you want me to understand you." He crossed his arms in a faux contemplative manner. Your face burned, unable to properly look at him.
"Oh, don't get shy on me now," he spoke with a mocking tone in his voice, standing directly across from you as he grabbed you by your chin. It was a firm hold, and you were unlikely to be able to free yourself from him - not that you wanted to, anyway. "It's a simple request. Tell me what you want."
Your mouth opened and closed pitifully before you finally responded, "I want you to keep touching me."
"See? That wasn't so difficult, now was it?" His grin widened a fraction and he returned to his place behind you. He enjoyed the way you were so easily reduced into a sheepish mess by just a few of his touches that you were sure were laced with some type of drug.
He removed his gloves and snaked one of his hands up your throat to your mouth, wordlessly commanding you to suck on his fingers. You readily complied and swirled your tongue around his skin which tasted faintly of chemicals and salt. Your heart pounded in your chest when he pushed them deeper, chest rising and falling in shallow intervals. You wrapped your lips around them and sucked, treating them as if they were his cock (which you secretly craved, but you supposed it wasn't much of a secret anymore).
Dottore could feel heat rising in his abdomen the longer he held them in your mouth, pleased with your eagerness.
A string of saliva connected you to him when he pulled away, his free hand sliding your underwear down your legs. He prodded your hole for a few agonizing moments just to listen to your hitching breaths before he finally inserted them inside you. His thick fingers provided a slight burn, but it quickly morphed into arousal.
He moved at a leisurely pace, enjoying your increasing impatience as you tried dutifully to keep your desperation at bay. He made sure to avoid your prostate to leave you needy for more, pressing against areas close to where you wanted him. You let out frustrated sighs but refused to voice out your complaints, letting him follow his own pace.
It was amusing to see you try hard to maintain your slipping composure, but he knew that soon enough, it would collapse completely.
You tensed when he removed his fingers from you, anticipating the familiar feeling of his cockhead against your hole, but it never came.
"You know, I think I may have had a change of heart," he said with a thoughtful tone. "Perhaps you should report to Arlecchino after all."
"Wait-" you pleaded, voice high and frantic. "S-surely you're not serious?"
"Oh? What makes you think that?"
You swallowed hard. Dottore is unpredictable - that much you learned. For all you know, he could be entirely sincere and you'd look like a fool, but a part of you believes that he's only messing with you. Getting you flustered was often a part of his intentions when he was around you, so it wasn't impossible.
"Because you do not back away from your plans when they're already set, regardless of how you think it may turn out."
"And might you enlighten me in what you think said plans are?"
You swallowed nervously as quiet words spilled from your lips. "To fuck me..."
There was a moment of agonizing silence (for you, at least) before a smile overtook his features. "I'm flattered you know me so well."
You bit your lip in anticipation when you heard the rustle of fabric behind you. You could hardly repress a shudder when you listened to him spit on his cock before pressing himself against your hole, holding your waist tightly with one hand while the other guided him inside.
You groaned at the burning sensation from the lack of preparation he provided you. Your dick ached to be touched, but you resisted and relished in the pain of having to wait.
"Fuck," Dottore hissed, fighting valiantly to keep himself from shoving his cock inside you. "You're tighter than the last time I fucked you."
"Just for you," your words were breathy, your rigid Agent persona slipping away by the minute. It almost made him laugh at how easy it was to break you down like this.
"For me?" he cooed, cock throbbing. "You poor thing. You had to wait so long just to finally have me fuck you, didn't you?"
You nodded, heavy pants exiting your lips. You peered at him from over your shoulder, eyes wide and watery; there was no calm Fatuus to be seen, and he found that he adored this side of you. He could hardly suppress a smile, instead focusing on how you tightened so pleasurably around him.
"It's almost hard to believe you haven't been whoring yourself out this entire time," he muttered, partially to you. "But I know that only I am able to satisfy you like this. Or am I wrong?"
He didn't expect an answer from you - not when you could hardly keep yourself standing. He curled his fingers in your hair and yanked, forcing you to look at him. Your incoherence wasn't going to stop him from trying.
"Well?"
"N-No... only you." Your cock throbbed.
"Thought so."
He let you go in favor of holding your hips firmly, pulling out briefly to slam himself back in. The sting of him stretching you out paired deliciously with the pleasure of his cockhead against your prostate, gradually speeding up until you had to cover your mouth to prevent your moans from escaping the office.
"None of that," Dottore muttered, pulling your arm away from your face. "Let them hear. Let them know you're not for the taking any longer."
Skin slapping skin echoed in the dimly lit room, accompanied by your noises that left no room for imagination. He pulled you by the waist and wrist, tugging you onto his cock as he thrusted forward.
Your dick produced precum that dripped into the cold, marble floor, aching to be touched. The need for release burned hotter in your abdomen, and you couldn't stop yourself from subconsciously moving your hips to fuck yourself onto him.
He paused for a moment to allow you to take a brief moment of control. A condescending smile overtook his features before he regained his previous pace, driving himself forward hard enough to sting. The pain only served to enhance the ecstasy that was brought upon you, lust pooling in the pit of your stomach.
It took a great deal of restraint to prevent yourself from reaching down and jerking yourself off, your nails creating thin indents on the firm wood of the desk. He could feel you tighten around him considerably and he nearly groaned, but let out a heavy sigh through his nose instead.
Snaking one hand up your throat, he pulled you to his chest and squeezed. You instinctively wrapped your fingers around his wrist but made no attempt to pull him away. He used his other hand to tightly grasp the base of your cock, interrupting your incoming orgasm.
You let your eyes flutter shut as drool escaped the corners of your lips, too hazy-minded to remember to swallow. Raspy breaths left your throat as your ears gradually began to ring, chest tightening with a need for air, but the deprivation only sent an addicting heat through your body.
You nearly choked on your saliva when his grip went lax, not entirely moving away, but enough to let you breathe. It was hard to inhale properly when he fucked the breath out of you, but you knew that that was the best part.
"Oh, fuck, pl-please," you babble, voice raspy.
"Please what?" Dottore spoke beside your ear. "I'm not a mind reader."
He subtly angled himself and targeted your prostate to hinder your words, a faint smile lifting his face at every stutter and cry you produced. You weakly tugged on his wrist in a vain attempt to tell him what you wanted, but he remained steadfast on hearing it from your lips.
"You can use your words, can't you?" He moved his hand from your neck to begin stroking your cock, the tip flushing an angry red.
"G-God, please-" you stammered before crying out, "Please let me cum!"
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He relished in your pained groan when he briefly tightened his grip before releasing you, quickly guiding you to your orgasm with every flick of his wrist.
Electricity shot down your spine and pooled in your stomach as soon as he let go, catching you off guard. Your fingernails dug into his glove as you nearly curled into yourself, legs trembling so intensely it was a miracle you managed to hold yourself up thus far.
Your chest quickly heaved up and down. "W-Wait-"
"Quiet," Dottore shushed you. "You wanted this. Don't go back on your word."
You focused on his voice, noticing how steady and calm he sounded compared to your desperate pleas for release. A feeling of chagrin filled your chest, making an effort to control your noises, but your struggle was futile.
Tears dotted your lashes when the coil within your abdomen tightened until it finally snapped, the heat of your orgasm washing over you in powerful surges. You arched your back as your jaw went slack in a silent scream. Your cum spurt out of your cock and landed on the marble floor in a small puddle.
"I should do that more, shouldn't I?" Dottore said with a sharp-toothed grin. He wrapped his free arm around your waist when your quivering legs were unable to support your weight any longer, leaning your top half back on the desk.
You'd nod along with him if you were capable of comprehending his words, but the rhythmic pulses of burning ecstasy prevented you from replying - not that he minded. His dick pressed against your prostate despite you having just orgasmed, his relentless pace not once slowing down. The only sign of exertion he offered you was his labored breaths and occasional grunt, but even those were quiet.
You could feel his cock throb in a way that let you know he was close. You managed to strengthen your legs and started fucking yourself onto him, prompting him to straighten himself and watch.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" he teased, hands resting on your hips. He leaned his head back and let out a satisfied groan that sent electricity shooting down your spine.
His fingertips gradually began to dig into your skin until he held you hard enough to bruise. He allowed you this semblance of control for a few more moments before yanking your hips to him with a few final thrusts, stilling as you shuddered at the feel of his cum coating your insides.
Your legs nearly went limp again, but you managed to keep yourself standing - albeit with an embarrassing amount of effort. You could hear his deep breaths behind you as both of you steeped in the silent afterglow. You suppressed a flinch when he decided to pull out, sighing at the uncomfortable emptiness it left.
You swiftly dressed yourself when you heard quiet shuffling, pulling out a handkerchief to clean your cum off the floor.
"Now, then," Dottore said as soon as you stood upright. "You have much to do since your absence. It'd be best if you began right away."
You nodded, slipping your mask back on your face.
"I don't care how you do it, I only want the results. Understood?"
"Of course." Your voice was back to its neutral tone, making the corner of the Harbinger's lips twitch upwards. It amused him how you responded so professionally despite him having fucked you not moments before. With a final nod, you left his office.
He turned to his desk once more, remembering the papers that he unceremoniously shoved inside the drawers. He sighed. It was back to work.
#genshin impact smut#male reader insert#reader smut#reader#genshin smut#male reader smut#male reader#reader insert#sub reader#sub male reader#dottore x male reader#dottore x reader#dottore x reader smut#genshin x reader
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Sleeping in the Garden: Part I
in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway
bakugo katsuki x fem!reader
wc: 21.5k
genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic
type: longfic (6 parts)
reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing)
part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34)
note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l and @sipsteainanxiety for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!
masterlist || part ii ⟹
You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.
Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.
“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.
“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”
You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”
“But I need to know he knows where you are.”
“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”
Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.
It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.
The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.
You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.
That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.
You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.
It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.
It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.
Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.
The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.
“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”
You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”
Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.
You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.
Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.
“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”
Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.
“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”
You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”
The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.
“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”
Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.
“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”
“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”
“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”
“You think?”
“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”
“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.
“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”
“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.
“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”
“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”
Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.
“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”
“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.
Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.
“You live next door, right?”
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”
“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.
You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.
“Miss Sunny?”
“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.
The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”
“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.
“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”
“She’s a really good painter.”
“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.
Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”
“Anyone could do it.”
“No, I bet you couldn’t!”
“Uh, yeah, I could.”
“No you couldn’t.”
“Yeah, I could.”
“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.
“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”
As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.
“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”
The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.
“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”
For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”
She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.
“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”
They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.
Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.
“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”
She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”
You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.
You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.
Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.
“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.
“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”
You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”
“But I need to know he knows where you are.”
“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”
“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”
Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.
Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.
Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.
Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.
“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.
“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”
The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”
She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”
He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”
Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.
The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.
“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”
Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.
Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.
Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.
“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”
“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”
“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”
You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”
“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”
“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”
“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re always welcome.”
She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.
Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.
Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.
“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.
“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”
“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”
“I wanted to thank you.”
It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.
“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”
His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”
“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”
The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.
“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”
He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.
“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”
You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”
There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.
“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”
“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.
“It ain’t funny.”
“It’s kinda funny.”
He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”
“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.
“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”
“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”
His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”
“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”
“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.
“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”
He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.
“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”
Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”
“What, you lost it?”
He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”
“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.
He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.
“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”
A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.
The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.
“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.
He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”
“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”
He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”
You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.
Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.
Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”
He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.
“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”
“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.
“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”
You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.
“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”
You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”
At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.
“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”
You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”
“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”
You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.
“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”
Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”
“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”
Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.
That makes him tense. “What?”
“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”
“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”
“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”
“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”
“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.
He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”
Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.
They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.
Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.
“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.
“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”
“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”
Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.
“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”
“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”
“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.
“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.
He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.
“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”
“The girls’?”
“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”
“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”
You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”
He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”
“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”
You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.
“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.
“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.
“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”
It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.
But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.
So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.
Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.
But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”
Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.
“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”
“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”
“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”
Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”
“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”
Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.
Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.
“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”
Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.
You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.
The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.
You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.
But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.
It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.
There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.
You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.
The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.
They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.
They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).
Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.
He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.
Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.
Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.
You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.
That’s what you’re doing now.
Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.
Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.
Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.
Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.
And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.
It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.
“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.
The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.
He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.
It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.
Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.
The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”
“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”
“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”
Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.
“She won’t tell me.”
“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”
“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.
“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”
“How valiant of you.”
“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”
You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”
“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.
“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”
“It’s just a step stool…”
“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.
You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.
He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”
It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.
“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.
“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.
“Uh-huh!”
“Does it have any villains in it?”
“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”
“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”
Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”
She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.
Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.
She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.
“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”
He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.
“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”
Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.
“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.
“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”
You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.
Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.
Best not to ruminate on that too much.
“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.
“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”
“Ah! Yeah, sure.”
“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”
You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.
“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.
“Hm?”
“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”
“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”
“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”
He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”
Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”
Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.
Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.
There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.
At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.
You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.
Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.
Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.
You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.
So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.
“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”
You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”
“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”
“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”
She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.
You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.
“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”
“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”
“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”
Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.
“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”
For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.
“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”
“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”
“So..?”
“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”
You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.
“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”
It works. She perks up at the praise.
“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”
“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”
Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”
“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”
“Thank you!”
“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”
“Like… right now?’
“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”
“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”
Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”
The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.
The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.
“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”
She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,
“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”
Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”
“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”
“I see…”
“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”
You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.
“Now you try.”
“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”
“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”
She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”
She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.
Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.
“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”
“Then you’d better head back over.”
She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”
“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.
“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”
“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”
With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.
Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.
You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.
That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.
Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.
In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.
You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.
It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.
Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.
Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.
Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.
For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.
The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.
And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”
He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.
“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”
“I’ve had it for years, actually.”
His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.
“Really? Kept it indoors?”
“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”
“It seems to like it.”
“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”
You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”
He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”
“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”
“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”
“You take good care of it.”
He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.
“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”
“Mmm. I will.”
He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”
When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.
“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.
“But—”
“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”
“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”
“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”
“Oh? Have fun.”
“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”
“Sure thing.”
“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”
“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”
“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”
“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”
This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”
Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.
Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.
Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.
She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.
“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”
“Morning! You’re here early.”
She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.
“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”
“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”
“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.
“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”
“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”
You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”
The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.
It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.
Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.
Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”
She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.
“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”
“Oh?”
Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”
“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”
“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”
“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”
“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.
“But?”
“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”
“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”
“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”
“Oh.”
“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”
That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.
“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”
“I… dunno what I can do.”
“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”
She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.
Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.
“What’re you thinking?”
“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”
“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”
Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.
“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.
It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”
“I wasn’t ready.”
She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”
“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”
Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.
“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”
“How’d your dad react?”
The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.
“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.
“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”
If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”
“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”
“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.
“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”
“You mean he’ll wait for me?”
You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.
“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”
“I guess.”
“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”
“I… okay.”
She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.
But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.
“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.
“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”
“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.
“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”
“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”
You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”
“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”
“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”
Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”
She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.
“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”
“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.
The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.
The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.
Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.
“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”
You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.
He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.
The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.
Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.
He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.
“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”
The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.
“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”
“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”
“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”
Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.
She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”
He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”
Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.
She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.
“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.
“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.
“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.
It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.
“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.
“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”
“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”
“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”
Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.
“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.
Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”
She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.
“Why, exactly?”
“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”
The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.
Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.
“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.
Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”
“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”
“Don’t you get up that early?”
“I don’t stomp.”
Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.
“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”
You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.
“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.
“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”
“Your fine?”
“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”
“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.
“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”
“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.
“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”
“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”
“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”
His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.
Riko, however, has different intentions.
“Oh! Oh! I know!”
“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.
“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”
Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.
“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”
Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”
“How much?”
He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”
You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”
“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.
That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.
In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.
Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.
“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.
“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”
“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.
“Is he now?”
You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”
“Your grandpa?”
“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”
“Really? What’d he make?”
Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.
“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”
“Was it fun?”
“Yeah. It was.”
“Did you learn some stuff?”
“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”
It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.
“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”
She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.
With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.
You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.
“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.
She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”
“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.
She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.
Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”
“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.
“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.
“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”
That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.
“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”
“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”
She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.
“How’d he take it?”
Ayame makes a face.
You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”
“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”
“How’re you feeling, though?”
“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”
“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”
Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”
“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”
“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”
“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”
She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.
Then a voice calls out her name.
“Ayame!”
You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.
“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.
She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”
Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.
He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.
Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.
Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.
So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.
You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.
Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.
“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.
But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.
Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.
“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.
“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”
“Trade secret.”
The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.
“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”
She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.
And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.
“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”
There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.
“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.
“Huh?”
“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”
Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”
“How much?”
“What?”
He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”
“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”
“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”
Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.
Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.
It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.
“She broke up with him.”
You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”
He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.
“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”
“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.
“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”
“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”
The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.
“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”
“Hah?”
“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”
“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”
That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.
“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”
“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”
It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.
“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”
And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.
Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.
The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.
#mybigbangacademia#bnha x reader#bnha imagines#bnha x you#bnha x y/n#bakugo imagine#bakugo x reader#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n#mha imagines#mha x reader#mha x you#mha x y/n#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki imagine#bakugo katsuki x you#bakugo katsuki x y/n#dynamight x reader#dynamight imagines#dynamight x you#dynamight x y/n#mine.🌧#char.🌧 bakugou#fic.🌧 sleeping in the garden
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So... turns out the whole "discovering my autism later in life" wasn't entirely correct for me. I don't know what to say, it's all confusing as hell (confused rant ahead)
I found 2 neurospyc reports, one from when I was 10 and another when I was 16/17 that list traits and test results consistent with what, today, would be considered level 2 autism and ADHD. but then they both turn around and say the neurospyc chose not to diagnose...
The first one had at least a good reason. From my understanding, at that point in time, autism couldn't be diagnosed unless all other possibilities had been ruled out, and the neurospyc says that these traits could also come from brain damage from meningococcol (the illness that caused my physical disability). Meningococcol's effects on a developing brain weren't well understood back then, so I guess I get it. It does, however, lay out some further testing that could be done by other specilists to rule it out, as well as mention what we should expect to see as I grow if it is autism. I met all the autism points, and I have the other specialists' reports ruling out meningococcol side effect theory. I likely still couldn't have been diagnosed at the time, though, because autism and ADHD were considered conflicting diagnoses, but the fact they were still considering it is a big positive to me.
The second one though... doesn't acknowledge any of this. It lists all the same traits (plus the new ones I developed that the other report predicted), talks about their severity and then... turns around and says it's actually not that bad and I don't need a diagnosis 😑. It doesn't say it explicitly, but the second report talks a lot about how friendly I was, how I was doing well in school (I really wasn't, I had like, one class I did well in because it aligned with my special interest, and the rest I was bearly scraping by) how I maintained eye contact and number of other things. It concluded that a diagnosis wasn't needed.
It's worth mentioning that when the second report was done, not only was I only doing high school part-time (3 days a week) because the 5 day week lead to burnout constantly, but I was also receiving the most support I'd ever had because my school recognised something was up and got me extra help (they didn't need a diagnosis because of my physical disability). I literally had someone who's job it was to come find me at lunch and remind me to eat and use the toilet, as well as to help me with assignments because in both yr 10 and yr 11 I almost failed so bad i came close to needing to repeat (i'd already repeated once). Not necessarily because I couldn't do the assignments, though some i definitely needed support on that front too, but because I just forgot they existed and never did them/handed them in. I was also in detention pretty much every day in yrs 7-10 because the same thing happened with regular homework. I either forgot to do it, or refused because I was so burned out, i just couldn't do it. This was all mentioned in the report, and it mentions that the school even provided letters to back the claims up (though i dont have those) and this doctor was like "hmmm, yes, this seems like a person who is well adjusted and in need of no further support! These traits definitely won't cause issues for them in adult life, especially in a country where we make disabled people do time-sensitive paperwork on every single aspect of their lives and have to update said paperwork constantly"
(what no, I'm not salty about something specific to do with government agencies in the Aus disability sector, what are you talking about...)
And shockingly once those supports were gone I nosedived. I've been in pretty much constant burnout since 2019, it was so bad in 2021 I had to stop working (which gutted me, I LOVED my job), and when burnout lasts that long it can do permanent damage.
There's even a report that was with the neurospyc report from one of my pediatric amputee rehab specilists that states I can not go unsupported into the adult sector, I will not cope. I will not be able to communicate my needs effectively. My health will decline. It was backed up by the senior peds. orthopaedic surgeon and the senior peds. plastics surgeon (who all knew me my entire life). The report says they had to bring me back into to the pediatric hospital for a few checkups even after I was 18 because the transition was so overwhelming I just stopped seeking medical treatment. I remember that. I remember trying to talk to the adult sector specilists and them just not understanding me and not understanding what the problem is. I remember the issue at hand (issues with my knee) getting so bad, but not knowing what else to do. I stopped going because i didnt want to be told my issue wasnt that bad. I still don't understand what I did or said wrong, and it's still happening today. My whole pediatric team was right, i needed help, but sure, I don't need extra supports because the neurospyc said "I was friendly".
Just FYI, when they finally did an MRI of the knee it was literally falling apart. The pain I was complaining about was constant dislocation and a bone infection. That knee had to be amputated. It was serious.
My therapist asked me to find these neurospyc reports if I could. I knew I had them but not what they said, and she hoped that there would be something in them that would allow her to make a case to the NDIS that even though we "don't know the reason" because there's no official diagnosis, it's clear I need more support, and theres been proof of it for years. And now I've read through them... Just knowing how well documented it all was, knowing that my pediatric care team, my doctors, my specilists, my parents, my teachers etc all knew I was struggling and tried to get me help, but one person decided "nah" has me just... confused beyond belief. I have a binder full of everything I can find that I'm going to bring to my therapist. I hope we can do something with it now.
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Diseases are very rare in Gai, especially since he has the immune system of a racehorse. Therefore, when he does, the disease hits him twice as hard as it would a normal ninja, leaving him out of action for days.
Despite this, Gai refuses to let a simple virus break his perfect streak of C and B missions that take him to various places that satiate his adventurous streak. This time, he had prepared to travel to the Land of Honey to receive an assignment and return. But when he's about to receive the mission sheet, Gai doesn't have to turn around to know that Kakashi is watching him, in that particular menacing way that stops Gai.
-
Kakashi takes him to get a medical and transcribe a note to have Gai taken off duty for a week and a half. After Gai tries to stop him and ends up almost throwing up on him before passing out, certain rays of consciousness make him contemplate how Kakashi also requests a time off duty. He tries to avoid it, but Kakashi has become impossibly fast.
-
In the end, Kakashi takes him back to his apartment, makes his bed for him, puts him down and tucks him in. His traitorous body is immediately knocked out wrapped in the blankets.
The next few days, Gai sees Kakashi putting wet cloths on him, sees him giving him a bath (despite Gai's great refusal to be washed like a child), and cooks for him. And well, Kakashi's cooking is arguably the best between the fatigue, dizziness, and coughs. Kakashi's eagle vigilance to keep him from escaping (his rival, unfortunately, knows him well), prevents Gai from even being able to get close to his door, knowing thar Kakashi appearing like a wraith behind him.
It's been years since he's been cared for, and that's why it's rare to be when he's big, strong and independent. It's twice as rare for his rival to take care of him too much, and while he loves being the center of attention for Kakashi, his dear friend's caretaker mode is pretty, er, drastic.
Kakashi measures his temperature five times a day, he makes him whole, protein-rich meals every day (Gai doesn't know when Kakashi leaves the house to buy cilantro), he makes his bed for him and entertains him, all the while, with his boring and sometimes sarcastic responses.
In the end, under Kakashi's military care, Gai recovers two days before the week and a half is up.
He takes the opportunity to go out with his friends to eat, Kakashi returning to his normal disinterest reading his erotic book while Gai has fun with Kurenai and Genma.
When they get back to their apartment, Gai makes Kakashi miso with aubergines as a thank you, but can't help but wonder why he takes such, erm, extremist care of him.
"Well, just so you know I'll be twice as bad if I find out again that you did something so reckless and idiotic as eating two bowls of stale curry to avoid wasting it. You have money, Gai, buy something new and fresh."
"I'm not going to waste food, rival!" Gai vehemently refuses. "How did you know-?"
"Next time I'll say your illness is so bad you have to stay out for a month. In the hospital. In serious need of big needles."
Gai shut his mouth. And choose wisely to keep eating. He really doesn't want to see if Kakashi has such power and such cruelty.
#naruto#kakashi hatake#kakagai#maito gai#might guy#my fic#i fucked with this but i couldn't go to sleep without writing about caretaker! Kakashi#hatake kakashi#i love them#why am i like this#why not#hope you enjoy#sort of crack fic#kakashi knows everything
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For sport (Matthew Sturniolo & Chris Sturniolo)
Pt 3
A.n - hey yall so this is gonna be a very very very slow burn I already have some chapters written so I will probs rapid fire. It will be toxic, there will be angst , smut , everything you can possibly think of. It happens.
t.w. - mention of toxic parents and body image.
Not really proof read either.
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Y/N’s POV
I pulled into my mother’s house dreading walking in. I turned off my car grabbing my phone and backpack. “How was the first day of classes, Have any homework?” My mother. Straight to the point. I’ve always heard how other mothers radiate love and happiness. Lucky them. Mine radiates anger and uneasiness. “No, it was the first day.” I say grabbing a water out of the fridge and turning towards her. “I dont need the attitude go to your room” I rolled my eyes and walked to my room, grateful I was sent there and did not have my door taken off its hinges… again…
I changed into shorts and a cropped top and opened my phone seeing Matthew still had me added I decided to add him back expecting nothing to come out of it. I was correct in assuming that because after a three-hour nap, I woke up to a couple of snap chats from my streaks and texts from Haylee.
Haylee-
4:32
How is it?
5:20
Did she take your phone again?
6:13
Ill assume that or your sleeping, ill wait and see.
Y/N-
7:38
Noooo i got sent to my room, and took a nap. I’m gonna pick out a cuter outfit tmrw
Oh yeah and mattaddedmeonsnapchat
Haylee-
7:39
WHAT?!! Has lindsy threatened your life yet?
I decided to just FaceTime with her because, if you know me, you know, I hate texting and would much rather just talk on the phone. She immediately picks up as I give her the run down of how he added me when I got in my car and decided she would help me pick out my outfit for the following day.
We had decided since I wore such an unflattering outfit the first day, I’d wear something that showed off my figure a little more. I didn’t waste 12 years of soccer and at the gym to noto show off what I worked so hard to succeed. We stayed on the phone for the next two hours trying to decide on a color for my homecoming dress, our school had homecoming, snowball, a spring formal, and prom. So homecoming was pretty early into the year.
Once we hung up I made myself a quick sandwich before getting in the shower and getting ready for bed, day two of classes is usually when they actually buckle down and start teaching.
I woke up the next morning, washing my face and brushing my teeth before letting my hair hang loose in its natural state, wavy straight basically just a mess, and put on my outfit. I threw on a pair of black gym shark leggings and a forest green cropped crew neck with some blazers. I never was one to wear jeans literally ever so this was about the best you’d get out of me until summer came along. I grabbed my backpack and checked my phone to see Haylee texting me asking what I would want from dunkin. I quickly responded and threw my phone into my waistband walking out to see my mom in her usual spot on the recliner.
“I’m going to school.” I stood in the entry of the living room looking at her “Are you sure your skinny enough for that outfit?” I scoffed rolling my eyes and walking out of the house. My mom was a real charmer you see, I was skinny. I was very fit. I worked really hard since I was a bigger kid and my mom would make fun of me. I let her words roll off my back now knowing I did look good and I did not need her to tell me whether I did or didnt.
I plugged my phone in and started to listen to the neighborhood as I peeled off heading to school, I was about fifteen minutes early as I parked next to Haylee turning off my car and hoping into hers.
“Good morning my peach” I said as I grabbed the bagel she had got for me.
“Good morning, what is on the schedule for today. Leaving early?” I shook my head no, “This is when Ill be assigned work so Ill stay late for the week and friday we will leave early” she nodded as we sat on our phones finishing our breakfast. We had lost track of time, the bell rining snapping us back to reality. We walked in with our bags and drinks in hand.
“Dad’s tonight?” she asked as I grabbed my first two classes books and notebooks out.
“Yeah. mom basically called me fat this morning so I’ll be there if you wanna come” She smilled nodding before pulling me a pencil out of my locker placing it on my books and walking away. She knew me well enough to know I would forget it.
Math was easy per usual. I accidentally took a nap the second period of english. That was okay though because that meant it was time for lunch. I grabbed my dollar bills and made my way to the vending machine getting a bubbly drink and a bag of chips. I walked into the lunchroom taking a seat at my friend, Olivia’s table.
“Y/N we missed you this summer.” She said wrapping her arms around me
“Yeah squirt” Olivias boyfriend followed behind, Nate, They had been dating since the first week of freshmen year and I loved them both deeply.
“I know, me and Haylee went up and down the whole state this summer” I smiled before opening my bag of chips. Lunch was filled with talking nonsense and giggling at each other until the bell rang. Olivia gave me a hug before walking away, she was like a literal ray of sunshine over me.
I took my seat placing my books down for my last four periods of the day as Matthew walked in just as the bell rang and shot me a smirk, I rolled my eyes at him before shoving my stuff to the side and sending Haylee a quick text asking to go shopping after school.
“Alright class, Since its the begging of your senior year I decided to make this assignment easy for you and you will be working in partners. I hated school even more when partners were involved. Our teacher started reading off names once he finally got to me “Y/N and….” He said glancing around the room “Matthew!” I immediately head planted into the desk annoyed, I had gone three successful years in none of his classes and keeping out of Lindays b-line of terror.
Matthew pulled up a chair next to me “Alright, I dont want to do any work this period so I say we do it tonight and Ill just text you” I agreed seeing as not the smalled part of me wanted to participate either. “I dont know what time Ill be home, me and Haylee are going shopping” I said looking down at my phone “Shopping for what” He asks “Hoco dress” I kept scrolling through the online shop as he nodded looking back at his phone,
The bell finally ring sending us to gym, I asked my gym teacher if I could go grab some work I needed to complete from my shop and she let me go, that was a lie, there just wasnt a single part of me wanting to go to gym.
I sat with Mr. Reynolds for the remainder of gym while he questioned me on the state of my eye, the left only a little yellow still and the right still bruised. The bell rang singnaling I had to head to biology. I said goodbye to my favorite teacher and made my way to class.
Walking in I noticed Mattheew already sitting, I decided to take this time to really look at him. He was wearing a black T-shirt and Haylee was not lying one of his amrs completely covered in patch work. He had on black cargo pants, his hair messy, and his stubble still growing in.
“You know its rude to stare” Matt said snapping me back to reality taking a seat a couple over from him “In your dreams” Just as I thought one sturniolo per class was enough I was bombarded to see Christopher walking in sitting inbetween me and Matt. I didnt dislike chris. He was funny enough and nice to me whenever we spoke, which was quiet alot because we were in the same shop “Hey pickle. Heard about the party. If you want Ill be the shit out of that guy” Chris said smirking at me. I giggled at him at the fact he still calls me pickle only Mr. Reynolds and Chris do that. “Its fine Chris. Ill be okay” Matt stared at us as me and Chris talked.
Once the class was over I started packing up my stuff “Hey you going to Homecoming?” Chris asked as I was putting my bag over my shoulder “Yeah, why?” I looked at him confused. “Go with me. I dont have a date so it should be fun” I took a minute to think before figuring who would it hurt “Sure Ill text you the color i pick out later” He gave me a quick side hug as he ran off towards the doors. “Ill text you tonight” was all Matt said before also walking out the door. I stood there waiting for Haylee because I couldnt possibly wait to tell her I had found a homecoming date. Even if it was only chris he was one of the more attractive guys in our grade so I was happy my pictures would come out good.
Tag -
@worldlxvlys
#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#nick sturniolo
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For prompts “ hey, i know it’s really late, but... i didn’t know who else to call. “ or “how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.” as Kenric and Oralie?
Guess who's back at the dialogue prompts! It's me. This ask is rather old, so I don't know if you're still around, but if you are: I hope you enjoy, as they were quite sweet to write <3
ill-advised indulgences <- ao3 link
warnings: mild sickness
word count: 5.1k
Councillor Oralie didn’t enjoy midnight hails under the best of circumstances, and mere hours--if that--away from finishing a project that’d been bothering her for weeks was many things, but it was not the best of circumstances.
“Yes?” she sighed, unable to completely hide her irritation and knowing it was absolutely unprofessional of her; she hadn’t even bothered to look at the screen. The others would have her back in etiquette trainings without hesitation if they caught her like this.
“Hey, I know it’s really late, but... I didn’t know who else to call.”
She straightened in spite of herself, furious at the blush she felt spreading across her cheeks. But even stronger than the heat was the confusion.
“Kenric?”
“Forgotten me already, Ora?”
When she looked to the screen, she couldn’t see a hint of his soft, elegant features--not even an awkward corner angle.
Only stars, twinkling bright across her screen as she held it close in her palm.
“Why are you hailing? Is something wrong?” What was he even doing up in the middle of the night? He should be long asleep by now--just as she should’ve been, but she ignored that.
Something rustled, and his voice followed--low, like a sigh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I just…need a hand, and you’re less likely to be upset with me than any of the others for disturbing you so late. Or at least I thought you would be--that was quite a cold greeting.” He tried for light, but something in his voice strained and it fell flat.
“I’m sorry--you caught me in the middle of something; it was rude of me. What do you need help with?” The sleeve of her dress had slipped, and she pushed it back up her arm to have something to do, then tucked a straying ringlet back behind her ear. She couldn’t remember if she’d looked in a mirror that morning, and she wasn’t willing to admit to herself why she suddenly cared.
“Can you come to Siren Rock?” he asked, and she blinked.
“What are you doing at Siren Rock? Your Universe homework? If you’ve forgotten it, I think it’s a little too late to make it up.” She couldn’t help the laugh in her throat and smile on her lips, because it was such a ridiculous place for a councillor to be. People only went to Siren Rock for mediocre stargazing, or to appease their Mentors with proof they could passably bottle starlight.
Her laugh cut off as he answered, “Yes, actually.” He sounded amused.
“You’ve lost me,” she admitted. And yet she found herself trying to remember where she’d set her pathfinder; surely it was somewhere amid all these papers.
Still not showing his face, he explained. “It’s part of a…classified assignment. I was supposed to be working on it myself, bottling quintessence, but the quantity is more than I can manage. I can’t see straight enough to even guess where the right stars are anymore.”
“You’re bottling quintessence?” There it was, on the floor next to her desk; she must’ve bumped it off and hadn’t noticed amid the rest of the mess she’d made.
“From Phosforien and Marquiseire, yes. Can you help? It’s alright if you can’t, I’ll ask one of the others.”
“No!” The word burst out with more force than she intended, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “I’ve already set my pathfinder. Do I need to bring anything, or is it just me you need?”
“Just you, Ora.” Then he added, “Make sure to bring a warm cloak, I don’t want you to get cold.”
“I’ll be right there,” she promised, ending the hail and turning from her project with a small pang of regret. She’d built such momentum, but it’d been doomed the moment she answered the hail. She could never say no to Kenric.
Except when it came to the one topic neither of them dared breath a word about.
~
The chill slipped around the edges of her thick rose cloak as Oralie glittered into the dark of Siren Rock, the uneven earth illuminated by the silvered moonlight creeping across it, the waves pulsing against the cliff’s edge and filling the air with salt.
It didn’t take her long to find Kenric, who lay back against the hard ground with his eyes closed. A stellarscope lay forgotten beside him, alongside a case of quintessence, almost full of bright bottles.
Unnerved, she moved to the other side of him; that much quintessence simply sitting there? Kenric was oh so careful, but the substance was too unpredictable to ever be safe.
And yet here she was.
“Kenric?” she asked, uncertain. He hadn’t moved, even though she certainly hadn’t been quiet.
The hand on his chest twitched, and his bright eyes found hers.
They looked…tired.
“Ora,” he answered, and it was as if a mask descended over him. Gone were the lines and exhaustion, now he smiled gently up as her, pushing to a sitting position. “Don’t worry over me--I see that crease in your brow. I was only resting my head to try and ease the blurriness.”
His smile widened, that crooked one that always made her heart beat twice as fast, but she didn’t believe him. “Did it work?”
He shook his head. “You’re all smudges--which is a shame. You have a lovely face.”
Now that it wasn’t through an imparter, there was definitely something wrong with his voice. Too thick? Too deep? Too worn?
And then she remembered she was supposed to say something back. “How many bottles do you have left?”
Something crossed his face she couldn’t identify, and she wanted to reach out to brush skin and feel exactly what it was. But she didn’t, and Kenric sat up straighter, entirely unaware of how his hair stuck out at the back from his repose as he turned to count.
“Four more--can you handle that?”
In spite of her concern, she scowled as indignation sparked. “Of course I can handle four bottles. I’m not fragile.”
“Of course you can,” Kenric agreed, running a hand through the copper of his hair--he wasn’t wearing his circlet, she realized. And he didn’t have a cape--didn’t he feel the cold? She could even through the thick fabric of her cape.
In the silence that fell, she stepped around him to pick the stellarscope up from where he’d left it; his hand reached toward it a moment later, as though he was going to get it for her, but had moved too slowly, and practically flinched away as he nearly bumped her arm.
Awkwardly retracting his hand, he blinked up at her. They were level, but only as she bent down; he’d stayed on the ground since she’d arrived, and it couldn’t be comfortable. She could see the flecks of green in the blue of his eyes, the lashes framing them as the red of his hair fell over his brow, the creases around his eyes, and the stars reflected in his pupils.
She realized she’d frozen looking at them, and heat bloomed deep in her chest.
“Phosforien and Marquiseire, correct?” She grabbed the accompanying bottling gloves, donning them as she straightened, hoping the slight distance would clear her head, that the chill of the night would wash away the flush she could feel spreading against her will.
It didn’t. If anything, the few feet between them intensified the charge as she stood over him reciting all the reasons she shouldn’t and couldn’t.
Kenric needed a moment as well, and his breath came heavy as he nodded. “Two of each, please.”
Oralie nodded, re-tucking that same stray ringlet back as she searched the sky; she’d called up her memories of the unmapped stars as she’d grabbed her cape, wanting to be prepared--if they could even be called her memories, since they’d been implanted in her head by a mind much sharper than hers when she’d accepted her circlet.
With careful precision she searched through the stellarscope, checking thrice she’d calibrated correctly before flicking the switch and filling the bottle she’d loaded.
The other three went just as smoothly, the only sound her roaring pulse as she worked; Kenric sat behind her--he’d asked if she’d minded, as he didn’t want to stand too soon and undo all the progress he’d made re-orienting himself; of course she hadn’t minded.
She tried her damndest not to squirm, even though she swore she could feel his eyes tearing bits and pieces of her away and draining her very essence.
Blinking away a heady flash of light with the final bottle of quintessence, she carefully placed all four into Kenric’s compartmentalized satchel alongside the other ten. Each divided section was thoroughly padded to keep the bottles from bumping together and increasing the risk of explosion.
As she crouched, resolutely not looking at him, her cape shifted. A cold breeze coiled around her and she shuddered, goosebumps raising on her arms as it washed over her so thoroughly it left her senses entirely blank.
And with it, her focus sharpened.
She’d been trying so hard not to be aware of him, she’d missed the signs--even though she’d known the moment he called something was wrong.
It wasn’t his eyes on her back she’d felt creeping and draining--or at least not entirely.
“You’re unwell,” she said, turning her head to look at him. And suddenly it was obvious--the shadows beneath his eyes and the flat line of his mouth, the heavy breaths and low voice, the fact the most he’d moved was to sit up when she’d arrived.
How he’d needed her to complete his starlight bottling, already entirely unable to see when there’d been hardly a dozen in the bag.
She could see him forming the defense in his mind, and sure enough, “It’s just a headache, Ora. A long day and intense starbottling. I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry your pretty head about it..”
Oralie scowled back. “Don’t patronize me. I can feel it, even from here.” She eyed the space between them.
She was a talented Empath--but she was valuable for her stellar interpreting abilities upon contact, not for being able to take readings without it.
If she could feel the bone deep weariness through the air…
“When will you learn you can’t lie to an empath?” she asked, shaking her head. And a sort of recklessness surged through her. “How did you even get sick? You look ugly. Come here.”
She lowered herself near him, the cold rock startling even through her clothes as she unfastened her cloak.
“Ora, you don’t--”
“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to let you sit there in the cold when you’re sick.” She shrugged off the cloak, and Kenric only mildly protested as she wrapped it tight around his neck--if she’d needed any more proof that he wasn’t himself, that was it.
The thick gradient pink fabric shimmered under the moonlight, embroidered with roses and lilies and entirely at odds with Kenric’s simple color-blocked attire. But he sagged ever so slightly beneath it anyways, reaching up to clasp it tighter around his neck as her warmth seeped into him.
He looked to her then, and raised a brow. “Did you say I looked ugly? Is it really that bad?”
And even though it was the middle of the night and goosebumps had started to erupt on her arm, and his discomforted exhaustion pulled at her very core, she flushed.
“I didn’t--”
He laughed, and it made obvious the thick crackle in his throat. “Relax, Ora. I’m only teasing. I know I’ve looked better.” He sat forward off his hand to rub it over his eyes, grimacing.
She wanted to argue for some reason, but…he wasn’t wrong.
A faint gleam of sweat had broken across his brow, and his fingers trembled where they held the cloak close at his neck.
“I’m taking you home,” she told him, making up her mind right there. He furrowed his brow, so she continued. “You have your quintessence--surely whatever it’s for can wait at least until morning, if not for a day or two for you to recover. I insist--I don’t want you handling anything potentially disastrously explosive when you can hardly see straight!”
Kenric shook his head slowly as she retrieved her pathfinder from her pocket, gloves making her fingers slip before she removed them as she began to adjust it for the coordinates she knew better than any other.
“That’s kind of you, Ora, but it’s unnecessary.” He began to unfasten the cloak, but she stopped him by pushing the satchel of quintessence into his lap alongside the stellarscope and gloves. He tried again. “I’ll manage, and you have better things to do than worry about me.”
“You don’t know that,” she shot back, successfully clicking the pathfinder into place and reaching for him; she made sure to touch only fabric, but even so the feeling of his sickness washed over her. “Concentrate--I don’t want to lose you.”
“Ora--” he began, but shut off and did as she asked as she held the crystal to the light, casting a beam over them to draw them away; she’d done it that way so he wouldn’t have a choice--either concentrate and go with her, or get drawn into the light for eternity.
Not that she would’ve ever let that happen to him; her concentration had been wrapped around him even tighter than around herself.
From the intent way he stared at her, brow furrowed, as they reappeared, for a moment she wondered if he’d been doing the same thing. The fool.
“Thank you for being so cooperative,” she told him, and he laughed again, softer.
Kenric began pushing to his feet, and despite the nausea and headache that’d pounded through her when she was only touching the cloak, she reached to help him in spite of herself.
She flinched when their hands touched, and he must’ve noticed, for he pulled away quick once he was steady as he could be.
He looked around at the castles towering over them, the arranged rocks that made up his front yard; they’d materialized on the path towards his door.
“You’re adorably stubborn,” he remarked as she turned to lead the way; she had no worries about him not following now. What else was he going to do? Walk away from her?
Sure enough, his footsteps followed behind as she opened his door--but they fell heavy and shuffling, and he was attempting to hide a grimace when she turned back to look at him. And then they stopped, and she peered over her shoulder to see him still at the bottom of the steps, staring at them.
It took a moment before she figured out the problem. “Oh, you’re ridiculous.”
She didn’t allow herself time to cringe away or hesitate as she alighted down the steps and linked her arm with his, taking some of his weight.
“Ora, you should go home,” he tried, but she wasn’t hearing it.
“You can hardly stand and you want me to leave you alone?” she hissed, jaw tight against the malaise flooding her. A cacophony of hurts and aches bruising inside her ribs, pressing foul heat against her heart, throbbing in her fingertips. She refused to let it win. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“Never, when it comes to you.” The words were like a sigh as he let them slip and leaned against her, giving in.
She decided not to try and decipher what that meant as she led him inside and was faced with where, exactly, to put him.
The stairs would be unwise with his trembling even though his bedroom was up there, so she turned instead towards his greeting room.
The plush cushions were where he’d meet guests and visitors from the population, if he wasn’t always so busy with such random errands--what on earth could he need so much quintessence for?
She deposited him on the cushions, guilty at the relief it was to no longer feel his symptoms as she pulled away to seek out remedies. She was almost entirely out of the room before realizing she’d forgotten an important step
“Have you taken anything already?” she asked, all business as the most ludicrous pang had her wanting to touch him again. To feel his flushed heat, even as dizziness washed through her.
Kenric took a moment to reply, and when she looked back over at him he’d hunched; his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose tight, brow crunched intensely and mouth a thin, pale line.
He started and straightened as he realized she was still there, still watching.
As though he’d been allowing himself a moment of weakness, one she wasn’t meant to see.
“Ah…no,” he admitted, and had the wisdom to look sheepish, so she didn’t say anything as she turned away again to allow him his reprieve.
He thanked her politely upon her return, leaning back against the couch and more composed as he downed the few elixirs she’d brought. Simple things, but hopefully enough to tide him over until she could convince him to see a physician.
But she knew trying now would be fruitless, and she didn’t want to waste his energy when he clearly had so little--he may have been able to fool the others, but he was most assuredly not fooling her.
She’d watched him too closely for too many centuries.
And she realized with a start as he cleared his throat that she was doing it again.
“I’ll make you some tea,” she offered, searching for the first possible thing she could think of to break the silence.
Kenric had taken off her cloak now that they were inside, and shook his head again. “Truly, Ora. I’m fine--you’ve done more than enough tonight. Don’t let me bother you any longer and go home--you need to rest.”
It took her a moment to respond, but only because she almost couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You’re telling me to rest?” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest.
He tried again. “I know you always want to help--”
“Then shut up and let me.”
“I--”
“No!” she cut him off. “When you hail me in the middle of the night for help, you don’t get to suddenly take that back! You should’ve known I’d realize you were sick when you decided to hail me--that one’s on you. Now I’m going to get you a cup of tea, because it’s cold out and your voice sounds horrendous, if you’re done complaining that I’m doing what you asked.”
“That’s not fair, Ora,” he protested, moving as if to get up.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “And don’t even think about moving.”
She fumed silently as she turned on her heel, that damned ringlet falling into her face again as she made for his kitchen. She was never looking for a fight with him, but he always managed to poke and prod and rile her up in the most mundane of ways.
She took a few calming breaths as she set the water to heat, and it was starting to work--until she heard footsteps from the greeting room.
Indignant again, she rounded the corner back to him, ready to scold him.
He beat her to it, pausing in the hall with a hand on the wall. “I’m only going for a shower--unless that’s not allowed?” He raised a brow as he said it, a challenging look of amusement on his pallid face.
It brought her up short, and she blanked for a moment. “Of--of course that’s allowed. I’ll just...I’ll be down here,” she finished inelegantly as those green-flecked eyes teased hers.
“If you insist--I do love your company,” he said, maddeningly, as he continued to the stairs; the elixirs must’ve been taking effect, for he seemed to manage without too much trouble.
And then she flushed as he disappeared from sight, realizing she’d been staring at him again.
The night must’ve been getting to her.
The momentum of her now long-forgotten project had pushed her through, and then the rush of Kenric’s hail and the chill of Siren Rock.
But now, warm and unhurried in Kenric’s home, lethargy began to tug at her.
Water turned on overhead, and she had to fight a tingling feeling along her skin as she realized he was, right that moment, undressed just a flight above her.
Shocked by the direction of her own thoughts, she shoved them away and returned to the kitchen, deciding she could use a cup of her own to reorient herself.
She’d just tentatively taken a first sip, hoping it’d cooled enough not to burn her tongue, when Kenric had walked back in.
Stilling, she watched the water drip from the spikes of freshly washed hair, his skin now soft and dewy instead of damp and sweaty--though his color had only marginally improved. Still too wan, still lined, bags under his eyes even more prominent under the kitchen’s crystal lights than the moon’s soft glow.
His clothes stuck to his skin and bunched slightly, and relief flooded her as she saw the simple house attire; he wasn’t planning on leaving again.
Unless he was going to try and get rid of her before he changed and went out…
“Like what you see?” he teased as he took the other cup of tea still beside her on the counter, the one she’d prepared for him.
Her face heated as she scowled, and she tucked that stray ringlet away again. “You really should lie down--you’re exhausted. I can see it in how you move.”
His smile lessened, and he sighed before he took a sip. “You truly won’t let this go, will you?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
He leaned against the counter beside her, and something flickered through the malaise electric in the air between them--too quick for her to pick it up, but enough to have her on alert.
Turning, he searched her face, and she may as well have been laid bare for how much she was certain he saw. “I mean, Oralie, that you don’t need to stay. You’ve done more than enough for me already--you always do. But it’s late, and you must be exhausted. I can manage myself--I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take the night off. And I’ll even talk to Elwin in the morning. I’ve disturbed you enough for one evening.”
His voice remained low, his eyes still on hers, making it difficult to understand what he was saying.
And then it registered. She straightened, stiff. “I see I’ve overimposed myself. My apologies for not realizing--I won’t keep you from…whatever it is you need to keep from me any longer.”
She set the half-empty mug down that she’d forgotten she’d been holding, and turned away, ignoring the ache in her throat.
“That’s not--” Kenric started, but she cut him off.
“Then what is it, Kenric?” The defeated words burned, dangerously close to everything they weren’t allowed to talk about as she ached. “You say one thing and mean a million other and expect me to be able to parse it out? You say you want my help, and then send me away at the first opportunity. I find you barely able to see on the ground, and you worry if I can handle four bottles. What do you want?”
Silence fell for a heavy moment in the wake of her outburst, swallowing heavily; she was still looking at the door.
“Oralie,” he said, and she knew he was asking her to turn.
She didn’t.
“Oralie,” a plea. “Look at me.”
She wouldn’t.
And then footsteps, and he walked in front of her frozen pose.
Despite herself, she looked to him as he stopped in front of her, his hands reaching.
He hesitated a moment away from her hands, the open skin, but then he moved. Gentle over the fabric, he placed them over her arms, holding his breath as she flinched.
The elixirs had dulled the worst of it, but he wouldn’t be better without time.
“I’m sorry,” he began, quiet, earnest. “I didn’t mean it that way--I never meant to upset you. You can feel I’m telling the truth.” He was. “You’re too good to me, Oralie, you know? You’re so kind, and genuine, and helpful. I don’t want to take advantage of that--I’ll be alright, so I don’t want you wasting your goodness on me when you could be putting it into so many better things.”
“You asked me for help,” she reminded him, voice just as quiet.
“I did.”
“Then why are you trying so hard to push me away?”
She’d fought with him on practically every account since he hailed--even though he’d hailed her. Knowing she was capable and still trying to protect her, knowing he was unwell and unable and yet still trying to do whatever he could alone.
It was enough mixed signals, and it was late enough she could hardly bear their usual dance.
Her next question ached against her tongue. “Do you want me to go? Truly.”
Kenric’s eyes, which had been searching her face this whole time, fell closed. Pained.
He drew a breath, water still dripping from his damp hair, and confessed.
“No.”
The truth of the words rang through her where he still held her. And with it, all her anger drained, leaving only desolate longing she didn’t want to think about.
His fingers tightened around her arms, and he repeated it with a shake in his voice. “No, I quite like it when you stay.”
She knew how close they were pushing to things they shouldn’t talk about, and yet still she reached a hand to rest on his outstretched arm, bracing for the feelings.
She let them wash past her, passing her by without picking them up.
She shouldn’t, couldn’t.
She wanted to.
“No one would blame you for wanting company in your condition.” Her voice felt too light as she created the lifeline, an offer, an impossibility. Something they shouldn’t allow themselves, but that she longed for. Desperately.
And he wanted it too, so much it stole her breath.
“Of course they wouldn’t,” he agreed, slowly, the two of them watching themselves walk over the edge of a cliff they’d never return from. “I might do something unwise, after all.”
She could see it happening, knew this was her last chance to stop this mistake.
And yet she said, “We wouldn’t want that, of course.”
All there was left to do was enjoy the fall, before they hit the ground.
His hands loosened around her, slipping slightly as he exhaled, the weight of what they hadn’t said settling. Permanent.
And as her heart pounded, she damned them further.
She reached a hand out, tracing her fingers along his cheek and furrowing her brow at the heat. “I meant it when I said you should rest.”
And it was as if they both decided to never say a word about what they’d chosen for this night, the indulgence never to be acknowledged again.
“You always know best,” he agreed, leaning into it. His eyes fell closed and his brow softened, and they stood a moment longer.
“Come,” she said, fingertips light as she gently pulled. “Let’s get you settled.”
He followed as she led him up the stairs, past the still-steamy bathroom and to the living quarters she’d only been in a few times before.
They both winced when she snapped the lights on, and she quickly dimmed them.
Kenric’s sheepish embarrassment washed through her as she took in the state of the place; he’d been trying and not quite succeeding for years at keeping his personal space and his work space separate, and scrolls cluttered a significant portion of every surface available.
The bedspread was rumpled and bunched, left from however he’d rolled out of bed that morning--and he quite possibly had rolled, given that even stronger than the embarrassment was the mounting exhaustion.
She had no clue how he’d been able to push himself through the day.
She paid no attention to the mess as she drew them in further--she tried her best not to look at anything, not wanting to know.
Kenric said nothing as she let go of him, moving to the windows and propping them slightly.
Chill air slipped over her skin, a welcome relief from the staleness the walls had captured.
Without her prompting, Kenric had laid down--atop the covers, but laying down nonetheless. The bed seemed to swallow everything but the fevered brightness of his eyes as he watched her, but even as she watched, his eyelids started to flutter.
For some reason, it made her aware of how lopsided and frazzled her quick bun had become, so she reached up to untangle the tie and set it loose.
Kenric made a small noise, almost a hum. He lifted his hand then, an invitation.
Her heart stopped in her chest, and something in her screamed at them to stop, reminded her of just how much they weren’t allowed to want this.
But she took it anyway, and lowered herself to sit on his bed.
He was nearly asleep already, the poor thing. But still he whispered, “Thank you, Ora.”
She didn’t ask what he was referring to.
And as his eyes closed, she could’ve sworn they flickered to her lips, and a wave of…something, pulsed where they still touched. Too abstract and encompassing even for her to translate.
So she didn’t let herself try, dreading when they’d hit the ground.
She just let his hand hold hers, and watched his breathing settle as he stopped fighting himself.
And in that moment, she’d never been further from him.
Sitting on his bed, watching the lines of his face smooth and feeling the peace settling through him where they touched. Alone together with cool night air filling her lungs, everything she could not have prickled in the back of her mind.
The pillow was wet from his hair, and she wanted--oh, how she wanted--to trace the edge of his jaw, the line of his registry pendant over the smooth skin of his neck, to press her hand to his chest and feel his heartbeat. Reminding her over and over with its rhythm that he was alive, alive, alive.
But she couldn’t.
She wouldn’t do that to him--or to herself. To the countless people who needed her kindness to challenge the others’ fear and haste.
So she didn’t move, only breathed.
And tried to absorb every moment of this foolish, beautiful indulgence before it was gone.
#kotlc#kotlc fanfic#kenralie#quil's quill#quil's queries#nonsie#kenric fathdon#councillor oralie#we're so fucking back#anyway. hopefully i caught all the funky tense things going on and it's all in past#but if not. oh well#i hope you enjoy them <3#they are. ridiculous#and incredibly bittersweet#hopefully i've got their characters mostly down#anyway#woe quil fic be upon ye
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i ended up getting a zero on one of my finals because i couldn't turn it in
i couldn't just submit it digitally, she said in an email we had to show up wednesday to turn it in by the end of class both physically and digitally, and if we only submit digitally we get an F
i couldn't go because i was dry heaving the entire night and was so exhausted and sick, and so i was damned if i do damned if i don't 🙃 my grade went from an A to a C because she gave the video presentation a zero too even though she said when we submit it our project doesn't have to be fully completed yet. it's on me for a few things, i was struggling with a lot of work from other classes so i didn't get the final project done in time, but unfortunate circumstances that i got really sick week of finals
i still have one assignment that needs to be graded so that'll make my grade go up a little bit but ill still have a C, that's still passing but i couldn't do anything about this, even if i submitted what i had digitally i was feeling too bad to turn it in physically so i would've failed the final either way 🙃🙃🙃
im pretty frustrated about it but all i have left for the semester is a presentation in my eng class today then im done
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Facts about my skylanders au's and fanfiction in general.
Skylander core leaders: while Spyro is the main leader of the skylanders due to master eon's death he does have help and assigned co- leaders based off of their experience,skill,leadership skills,likeability and the games they were introduced in. With jet vac being the leader of the gaints cores(the cores that would often help the gaints). Roller brawl the core leader of the swap force cores and last but certainly not least food fight for the trap team cores (he's literally the most recognizable core in all of trap team I feel like I don't even need to explain why.) These guys and lady help Spyro whenever he feels overwhelmed and it is common for them to help him whenever something happens like if he got sick or something. Jet vac has a strict and old fashion style of leading. Roller brawl is a ferice and determined type of leader and is known to waiting in people's closets if they are acting lazy and performing horribly while during practice or on missions. Food fight is mostly chilled back and is the least strict out of all the co-leaders and won't mind his fellow team mates missing out on a few days of training just as long as it doesn't form a pattern then he'll start to get annoyed but he's also the only co-leader with a dark form so most skylanders won't push him there. Some even forget or don't know that he's even a co-leader due to layed back attitude which could be viewed as a strength or disadvantage depending on who it is for example jet vac doesn't really care for his leading style but keeps that to himself unlike some people(chop chop) and him and roller brawl are pretty good with kids while jet vac isn't. The sky baron can't take a joke. However there is another type of leader with that being spry. Spry is the soon to be leader of the minis while it was originally pet vac the other minis well....they thought he was boring.
2. Viruses and zombification: yes you heard me right. However it takes a lot for a skylander to become zombiefied as even attempts in the past to infect one always failed due to their magical gens however those were attempts to make it permanent a few villains manged to turn a few into zombies but it never last long. By next week those said skylanders are back to normal with no brain craving tendencies. Now for viruses. Skylanders are able to get sick just like any regular being but depending on the species the chances or either higher or lower but something that all skylanders share is that they can never die from an illness unless they were born with it before becoming a skylander then it's just going to happen. Also with zombie skylanders they still have a sense of consciousness unlike most creatures infected they are just in a trance like state and are acting up on their urges however legends say if one who was close to that specific skylander tries hard enough they could have that skylander fight back against it and also while zombiefied they can NOT go into their toy forms and also are invincible must like the zombots from that sonic the hedgehog comic series they feel NOTHING and even if you hit them in the head it will have no effect and if a limb falls off they will just pick that limb up and re-attach it with no problem and once they skylander turns back to normal they will be fine with no signs of being undead only with a slight memory lost and a headache. Now back to viruses and other illnesses. Now depending on the species that skylander is they could have special illness like say a dragon couldn't have like for example a plant based skylander tree rex could get overgrowniteces while a crocgater can't.
3. Skylanders and how they age: skylanders generally don't show or look their age unless they are undead that is as it seems that after they reach twenty years old they stop showing signs of aging however that doesn't mean that they don't have a specific age. They just look youthful and young. The best way to tell a skylander's age is by their attitude towards things or just asking them however most undead skylanders like hex may have forgotten their age and is lost to time. The minis will age up eventually and look like their parents however depending of species the time that will take may be different.
4.Skylanders and the relationships to each other. Skylanders have a special bond with one another that could even be described as unnatural or mystical. They loyalty between skylanders are unweaving most of the time and rarely betray one another however that doesn't mean they don't get into fights or that everyone is close to each other as some "special" rotten eggs of the bunch are just jerks to some skylanders like chop chop is to food fight however that doesn't necessarily mean they hate each other(at least not in food fight's case that is) as they share respect for each other still. However chop chop is a bit different due to his views of being a hero and as to the werewolf au he views food fight as threat but food fight doesn't view him as that and is honestly hurt by what chop chop is doing even though they have their disagreements food fight would never go out of his way to hurt chop chop at least not willingly anyway and he thought chop chop at least felt the same way. All skylanders know each other and think of each other as family due to most of them being orphans themselves and look out for each other even when the going gets tough and when chaos and discord sews itself into existence they will standby each other til the very end.
5.Food fight and boomers hatred towards trolls: ah yes trolls aren't they just "lovely" totally not non caring towards the environment around them types of creatures. (That was sarcasm by the way). Trolls for years and even centres been knowing for their lack of compassion towards the environment often heavily polluting forest and oceans and testing on animals and plants as well. They go out of their way to ruin the environment often resulting in skylanders being created due to it. Tree rex was just simply chilling as a regular tree literally millions of years ago until the trolls polluted the erea so much that he became seintint and you know the rest. Boomer who is a troll himself was raised in a regular troll village learning trollish(the trolls language), learning how to make bombs and how to take out skylanders. Boomer was however different. Don't get me wrong he loves to blow up stuff but he didn't have a heart of evil. He soon joined the skylanders and to this very day is disgusted by the trolls behavior. Food fight is quite literally a victim of food testing as the trolls were polluting the ground with freaking gun powder or if we're talking about the WW au was created to poison the skylanders food source and to be evil however both versions of him share one thing. The horrors of plant and animal testing. While roaming his lab still as a young ardichoke while either escaping or fighting them depending on if it's the WW version of him and witnessed horrible treatment towards animals as the trolls were trying to turn them into weapons as well which as you probably could predict it made him VERY angry. Furious even which is rare for him to feel that way.he set the animals free and after finding out what the trolls has done to the environment over the years it only made him more angry. Making him have an extreme hatred towards them as even when he just sees one his first instinct is to attack them without question which normally wasn't a problem until the mirror of mystery that is as soon as he seen the trolls his instincts kicked into gear and he almost attacked the entire village which was peaceful due to his past experiences which turned into a form of PTSD for him. If it wasn't for dija vu he would of destroyed the whole village.
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━━ 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐢
Let me tell you the story of one of our unfortunate residents who seems to be a DAYCARE WORKER on the island. Fate has assigned this individual guidance from THE EMPRESS card. But they needn’t worry, their secrets are safe with me.
DOB: august 11th, 1996
DEFINING TRAITS: dishonest, selfish, petty, determined, persistent, headstrong
RESEMBLES: (g)i-dle cho miyeon
YOU ARE PRESENTED WITH A PRISTINE DECK OF TAROT CARDS. TAKE YOUR PICK.
Choose for me.
Miri has places to be. Unwilling to wait just a moment longer than necessary, as usual. She doesn’t have time to appease others with small acts of nonsense. That’s all she can think about as she stares at the deck of pristine cards that are presented to her. She scoffs, turning up her nose as she pushes the cards back towards the stranger who held them out to her. “Sorry. I really don’t believe in that kind of stuff. And I certainly won’t be paying anything to hear you spew some general nonsense that could apply to anyone. Save it for someone gullible who cares.”
THE CARD FLUTTERS TO YOUR FEET. WHO WERE YOU BEFORE THIS STORY BEGAN?
Miri is young when she first leaves home. Fifteen, to be exact, when she’s carted away from the small town she’s known her entire life to live with an aunt that she’s never met before. Her parents decided that it would be more beneficial for her to have an education in a large city. Naturally, Seoul was the best choice. Miri resented them for that. She had been perfectly happy where she was for the first 15 years of her life and there was no need to go changing things that were already good.
The anger at her parents pushes her away from them and she spends the next seven years pretending that her family simply does not exist. If they wanted her away from them that much, then Miri wanted to ensure that they got exactly that. Instead, she spends her time studying.
She’s young. Pretty. Smart. Carefree. There is nothing more that Miri could want in her life. Except, maybe for her parents to welcome her home. But, she would never tell them that. She had to make a point to show them that they made the wrong choice. So Miri vowed to never tell them just how much she missed them.
It doesn’t take much for Miri to get accepted to university. Things like that usually came easy for her. And, like usual, she breezed through the program. Her plan was to teach. She had always loved the idea of being one of the people who was lucky enough to shape small minds.
But, somewhere along the way, things started to fall apart. At first, her classmates thought she was just missing a few days because she was ill. A few days turned into weeks. Miri never returned to her classes. Her friends have still never heard from her. Months roll by and one cold winter day in 2018, out of the blue, she appears on her parents doorstep. They’re distraught. They try to talk sense into their daughter. They want her to stay.
No matter how much they beg, the visit lasts a mere hour. She leaves them once again, promising that she will never be back. It was that very day that she made her way to Gwasuwon, unsure what she was looking for but certain that she would never be turning back.
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I had an assignment for abnormal psych due today that included listening to a song embedded into the online quiz, with no lyrics available. We were meant to analyze the song and if it accurately reflected what we learned about a specific mental illness this past week.
But as someone with really bad auditory processing issues and autism that makes me pretty easily overstimulated especially if im already feeling bad, I had to turn it off after like 30 seconds into the song.
Instead of answering the question, I said (paraphrasing): "I can't answer this question. The instrumentals are too overwhelming and I can't focus on the lyrics, and when I tried, I almost had a shutdown because the song was too overstimulating. Please consider attaching lyrics to these song-based questions for students with auditory processing issues, autism, hearing problems, etc. It's unfair that some students may get a zero on questions like these because they are incapable of listening to the material."
And I feel so damn anxious that I was too aggressive or mean about it. But like, this isn't the first time we've had a song-based question like this (the last ones did have lyrics in the video). And I feel like she's gonna say "not an excuse, you should just look up the lyrics if you need them". But the thing is, I shouldn't HAVE to. You shouldn't expect your disabled and neurodivergent students to do extra work in order to even be aware of the question's subject matter just because you can't be asked to add in a link to the lyrics or find something with subtitles.
She's done this in a class I had with her years ago with TedTalks (she had us watch them in class and fill out a worksheet and didn't put subtitles on), and now she gives us a link to the transcript for those, which is very helpful. But doing stuff like this, especially in a song with extremely overwhelming instrumentals, is just....it doesn't feel right.
Idk I feel like she's gonna be mad and make me feel bad about it. Should I feel bad about it? I feel like it was mean or aggressive, idk.
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last first day of school (omg)
Today i started year twelve, which means that this was my last first day of school ever.
I thought I would be a lot sadder about this than i actually am; whenever this type of thing happens i turn into a nervous wreck and get really upset after its finished, (when my history teacher left the school a year ago I bawled my eyes out on his last day, for example.), because the fact that it's literally never going to happen again is an idea i hate trying to comprehend. I get consumed by this weird sense of loss when something ends, kind of like grief, but more like a physical sensation, a vague nauseating feeling that doesn't go away for at least three days.
I think the reason i'm not super sad about it is because I haven't quite sat down to think about it yet... actually, as i'm writing about this I can feel reality sinking in. I hope the reality doesn't set in when I need to study for a SAC, or during a SAC, god forbid.
But otherwise, school was fun! I love my friends and I love to learn, so I'm optimistic for the year ahead! That being said, it was the first day, and our year-level coordinator messed up the locker assignments (She doubled up a bunch of lockers.) but the first day back is always busy for teachers so i hold no ill will, despite the fact that my locker was one that was doubled up; I was, unfortunately, exiled to the lockers on the other side of the room, but it's okay, because so was one of my friends, and the boy i tried to convince myself i had a crush on last year to cope with my own internalized homophobia.
Since we're in year twelve now, we get to 'live' in the year twelve room at school, and it has a microwave, kettle, and sink, which is cool. It also means we get to leave early if we have a free period in the afternoon, and since I had one, i got to!
I went for a walk after school to preemptively stop myself from being sad, and because dndads updated and I wanted to listen to last week's teen talk and the new episode at the same time. It was one of the long walks where I walk past half of my friends houses and then follow the train line for five kilometers, so I had plenty of time to both fight off the overwhelming sense of melancholy that comes with getting older, and listen to the new dndads episode :).
Actually, i'm very happy that i'm getting older because i'm starting to love being alive.
Some of the day's realisations:
I love the Saturday night live soundtrack, i should watch the movie.
I need to get better at talking to people I don't know very well.
I need to study for politics more than I did last year.
I'm very excited to see my best friend tomorrow, because she starts a day after I did and i missed her :)
Overall, it was a pretty good day! I hope the next one is even better :).
-honey, <3
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Spoilers for Episode 6: Two by Two under the read-more.
The end of the last episode revealed that Trent's "mission" involved hiding the fact that William Trust and his wife have been hidden in their own secret cryo-pod room. Lieutenant Lane is currently still the only person who knows about this, but this episode includes a "I'm glad we don't have secrets" talk with Garnet and Lane talking to Cat about whether a secret can cause physical side effects from the stress. So, you know, he'll probably eventually not keep this a secret, but it doesn't get revealed yet.
Despite the talk with Cat revealing how many people want William Trust dead and Lane watching that video on his tablet [William and his wife are supposed to be going on Ark Five], I'm just not feeling this whole area of the plot. I mean, there's a slight chance that it doesn't seem pressing compared to the Issue Of The Week, but I also feel like I'm torn between "I don't actually know enough about this guy to understand all the death wishes" and "he's like an archetype of Bezos/Musk/Rich Guy Escaping Dying Planet so we're not supposed to do more than dislike him". I must admit that I am a bit uneasy about the room with samples of animal DNA, which is where Lane said the episode's title "two by two" [reference to Noah's ark].
[I am not saying that there's too many Xtian pings and I don't like William Trust being some sort of "let's repopulate the new earth" potential figure, but like, I'm not not saying that. I dunno. After an earlier comment about how the crew wasn't supposed to bring on genetic relatives, I'm just not confident that this won't turn in a weird cult of personality "let me decide who you procreate with" angle. Proto-cult side-eyeing if you will.]
Anyway, yeah, the Issue Of The Week is needing more uranium for fuel. We've jumped forward "3.2 Earth Months" and we're just about out of fuel, so we have to slingshot around a star [to fuel solar sails] and see if a nearby planet has it. I feel like this perhaps should be of utmost importance, but as an audience member, I think we've had one too many life-or-death situations to really feel panicked. It's like there's no array of choices with "this might suck, but we won't die" as a possible outcome. There was a bit of a twist that the source of the uranium - and the spacesuit destroying element - was not the planet itself, but another Ark ship on the other side of the planet. (I think it's Ark Three? That's absolutely going to be the focus of the next episode, so I'm not worried about going into detail on that.)
There's this... I'm not sure how to describe it, but the writers don't seem to let very many topics get spread out. Dr Kabir made all of that fuss about assuming something's wrong with Lieutenant Brice in the last episode, and now, he's suddenly fainting. Eva sort of uses keeping this a secret as blackmail, and of course, Brice loses consciousness at the worst possible moment in the shuttle. (Almost like we had to prove that Eva was correct to be worried about whether his Undisclosed Mystery Illness could jeopardize safety.) He winds up disclosing that he has Klamkin's disease, which is going to be fatal. The bouts of losing consciousness don't equate to severity, but the only sure thing is that he will eventually die of this disease [which is supposed to explain his willingness to volunteer for every "this might kill someone" assignment].
[Klamkin's. Clemkin's, with the accent... Should there be an apostrophe? Eh... Klamkin's is sort of what it sounds like he said; I think it's supposed to be a fictional ailment, although I did find out there's a Klatskin's tumor. The symptoms are separate enough that I'm pretty sure it's coincidental. Brice attributed this disease to stuff that William Trust put into the troposphere; I assume it was some sort of "alter the weather to save Earth" plan, but we didn't get a ton of details on that. Eva knew all about Klamkin's, so there wasn't an in-depth explanation for the audience.]
Also in this episode: Felix finally intervenes on Dr Kabir's amphetamine usage, and she's forced to start withdrawals and the whole getting clean process. I was probably supposed to be paying more attention to the "admitting there's a problem" and Dr Kabir making such progress aspect, but I'm mostly sidetracked by other questions. I'm only passingly familiar with amphetamines being used to treat ADHD and narcolepsy, so if there was all that weird ableism earlier, who was expected to be on the ship that even needed this type of medication? Is there some sort of drug making machine on Ark One, or did Dr Kabir just go through a three month supply of drugs of however many months they need to stretch?
More broadly speaking: Why isn't there some sort of medical protocol for treating addiction, or were the higher ups for this mission not expecting addiction to make out into space? The scene with Garnet and Lane involves her revealing the former Commander's hidden bottle of alcohol, and with how humanity as a whole is, I'm surprised that no one's managed to make their own out of something on board already. Granted, it's taken this long for Angus to have a "crop" (it looked like one carrot per person) from the biodome in the storage unit, but I don't have a lot of optimism that alcohol will not come into play in the future. (These people are going to go off to a new planet and really never figure out a way to make some sort of alcohol?)
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ughhhhhh i need. to do so much more make up work. this is what i get for needing meds that made me sick for a week. i think all the work i missed in those days should simply be excused for me. i wasn't here. and asking for clarification about assignments is SO SCARY. and turning in things that were due like, october 14th is so embarrassing and no one understands this. pretty sure my mother thinks i'm insane but she didn't even comment on me saying that the idea of that was embarrassing to me. like i KNOW i was sick. i KNOW most teachers are happy when kids turn in any late work. but i've been back like a week and a half or more i SHOULD have this done already, although i know any amount of workload above "low" is immediately overwhelming to me. don't care. my standards are all or nothing. the thought of putting actual effort into an assignment and getting a bad grade is comparable to death. a fate worse than dying, you could say. i just hhhhh i don't want these teachers to be like, "why is this so half-done? you've had like 4 days to complete this when your classmates only had 1-2 days." and what am i supposed to say?? "sorry. mental illness and all." they don't accept that answer. albeit i've never tried. but if they then accuse me of using my adhd or anxiety as an excuse i would actually have to commit several crimes.
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I’m so happy I got this Monday off. I really needed it. Last Friday I was the only one in the office and I had 2 major tasks to fill in for the others who couldn’t be there because of Covid. We were suppose to get off at early but I ended up leaving 40 mins after closing because those tasks weren’t complete. One of my co workers, who was at home dealing with Covid, was so sorry and kept checking in to see if I made it out of the office on time. I was a bit sloppy but tried to label where I left off properly.
But yeah...my first week completed. It was a whirlwind of information and on my first two days I got caught up in learning that I took lunch late. It was also then when I found out I was a SALARY EMPLOYEE. This is my first salary position...ever. Finally made it here after 33 years. Whew. I saw my first paycheck stub and they actually counted the days since I accepted the job offer as my start date, even though I didn’t start until a week later. I’m not sure if that’s standard but I was grateful either way.
I have my own desk, all my own equipment and my own extension number with my name that lights up on the phone. I feel like I’m being challenged, mentally stimulated and encouraged. Dare I say I’m actually enjoying this? I’m having a little bit of fun at work?!
I also get to wear all my professional clothes I spent over $800 on over 5 years ago that have been sitting in my closet all this time. I’m still on the fence if I want to go to school for a marketing degree or just suck it up and go to law school but we’ll see. I mean...I can always do both. Not at the same time...but..who knows. I’m pretty good at both and they’ll work well together.
I wrote down my goals for the new month of June. I have a game release later this month so I want to get everything knocked out by then. I have to get my passport, become a notary, pass all my tests and assignments, lose 5 lbs and make over $500 on my side business. There are also 2 family birthdays this year. Both of them are right after Father’s day so it will be a tight month. I’m not going to be a big spender because my credit card bill this month is out of this world but I can at least set some money aside to visit them.
So let me tell you why my cc bill is so freakin high. This past weekend I went zip lining! At night! Under the stars! It was so much fun and probably the scariest thing I’ve done in years. It was a late Mother’s Day gift for my mom, and an early Father’s Day gift for my dad. They both have done it before on their various vacations but it was a first for me and Chu. The whole trip was expensive and not something I’d jump to do again if I have to foot the bill for that many people but man it was crazy. Seeing all the redwoods up close like that, taking the idyllic drive through wine country to reach the weird little art town that hosted the camp was very fun.
I couldn’t have my phone on me for obvious reasons but if I go back I’ll do it during the day so I can have the goPro option. I want to have more adventures like this. After my illness and being stuck in the house for those 2 years I’m ready to explore again. I haven’t had a major flare up in some time and I keep my meds on me just in case. I have a better eating schedule and have been leaning more toward fresh fruit, raw veggies and no process foods. I could be doing a lot better on those fronts but I have a good habits now.
The sucky thing is that I took a break from the gym for no apparent reason. I’ve been kinda beating myself up about it this whole time but a few days off turned into a week and then two...and now three. I told myself its pretty normal, despite going for 5 days a week since the beginning of this year it’s still not fun to me. Its still very much a chore and I’ve been trying to wiggle back to where I was. First it was when Chu got home because I stopped a week before his flight was due back. Then I took a week off to cuddle, bond and love on him. Then I got the job...and I said I’d need a week to just settle into my role and new daily schedule before I throw in my hour workout on top of that. So here we are. Here I am. Sitting on the couch on a Monday evening, telling myself that its a holiday so I should relax and that the REAL week starts tomorrow...after work, of course. I thought the morning would be more my speed because I’ve been waking up around 5:30-6am but Chu does PT in the morning and would rather go after dinner. So I said okay.
I can’t get a in person coach until after Dec, which is when this contract is up. I don’t think I’ll renew. I want a bigger gym and access to a pool. Problem is this gym is super close to my house. Less than 5 mins away actually. I don’t want to make it harder on myself but it’s just not spacious enough. Covid is still a thing and even though I wear my mask, even there, I would still like not to be snugged in there with the after 5pm crowd.
I have time, and taking a break is fine. I really gotta appreciate the journey.
Sp yeah. Welcome June. I can’t wait to smash through you so I can enjoy Fire Emblem: Three Hopes in peace.
#personal#dear diary#journal#pbthoughts#ziplining#june#june goals#2022#gamer girl#career#I'm not editing this#adventure
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