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aemondsbeloved · 1 year

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I Would Die For You In Secret [Part 2]

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x targaryen!reader, various characters x reader (platonic)

summary: you have avoided Jace ever since the night you had dinner with your family, but you cannot avoid him forever. if you would not go to him and Jace would not go to you, your family would have to fix things in their own way (5.4k)

warning: angst with a happy ending, incest (again reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter and Jace’s sister), self loathing, miscommunication.

notes: I added some tags for other pairing besides Aemond and the reader because the reader interacts with different characters other than Aemond, but the only romantic pairing is between Aemond and the reader.

[Part 1]

“I thought I might find you here.”

Your fingers gripped the page of your book rather harshly at the voice of your cousin. From your seat in the vacant library, you had thought you had found a piece of solitude, but you were wrong.

“Rhaena” you greeted her, forcing a smile. The look on her face let you know she saw through you. It was not that you did not want to see your family, especially your cousins whom you held dearly, but since the evening Jacaerys had put out your secret, you had hid away.

She walked towards you like she did not wish to startle you. “Your brother has been looking for you. Your presence has been missed, cousin.”

You gulped, turning your head back to your book, not able to look at her. You knew her to mean Lucerys. Even the thought of your sweet little brother could not bring a smile to your face.

“It is best if I spend my time by myself now, Rhaena.”

You could see the frown on her face across from you. She moved to you, grabbing your wrist in a pleading way. “It has been well over a week since you have now hidden yourself away. Please, do not prolong this. Jace—”

“Hates my existence. And as he had not sought me out once it is clear he finds my solitude agreeable.”

“That is not true.” She sounded desperate, wanting to make better of whatever this is. “Your brother loves you as do we all. Please, Baela will talk to him and make him see reason.”

Her declaration for love of you made your heart swell. Rhaena had been a sister to you but Baela’s words to Jace would not fix this.

You went back to your book pretending to read. “She should not trouble herself. Some things cannot be mended.”

After a few moments she had left quietly, not knowing what to say to you. You embraced the solitude again. If it were not for your duties you would never leave these walls.

It had been a few days since Rhaena’s attempt to console you and make you see how she felt. But the truth of the matter was she was the only one to see you.

You had not been as close to Baela as she had grown up as a woman in Driftmark with her grandmother Princess Rhaenys and while she might have been a friend, she had no reason to try to make Jace see your side of this, whatever that meant.

You thanked the Gods silently that Baela and Rhaena’s father, your uncle Daemon, had not visited you. Lucerys might have approved of Daemon and his strong nature but Jace had held him at arm’s length no matter how much he respected him. You avoided him when you could. Though he was not cruel to your family you knew him to be severe. You did not want him to lay into you the shame of your actions, befriending and loving the person who had called your brothers bastards.

You could do without Daemon and while you yearned for your mother to hold you, to tell you to was alright, you knew no such thing was true. If there was someone you had to visit you, it might as well have been your younger brother.

“What do I have to do for you to join us for dinner tonight?”

From the table where you sat in your rooms, you looked up, seeing Lucerys. It had been several days since you saw Rhaena and you had begun to enjoy your new routine. You would go to the library and read, occasionally Aemond would join you when his duties allowed it, and you would spend much time with Helaena, all the while astutely avoiding your family.

You blinked as he stood in the entrance of your rooms. “I enjoy eating in my room now.”

It was a lie he knew as well as you. “It is not the same without you.”

You frowned. “It is only dinner. We will not be together always Lucerys, it is alright.”

He shook his head, deciding on a new tactic. “Jace misses you too. If you only came to dinner tonight everything will be as good as new.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” He sounded nearly deseperate and despite how he had been growing as of late you forgot Luke was a boy, not a growing man like Jace was. “It does not matter. Jace will see it as I do, I promise.”

You smiled at his naivety. Your brother had been given to gift of seeing the best in others, no matter how wrong he could be. But you stalled at his words. “What does not matter?” You asked him in a gentle way, the way an older sister would.

He shuffled, looking anxious as though he did not want to say it. His voice was quieter this time he spoke. “You and Prince Aemond. Mother told us to try and heal things when we came here, didn’t she? Jace only is upset because he thinks you betrayed him. You know how he is. He is just too stubborn to come to you but he knows Y/N.”

He knows what? You wanted to ask him but were not sure you wanted the answer. Instead, you looked at your brother with some surprise. “When did you get so astute and wise, brother?”

He smiled, almost looking proud at the compliment. “You are not going to come for dinner, are you?”

You shook your head and he smiled again, a more sorrowful one and left you. Throughout the evening, even when the servants had taken your plates and cutlery away from dinner, you could only think of how your brother who had the largest tensions from Aemond had not cared of the events that had transpired.

The hope it gave you was snuffed out. Perhaps your mother would not hate you but if Jace was angry, then what could be Daemon’s reaction? You did not want to think on it.

The next day was a bright and sunny one. Your dress was light for the warm weather and you were sitting in the Gods Wood, Helaena’s twins enjoying the sun as much as you and their mother did.

“Has your brother spoken to you?”

Her voice was light and airy, not unlike the summer breeze. Helaena was very observant you had learned and was as bright as Aemond in her own way. You enjoyed her company and did not mind that she saw you like an open book because of her kind nature.

“Lucerys came to see me yesterday. Jace avoids me. I have not seen his face in nearly two weeks.”

The sorrow and regret in your voice had Helaena frowning. “What if you went to him?”

You pursed your lips and your fingers combed through the grass by your side, trying to ground yourself. A contemplative silence followed. “I would not know what to say.”

“Be honest with him.”

“I was honest with him. He made it clear how he hates me.”

She tilted her head, half watching her son and daughter chase a bee and giggling near you both. “He said he hated you?”

“No,” you started. “He said I should be ashamed.”

“Why?” She asked just as airly as before.

You grew frustrated, not wanting to admit the obvious. Her name came out in a whine, making you sound like a child. “Helaena.”

She said nothing and you sighed. “He found out that I had formed a friendship with your brother.”

“Aegon?” She asked and even you could tell it was a jest, rolling your eyes so harshly she chuckled.

“I told him that I had grown affections for Aemond.”

It was like this was not a matter that surprised her and she nodded her head. “And you told him this outright?”

Your frowned. “Well, not exactly.”

She hummed, the sound very light as did everything she said. “Prince Jacaerys seems to value honesty. You told him a truth but disguised it, perhaps that is what has made him so cross.”

“If I told him I loved Aemond outright he would have gone mad.” You scoffed, not realizing what you admitted.

When you did you turned to look at her and were surprised at how joyful she seemed. “Why are you so happy?” You asked wearily.

“You love Aemond.” The joy was radiating off of her.

You could not say a word at that. How could you deny it?

“Nothing could be more wonderful in this moment.” Helaena continued.

“Why?” You were curious. Your brother still would not come near you, so how could anything be well enough? Helaena’s happiness had you grasping for an explanation.

Jaehaera had come to hand her mother a fresh picked flower to which Helaena smiled dotingly at before saying nonchalantly, “Summer’s love will mend the bones broken long ago.”

Your furrowed your eyebrows. Helaena had on occasion said things like this, wise in their tone but unknown to your ears. You did not say anything in turn. She would not be able to tell you what she meant, you knew from experience.

As you went on your third week with company only with Helaena and occasionally Rhaena or Lucerys, the latter two trying to urge you to talk to Jace, you had almost grown accustomed to being by yourself. If it was not for the peace that came with Helaena’s company and the joy that came from meeting with Aemond in secret still, you would have felt truly alone.

Just the previous night you had met Aemond in the gardens late at night after many were in bed. He had given you a rose from the garden, a gesture so gentle and kind you had grown flustered. Holding the rose the entire way back to your own rooms, you had laid the flower there on your dresser, not wanting to throw it away ever even if that would be impossible, much like avoiding your entire family.

It was early morning and you had went to the library yet again, putting a book back that you had finished reading. You would meet Aemond there later during the time he did not need to train and would read with him, mostly in silence and occasional glances and soft smiles shared between you both.

Maybe it was the promise of seeing him later on that had you humming a happy tune, almost allowing you to forget your woes in the weeks since Jace had voiced his distaste for you. It was surely why you did not notice the familiar figure in front of your hearth.

“Mother.” Your humming had ceased and you had frozen immediately, your voice a gasp.

When she looked at you, you were not sure what to expect. Anger? Disappointment?

Would she forsake you too?

Her eyes went to the rose near you on the dressed then looked back at you. “How long are you going to avoid Jacaerys?”

Her voice was not unkind, it never was. But despite any gentleness the question cut through you. “I am doing him a favor.”

She looked at you with some sympathy, like she was trying to understand. “How is secluding yourself from your family helping?”

There may have been an accusation there, hidden underneath. “No one wants to see me. Not after—” You cut yourself off, your lips in a tight line and you could not even look at your own mother.

She sighed and you wondered if you looked at her would you have seen her shake her head. “Come here,” she held your arms and embraced you. For a time you felt like a little girl again and while there was no loud sobs, a single tear trailed down your cheek. “Everyone misses you. Our dinners are not the same, you know.”

She pulled back looking at you and this time you could not look away nor could you wipe the tears. “I know your brother hurt you but things cannot go on as they are. How can this family be whole again if our side of the family cannot dine together?”

Another tear blinked down your cheek and this time your mother wiped it away, a sad smile on her face. “Go to him, Y/N. He is so stubborn I do not think he can will himself to go to you.”

She had let you go and looked past your shoulder and then gazed at you once more. “Should I ask who gave you the rose?”

You bit your lip at the tone you might have called teasing. Shaking your head she laughed, like this had pleased her. “Though they are my kin I do not know my brothers enough to call them that. I am grateful that one of my father’s sons is not what he seems to be, at least.” She rubbed your cheek affectionately and turned to go, leaving you in your rooms alone.

After that day you had thought of going to Jace. If your mother did not hate you for loving Aemond, then would he still hate you? But you were not as brave as a dragon should be and could not go to him, not even when Lucerys and Rhaena told you where he would be.

You had been reading the same page in Helaena’s rooms for the better part of ten minutes, to the notice of those around you. It was one of the days Aemond had joined you both, much to your pleasure as well as his niece and nephew who he joined on the floor.

Helaena sat across from you, happily embroidering some bug you could not identify and was clearly adept at ignoring you both if need be.

“Something troubles you.”

Aemond’s statement had you look up from the page you were reading. Him sitting in his black leathers still from training was a stark contrast to his small nephew and niece, full of color and bundling of joy. It made you smile easily. “Why would you think that?”

“Your mind is otherwise occupied, unless you mean to tell me that you have lost your capability to read?”

When you rolled your eyes it was clearly with affection thanks to the smile on your lips, closing your book with finality. Shifting in your seat you turned to face him. “Yes, Aemond, my mind is occupied. It is nothing, do not worry.”

“If you plan to lie to me, do me the favour of being clever about it.”

You scoffed then, shaking your head in some disbelief. “It is nothing.”

“You are thinking about your brother.”

A sigh was the only answer he received. It did not deter him.

“If you are thinking about him this often you should talk to him.”

You thought of a million excuses and things to say. “It is not so simple, no matter what everyone seems to believe.”

Your voice had come out quieter, less stubborn and defensive. His now was of a softer tone. “I know.” He said like he understood. Only he did.

“I… I cannot. There is nothing to say to him that I have not.” It might have been a lie but what were you to tell Jace, that you were sorry? You were not sure you were if that meant apologizing for finding a friend and love in Aemond. “I would have told him. I had not even told you when he asked. How could I have told him?”

Aemond did not need it explained, he only nodded and the look he gave you, almost like the devotion you sometimes glimpsed on Daemon as he looked at your mother, had you calming down.

“Everything will be alright.” It was a promise and you did not know how it could be true. Even if this was his way of placating you, you would take it.

It was well into the third week, truly nearly a month, that you had been avoiding everyone in your family. Your mother had not visited you again, clearly waiting for you to go to Jace, while Lucerys and Rhaena only occasionally came to you now.

You had come to realize that no one would look for you in the Sept. It was a true place of solitude and while you were not as devout as some like the Queen, prayer was a way to speak to those who no longer could guide you.

This was why as you knelt in front of the candles you had lit you thought of Laenor, the man you called father and had sat you on his lap as a little girl, telling you the histories of your family. You even thought of Ser Harwin, the man who gave you and your brothers your looks and had died when you were very young. You could still recall his strong arms picking you up with ease very young and spinning you around your mothers apartments while you made giddy laughter.

You wondered what they would have you do now. Maybe Ser Harwin would have been braver and gone to Jace already but what of Laenor? You thought he might have told you the same your mother had alluded to. Jace loved you and could not hate you forever.

You cherished your brother and your affections for Aemond only grew by the day. Was it so terrible to want both the forgiveness of your brother and to openly share your affections with Aemond? One did not seem to be able to exist without forfeiting the other.

The delicate steps broke your thoughts and had you turning around only to see Queen Alicent in her lavish green dress and hair clipped back, the picture of elegance and with a surprisingly kind expression directed towards you.

You went to get up and curtsey but she only shook your head. As she did not want you to address her formally, something that perplexed you, you were frozen unsure how to move on.

She glanced around the Sept and looked back at you with unexpected warmth. Walking to you, she stood besides you at the altar of the Sept. “I was a young girl when my mother died. I would come to the Sept and pray.” You looked up at her and she smiled. “I did not care that much for praying, I must admit. But it was a way to be with her, I found. And in the quiet of the Sept no one would bother me.”

An expression of recognition crossed your face again. “I have grown appreciative of the solace I can find here.”

She hummed, a light and agreeable sound, but you found yourself smiling as you looked down, thinking of Aemond and the same sound he made. You wondered if it was his mother he got this from.

In a moment just as quick you forced the smile away and looked back up at her, hoping she had not noticed. You doubted the Queen would appreciate any affections you held for Aemond, the kindness she gave you or not. You could still remember the accusation of you siblings illegitimacy.

“At least this way I can be with my father, if only for a short time.”

She looked at you with recognition, knowing you might have meant your true father, Ser Harwin, that marked you as a bastard or the man who raised you, Ser Laenor. You looked back at her with meaning. It could have been Laenor. It could have been Harwin. It did not matter. You prayed to them both.

She did not look at you with hatred at the silent admission. Alicent only looked at you with thought.

“Helaena mentioned that you have seemed… down so to speak. Our matters in this family are tender but your mother and I are of the mind it may yet be fixed. If something has happened, you may come to me if you need to.”

Her words were motherly and you looked at her with gratitude. You had come to know her younger son personally but even Helaena’s bugs would have known the reputation Aegon held. The worry in her eyes made you think it was her elder son she feared had done something.

“You need not worry, your Grace. It is only my brothers who have made me downcast as of late. It is nothing you should worry about.”

The look on her face urged you to continue and you turned back to the alter of the Sept, wishing to pray more, if only to get more solitude.

“Having brothers can be difficult. They devote themselves to protecting you but forget swords are not the only weapons, their words impacting more blows than a sword could ever do. They do not know they are being cruel but are anyways.”

To your shock, she had joined you as she knelt at the altar and rubbed your arm gently, as though she understood. She folded by own hands and faced the altar like you were and was quiet.

Nothing more could be said. You both knew the truth that sometimes men were needlessly cruel when pride was injured.

Jace was not cruel in nature but Aegon was.

On your way to Helaena’s chambers to read with her in the quiet as she embroidered, you had run into the last person you wished to see.

“Niece,” Aegon strided up besides you, his voice sickeningly sweet.

You did not hide the roll of your eyes, already annoyed with him. Your growing adoration of Helaena from the past few months only made you reproach her brother-husband more. Someone as sweet and good natured as Helaena should not be landed with someone as vulgar and malicious as Aegon.

You quickened your pace and remained silent, treating him like air, but that did not discourage him.

“I had heard a strange rumor.”

Silence.

“You and your brothers are attached to the hip, though it seems my dear nephew cannot stand the sight of you.”

You stopped, turning to him at once, your face stony and dangerous. He only gleamed with some kind of immature twisted joy.

“You have not changed since we were children, uncle, always trying to make a poor timed joke even though you are the butt of every joke in this family.”

For a moment he looked surprised at your wit, not expecting it. It must have been the shock of it that made him laugh like you amused him.

“You are delightful, are you not?”

You tired of him and scowled, turning away from him and continuing your quick pace. To your disappointment he was not far behind.

“I can see why my brother likes you so much. You are as humorless as he is and so very serious.”

You faltered for a moment, stalling before shaking your head, moving onwards.

How did he know?

“You do not know what you are talking about. It must be the wine, I imagine.”

No matter how hostile you were he did not seem to mind, appearing to be happier the more off guard you became.

“Oh, but I think I do. People do talk, you know.”

You could hear just how much he was enjoying this but there was not a possibility of you walking faster, lest you trip over your skirts.

“You believe such gossip?” Your voice was cutting and to your annoyance, he laughed.

“It has been two weeks since you have been near your brother and everyone knows why.”

You were a few mere paces away from Helaena’s door but instead of ignoring him and leaving him in the hall, you could not. If you were a better daughter you would have ignored such a statement and kept peace like your mother wished, but maybe you were not a good daughter at all. Just as you were a terrible sister to Jace and even Luke as you had secluded yourself from them both.

“If you have something to say, Uncle, speak it plainly. I tire of your poor excuses for jests.”

Then something lit up in him, enjoying every minute. This is where he would be cruel as was Aegon’s way, enjoying it as he made a game of it.

“Jace has always defended everyone in his family, has he not? Rhaena and Baela. Lucerys. You. Though, I suppose he does not wish to defend you anymore.”

You heaved, growing irriateed. “I said speak it plainly, Aegon. If you speak in one more riddle I will—”

“What?” He mocked you, faking sympathy. “Will you go to your brother? You think he would fight for your honor and what the whole castle alludes to? Why would he when he thinks you have no honor, no shame?”

You were rigid with anger and emotions that you had been pushing back to a hidden part of yourself for weeks.

“It must be devastating when even your bastard brother does not even care about you anymore.”

Your lack of control may have been lacking and that it what led you to where you were now. Your hands came in front of you before you understood what you were doing and pushed him hard, sending him to the ground.

It felt good for a moment but the shame crept in when you looked up seeing who else but Prince Daemon across the hall. You cursed under your breath, making Aegon snicker beneath you and turned to the other side of the hall where Daemon was not, only to see Jace and Baela standing there, both of them shocked.

You had a few options: go to Helaena’s rooms near you and risk them all coming in to confront you for everything you had done or turn and run away like a coward.

The tears welling up in your eyes thinking of it must have been noticed as Aegon was thoroughly amused and you looked across the long hallway seeing your brother for the first time in a long time.

You realized he was quite shocked, Baela almost looking pleased, though you knew that was to be Aegon on the ground as she had for many years wanted to lay into him as you just had.

You could not bear looking at him as you waited for the rage and anger you had remembered from a month ago to show. It was all you could do but run away in the opposite direction, moving so quickly you got past Daemon. When you turned a corner you did not see Jace any longer but Daemon had followed, grabbing your arm.

“Dragons do not run away, that is the actions of sheep. You are no sheep, Princess.”

Why did everyone in your family have to be brave, fearless, wild, and so chaotic? Why did it matter if you were not?

“Dragons can burn too, Uncle. Leave me be.”

You had never been so bold around Daemon and he may have been as surprised as you were, his eyebrows raised. “Why did you push Aegon down?”

You tired of the questions. “Because he is a cunt who does not know when to stop running his mouth.”

The dry chuckle might have been of amusement but his questions would not cease. “What did he say, Y/N?”

“It does not matter.”

“You dodge everyone’s presence and now you avoid a question. Tell me, now. What did Prince Aegon say?”

“He called Jace a bastard, alright? And pray tell, what was I supposed to do?” You cried your outburst. “Should I have thanked him, agreed with him?”

“What else did he say?”

Why could nothing ever go your way? When did everything become so terrible?

“Only what the whole castle knows. That I am a Princess with no honor nor care for my family just as everyone believes.”

“That is not true.”

You tore your arm from his grip, now looking more like a Targaryen, growing in fury. “How many times do I have to tell people to leave me be? I gave Jace what he wanted! I have not bothered him nor have I made him look at me since I cause so much shame to him. I want to be alone.”

Daemon could say nothing as you stormed away, quickly finding yourself in a secluded part of the castle where no one could find you. You had no clue how much time had past as you only stared far ahead at the gardens from your place high in the castle.

“Aemond told me I would find you here.”

The voice you had not heard in many weeks had you still yourself. You stared ahead, not glancing at him even as his footsteps grew closer.

“Have things gotten so horrid that you must go to the person you loathe to find me?”

Your words came out thick, the emotions running higher than they had in quite some time. From where you sat on a stone bench Jace had moved froward, sitting next to you.

“I do not loathe Aemond.”

You laughed humorlessly. “Yes and Aegon is known for his sobriety.”

“I used to dislike him. He made it difficult not to.”

“That is fair enough.” You could not and would not look at him even as he looked at you.

He sighed, moving closer so he was not at the edge of the stone bench. “After you left he came from Princess Helaena’s apartments after hearing the commotion. He was worried as was Daemon.”

You furrowed your brows, more confused than ever. “They agreed that I should talk to you. Aemond was right, it had been too long since that night.”

A lump in your throat formed to little surprise to yourself. “Never did I think I would hear you say that Aemond was right about something. Much less Daemon and Aemond agreeing on something.”

He chuckled and then you finally looked at him. “How much I like Aemond does not matter, not when we all care about you. I am sorry, sister. It took me too long to see it this way. Luke was right, of course. Baela had not let me forget how right he was naturally.”

“Lucerys?” You questioned.

“Weeks ago he told me if I was as brave as I thought myself I would go and talk to you. He said it did not matter and that I was stubborn. He has refused to eat with me now until I fixed this. Not to mention any time we train now he is none too gentle.”

You smiled at that, knowing that in the many months since you had returned to the Red Keep Lucerys had been growing in height. He even is at Rhaena’s height now where she once towered above him.

“He told me weeks ago that if I came to dinner everything would have been fixed. Would it have?”

Your voice showed your insecurities. Was everything even okay now?

“Yes,” he said and it was genuine. “It would have but I should never had said those things to you and I am sorry, Y/N. I never thought you would care for someone like Aemond in such a way, especially after the dinner with our entire family the first night we came back.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted. “But he is more than his cutting words, I swear Jace. You just don’t know him as I do.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “I think Prince Aemond can be cruel and has no issue with it but if i thought he was heartless once I may have been wrong. He is good to you and mother says that he is devoted to his own sister and mother. These months when I have been ignoring you like a coward he was there for you, so yes, I suppose you are right that there may be more to him than his hatred for some, even myself.”

As tears welled in your eyes, more out of gratitude as unexpected as it was, you grab Jace’s hand that laid on the stone bench between you both, smiling at him in hopes he could see how much it meant to you. He looked back at you smiling at you in apology almost.

“Do you forgive me, then?” You asked after a moment.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Came his instant reply.

Not being able to stop yourself you moved with great speed to embrace him, blinking the tears away. When your brother hugged you back, like he had not done in a long time, you thought that everything might be alright.

In the late afternoon of that day, the summer air had turned to autumnal breeze but with the change of seasons at least you had your brother back and your peace.

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dennou-translations · 3 years

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Violet Evergarden: Booklet 2

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I wanted that star. I wanted to be the person who would piece through that star.

Leon Stephanotis and the First Star

I had once seen a comet that only came around every two hundred years together with a girl.

It had happened years ago. That was one beautiful evening. Even now, I can still vividly recall the twinkling of the stars we watched on that day while our bodies shivered at the coldness of the nightly wind. Like jewels scattered over a dark canopy, the starry sky was enough to make one forget to even breathe. As it passed by, dragging its white tail, the meteor looked just like a fairy in flight with insect scales scattering about from her wings.

Whenever I looked at a beautiful night sky, I would think many times over, “Aah, now that I’ve branded this moment into my heart, I’d have no regrets if someone reaped my life away”. Should I lose my life, I wanted it to be on a starry night like that. I wanted to die with the memory of witnessing something stunning.

“May the night sky be a beautiful starry one on the day I die,” I wished.

But that one evening was a little bit different. Maybe because I had someone to watch the stars with me. Maybe because that was my first love.

She was a gorgeous person. Even more than the stars. Her hair looked like the Sun when shining under the moonlight and her blue eyes were like gemstones created from a mix of the sea and the sky. With her porcelain skin and skylark voice, the way she walked was just as that of a well-cared maiden. In reality, she was an orphaned ex-soldier, as well as an Auto-Memories Doll from a far-away southern country, so the saying “don’t judge a book by its cover” was pertinent when it came to her.

She was most likely an once-in-a-lifetime kind of person, one that you couldn’t know if you would ever get to meet.

My chest throbbed even at the sigh that leaked from her when she was peeking at the telescope. When she looked my way and smiled faintly, I experienced an impact as if I had been hit in the head, giving in to a love that made me feel like my whole body would melt and crumble down.

“Master, astronomical observations are quite a wonderful thing.”

If, by any chance, my body were to be crushed by a star in that moment, only on that day did I want to keep looking at something, even if for just one second more. I wanted to keep looking at her. Forever and ever, I wished. That was what I thought.

This encounter had changed my life and decided my fate. I didn’t mind if people laughed at that, calling me a romanticist. I, Leon Stephanotis, whose destiny had been altered, would always look back on it.

On the day that I had watched the stars with Violet Evergarden.

“There was a sea of gold in his land” – who was it again that had sung the praises of a desert like this?

“I’m beat.”

When bookworms read too much, their head’s capacity would exceed the limit, so they would automatically forget the things they had read in their early phases. I had confidence in my memorization abilities and yet I couldn’t remember this, so it was surely a passage from an adventure novel or something of the sort that I had read in my childhood.

——What a beautiful comparison.

When I actually stood in the middle of a desert, my impressions were drawn to the temperatures, sunlight and other such things regarding the environment instead, so this poetic expression hadn’t crossed my mind. In the destinations of my travels, I often reminisced to a certain someone who was somewhere in this world, as well as the things she, who spoke words as beautiful as that, used to say, as if borrowing them.

“So pretty...”

I liked the color of gold. I could observe the grains of sand moving smoothly for all eternity.

“Everyone, you did well; the books we excavated will be brought back by another group. Meaning that we from the starting line-up are finally off for the first time in months.”

As I was spacing out, I didn’t hear the commander’s words very well. I was only staring at the ground, missing out on everything. When I raised my head, the happy-looking faces of my bearded and somewhat dirty colleagues entered my eyes. All I understood right away was that we would get a vacation.

“After we get twenty days off, we’ll regroup in Iustitia, at Shaher’s headquarters. After that, we’ll go to that place in the south where the reconnaissance team was sent. Next will be our turn to bring back the luggage. Don’t let your bodies get weak.”

“Roger that.” Once everybody gave an agreeable reply in unison, we disbanded from the spot.

Iustitia, Shaher’s headquarters. The main office of my occupation. I was previously in a section called the codex department, devotedly working on the deciphering of documents and copying manuscripts, but now I had been transferred to a completely different section. It sounded good when we were called the leading actors, but it was actually a group of reeking adventure rascals, the literature collecting department.

I put my heavy baggage sack on the ground and heaved a breath. Wiping the white folk clothes that I had been provided with on-site, I dusted the sand off them. This clothing called dola – a long robe secured by a waist belt – looked flappy and inflexible at first glance, but it was surprisingly easy to move around in. It was made of a rather velvety silk material, so there would normally not be so much sand sticking to it, but since I was caught in a sandstorm until just a moment ago, there was no helping it.

We had returned from a thorough search in the ruins of an abandoned castle, once the dominion of a royal clan whose name was eminent in the past. A book burning movement had taken place in this land at a certain point, but we had received information that a scholar from those times, out of fear towards the situation, had hidden valuable books in the forsaken palace. The information was apparently right, so after wandering around all over the deserted castle, we had found dozens of books. The books that would be taken to Shaher’s headquarters were to be made into written copies and spread to the world.

Made for protection purposes, Shaher’s literature collection was also well-reputed in other countries. It was difficult to negotiate with the locals responsible for the abandoned castle, but we were allowed entrance this time as well thanks to our achievements thus far. Just like that, someone’s story, studies and feelings, which were supposed to have disappeared, would breathe once again. The books we had been looking for would be delivered to other people and comfort them during long nights.

——What a wonderful thing.

The working environment was awful, but I was proud of my job.

I sat down on my luggage and gazed at the cityscape while drinking water from my canteen. In this desert-zone city, everyone’s clothes seemed harmonized no matter what color they wore.

“Senior Leon, what will you do on your days off?”

As a junior who had not yet left the spot called to me, I furrowed my brows and looked at his face. He was a young man of masculine facial traits, which was enviable to someone as baby-faced as me.

“Hey, Sir.”

A rarity amongst the members of our unit, the man had not been born in Iustitia. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was a rich kid who had been born in a southern country and entered Shaher through connections with the foundation executives.

Getting a job at the Shaher Observatory was a daunting task even for those who had studied astronomy. It was hard to make it without learning in a good environment from an early age. Since Iustitia, the capital of stargazing, was the best place to study in, it was natural that the ones hired were mostly the locals.

——Well, this guy had connections, so this has nothing to do with him.

I pondered an answer. “Nothing in particular.” For the time being, I decided to be cold, acting as nonchalant as ever.

And this was also the same as always, but the junior took no offense in my crude response – rather, he laughed at me, looking happy. “Then that means you’ve got no plans. I was thinking of going home. If you’d like, how about we go together? We have a villa by the lake... If I go now, the schedule will allow my family to join in.”

“No, why do I—”

“Last time we had a break, I told my little sisters about your cool adventure story and they wouldn’t shut up about how much they wanted to meet you. Hey, hey, how about it?”

I was baffled. I had no idea what was good about me to this junior but he would oddly flock to me. The reason why I hadn’t told him about my plans right away was that I felt he would follow me if I did so. Honestly, he was a bother. Up to now, we had acted as a group. I wanted to be alone even if a second sooner.

“I’m not going.”

“No way... My family’s all pretty boys and girls! Sir, you like beautiful things, don’t you?”

“Do they look like you?”

“They do.”

“Then they might be pretty, but won’t be my type.”

“Sir! You’re horrible!”

“So loud. If your family’s waiting for you, hurry and go.”

While I gestured with my hand as if shooing a dog, the junior made a puppy-like sad face. Even though he had a big body, he was amicable and his display of emotions was richer than most people, making him look all the more like a dog.

“Then, if you ever feel like coming to see me during your break...”

“I won’t.”

“...could you contact a hotel called Varona in Leidenschaftlich?”

“I won... uh?”

“It’s a first-class accommodation establishment. It’s under my uncle’s administration, so you can get a stay there immediately, and I can pick you up as soon as you give me my name. Oh, you’re making an interested face, huh? Want to come with me right now?”

What piqued my interest was the word “Leidenschaftlich” – that was all.

——That’s where the CH Postal Company is.

And it was also where my first love worked at.

“You were from Leidenschaftlich...?”

“That’s right. I did say it in my self-introduction when I joined the department.”

“Well, I don’t listen to people I have no interest in...”

As expected, my junior gave a happy-looking smile with his whole face. “Sir, I like that you’re equally unfriendly to everyone. People only got close to me because of my title... and my family’s social standing... but Sir, you’re cold, and that feels nice.”

“Your suffocating actions are a pain in the ass to me. Besides, hum...”

“What is it, Sir?”

“Hum, say... is the CH Postal Company well-known?”

“Do you know Violet Evergarden?” – the reason why I couldn’t ask this was a literal embodiment of how much I lacked guts, I thought.

With an “aah”, my junior immediately made a face like the name rang a bell. “I know them. It’s the company of that businessman, Claudia Hodgins, right? They’re popular. Shocking that the name of a company would come from you.”

“I’m an adult, after all. I’d know the name of one or two renowned businesses at least.”

“That’s a lie, ain’t it? I already know you don’t have interest in anything but stars. Erm... if I’m not wrong, all the postal companies of Leiden got sucked into it. They also succeeded in company split-ups. Their president is a celebrity too. The newspaper series where he talks to other entrepreneurs is a trend... It got adapted into a book just recently. There’s a chapter in the extra edition where he talks to his secretary and the president of an affiliated company, and it’s so fun. The book’s in my room at the headquarters, so you can take it with you and read it all you want.”

“Is there nothing about business in that book? Like, about the Auto-Memories Doll field... Hum, according to my research, there should be a rather famous Auto-Memories Doll in it... Don’t know if she’s still there, though.”

I timidly attempted to ask, yet it seemed my junior didn’t know the details. That was expected. The number of people who could hire Auto-Memories Dolls was limited, so hardly anybody would know even the name of a famed Doll unless it was someone marginally acquainted with them.

“I wonder. I do sorta know that they apparently have one real beauty of a Doll. But I also have a good-looking face... so I don’t yield to beauties from here and there.”

“Got it. Thanks for the info. And for the nice conversation. Go home.”

“Sir...! If you get bored of being alone, please remember me!”

Leaving behind my clingy junior, I took off from that place. I strutted with a hand in my pocket.

My junior wasn’t a bad guy. He had a high-handed personality but fit into the category of good person. He must have talked to me like that because he knew about my background as an orphan who had lost his parents and got a job at the astronomical observatory by way of assistance from Shaher. Meaning he was worried about his senior, who would be spending his vacation alone with no lover or family. The reason why he had invited me to a house where his family would be was probably that he was exposing his intentions in his own way.

——But to hell with that.

I wanted to be alone. To say that the people who thought I was pitiful were the actual pitiful ones was my essence. I had always enjoyed watching the stars by myself anyway, and I enjoyed books about stars too. Book reading wasn’t meant to be done with two people, right? I liked being alone. This was also because I had lived a life of accepting solitude for a long time, but if anything, it was harder for me to settle down when I was in someone’s company.

When I turned the street corner and confirmed that he finally wasn’t following me anymore, I let out a relieved sigh.

——Alone at last. Time and space just for me.

The times when I was by myself like this were the ones I felt most comfortable in, and while I did have some things to reflect upon in that regard, unfortunately, I didn’t have a family to pester me about having children, unlike the rest of society. Because I was alone.

——I get that it isn’t a good thing.

There were things that you couldn’t get used to or change, despite understanding why you should. I was equal parts as obstinate as I felt inferior to those who had families. Only one person had ever made me want to be with her for a little longer when I was in her company.

——Only one.

Our circumstances were similar and we were also alike in that we were burdened with loneliness, but it wasn’t as if I liked her because of the similarity. It was because she seemed like she would be all right even if she were on her own, so I had wished to stay by her side. To get close to her. I “liked” her in that way. It wasn’t as if I wanted her to do something for me. I was the one who wanted to do something for her. It was that kind of “like”.

It had happened a long time ago.

After we had spent a little time together, she left. When we were bidding our farewells, I stopped her and confessed.

“Violet.”

I told her I was in love with her. I didn’t ask her, “I like you, so what do you wanna do?” – I simply told her I liked her.

“I’m... I’m... in the codex department now, but... I actually wanted to be in the literature collecting department like my father.”

She gave me this answer: the way that she cherished me was different.

“I had my hopes up that maybe my mother would come home one day if I waited here, bringing my father back with her... so I kept shutting myself in until this age, without ever stepping off into the outside world. That was possible in this place and I wanted it myself. But... just now...”

But if we ever happened to meet again, she wanted to spend time with me.

“I’ve just made up my mind. I’ll go around the world like you.”

In that moment, the woman who had said that she couldn’t feel emotions...

“I might face danger. I might lose my life without anyone ever finding my body, just like my parents. But—But that’s okay. I’m thinking of choosing that path.”

...smiled at me like a normal girl, looking happy, and told me something.

“If I do that, I’m sure we might get to meet someday, somewhere, under a starry sky. We’re both gypsies. And if that happens, will you...”

——...watch the stars with me again?

“Yes, Master.”

She told me that. She said it. This alone was already enough for me. This alone gave me the courage to come out of the world that I had been secluding myself in. Even if my love wasn’t requited, even if we never saw each other again, I was so happy.

She.

Violet.

Violet Evergarden.

Just that – just the fact that she had promised to watch the stars with me – had made me happy to the point of changing my life.

I kept making transfer requests ever since that day, finally earned approval and ventured myself into the outside world. The world other than Iustitia that I saw for the first time was bustling with a dizzying variety of things, which made me regret secluding myself. But surely, if I hadn’t met her, I would have taken a lot longer to go outside. No, I might have never left that bird cage to begin with.

That environment where I was allowed to wallow was terribly indulgent. After all, everyone was awfully nice to me for not being able to stand up, just because I was sad.

I didn’t simply think that I would definitely get to see her at least once. The probability of an astronomer and an Auto-Memories Doll, who had spent time together at work, meeting even once was surely the same as the meteor we had seen that day – once every two hundred years.

I was being ridiculous. If I really wanted to see her, I should just go visit her postal company in Leiden. The reason why I didn’t do it was that I was scared. That maybe her words were just out of friendliness, and that, if we did meet, she wouldn’t even remember me and I would be rejected. On top of being terrified of this, I also had a dream.

That if we ever happened to reunite, I wanted us to meet again truly by coincidence, under a starry sky.

If something like that really were to happen, just what would I do? Would I smile? Cry? Or ask for her love again?

I nodded at a passerby who had almost collided with me and started walking again. I had no particular destination. I could also go back to the headquarters just like this and be an idle bookworm in my own room, but going sightseeing around this city for at least a little bit was also good.

——I won’t get to see Violet if I stay in that place.

I had no free time to spend money, so I could afford the luxury of staying at a remotely nice hotel. Having made up my mind, I went into the main street and began looking for accommodation in the desert capital.

Local idioms were honestly my weak point. Even though it was a common language, it was hard to catch because of the many dialects. When I talked to elders, I was done for.

However, I could perfectly understand that the inn’s owner, an old gentleman, had treated me like a “young lady”. Of course, I told him he was mistaken, but he didn’t hear it. He led me to my room with a hand around my hips.

The room was quite a high-class one, so I let it slide. If it were my old self, I would have been as furious as a raging fire. But I had grown up. By holding back my anger, I would manage to spend the night in a proper bed, where it didn’t seem like bugs would show up, so becoming an adult was for the best. Even if my self-respect decreased a little.

While I was chilling in the room and writing my diary, the sun went down in a blink of eye and it was getting late into the evening.

“Heave-ho.”

It was the dead of night. I put on warm clothes and prepared myself to go out.

I wanted to observe the desert’s starry sky at my own leisure. As our activities had been limited to daytime ever since we had arrived here, I was now finally getting to do the things that I actually felt like doing. I had watched it together with everyone else from the windows of the cheap inn that the literature collecting department’s personnel had stayed at, but as expected, I wanted to see it from a spacious place with no noise or anything of the sort. As a scholar born in the so-called “capital of stargazing”, I obviously was going to have my fill of the desert’s night sky.

Unable to contain my feelings of excitement, I left the room after my lips relaxed a bit. For the heck of it, I greeted the innkeeper and told him I was going to see the stars. When I did so, he made a worried-looking face.

Apparently, women were forbidden of wandering outside at night in these lands. He couldn’t stop me from going out since I wasn’t a local, but warned me not to get too close to men. It wasn’t as if there were many ruffians among the people who walked around at night, but simply that this city had this kind of culture, so if the men suddenly spotted a woman, they might think badly of it. I had grown up in a men’s dormitory watching a bunch of idiots, so I understood what he was trying to say.

I showed him the retractable cane I was holding, and while I was at it, I also demonstrated with one swing that a blade came out from the tip as well. It was not for killing anyone, but it sufficed for making the other party recoil and holding them back.

Receiving the innkeeper’s applause from behind, I ventured myself outside.

The temperature gaps between nighttime and daytime was extreme in the desert. Having been raised in a mountaintop astronomical observatory, I was used to areas where there was a discrepancy in temperatures between day and night, but even then, I could bring myself to deem it as comfortable due to differences in humidity. The instant I stepped outside, I shuddered with a “brr”.

However, I forgot the cold as soon as I saw the sight spreading overhead. Surely, God must have dropped His jewel box. The starry sky unfolded in a way that made even someone like me come up with such a poetic saying.

Due to the fact that it was nighttime, there were few people out, but it wasn’t as if nobody was wandering about the city. Just as the innkeeper had said, it seemed that someone with a womanly appearance (I wasn’t a woman at all, though) walking around did catch people’s eyes, as they called to me countless times. I put myself on guard in each of those instances, and everyone withdrew with the same caution as the innkeeper.

Not letting the women walk around late at night was also meant for protecting them.

I had heard that there was a place for stargazing aimed at tourists somewhere a little far from the city, so I headed there, for safety as well. Several tents were erected around the sparse green area. In addition to privately built tents, there were also merchant tents selling drinks and food.

After looking through the signboards with the prices of the alcohol and warm soups that people of this region consumed and were familiar with, I picked the alcohol. I was an adult now and on vacation, so I told myself that it was okay to drink today and gave myself permission.

I went for a cloudy-colored alcoholic drink simmered in a large pot called the witch’s cauldron. It was warm and sweet, with a slightly spicy aftertaste. It warmed your body when you drank it and was the best delicacy to savor in cold weather.

Some people invited me to enter their tents, but I refused and steadily began setting up by arranging the astronomical observation tools that I had prepared. I assembled a demountable astronomical telescope over the sheets.

Even though this was said to be a place for stargazing, not everyone seemed to be astronomy freaks like in Iustitia – most of them were lying on the ground, enjoying a conversation with their companions while relishing in the jewels of the night. Everyone other than myself had simple handheld telescopes, so a few locals started appearing fussily around me, looking greatly interested. If anything, there weren’t just tourists.

A young father who had a child with him shyly came to ask me, “How much is it for you to let us take a look?” Apparently, he had mistaken me for a merchant.

“I don’t take money for it. It’s something for me to enjoy myself.”

The young parent made a bewildered face at my blunt reply, but nervously stepped in front of the kid and said, “It’s okay even if it’s just for a little bit, couldn’t you let this child take a peek?”

“Sure, it’s fine.”

He was also surprised at my ready consent. As he asked one more time if I really wasn’t going to charge for it, I declared that I wasn’t, swearing by this land’s god.

I beckoned the child. Our heights didn’t match since he was too small, so I lifted him by the hips.

“Can you see them?”

“Just a tad higher.”

“This much?”

“Amaziiing.”

At the child’s delighted look, the father and I locked eyes with each other and laughed. Then, other people who had been surrounding us at a distance came over one after another, asking me to let them see next. Whenever I said that I wasn’t charging any fee, they would ask me back, “Are you a saint or what?”.

In a land where you could see such beautiful stars, astronomical telescopes weren’t wild-spread among locals, enjoyed only by tourists and outsiders. That was probably the case. For them, this was an expensive item brought by outsiders. The stars were beautiful enough at naked eye, so if I had to say it, telescopes weren’t necessary. But if there was something that would help them see better, there would obviously be people saying that they want to take a look.

——Guess I’m gonna contact Shaher’s donors and indicate this place as a potential donation site.

If this pleased so many people, maybe it would be nice to have a telescope that everyone could look into, just as there were benches where everyone could sit on along the streets. I liked stars, so it made me happy even if just one more person fell in love with them.

“Having fun?”

“We are! You’re so generous!”

The figure of an elderly man much older than myself smiling like a boy, looking extremely happy, struck home pretty hard. It wasn’t like I wanted to hang out with anyone or that I had a preference for getting along with everybody. That wasn’t the case at all.

“This thing’s pricey, ain’t it? You okay with people touchin’ it without a care?”

“It’s not made for decoration; it’s something to look at.”

But these kinds of moments were nice.

——Very nice.

If these once-in-a-lifetime encounters would increase the proportion of stargazing in someone’s life, nothing could make me happier.

——When I get old, I guess I’m gonna run a rent-a-telescope or something like that somewhere.

I decided to take a few steps back and let everyone enjoy themselves.

This sensation that the joy of the surroundings was becoming more and more contagious. This feeling that people were gathering there only out of curiosity and adventurous spirit, not for profit. It didn’t seem fitting of my usual self, but something like this was also conceivable every once in a while.

With nothing to do, I naturally started looking around. Wonderful night, wonderful atmosphere.

The figure of someone standing still amongst it all entered my field of vision even without me wanting to. Everyone else had a companion.

The person was clad in dola like me and had a veil covering her face. From her physique, I could somehow presume that she was probably a woman.

Hoping that no weirdos would go talk to her, I worried about and kept watch over the woman, just like people had done for me. If she got caught up by anybody, should I intervene?

I used to hate women, yet here I was, concerning myself with one. I might have a misconstrued sense of justice, but I at least had to care.

I was just looking at her for a little while simply for that reason, but the instant that the wind blew strongly, all of my nerves became her captive. Her veil came off. It came off just slightly and I could see her face.

Her golden hair fluttered leniently. Her shapely profile was exposed under the starry sky. This beauty that could be discerned even in the nightly darkness was breathtaking.

It was really just a few seconds’ time and she immediately fixed the veil back on tight, but I had already seen her, so I knew. I knew.

I knew who that was.

Distancing myself from the telescope, I walked unsteadily towards her. Like winged bugs that gathered up to light.

This person literally shone like a lantern in my life. It was fire that wouldn’t disappear, no matter how much time passed. Time only strengthened the flame’s vigor.

That was why, aah, I... I...

“Violet Evergarden... is that you?”

That was why I called to her at that moment, with a shrill voice. As she looked at me, her eyes slowly crinkled, the corners of her lips went up and she smiled at me.

I felt like tearing up at that.

“It has been a while, Master.”

I had dreamed of this.

“Is it really you?”

I had dreamed of this day.

“Yes, Master.”

Always had been.

“Stupid, I’m not your master anymore... I have a name too... You’ve probably forgotten about it, but I... My name is...”

I had dreamed of this day and had always been thinking about what to say if we ever got to meet again.

“Mr. Leon Stephanotis. Is ‘Mr. Leon’ all right?”

If it were under a starry sky with not a single cloud, we could talk about its bare beauty. If it were on a rainy day, we could discuss the mythology related to the constellations.

“Did I mistake it? I have confidence in my memorization skills, but...”

If it were on a night where a once-in-every-two-centuries meteor were to pass by, we could share stories of the past in which we had observed the sky together.

“No... you got it right. You got it... Just ‘Leon’ is fine... Violet, the time you spent with me was so long ago, and yet, you sure... managed to...”

I had dreamed of this. You had no idea, did you, Violet Evergarden?

“You sure managed to remember.”

You were my first love. The first person I fell for. That day was the first time I confessed to someone.

“Leon, do you recall the promise we made?”

I opened the door to courage. I opened it thinking it would be okay even if I got hurt. But instead of hurting me, you accepted it. You broke my love to pieces, but still acknowledged it.

“Yeah.”

I had dreamed of this. Of this moment. You didn’t have to remember it. You could have forgotten what you had said to me. But if nothing else, I wanted to have one more look at you before I died.

“Have you memorized...”

One more time.

“...the names of a few stars?”

I wanted to see you one more time.

Violet Evergarden. I – the sixteen-year-old Leon Stephanotis – was in love with you.

He was in love with you. So was my current self. Now that you were in front of me, I could tell as much, even if I didn’t want to.

The flame inside my chest was saying, “This woman is the one who started the fire.” It told me that you were the woman who burned me up. You had burned me, and you still were. You melted everything that I had locked up within ice. It told me that you were the woman of my fate.

Violet wordlessly nodded in agreement. She nodded like a child. She was happy that I remembered what she had told me – I could tell by the facial expression she was making.

——You used to be so expressionless and doll-like – who was it that changed you so much?

You weren’t a doll anymore now. More like a girl who had someone’s love. You didn’t look like anything but that in my eyes ever since you were with me, though. But now, surely you had someone. This someone had changed you to that point, right?

“Violet,” I said, suppressing the pain of my sweltering chest. “If you have some time, won’t you spend it with me?” I asked.

I was attempting to open the door to courage again. Regardless of what awaited me beyond it, even if I regretted opening it. I asked nevertheless.

You changed me. You made me who I was. You probably didn’t know that. You didn’t have to.

“Yes, by all means.”

And this beautiful woman in front of me, too.

“I had been waiting for a day to come when I inform you about the fruits of my studies.”

Surely, she had also been made by someone.

“Should we ever meet, I had wanted to report them to you, even if you did not remember.”

Envy, affection and attachment ran through my body.

“That is what I was thinking.”

My sixteen-year-old self was screaming. “I was in love with you. I was in love with you. I was in love with you. I’m in love with you. Even now, I still like you,” he shouted.

I no longer had any of the youth and recklessness of those days. However, regarding my love for her, the me from back when I confessed to her was still here.

“I’m sure what I’m gonna say now will trouble you. But would you listen?”

I was still here. That version of me was still inside me.

Violet Evergarden, you...

“You can laugh if you want; you see...”

...to me, you... a woman like you was...

“You were my first love.”

Violet Evergarden, you...

“I still like you. Forgive me.”

To me, you were a woman of the stars.

#violet evergarden #fyeahvioletevergarden #veedit #kyoani #kyoto animation #leon stephanotis #violet evergarden booklets #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #novel #my translation #leon stephanotis and the first star #leon stephanotis to ichibanboshi

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anactualcaseofthetruth · 3 years

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Friends Can Break Your Heart Too - Chapter 5 < ao3 link

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Story summary: Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that starts to make sense.

Chapter summary: Bishop gives Mia a talk then Mia and Angel have some fun.

Rated: SMUT. Sex, oral, cream pie, all that good stuff.

A/N: Esai Alvarez in this story is played by Manny Montana with Rio from Good Girls tats! Just a reminder!

Chapter 5:

“Mija?” Mia hears Bishop’s voice travel up the stairs to the bathroom where she’s finishing getting ready for a party at the clubhouse. The boys just got a big payday and that usually means a fun night.

“Bathroom!” she calls back while touching up her mascara, not at all surprised Bishop is the one to pick her up today. Angel was very clear in his text this morning the reason he wasn’t climbing into bed with her was because her godfather mentioned he planned on stopping by. Angel also mentioned that he was tired as fuck and couldn’t wait to see her later.

It doesn’t surprise her that Bishop wants to see her, he always wants to touch base after being gone on a run, and him and the boys did two back-to-back over the last week and a half, with only being home one day in between.

What does surprise her was that Angel texts her when they are on runs. It isn’t frequent, of course, but it is at least once a day, sometimes more if possible. He doesn’t say much, just that everything is going good and everyone is whole, but just the fact that he even tries means the world to her.

Most the time with Esai, Mia didn’t know he was home until she woke up and found him in bed with her, or passed out on the couch, or heard from Bishop that they were home and wanted to get lunch or dinner or something. It was rare for Esai to text her daily on runs—maybe when they first got together or if something particularly shitty was going on with her mom. She got maybe one or two texts over a five-day period, if that.

She hears Bishop making his way through the shopping bags that litter her bedroom floor. “Nice to see you’re spending your money wisely,” he comments.

“You’re the one who said you wouldn’t take anything from me for the first three months,” Mia counters while twisting the mascara closed and giving her face a last once over. “I tried to give you more than half my paycheck because I know I owe you, but you—”

“I know, I know, I’m just fucking with you,” Bishop stops her with a chuckle as he leans on the doorjamb leading to the bathroom. “You’re only doing what I want you to do—rebuild your life. I’m glad you’re making yourself at home, or at least,” his eyes flick back to the mess on her floor, “making a few businesses happy. Took a trip to El Centro?”

“That’s where Letty said the good mall is, and some pretty awesome boutiques. She wasn’t wrong,” Mia answers with a shrug. “I got her a few things too, and I’m not letting Coco pay me back, just letting you know.”

“That’s his fight, not mine,” he responds with hands up in surrender and they both smile at one another. “You look… good,” he settles on after looking her up and down a moment later.

She’s wearing a new pair of Army green cargo pants that hug her ass and thighs but are baggy at her feet. It’s matched with a dusty rose top laced up through her breasts, showing skin the whole way, but has long flowy sleeves. She isn’t wearing a bra, of course, that would throw off the whole look, but is covered up enough that Bishop won’t say anything, even if his eyes do. It should elicit a different reaction out of Angel though.

“I know,” she replies, and he chuckles again, having learned long ago that fighting about her clothes was a losing battle. “Everything went good this week? No problems?” she asks while passing him on her way out of the bathroom and starts digging through the bags for her brand new white Nikes.

Of course, she knows all went well—Angel had told her so, but Bishop doesn’t know that.

“All the drops went good, prisons up the coast and in AZ are flush with enough H to keep our brothers inside on top, and the other charters are making their deliveries,” he informs her.

“And the Chinese? I know their order was a surprise, but it seemed like you all had it handled,” she says while slipping the Air Force 1s on and smiling down at her splurge. Her godfather’s right, it’s nice to have more than a handful of things to call her own again.

“We’re a well-oiled machine,” Bishop assures her and at this Mia chortles.

“You’re definitely a well-intoxicated one,” she jokes, and they laugh once more. “I’m glad everything went well, Bop. You guys deserve this party tonight, you’ve been working your asses off lately.”

“Like we need a reason to party,” he comments, and she grins. “But a big payday does always make the boys more agreeable, and that I’m a fan of.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m ready to go if you are,” she says and slips her phone in her pocket, the only thing she’ll need for the night.

“You, uh, don’t seem surprised I’m here,” Bishop mentions.

“We usually get together when you get home,” she reminds him. “I figured we’d be doing something. It’s past lunch, so dinner,” she adds on with a shrug. “And I’m paying by the way, no buts.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’,” her godfather states easily. “But, uh, wanted to check in, see how you’re doing now that you’re settling in at the job and the house, you know,” he goes on while taking a seat on her bed.

Realization washes over her. He’s not here for their normal post-run hang out, and this whole ‘check in’ shit is just that—shit. He knows how she’s doing with the job and the house, they talk every day, and before she started at the clinic he saw her everyday because she was making money at the clubhouse or scrap yard.

This isn’t just ‘checking in’. He wants to have a conversation about something particular but doesn’t know how to start it.

“I’m having flashbacks to my quinceanera, when you spent an hour talking about how I was about to become a woman,” she mumbles while taking a seat next to him, “but what you really wanted to know was if I was still a virgin because you knew Esai was about to ask me to be his girlfriend and you worried that he was going to deflower me that very night.”

“Did he?” he asks, and Mia looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That is none of your business, but no, he did not,” she appeases him, which isn’t a lie.

Technically, because she wasn’t a virgin that night, so when she had sex with Esai after her party she wasn’t deflowered. Not that he needs to know about that, there are some things her father doesn’t need to know. Esai was her first, but she isn’t fan of the word ‘deflower’ nor is she interested in talking to Bishop about the concept of virginity. No man’s dick is important enough to change any part of her identity.

“Good, good,” Bishop murmurs and nods. “My warnings didn’t stop you from slow dancing with him at every chance that night, though.”

“Bop,” Mia sighs and crosses her legs, “why don’t we do what we didn’t manage then? Just ask me what you want to know or tell me whatever it is you want to say, because it took me a good year to realize what you wanted from me during that long, excruciating talk before my party started.”

“I thought I was pretty clear about how decisions you made that night could affect you for the rest of your life, and how you needed to protect yourself, and do what you thought was right,” he replies.

“I was fifteen, Bop,” she reminds him. “Besides that, I knew Esai was going to officially ask me out, so I had a little more on my mind than figuring out what you were actually trying to tell me,” she goes on. “Plus, I was dreading what you all would say during your speeches, which I was right to because it was another hour of men talking about my virginity without actually talking about it and I was mortified,” she says then remembers that this isn’t the conversation her godfather wants to have. “What is on your mind, Bop?”

“Look,” he starts and leans forward onto his knees, his hands clasped together between them. “I know this shit ain’t my business, that we try to stay out of each other’s personal lives, but if it involves my club and one of my guys, I should at least know what’s going on.”

“What are you talking about?” Mia asks as dread trickles down her spine, not sure exactly how dumb to play. She doesn’t want to give away information he doesn’t know while he’s fishing for whatever it is he wants to know, you know?

Bishop continues, “I know these guys, Mia. I know them, I know their habits, their routines, and I know when something is off with one of them. They are my family just as much as you are, I’d die for them, and they’d do the same for me.”

“That’s morbid, but sweet,” she comments innocently.

“I’m being serious, Mia,” Bishop says, his voice booming. “I need you to be honest with me.”

“Then ask me what you want to know instead of trying to trick me into saying something,” she responds, her tone now just as serious.

“When we’re on runs and we’ve reached our drop point and we’re bone tired, we spend the night,” he starts. “But, boys being boys, they don’t always spend their time sleeping, if you know what I mean, and Angel is no exception.”

Mia’s stomach sinks. Does Bishop think she’s dating Angel and trying to tell her he slept with someone else on their run?

Sure, she and Angel aren’t together, but they agreed while they are hooking up to only hook up with each other. Then again, with the clinic opening she’s done little more than eat, sleep, work and repeat in the last two weeks. Maybe since she’s been too busy and tired for sex lately, he started to look elsewhere. After all, that’s what Esai used to do—get his needs met when on a run. It meant she was less likely to run into whoever he cheated with, and it also meant it was with a girl who knew better than to expect anything more from him.

“Okay,” Mia manages after a minute, not sure what else to say, and not sure why her chest feels like an open wound. It’s not the first time the guy she’s sleeping with stepped out on her when on a run.

So, Angel broke their deal, she doesn’t know what Bishop has to do with it, especially since he wasn’t supposed to know they were sleeping together in the first place. If he thinks they are dating does he think Angel just cheated on her? He always stayed out of her and Esai’s relationship—that is, until she brought him into it because she was a stupid, heartbroken kid who wanted her dad on her side, not caring what position it put him in with the club.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Bop,” she murmurs. “You know the rules, what happens on a run stays on a run, and I don’t know what this has to do with me.”

“I want you to tell me the truth about what’s going on with you and Angel, Mia,” he insists as he turns his face to look her in the eye. “I wanna know if you’re the reason why the guy who never makes the smart move and chooses to sleep on a run actually has done just that ever since you moved here.”

Oh. “Oh,” she mumbles and thinks of what to say as warmth blooms in her chest and she fights the urge to smile. He didn’t cheat on her!

Well, of course he didn’t, because they aren’t dating. He’s just the best friend she’s sleeping with.

“I know you two are close, and at the first I thought it was just him actually being tired, but it’s been months and—”

“Angel and I aren’t together,” she cuts him off quickly. “If we were, I would have told you,” she assures him. “That’s not something I would keep from you. I know what being with a guy in the club means, the power it holds, and the weakness it can be. I wouldn’t keep it a secret from you. Angel and I, we aren’t doing anything like that.”

“You sure about that?” he asks with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Yes. We’re sleeping together, that’s it,” Mia admits because there is no point in hiding it now.

They haven’t exactly been discreet. The boys know, Letty almost walked in on them, it’s only been two weeks and a few of the girls at the clinic are already whispering about him. Besides, Bishop’s too smart to think they are just friends; he knows the both of them too well.

“And we’re friends. Good friends, more like best friends, even though that makes us sound twelve,” she mumbles as an afterthought. “We can talk to each other, no bullshit, and he makes me laugh, but we’re just friends, I promise.”

“Friends,” Bishop repeats and then barks out a laugh.

“We are!” Mia insists. “I’m not fucking with you.”

He stands from the bed, a hand attempting to stifle his laughter. “No, no, I know you’re not. I know you believe you’re friends, that’s what makes this funny.”

“Bop!”

“You know, I was friends with your mother once,” he says.

“Ew! No, we’re not—this is not the same thing,” she tells him, standing so she can look him in the eye.

“Your dad was friends with her too,” he goes on.

“Enough, can we go now, please? You got the information you wanted, I’ve been adequately traumatized, I think we’re done here.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can go. Just, be safe, will ya?” he pleads, his eyes much softer now.

Mia groans. “We went over this before my quinceanera too, Bop. I know how to use a condom and have my end taken care of—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” her godfather cuts her off. “I mean, I’m glad you’re using protection, but I’m talking about this,” he said and jabs a finger at her chest. “Your heart doesn’t give a fuck what’s going on up here,” he says and now points at her temple. “You have control over a lot in life, what you wanna do, where you wanna live, the stuff you wear and how you show yourself to the world, but your heart? That fucker you don’t have much control of, and it’ll get you every time, trust me. So, you protect it any way you can, you hear me?”

Mia nods and bites her lip. “I hear you, Bop,” she assures him. “But you see what you just said, that’s what you should have told me before my quinceanera,” she says. “That is the straightforward kind of shit a fifteen-year-old needs to hear.”

Bishop grins and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Shut up and get on my bike, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Papa,” she answers and leads the way down the steps and out the door, completely missing the look on Bishop’s face at her calling him dad, even if only in passing. If she had, she probably wouldn’t be calling him just ‘Bop’ much longer. “But I’m still paying for dinner!” she calls over her shoulder, not caring to listen to his response because she isn’t going to fold on this one.

Hours later Mia tilts her neck to the side, giving Angel room to continue his hot kisses, her eyes trying to focus on the fire in front of them, but everything is getting hazy. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have told you,” she murmurs, hoping he thinks her low tone is because she’s trying to be quiet, not because she’s breathless.

“What you mean?” he wonders, his lips now at her ear, his teeth teasing at her lobe.

“You wouldn’t be torturing me like this if I hadn’t told you Bishop knows,” she moans and pulls away when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “We need to stop. I told you we have to be respectful when he’s around.”

“Baby, this isn’t disrespectful,” he insists, his hands now playing with the lace strings at the front of her top. “If you want to see what that looks like though…” he says and tugs on the knot.

“Angel!” she gasps and slaps his hand away. “Be good.”

He grins and pulls away, leaving an arm around her shoulders and leans back in their bench seat. It’s the backseat of what probably was some kind of station wagon that the boys pulled out of the scrapyard. It fits three, and since they are so low to the ground Angel’s legs are spread out in front of them, otherwise they’d be touching his chest.

“Fuck, it feels good to be home for more than 12 fucking hours,” he sighs while scooting down the seat even more so his head can rest on her shoulders. “Feels even better to know I get to spend tomorrow doin’ nothing but you.”

At this, Mia laughs, and it’s full and hearty. “As long as you make it worth my time,” she comments. “I do only get one full weekend off a month, you know?”

“Mi dulce, have I ever not left you shaking uncontrollably on my cock?” Angel questions while lighting a cigarette, his actions very nonchalant after the sentence he just dropped.

“Hey, there’s a first time for everything,” she teases him.

He shakes his head at her. “Keep talkin’ shit, we’ll see how tough you are later,” he warns as he decides he isn’t comfortable enough and moves so his head is in her lap, his legs taking up the rest of their seat.

“Ooh, I’m scared,” she sing-songs.

“Better be,” he insists as smoke escapes his lips. “I just spent the last week on the road with dudes, busy as fuck, and without tasting my girl for sixteen days because of her job. I have needs, querida.”

Mia rolls her lips together to keep from laughing. “My poor little drug smuggler,” she coos. “Did you have a tough time partying in Oregon?”

“Yeah, fucking right. It always turns into a pissing match up there,” Angel grumbles. “They are the biggest charter next to Oakland, so they think they got bigger balls than the rest of us. The rest of ‘em forget they wouldn’t have any H if it wasn’t for Santo Padre risking our asses in the tunnels, over the border, and riding it up the fucking coast.”

“I’m sure you guys didn’t have a problem reminding them,” she comments with a hand carding through his hair.

“Didn’t have to,” he replies, “E did it for us. He’s still new to the prez patch, so he’s making sure everyone knows their places, that even though his pop isn’t the president of Oakland anymore doesn’t mean they aren’t in control.”

Mia’s movements stumble. “E? E—Esai was there?”

“Yeah. He likes to make himself known on big hauls, says he’s getting his hands dirty too, not just getting rich off our work,” Angel tells her. “Earns a lot of respect that way, and he gets to know everyone, even prospects.”

She nods, her eyes studying the orange glow. “He does have a way of making everyone feel special,” she mumbles. “Did he… did he, um, ask about me?”

Angel inhales deeply. “Asked Bish,” he says with smoke leaking from his mouth.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, they were walking away, wasn’t my business to listen,” he reminds her.

“Not your business?” Mia demands. “I’m—we’re best friends, it’s your business if I say it is and it is.”

“Oookay?” Angel says with his voice on the verge of laughter. “What did you want me to say?” he asks while flicking his butt into the fire. “’Wassup bro, you know the only girl you said you’d ever love? Well, I’m fucking her regularly. She says hi’?”

Mia shrugs. “You coulda gone without ‘the only girl you’d ever love’ part, I feel like that’s a little blow the belt,” she offers, and he chuckles.

“You’re alright with the ‘fucking her regularly’ part then?”

“I mean,” she starts with another shrug, “I’ve heard enough about his exploits, he can hear some of mine.”

Angel takes her free hand and links it through his. “You miss him. Just call him, querida.”

“He didn’t talk to you at all?” she asks, ignoring him, and his suggestion, as she does every time she thinks of it herself.

“We spoke, I guess? Said hi, asked how shit was, I said good, asked how his shit was, he said good, we laughed at something dumb Pac said—”

“Pac was there?” Mia questions, her voice sad as it tapers off. “Of course, Pac was there, he’s Esai's El Pacificador,” she mumbles to herself. “What’d you laugh at him for?” she demands with a punch to the chest with their connected hands.

“Ow! Nothin’! It was a joke. We weren’t laughing at him, geez,” Angel defends.

“Pac’s the fuckin’ best, he was always being made fun of by assholes when we were kids, but… he did it on purpose. That way they weren’t teasing anyone else,” she tells him. “Then Esai came around and a fight would break out. I was the look out,” she says with both nostalgia and pride splashed across her face. “We were the three musketeers.”

“Did that extend to when you and E started dating—stop fuckin’ hitting me!” he exclaims in a laugh.

“No, it did not,” she answers anyways. “But Pac felt left out so I’d make sure to plan stuff with the three of us,” she goes on. “He used to get upset because girls were afraid to date him knowing if they hurt him I’d fuck them up.”

Angel stares up at her and licks his lips. “Call them, baby, I know you miss them.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“It is. Especially with Paco, you think he’s gonna bring up what happened? He’s just gonna be happy to talk to you. He’s like a fuckin’ puppy with a gun.”

At this, Mia laughs. “You’re not wrong, but if I talk to Paco, he’s gonna tell Esai and—”

“So fucking call them both,” he cuts her off again. “Esai’s fucked you over enough times that he definitely owes you one. Call, you don’t have to say you’re sorry or explain shit if you don’t want to. If he’s fuckin’ smart he’ll just pick up wherever you left off.”

“Owes me more like a hundred and one,” she mumbles. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Alright,” he replies easily.

“That’s… that’s it? You’re not gonna keep pushing me or tell me I should do it or anything?” she wonders.

Angel sits up and gives her a shrug, “Ain’t my place. I said my part. I think you should reach out. You’ve never given Esai your new number, so he can’t do it. If you want me or Bish to pass your number along, just say so. Otherwise, it’s on you.”

Mia leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips. “You’re cute, osito,” she whispers.

“Don’t spread it around,” he murmurs, then kisses her again.

“Imma spread something later,” she says and Angel chuckles against her lips. “That sounded better in my head,” she admits and drops her head to his chest.

“To be fair, I didn’t think we were spreading mulch around,” he replies while wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Fuck, that reminds me, I told Bish I’d cut your grass tomorrow.”

“You just volunteered for this?” she asks as she lifts her head enough to look him in the eye.

“He was about to make EZ do it, and I didn’t want him at the house—I’m tryna keep you naked most the day tomorrow—so I said I’d do it, that I was dropping by anyways,” Angel explains. “Now that he knows we’re fucking he knows that was a lie, but,” he stops with a shrug. “Imma still do it.”

“You’re trying to keep me naked tomorrow, huh?” she says with a smile. “Then how am I gonna give you a beer dressed in a tiny bikini top and my shortest shorts while you mow the lawn?”

Angel pulls her by the back of her neck until they are kissing. “That ain’t happenin’ unless you want me to take you right there in the grass.”

“Only if you’re on the bottom,” Mia counters, “I feel like grass would rub in a bad way, you know?”

He laughs as he drops his head to her shoulder. “So, you want my ass on fire?”

“Better than mine!” she replies. “And you get to stare at my boobs, so no complaining.”

“Never,” he murmurs, about to go into another kiss when they are interrupted.

“Either of you need a beer?” they hear over their heads and look up to find EZ.

“If we fucking did you look real empty handed,” Angel tells his brother, then grimaces when Mia smacks him once again. “Fucking stop that,” he mutters and rubs his chest. “It’s the same spot every fucking time.”

“No, we’re good Ezekiel, thank you,” Mia answers for them after a pointed look at his older brother.

“We are?” Angel asks with crinkled eyebrows.

“If you plan on driving me home, yeah,” she tells him and he pouts, but doesn’t speak up because he knows its code leaving soon.

He does, however, stand up. “Alright, if we’re heading out I gotta take a piss,” he says, taking her hint. “You should too, you know, for what I got planned for you,” he says while sending a wink Mia’s way before sauntering off.

“You know,” EZ starts while plopping down next to her. “He’s heading into the clubhouse like he hasn’t whipped it out in front of us all week on the road.”

“Yeah, most the girls have probably seen it too,” Mia agrees, and EZ laughs in agreement. “Woulda saved him a trip.”

EZ looks to see his brother disappear into the clubhouse. “Look, I, uh, wanted to talk to you real quick before Angel comes back.”

“Should I be nervous about this?” she asks, racking her brain for something EZ would need to talk to her about, but comes up with nothing.

“No, I just—” he stops and lifts his butt up as he reaches for his wallet. “When we were teenagers, Angel was real into art. He was really good at it too, it was something he and our mom did together.”

Mia nods, not wanting to tell him she already knew this, but is intrigued all the same. What could he have to tell her?

“But, uh, back then he doodled on everything. It drove our parents nuts. It would be all over the mail, the newspaper, his homework, everything,” he goes on. “He, uh, he stopped when Mom died, and as far as I knew he hadn’t gotten back into it,” he stops and looks to make sure Angel isn’t on his way back yet. “But, uh, before we left the motel at one of our stops, the guys made me go in to check the rooms, to make sure we didn’t leave anything. I saw this and took it without thinking,” he says and pulls a folded piece of paper from the wallet to hand to her.

She opens it with eyes crinkled to find a sketch of her done in pen.

“When I looked at it closer later I thought you should have it,” he finishes.

“I… um,” she stutters, her eyes glued to the paper. It’s only from her shoulders up, and it is rough, but undoubtedly her.

“You’ve brought out a part of my brother Pop and I haven’t seen in over eight years,” EZ tells her as she studies the sketch. “He’s not as angry or closed off. He actually even mentioned our mom the other day and we never talk about her.”

“EZ, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, Mia. I know you guys are just friends, but I know that my brother feeling lighter, and it’s all because of you. I just wanted to thank you and give you this. It’s of you, so you should have it,” he insists.

“Thanks,” she murmurs while refolding it and putting it in her pocket. “He’s my best friend, the best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re the best he’s ever had too,” EZ tells her and stands, then offers her a hand. “Just don’t tell Coco, a fight might break out.”

Mia shrugs as he helps her up. “I don’t know, I think I could take him, he’s small, you know, and I have training.”

“I’d pay to see that,” he replies and they are laughing when Angel comes back.

“Aye, get your own girl best friend,” Angel jokes while slipping both arms around her shoulders from behind, making his little brother shake his head and walk away. “You ready to go?”

“I don’t know, but I am ready to cum,” she says then laughs at her own stupidity.

Angel turns her around and looks at her as if embarrassed for her before shrugging and lifting her over his shoulder.

“Ah! Angel!” she laughs with hands on his hips to steady herself as he heads for his bike.

“I’m just giving you what you want, mi dulce,” he insists. “Better yell bye to Bish, you’re gonna be busy for the rest of the weekend.”

Mia tries to take in her surroundings between the strips of hair blocking her vision, looking for her godfather in the upside-down masses. When she can’t find him, she just takes Angel’s advice. “Bye, Bop! I’ll call you tomorrow!” she shouts and the people around her laugh, Angel included.

“Alright, be safe!” she hears and raises a hand in acknowledgement at his double-edged meaning, but he has nothing to worry about. She’s on the pill and while Angel is in her heart, it’s not in a bad way, a way that would end in heartbreak like all her relationships do. He’s just her friend because anything more would fuck everything up and she isn’t going to let that happen.

Angel is too important.

It had just been a joke the day before, a flippant comment.

Mia had no real intention of putting on a bikini and teasing Angel as he mowed the grass, but—well, she did just buy one and it is hot outside and Angel isn’t one to turn down a beer, ever.

Him outside in a light pair of gray sweatpants and t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up didn’t help, his skin glistening in the California sun, hair free of its usual gel and so blowing gently in the breeze, and those dark shades on his face—it’s enough to make any girl weak in the knees.

Seconds later she’s running up the steps and digging through her shopping bags searching for the bikini Letty insisted she buy the day before. It’s a warm yellow with long strings that wrap and crisscross underneath her breasts before tying at her back. Instead of matching it with the bottoms, she jumps into her shortest black shorts that barely cover the slope of her ass. She throws her hair up into a messy bun before putting on some lotion, so her skin is extra soft and glowy, and envelopes her in a flowery smell, which she knows Angel is a sucker for.

Mia takes a beer from the fridge, cursing him for not buying twist offs as she searches for a bottle opener just as the lawnmower cuts off.

“Fuck!” she curses and decides to forget about opening it. If Angel actually decides to drink the beer while she’s wearing this they are going to share loud words.

She opens the door to the backyard to find Angel on his knees, his hands on the lawnmower, looking at something. He doesn’t look at her as pushes his sunglasses up into his hair before reaching for his phone and, she guesses, sends a text.

“I ran out of gas,” he calls over, his eyes trained on the cell phone screen. “Do you know if Bish keeps a gas can around?”

“No idea,” she answers while patiently waiting for him to look up.

“He doesn’t,” Angel confirms as he stands, his thumbs flying over the screen with a look of annoyance on his face. “He’s gonna send Creep with a gas can in a little bit, what’re you—” he stops as he finally lays eyes on her.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” she says innocently and holds the beer out, but makes no move to get closer.

His eyes look her up and down. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks with no heat.

“What’re you talking about?” she questions and shakes the beer a little. “Do you want the beer or not?”

“Fuck no,” Angel answers. “But if you don’t get in the house right now we’re gonna find out if grass really does burn.”

Mia drops the bottle when Angel starts after her, and she shrieks with laughter. He catches up with her in the living room, grabbing her around the middle and lifting her off her feet.

“You think it’s funny to tease me, hm?” he asks in her ear, his hands splayed across her abdomen now.

“You were teasing me first,” she counters and bites her lip as his hands attempt to feel every inch of her. “Wearing those sweatpants low and showing off your arms. I’m only being fair.”

“You think this is me teasing?” Angel demands of her as he makes his way to the couch, pushing her down onto it. “Nah, I’ll show you how I tease, baby,” he warns before getting on his knees.

In retrospect, she should have known Angel would take this as some sort of challenge. He always does, even if they are just playing around.

Later, she might think he does it as a way to prove himself, even if subconsciously, to show he can do anything she puts him up to because his parents never expected anything out of him the way they did EZ.

But now, as his buries his face between her legs, the psychology of it is far from her mind. Except maybe her own, how she’s a glutton for punishment, but instead of falling into old habits of shitty boyfriends she does this. It’s a healthier outlet, that’s for sure.

“Angel, baby, please,” she pleads when he pulls away after edging her for the third time.

“You think you deserve to cum, mi dulce?” he asks as he wipes her wetness from his beard and starts to leave wet kisses up her stomach and chest.

“Yes,” she breathes and gasps when he nips at her nipple after having pushed aside the cup of her bikini.

“But you haven’t been good,” he tells her before switching to her other breast, teeth scraping and tongue swirling, making her moan and mewl. A moment later he slips two fingers inside her and she sighs at the feeling of something filling her up, even if it’s not as big and thick as what she’s craving.

“I—I have,” she stutters out as she cradles his face in her hands.

“You think?” he asks and his fingers crook inside her just right making her tremble.

Mia nods. “Please, I want to cum for you,” she whispers and pushes her forehead against his. “Angel, let me show you I can be good.”

He smiles at her, it’s easy and carefree makes her heart skip a beat. “Do as I say and I’ll let you cum as much as you want, okay?” he starts and she nods up and down over and over until he starts rubbing slow circle on her clit as his long fingers slip in and out of her. “Say it.”

“I’ll do as you say,” she moans, her eyes struggling to stay trained on his.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs with a quick kiss. “You’re not going to cum on my fingers or my mouth, you’re not allowed to,” he tells her, and she wants to whine, but knows it won’t help her case. “Soon, I’m gonna get on the couch and you’re gonna ride my dick,” he says, and she nods once more, this time appreciatively. “And you’re gonna cum as much as you can when I’m inside you. I wanna feel you cum on my cock, you hear me? I want to feel every single one of ‘em. I want you to cover my cock in your cream.”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Mia agrees with her hands threaded into Angel’s hair.

“Then, when I think you’re done, you’re gonna get on your knees just like I am now and lick it all off me until I cum down the back of your throat,” he finishes.

“Yes, please. Angel, yes,” she pleads and pulls on his shirt in an attempt to get him on the couch, but all it does is make Angel remove his shirt entirely.

“Oh, baby girl,” he says with a lick of his lips. “I said ‘soon’ we’re gonna do all that, remember? I’m not done tasting you,” he tells her. “Until last night I went sixteen days without this, and I hated it,” he mumbles as his fingers start to play with her slit again.

Mia just closes her eyes and enjoys the feel of his fingers inside her, playing with her, torturing her.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, baby,” he mumbles against her skin. “Look at me,” he orders, and she forces her eyes open, but her eyelids remain heavy. “Feel with me,” he says, his voice much softer now, and takes her hand in his and brings it down to her opening. “Put your fingers in.”

She does as she’s told and her much smaller fingers slide in with no resistance, coating her skin in her slick juices. She moans at the feeling, but it’s nothing compared to Angel’s long fingers, and not even close to his thick dick.

“I want you,” Mia whimpers as Angel guides her fingers in and out of her. “Not me, I want—”

“I know,” Angel cuts her off. “Here, see why yours is my favorite,” he insists and brings her wet fingers to her mouth to taste. She opens for him and he smiles. “Good girl,” he murmurs as her lips close around her own fingers.

“Mm,” she moans at her taste and Angel smiles at her.

He leans down and takes a swipe up her slit and mimics her ‘mm’ before getting up on the couch and shucking his sweatpants off. “C’mere, baby,” he offers, and she jumps at the chance to swing a leg over his hips and settles down on his dick. “Fuck, I missed you,” he sighs as she sinks down on him. “I know I said it last night, but it’s fucking true,” he insists with his hands on her hips.

“I missed you too,” she replies as she starts to move frantically on top of him, chasing the release he’s been keeping from her. Her arms wrap around his shoulders for leverage, and she leans her head to rest against his. “Please, please, please,” she chants as she practically impales herself on his cock.

“C’mon, you can do it. I wanna feel the way you shake around me,” he says and it’s like a switch goes off inside her and she does exactly as he says.

She cums and her body shakes as her pussy trembles around him, but rather than let her come down Angel starts bucking his hips up inside her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swears and buries her face in his neck as she comes again, not as strongly, but it still makes Angel cuss as she clamps down around him.

Mia’s still trembling when Angel shifts to lie down on the couch, his hands undoing the knot at her back so her bikini becomes slack. He slips it over her head and tosses it to the side before lifting her chin to look at him. “You done already, mi dulce?” he asks while pulling at the back of her knees so he’s even deeper inside her.

She moans, but shakes her head.

“You sure?” he wonders with a thumb circling her clit. “All you gotta do is tap out and get on your knees to finish this, baby.”

“I’m not done,” Mia says once she composes herself, then with a twinkle in her eye stands, hating how empty she feels, even if for only a moment, before turning around and settling back down on him in reverse cowgirl, knowing it’s one of his favorite positions.

“Yes,” Angel groans in pleasure, his hips bucking to get deeper inside her.

She leans forward with hands on her knees and gets her hips going, throwing her head back as she grinds down on top of him. Suddenly, she feels a tug at her scalp, and she’s pulled back against Angel’s chest, her back arched perfectly in the air.

With one hand in her hair, Angel uses his other to reach around and rubs his fingers into her swollen clit. “Where am I, baby?” he asks in her ear, his voice low and full of gravel.

“My stomach, holy shit,” she cries and cums, this time feeling a gush and she knows she’s creaming his dick like he wanted, and it only makes her hips move faster. “One more, one more, please,” she pleads with both Angel and herself.

Angel lets her hair go and both arms move to pull at the back of her knees so she’s folded in half, lifting her in the air as his hips buck up into her pussy. “You’re so fucking tight, baby girl,” he says with each plunge inside her.

Mia completely let’s go, letting Angel take the lead and relaxes the best she can in his arms, her pussy clenching on his cock as she readies to cum.

“Go, go, go,” he chants, and she does with a spasm, her whole body shaking as it does when Angel is deep inside her, pleasuring her over and over again.

She hears him grunt behind her and knows he’s painfully close, he has to be.

When he puts her down, she doesn’t hesitate. It takes all the energy she has left to get off him and turn on her knees, doing as she’s told and takes all of him in her mouth in one go.

“Fuck,” he swears with fingers threaded into her hair so she doesn’t move. “You taste yourself on my dick, querida?” he asks, and she nods as her head bobs. “Suck it all off, baby.”

It’s not even a minute later that Angel is emptying himself down the back of her throat as promised. She opens her throat and takes everything he gives her, swallowing his white heat.

When she lets him go with a pop, she finds his face looking completely blissed out as she wipes her lips.

“Wanna know a secret?” she asks while lowering herself on top of him, his arms automatically wrapping around her, holding their sweat slicked bodies close.

“Mhm,” he murmurs with fingers carding through her hair.

“Your dick is my favorite too,” she admits and hears him chuckle against her hairline.

Before her can respond they hear the loud roar of a motorcycle pulling up. “Fuck, that’s Creep with the gas,” Angel groans and flips so she slides down the side of him onto the couch.

“Have fun finishing the grass,” Mia sighs and feels a blanket being placed over her, making her smile.

“You think you’re real funny, huh?” he asks while hopping into his shorts.

Mia shrugs, then squeals when he tickles her side.

“Aye, Angel, you in there?” they hear as the door starts to open.

“Yeah!” her best friend exclaims and runs for the door before Creeper can come in. “Lemme take you ‘round back,” he says and stops the other Mayan from coming in.

Mia just smiles against her blanket thinking she’s a lucky girl. She’s got a best friend who can fuck her then get up and cut her grass. He’s definitely a keeper.

Taglist:

@joalsglasses @mrsamaroevans @justahopelessssromantic @mrsjaxtellerfan @rosieposie0624 @starrynite7114 @proudlittlewitchbitch @luckyharley1903 @miss-nori85 @thesandbeneathmytoes @jasminee97 @jakiki94 @superhoeva

IF YOU WANT ADDED TO THE TAG LIST LET ME KNOW!

#mayans mc #fanfiction #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes x mia flores #friends can break your heart too #chapter 5 #mayans smut

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tiaragqueen · 4 years

Text

Samaritan

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Ghost! Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,7k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Obsessiveness, mention of murder, death, blood, injury

[Edited]

***

I always get brilliant ideas whenever I'm sleepy it's almost inconvenient. There's not much yandere in this one, just an introduction and all. Maybe I'll try to fit the hard stuff later. Meanwhile, enjoy puppy Kirishima!

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Don’t leave me. I believe, I reach out to you. No ending, you are my hope. Even if I’m struck by rain, even if I’m erased by darkness, feel it without closing your eyes. You are not alone.” - Don’t Leave [Bangtan Seonyeondan]

For the longest time, Kirishima had been lonely. Every day, he roamed the house in search of a company from the little animals that resided there. Mosquitoes rung on his ears like a persistent alarm as he examined the familiar dust coating the furniture. They were his loyal companions. Friends, almost. He wasn’t crazy, but every living thing was better than nothing. Even if the said living thing was cockroaches, who he had the misfortune to encounter occasionally. He didn’t despise them, per se. And yet, there was something utterly distasteful about seeing them skittered from one place to another. He almost wished he was still alive and healthy, just so he could get rid of them immediately.

But, alas, it remained wishful thinking on his part. And nothing pained him more than seeing his reflection in the mirror; translucent pale skin, spiky red hair that used to be reminiscent of flame due to its vibrant color, sharp teeth, and crimson eyes obscured by the agony of being unable to move on. Because he couldn’t, for some unknown reasons. Perhaps, this had something to do with the house.

This was his resting place, after all. A killer had somehow broken in when he was waiting for his girlfriend, Mina, to come. The next thing he knew, he was knocked out of the chair and wheezed on the floor while the murderer watched derisively. He couldn’t recognize their face due to the mask that concealed it almost entirely, but he could see their eyes. They were wide as if they were engrossed in some sick entertainment and refused to look away. It wasn’t until they heard a footfall on the front door did they finally escaped through the window, and by the time Mina found him, it was already too late. The wound on his stomach was too wide to cover, and the blood that poured was too much to handle.

That was years ago, though. He didn’t know if the killer was already found or not since Mina had moved out to live with her roommate and couldn’t bear to visit anymore. But he did know that the injustice of his death was the reason why he was stuck here, floating aimlessly while his friends continued with their lives, unable to peacefully ascend to the next realm because he couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t accept that he was already dead. He couldn’t accept that he was no longer able to chat and meet with his friends and colleagues anymore. He couldn’t accept the fact that this house was his eternal home now if it could be called one.

It was unfair. Life was unfair to him. He was supposed to live long. He was supposed to marry the love of his life. He was supposed to see his future children playing in the yard. He was supposed to die quietly from old age, cradled by his frail wife, not gurgling on his own blood and listened to her wails and frantic shouts.

Except… there was nothing he could do to change his fate, was there? Maybe he’d always been destined to this way, the same way he was destined to be born from his mother’s stomach. He didn’t know. He just… wished it hadn’t come so soon. He wished it hadn’t been so abrupt. He wished he could put up a fight instead of freezing in shock.

Sighing, Kirishima put a hand against the brittle glass and stared outside. The familiar yard greeted him for the hundred times, untended and soaked from last night’s rain. Petrichor wafted through the vents and easily soothed his high-strung nerves, his favorite scent when the musty smell of old wood became too much for him to bear. Lightning flashed sporadically in the bleak sky and thunder resounded somewhere distant, but the rain had yet to fall again.

Lost in his musing, Kirishima failed to notice a strange car parked in the driveway. He blinked and immediately focused on the silhouette of a person who was fumbling with something through the tinted window. Who were they? What were they doing in here? Were they planning to investigate his murder? But the case had been closed a long time ago, and the car didn’t look like it belonged to the police or something. An investigator, then?

Or, maybe, a new occupant?

The prospect of having a stranger lived in his house perked him up considerably. It’d been a long time since he saw someone unrelated to the police visiting him – well, not really. Still, Kirishima wouldn’t let the thought discouraged him from attempting to befriend them. He didn’t know if they were the type to believe in the supernatural, but he hoped they could accept his existence here. Better yet, be his friend. It’d be nice to have someone whom he could talk to freely without screaming or flinching every second.

Kirishima nodded to himself and looked out, curious eyes widening when he saw you stepping out of your car. A girl! That was rather unexpected, but he guessed it was better than nothing. Though, with every step you took towards the house, Kirishima began to worry about his social skills. It’d been a long time since he interacted with anyone, after all. Nobody could blame him if he got rusty, especially around the opposite sex.

Regardless, it wouldn’t hinder him from trying. He prayed you wouldn’t be so jumpy around him.

Beaming, Kirishima moved to the doorstep like an overeager dog waiting for its owner and watched you unloading bags after bags from your car. His brows creased when he saw the fatigue that eclipsed your face and looked down as though disappointed by his unhelpful self. First time seeing someone in so many years and he already let you carry all the baggage alone. What kind of a friend was he?

For the next hours, he hovered over you and tried to assist you by arranging the little things neatly. He wasn’t a clean freak, but a touch of the order was something that he very much welcomed. It was the only thing he could do to alleviate your exhaustion, and as a ‘thank you’ gift for accompanying him despite all the rumors that surrounded the house. Though, he wasn’t sure if you’d heard them.

When you noticed the result, you’d glanced around bewilderedly before shrugging. You didn’t thank him, and yet, the fact that you thought nothing of his ‘work’ strangely gratified him. Perhaps, it was because you weren’t being paranoid like he’d expected you to. Nevertheless, it felt as if you’d patted him on the head or something.

This small help extended to the following days of your stay. From rushing to the kitchen and placed a clean glass on the table when he spotted you rising from the couch to drink, preparing a toothbrush and toothpaste before you slept, to covering you in blanket whenever you shivered in your slumber, he’d eagerly did it all. Sometimes, he’d linger on the bedside and gaze down at your tranquil face.

During those intimate moments, he’d silently thank the stars above for blessing him with such an agreeable companion and caressed the hair away from your eyes. He never got tired of marveling at your visage – sleep wasn’t a necessity for him, and even if it did, how could he reject the chance to admire you from up close? – and he wondered how would you react once you see him. Would you be scared of him? He hoped not. He’d spent so much time with you he couldn’t bear the thought of you actively avoiding him. Not that you could, though. Would you admire him the same way he’d done to you every single day? His cheeks bloomed at the idea as he shyly looked away.

Kirishima had been thinking about revealing his existence, but never once did he realize it. The fear of your judgment was the strongest among many inhibitions, and he found himself unconsciously prolonging the inevitable moment. However, Kirishima knew that he needed to do it sooner or later.

And he finally found the right opportunity to do it when you sat down on the dressing chair one night and stared at the mirror.

“This is stupid, I know, talking to my reflection like this. But…” you sighed. “hear me out. I’ve been noticing strange things, lately. They’re small, but disturbing nonetheless.”

Disturbing? Did that mean you hated his efforts?

“I don’t really believe in supernatural things like that, but if you can show your face to me, I’ll be grateful. Anything to let me know that I’m not going crazy within my first week here.”

Kirishima bit his bottom lip, wondering if he should come clean to you. He knew that he was striving for your approval, for your happiness, because he feared that you’d leave him someday. And he didn’t want that; he refused to be alone anymore. Forgotten by anyone and anything that used to stick with him and merely drifted through periods. He wanted to mean something to you, he wanted to leave a mark on your mind. Anything to make you know that he existed, and yet, he lacked the courage to do so.

However, he didn’t have much time to mull over before you stood up.

“Ah, forget it,” you grumbled. “Maybe I am crazy.”

“No!” Your eyes bulged when you felt a pair of sturdy arms wrapped around your stomach and pulled you to a hard chest. Strands of carmine hair caressed your jaw as Kirishima buried his head on the crook of your neck, desperate to delay you just a bit longer. “Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone, [Name]-chan.”

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milja-svartur · 5 years

Text

LFRP - Milja Svartur

She's in that femme fatale territory; A captive slave who's been recently liberated and has acquired a taste for blood in the process. Very familiar with being objectified in the past, Milja now utilizes this to her advantage to exact vengeance/catharsis. Having been swept up into the throes of a traveling caravan known as "The Hiraeth Haj" early on, she had been initiated into a life of crime practically from the moment she left the Wood.

Presently on the payroll for Reign Enterprises, Milja is a self trained healer who picked up on a great deal of Astromancy during her years with the Hiraeth Haj, and is surprisingly adept with maiming as much as she is with mending. Reputed to be very sweet, pleasant, and polite, direct interactions may reveal there's a lil somethin'-somethin' off. While often flirtatious, she can occasionally seem naive about the world around her, and has been described as "unhinged"

"You've been kind enough to take me under-wing, but I am afraid I do not have a singular answer-- I desire to help as much as hurt, heal as much as maim-- but I am selective in both. I can don a smile amidst a house on fire with the best of 'em. Should you demand it, I could stroke an ego as well as a cock; But even I have my limits, and I can say with certainty that is far exceeding them."

The Basics ––– –

Name: Milja Svartur. City name: “Cherry Blossom”

Age: 33

Birthday: 4th Sun of the 5th Astral Moon

Race: Viera, Veena

Gender: Cis Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Withheld

Server: Balmung

Alignment: True Neutral, though may occasionally present as Chaotic Neutral.

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Glossy bone white interspersed with a deep mauve-pink

Eyes: Dilute amaranthine, like Althyk Lavender

Height: 5 fulms, 8 ilms

Build: Bodacious: lean with ample feminine curves

Distinguishing Marks: She wears a collection of faded scars like souvenirs. They riddle her body, though are not terribly noticeable without looking closely. While she has no permanent tattoos, Milja is often marked with elaborate henna patterns on her hands.

Common Accessories: She typically wears any variation of gold collar, of which she has a perpetually growing collection of. While not an accessory, she favors wearing dark make-up and accentuates it with gilt and gold dust powders.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Employee of Reign Enterprises: Seduce and Destroy most of the time, but eye candy for the rest of it. Escort for hire.

Hobbies: Writing haikus, indulging in various cultural events, all sorts of entertainment, singing, gathering herbs, gutting men like fish, baking, eating at various establishments, and working with her hands.

Languages: Eorzean Common, fluent in body language.

Residence: A small apartment in the Mist, though she’s at home enough out in nature.

Birthplace: Othard, Skatay Range

Fears: Disappointing those she values the opinion of, ever finding herself in captivity again, one-sided relationships, being useless or insignificant, Leeches, and to a lesser extent, Crocs.

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Kaja (Mother), Styr (Father)

Siblings: None (at least none that she is aware of.)

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional Information ––– –

Smoking: No, thank you.

Drugs: Hard pass.

Alcohol: Will indulge socially, exclusively in the presence of those trusted. Finds excessive drinkers to be weak in character.

Historic Information ––– –

Milja was a child of the Wood in a Veena tribe which settled high in the Skatay Range during the Garlean occupation of Dalmasca. Being a very traditional tribe, rather than be exiled and bring shame to her kin, she voluntarily elected to leave and go out into the world to experience other places, people, and cultures at 25 years old. Within the first few months she was swept up into the throes of a traveling caravan in Othard by a Roegadyn named Ous, lured with sweet promises he could hardly deliver on. Essentially Ous and his lackeys were land pirate con-men, gamblers, slavers; Criminals who were known in various circles between The Far East and Eorzea as "The Hiraeth Haj".

What began as a consensual relationship was revealed to be something else shortly after embarking on her journey, and young Milja was essentially held captive, circumscribed to a life not her own and hid away from the world under less than pleasant circumstances. At 33 (recent/present), the particular caravan she was associating with was targeted by Reign Enterprises, which Milja believed had been employed to deal with the travelers by some organization or another, surely miffed by one of their many transgressions. During this exchange, the vardo where Milja resided went up in flames, and she was extracted by Dravitus, head of Reign Enterprises, where she has been employed since. As for the circumstances surrounding the events of her liberation; Very little information is known, save for the hushed rumors which circulated upon her enlistment into Reign Enterprises and have since settled down.

Find more information, art, and aesthetics - https://milja-svartur.tumblr.com/

RP Hooks ––– –

Viera Proud: While she may no longer have as close ties to the Wood as she once held, and is contented with the life she leads now, Milja occasionally pines for the culture and kin she has voluntarily left behind. She is interested in other Viera and the circumstances which surrounded their departure (or continued connection) to the Wood.

Seduce & Destroy: Comfortable in her own skin, Milja tastefully flaunts what she has and will utilize feminine wiles as a means to an end. As an employee of Reign Enterprises, she engages in less than decent exchanges (up to a point) to advance initiatives as they may benefit her employer, but she will also engage in more recreational exchanges.

Teacher’s Pet: Opportunities to bring new (illicit) business and forge connections with other criminal contacts for Reign Enterprises brings Milja the biggest rush. Looking for business opportunities? Share your pitch. She’s more than happy to lend a long, fluffy ear, and perhaps even a hand.

Unwitting Savior: Milja is, by nature, empathetic and nurturing. She is also subtly sadistic, which results in a taut dichotomy that primes her to fill the role of someone’s errant heroine. Your character is in a tight place? Being abused or taken advantage of? Is subjected to the whims of a badguy™? Call Miss Milja-- service with a sadist’s smile.

Bad Girl with a Good Heart: While she may engage in criminal activity, enjoy brutalizing, dress like a high class harlot, and is capricious as they come, she is is loyal to the core. Milja is a good ol’ fashioned ride or die lady (you heard it right, underneath what very little clothing she wears, she is, in fact, a proper lady) who looks out for those she cares for while operating under her own set of conditions: doing bad things for the right reasons.

OOC/Contact Information ––– –

I am happy to entertain walk-up RP in game, but can also be found on discord (Poufkin#5707) or through tumblr: https://milja-svartur.tumblr.com/!

Veteran RPer who is new to the FF scene. How I have avoided this inevitable fate for as long as I have is beyond me.

Multi-para RP preferred... occasionally slow. I am sorry!

EST time zone, usually available after 8PM or on weekends. Also work full time. Also am a grad school student. 😬

Really friendly, kinda shy, derpy, and harmless. Please don’t hesitate to reach out!

#milja svartur #viera #vieraffxiv #lfrp #crystal lfrp #balmung #balmung rp #oc roleplay #roleplay #ffxiv roleplay #balmung lfrp

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regrettablewritings · 5 years

Text

How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: You thought of Clark as anyone who’d ever met him before did: He was timid, and something about his demeanor seemed poorly suited for the frame that actually portrayed it. However, he seemed harmless enough; nothing worth digging into. That was what you had made sure to take note of during your period as a mole for one “Mr. Knight.” (You really wished Mr. Wayne would’ve thought up a less laughable alias, but he wasn’t paying you to criticize. Only to keep your finger on the pulse of Metropolis by infiltrating the ranks of the Daily Planet). However, as time went on, that initial response seemed to shift somewhat.

It didn’t take long for you to notice his frequent disappearances during the work day. When you inquired about it, an apparent friend of his, Lois, explained that it had something to do with some “health concerns” or whatever story he was supposedly working on that week. You raised a brow at the matter but took note for future reference. Part of you wanted to believe that your job (your real one as a mole) had been made a lot easier by potentially having a link to finding out who the caped Kryptonian was. But another part of you was suspicious of the possibility; after all, that would be far too good of luck for that to be the case, right? Probably.

You would’ve been happy to have left it like that, had it not been for the brief but relatively multiple occurrences where you’d witnessed Clark be able to perform acts that would have required excessive strength such as moving a full file cabinet with ease, or gripping the edge of his desk enough to snap the pulpy wood it was made out of. It was perhaps in your need to justify everything that wound up being your downfall. You were on a mission – a very important one at that – and it wouldn’t do to constantly pester your boss about every strange thing that occurred in the area. (If that were the case, you would’ve had the Bruce Wayne lurking around the nightclub scene, intimidating every other person who could do a vape trick through a gaged hole in their mouth.)

In this case, you looked to the small file of Daily Planet workers that Mr. Wayne had provided you with, pleased to use Clark’s farm boy heritage as an excuse for his freakish strength (never mind that he supposedly had health issues that may or may not have a supposed effect on it). But perhaps also you just needed a reason to not have to be suspicious of him: He was, from what few interactions the two of you had had, a very nice guy. Not a Nice Guy™, but a man who appeared to be nice by nature. You sure as heck never met one back in Gotham!

Clark admittedly didn’t have much of an opinion on you for the first chunk of your time undercover. It wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t appear in his awareness enough for him to form an idea of you, it was just that with his self-appointed position as a sort of guardian of the Earth (or at least Metropolis), learning about new coworkers wasn’t really on the top of his list. Especially with this Batman nonsense beginning to spill over from across the bay. But from what he did manage to take note of, however, you were polite and dedicated, always seeing your assigned tasks to the end – which was undeniably something that Clark couldn’t always say for himself.

He didn’t expect the latter to come back to bite him in his nigh-on invincible ass, though.

It didn’t matter to you that he’d insisted that all was forgiven: The amount of guilt you’d accumulated after being tied up into his near-defeat just wouldn’t quit.

“Please,” you said, almost seriously, “punch my body backwards. Fling me into the sun… Lois mentioned you got a place in the Arctic, right? Drop me off there and leave me to fend for myself.”

Once again, Clark found himself laughing (albeit in an attempt to alleviate the tension).

“It’s okay,” he swore. A beat before shrugging. “Well, not okay … But it’s all said and done. You didn’t mean any harm –”

“This entire UC mission was to figure out who Superman was so my boss could kick the shit out of him.”

“… Well, you didn’t mean the extent of the harm, anyway.”

Even after you placed your two-weeks notice at the Daily Planet, thus ending your time in Metropolis, the apologies wouldn’t quit. Nor did your efforts to attempt proportionate compensation via expensive fruit baskets.

(“Wow,” Lois breathed, observing the intricate designs carved into a large watermelon. The great fruit itself had been converted into a basket that now held grapes and honeydew and all sorts of other natural goodies. “Somebody must really like you, Clark.” She smirked as Clark’s ears burned red. He cast his eyes downward, but he knew she knew.)

But eventually he must have gotten sick of fruit or acquired a compost pile too large for the likes of the city, because eventually he contacted you and suggested the two of you settle this in a more agreeable way: Having a nice dinner and chatting. Even though Clark insisted it was something he’d managed to pull together, the fact that the restaurant was practically bare save for the staff gave you the creeping suspicion that he had called in a favor with Mr. Wayne. You intended on asking Clark if this had been the case (aside from his alter ego, the man was pretty honest about everything else), but first: You had to talk about the fight that happened so long ago.

It was by no intention (at least, not of your own) that the discussion would diverge into other topics, which then turned into conversations all a world of their own. Things like how different Metropolis was from Gotham. Or your respective personal lives when not saving the world or writing for a flimsy paper or being a billionaire’s second righthand. Or favorite dishes to cook. Or favorite past times. By the time the night was over, you’d forgotten what the two of you had come together for in the first place.

Fast forward to now, when the two of you are a couple. You still think he’s a dorkish sweetheart, but really only when he’s in civilian mode. This is because you’ve since come to know Clark as being far more multidimensional than the stereotypical, sheepish lad he sells himself as. You respect his sacrificing attitude, nerve-wrecking as it can often be. It’s interesting how a man can seem so ideal yet struggle so much with the weight of what his abilities carry, and he lets you know about that weight often enough. He wants to be the best hero he can, but that’s just plain impossible. Nevertheless, he tries and sometimes he pushes himself too far in the attempts. He needs a lot more comfort and validation than he lets in on, of which you are glad to provide.

Clark is quite glad to learn that being ambitious wasn’t just a trait you wore for your time undercover – it was something that you had arrived in Metropolis with, and one that you carried out in everything you did no matter how big or small. Let’s be real, Clark’s always admired a go-getter, so it’s no surprise that that is perhaps the trait he’s most excited about seeing in you. He admires your openness to carrying out tasks, something of which he can’t quite do as often as he’d like due to who and what he is. However, he’s more than happy to support you because you’re his biggest cheerleader and have faith in him. Going off of this, he also appreciates your loyalty. It’s an impassioned sort, assisted by the aforementioned sense of dedication you display. Once your mind is made up, it would take either a lot or your own self to actually sway you off the course you’d set. No wonder he was able to buy you as a genuine journalist for so long!

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Given that he’s far less hostile towards Clark post-fight, Bruce doesn’t feel nearly as threatened about the relationship as he probably could’ve been. Of course, he’s still put off by it: He hadn’t expected his spy to come back dating the very man he’d been afraid of all these years. However, given that he’s grown to trust Clark as a person, all Bruce can do is sigh heavily and just let things happen. The both of you are grown-ups, he trusts nothing weird is going to happen.

“Besides,” he resigns, “at least the guy can protect you if need be.” Damn right he could.

Neither of you get the chance to even tell Lois before she figures it out (the woman isn’t an award-winning investigative journalist for nothing). Honestly, she thought the two of you had been dating long before you actually began (“I thought that the fruit baskets were little tokens of affection after the fifth week of it happening,” she said). However, she is quick to regard the relationship as something straight out of a cheesy romance novel and she’s absolutely living for it.

“Enemies-turned-lovers – god, can Clark ever be a part of something not cliché?” she giggles into her morning coffee the day she figures out the situation. Suffice to say she’s at least glad that the man is actually interacting with more people on a regular basis than just her. On that note, the League also soon finds out (because let’s be real, Diana could either see it in Clark’s features, or Bruce blabbed about it). With the exception of Bruce (who is exasperated about it), the League is predominately neutral regarding the relationship. Actually, scratch that: Barry bluntly comments about how strange the union is because “didn’t [Clark] almost die because of the information [you] got on [him]?” He doesn’t mean to come off in any negative kind of way, it just perplexes him at first. However, given that he and Clark are “speed buddies” and therefore share kindred, sprinted spirits, he trusts Clark’s decision and is happy for him.

When you finally videochat your family so they can finally lay their eyes on your boyfriend, you have to pray to whatever god is out there that the camera feed is too grainy for them to make out Clark’s features too well. When your sibling commented on how Clark looks vaguely familiar, your stomach took a plunge into your bowls. Thankfully, Clark was able to play it off as a joke about how he just has “basic white guy face.” It manages to get a chuckle out of your family. All in all, they think you’ve found yourself a “fine young man.” It’s your friends, however, you struggle the most with. It’s not that they disapprove of the relationship – far from it, in fact – it’s just that with them being physically present and far more social media savvy, it’s harder to keep them from recognizing Clark as the controversial Kryptonian. As a result, Clark kept his almost sheepish workplace demeanor, adding fuel to the image by always opting to wear clothes that are just unflattering to his figure. Nothing godawful, but definitely nothing to indicate at the 6’1” mass of pure muscle that he really was.

No neither side’s surprise, they bought it. Mainly because Clark was naturally very likable. Your friends boldly praise Clark for being “a rare breed of man”, and you for managing to snag him. It’s when they ask you guys how you met, however, that things had to be fudged a bit. As far as they know, you two met while he was interviewing you for a piece that wound up getting cancelled. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to handle learning you’re involved with espionage, much less that it was the reason you are now dating Superman.

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: While both you and Clark are go-getters, it’s really only in your own respective rights. For example, it’s in his nature to present it as tamer. He works in ways that, at their core, are meant to minimize damages to the best of his ability. (Whether or not this actually plays out, of course, depends on the circumstances.) This isn’t to say that you’re necessarily rambunctious but being that you were trained under and employed by a man with an “any means necessary” point of view, it’s easy to sometimes let your ambitions get the better of you. You both are also skilled in the ways of being elusive, with it being in your job description by the nature of the job, and with it being a necessity for him to be able to be Superman and Clark separately.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: Even from day one, with what little you knew or cared about Clark, you had to admit: You admired his kindly nature. Depressing as it was to say, it just wasn’t a common thing to find in people, much less the men hardened by urban living. And your job and all its accompaniments hadn’t necessarily convinced you otherwise – you were just so used to seeing and reporting horrible, dark things about seemingly nice people that you had lost quite a bit of hope by the time Clark had rolled around. In fact, you honestly didn’t really by his willingness to help or his politeness – at first. But once he proved that everything about his efforts was genuine, you couldn’t help but admire those traits. A little too much so, in your initial opinion.

Part of you even questioned your own reliability, that maybe you took small, normal instances of him being a decent human and exaggerated them to godlike status to make your eventual romantic relationship with him more justifiable. But ultimately you clung to it: The universe was offering you a walking piece of Heaven, who were you to truly deny yourself that? Of course, it sometimes exhausted you to see him try to fulfill expectations that weren’t even necessarily there (especially with his Clark Kent alias), but more on that later. In healthy doses, his unselfishness was his strongest point.

Having been raised in a farming community, Clark grew up appreciating the value of working hard to get results. This has since bled into the real world where go-getters tend to gain some bit of admiration within him, especially those who use their determination to see a job through to a greater good. Granted, the situations wherein you tended to use this trait of yours are a bit controversial: Espionage, for all intents and purposes, was a shady business to get into, especially since his first awareness of your involvement in it required you to be a mole and feed your employer information, of which subsequently got Clark’s ass kicked. But you win some brownie points when he gets to observe that same diligence in you outside of work. If you set your sights on a project or something you wish to acquire, you’re going to see it through, from getting a recipe for a stay-in date night down, to attempting to fix the dryer despite knowing very little about handyman-ship.

Suffice to say, godly being loves a trier.

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: It may seem cold, but you hate that Clark blames himself for not being able to stop anything and everything. It’s ridiculous. He may be “godlike” to the eyes of many, but that doesn’t make him God, much less suggest that even God helps everybody. He just needs to accept to the vest of is ability that there are some (and by some, you mean plenty) of things he can’t do. That’s what makes him human. He doesn’t … take this bluntness too well. Yes, he knows you’re right, but the delivery of this type of sensitive subject doesn’t always flow sweetly through your lips. And that’s what he doesn’t like.

Your concern for his self-validation doesn’t always translate as being from a place of good intentions, unfortunately. Sometimes you just come off as cold and cruel. And that is probably when he dislikes from you: That despite being a very caring person, you seem to be a little more detached compared to him. You’re more so about people rather than for people, whereas he has built himself up as a figure for people and about people. As a result, he sometimes feels beside himself, thinking that your aloof nature shouldn’t be excused by what you’ve experienced and that it only contributes to a bigger problem as a whole.

The truth of the matter is that while both sides have valid arguments, the delivery of such concerns – especially when in the heat of an argument – can result in ill delivery of either impression.

The words “martyr syndrome”, “ridiculous”, “cold”, and “selfish” are likely to be thrown about until you either storm off or he practically blasts out of the apartment before he accidentally lasers the kitchen counter out of rage.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: Cool down time is especially important in a situation wherein one member of the couple is capable of accidentally setting off a very dangerous super power when enraged. Clark would never hurt you, mind you; even when frustrated with you, he would never wish you ill in spite of what he may imply when blinded by anger. However, you make him pretty vulnerable, mind you. And sometimes, that vulnerability may mess with his ability to focus on trying not to smash a balled fist against the coffee table and turning it into toothpicks upon impact. And while you may not be anywhere near that strong or gifted with abilities that would allow you to destroy things with the same capacity, you still have plenty of anger to simmer down from.

Screaming into a pillow usually only does so much (mostly just making your throat and head hurt), so more often than not you’ll try to nap away the pain. If you manage to wake up before Clark comes back, there’s a slight chance you’ll be in a better mood. Maybe not a perfect one, but you’ve at the very least calmed down a bit. Depending on the situation, you may have even accepted that you can’t stay mad forever, let alone with him, and you want to just end this silly dispute and make peace. You wait up for him to return which, in itself, is a feat considering that his abilities allow him to literally travel all over the world in record time – which he has done in some cases under the duress of an argument. If you stay up for hours, even into the blooming light of the rising sun, he won’t even try to talk with you when he returns – he’ll just usher you back to bed and quietly say you’ll talk when you’re both well-rested.

When that time eventually comes, the keyword here is “softer.” Speak what you mean in softer language. Don’t sugarcoat it, but there’s definitely a better way to state your claim than, “Shit happens everywhere in the world, it’s not your job or even your ability to clean it all up, nor should you kick your own ass about it.” Clark will be patient and let you tell your side, nodding or furrowing his brows at certain comments, before telling his own side of the situation regarding himself. Then, when you’re ready, he’ll confide in you (in softer terms) his worry that you’re being too indifferent about the current state of the world and his place in them. He understands you don’t mean to come off in such a way, but it just concerns him that you’ve really given up on everything.

Of course, you haven’t. You just felt it was easier to cope with everything this way. He understands. Just like deep down, you understand that your beloved boyfriend just wants to bring to the world more peace than there was before he came. Neither part may necessarily agree with the others’ methods or how it may impact them (making you cold, making him filled with anxiety), but the most that you can do is be there for one another. Offer each other support and love and keep as much of a balance as possible. Because in the end, you keep him grounded and Clark lifts you up.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: It’s hard to place where or even what vacationing with Clark would look like to be honest. Given who Clark is, he can’t always just up and decide to take a break. At least, that’s what he convinces himself. And it drives you absolutely nuts! Once Lois and Diana catch wind of this, they’re on Clark’s back like college students on free food, scolding him for “neglecting his boyfriend duties.” He only really gives in after Diana’s fifty-fifth insistence that the League can handle things in his absence. However, it then becomes a matter of where to go.

Given his abilities, he can and has easily traveled to other countries in very little time with few to no difficulties. But since he more often than not is not there to take in the scenery or culture, this makes it only a bit easier. However, you insist that on vacation he ought to act a little more normal so that he can get the full experience. This means you have to choose a vacation destination wisely, otherwise y’all have wasted money. Generally speaking, Clark’s nervousness about being too far from Metropolis is likely going to affect how far the two of you go at first, never mind how easy it would be for him to just fly back if the League truly did need him. However, enough nudging can result in a trip a little further from Metropolis than Clark would have expected to be besides Smallville.

He finds that he likes Yosemite Park. Not so much the crowds it tends to draw, but definitely the hiking trails and the potential picnics that could be had further away from the screeches of children and bellowing of their frustrated parents. Plus, his abilities make going further inward and elsewhere all the more easy, with getting lost or having to escape potentially dangerous animals being a thing of the past when Clark can easily fly above the treetops and back toward civilization if need be. Of course, he still tries to avoid being cocky and to keep his wits about him, but for the most part, Clark finds himself enjoying the vacation. Once he’s gotten through his hesitancies and potential guilt about relaxing, he practically collapses into a puddle of released stresses, his head warming your lap as the two of you enjoy the gentle breeze of the little patch of forest you decided to spend your little picnic for two in.

He dreadfully misses it when it comes time for him to resume his jobs as both a reporter and as guardian of Metropolis (and, furthermore, the world).

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time

The world was strange, and Clark wasn’t sure how much right he had to conclude that for himself. Because, on one hand, he was a flying, laser-shooting alien with unparalleled strength. But on the other, he was involved with a team composed of two technical demigods (both whose people were thought to be myths), a cyborg revived from the brink of death by a box, and a man fast enough to phase through solid material with just the proper amount of focus. This went without mentioning the fact that his enemy-turned friend was a billionaire who’d been dressing like a bat for the last three decades but, all things considered, that was arguably normal by comparison.

But, with the exception of Victor, you never would’ve assumed such oddities about any of them. Not at first glance at least. But that was the point: The world could only handle so much strangeness before people became too opposed to it for it to carry on. Which was why it made Clark a little more than on edge when things around Metropolis started to seem a little … odd.

It started off with little things: Black marks appearing in alleyways, cracking and booming noises often occurring before or after. “Not unlike thunderclaps,” witnesses would later say. TVs and other electrical devices going wonky or even outright snapping out of life. Fuse boxes would be blackened, the areas around them sometimes scorched. But the electric companies couldn’t find anything about the equipment that would suggest sabotage; and inspectors on the case found little to nothing that could suffice as evidence that there was purposeful vandalism. And with all the more obvious surveillance cameras damaged before any footage could be captured, there was only so much to go on. There was little rhyme or reason indicating a pattern to which areas got struck besides the fact that they tended to be in wealthier areas, but considering much of Metropolis was inhabited by the upper-class, it was nearly a moot note so the likelihood of a successful stakeout was remarkably slim – if performed by the average cop.

Bruce wasn’t a cop. But he also wasn’t the average detective. It had taken some time and a lot of surveillance, coupled with Lois’ own findings done on her own time, but by the end of a month and a half, they were pretty certain they had found their culprit. All that was left was to have Clark find them and bring them in, hopefully to join the League.

Why Clark?

“Pretty sure that if you get electrocuted, you’ll just register it as a tickle,” Bruce admitted. Blunt, but fair.

Still, Clark couldn’t help but think as he scouted the skies one night, maybe the rich guy who has plenty of time the next day to rest might want to go searching in the middle of the night?

But there was no use in arguing, much less at this point. Though some small part of him wish he’d put up a bit more of a fight beforehand. Normally, Clark was glad to have found the city experiencing little to no issues, especially at night. However, considering the added weight of expectations placed on this particular outing, there he couldn’t help but hold a little bit of anticipation in him –

VwwmmmmmpapapapKRACK.

It was faint, being in the distance, but it was nothing his hearing couldn’t register: The sound of fuse tampering and popping out of life. There, some odd three miles away: There was a glow swelling and slightly throbbing with diminishing power, crawling out of an alleyway into the night air.

Well, Clark thought somewhat optimistically. At least I won’t have to track them down based on looks alone …

+++++++++

Moving to Metropolis was supposed to be the start of something new. Something good and new, specifically. Not getting into a freak accident involving a weird, unnatural-looking cloud appearing just as you were checking out your apartment’s fuse box and waking up months later from a comatose state. That alone should have been enough of a cue that things weren’t going to go your way.

But, oh, it didn’t stop there. It would’ve been fine to have stopped when a majority of your clothes would stick to you regardless of the fashion; that was bearable. But it went on: From your phone exploding in your touch to your electronics following suit. It didn’t stop when the electricity in your building flickered with your rage; nor did it stop when, on a fearful whim, you attempted to summon as much voltage from as many transformers in a three-block radius as possible – and succeeded. Well, that is, before your attempts to return the acquired energy resulted in their sources exploding. You weren’t trying that again.

Not until you had a better grasp of it all… . But god, why was it all so dam hard to grasp?

You’d though it be best to practice in the richer parts of town – the electric company would be in a far bigger hurry to bring them their power back, the absolute bastards. But with how many generators and the like you were destroying, you were running out of practice space.

You groaned as you watched the circuit box before you begin to putter out of use.

“Greeeeat, (Y/N),” you told yourself. “You finally begin to get the hang of putting shit back where it came, you get a little too excited, and blam-o.” The all too familiar feeling of disappointment developed a sigh in you; you had long since passed feeling anxious about the destruction of property, and you knew you could do no good by trying to fix it. All you could do now was leave the scene, pretend to sleep peacefully, and try to figure out where to go next.

It had been nearly two months since you started your high-voltage, highly dangerous practicing; surely by now the cops were on to you, what with most of your “victims” being people of note. Logic said to shake them off your trail by moving to a type of location they wouldn’t have seen comic. But … that meant going to lower-income neighborhoods. And as much as you wanted to figure out how to stop blowing up electronics by touch, you really weren’t comfortable with doing it at the expense of those who needed the help more.

“Good evening,” came a voice, yanking you out of your nervous thoughts. It had taken your brain a moment to register it, but you could’ve sworn it came come from the sky: A type of voice dashing heroes in old movies would use; heroes with big, strong chins.

Superman did, of course, have such a feature on him, you came to find. But as he descending from the sky, into the alley (thus blocking your way out), you were forced to consider that every feature he had appeared to be big and strong: His towering height, his bulging muscles that the suit made no effort to hide, his … hands that would most definitely kill you if he so much as poked you with one finger.

That last thought alone, even in a hypothetical sense, was all it took for your fight or flight senses to kick in, your hands suddenly flying up in defense with fizzles of what electricity you’d collected springing in your palms.

Superman, however, did not flinch. He barely even regarded your sparkling, trembling hands (which did nothing for your confidence, both in your abilities and in your chances of getting out of this unmaimed).

“You don’t want to do that,” Superman stated. Simple as that. And he was right: You really didn’t want to have to “fight” him. But what else could you do?

On Clark’s own end, he could just feel the anxiety radiating off of you. He didn’t even have to listen for your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Honestly, though he hated to admit it, looking at you reminded him of seeing small, scared animals back in Smallville. Rabbits and mice found scittering about on the farm to be more specific.

On one hand, he was just glad you weren’t some hyper-powered hooligan willing to throw a punch in a fight they weren’t ready for. But on the other, he felt a little bad scaring you like this. It was probably best if he didn’t near you. For now.

“It’s okay,” he offered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You sighed and lowered your hands, your pitiful static fizzling to a halt. “Look,” you said quietly, “I promise I’ll go away. I’ll switch towns! I swear!”

At this, the man furrowed his brows. “I’m afraid that can’t happen …” Your heart plummeted before being slingshotted back into a revived desire to plea and flee.

“I swear, okay! Nobody was supposed to get hurt!” you insisted. “I don’t think anybody even really got hurt, per se … Just inconvenienced. But I promise, it won’t happen again – ” In the midst of your rambling, Superman took a step towards you. It was a simple movement, all things considered, but for you, in this moment of high stress, it might as well have been an outright threat. You couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a pathetic yelp, nearly stepping all over your own feet to take a few steps back.

Crap, Clark cursed. Okay, clearly acting serious and stern was helping nobody. At this point, you were probably going to run in the opposite direction and smack your skull against the dead end of the alleyway. To hell with this.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he suddenly said. He raised his hands in a weak attempt to show his change of demeanor. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” You had to admit, even in your moment of fear, the sudden shift in tone was not lost on you.

He still had hints of old school hero in his voice, but now there was something … more? It was hard to place (especially in your current jumpy state), but you were just able enough to pick out nodes of what his voice now held: Sunshine; apples; the type of voice a sweet man running a humble little bookstore or fruit stand might have.

It had to have been a trap. You weren’t one to disapprove of Superman, given all that he’s done, but being on the other side of him just wasn’t doing much for your ability to think straight. And Clark could sense it.

“Hey,” he tried again. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” You blinked, a brow slowly beginning to raise. “We – I’ve been looking for you, per a friend’s request, and – ” No sooner had he said it, Clark regretted it. The look of resumed discomfort of your face made him really acknowledge that.

“ ‘Friend’?” you demanded. “Who the hell is your friend? What do you want?!”

Oh, geez.

“Listen, please, remain calm!” Clark pleaded. To him, in that moment, he’d thought he’d been sounding gentle enough. But as the nearby streetlights began to flicker, he knew better.

Once again, regret: If there was anything he’d learned working with Lois and Bruce, it was that telling someone on the verge of panic or in the midst of complete frustration to “calm down” in any sense was a bad, bad, bad idea. Saying so to a person who had powers, controlled or not, however? Absolutely terrible idea.

While your previous attempt at intimidation by way of summoning electricity had done little to impress Clark, he had to admit: You were a bit better at it now. The more the streetlights blinked, the more streams of electronic light appeared to gather towards you, specifically in your palms and feet.

“Look, buddy,” you hissed. “I’ve been dealing with a lot of crap leading up to this. I moved to a new city. I got goddamn electrocuted into a coma – ” At this point, Clark couldn’t help but notice thin streaks of static begin to make a beeline towards your eyes. Not promising, if his experience had told him so.

You gritted your teeth, increasingly glowing eyes narrowing. “Then! I wake up to these – these stupid, stupid powers! Powers I don’t have the first fucking clue of how to control. But do you see me running around, actively trying to kill people like every other goddamn psycho in this ‘city of tomorrow’? No! I’ve had to figure all this crap out on. My. Own.” The brights of your eyes increased, simultaneously illuminating the growing rage of your expression while also blinding Clark to being able to make it out in the first place.

At your feet, small currents began to sizzle against the crackling pavement. You were no longer trying to back away: You took a step forward, and it definitely made Clark feel worry.

“Could I have done it differently? Sure. Maybe. But don’t forget, Flyboy: I could’ve been so. Much. Worse!” Clark could hear the tingling rattle of lightbulbs struggling within the streetlights, trying to retain whatever power they could.

“I – ” But Clark was cut off.

“And you,” you growled, “have the audacity … To tell me to calm DOWN?!” In that moment, three things happened in the following order:

The first had been that your eyes, filled with so much fury, could no longer remain squinted; they widened, revealing themselves to be entirely white with pure energy at this point. The second thing appeared to be connected with the sudden snapping, due to it being how any lightbulb in a streetlight or artsy lamp within a three-block radius became overwhelmed – too overwhelmed to maintain proper form, in fact. They popped and shattered, leaving bits of glass to tumble to the streets below.

The third instance, however, had nothing to do with your powers: It was just Clark, getting a word in.

“I get it,” he said. Had there been any lightbulbs left, they might have shattered as well in sync with the snarl you gave the man.

“Quit lying!” you demanded. The wave of volts began to ripple all the more erratically. But Clark held his ground.

“I’m not lying,” he swore. He even placed one hand to his heart, the other upright. “Scout’s honor.” Unfortunately for him, the sincerity of a Boy Scout appeared to mean little to you. He went on, “I didn’t always have control of my powers. I didn’t have anyone to help me figure them out; I had to wing it!” You raised a bemused brow in reaction.

Okay … Clark thought. It’s … better than the glare, I guess? He swallowed. Dare to try one last time before things potentially get yucky?

“That’s, uh, actually why I’ve … come to find you,” he stated. “The friend? I swear he’s a good man. A little rough around the edges, but – ”

“You’re not helping your case,” you snapped.

“I’m a part of a sort of group, there’s people like you and me, and we think it’d be best if you joined – er, if you wanted to.”

“Ah. So, you want to basically make me into a weapon?”

“Nonononono, not that at all. I swear. It’s just – Look, even if you don’t want to join,” Clark bit his lip, “we could at least potentially find a way to help you get those powers under control so that you won’t keep breaking stuff.” A beat passed. “Well,” he shrugged, “it’s more like my friend will. He’s good with science and can definitely provide the right materials.”

To his credit, Clark did begin to notice an apparent lapse in the energy you were emitting. It was hard for the average eye to properly compute it but for him, the change was definitely there.

On your own end, you had to admit: The temptation was definitely lingering through his words. But then, perhaps you were just desperate and overwhelmed and looking for an out in this entire situation. But something still very much bothered you.

“How can I know I can trust you?” you asked, brow completely scrunched with uncertainty. The entire situation considered, it was still a bit of a shocker for one to not entirely trust the great and beloved Superman’s words. And, judging by his stumbling, it wasn’t a scenario he had been prepared to answer right on the spot.

“Uh – Becaaauussseee …” Another thing Clark had learned working with Lois and Perry Mason: The longer you stammer and search for answers, the less legit your word comes cross. His mind scrambled for something, anything that would win your favor over. But, in the end, there was only one thing that stood out. And, for the first time completely since landing in that alley, Clark felt just as nervous as you had.

“My … name …” He inhaled deeply, trying his best not to exhale chill winds. “My name … is Clark Kent. I work with The Daily Planet.”

You blinked. “… Pardon?” The voltage at your feet dampened.

Clark continued, “I’m a Kryptonian refugee, but I was raised here on Earth. The friend who sent me here is – ” He stopped himself short before deciding that Bruce could kick his ass about this later. “It’s Bruce Wayne.”

“Bruce Wayne?!” you interjected. Part of you wanted to call crap but the other part of you had to remember that the man in front of you was claiming to be a humanoid alien who worked at the local newspaper; who’s to say he really wasn’t acquainted with the rich guy across the bay? Judging by the hint of smile this Clark Kent guy let slip, you … honestly couldn’t bring yourself to really disbelieve him. The static at your fingertips dribbled into your palms before shrinking away.

“Yeah, uh … It’s a bit of a story,” Clark claimed, a bit of sheepishness in his voice.

The shift from mostly illuminated to just barely lit by the light of the moon was sudden and startling. But for Clark, it was a good thing. The ground immediately beneath you had been blackened by your doing, but you otherwise appeared perfectly fine, if a bit curious.

“Got proof?” you asked.

“I mean, I gave you my secret identity – that’s pretty trusting if I do say so myself,” Clark pointed out. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. And you were getting awfully tired. In fact …

In that moment, you had realized something: That was about the most power and damage you’d caused ever since getting these powers in one fell swoop. You were a little impressed. But you were also plenty concerned. Sure, you’d meant to be threatening in the moment, but the fact still remained: If the only other person around hadn’t been Superman, how easily could you have actually harmed another person in your moment of anger? The second you attempted to truly ponder it, a shudder threatened to ripple through your body; you did not enjoy considering those odds.

But how long until you got so pissed off that you pulled another one of those? How long until you actually did cause harm? That thought was even worse …

“Are you positive?” you mumbled, causing Clark to cock his head by an inch.

“I’m sorry?” he questioned.

You looked him dead in the eye and dared him to lie: “Are you positive you guys can, like, help me control my powers?” The smile he gave you alone would have been enough to convince you.

“We’ve trained with literal scientific anomalies and legends, Miss. I can assure you: You’re in good company with us.” The sweet, honey warmness of his voice did everything to calm the well of fear and guilt within you. It was more than enough.

“Okay,” you said with finality.

“Okay?”

“Mhm. Let’s do this.” Almost instantly, however, you raised your fingers to draw a point. “But I’m not fighting or anything. Just so we’re clear. I’m just coming along to get my groove in order, so tell your ‘friend’, Bruce Wayne, alright?”

The man didn’t even try to hide a chuckle at your stance. You were going to be just fine, he’d decided. And you? Well … the jury was still out on whether or not this was where your move to Metropolis would finally turn into a good, new thing.

#i had to repost because the original’s format was terrible on the app #regrettablewritings #hopefully this one is better...#clark kent x reader #clark kent imagines #clark kent imagine #clark kent headcanon #clark kent headcanons #superman imagine #superman imagines #superman x reader #dceu headcanons #dceu imagines

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kurtty-drabbles · 5 years

Text

Church/ Soulmate au

N/A: Is a cliche I´ll use but I like it. So, let´s see what happens here.

@djinmer4 @sailorstar9 @dannybagpipesarecalling @discordsworld @look-ma-no-hands336

In Ultramar, a country that banished religion for the concept of a positive future, and in a more “clean” future, they ´re separated into 3 classes. The first class is dominated class A and is where the richer and nobles live well, the second class is dominated class B where people with fewer means live and the third class is dominated class C where people with no means are located. Another thing to mention about this world, there´s the soulmate system, where each person is blessed with a half tattoo and your significant other is born with the complete draw, the idea is that each person, unite, and makes the perfect union.

The Prydes meet thanks to the soulmate system. Terry Pryde had a half image of a yellow heart and Cameron had the other half. However, their daughter, Kitty Pryde, has a strange symbol on her hand that no one can decipher.

Her symbol is a half image of a sun, however, the design is very ancient and thanks to a research Kitty made, this type of design is a date in 1600, which, means two things or her soulmate is a hipster that loves old things or her soulmate is already dead. In addition, this prompts pity and mocking from her peers ever since.

Ultramar has some problems and struggles, yet, they have too much pride to ask for help, except, in the health department and when the affiliation of the church offers the help they begrudge accepts. So, this week, everyone has a chance to get vaccinate and the Prydes won´t let that chance be wasted.

“Kitty, sweetie, come on, or the queue will be too big” Terry urged Kitty and Cameron makes some jokes about queue and big things that Terry and Kitty ignored.

The young woman is preparing herself as she is being urged by her mother one more time, however, in the hurry, Kitty forgets her own white gloves and that will change her future forever.

The nurse is making small idle talk with Kitty Pryde, Kitty thinks being a nurse can be a nice occupation. “So, is it raining outside? They broadcast a heavy rain” and the nurse takes Kitty´s arm carefully preparing for the procedure.

Kitty shakes her head, “I´d not think it will rain today, but, the weather is a mystery sometimes” she jokes and the nurse hums in good humour and once the shot is given. “Hey, you have a very pretty tattoo” the nurse speaks in a soothing tone.

Kitty is a bit crestfallen. “Well, that´s a sad tattoo, is the mark of my soulmate but judging by how old it is, is a very ancient style this drawn, my soulmate is already dead” Kitty replied.

“Oh, I´m sorry, but, maybe your soulmate isn´t from here, maybe your soulmate is outside of Ultramar”

“Yeah, well, I´m too poor to leave this country, so, I´d not have means to chase my soulmate”

______________________________________________ In the centrefold of the power of the Church where the Inquisition lives, and nurse Williams is forgetting the proper protocol and is barging into the private area of the head of inquisition. And she is rewarded by seeing the man himself, if she can call him as such, sitting in the dark in his throne-like chair and drinking wine(is it wine or blood? Is hard to tell and no one dares to make the question) “Sister Williams?” Kurt Szardos regards Sister Williams with little interest. “What´s so important that prompts you to forget the protocols?” his words have mirth, but, is laced with something else, not always, when Kurt Szardos smiles means something good will happen to you.

“I´ve found your soulmate” she speaks and that dangerous smile continues, oh, how many, many and many people try to manipulate him with this talk and how they all fall down. “I´ve proof” she Sister Williams is quick to give an image of the tattoo.

“Where did you found her?” Kurt´s tone is too authoritative and Sister Williams has no reason for the lie.

“In Ultramar, section C. She´s lives in a poor area, along with her family. Her name is…” __________________________________________________

Ultramar hates the Church more than people realize, is not mere displeasure, is a downright malicious feeling, is genuine hate, and Kurt Szardos, the speaking voice of the Church, is the one they hate the most. The government tries secret assassinations plots that always, always fail. So, when the man himself appears in Ultramar, the government is less than, please.

The man is as dangerous as he´s handsome. So, of course, women did look at him(the old fetish of churchmen is strong and hide well in Ultramar) but, Kurt is not paying them any mind as he arrives in the house 34.

Stories of Cinderella dances in his mind. And, Kurt wonders, for a moment, if his soulmate would want her to punish those who wrong him like Cinderella with her step-sisters.

The Prydes look dubious at Kurt Szardos, while, Kitty Pryde is in total awe. Especially as their tattoo shows a complete and genuine match. “We´re soulmates! Wait, how old are you?” Kitty asked confused, this tattoo´s design is very old and Kurt does not appear to be over 30.

Kurt chuckles and whispers into her ear, ignoring the Prydes. “I´m a vampire, and I was waiting for you”

The prydes are not sharing the same sentiment as Kitty is, however, she´s in cloud nine and their only daughter deserve to be happy, even if is with a vampiric deity that works as head of inquisition.

Ultramar´s government did not take well their own citizen have a connection with a person they loathe so much, so, they decide to do something. Ultramar has many hitman and mercenaries at their beck call, one word, and Kitty Pryde is dead.

Kitty Pryde was happily going to buy some treats, a small celebration she is making, as her soulmate is finally here with her. Sadly, the celebration will be cut short as a hand muffled her screams and take her away.

Ultramar does not forget.

And neither does Kurt.

Kurt manages to find Kitty in time, a battle (if the word can be used here) issues and Kurt left no survivors, only Kitty blindfold and scared is visible. “Katzchen, are you hearing?” she nods “you´re safe now, I´ll take you to a much safer place” and adds “do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course” Kitty Pryde is in the Church now, she´s being taken care of and is slowly come to terms of what it meant to be Kurt´s soulmate. The man enters the room with hot chocolate and Kitty greedily drinks it.

“Will” she starts making a question “became a vampire like you?” and Kurt only chuckles at such naive question.

“No, Katzchen, vampire genes aren´t like the movies show, I can´t make you a vampire” he speaks amused and Kitty is crestfallen.

“So, I´ll die and you´ll be alone one day?” Kitty asked again and Kurt has the self control to not cry or show how this is not an outcome that will ever happen.

“Katzchen, you may not be a vampire, but, you may be immortal” Kurt answers kindly and gives a kiss on her forehead “now, tell me, what are you thinking of the Church?”

“Oh, I´m loving it. Ultramar, often told us how you´re all evil” Kitty speaks and then try to amend “but, they´re wrong” Kurt watches as Kitty has a soft expression telling about her childhood and Kurt is mesmerized. ___________________________________________________________

However, she soon asked about her parents, as she can say she´s nowhere near close to her house, Kurt´s answer is not very satisfying to Kitty. “Ultramar tried to kill you, they wanted to kill you again”

“And my parents are safely in Ultramar?!” Kitty exclaimed angrily “Why I can´t contact them? Kurt, they´re my family”

“Is not safe, Katzchen” Kurt replied again.

“I´ll talk to my parents whatever you want or not”

The discussion is getting heat, until, Kurt agrees under one condition. “ I´ll go with you and if I saw anything strange I´ll act upon, is that agreeable?”

Kitty agrees in the end. And after a month, the Prydes finally saw their daughter, she´s wearing fancy outfits and look far prettier than one month ago. The Prydes hug Kitty, but, don´t offer the courtesy to Kurt.

How Ultramar didn´t take revenge on her family? Kurt has some theories and one that makes more sense, at least for now, is that Ultramar wants to hurt him, the Prydes´ death won´t make him cry, now, Kitty´s death…

Again, the Prydes aren´t that happy with the man.

“Kurt, can I take my parents with me?” she asked in a suggestive tone. “They would be safer in Europe”

The Prydes aren´t too keen on having to be closer of Kurt, however, Kitty´s words have the truth. Kurt is thinking for a moment, until, he concedes is possible to take the Prydes if they so wish to. Again, Kurt and the Prydes won´t have the happiest in-law relationship.

Kitty´s story is the real case of Cinderella and people love it. The poor woman who manages to be the soulmate of the prince(head of inquisition on this case) and many make questions and interviews about the case.

Kitty a real introvert is not too comfortable with people making questions about her love life, unlike Kurt, who seems to take those interviews easily.

“For how long we´ll have to do this?” she asked bemused and Kurt holds her hand gentle calming her nerves.

“The hype will die eventually, however, I´d thank you for doing this for me, Katzchen” there´s a genuine joy in his eyes and kitty is always in awe with her soulmate.

“Fine, but, only because I love you too much”

“I love you too, Katzchen”

The couple is together and the only real conflict comes with the Prydes and when Kurt often makes plans that involve Kitty being absence from her family without them knowing, but, Kitty loves Kurt deeply and Kurt loves Kitty Pryde to death and they can overcome this issue as a strong couple.

#church au #but it has a soulmate au #kurt wagner #kitty pryde #yandere!kurt #kurtty #a cliche that i like it

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ohmytheon · 6 years

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Karma in Retrograde (12)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is hit by a de-aging quirk, he’s turned back to a 16 year-old U.A. Gen Studies student with self-esteem and parent issues, a destructive quirk, and no memory of the last five years. To help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with Class 1-A. There, they must all face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 12: Not all days at U.A. are crazy or jampacked. Some of them are surprisingly normal, filled with teasing and schoolwork.

Lanni notes: This will mark the first time that Misty has written the bulk of the chapter. I did the first scene and a few paragraphs in the next, but that's it. This is a real ass collaboration and it's been exciting. This also has some more, ah, slice of life scenes, if you will. This isn't going to be entirely angst! After all, this is Class A, after all. They have some silly and quiet moments in between dealing with villains - even de-aged ones. The discord has been a lot of fun these past two days while Misty and I cackled with our knowledge of what's to come. The song for this chapter is "Seasons Die One After Another" from Tokyo Ghoul: Re. I get a lot of Ryouta feels from Haise.

With apathy these eyes; they glow in the city lights I know I haven't done a thing but I still feel guilty... It's as though, I'm alone, just living life as a bare shadow, And by now, I can't be sure, if I'm 'me' anymore

The sun rose too soon as far as Ryouta was concerned, but once Recovery Girl came in to use her quirk one last time to heal him completely, he had no reason to stay. It was a new day. He had a feeling that she’d only kept him overnight to give him a moment of respite. While it had irritated him at first, when he’d woken up some time in the middle of the night to the quiet sound of a fan buzzing in the corner, he had only felt relief. Had she healed him completely, he would’ve gone back to the dorms and had an assortment of questions lobbed at him.

Judging from the way Midoriya had reacted, the other students were likely to be at least curious and ready to hound him for how he felt at the most. No doubt Iida would want to talk to him some time today. He was taking his instructions to help Ryouta acclimate to the class very seriously. Getting blown up by someone in the class could put a damper on things.

No, Recovery Girl had thought one step ahead of him. She had given him the privacy that he so desperately needed and could not afford to have. There had probably been a teacher posted outside of the office while he was unconscious, but inside, he didn’t have to worry about people badgering him or trying to pry out how he felt. He was still trying to figure that one out. He didn’t need a bunch of teenagers hounding him out of both curiosity and concern.

He couldn’t avoid them any longer though. After thanking Recovery Girl, he took a hasty shower and then put on the U.A. uniform that Shouto had apparently brought over some time yesterday and went to class. He didn’t even have time for breakfast and his stomach ached for something hardy, but Recovery Girl had given him some fruit at least. He’d have to double down on lunch. It made him cringe, considering the limited amount of funds he’d been given for now, but there was no way he could make it the rest of the day without doing so. By the time he reached homeroom, he’d scarfed down everything and still felt hungry.

Taking a deep breath, Ryouta opened the door to the classroom, expecting the worst -- except only three people were in the room. Yaoyorozu, who Iida had explained was the vice class rep and number one in the class, the boy who somehow managed to come off as edgy in the uniform and with a bird head, and then the short purple blob boy. The three of them turned to see who had opened the door, all of them having various reactions. The guy with the bird head went back to his book; the purple kid visibly shrank in his seat.

Yaoyorozu, on the other hand, jumped to her feet, actually looking relieved, which caught him off guard. “We weren’t sure if you were going to make it back to class today!” She walked around her desk and towards him as he stepped inside and shut the door completely. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Ryouta responded as amicably as he could muster. “Recovery Girl is as skilled as I remember her.”

“She’s done so much for U.A.,” Yaoyorozu said agreeably. “You must be tired though. Her quirk can take a lot out of a person.”

“Nothing about five meals and twenty hours of sleep won’t fix,” Ryouta quipped, going for witty. She eyed him, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. He’d missed the mark and probably looked worse off now. Ah, it was a good try. He was still getting the hang of this whole joking around thing. Making jokes with his classmates had never been his forte before. If anything, his sense of humor came off as either scathing or self-deprecating, which he had a feeling would either cause problems or pity, at least right now. He cleared his throat. “Where is everyone?”

“You’re early,” Yaoyorozu pointed out.

“Oh.” Ryouta hadn’t paid attention to the time. He’d just come straight here. He didn’t even have his books. Wow, he really was still out of it. He must’ve looked it too, hence why his attempted joke hadn’t landed.

Strangely, Yaoyorozu smiled. “That’s just like a hero course student. You bounced back really quick.”

He didn’t really have much of a choice. It wasn’t like Aizawa would let him hide in his dorm for another day and he was supposed to go over coursework with Iida later tonight. Besides, Ryouta didn’t want to do that. He had to face everyone. To be honest, he was afraid what seeing his quirk might have done to their opinions of him. It was one thing to be told that he was Dabi. It would be quite another to see actual, irrefutable proof. He was afraid that they would start thinking he was dangerous and would keep away from him. As loathe as he was to admit it, he kind of...liked having people at his side instead of always pushing them away.

“It’s nothing,” Ryouta settled on saying. “Pretty sure you all have suffered worse before.”

“Ask Midoriya to tell you some of his stories,” Yaoyorozu said. That made him think of the scars that he had seen on Midoriya’s right arm and Recovery Girl’s comment about his self-destructive behavior. Could it be that they faced similar issues with their quirks? Or was it just Midoriya’s nature? He seemed like the type of person who would throw himself headfirst into something without regards to himself. “I’ll call Todoroki and let him know to bring your stuff.”

With that settled, Ryouta went to his desk and sat down. The short purple boy had been watching him talk with Yaoyorozu, but hastily looked away again when Ryouta glanced his way. Whatever. He was too tired to be bothered about it. Instead, he folded his arms on top of the desk, rested his head on them, and closed his eyes. It would be good to rest a little before class.

He didn’t even realize that he’d fallen asleep until someone poked him in the arm and he startled awake, hands clenched into fists and ready to fight. He’d been dreaming about training with Endeavor. He would sometimes bring Ryouta out of unconsciousness by lighting a fire near his feet and making him fight without any time to recover. It was supposed to stop him from reacting blindly with his quirk and teach him to assess the situation first. Maybe it had worked a little, seeing as how, although he felt the urge to activate his quirk leap inside of him, he kept it down.

When Ryouta looked over, he found Uraraka standing at his side, holding a pink-padded finger up and cringing sheepishly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but it looked like you were barely breathing and I didn’t want Todoroki to freak out when he got here.”

That...was probably a good idea. Ryouta had only seen Shouto panic a few times, back when he’d been much younger, and it had always made him feel uncomfortable. He nodded his head and rubbed his eyes as she moved to her desk. Looking around, he saw that the classroom was mostly filled. He hadn’t heard any of them come in or their talking. A few eyes darted away from him, telling him that he’d probably been a topic of conversation, especially since he’d been sleeping at his desk, but nothing hostile.

Even Bakugou, who was lounging back in his seat, didn’t look as murderous as normal. If anything, he looked thoughtful when the two of them connected eyes. No, that wasn’t the right word. Considering? Analytical? He didn’t look happy, but he looked like he was thinking about what he should do before trying to blow Ryouta up again. That had to be an improvement. Either that or things were about to get worse. It was hard to tell with someone who was as volatile as his quirk.

Shouto came in soon after that with Iida and Midoriya. The second his brother’s eyes landed on him, there was a rush of emotions that Ryouta barely had time to process before he’d shut them all away again. A side effect of training with Endeavor was learning how to hide how you felt. Although he had done the same thing for years, it was frustrating to be on the receiving end of it from Shouto now.

“Thanks for bringing my stuff,” Ryouta said as he took his backpack from Shouto. There was a truck load of other things that he should’ve said to his brother, but wouldn’t dare when they were in front of everyone. Even if they had been alone, there was a high chance he would’ve said the same thing.

“Are you okay?” Shouto asked. It was a simple question, but luckily, Ryouta was well-versed in loaded questions and equally talented at giving simple answers that had layers of different meanings. That was how communication in the Todoroki household was done, especially when their father had been around.

Ryouta allowed a very faint smile to cross his face and maintained eye contact. “Yeah, I’m good.”

It was enough to appease Shouto, who nodded once and then sat down. Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka gave each other questioning looks, like they weren’t quite sure what had happened, but they didn’t ask either. This was clearly something that was between the brothers.

There wouldn’t have been time to press for answers anyways since Aizawa appeared and started class without any hesitation. Maybe his eyes rested on Ryouta longer than everyone else, but that didn’t phase him. They probably had matching bags under their eyes today. He went over the results of the fights yesterday. All Might had graded them, but now it would be time to work on where they’d suffered.

To be honest, Ryouta drowned most of it out since a lot of it didn’t concern him. He’d ask Iida later. It would be a good idea to know the other students’ weaknesses in case he was pitted against them again, which, considering the nature of the hero course, he would. Still, he would have to approach that delicately. He didn’t want anyone to think he was trying to figure out holes in their defenses in order to do actual damage. Like a villain would.

One surprising thing of note that caused Ryouta to perk up was that All Might had given him and Kaminari more points than Bakugou and Sato’s team, which meant that they had technically won.

Whereas Bakugou wore a sore look on his face, Kaminari cheered in his seat. “Way to go, partner!” It really took Ryouta back. He had no idea how to respond to that. No one had ever called him that before. “Air five!” Kaminari held his palm up in the air and Ryouta awkwardly mirrored him, not knowing what else to do. He slowly dropped his hand as Kaminari swung around in his seat and grinned bright enough to blind everyone in the room. “In your face, Bakugou!”

“Can I continue?” Aizawa asked in a deadpan tone.

Kaminari turned back around to face the front of the class. “Oh, uh, yeah. My bad.”

Discomfort boiled in Ryouta’s gut. On one hand, he did not want to get roped in to what looked like Kaminari taunting Bakugou, seeing as how the guy hated him enough as it was. That discomfort was overridden by a strangely pleased feeling in his mind. He’d won. He had beat one of the top hero course students. It hadn’t been a total victory or anywhere near a conventional win, but he’d still done it.

Not worthy of the hero course, my ass, Ryouta thought viciously.

Maybe he could do this. Maybe he did belong here, as long as he was under the influence of the de-aging quirk. For the first time since coming to U.A., Ryouta felt a bubble of hope. It felt equally dangerous to hold, fragile as it was, but he would take it this time instead of popping it immediately. He wanted it.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. It was kind of boring, especially after the thrill and ridiculousness that had been yesterday. Besides struggling not to sleep through Present Mic’s English class, nothing big happened. It was just a regular school day. Even during their hero class, they simply reviewed their fights while All Might gave pointers and had them discuss certain events.

Shouto hadn’t done well in his fight. He’d gone overboard and he knew it. Was it because he’d witnessed Ryouta get injured and was distracted, or was it just something he needed to work on with his quirk? Shouto was strong. He could freeze a whole building and burn down the one next to it if he wanted to. Endeavor had rained them both but taught them differently. For Ryouta, it had been about control; for Shouto, it was about strength.

With the day over, all Ryouta wanted to do was go back to the dorms and rest. Besides being asked a few awkward questions during lunch, no one had really bothered him. He was entirely grateful. Every time someone came close to it, Iida would clear his throat. He must’ve talked with them about giving Ryouta time to adjust. There were plenty of awkward hiccups throughout the day, but nothing he couldn’t ignore. He was gifted in that.

Ryouta felt a glare boring into the side of his head the moment he stepped into the common room. Rather than immediately search for the source, he cast a glance at his brother. Shouto’s tenseness and expression, possibly a shade more guarded than it had been before, told him what he needed to know.

He was unsurprised to see Bakugou upon looking around the room. The pink girl, Ashido, and Kirishima were also present, the former sprawled across an armchair with her feet dangling over one side and her head the other while the latter sat on a couch with his volatile friend, a textbook propped open in front of them. All three were looking at him, but only Bakugou’s gaze held an angry, accusational intensity. The first two looked more like they were waiting to see if they had to jump in and diffuse a bomb.

It was probably too much to hope that their presence would be enough to keep Bakugou from going off. Having classmates around hadn’t stopped him before and, regardless of any lectures he may or may not have received, he didn’t doubt that he only had more bones to pick with him after the hero lesson. He had already proven that he wouldn’t leave Ryouta be if he was quiet. That meant that speaking up first would probably be the best way to take control of the situation. If it also scratched the agitating itch that came from sitting back and trying to let the words roll off him, that was just a bonus.

“Do you need something?” Ryouta began to cross his arms, but aborted the defensive movement as soon as he caught it.

“Just thinkin’,” Bakugou said in a rough grumble. It was a far from friendly, but to Ryouta, it sounded like he was making an attempt to be less aggressive.

Ryouta couldn’t help but blink in surprise. As aggravating as the situation with Bakugou was, he didn’t expect to make progress so fast, if at all. By the sound of it, his excuses for treating him the way he was were valid. Ryouta could admit that much. He had to admit that much. The unexpected turn of events dampened his impulse to make a snide remark and made it easy to settle for raising an eyebrow.

“Your hair’s lighter than Icy Hot’s,” Bakugou elaborated.

At that, Ryouta slowly raised a hand to his head, only to drop it as soon as his fingers brushed against his hair. What did his hair have to do anything? He looked over at Shouto and saw that he had a thoughtful look on his face. “I remember it being darker,” his brother said. A feeling of dread formed in Ryouta’s stomach, although he couldn’t tell why.

“So it’s because of his quirk?” Bakugou probed.

“No,” Shouto said. “It’s gotten lighter over time.”

Oh. The realization hit him a second too late.

A wide, vindictive grin crawled across Bakugou’s face. “So what you’re saying is” - he pointed a condemning finger at Ryouta - “Dabi’s hair is turning pink.”

“No, it’s not,” Ryouta immediately said.

“How would you know?” Smugness was all but radiating off of Bakugou. In that moment, Ryouta felt like a complete and utter idiot. Bakugou wasn’t giving up on his aggressing at all. He was just changing his tactics a little. “If you really can’t remember, you have no way of knowing.”

“I know that my hair’s not going to turn pink,” Ryouta ground out. He knew that it was in his best interest not to respond. However, that could be seen as agreeing with or acknowledging the possibility of his prediction, which he absolutely refused to do.

Bakugou laughed. “I bet it is.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I should’ve known you were hiding something embarrassing under that bad dye job, Dabi.”

Warmth flooded his cheeks. Fuck. He began to open his mouth, only to feel someone touch his elbow before he could say anything. Beside him, Shouto, having realized that he’d sprung a trap, was wearing an expression of utter guilt. “Don’t,” he murmured. “It’s not worth it.”

Ryouta did pause at that. Although it was Shouto who revealed that damning detail, he didn’t want him to feel bad about it. There was something else that had to be considered though.

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled. “He’s not accusing you of having pink hair.”

He was not ready to sacrifice the remains of his dignity.

Another voice cut through the hubbub. “Hey! What’s wrong with pink?” At some point, Ashido had sat up and was now leveling Bakugou with an accusatory glower.

“It’s fine on you, but it’ll just be lame on Dabi,” Bakugou said. He looked back at Ryouta with a smug grin. “Let me guess: the big bad pastel villain didn’t make enough people cower in fear?”

Ryouta grit his teeth. He knew that Bakugou was trying to rile him up. All it did was make the agitation rolling in his gut that much worse. A hundred responses raced through his mind, aching to cut to the heart of the taunt. Instead, he limited himself to repeating, “It’s not turning pink!”

At the same time, Ashido asked, “Why would it be lame? It’s a great color!”

Bakugou scoffed at Ryouta. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I think we both know the truth.”

Kirishima had been glancing between the two boys like someone watching a vicious match of ping-pong. Before someone else could insert their two cents, he declared, “I think pink can be plenty manly! It’s all how you rock it.” He offered a hopeful grin, as if it would add strength to his desperate attempt at peacemaking.

Right on his heels, Shouto added, “There’s no reason to think that will happen.”

“You just said his hair was getting lighter!” Bakugou exclaimed.

Shouto pursed his lips. “Our mother’s hair is white.”

That got a snort from Bakugou. “So instead of looking like a clown, he’ll look like an old man. Yeah, I can see how that’s better.”

“Nothing weird’s going to happen to my hair!” Ryouta shouted. It felt like he was yelling into a void. The worst part was that he didn’t even know if he was telling the truth. His hair had been a lot darker when he was younger, now that he thought about it. Was it possible that he grew up to be a villain and a cotton-candy-haired loser?

“If it does, I don’t think it would look bad on you,” Ashido said. She laid her hands over her heart and sighed wistfully. “We’d make the cutest pinkest couple ever.”

Ryouta choked on his own spit. His only respite was that Bakugou had a similar reaction. Bakugou was, however, faster to recover than he was. “Don’t even joke about that!” he cried out. The sound of a muffled chuckle made him turn his glare to Kirishima, who wasn’t phased. Likewise, Ashido appeared to be without regrets.

“Then don’t mock an entire hair color,” she shot back.

Meanwhile, Shouto had moved to pat Ryouta on the back. He shot his brother a desperate look, hoping for some enlightenment as to what had just happened. All he received was an equally befuddled shrug.

“You know I didn’t mean you,” Bakugou complained.

Ashido crossed her arms. “You mock one of us; you mock us all.”

Kirishima put his hand on Bakugou’s shoulder before he could say anything else and whispered something to him, to which he responded in a low, urgent tone. Ryouta’s glaze flickered over to them for a moment before glancing at Ashida, feeling warmth creep up his neck and immediately looking away from her, and finally resting upon his brother once more. He had dropped his hand and was now looking at him as if he thought hemight have answers.

Boy, was Shouto ever in for a big fucking disappointment.

The sound of footsteps promptly drew his gaze back toward Bakugou’s group. Ashido was approaching. Upon locking eyes with him, she gave a tiny smile and wave. “Hey, Todoroki-”

“Ah.” Ryouta fought not to let anyone see how his skin threatened to crawl at being called that name. “Just Ryouta is fine.” He tilted his head toward Shouto by way of explanation. The desire to avoid confusion was something that anyone could understand.

Ashido perked up. “Alright! In that case, you can call me Mina.” The tickle in the back of his throat was back. It took an absurd amount of self-control not to glance at Shouto again. “I just wanted to tell you not to let Bakugou bother you too much,” she continued. “I know he can be…a lot.” She frowned pensively. “But once you get to know him, he’s kinda like a porcupine!”

That made Ryouta raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t porcupines those American animals that stab people?”

“Yep!” she chirped. “But they can also be really sweet. I’ll have to show you videos sometime.”

“Oh.” Ryouta fell silent for couple seconds, but those seconds were enough for the weight of an awkward silence, or rather, the fear of an awkward silence, to begin pushing down on his chest. “It’s still impressive how you keep standing up to him,” he blurted out. “I know you’re friends, but it can’t be easy.” Maybe their friendship made it even less easy. Maybe that was a part of their friendship. Frankly, he wouldn’t know.

The corners of her eyes crinkled a little. “Thanks!” Something about the way she said it made it feel like it wasn’t something she was used to having people point out. Did that mean that this was normal ? Somehow, the concept was even more dramatic.

“Seriously though, Ryouta, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Even if your hair turns pink…” Mina paused long enough to reach up and tug on one of her pink locks. “It’s a great color, so there’s no reason to be ashamed. I think it’d look good on you!”

It didn’t have quite the effect she probably wanted. The self-consciousness was still there, prompting him to reach up and run a hand through his hair again. Still, he appreciated the sentiment. “Thanks.” He forced a brief smile before glancing at the other occupants of the room. Bakugou was scowling like a thunderstorm while Kirishima whispered something to him.

A porcupine, huh?

Ryouta didn’t feel the rigors of the day come crashing down on him so much as feel himself begin to sink beneath their steadily rising tide. “I have to go,” he announced to the room in general. He caught Shouto’s eye as he turned to leave, a shadow of concern flashing across his face. It made Ryouta hesitate, his mind flashing back to what Midoriya had said in Recovery Girl’s office. It felt like he should say something more, but he didn’t know what. In the end, he offered a tiny nod before continuing on.

He didn’t let himself relax until he reached his room. Once he did, he deflated like a balloon. A lack of personal belongings meant that there wasn’t much to do other than sleep or lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, but he was perfectly fine with that. He felt like it could occupy him for hours at the moment.

Wearily, Ryouta walked over to his bed backwards onto it, where he stared at the ceiling and allowed himself to slowly drift into a weak, dreamless sleep.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but while it certainly wasn’t long, it felt even shorter.

Ryouta jerked upright at the sudden sound of a knock on his door. He experienced a moment of semi-alarmed confusion before his memory caught up with him and he found himself holding in a curse. Of course. Ilda was supposed to come over to talk to him about his coursework or…something like that. He had known to expect him. Just how badly had he lost track of time?

He tried not to look too flustered as he hurried over to open the door. As expected, Iida stood on the other side, although Ryouta’s attempts to keep a calm expression must not have worked, because his lips immediately fell into a small frown. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ryouta said. His gaze wandered down to the bag clasped on one of Iida’s fists. Through the open top of it he could make out the forms of a few binders and textbooks. “Well, I guess that depends on how much I need to fill out,” he added. Although it was mostly a dry attempt to insert humor into the situation, there was a bit of genuine dismay behind it. That was a lot more than he was expecting and he was tired despite the slow day today. He would put up with it, but he always did like to complain a little.

No matter how much he disliked homework, he was willing to face whatever U.A. wanted to throw at him if it got him a step closer to his goal.

Except nothing would come of it in the end. At some point in a past he didn’t remember, he had done the one thing worse than fail: he had thrown his chance away. This was only a desperate attempt to give him a taste of what he could’ve had.

Iida’s brow twitched in a way that almost made it possible to see the thoughts overflowing in his head. “It may look like a lot, but I assure you, it is all necessary.” He started out confident in that genuine but stern way of his. However, he faltered almost immediately after, only to start back up in a burst of apologeticness so rapid that his words seemed to almost melt into each other. “We don’t want to rush or overburden you though. You’ve already been through a lot in a short time and I know you must still be tired from Recovery Girl’s quirk and the fight. If it’s too much, we can just do a little bit today and-”

“-It’s fine,” Ryouta interrupted. “I was just messing with you.”

He forced a smile as he stepped aside in a silent invitation for him to enter the room. The idea had been to keep things from starting to feel too awkward, not to break the guy.

Iida’s free hand rose into the beginnings of a swooping motion that he aborted midway in favor of covering his mouth with a fist. He cleared his throat before saying, “Alright then, if you’re sure.” This was accompanied by a look that implored him to tell him if he was anything less than absolutely sure.

It became a little harder to maintain his smile as his stomach seemed to twist uncomfortably. He should have been more careful about what he said. Now Iida probably thought that he was incapable of getting through the pile of coursework. A spark of indignity threatened to flare at the notion, only to be immediately smothered by the knowledge that he couldn’t blame him for making the assumption. What else was he supposed to think about someone who dropped out of high school and became a villain? He only had himself to blame for the discomfort (and so much more).

“I’m sure,” Ryouta repeated.

What followed was a moment of pure awkwardness as they stood silently in the doorway, both knowing what should happen next but unsure of how to proceed, as if speech or movement might set off some kind of horrible trap. The unwanted standoff was broken by Iida taking a hesitant step forward. Ryouta allowed his smile to fall after he turned around and to lead them further into the room, much to the relief of his facial muscles. That was about the only simple and straightforward thing he felt at the moment. The sound of the hero student’s footsteps behind him was both somewhat comforting and a source of further stomach-churning anxiety.

A tiny frown pulled at his lips as his eyes roamed his room. It was clean, given that there was hardly anything in it, but it was also lacking any furniture aside from a bed so far. Something about inviting Iida to sit on the bed with him felt too intimate, like he was attempting to lay claim to a friendship that he hadn’t ( couldn’t ) earned, but at the same time, asking him to sit on the floor felt rude. Granted, being polite wasn’t exactly his forte, but it was pretty damn important that he stay on his best behavior, all things considered.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he once again took note of the irrefutable fact that, in an awkward situation, a second could drag on for a long time.

Before he could start to seriously consider if standing around awkwardly might be the best option, Iida took charge of the situation by setting his bag on the ground and settling down beside it. Ryouta held back a sigh of relief as he moved to sit across from him. “Sorry there isn’t anywhere to sit,” he said. “I haven’t figured that stuff out yet.” Even with U.A. providing some funding, there just hadn’t been time. He left that out out of the concern that it might come off as a complaint. There was no room for him to complain about anything .

Thankfully, Iida responded with a brisk nod and an abortive hand gesture. “There is no need to apologize. I assumed as much.”

Ryouta returned the nod and began to smile, only to find himself struggling to keep the expression from turning into a grimace as Iida began to unload his bag. Fuck. He really had been kidding, but that was a lot of books. And binders. Sheets. Pencils.

I can handle it, he forcefully reminded himself. It’s gotta be easier than dodging explosions to the face .

A small boredom-induced headache wasn’t worth making Iida worry and ask if he could handle it again. He abandoned the attempt at smiling in favor of a neutral look before the class representative could look back up and see his apprehension.

Even without catching his slip-up, Iida apparently felt the need to launch into another round of reassurance. “It isn’t as much as it looks like,” he said. “Most of this is for reference and review. What I’ll need you to do is show me what you remember being the most recent and answer a few questions.” He straightened out a few worksheets in a doubtlessly pre-organized pile and pulled a notebook and pencil into his lap. “I will be taking notes so I don’t forget anything you say.”

Even put that way, it sounded like a tedious chore, although he wasn’t about to say that. Ryouta just offered a small nod and pulled the nearest hard-covered book toward him to use as a writing surface.

He was quickly proven correct in his assumption that it would be tedious. Not only that, but for the most part, it was also very easy. His mind began to drift away from the conversation on chapters and tests and the sound of pencils scratching against paper and toward the individual he was speaking with. Iida didn’t seem bored at all. That may have been because he was the sort of person to genuinely enjoy paperwork, but Ryouta thought there was more to it than that. He was engaged and clearly applying more thought than the work itself could possibly demand.

There was the jerky stiffness of someone trying too hard, perhaps a little bit of apprehension as well, but he was making an effort in his interactions with him. He was trying to accomplish some sort of goal, yet try as he might, Ryouta couldn’t think of anything Iida stood to gain by interacting with him. Worse yet, nothing about him suggested that he had some sort of ulterior motive.

Ryouta was intimately familiar with ulterior motives. He knew how people like that felt - how they thought. Somehow, it felt like Tenya Iida was being entirely genuine.

He was doubtlessly making himself uncomfortable by spending time with someone who was fated to turn into something awful and Ryouta couldn’t think of a reason why other than the most impossible one of all: that Iida was doing it out of the goodness of his heart.

The notion felt absolutely alien to Ryouta. There hadn’t been anyone like that around five years ago - or yesterday, depending on the perspective. If there had been, he wouldn’t have turned into a villain. At least, he didn’t think he would have. His confidence faltered only seconds after the thought crossed his mind. (He’d never thought he would turn into a villain at all.) He didn’t think there had been people like Iida around, but if he had only heard about him or spoken with him for a few minutes, would he have actually believed that Iida was genuine? Even as the focus of his intensity, there was still a part of him that had doubts.

He brushed the train of thought away like drops of water off a duck’s feathers. Not only was it unlikely, but it didn’t matter. Even if people like Iida had been around, an almost laughable notion in and of itself, what was done was done. He had become a villain and was going to become one again no matter how much he hated it. Iida could be the most earnest person in the world and it wouldn’t matter because he was just too late. He was making himself suffer for no reason at all.

“...Ryouta?” The sound of his name snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a concerned look on Iida’s face. Fuck. Between that and his tone of voice, this probably wasn’t the first time he’d asked.

“Sorry, got lost in thought,” Ryouta said.

Iida’s frown deepened. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

“Yeah.” Despite Ryouta’s attempts to keep his gaze and voice level, it wouldn’t have surprised him if Iida could see the lie for what it was. He could hear the strain in his own voice. Would the other boy continue to press the issue? He seemed like the type to try to avoid making anyone uncomfortable, but at the same time, it had already been made clear that he was one of those helpful types. Continuing to shrug it off would probably only make him that much more persistent.

Ryouta lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “It’s just… You don’t have to do this: be all nice to me.” He looked down at the floor at he found himself unable to meet Iida’s gaze. Speaking wasn’t just uncomfortable; he found himself feeling more and more ashamed with each word that left his mouth. Ashamed for expressing something that came dangerously close to insecurity. To weakness . Ashamed of the villain that he would become. Of the dark cloud he had caused to linger heavily over the heads of class 1-A. “I know Aizawa asked you to help, but you don’t have to be…” Kind. Friendly. “You don’t have to pretend.”

The concern on Iida’s face was replaced by something much closer to dismay. “We’ve been over this,” he said.

“I know, but-” Ryouta dropped his hand into his lap and clenched his jaw. “That’s not… I don’t want you to force yourselves to pretend for my sake. You don’t owe me anything.”

Iida pursed his lips. “That doesn’t matter. It is the duty of-”

“-But what about what you deserve?” Ryouta immediately felt a burst of shame for the interruption, but he was unable to keep himself from carrying on. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this. I don’t know many details about what Dabi did, but the attack alone gives you the right to hate me, quirk or not! Even if I’m not him now, I’m…” He was going to turn back. These kids could be as optimistic as they wanted, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation. He was going to turn back into a villain who had tried to hurt them and they were being nice to him. “I don’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable for my sake. It’s not right.”

A heavy silence filled the room. He knew that he should look up at Iida - that he was a coward for not looking - but he didn’t dare. Ryouta focused on staring at the ground instead, feeling the nervous tightness in his chest, the phantom chill washing over his skin, anything that wasn’t Iida or how he’d just fucked up.

The stand-still was brought to a stop with a simple, “I see.” Iida’s voice was clearly meant to be calm, but it was too stiff and a little too emotional to pull it off. It was what made Ryouta finally force himself to look up. Despite being interrupted by a small outburst, he didn’t look angry at all. He was clearly displeased and somewhat uncomfortable, but more than anything, he looked saddened. Pitying? Indignity began to flare up within him, only for him to force it back down before it could get very far. It may have been a little harder if Iida didn’t choose that moment to continue.

“You aren’t wrong,” Iida said, a little more slowly than his normal breakneck pace. The confirmation stung more than Ryouta thought it had any right to. “Everyone in class 1-A is within their rights to be upset even with the circumstances surrounding you - some of them are - but even if it’s not entirely wrong, I- we want to be better than that.” Iida squared his shoulders and his expression melted into one of raw determination. He pointed at Ryouta. “I’m not doing this just because Aizawa asked me or for your sake, but my own as well! Not only is this is a unique opportunity, but you are not Dabi yet. You…never should have become him. This goes beyond U.A. trying to rectify a mistake or the duty of a hero. If I treated you poorly or didn’t try to do something - to help you as well as Aizawa and my classmates - I…don’t think I would ever forgive myself, even if it is hard at first. I know that I don’t have to do this, but I want to.”

The gears in Ryouta’s head stopped turning and dropped down to his throat where they morphed into an immovable lump. He couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth, let alone say anything. What could he possibly say to something like that? Quite frankly, he wasn’t even sure an acceptable response existed.

Ryouta forced himself to swallow. Although the action didn’t cause any brilliant prose to manifest in his head, he forced himself to speak. Allowing the silence to drag on for too long sounded like something that would distress Iida, who absolutely did not deserve it. He was already forcing himself through his discomfort because he would feel guilty if he wasn’t kind to him. ( Why? ) “Oh,” he murmured. “I…don’t know what to say.” It was the awkward, unpolished, likely ungrateful truth, but at least it was something .

“You don’t have to say anything,” Iida said. “I merely thought it might be good for you to know since you’re feeling that way.”

“Heh.” Ryouta placed his hands in his lap and looked down at them. “Thanks.” That wasn’t enough. “Y’know, a selfish person wouldn’t feel guilty about something like that.”

That felt like it may have been too much. His insides twitched uncomfortably with the knowledge that there was now someone who knew a little more about what he thought and felt, like a book to be cracked open, read, and discarded.

Attempting to lock the discomfort away for the time being, he glanced back up in time to see Iida manage a thin-lipped, bittersweet smile. “Thank you,” he said, “but I will still strive to do better.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but a shadow of something briefly flickered across his face before he apparently thought better of it. Ryouta couldn’t help but think that it looked an awful lot like apprehension. Concern. Doubt .

Once again, Ryouta didn’t know what to say. An apology? There was no point when he didn’t know what he was apologizing for and Iida had already made his stance clear. He could ask what was wrong, but he was certain that he wouldn’t get an answer. The combination of Iida’s kindness and his own flawed social skills had landed them in a seemingly inescapable cycle of discomfort.

Before he could try (and fail) to force some degree of ease into the situation again , Iida piped up, “I know you said you can do it all tonight, but I think we should stop for now.” A spark of defensiveness immediately flared in Ryouta. A frown began to pull at his lips, which Iida must have noticed, for he immediately added, “You didn’t do anything! I would have suggested it anyway. It is not intended as a slight to yourself or your abilities either. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should . You’ve been through a lot over the past few days and I think it’s important that you get some extra rest.” He paused for a moment to assess him, making a small, concerned frown before he started up again. “You’re clearly tired. I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be after what you’ve gone through in the past few days.”

The way his words all but ran into each other as he scrambled to make his point while trying not to offend him might have been funny if he weren’t right. There was no denying it at this point. People didn’t zone off in the middle of conversations if they weren’t at least somewhat tired, emotionally if not physically. His first impulse was to force himself through it, as he had many times before, but it was clear that Iida wasn’t going to let that happen. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. If he were in a better condition, the conversation may not have gone the way it had.

It felt like admitting defeat nonetheless. Then again, wasn’t that what this whole thing was? No matter what happened while he was under the effects of the de-aging quirk, his destiny was predetermined. Thanks to Dabi, his entire future was worse than lost. It only made sense that the trend would continue.

“I mean, if you really want to, we can continue.” Iida’s voice was rife with barely-contained nervousness. His concern for Ryouta’s wellbeing and desire not to upset him had to have been clashing rather unpleasantly.

“No, you’re right,” he reluctantly admitted. “We can finish…whatever time works for you.”

Iida’s gaze felt like it was boring into his soul. “Maybe after class tomorrow,” he eventually said. “For now, I think we should take it each day at a time.” He offered an encouraging smile. Ryouta attempted to return it as he helped him gather up the supplies.

When Iida closed the door behind him, the weight on Ryouta’s shoulders shifted, but did not leave completely. He had a feeling he’d be carrying it for a while.

@mistystarshine notes: Have a lengthy, somewhat directionless, admittedly a little cracky, chapter! There's nothing in canon to suggest that pink haired Dabi is actually going to be a thing, but it's a possibility and the temptation was too dang strong to ignore. Despite having written a lot of this chapter, I don't have much to say note-wise. That might be because I'm writing this at 6:45 A.M. while running on two hours of sleep. As such, I encourage you to ask any questions you may have! Let me know what you think! I'll do my beat to get back to you and am honestly dying to hear what you think.

#dabi is a todoroki #dabi #mina ashido #katsuki bakugou #tenya iida #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi fic #shouto todoroki #denki kaminari #aizawa shouta #ejirou kirishima #momo yaoyorozu #ochako uraraka #bnha fanfiction #the things of songs

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ibroughtthisonmyselfpixels · 6 years

Text

Intermission 2 Replies

I don’t think I’m gonna be getting any more replies on the intermission, and there’s only so long i can leave this until i do, so here’s the reply-to-existing-replies batch now. but first:

@bountifulberries replied to your photoset “So because I have no restraint, I made a very smol tiny Sim called...”

I think a paid surrogate mother would be a very interesting contestant / sim in general!

It’d certainly put a new stamp on the 100bc, that’s for sure

@sevenleafsimblr replied to your photo

“FORMER BC ORGANISER FOUND DEAD IN HOME A once-prominent figure in the...”

��

he died before his prime

sevenleafsimblr replied to your photo “A sweet or agreeable succession or arrangement of sounds.”

it completely flew over my head during the Melody Reveal that "melody" is also a music term and im mad @ myself

Un Der Standable

@jackssims replied to your photoset “Deacon: “…spinning?” ”

It looks like she’s t-posing to asset her dominance

Lissa said by PM:

This is a little silly to mention but -- I think it's kind of cool how you're incorporating old stuff again? Like, between the Wilkersons and a tie to Charlie and stuff. I know that old stuff can be hard for you sometimes, so I Just Think It's Neat ^^

i said at the time that it’s more out of necessity some of it than anything else to flesh out the neighbourhood, but you know what? i change my answer. it’s not that the old stuff isn’t hard for me, it’s that the new stuff is just as hard. i want my being good back

@tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “But back then, when I didn’t have to hide… the Wilkersons and I - we...”

I am terrified of what comes next but I am actually so happy that she has a good support network

without that system in place who knows where she would be. somewhere you wouldn’t wanna read, i’ll bet

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “At first I liked Jase best, just because he was so quiet and strange...”

They must be very good friends. They survived using the blue shell on one another

Cid is a good dad and won’t ground Lauro for that. Now if he’d used that lightning on him, he might’ve thought about it - that fucking lightning bolt’s the fucking worst

jackssims replied to your photoset “¦it wasnâ€™t always good. Not those times. But that wasnâ€™t because of...”

Those blondes... �� (unless of course I’m reading too much into this, then I redact my eyes emoji, but I’ll wait and see)

That’s true; we never did get a real answer for that, did we?

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

B I t c h e s

Well, yes, that applies regardless

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lynn: “You’ve got it riiiight here! BLEH!!” Melody: “U-under my eyes?...”

Lynn is such a good person..............................;;;;;;

Lynn makes you cry from all six of your eyes. strexgnome

jackssims replied to your photoset “And t- then there was the one that worried everyone… the - I got a,...”

��

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

:eyes:

sevenleafsimblr replied to the same:

uh oh.....

I will only say this: it’s fortunate that the girlfriend didn’t make everything totally and utterly worse for her

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lavandar: *wide-eyed* “Y-you - you dated your own bully?!”...”

I don't trust you Blonde Scarlet and Viola

O KA y whether they’re who you think they are or not that description is fucking hilarious

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Estelle: “…Oh god, Melody. Are you okay?” Melody: *shaking* “Please…”...”

Don’t touch her you fucker. Don’t touch her

‘Limp’ is very specific and deliberate consistently-abused-child language, at least to me. If you don’t put up a fight, it doesn’t hurt as much.

jackssims replied to your photoset “Estelle: “��Melody? Melody, can you look at Mommy please?” Melody: “…”...”

Fuck Estelle

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

I want her to die

sevenleafsimblr replied to the same:

estelle can you be a good girl and get some sleep and not wake up

It isn’t wrong, but it is interesting that ‘can you be a good girl’ is what a lot of you replied to throughout this. is it because it’s the most convenient place, being at the end; because it feels weird commenting on the actual violence; or because the emotional manipulation is the straw that breaks the camel’s back?

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lavandar: “Noooope! No no no no, no. It doesn’t work that way,...”

PREACH IT LAV IM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU LAV

As you well know, this is something I have to work hard to convince myself, hence the soapbox. (Can it be a soapbox if you have trouble holding the soapbox’s beliefs?) It doesn’t help that I do charity work at a bookstore, and Torey Hayden / Cathy Glass / other trauma-porn books come in on the regular - it’s hard to be confident in the legitimacy of how Mum’s affected me when stories that feature kids who’ve been utterly decimated and forgotten over the years are in my line of sight that often.

Incidentally, I hope I haven’t crossed the line to trauma-porn here. This is intended to be an explanation for part of Lorelei’s backstory and why she has a lot of the mannerisms she does (plus a few hints for down the road, but that first thing first and foremost) - obviously making you sad is a goal too, but not to an exploitative extent, you know?

@cafesimming replied to your photoset “Lorelei: “I… I’m sorry. I won’t say it again, I’m sor–”...”

i havent been replying but i just got s chance to read sll this and i love lorelei and i love lavandar and i love this story and im quite literally on the verge of tears reading all this rn and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa love

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

bountifulberries replied to your photoset “Lavandar: *shrinks back, curling up onto herself, breathing shakily* ...”

All of this is making me so sad but it’s so well done!! I literally didn’t wanna go to bed last night bc I wanted to keep waiting for updates to post

get some sleep Kasey. if you’re going back to school you need all the sleep you can get. i can be awake for you and get in trouble for it

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “I really am sorry, you know. Lavandar. That I’m p- that I’m putting...”

It wasn’t a lack of bravery. You were so brave

there’s two kinds of bravery: to confront, and to endure. Lyra has the confrontational bravery covered. Lorelei is the endurance.

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “He looked at my arm. He looked at me. H-he… looked at me, like Lyra...”

Zeus bless Jase. In all truthfulness

give him the happiest of marriages and the least of links to that box with the finger in it...

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦He didnâ€™t say a wordâ€¦ to me.â€ Jase:Â â€œâ€¦â€ Pal:Â â€œPoor fucking Melody....”

is. is he gonna make himself talk to help her. is. is he gonna do that. because if he does i'm fucking gonna cry

He!! Did that!!

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “But I’ll… even with everything… I’ll forever be grateful that he...”

god what a hero

the hero we need but we don’t deserve

jackssims replied to the same:

Good. This is good (I hope)

It was a mixed blessing

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “I didn’t put two and two together until Jase told me later… but Mom...”

You weren't bad. You weren't bad

Lorelei knows that. Melody does not.

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦what happened after that, Lorelei? Did sheâ€“?â€ â€œShe was held for a...”

oh colby...

I’m not sure where else to put this yet, but designing Estelle was almost as much - not necessarily fun, but it took about as much thought as designing Amelia did back in the day. I think she’s quite handsome, but it’s ruined by her looking almost perpetually sour/disgruntled. I even employed another Enid Blyton trick: her eyes are closer together compared to my other Sims, and a pale blue, much like Prudence from another St Clare’s book. Until they (Prudence’s) turned brown in a later scene in one of the few legitimate continuity errors I’ve seen from Enid but that’s neither here nor there

I’d also like to emphasise an actually salient point: if it wasn’t clear, Estelle isn’t mentally ill in any way that I know of. There may be neuroses there that never got diagnosed, but they're not the root of her behaviour even if there are. She’s reprehensible enough without chemical imbalances there to influence it.

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “We tried to be safe. She tried to… let us be a normal family. A happy...”

I understand rationally that Colby is a victim of abuse but /damn/ does he make my blood boil rn

I in turn understand why you’d be angry at him - he allowed a very volatile influence back into Lorelei’s life - but honestly I mostly feel pity for him. He’s a bit like, um... what’s a good comparison...? Charlie Swan feels like the closest analogue, though the circumstances are different there. He can try to lay down some rules and speak the truth of it, but when the largest female influence in the house is this dominant, this domineering, and cares more about what he can do for her than what he chooses to do for himself, what chance does he have?

It doesn’t help that being willing to please and put his own neck on the line to keep other people happy is kind of a core part of his personality - he’s the person from whom Lorelei inherited the Good trait (much like Amelia got Perfectionist from Maus), but his manifestation of Good leans more towards Doormat than Empathetic, if you see what I mean. It becomes especially clear if I reveal and then you consider he dropped out of college at twenty halfway through a tech degree specifically to marry Estelle so that she could have someone to keep her company at medical school. Self sabotage for the boosting of others.

(Estelle’s two years and a few months Colby’s senior, by the way)

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “I was a wreck at home, and a - even worse, at school. I kept my mouth...”

I wish there was a word for like, SHSL Mom. Because that's what Lynn is. She's like a Double Mom

maxi extreme ultra Mom

Vid incidentally got very upset at around the Jase Pal break-up post, for good reason: these people are just kids. this stuff is much too big for them, they didn’t deserve this.

@geezsims liked your photoset “¦to Bridgeport.â€ â€œGod. All by yourself? No one-?â€Â â€œThe journey, y-...”

Han. Han. I admire the like, Han, but I feel like you’ve missed, like, nine tenths of the story here

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

See Colby /this/ is how you Dad

by dying your hair, or sending your kid to a safe place? i’m not sure the intended message here

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦Lorelei Kessler.”

My hero

I need a Lorelei; I’m holding out for a Lorelei til the end of the etc

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lorelei: “I trust you, Lavandar. I trust you. I trust you. N- no...”

Lavender: *a gentleman's guide to love and murder playing* I've decided to marry you! I've decided to marry you!

Blessed Image

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lorelei: “Lyra?! Uh- um -” *clambers up* “You’re - you’re back?” ...”

Man I’m happy you’re going to be here, Ly, but what a buzzkill We almost had a confession!

Like I said in the end credits, we almost had a lot of things ;)

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦ *crunch* *click* *crunch*Â â€¦ Lyra:Â â€œâ€¦okay, and - open.â€ â€“ End of...”

Now you’re the cockblock, Dub

bountifulberries replied to the same:

RUDE

jackssims replied to your photoset “¦ *crunch* *click* *crunch*Â â€¦ Lyra:Â â€œâ€¦okay, and - open.â€ â€“ End of...”

Ending it with a tease, eh?

Okay y’all I understand but like y’all, y’all. y’all. this part of SoS is ultimately Lorelei’s story. If I’d ended it with the full Lyra reveal, it would become Lyra’s story again too much, and a lot of the impact of what Lor’s been talking about would’ve been lost. I felt like I was pushing it as it is

jackssims replied to your post “Intermission 2: Melody End Credits”

This interlude-update was amazing. It made me feel stuff like never before, and I was always refreshing my dash for it. Great job!

holy hell thank!!!! I’ll try to maintain that quality, or at least a small fraction of it, into the rest of the project going forward!

#bountifulberries #toxoplasmajuice #harmoniouspixels #berriesandbrownsugar #tosimornottosim #autistichatkid #geezsims #sos mm bc

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sage-nebula · 6 years

Text

VLD - What They Found in Each Other

At first, what Lotor and Keith have in each other is mutual intrigue.

They were enemies, once, and recently at that. Keith remembers vividly each and every time Lotor outmaneuvered them; he remembers how his hands ached from constricting around the controls of the Black Lion, or from being balled into fists of frustration for far too long. He remembers lying awake at night, running over each failed mission in his head until it felt as though he was reliving them over again, wondering what he could have changed, if anything (and how he was supposed to lead the team to victory when the opposition was continuously running rings around them). Keith remembers all of this, and that’s what makes him want to know what makes Lotor tick. He wants to know what Lotor is thinking, what he is planning; wants to know what Lotor was thinking, back when he did things such as attacking that outpost in the Ulippa system. Lotor is both fascinating and frustrating; he cannot be trusted, not really, but he’s an invaluable ally now that they have him. He’s an excellent pilot, a brilliant swordsman. They were enemies once, and maybe they could be again someday, but that doesn’t mean that Keith can’t appreciate his skills. That doesn’t mean that Keith is blind to Lotor’s abilities. For as much as he does not yet understand Lotor---for as much as he needs to understand Lotor, particularly if they really are enemies again one day in the future---he is not blind to him. He is not blind to Lotor’s intelligence, his skills, or his firm sense of purpose and willingness to be daring. Keith sees, and is interested by, it all.

Lotor, too, is fascinated by what he sees in Keith. Keith is another part-Galra, like himself. He grew up on Earth, where no one knew of or could discriminate against him for his Galra heritage, but his time in space has more than awakened him to the fact that many (most) are not receptive to those like them. But there is more to each of them than their bloodline, however much it might affect how they are perceived in the rest of the universe. Keith has a natural grace in the cockpit that most could never dream of achieving. His ambidexterity only adds to his skill with the sword, which was already impressive before Lotor saw how easily Keith could switch sword hands mid-swing. But most of all, what Lotor finds fascinating about Keith is his intense and unwavering determination. Keith is not determined in the way a mountain refuses to budge from its landsacpe. Keith is determined in the way a wildfire devastates forests. Keith’s determination led him to throw himself against Lotor time and again no matter how many times Lotor outmanuevered Team Voltron. Keith’s determination led him to fly his tiny fighter against Haggar’s massive battle cruiser in the hopes of shattering her shield, not because he had any desire to die, but because he had the resolve to see what needed to be done through to the end. His determination, his intensity, his willingness to go to lengths others would recoil from are all fascinating to Lotor. They draw him to Keith, more than he feels drawn to any other member of the coalition.

As time goes on, their intrigue grows into comfortable camaraderie.

Many of Keith’s questions about Lotor are answered right off the bat, and in lieu of answers to chase pertaining to his actions during the time they spent on opposite sides of the war, the conversations they have venture into different subjects instead. Keith was interested in learning about Lotor, and he still is, but as it turns out Lotor was interested in him, too. This is a new experience for Keith, but not an unpleasant one. Talking with Lotor is easier than talking with most others. Lotor is not only genuinely interested in what Keith has to say, but his responses are thoughtful and sometimes laced with the same form of dry, sometimes sarcastic humor that makes Keith grin and laugh a little. And while their conversations are interesting, Lotor is comfortable with silence as well; he’s fine with not exchanging words during sparring sessions, or sitting quietly on the observation deck. Conversations between them are not forced, and though they ask about one another, they don’t feel like pointless, vapid chitchat. Keith enjoys the time they spend together. He’s disappointed when responsibilities pull them apart.

What began as intrigue for Lotor grows the more he gets to know Keith. Most, if not all, of his original assumptions about Keith were correct. His intensity, his determination---those are qualities that are very real and very present within Keith. But Keith, Lotor finds, is so much more than that. Off the battlefield, in his downtime, he’s quieter, calmer, more pensive. His sense of humor is a bit off-beat, and his insights---while usually agreeable to Lotor---offer perspectives that Lotor himself hadn’t previously considered. Lotor finds himself asking after Keith’s opinion on all matter of things not because it is pressing, or because it will give him an angle to work, but because he genuinely wishes to know for the sake of knowing. The time they spend conversing is intellectually fulfilling for Lotor, but the time they spend in silence is peaceful and soothing as well. They have a mutual understanding and pace between them; they move in a similar sync. Lotor was intrigued by Keith from the start, and Keith still does have his interest, but now his desire to be around Keith is a little more than simple intrigue. Now he finds his mood considerably lifted even when the time he spends with Keith yields no new information at all.

More time passes still, and comfortable camaraderie becomes a reciprocated bond of trust, respect, and care.

Keith understands Lotor by now---or he believes he does, he feels he does, and his instincts have rarely steered him long. He understands Lotor, and his understanding has led him to be able to trust that he and Lotor will be on the same page on most issues. Even if their initial thoughts differ, he knows their willingness to do what must be done is equal. He knows their determination to see things through to the end is equal. He knows what Lotor is capable of, and he knows that Lotor, likewise, knows what Keith is capable of. And he knows, implicitly, that when they are on the same team---when they are side by side---they are nigh unstoppable. Keith knows much of what Lotor has been through. He knows what Lotor has fought for, bled for, and lost. He knows that Lotor is sincere in most things he says, even if he pretends to others not to be, and he knows that the things Lotor fights for---the things Lotor believes in---are not only worthy, but ultimately right. But of all the things Keith now knows and understands about Lotor, the most important of all is that he knows he can trust Lotor to not only hear him, but listen to him. Lotor, for all that he is convinced of his own path, is genuinely open to Keith’s ideas and feelings. He listens, takes them into consideration, and modifies his own plans to accommodate. Keith knows, on a level that causes his instinct to stamp out any doubts in his mind, that if he goes to Lotor, Lotor will genuinely level with him. Lotor will have his back, and his side. Even if no one else would understand, Lotor would. There is security in that knowledge that Keith refuses to relinquish.

Lotor, too, now knows Keith as he knows himself. He knows that, unlike so many others in Lotor’s life over the years, Keith does not play games. He does not lie, does not deceive; he doesn’t manipulate others to his own ends. Keith is straightforward, honest, passionate. Keith is vocal when he agrees with a plan, and just as vocal when he disagrees with one. And unlike all others Lotor has had interactions with over the years, Keith does not look at him and see a prince, or a commander, or even ‘Zarkon’s son.’ Keith looks at him and sees only Lotor. Keith regards him as he is, as a person, without regard for any of the titles of stigma Lotor has shouldered his entire life. Lotor can, and does, trust Keith to regard him as an equal. When they work together, they do so standing side by side. Keith is not (and would never be) his subordinate, nor is he Lotor’s superior; he treats Lotor with the same civility and respect he grants everyone else, while not mincing or shying away from his honesty. Lotor trusts Keith to have his back. He knows Keith will trust in his strategies, his plans, his ideals. Yet he also knows that Keith will tell him when his plans have flaws, when his strategies are weak, and when his ideals are being compromised. He knows Keith will offer alternatives, and suggests solutions. He knows that Keith will never feel obligated to follow his orders, but he trusts Keith to assist in crafting them. Lotor knows that Keith, as capable as he is, is not one who will push him to the top. Rather, as someone who is every bit the leader that Lotor himself is, Keith is one who will stand with Lotor there. Lotor knows this---he trusts in this---and he values this more than simple words can convey with each passing quintant.

And finally, their bond of mutually reciprocated trust, respect, and care becomes unbreakable, and ultimately blossoms into fully realized companionship not only based in the above, but also in genuine happiness, comfort, and love.

What Keith has found in Lotor is something he has longed for over most of his life, most often subconsciously. Lotor appreciates all that Keith is capable of; he makes no habit of downplaying Keith’s abilities, and actively combats Keith’s own instinctive attempts to do so. But that in itself is not unusual; most people he has met have recognized Keith by his abilities, whether those skills are ones he has already presented, or what they believe he is capable of. Lotor sees Keith as more. Lotor enjoys Keith’s company not because of what Keith can do, but because of who Keith is. For the first time in such a long time, Keith feels valued, loved, and cherished on a deep, personal level. He knows, in his heart of hearts, that his feelings of reciprocation---that his love for Lotor---is desired and treasured in turn. There are so many things Keith admires about Lotor. There are so many reasons why, in terms of revolution or the ongoing war, he would want to stand by Lotor’s side and offer his sword to Lotor’s cause. But all of that is muted against the vivid, soul-deep intensity with which he knows that Lotor loves him. Not his abilities, not his skills, not what he has done or can do for the war effort, but him. Keith. Keith is certain, more than he has ever been, that Lotor loves him earnestly, completely, and without risk of sudden rejection or changed feelings. For the first time in his life, Keith is certain he has found someone who will never leave him. For the first time in his life, Keith doesn’t doubt the love someone feels for him. Lotor has given him undeniable and immutable love, and that is something Keith will never take for granted.

Lotor has spent his life with his back against the wall. Even in the presence of those he chose himself and trusted most, he could never truly relax. He was always alert, always listening, always prepared for the strike of betrayal that inevitably always came. Keith is different. It takes time for Lotor to realize this---time for him to realize that for all the qualities Keith has that Lotor finds attractive (and there are countless), what makes Lotor want to pull Keith into his embrace and never release him is the sanctuary Keith creates with his mere presence. Keith is clever, brave, resilient, enthralling, bold, thoughtful, determined, and capable. But as much as he is all of those things, Keith is also steadfast, loyal, and protective. He loves and cherishes Lotor, openly and sincerely, and this love, Lotor knows, is unwavering. Keith’s feelings are what move him to do the things he does; he acts based not only on logical fact and strategic planning, but by what he feels in his heart of hearts is right. And so it is the love, the genuine love that Keith has for Lotor---love that Lotor cannot ever remember feeling the likes of at any other point in his life---that make him so steadfast in his decision to stay by Lotor’s side. It is his love that inspires his loyalty, rather than obligation or opportunity. And it is his love that inspires him to place not a knife between Lotor’s shoulder blades, but rather his forehead, his arms wrapped around Lotor’s waist, his embrace warm, secure, and safe. For the first time in his life, Lotor has someone who will give him not only a hand to hold, but a shoulder to lean on. For the first time in his life, he has found someone who will, without hesitation, or question, or expectation, put up a guard for both of them, so that Lotor can let his own down. Keith has given him inviolable sanctuary built on trust and love, and that is an invaluable gift that Lotor will cherish for the rest of his days.

#keitor #voltron #prince lotor #keith kogane #i'm not sure if this counts as a fic so much but just to make it easier to find i guess:#fic fix #it's more of just a stream of consciousness . . . [waves hand] . . . piece #but here have this #i love them so much i'm in way too deep #there's no saving me now you're all going to have to go on without me #carry on the good fight because i've fallen deep into this ship and there's no coming back from it now

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ezatluba · 3 years

Photo

Old Dogs, New Research and the Secrets of Aging

The ways that dogs grow and age may provide potentially useful similarities with people.

By James Gorman

Nov. 9, 2020

Dogs go through stages in their life, just as people do, as is obvious to anyone who has watched their stiff-legged, white-muzzled companion rouse themselves to go for one more walk.

Poets from Homer to Pablo Neruda have taken notice. As have folk singers and story tellers. Now science is taking a turn, in the hope that research on how dogs grow and age will help us understand how humans age. And, like the poets before them, scientists are finding parallels between the two species.

Their research so far shows that dogs are similar to us in important ways, like how they act during adolescence and old age, and what happens in their DNA as they get older. They may be what scientists call a “model” for human aging, a species that we can study to learn more about how we age and perhaps how to age better.

Most recently, researchers in Vienna have found that dogs’ personalities change over time. They seem to mellow in the same way that most humans do. The most intriguing part of this study is that like people, some dogs are just born old, which is to say, relatively steady and mature, the kind of pup that just seems ready for a Mr. Rogers cardigan. “That’s professor Spot, to you, thank you, and could we be a little neater when we pour kibble into my dish?”

Mind you, the Vienna study dogs were all Border collies, so I’m a little surprised that any of them were mature. That would suggest a certain calm, a willingness to tilt the head and muse that doesn’t seem to fit the breed, with its desperate desire to be constantly chasing sheep, geese, children or Frisbees.

Another recent paper came to the disturbing conclusion that thecalculus of seven dog years for every human year isn’t accurate. To calculate dog years, you must now multiply the natural logarithm of a dog’s age in human years by 16 and then add 31. Is that clear? It’s actually not as hard as it sounds, as long as you have a calculator or internet access. For example the natural log of 6 is 1.8, roughly, which, multiplied by 16 is about 29, which, plus 31, is 60. OK, it’s not that easy, even with the internet.

To bring the comparisons home, the researchers compared an aging Labrador retriever to an aging Tom Hanks. They used a lab because that’s the kind of dog they studied. And they used Tom Hanks, because, well, everybody knows Tom Hanks. For most of us, of course, there is no pleasure in seeing a dog get older, but seeing even a beloved celebrity subject to the irresistible march of time is somehow reassuring. Sometime in the future the A-list may be able to purchase immortality, but not yet.

Scientists also reported recently that adolescent dogs share some of the characteristics of adolescent humans, like, say, “reduced trainability and responsiveness to commands.” Not your children, of course, but those of other parents.

However, teenage dogs don’t torment their actual mothers. They complain to their humans. That means a double whammy for some pet owners. If you happen to have adolescent human children as well as adolescent dogs and you all are stuck at home in close proximity because of a worldwide coronavirus pandemic, then all I can say is more research is required.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be flippant about these research projects. They involve some groundbreaking work and could have potentially important conclusions. Take that paper with the natural logarithms, for example. To come to those conclusions researchers sought patterns of chemical changes in DNA, a process called methylation that doesn’t alter the content of genes, but does change how active they are.

Lab tests can tell how old a human is just from the pattern of methylation. Thanks to this research, the same can be done for dogs. The results will help researchers studying aging in dogs to translate findings to humans. None of this research was done on dogs kept in a laboratory. All of the dogs in the aging comparison study were pet Labrador retrievers and the owners gave permission for blood samples.

Scientists are unsure about whether the physical decline seen in aging in dogs and humans, in fact in all mammals, is related to the process of development in earlier life, or whether the decline is a different process altogether. The researchers found that the pattern of methylation suggested that the same genes may be involved in both processes.

Good methods of comparing dog and human ages are important. Dogs are increasingly seen as good models for human aging because they suffer from it in many of the same ways humans do. As the Dog Aging Project, which is collecting genetic and other information from a vast number of pet dogs, puts it on its website, the goal of the research is “Longer, healthier lives for all dogs … and their humans.”

As an aging human, I can’t fault that approach. In, 2018 the co-director of the project, Daniel. E. L. Promislow at the University of Washington, Seattle, laid out the reasons dogs make a good animal in which to study aging and get results that will help people. In essence, they suffer a lot of similar ailments, such as “obesity, arthritis, hypothyroidism, and diabetes.” That’s not all of course, but when we imagine that an old dog walks funny for the same reasons we do (it hurts), we’re not being anthropomorphic.

Elinor Karlsson at the Broad Institute described her research in genomics and dogs: “One of the things that we’re really interested in is figuring out, first of all, whether there are things in the DNA of dogs that you can find that actually explain why some of them live a remarkably long time.” Those findings might be of use in extending healthy aging in people.

The study on the changes in dog personality over time used Border collies that were part of the Clever Dog Project at the University of Vienna. The Border collies were all companions, volunteered by their human owners. Humans are said to grow more easygoing, stable and agreeable as they age. We can all think of exceptions, probably in our own family, but overall statistics cannot predict the behavior of outliers like Uncle Rasputin or Aunt Ratchet.

How do you test dog personality? The Border collies were put through many different tests. In one, a stranger walks into a room and pets the dog. In another, the owners dress up their dogs in human T-shirts. One-fifth of the dog owners admitted to having done this before, on their own, not for research purposes. In another test, the owners dangle a sausage in front of their dogs just out of reach for a minute or so. Be assured this was approved by an ethics board, and the dogs were fed the sausages once the time was up.

The researchers found that dogs do change as they grow older just as people do. They become less active and less anxious. But one of the authors of the study, Borbalu Turcsan, of Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest, noted that some dogs don’t change as much over time. “People with more mature personality profiles change less as they age,” she said. “And we found exactly the same in the case of dogs.”

The end of aging is of course the same in dog and human. Dogs just get there more quickly. This is one thing that makes the dog a “good model for human aging and mortality,” as Dr. Promislow wrote.

“Dogs age a lot faster than people do,” Dr. Karlsson of the Broad Institute explained. “And so if you want to study aging with the idea that you want to help people within our life span, then you want to be able to study something that’s aging much faster than us. You can learn about it more quickly than waiting eighty years until somebody dies.”

On this point, of course, what is a benefit for science is a great sadness for dog lovers. Dogs die too soon. And it is left to us to witness it, time and again. It’s never easy. As one version of the folk song, “Old Blue,” has it, “Old Blue died and he died so hard, shook the ground in my back yard.”

Here, where the consolations of science fail us, poetry can remind us of what it is about dogs that makes us face the shortness of their lives. In, “A Dog Has Died,” Pablo Neruda describes his dog, in younger days, at the beach:

Joyful, joyful, joyful,

as only dogs know how to be happy

with only the autonomy

of their shameless spirit.

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returnsandreturns · 7 years

Text

i’ll put this up on ao3 if i ever flesh it out fully, but have some high school au that i’ve been poking at for awhile and want to abandon in favor of a wedding planning au maybe:

“I feel like I’m not holy enough to be here,” Foggy says, hushed, leaning close to Matt as they walk into the cathedral.

“I think you’re fine as long as you don’t catch fire at the entrance,” Matt says, smiling. Their voices echo nicely in the sanctuary, and Foggy’s warm at his side, bouncing on his feet a little as they walk towards the confessionals.

“Not even a hint of smoke,” he says, brightly. “Hey, can we do a joint confession, get it over with fast?”

“No,” Matt says, laughing. “You don’t have to do it, though. You can just wait for me.”

“Nah,” Foggy says. “If I’m here, I might as well confess my terrible, terrible sins.”

“Tell me some,” Matt says.

“Well, sloth,” Foggy says, agreeably.

“Of course.”

“I—cheated on a geometry test, like, two years ago.”

“That is pretty terrible.”

Foggy makes a low humming noise before he says, “Remind me, what’s the church’s policy on jerking off?”

Matt chokes on a laugh, letting go of Foggy’s arm to take a few steps forward by himself and say, seriously, “I think they just trust that our deeply instilled shame will make us guilty enough about it on our own. Do you want to go in first?”

“Might as well,” Foggy says, reaching up to tousle Matt’s hair as he walks past him. “I’ll make up some really good sins, get him warmed up for you.”

“Please don’t lie to a priest!” Matt calls after him, smiling too hard. He settles down on a bench outside and tries to listen to anything but Foggy talking—he really tries, but it’s kind of quiet and the noises from outside seem distant.

There’s nothing too shocking until Foggy says, “I’ve been having—is impure thoughts a good way to phrase it? I’ve been having those. For my best friend.”

Matt’s breath catches. Foggy always call Matt his best friend, but Foggy has—a lot of friends. He might not be talking about Matt. He’s probably not talking about Matt.

When Foggy comes back out, he says, “He’s all yours, Matty,” and immediately drops down to sit next to him, jostling Matt with a shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” Matt asks, smiling weakly.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, laughing. “Repentance is my jam. Hurry up and get it over with, I want to get coffee before we go back to your room to study.”

Afterwards, Matt doesn’t even remember what he says during his confession. He’s a little distracted wondering exactly what impure thoughts entails.

The sisters who run the orphanage tend to look the other way when Foggy ends up staying late in Matt’s room; Matt’s heard them talking about it, how they’re glad that he’s finally found a friend, that he’s not so isolated.

The first time Foggy came up to visit, he’d made a joke about how Matt was lucky to have a room to himself—how he could sneak up girls to spend the night. Matt might have let him believe that he’d done it before. Sometimes, it’s easier to let other people make their `assumptions.

Tonight, they’ve been studying for a history test for hours—or Foggy’s been studying, at least, and trying to talk the timelines out to reinforce it for Matt. Matt, who keeps drifting to the thought of kissing Foggy on the mouth, which is new.

“You with me, buddy?” Foggy asks.

“Hmm?” Matt asks.

“You left me all alone with Winston Churchill,” Foggy says, shoving gently at Matt’s knee. “What’s on your mind?”

“Uh, nothing,” Matt says, smiling and shaking his head. “Just—tests, you know?”

“I definitely know,” Foggy says, sighing before he suddenly slams his book shut and gathers all of their stuff up to put it on the floor. “I vote we give up.”

“I second that,” Matt says, gamely.

Foggy sprawls across Matt’s bed, stretching out, and Matt snorts and scoots back against the headboard to give him room.

“Alright, girl talk,” Foggy says. “Tell me all your hopes and dreams.”

Matt really, really can’t do that right now.

He can distract Foggy, though.

“You go first,” he says, smiling down at him. Foggy’s heart beats a little faster, and Matt wonders what would happen if he just touched him—his hair, maybe. He thinks about Foggy saying impure thoughts and lets his hand drop down to brush over where his hair’s spread out on the bed, not even touching his head before Foggy’s heart picks up even more.

Matt pulls his hand back.

“Hope or dream?” Foggy asks, sounding a little flustered.

“. . .dream,” Matt says.

“Do you think the nuns know that I’m high?” Foggy asks, as soon as he walks into Matt’s room and shuts the door behind him. He sounds genuinely nervous.

“No,” Matt says, evenly, turning around in his desk chair to give him a serious look, “but God does.”

Foggy gasps softly then groans after Matt smiles at him.

“Don’t, Matty,” he says, climbing onto Matt’s bed and wrapping his arms around himself, making a sad face. “I think I smoked too much. Am I going to hell? How does that work?”

“You’re not going to hell,” Matt says, moving to sit next to him, cheeks heating up when Foggy immediately gets as close as he can so he can rest his head on Matt’s shoulder. “Who were you smoking with?”

“Brett got some but he was too freaked out about his mom finding it, so he gave it to me,” Foggy says, turning to bury his face in Matt’s shoulder instead so his voice is muffled. “Then I got worried about my mom and I smoked all of it at once.”

“How much?” Matt asks, somewhat worried.

“. . .all of it,” Foggy repeats, gravely, and Matt laughs and wants to kiss him again. The last week’s been composed of wanting to kiss Foggy and feeling borderline sick about it, but it’s worse now, alone and so close.

“Well, you managed to walk here all right,” he says. “I don’t think you’ll die.”

“. . .wait, can weed kill you?” Foggy asks, horrified, sitting up again.

“I. . .” Matt starts, hesitantly. “I don’t—think so?” Then, after Foggy makes an upset noise and shifts closer to grab Matt’s arm, “I mean, no, let’s say no.”

“I mean this in a totally cool and manly way, Matty, but will you please hug me?”

It’s probably a bad idea. No, it’s—definitely a bad idea, but Matt can’t possibly say no to that, so he opens his arms and smiles helplessly when Foggy moves in to wrap his arms around him. He’s practically sitting in Matt’s lap, face tucked into his neck, and Matt holds on tight and breathes against his hair.

“You’re okay,” he says, softly, rubbing Foggy’s back.

Foggy’s the only person he’s really hugged since his dad, so sometimes it still feels a little bit wrong. Like Matt’s not supposed to be the one doing this, even though he likes it. Especially now, when he’s figuring out that the warm dizzy feeling that he gets when he’s touching Foggy means something different.

Foggy’s heart slows down enough that Matt thinks he might be asleep until he asks, “Could I sleep here? I don’t want my parents to see me.”

“Or smell you,” Matt says, smiling when Foggy bursts out laughing, holding Matt tighter before he lets go and shifts back.

“Sorry, buddy,” he says, yawning. “I just—rubbed the weed smell all over you. I can go home if you want.”

Foggy should probably go home. Matt’s not sure it’s okay for them to sleep in a bed together, knowing what he knows about Foggy, knowing what he feels about Foggy.

“No, stay,” he says, standing up to see if he has anything that Foggy can wear to sleep in. “You have to go to Mass with me in the morning, though.”

“Only if you go get pancakes with me afterwards,” Foggy says, sounding happy.

Matt turns his head so Foggy can see him smile.

“Deal.”

When Matt wakes up the next morning, it’s to Foggy snoring lightly close to his ear and Foggy’s chest pressed up against his back, body curved around him with a warm heavy arm slung over Matt’s waist. He’s pretty sure that he forgets how to breathe for a moment, shifting back against Foggy to feel him stir and sigh and pull him closer while he’s still asleep.

He wants to kiss Foggy awake. He wants to do something about the erection tenting his pajama pants besides quietly dealing with it himself so nobody in the rooms around him hears. He wants to ask Foggy what impure thoughts means and if he thinks it’s okay that Matt’s more worried about never getting to touch him than what it might mean to the church if he has real feelings for a boy.

He’s worrying over that when Foggy wakes up with a yawn, making a curious noise before he says, “Oh, wow—you awake, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Just woke up.”

“Sorry, it was cold in here last night,” Foggy says, carefully letting go of him and scooting backwards—not much room to go in Matt’s twin bed. “Must’ve accidentally cuddled you for warmth.”

“I don’t mind,” Matt says, sitting up after Foggy climbs out of the bed, pulling the sheets around him to hide just how much he doesn’t mind.

“Oh,” Foggy says, and Matt’s sure that he’s said something he shouldn’t until Foggy continues, blithely, “Well, good, now we know you’re the little spoon. I think I might head home and grab something to change into for Mass that wouldn’t make my grandmother cry.”

“What were you wearing last night?” Matt asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Cargo shorts,” Foggy says. “Sex Pistols t-shirt. Both, if you remember, smelling strongly of marijuana. I’m changing back into them, by the way.”

“Okay,” Matt says, laughing and trying not to think about Foggy taking his clothes off in front of him—wondering what it will take to stop constantly thinking about him like that. “You can just go home, though—you don’t actually have to go with me.”

“I want to,” Foggy says, zipping up his shorts. Matt feels his dick twitch at the sound and frowns at himself. “Mostly for the pancakes, but I also want to see you in your element.”

“My element?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. I’m just saying—it’s important to you,” Foggy says, almost cautiously, folding the t-shirt Matt lent him and putting it on his dresser. “I want to know about what’s important to you, Matty.”

“Oh,” Matt says, surprised.

“I also want bacon,” Foggy says, brightly, moving close to ruffle Matt’s hair before he heads for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t forget to brush your hair, you look ridiculous.”

He’s gone before Matt remembers how to really speak again.

A few days later, on a Friday, Foggy’s waiting on the front steps as Matt’s leaving to walk to school.

“We’re skipping class,” he says.

“Are we?” Matt asks, yawning, sitting his bag down before sitting on the step below Foggy and leaning his head against his arm. It’s too early to be alive. Foggy’s warm.

“Yes,” Foggy says, firmly. “We deserve a three day weekend.”

“I have a quiz,” Matt says, half-heartedly. He’s skipped class with Foggy a few times, and it’s always ended up being some of the best days of his life—easy and fun. He can make up the quiz for that.

“You’ll be fine, you have a 7.0 GPA,” Foggy says.

“I don’t,” Matt says, laughing.

“You have a 100.5 GPA,” Foggy continues, “and we’re going to get drunk in the park.”

Matt tips his head back to feel the sun, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Do I have to talk to your weird uncle?” he asks. Foggy seems to have a family member in every business in the neighborhood, including one of the liquor stores. This one’s really into UFOs and seems to think that Matt went blind because of some extraterrestrial occurrence.

“Uncle Pete is eccentric,” Foggy corrects him, standing up, “and you can stay outside, if you want. Actually, you probably should, he’s been really into hugs lately. C’mon, I’m holding out my hand.”

Matt tries to give him a disapproving look but ends up smiling instead, taking Foggy’s hand and letting himself be tugged to his feet. Neither of them let go immediately, and it’s dumb what just the feelings of their palms pressed together can do to him.

“Alright,” Foggy says, almost nervously, squeezing Matt’s hand before he drops it. “Let’s go, we’re burning daylight.”

When he’s got his fingers curled around Foggy’s arm, he tries not to think too hard about holding his hand instead.

The weather’s just starting to get cool, but Matt’s warm from the whiskey they carried to the park in a water bottle when he kisses Foggy on the mouth.

It’s impulsive—it’s because he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since he heard Foggy in the confessional, and it’s spurred on by the sound of Foggy laughing and his body shaking where their shoulders are pressed together, sprawled out in the grass.

Foggy’s been thinking about him, and in the moment that it takes him to turn and push into Foggy’s space, the only thing Matt can focus on is making sure that Foggy knows Matt’s been thinking about him, too.

He’s not sure how long the kiss lasts, his hand on Foggy’s face and Foggy’s mouth open underneath his, but it seems like an eternity before he feels Foggy makes an uncomfortable noise and Matt’s nerves kick into high gear.

“God, sorry, I’m—” he says, blushing furiously and practically flinging himself away, stumbling over telling the truth. “I shouldn’t have, I’ve just been—I’ve been thinking about you.”

“About kissing me?” Foggy asks, quietly, sitting up.

It’s too late to try to pass this off as anything other than what it actually is. He drops his head so his hair falls in front of his face, turned away from Foggy, whose heart is beating so loud that it’s the only thing Matt can hear for once.

“Yeah,” he says, eventually, “and. . .touching you.”

Foggy’s breath catches.

“Matt,” he says, shifting in the grass but not moving closer.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Matt says, going for brisk and failing completely, voice shaking apart. “I won’t bother you anymore if you want that. Just don’t—don’t tell anyone. Please?”

“. . .what the fuck, Murdock,” Foggy says. Matt stiffens, tightens his fists at his sides. He thought Foggy might pity him or just never talk to him again, but he didn’t think he’d be angry. Foggy’s never been mad at him before.

“I’m sorry,” he says, roughly. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t be sorry that you kissed me,” Foggy says, frustrated. “Just—do you really think I’d tell people? Do you really think that?”

Matt takes a moment before he shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“Good,” Foggy says, and then he’s crawling forward on his knees to grab Matt by the t-shirt and pull him into another kiss. It’s the best kiss that Matt’s ever had, which—is a short list, but he’s never felt like this before. Hot and desperate and laughing helplessly as he’s tipped over into the grass with Foggy’s arms around him.

“We can’t—Fog, there are people around,” he says, pulling away and grinning up at him when Foggy tries to pull him back in.

“Hey, you kissed me first,” Foggy says, kissing Matt softly, tracing fingers through his hair.

“. . .are your parents home?” Matt asks, breathlessly.

“Matthew,” Foggy says. “What are you planning?”

“I actually have—no idea,” Matt admits, but it makes Foggy laugh and kiss him again.

“They’re at work,” he says. “Let’s go.”

#mattfoggy #my fic #daredevil #there might someday be a sweet fumbly first time #possibly in matt's room #i was going to go into more religious guilt but i just want everyone to be happy

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ryukogo · 6 years

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hi! i dont know if youve answered this already, but im really curious! how and why did you classify team gwen and team david as they are? did you use a guide to classpects by other people, or did you analyze the meanings of the classpects from the canon hs wiki?

oh man!! some people have asked but never publicly!! i’m glad you asked though!! the classpecting @fiddler-unroofed and i did for Team David and Team Gwen draws very heavily from the guide made by dahniwitchoflight among other things (though i did look through other blogs and their descriptions + the wiki itself), so what may not make sense for you makes sense for us!

(fiddle may or may not reblog this if she wants to correct anything i say because we talked about this so long ago, so pay attention to any updates!)

some of them get pretty long, so i’ll put it under a cut! [and warning: i know some people are triggered by the episode Reigny Day, so if you don’t want to read about that, please avoid Dolph’s description, which I conveniently put as last so you don’t have to read it! should you want to read everyone else’s!]

TEAM DAVID

Role Recap: David as Seer of Hope, Nurf as Rogue of Rage, Max as Knight of Doom, Neil as Sylph of Mind, Nikki as Witch of Breath, Space Kid as Heir of Space

-=-=-=-=-

DAVID, Seer of Hope (One who Invites Knowledge of Hope or one who Invites Knowledge through Hope)

- We pinned David as a Hope player from the start! Hope, if we look at it in Homestuck, appears to be the power of belief, and we all know how strong David’s beliefs are! He believes wholeheartedly in a lot of things - in Cameron Campbell being a great person, in Max being able to change, in Camp Campbell itself, the list goes on, so it was only natural he’d be a Hope player to us.

- It took a while for us to decide on a role for David, but through elimination and through making sense, he became a Seer. Seers understand their Aspect, and usually keep their party from making grave mistakes, according to the MSPA Wiki.

- David as the Seer of Hope, taking into account the descriptions given by dahniwitchoflight, in this manner, would make sense.

I directly quote, aSeer of Hope will find themselves faced with many paths and choices for what to put their trust in and what to believe. Many outside sources will give them differing opinions about is truly real and The Seer of Hope’s challenge is to learn and see through the false lies and find the one true authentic path for them to take. Maybe they need to figure out what it is exactly that they truly believe in. They might have trouble deciding who they can trust to confide in, who they can really count on in times of trouble. It also might be as simple as they need to figure out what they like and what makes them happy.

That bolded line? Think about the last episodes of Season 1 and Season 2 - Order of the Sparrow and Parent’s Day, respectively. Those two episodes specifically highlight the situation in the bolded sentence - his belief in the camp and his love for camp even when everyone else seems to have abandoned it in favor of better things (Order of the Sparrow), and his belief in Cameron Campbell (Parent’s Day). The last one is a slight stretch, but I remember a post going around about David choosing Camp Campbell over Cameron Campbell, and I thought that was pretty accurate. I’ll update this post and link to it when I get the chance!

I found this particular paragraph by dahni highly appropriate for David in particular: “Regardless of struggles though, the Seer of Hope will be innately optimistic that they will be able to make the right choice. They have faith in themselves to be true or that will be able, even if they aren’t always able to see the right choices in others right away. Like most Hope players as well, Seers of Hope would be happy agreeable people, if a little naive or overenthusiastic at times. They might not always know what’s right, but they are confident that they will know when the time is right.”

-=-=-=-=-

NURF, Rogue of Rage (One who Invites Theft of Rage or one who Invites Theft through Rage)

- Nurf is arguably the special case among all of the people we classpected, actually, being already a nearly realized Rogue of Rage prior to the start of their session, just lacking in the god tier status. Why do we say this?

Nurf is a very self-aware character, aware of things people call him - a problem child, a bully, all that stuff. In his appearances over the two present seasons - where he has voiced lines anyway - we see he clearly understands that he has issues, and that he’s visibly the most adjusted in his family (Parent’s Day, compared to his mother, he is actually very much aware of the repercussions to lashing out and all that jazz.)

In this sense, Nurf has already risen to his challenge, or is on his way to becoming a true Rogue of Rage. Paraphrasing dahniwitchoflight, he lets himself be angry and upset at things - he’s already learned to be stubborn and unmoving, he just needs to learn how to not always be so.

“They stop viewing Rage as something negative that they can’t deal with and start seeing it as something necessary or justified or even something to treasure and take pride in. They learn to give and take constructive criticism and they learn to handle rejection and rejecting others. They stop letting others shut down their concerns or pacify them by telling them to lighten up or ease off or lol I was just joking.”

We’ve seen Nurf advising Neil to look into aggression therapy, and similar situations over the episodes. As I have repeatedly stated, he’s very much aware of his issues, and he’s trying his best, but he’s also, as he states himself in his character episode David Gets Hard, ‘just a kid’ - it’s gonna take a pretty long while before he gets 100% better.

-=-=-=-=-

MAX, Knight of Doom (One who Exploits with Doom or Exploits Doom)

- I’m surprised no one thinks Max is a Doom player. Doom is the opposite of the Life aspect, and quoting Dahni, “It is the bitter repulsion, the cautious pessimism and the necessity of obligation that limits you and what you can do in the world around you. It is understanding what you can and cannot change. It’s the sharp Black and White boxes and lines that everything in the world gets sorted into. It is the sadness and apathy of acceptance contrasted with the frustration and anger of limits. Doom sees what it wants, and lets it go, gives it to others, or just lets it be destroyed altogether. Things will be lost or destroyed, people will die or forget and things will happen that cannot be changed, so don’t bother trying.”

Max in the series is generally presented as a cynical child - it’s even in his description. He gets better from Parent’s Day onwards, from what we understand - his attitude in Night of the Living Ill is pretty different from, say, his attitude during Order of the Sparrow, but before that, he’s always seemed like a Doom player, being very much aware of the limits, what he can or cannot change.

“Doom sees what it wants, and lets it be destroyed altogether.” - This may be a stretch or a personal interpretation, but Max’s desire for his parents to care could be seen as a want, but because they don’t he lets that want be destroyed - he refuses David’s attempts at bonding with him because he’s already let it go (not that that stops him from hurting when he remembers that they don’t care, of course).

- Known Knights in Homestuck are Dave, Karkat, and Latula respectively. According to the Wiki, all the Knights seen thus far conceal their innermost selves - because of a physical “imperfection” or whatever. This can be attributed as well to Max, who’s revealed to actually want for his parents to care for once - his imperfection, which he hides through most of his actions over the series towards David, and occasionally everyone else.

A few key descriptions in Dahni’s paragraphs regarding a Knight of Doom caught my attention in particular - “A Knight is very skilled with using the rules and limitations of any game or session to their advantage. They skillfully fulfill any responsibility or obligation required of them with ease. They might use their natural caution and pessimism to make realistic choices and endeavors. They use and exploit any rule or limit that they can to their advantage. They might also be very good at exploiting any sacrifices made or any obligation or responsibility that they are held to. They might be very good at avoiding any unnecessary thing or person and are very good at recognizing when something is too futile to even bother with.”

“Out of all the Doom players, a Knight of Doom seems like the one most likely to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.“ Max in Cult Camp, anyone? He kept trying to convince David of Daniel’s cult leader shtick, but the man didn’t believe him, so he did it “Daniel’s way”, and threw himself into the purification sauna just so David could finally catch on that something was wrong - the greater good.

“A Knight of Doom can also expertly use and exploit fire, bombs and explosions to their advantage, maybe they create flashy distractions during fights. They might even use decaying or dying things to their advantage.” Hah. Camp Cool Kidz, using Space Kid as the expendable character.

-=-=-=-=-

NEIL, Sylph of Mind (One who Invites Creation of Mind or one who Invites Creation through Mind)

- Neil was most definitely a Mind player from the beginning, and reading through the descriptions we couldn’t think of a better role than Sylph - fuck the gendering of the classes, we want Neil in a dress, dammit. Also, the description for Sylph is rather appropriate - “Sylphs will calmly, analytically and happily give their opinion all about their Aspect. They meddle, healing or fixing any lack of it they notice. ”

“A Sylph of Mind is one who encourages others to be more sensible and logical, to think things through just a bit more and don’t be so rash! Just wait and see every side of the situation before making a decision.” - Neil, towards Max and Nikki mainly, and to everyone else in general.

He’s not as rash as Nikki or Max, definitely - save for that one incident in Eggs Benefits, where he adopts what is assumedly his mother’s way of parenting (since we’re pretty sure Carl isn’t that way thanks to Parent’s Day). Generally he’s a very rational character, being the ‘smart’ character among the campers. He is very knowledgeable as a Science camper, and his belief in science only solidifies his status as a Mind player.

A Sylph of Mind invites creation of Mind or creation through Mind - with this line of thinking, Neil invites creation of Mind (or invites creation of reason - he is the most logical of the comedy trio, being the mind) or creation through Mind. Sounds very appropriate to me, but make of it what you will.

-=-=-=-=-

NIKKI, Witch of Breath (One who Manipulates with Breath or Manipulates Breath)

- I read the tags on the Team David reblogs, and I know someone out there doesn’t think Nikki is a good Witch of Breath. I present you this description of a Witch - “Witches are enthusiastic, confident and optimistic rebels. They break and change the physical and metaphysical “Rules” of their Aspect.”

“They want to be free and have fun and be in control of whenever they want to do those things, but they also recognize that not everyone is as free as them, and so they might try to take them along for their ride, giving them a taste of the freedom that the Witch would enjoy, but not necessarily the kind of freedom that the person they are dragging along would enjoy. They might even start to think that this kind of “freedom” and this direction would even be good for the person it was directed at, regardless of that person’s own wishes.

And this is where we see where the Witch of Breath can kinda go to the dark side, ripping up the foundation of someone’s life in its entirety, forcefully cutting them free of all bonds, putting them in a whirlwind of excitement and confusion and then setting them down somewhere lost and confused when they’re bored and had enough fun, almost like Tornadoes. But Witches of Breath can be good too, they just need to distinguish between someone unhappy and wanting freedom, and someone content to be in their bonds and obligations.”

Nikki is a Breath player because Breath players are frequently associated with freedom and the like - John, Rufioh, Tavros. Nikki loves the forest, loves being wild - when she joined the Flower Scouts the year before she came to Camp Campbell it’s said she was run out for not being ‘girl’ enough, and implied that she wasn’t able to ‘be herself’ there. The Witches in Homestuck canon - Jade, Feferi, Damara - all have great power over their aspect, and to imagine someone like Nikki wielding that over Breath, an Aspect related to change, to direction, to air in general, which is a free element in itself, is very good indeed.

Nikki is very impressionable, and as seen in a lot of episodes, usually goes along with a lot of things her friends do - she follows the people she holds respect for, examples being Ered in Camp Cool Kidz, Neil in Mind Freakers, Max in a lot of episodes but we’ll use Into Town for this example since she follows him around instead of Neil, and even Neilbot (who she thinks is Neil) in Anti-Social Network. Her allegiance in this sense is like the wind - free, ever changing, but mostly loyal to her friends in general. This eagerness to follow, however, is especially exploitable by people who know how to exploit relationships - people, perhaps, like a Prince of Blood.

-=-=-=-=-

SPACE KID, Heir of Space (One who Invites Manipulation of Space or one who Invites Manipulation through Space)

- I think we can all agree Space Kid is the Space player. It’s even in his name.

- “Heirs naturally gravitate towards their Aspect or unconsciously seek it out. They huge amounts of Aspect related strength as well.“ Being the grandson of Neil Armstrong - and being Neil Armstrong Jr., essentially - , of course Space Kid gravitates towards space. It’s in his blood to love Space. When he’s not consciously reaching for the stars it’s still on the brain and in the heart, and a lot of his actions are dedicated towards reaching the stars.

- “They may be very easily manipulated by others egging them on with rewards of their favorite object or obsession. They might even be manipulated by their random and changeable nature making them very willing to try new things.”

Space Kid is repeatedly described as the ‘most expendable’ character, oftentimes the butt of many jokes. His character episode, Space Camp Was A Hoax, even highlights how Max more or less tries to make him feel nauseous about space through that montage of him and Max ‘training’. In Bonjour Bonquisha, it’s a short event, but Space Kid is seen doing the gallon challenge - easily manipulated. Night of the Living Ill - Max manages to convince him easily to give him his space suit (not that he got to use it, but still).

- Also. Space Kid is Neil Armstrong Junior. Neil Armstrong is the first man to walk on the moon, while Yuri Gagarin is the first man in space. Being the grandson of the first man to walk on the moon means it’s in his blood. He’s, essentially, an heir. Of something space related. Eh? Eh? I’ll stop now.

-=-=-=-=-

TEAM GWEN

Role Recap: Gwen as Bard of Time, Preston as Thief of Heart, Nerris as Maid of Light, Harrison as Mage of Void, Ered as Prince of Blood, Dolph as Page of Life

-=-=-=-=-

GWEN, Bard of Time (One who Invites Destruction of Time or one who Invites Destruction through Time)

- This one got tricky. We had classpected nearly everyone else and we still lacked a Time player. We considered Gwen to be a Time player, though, and it stuck. It’d be a pretty cute callback to her liking Doctor Who, though, wouldn’t it?

- To directly quote dahniwitchoflight again, “Bards also ghost their opposite aspects, so a Bard of Time would also act much like a Space Player, in the beginning anyway. They try to avoid destroying anything and aren’t likely to believe in Fate or Destiny, but more so creating or changing their own fate in a precise way.”

A good example of this? Gwen, trying to change her fate as a counselor in Gwen Gets A Job.

Another direct quote: “Maybe it’s inevitable that they will never be a good artist and will go on a destructive spree, ruining all the projects they once loved because they think it will never happen, perhaps even listening to sad music in the process. Though eventually, if they take agency of themselves and don’t let themselves be controlled by the whims of Space, which is also impatience as much as it is beginnings, they will get through their crisis and be patient with themselves again that yes, they are pretty good and they’ll get better eventually, a good end will happen rather than a bad one.” Gwen’s got many anxieties and insecurities on her own in CC canon. But like a lot of us wish would happen, she can get better and get through a good number of her problems because we love her and wish her a happy life.

- This one is a friend’s observation - they associate Time players with keeping shit together (besides Damara, obviously, since the shit was not kept together), and Gwen? She definitely tries to keep shit together in camp.

- Bonus info: we have plans for Time player Gwen, so :)c

-=-=-=-=-

NERRIS, Maid of Light (One who Creates with Light or Creates Light)

- Obviously Nerris was a Light player. Light is primarily associated with luck and fortune, and Nerris is a DnD/PnP player - she relies on the luck of the dice to perform actions, doesn’t she? It makes a lot of sense for Nerris to have powers over luck and chance.

- Now, you’re thinking ‘why is Nerris a MAID? it doesn’t make sense!! nerris is no maid!!’ and you’re… pretty right, Nerris doesn’t seem like the Maid type (Maids in Homestuck canon include Aradia, Jane, and Porrim, for a comparison.) However, I did some research, and, if we’re following the inverse classpecting theory posed by bladekindeyewear, Nerris seems to be acting more like her classpect’s inverse, a Bard of Void.

Directly quoting dahniwitchoflight, “A Bard of Void as the other destruction class would also ghost Light as they destroy Void. They would be perceptive, attentive people and might like to hang around important or influential people. They might try to pop into the spotlight now and again to remind people that “Hey, I’m still here! Check it out!” They might super focus on a hobby or interest important to them or they might have a cool skill or interest that they want to be recognized for. They might be natural curious or nosy about a lot of things. They can act like a kind of satellite, hovering around others that they think are more important or influential than them. They might hide things from people, but make it really obvious that it’s hidden because they’re actually trying to drum up interest in whatever is hidden.”

Nerris, super focusing on DnD/PnP? Check. Wanting to be recognized for it? Check. Nerris, wanting to pop in the spotlight now and again? Also a check, though this one is built more on how we interpret Nerris - she’s part of the Performance Trio for a reason, and that reason is their love for the spotlight, wanting the focus on them. Nerris takes focus in S2′s Quest to Sleepy Peak Peak - or at least, tries to maintain focus. It’s supposed to be Nerris’s character episode, but she ends up sharing this episode with Harrison, and fights for the limelight with him during the majority of the episode.

In this line of thinking, Nerris, as a Maid of Light, rejecting her role the same way Rose does in Homestuck, goes on to ghost her classpect’s opposite, Bard of Void. In the end, however, should she eventually learn to accept her role as Maid of Light, these descriptions for Maid of Light become very appropriate for her:

“They might start out relying on all kinds of lucky charms and objects for any good luck and would heavily rely on superstitions.” - Her dice

“They would make their own luck and build up their own importance and influence.”

“They would be able to take something considered meaningless and give it new meaning, new significance. They would become amazingly aware and perceptive of the world and everything around them.”

- Also, Light is the opposite of Void. Who’s the session’s Void player? Harrison. Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy for her to be envious of Harrison here too?

-=-=-=-=-

HARRISON, Mage of Void (One who Understands with Void or Understands Void)

- “Mages will uniquely experience their Aspect, both good and bad. As a result, they gain a unique understanding of what their Aspect is or does.” Harrison has already experienced his Aspect, both good and bad - he’s an illusionist, and we all know he makes things appear and disappear for his tricks (good). However, he also made his brother disappear at some point (bad).

- “Mages of Void might constantly feel worthless and meaningless, like they’re totally irrelevant in the grand scheme of things and have nothing to offer. They may be unable to get anyone’s attention and be constantly ignored.”

Harrison, arguably, consistently experiences this, especially in Quest to Sleepy Peak Peak, faced against Nerris during the beginning parts of their adventure. He doesn’t even retaliate when Nerris calls him dumb and ugly - he just admits that it hurts. He’s a constant victim to Nerris’s barbs when it comes to stuff like this.

His character episode, however, Mind Freakers, shows that he loves the attention when he performs - he is part of the performance trio, and as such he has to have some love for the limelight, so when Neil tries to prove that his tricks aren’t real and that magic isn’t real, he’s genuinely worried about what the others will think. He’s afraid they will ignore him for the one thing he knows he can at least do semi-right - it’s shown that he takes pride in his skills as an illusionist (not so much his powers in making stuff appear), so to be ignored for even that little thing he uses to get others’ attention…

- To quote classpect-analysis, Mages are usually manipulated by their aspect, and, with Harrison’s aspect being Void, he has quite strong ties to the horrorterrors - which isn’t helped by the fact that he’s a Derse dreamer like all the players on Team Gwen. Should Harrison god tier, he would become someone to whom secrets meant nothing. He’d be able to see through any darkness, ignore any misdirection, and see in the nothingness what they need to see.

“The Mage of Void would also be able to stand more on equal footing with the horrorterrors, and likely could call upon them to bring the Void. They could also probably create illusions, and obscure themselves directly. In short, the Mage of Void has a very strong potential to be the one who brings the apocalypse to the rest of the session, and is incredibly skilled at knowing what others don’t want them to. Not a very cheerful class, but a very powerful one.“ Harrison has all this potential as a Mage of Void, but since he’s not very experienced yet, this isn’t possible.

- Harrison as well being a Void player is sadly a tragic joke… inexperience with his powers led to his brother disappearing, and so far, he hasn’t learned how to appearify him back yet.

- Our classpecting of Harrison as a Void player also ties in with how we classpected Nerris as a Light player, being the inverse aspects of each other. It’d tie in with their magical rivalry, and the envy Nerris most likely feels over the fact that unlike her, Harrison has real magic - this is paralleled in Campestuck, where Nerris ghosts the Bard of Void role, the inverse of her own classpect, in order to be better than the real Void player, Harrison.

-=-=-=-=-

PRESTON, Thief of Heart (One who Steals with Heart or Steals Heart)

- Fiddle herself admitted this was her projecting onto Preston, but, double checking it, the description for Thief of Heart definitely fits Preston.

- “Thieves have good intentions, and might be egocentric. They have natural confidence with their Aspect, but hide insecurities and hate being seen as weak.” Preston? Preston.

- ”They have a natural confidence in dealing with emotional and passionate people and in being truly unique to themselves.They are dangerously overconfident in themselves and their passions if anything.” We see a lot of this in his character episode in S1 - Romeo and Juliet II: Love Resurrected. He wrote and directed the whole play himself - dangerously overconfident, if you ask me. The poor boy can’t seem to chill.

- “Speaking of stealing Hearts though, I can see them being overconfident in emotional matters as well, ‘of course everybody loves me I’m great, so of course you’d wanna date me ;)’ or on another note ‘lol of course I can make that guy hate me watch this’. They can also be dramatic and overemotional beings, always feeling emotions in extremes. But something to be said about the Thief of Heart is that they are actually always very open and honest with how they feel and who they truly are and what they do and what kind of people they are. They might seem extreme at times, but they’re not lying to you. If they love you or hate you, you’ll know because they won’t shut up about it. “

One of the many characterizations of Preston has him as dramatic and overemotional (zero volume control, anyone?), and very honest. You see shades of this in Eggs Benefits the moment he’s sure Nurf can’t hurt him regarding the egg anymore: “I’M A HORRIBLE PARENT!” “You really are, Nurf.” He bluntly tells Nurf this, even after the guy pretty much beats him up. That’s him being open and honest about what he thinks about the whole thing.

-=-=-=-=-

ERED, Prince of Blood (One who Destroys with Blood or Destroys Blood)

- One of my favorites, personally, next to the Performance Trio because I am biased. The aspect of Blood seems to strongly refer to relationships and allegiances, and affinity and unity and all that jazz. The Prince class, on the other hand, has been shown to be about destroying with their aspect or destroying their aspect in particular. Combined, that means a Prince of Blood ‘destroys relationships or destroys with relationships.

- Ered as a Prince of Blood in this sense would work. We see in S1E4, Camp Cool Kidz, very strong evidences of her possibly being a Prince of Blood - after the campers usurped David and Gwen and took over the camp, the main reason the campers became divided was because of her in particular! She tore the campers apart - loyalties were tested, especially Nikki’s towards Max and Neil, being a part of the comedy trio.

Directly quoting dahniwitchoflight again, “A Prince of Blood would ghost Breath as they destroy Blood. They would be indifferent, unemotional, flexible, detached from anyone or the world around them and be extremely independent. They might have a tendency to separate themselves from others, not really feeling obligated to stick around or do anything with them and would hate actually being dependent on another person.” Does that not sound like Ered to you? The resident cool kid, just being cool like that. While not dependent on the other campers, she most definitely uses them as weapons when they are her allies - see Nikki, who she pits against Max.

Another direct quote: “But they could also destroy these same connections just as easily, liked hiring a mercenary. They would use the unwitting loyalty and bonds that others had for them to destroy and tear apart the bonds of enemies, or really anyone.” Again, Ered.

Now, I know what you’re thinking - “But that’s just Ered in one episode! You can’t base your whole classpecting on one episode!” But see, that particular episode is essentially an Ered episode - all the campers have their own camper-centric episodes, and Camp Cool Kidz is Ered’s, so it would make sense that a lot of her personality would be revealed in there. Ered is seen interacting civilly with a lot of the other campers in other episodes after Camp Cool Kidz, so we might be wrong. Still, it’s appropriate for Campestuck, and we’re going with this.

-=-=-=-=-

DOLPH, Page of Life (One who Invites Exploitation of Life or one who Invites Exploitation through Life)

- Poor Dolph. I like him a lot, he’s a very sweet character who didn’t deserve all those Hitler jokes that Roosterteeth made with him. While the Hitler parallels are inexcusable, he’s still, in essence, a child - he can change as he grows older. And, when he grows older, he can finally realize what the hell Neil’s problem is with him. Anyway.

- “A Page of Life would start out with a deficit in their ability to grow, their own power, or just their own status and wealth. They start out at the very bottom as the underdog. They don’t know how to handle wealth or power very well, and may wield any that they gain very clumsily at first.” Dolph’s character episode, Reigny Day, is unfortunately just a big Hitler joke, but if it is his episode, then at least a few facets of him can be gleaned from it. Given the position of counselor for the day, Dolph adopts the dictator-like persona, but as you can see it’s a poor persona - even if the judges for Counselor of the Year think otherwise. Dolph may have seemed like he handled that power well, but (god damn it, Roosterteeth) if visual indicators are anything to look at, he really wasn’t handling it well, especially when Neil ‘goes missing’. The visual indicators I’m referring to are the ‘crazy, stray hairs’ he gets as lightning flashes in the background. That scene.

“They think they do though, in fact they believe themselves worthy of more than what they currently have for sure, and just recklessly go along with any temptations that they might have. They think they are invincible or untouchable, when they’re really not. They also don’t have a strong grasp on the correct way to go about getting that status or wealth that they so desire. They think power and status means that they can just do whatever they want without consequence, and thus they act like they can get away with anything.”

Ugh. Even more Hitler parallels, unfortunately. Reigny Day is the prime highlighter for these aspects of Dolph. In Campestuck Dolph mellows out very slightly since Campestuck is set three years after CC canon (Max is 13 in Campestuck and 10 in Camp Camp), and thus these aspects aren’t as prominent, but they are still, unfortunately there.

“Since Pages are prone to having their temptations, their power and whatever status they earn exploited by others, they must be wary of anyone seeking to usurp what they’ve earned or own, or be wary of people directing them to do things that they wish to do, but don’t currently have the power to, while the Page of Life does have the power to do.”

Dolph seems very eager to please, and again, this is veering into interpretation territory, but over the episodes it seems he has some form of hero worship for a particular character. As the description above states, he must be wary of people seeking to usurp what he owns or has earned, because, perhaps, if he isn’t careful, the hero worship he has for the character may lead to his downfall.

Pages are powerful players, we know this - they just need to awaken their true potential, and Dolph is no different. He can potentially become very, very powerful - and if he’s exploited by someone who knows how to manipulate others to their own whims, he’s a dangerous enemy indeed, being the exploiter of Life itself. It’d be terrifying if someone - say, a Blood player - used him as a pawn for something other than winning the Game.

#camp camp #campestuck #classpecting #campestuck classpecting #classpecting campestuck

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mandysimo13 · 7 years

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Good news everyone!

Part 2 of “Attend the Tale of John Watson” is up! Part 2 is called “Here, There Be Dragons” and I can’t wait for you all to read it! As always, here’s a little snippet for you to read from but it’s available in full here on AO3! Enjoy!

“John, you’ve been on lots of quests.”

“I have.”

“Some of them bloody, terrifying, ending in death.”

“Some of them, yes.”

Sherlock smiled wryly at him and said, “care to go on one more?”

John grinned in return and gripped Sherlock’s hand tightly. He knew that, whatever happened, this was going to be the most important quest he would ever embark on. There was only one answer he could give. “God yes.”

The two men grinned at each other like loons so long that the rest of the world faded away. At that precise moment, as far as they were concerned, nothing else existed but the two of them. John was about to reach for Sherlock to draw him into a kiss, to seal their decision with a physical act of joining, when a disgusted cough broke their mutual gaze.

“Forgive my intruding on your, frankly disgusting, ‘eye-banging’, brother dear. But we do have some rather urgent planning to do if we’re going to, oh I don’t know, save the kingdom?”

John, at least, had the good grace to duck his head sheepishly at Mycroft’s scolding. Sherlock had no such compunction.

“I suppose I can forgive the intrusion. We are in your office, after all,” Sherlock said smoothly, eyes never leaving John’s face.

Knowing one of them had to be levelheaded enough to get them through strategizing before celebrating their small victory, John forced himself to turn his eyes Mycroft. The elder Holmes brother looked on with a mixture of disgust and amusement and John found difficult not to lay his affection for Sherlock on a little thicker just to get a rise out of him. He was fairly certain Mycroft would puff up like an affronted toad and just the idea made a laugh tickle the back of John’s throat. He forced it back with a cough and asked, “so where do we start?”

“We start by convincing Mummy and Father that you’re essential to the quest. They would insist on Sherlock having backup, regardless, but they know that you have a motive for being a part of it. That will make them suspicious about your intentions. Especially since you came waltzing into breakfast wearing Sherlock’s old clothes. Don’t think for one second that had escaped my notice.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sherlock said disinterestedly.

“I think that my reputation speaks for itself,” John said proudly. “I mean, I would brag but you kind of did that for me already with that little monologue in your pocket.”

“Your reputation will legitimize your request, yes. But, let’s not forget Mary.”

Sherlock seemed suddenly interested. “Mary who?”

Shit, John cursed internally. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, John said while staring at his nails, “she was...my girlfriend.”

“Whom you were engaged to,” Mycroft supplied smugly.

“Whom I was engaged to,” John confirmed.

“Who, after being kidnapped, willingly married a rival king,” Mycroft continued.

Scowling at his nails, not daring to look at Sherlock, John mumbled, “who, after being kidnapped, willingly married a rival king.”

John could feel Sherlock’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he let the tension roll back and forth between them while Mycroft explained it to Sherlock.

“John was, and still is I suppose, very much the knightly cliche. He slays beasts, completes quests, and saves damsels in distress. Mary was one of these damsels that he rescued and they were together for some time, weren’t you?”

John nodded jerkily once. “Two years.”

“And when it seemed you’d have a hero’s happily ever after, a wife and seven kids-”

“Actually, I was thinking more like three-”

“Poor Mary was snatched away. You rode out to save her, galant as you are, and professed your love right there in the church during the ceremony. Only to have her choose money and security over love and have your arse handed to you before getting tossed out on your ear.”

Sherlock snapped, “I fail to see the point of this story.”

“Don’t you?” Mycroft quirked an amused eyebrow at him and asked, “don’t you think it would occur to Mummy and Father, knowing John’s history-”

“How on God’s flat earth do they know about this,” Sherlock interrupted.

“It was the best gossip for months,” Mycroft said with undisguised mirth. “Really, better than a tourney, all that knightly gossip. Anyway, knowing John’s story they might think that John’s trying to marry up out of spite. Mary, from what I hear, is quite happy with her chosen husband. A lesser man might seek to level the playing field between them a little, just to spite her. Soothe the wound, so to speak.”

Sherlock whipped his head to look at John and this time John couldn’t ignore his gaze. He looked at him with an open expression and said, “Sherlock, Mary means nothing to me anymore. Yes, she broke my heart but she has no control over it anymore.”

Sherlock levelled a look at him that screamed “we’ll talk about this later” and John suddenly wished planning for their quest would take all day. It’s not like he purposely hid Mary from him. But Mary, even with Sherlock in his heart, was a sore subject. He didn’t like to think about having been brought so low, to almost lose himself in the depression that followed his humiliating rejection. Heartbreak and depression aren’t exactly topics that one find to be delightful “wooing” conversation. John swore he would have told Sherlock about her. Eventually.

John answered Sherlock’s near furious glower with one that pleaded for him to put his thoughts on hold. He silently radiated “not the time for this, please” and Sherlock seemed to agree. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair and said, “let’s get on with it then, shall we?”

The planning itself went fairly quickly. Quicker than John would have liked, knowing the uncomfortable conversation that awaited them when they were finished. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, was good at compartmentalising his thoughts. He seamlessly switched gears from angry lover to engaged strategist and soon enough the three of them they fleshed out a strategy that they hoped would appease the king and queen. Mycroft would first propose the dissolution of Sherlock’s marriage contract, citing it as part of Sherlock’s terms of partaking in the quest for two reasons; the first being that he could die in the quest and he wanted to free Irene from official mourning. The second was that he still, officially had no desire to marry unless it was for love. Mycroft expected there to be an immediate refusal, due to the fact that Belgravia had not rescinded their offer of a marriage between Irene and Sherlock during his time away. Prepared for this, he would then introduce in his prepared solution. To maintain good ties with Belgravia, Mycroft would suggest a list of cousins that Belgravia and Posh-ville could exchange for fostering. He would cite that while Irene had not backed out of the marriage, she had a general distaste for marriage. Coupled with Sherlock’s well demonstrated flair for dramatic exits, he would suggest that it would be wise to hold off on marriage until a more amicable suitor could be found. Seeing the logic in Mycroft’s plan, it was likely to succeed.

Once they accepted their terms for Sherlock returning home and then accepting his quest, John would enact stage two of their plan. He would come to them and ask in court for the honor of participating in the quest alongside Sherlock. Not only was he a brave, seasoned knight, but he also had grown fond of his charge and wanted to join Sherlock’s service. When the request was heard and he was asked what sort of compensation he would take in return for successful completion of the quest John would request Sherlock’s hand in marriage.

“Of course they’ll say ‘no’ and try to dissuade you. And it will be important for you, Sherlock, to dismiss his proposal at first. It will strengthen our argument that you will want to marry for love, not material gain,” Mycroft told them. Seeing their distress, he quickly added, “this is where I’ll step in to advocate for the idea.”

Mycroft would point out Sherlock’s past reckless nature and how difficult he had been as a child. He would point out his stubbornness and all his questionable actions, left mostly unchecked since he’d been able to outsmart guards and nannies alike, until he finally took it upon himself to put himself to sleep. Sherlock bristled like an offended cat but Mycroft paid him no mind. “And this is where I point out that since making John’s acquaintance, you have been more agreeable and less prone to unseemly outbursts. They’ve no need to know that that’s not entirely the case, I know you’re just as stubborn as ever, but I’m sure you can play the part long enough to get a ring on your finger. Am I correct?”

Sherlock shrugged, remaining silent and clearly displeased with the idea of rejecting John’s proposal.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He rolled his eyes and continued. “I’ll advocate for it publicly only if you manage to both live through the quest and make it back alive. In that case, if the king and queen think that your continued safety and reasonable behavior were to continue with John at your side, you might have a shot. After all, marrying your personal guard is rather convenient when talking about your protection. This is assuming, of course, that you’ll actually resume your duties as prince once you’ve completed the quest.”

Sherlock’s reply was terse, spoken through tight lips. “Work. Dull.”

“We all have a job to do in this life, Sherlock. You must do yours, as I must do mine. And as of now, I am putting my work on hold for you. ”

That seemed to chasten him a bit. He nodded once in acceptance and the three ironed out the rest of the details of their plan before John and Sherlock were finally released from Mycroft’s office. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Sherlock was all focused and calculating in one instant, but the second the door closed behind them he was cold and distant. They stood in the hall staring at anything but each other, awkward silence stretching between them.

John supposed he couldn’t delay the inevitable forever. So, trying to seem unaffected, he scuffed his boot against the marble floors of the hall and asked, “did you want to ta-”

“In my rooms,” Sherlock cut in, not bothering to speak further. He took off in the direction of his rooms, his posture all full of piss and vinegar, and John couldn’t do anything other than follow.

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