#but so many adults are bound and determined to keep kids ignorant

[qqueenofhades]

Also, just as an overall observation, I really can't help but wonder how much better things might be if we actually tried to teach kids about the complexities of the world, rather than "Protecting Them."

(But that's the one thing the right wing literally can't stand, so god forbid we do that.)

#hilary for ts #blanket blocking and censoring content has never worked in the entire history of anything #kids are small people #who will grow up to be big people #and they live in a complicated world #we owe it to them to create useful and age-appropriate answers even to tough questions that adults might find squicky #but so many adults are bound and determined to keep kids ignorant #because their entire sociopolitical power paradigm rests on raising kids who won't challenge its ideas #so you end up in a total alternate reality #and we've all seen how that works #so. like. adults are once again failing kids here #because we don't have our own shit together #and think that just pretending something doesn't exist will work #which again! it will not! kids are curious! they will find it anyway! #anyway. ANYWAY. 'protect the children' should be taken behind the woodshed and shot #it's stupid and it does nothing and it's not useful in the long term #especially the way the right wing in particular uses it #but the left is certainly not blameless either #sigh

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 2

cruel summer masterlist

AN: Thank you all so much for your thoughts and comments. I enjoy them immensely. I thought this was all going to be from Rowan’s POV, but... I was wrong. CW: Drinking, swearing.

The first Monday after Ashryver Playland opens is always Aelin’s favorite day of the summer. It’s a silly tradition her grandparents started, but it’s been a part of her life as long as she can remember. That very first Monday after the park’s first successful week, the Ashryver Galathinius clan opens up their summer home to the Playland’s staff and families for an all day pool party and barbeque.

Summer has always been Aelin’s favorite season. It means spending three months of pure bliss in her summer home, overlooking the waters of Terrasen from her bedroom balcony. And there’s something about Ashryver’s opening week barbeque that always manages to sets the tone for her summer. Summer doesn’t really begin until the barbeque begins. It’s always marks her first something.

When she was eleven, Aelin met her first real best friend, Dorian – one of the board member’s sons. She’d left the party to hide in the music room, trying to teach herself how to play her favorite Death Cab for Cutie song on the large grand piano, when he wandered in, singing on top of her stumbling melody line with a flawless unbroken tenor. He’d flashed her a giant smile and pushed his floppy dark curls out of his face and sat down on the bench next to her. They’d been best friends ever since. And the firsts only continued from there.

As Aelin finishes drawing a perfect cat eye with her liquid eyeliner she wonders what first awaits her this summer.  

“Aelin, ten minutes til guests.” Her mother, Evalin, walks past her open bedroom door and does a double-take. “Wowww, someone looks especially nice today,” her mom says with a playful gleam in her eye. “Might I ask who you’re dressing up for?” she asks, taking in Aelin’s white eyelet sundress and full face of makeup. “Because I know this certainly isn’t for Dorian. Wisely.”

“I heard that,” Dorian says, bounding up the last few steps and onto the second floor landing. He sees Aelin and grins that very same grin he gave her that first day he spotted her a decade ago and takes off running. Aelin squeals as Dorian hugs her from behind and swings her around, lifting her off her feet.

“Dor, put me down, I just finished doing my hair!” Aelin says, shrugging him off, but she returns his smile fondly, even as he flops down onto her perfectly made bed, making himself comfortable and kicking off his flip flops.

“You do look suspiciously nice, Ace. What’s with the dress and the hair? Aren’t you going to swim?” Dorian asks stretching his arms up and placing them under his head.

Aelin ignores him and goes back to finishing her makeup. She uncaps a crimson red lipstick and leans into the mirror to apply it when –

“You know if you’re actually looking to make out with someone tonight then red lips probably isn’t the right choice.”

Aelin slides her eye to the boy on her bed and then straightens up again, putting the red lipstick away. He does have a point. Dorian bolts upright, eyebrows raised.

“We’re making out with someone tonight? Who?” Dorian asks, poking Aelin’s thigh with one of his toes.

Aelin’s cheeks flush as she remembers the name of the staff member she so thoroughly stalked the other night. So thoroughly, in fact, that she’s actually embarrassed about it. But also, who has a public Facebook profile these days? Rowan Whitethorn, that’s who.

When Aelin realized all she had to do was ask her five year old nephew for the name of the man who rescued him, she was easily able to find the man on the RSVP list for the barbeque. And from there, she sat in front of her computer for hours, soaking in every last detail she could find. Grew up in Wendlyn, went to school at Mistward and majored in computer sciences and graduated four years ago. His interests include photography and fitness and baking (what man enjoys baking and posts pictures of it?).

Aelin is extremely curious as to how he ended up working at Playland. A man with that kind of degree doesn’t usually find himself ripping ticket stubs, but she’s not complaining about it. Aelin really enjoys looking at his face. And his arms. And his back. She’s anxious to talk to him today, which is annoying. Aelin is never anxious around men. She’s fun and flirty and confident, but one look at Rowan had her excess nerves dancing in circles and turning her into kind of a bitch. She’s hoping her second impression is a lot better. Hence, the dress. And the makeup.

“We’re making out with no one.” Aelin shoots a warning glance in Dorian’s direction as she puts on a light pink lip stain.

“You and Chaol didn’t get back together, did you?” Dorian asks, and Aelin cringes.

“Of course not.” She turns to Dorian as she puts on the final touch – her favorite gold hoop earrings. “You don’t think your best friend would have told you if we’d gotten back together?”

“I don’t know, that last break up nearly took us all out, so if we could not repeat that, that’d be great.” Dorian stares at her, willing her to fess up, but Aelin refuses to give him anything in return. It’s way too early to tell Dorian anything.

“All right, then,” he drawls in a silly British accent. “Keep your secrets.”

Aelin sticks out her tongue as her mom calls out from downstairs, “Kids! Party guests are here!”

“Twenty-four-years old, and we’re still fucking kids,” Dorian grumbles as the pair make their way down the grand front staircase. Aelin hops up onto the wooden banister and rides it all the way down to the bottom, shouting “Catch me!” to Dorian as he runs and chases her to the foyer.

Evalin scolds them, but there’s no real bite to it.  Aelin fixes her banister-swept hair and makes her way out to the front stairs where she and her parents will greet all the staff members and their families. Her parents are all about making the Playland employees feel welcomed, and they make a point to learn each and every one of their names. Plus, they’re a stickler for etiquette. Aelin can’t remember a time when she wasn’t on the front steps to welcome party guests as they arrived.

“I’ll meet you out back in… an hour-ish?” Aelin tells Dorian. “Steal me a bottle of pink champagne?”

Dorian bows at the waist. “Yes, your majesty.” He chuckles softly when she flips him off.

Aelin is the last to join her family. Her parents and her brother, for all intents and purposes, Aedion, already perched and ready to welcome the first wave of guests.

An hour later and Aelin’s jaw already hurts from smiling. She’s shaken so many hands and met so many people and made polite conversation with staff members from years past, but there’s still one face that hasn’t shown yet, and Aelin is having a hard time not showing her disappointment. He RSVPed yes, which means he should be here. Not showing up would be very rude. Right?

Aedion shakes out his hands and cracks his neck loudly. “Who’s ready for a drink?”

Aelin is reluctant to leave the front stairs. Leaving the front stairs means they’re finished greeting people at the party, which means that party guests have stopped arriving, and she’s not ready to admit that defeat. She gives one last wistful glance down the long empty driveway before giving in.

“Yeah, I could use a large drink,” Aelin yawns, leaning into her big brother’s shoulder.

“You’re not allowed to be tired,” he says with a laugh, squeezing her arm. “You are a sprightly youth and don’t have a ten-year-old and a five-year-old waking you up every morning at the crack of dawn to fight about watching Cars or Disney Fam Jam.”

Aelin looks up at him. “That’s not a real thing.”

“I assure you, it is.”

“This guy needs a drink,” Aelin says loudly as she and Aedion make their way out to the back patio where the party is really happening, and Aelin relaxes a tiny bit. So what if Rowan isn’t coming and she got all dressed up for nothing? She’ll look extra cute in pictures this year. She’s here with her family on the first real day of summer, and she’s determined to have a good day, regardless.

She takes in the scene around her – everyone seems to be having the best time. Caterers mill around the stone patio, holding out trays of grilled meats and veggies. At the far side of the patio is a long bar with an ample crowd around it. Champagne is being popped and spirits are being poured, and there’s endless bounds of chatter and laughter from all directions. In the middle of it all, the pool is filled with children and adults alike, playing games and doing handstands and lounging on floats.

The edge of the pool fades into the perfect view of the ocean. Aelin takes a deep breath as she watches the waves break against the shore. She listens to the gulls cawing overhead and inhales the salty sea breeze. Despite her small bout of disappointment, Aelin is happy.

Aedion’s two kids squeal for his attention from the pool.

“Dad! Auntie Ae!” Evie calls from the far end of the pool, her usual strawberry blonde ringlets sopping wet around her shoulders. “Watch me dive!”

Evie dives into the side of the pool, her dolphin arms in perfect form as she splashes into the water. She emerges with a giant smile on her freckled face.

“Good job!” Aedion beams. “Okay, drinks, now,” he whispers to Aelin, guiding her toward the bar.

“Where’s your wife?” Aelin asks, looking around for the green eyed brunette, who’s usually hovering around her children.

Aedion points ahead, and sure enough the woman in question stands at the front of the bar, looking insanely glamorous in a black one piece with a sheer leopard kaftan, taking shots of tequila with Aelin’s favorite returning staff member, Elide.

“Lysandra brought our babysitter with us today,” he says with a devious smile and snakes his way through the crowds to wrap his arm around his wife’s waist.

“Aelin, come do shots!” Elide pulls Aelin up to the bar, her outstretched hand helping her weave her way through the throngs of buzzed staff members. “We’re celebrating my promotion!”

“Ellie is officially manager level this summer.” Lysandra and Elide raise their newly filled shot glasses and hand one each to Aelin and Aedion respectively. Aelin hates tequila but loves Elide, so she clinks glasses and downs the alcohol quickly, grabbing a lime and sucking as much of the juice out of it as she can.

She shudders and Aedion punches her in the shoulder playfully. “Lightweight.”

Aelin rolls her eyes and reverts the topic back to Elide. “So, big shot manager. Does this mean you’re spending all your time with Lorcan now?” Aelin raises her eyebrows, knowing about Elide’s not so small crush on the stoic manager. “Long nights, just the two of you, arranging schedules in the soft romantic light of the Playland breakroom?”

Elide covers her face with her hand and screws her eyes shut. “Oh my god! No! No that is not what is happening at all.”

“Your mouth says no, but your blush says – ‘Yes, Lorcan, yes!’” Aelin teases, poking at Elide’s rosy cheeks. Elide slaps Aelin’s hands away.

“I just had three tequila shots, of course my cheeks are red.” Elide’s hands go to her cheeks, covering them as much as she can, trying to will away the warm flush creeping over her face. “You’re a monster, Aelin. That’s not what’s going on with Lorcan,” she hisses.

“What’s going on with me?” Lorcan asks, approaching from out of nowhere with a beer in his hand, and if possible Elide’s blush grows even deeper.

“Nothing!” Elide shouts, exasperated. “I’ll be right back. Be good, Aelin.” She throws Aelin a warning glare as she stalks off, and Lysandra and Aedion bite back their laughter as a bewildered Lorcan muses out loud—

“Did I say something?”

“No,” Aelin says, turning all her attention to Lorcan. “Elide was just saying how excited she is to work as a manager with you.”

Lorcan’s face lights up as he takes a sip of his beer. “Yeah, she’s been a huge help so far. Especially with such a new staff this year.”

“Yeah… a lot of newbies this year.” Aelin pauses, wondering if she should probe Lorcan about Rowan. It wouldn’t do any harm, right? “Anyone giving you any trouble?”

“Nah,” Lorcan shakes his head and pushes a long piece of hair behind his hair. “But you know me. I like them to think they’re all giving me trouble, so they act accordingly.” He snorts, amused with his own management technique. “There’s one new guy who is so jumpy around me. I love it.”

“You’re evil,” Aelin laughs.

“I prefer diabolical,” Lorcan replies. “Ah, and it looks like he just arrived,” Lorcan continues with a grin. “Want me to introduce you, so you can see it up close?”

Lorcan points in the direction of the sliding doors that lead out to the patio, and there, in all his tall blonde and board-shorted glory stands Rowan. Finally. But Aelin’s heart drops. Because Rowan isn’t alone. He’s arrived with a girl.

~*~*~*~*~

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters 

tag list:

@http-itsrebecca​

@queen-of-glass​

@but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​

@westofmoon​

@rowaelinforeverworld​

@iliketoasterstrudels​

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#aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #tog fanfic #cruel summer au #amusement park au #charincharge writes #aelin galythinius

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Fest Day 2: Dynamic

Summary: Wherein Sizhui has a best friend and a crush and parents who care, perhaps, maybe, just a little too much.

(So, like I said yesterday these fics are going to bounce around the ages of 11-18 for the Juniors. In this one Sizhui is 14. It’s also pre-Sizhui/Jingyi. Don’t worry, nothing will get above Teen in this entire series, and only then bc I, and therefore characters I write, curse like a sailor.)

When it came to personality, at least inside the confines of Lan Academy, Lan Sizhui had taken after his Papa. He projected an aura of quiet leadership and confidence; fair in judgment, but willing to mete out and take punishments. Even at fourteen, he was already one of the leaders on the Student Council; the youngest Vice President in a decade. Sizhui had entered the Academy at the age of eleven, determined to prove any doubters wrong, and had done so quietly and efficiently, just like a Lan should.

Lan Jingyi did not lead quietly, though he was still a leader among their class. Lan Jingyi had the type of dynamic personality that drew others in, fluttering around him like butterflies, but he ignored most of them to keep the company of his two best friends. He was loud, opinionated, and always willing to make his feelings known. He wasn’t the way many thought a Lan should be, but he was very much a Lan, through and through, just willing to openly show the more stubborn parts of their personality that people forgot they had under their veneer of genteel manners.

It was often said that together, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi truly made the perfect Lan. A balance of the best, and worst, traits. Sizhui was calm and quiet, Jingyi excitable and loud, but where Sizhui often had self-doubts, Jingyi had enough pride and confidence for the both of them. They’d grown up as a pair, rarely apart, settling into their roles and friendship with an enviable and familiar ease. So many years together, being so known to each other, they were a hard pair to defeat in anything--be it something as simple as a classroom debate or something more serious as an actual fight to defend someone’s honor. Since they were always found in each other’s company, they’d become the pride of the family and the Academy. 

Sizhui was proud to be the one-half of such a whole.

Sizhui also had a problem.

He knew he had a crush on Jingyi. It’d been there for years. Apparently he’d told his fathers at the ripe old age of five that he was going to marry Jingyi one day, and while it’d been a story retold often at family gatherings for laughs...well, Sizhui may not have truly meant it at five, but at fourteen, it was definitely a future he wanted.

And somehow he knew that wasn’t normal.

He knew it was normal, for him, to have a crush. His fathers had taken great pains to inform him about different sexual and gender identities and forms of attraction and the like as soon as he showed the first hints of a boyhood crush. So he knew a crush, especially on attractive, kind, funny, caring Jingyi wasn’t unusual. They’d been best friends since they were four. There was no one else his age Sizhui trusted more than Jingyi.

But Sizhui was worried that he’d passed the crush stage long ago and had been firmly planted in something that he was hesitant to call love, because he was only fourteen, but knew that clearly picturing a future with Jingyi that saw them married and raising some kids of their own as the most natural course of their relationship probably meant something significant. 

He knew most Lans fell hard, fell once, and fell in love for life. But Sizhui was a Lan in name only. 

Perhaps Nurture had won this round versus Nature.

He still needed to talk to someone before he embarrassingly blurted out his love for Jingyi straight to his face, probably when the other was devouring a basket of chicken wings. That would be Sizhui’s luck. He’d probably make poor Jingyi choke. And then he’d have to give him the Heimlich or something, and Jingyi would probably spit out his chicken bone right into Great Uncle Lan’s face, and then Sizhui would have to go find a grave plot to bury himself in after he died from the collective embarrrassment. 

So, yeah, he needed to talk to someone.

**********

Dad’s office occupied the single turret tower of their massive house. He jokingly called it his gargoyle hoard, and often sang songs from Disney’s take on The Hunchback of Notre Dame as he climbed the stairs to the tower. Or he called for Papa with, ‘Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, let down your hair’ which never made much sense to Sizhui since Dad was the one in the tower, but they all indulged Dad’s whims and humor.

From the outside the tower looked imposing in its stone and dark shingled roof, but inside it was full of vibrant color. All of his books were here, crammed on an overstuffed bookshelf, containing every edition of every book he’d published in every language available, a handmade wooden sign hung above it declaring, A Leap of Faith. Art of his various characters hung on the wall, some official that he’d commissioned, some of his own making, but most sent by fans from around the world in the barrels of mail that came to the house each week. 

It was a cluttered mess of genius that perfectly encapsulated his dad. 

Today Dad was behind his desk, hair pulled up into a messy bun, with fingers covered in paint as he worked out some new character designs for his latest story. He was slowly moving from elementary reading level books to Young Adult, but his new series would straddle that border of Young Adult and New Adult--that vague spot where the characters weren’t young teens, nor in their mid-20s, but still had their own stories to tell. It was a story he’d been wanting to tell for years, based largely on his own life, but set in a mystical and magical modern world. 

His papa was unceremoniously sprawled out on the battered couch that had followed his fathers from their apartment in Cambridge, to their home in Boston, to this massive estate in the Berkshires. Sizhui smiled to himself as he pictured his classmates faces if they ever saw the great Hanguang-Jun with such imperfect posture, wearing only worn sweatpants and a t-shirt older than Sizhui. His hair was also pulled up into a messy bun, a red pen clutched in his teeth as he read through the most recent edit of Dad’s new book. 

Sizhui smiled as he watched them. His parents had always been so full of warmth and love--for him, for each other, for all their family--that Sizhui knew he’d been spoiled in care and affection. And he wanted that, the connection that they had. He knew it wasn’t effortless, every relationship took work and dedication and effort, but they made it seem so very easy. 

“Sizhui, why do you linger?” Papa asked, eyes barely leaving the bound pages in his hands.

“Because he is a good boy who waits until he’s invited in, even though he knows he never has to,” Dad said, waving him inside. “What can we do for our favorite son?”

“Your only son, since you never did give me that sibling I asked for,” Sizhui teased.

Dad smirked. “Not for lack of trying,” he said.

“Wei Ying,” Papa admonished from the couch.

Dad patted the chair next to his desk. “Come. Sit. Speak. Bond. I feel like we never talk anymore.”

“We had an entire family conference just last night,” Sizhui said as he took his seat.

Dad frowned. “But that was school stuff. I want gossip, Sizhui. I want the deets. I want the 411. Give me the dirt. Spill the tea. Or the beans.” He looked to Papa. “What else do the kids say these days?”

“None of what just passed your lips,” Papa said. 

Dad frowned. “So mean, Lan Zhan.” His pout became more pronounced as he turned to Sizhui. “See how he treats me? Betrayed by my very own heart and soul.”

Sizhui shook his head at them, but grasped on to the opening. “So, about that.”

He didn’t know what he expected to happen but Dad actually gasped and Papa sat up so fast he nearly tumbled off the couch.

“Is it happening?” Dad asked. “Did it happen?” He pulled out his leather planner, full of post-it notes, napkins, and various other bits and bobs. “I had you two down for at least another month from now, but your Papa insisted it would be before Halloween.”

“What?” Sizhui asked as he looked back and forth between his parents.

“Sizhui,” Papa said as he walked over to the desk. “Did Lan Jingyi not ask you out on a date?”

“What?” Sizhui asked. He felt the blood rush to his face, in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. “What?” he repeated.

Dad grimaced. “Whoops. I think we broke him. Bad parenting penalty.”

“No--I---what?” Sizhui asked again. “I just wanted to know how you, like, know if you like someone more than a friend and you’re running a bet on my dating life? With my best friend?”

“To be fair, your Uncle Huaisang runs a bet on everything,” Dad said.

“Wei Ying,” Papa cautioned. 

“Fine,” Dad said, pushing his planner to the side. He sat forward and grasped Sizhui hands. “Sizhui, if you’re asking us this question, do you not already know the answer?”

Sizhui nodded. “But, how can you be sure?”

“In your own heart, what do you feel?” Papa asked. He knelt to meet Sizhui’s downcast gaze. “You don’t have to tell us, or even him, but you’ll feel so much more relief if you acknowledge your own truth.” His smile was small as he patted Sizhui’s knees. “It was the only way I was able to manage all the years when your dad still didn’t know his own feelings.”

“It must’ve been torture,” Sizhui said.

Papa smiled and met Dad’s eyes. “It wasn’t so bad, in the end. But you and Jingyi are different. You don’t have the restrictions on you that Uncle put on me and your Uncle Xichen. You don’t have the physical distance between you. If you want to, you can start dating now. If you feel like you’re ready.”

Sizhui tried not to hunch his shoulders and make himself smaller, but the uncertainty ate at him. “But what if I ruin our friendship? I don’t think--I couldn’t take him hating me.”

“Oh, Sizhui,” Dad said as he clambered over the desk and hugged him. “Jingyi could never hate you. I know you know him better than that, but if you want more, well…”

“Leap of faith?” Sizhui asked.

Both his fathers nodded. 

If the Lan-Wei family had its own motto, Leap of Faith, would be it. If they had their own crest, it would be a rabbit surrounded by the words, Daring, Determination, Devotion, and Honesty. His fathers had raised him with those values, and Sizhui did his best to own them, and now, he knew, he could either rely on them or try to patiently wait until Jingyi came to him. 

If at school the dynamic of Sizhui and Jingyi made the perfect Lan, at home, Sizhui was very much the best, and worst, of both of his fathers. 

“Oh, I know that look,” Dad said as he kissed the top of Sizhui’s head. “Poor Jingyi isn’t going to know what hit him.” Sizhui could feel his wide grin against his hair. “It’s going to be awesome.”

Part 2

#untamedfest #fandom: the untamed #long post #verse: lahl #fic: tales from lan academy #the untamed #my ridic writing #day 2

[mdelpin]

@fuckyeahgratsu​ request for @divinion1990​

AO3 | FF.Net

A Matter of Trust

Summary: Natsu and Gray would always fight, both with and without magic, their opposing natures and personalities almost demanded it, but behind all the insults and blows there was a friendship built on trust and respect.

“What kind of loser doesn’t know how to swim?” Natsu mocked Gray as he ran, trying to stay out of the ice mage’s reach.

“So what if I don’t know how to swim?” Gray yelled as he punched the stupid grin off Natsu’s face. “At least I know how not to be an asshole.”

“You’re a loser on that one too,” Natsu shouted in annoyance, not wanting to admit the punch had hurt. He kicked Gray’s legs out from under him quickly and pinned him to the ground.

Gray maneuvered out from under him and reversed their positions. “Who’s the loser now?” Gray grinned triumphantly at the fuming Fire Dragon Slayer.

“Ow, you bastard!” Gray screamed as his skin began to blister where he’d been touching Natsu, causing him to let go. “Gramps said no magic in the guild!”

"Well Gramps isn't here, is he?" Natsu scrambled away from Gray, not wanting to admit that he'd been beaten. He tried to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest when he saw Gray was in real pain.

In all the years he'd had fire magic Natsu had never actually hurt anyone with it, never seen the results of his power on another. He knew that was bound to change as soon as Gramps cleared him for more dangerous missions, but the pained look on Gray's face was unnerving him.

“Natsu, that was uncalled for!” Erza scolded him, distracting him from the progressively negative thoughts that were beginning to take hold of him. “Take Gray to the infirmary this second, you know better than to attack his hands, he needs those to do his magic. Half of whatever money you make on jobs will go to him until his hands heal.”

“What?!” Natsu protested in outrage, “How is that even fair?”

“You’ve made it so he can’t work,” Erza pointed out, her eyes flashing dangerously, “Would you rather I tell Gramps you broke his rule?”

“Fine, I’ll give the Princess half of my take,” Natsu agreed, quickly realizing any punishment Gramps came up with would likely be worse. “Come on,” he grabbed Gray by the hand and pulled him towards the stairs.

“You idiot!” Gray screamed in agony as his burnt hand throbbed at Natsu’s rough treatment. “Do you ever think?”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Natsu moved his hand to Gray’s elbow and carefully guided him up the stairs to the infirmary. He placed Gray’s arms under the water faucet and let cool water run over the burns while he hunted around for supplies to treat him.

All supplies collected, he turned off the water and moved Gray over to one of the beds. Natsu felt terrible when he saw the extent of the burns, he hadn’t meant to hurt the ice block. He just hadn’t wanted to lose. He patted Gray’s arms dry with a towel, careful not to pop any of the blisters.

“So how come?” Natsu asked, trying to distract Gray from the bandaging which he knew was likely to be painful.

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” Gray snapped, glaring at him in a way which showed he was still upset.

Natsu made himself count to ten before he responded, he knew Gray had every reason to be angry with him, and he was determined to keep his temper for once.

“Swimming, how come you never learned?”

“Oh, I lived in the North,” Gray explained with a shrug, “It was too cold to swim in the water there and I never really thought about it after I got here.”

Natsu opened his mouth in an O shape, but no sound came out. He'd forgotten Gray came from the North country when he'd made fun of him. He finished bandaging Gray's arms as gently as he could, and the ice mage went away, leaving Natsu with a bitter aftertaste as he thought about how his thoughtlessness had managed to hurt his rival. Well okay, friend. He was still new to the guild and so far he'd only really interacted with Gray and Erza.

For the next two weeks, Natsu worked nonstop, trying to make enough money for rent and food for the two of them. When Gray's bandages finally came off, and his burns had healed Natsu was relieved but way too tired for the fight Gray was obviously looking for, or at least that's what he told himself. He went back to the boy's dorm and collapsed on his bed.

Unbeknownst to Natsu, Makarov had been watching him, having heard from Macao what had happened while he was gone. The guild master was proud of the way his young member had taken responsibility for his actions without much complaint. He'd noticed that Natsu had been avoiding interacting with Gray, and as much as he enjoyed the peace and quiet, it troubled him. It was possible that Natsu was just tired, he had been working very hard, but the guild master couldn’t help but worry that there was something else behind it.

O-o

“Hurry up, we’re going to miss the train,” Makarov chided his guild members who were laden down with supplies for their day at the beach. He had goaded all of the adults into coming, not wanting to be stuck at the beach with so many children by himself. There were baskets of food, tubs full of toys and sunblock as well as umbrellas, towels, and blankets, not to mention the barrels of alcohol he’d bribed Gildarts, Macao and Wakaba with.

“Train?” Natsu immediately complained, “Can’t we walk to where we’re going?”

“I’m afraid not my boy,” Gramps replied cheerfully. He scratched his head as he remembered that Natsu got motion sick on vehicles, and feeling a bit guilty he asked Wakaba to pass him one of the sand pails and handed it to Natsu, who looked at him miserably. “The trip won’t be long, and I promise it will be worth it,” Makarov said kindly as he ruffled the boy’s pink locks.

Gray seemed ready to say something, but a glare from Makarov shut him up quickly, and he made do with smirking at Natsu, who was staring at the train like it was his nemesis. Although once the train started to move, he felt a little bad as he watched Natsu dry heave for the better part of an hour.

Gray was very excited to go to a beach, he'd never been to one before, and he couldn't wait. He ran out of the train as soon as it stopped, clothes coming off as he ran. Gildarts went after him to make sure he didn't get lost and to avoid carrying any of the heavy items, picking up Gray's clothes along the way. The rest of the kids waited for Natsu's nausea to settle, walking towards the beach together with the other adults.

As soon as they arrived at the sand, all the other kids paired up and ran off to play, grabbing toys and yelling a general direction where they could be found, leaving adults scrambling to set up a central location and Natsu to stare after them. He was sure he could join any of them even though they hadn't explicitly invited him, but it still made him feel a little left out. He looked around the beach with interest, it had been a while since he'd been to one. The cold water was calling to him, and he could see Gray dipping his toes in the water nervously.

Makarov watched to see what Natsu would do. “You know Natsu, Gray looks like he could use some company.”

Natsu looked over again and bit his lip, a gesture that was not missed by the guild master. He grabbed a bunch of toys and handed them to the Fire Dragon Slayer. “Here, why don’t you take these over to him and show him how to use them. I don’t think he’s ever been to a beach before.”

Natsu looked at the offered toys with interest but had no idea what to really do with them. Dragons didn't precisely pack toys to outings.

"Macao, why don't you go with him?" Makarov suggested, "You've got a kid coming, might as well get some practice in." He gave the fire mage a meaningful look, and Macao nodded, knowing Makarov wanted him to have a chat with Natsu.

“Sure,” Macao replied, “Come on Natsu, let’s go get Gray.”

Natsu began to move, but it was a lot slower than usual.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Natsu shook his head and continued to walk.

“Is this about the day Gray was hurt?”

Natsu stopped in his tracks and gazed at Macao thoughtfully.

"I remember the first time I hurt a friend with my magic. Stop me if this sounds familiar," Macao smiled kindly, " I felt terrible about it. It made me nervous about using my magic around others."

He studied Natsu, who was still staring at him but Macao could tell he was listening. "You know, fire is one of those magic that is both a blessing and a curse, and I firmly believe it's only given to those who are very strong of will."

Natsu scoffed at that, but he was listening so Macao continued, "It has the power to hurt and destroy, but it can also save lives. Did you know that?"

Natsu shook his head. “You just need to learn to control your fire, Natsu. I can work with you if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

Macao ruffled Natsu’s hair affectionately, he’d grown fond of him very quickly. “Then it’s settled, now go out there and have fun with your friend, there’s a barrel I need to liberate from Wakaba.”

Macao handed the beach toys he was holding to Natsu and began to walk back towards where the other Fairy Tail wizards were sitting when he heard Natsu ask, “What if he doesn’t like me anymore?”

Macao turned around and was surprised to see the hesitation in the usually brash mage.

“You won’t know unless you talk to him, but I’m pretty sure he knows you didn’t mean to hurt him.” Macao pointed out, “Besides, are you sure he liked you in the first place?”

When he heard Natsu laugh, he added, "You could always apologize."

“Good point, okay I’ll give it a try. Thanks, Macao.” Natsu dropped the toys and hugged the fire mage tightly. He grabbed everything and ran towards the ice mage.

“Hey, Ice Block,” Natsu stopped in front of Gray, noticing how his attention was on the other kids swimming in the ocean.

“What do you want?” Gray turned and looked at Natsu, noticing all the crap he was holding, “And what on Earthland do you have there?”

“Beach toys,” Natsu put them down on the sand and scratched his head, “I guess you use them to build stuff in the sand.” He pointed at some of the other people on the beach who were using similar tools. “Look, I wanted to say I was sorry I burned you, I won’t do it again.”

Gray studied him for a moment and began to laugh, “That’s what you think I was mad at?”

Natsu looked at him in confusion, “Wasn’t it?”

“No, dumbass. I was mad at you cause you cheated.” Gray rolled his eyes at the other, “You’re a fire mage, I expect to get burned now and again, just as I’m sure I’ll freeze your ass at some point.”

Natsu snorted, a playful tone sneaking its way in as he shed some of the guilt he’d been harboring, “As if you could.”

“Only one way to find out,” Gray challenged, a smirk spreading on his lips as he got into his ice make stance.

"Oh, you're so on!" Natsu grinned, his fists lighting up, but before they could even begin to test each other, a voice they both recognized well interrupted them.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Erza glared at them, somehow managing to convey her irritation even dripping wet and only wearing a swimsuit.

“Just behaving like good buddies do,” Gray mumbled putting his arm around Natsu’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Yep, nothing to see here,” Natsu agreed, wrapping his arm around Gray as well and flashing Erza what he hoped looked like a genuine smile.

“Good, because we’re here to have fun,” Erza relaxed and smiled at them, always enjoying when they got along. “Why don’t you guys come swim with us?”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Natsu assured her, watching as she returned to the others. They waited until she was far enough away before detangling themselves, immediately scowling at each other before crossing their arms across their chests and turning away.

“Are we okay?” Natsu asked Gray, turning around to face him.

Gray chuckled, “As okay as we ever are, Flame-Brain.” He grabbed one of the shovels and pails and walked away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Natsu yelled after him.

“Aren’t you going swimming with the others?” Gray asked.

“Yeah, we both are. Come on!” He grabbed Gray by the hand and started leading them towards the water.

Gray struggled until he managed to get his hand free from Natsu’s grip, “First of all, you really need to stop grabbing me like that, you’re gonna give people ideas. Second, I don’t know how to swim, remember?”

“I know, I’m gonna teach you,” Natsu said, his eyes hard and determined, a sign Gray had already learned meant there was no arguing with him. So he did something quite unusual for him, he said a silent prayer for his safety and let Natsu lead him. He couldn’t help but notice that Natsu was guiding him away from the others, to a small private cove and for that he was grateful.

When they were in the water, Natsu immediately splashed him, and they were soon engaged in an epic water battle, neither of them noticing Makarov sitting on a rock nearby.

After Natsu deemed Gray relaxed enough to learn, he repeated all the steps Igneel had used to teach him. After about an hour with minimal bickering, Gray had gotten the hang of it.

"Wanna race me?" Natsu asked hopefully. He'd been standing still for far too long to teach Gray, and he was itching to do something active. "I'll give you a head start…"

Makarov called out to them before Natsu could manage to ruin all his efforts by drowning Gray. “Boys, lunch!”

They spent the rest of the afternoon together playing with the others, building sand castles, burying Levy and Droy in the sand and when they all went out swimming again Gray and Natsu both joined them.

As the years passed Gray became a powerful swimmer, with Natsu always challenging him there really was no other choice, but he would never forget how he learned nor how that one snap decision on his part helped shape his relationship with Natsu for years to come.

Natsu and Gray would always fight, both with and without magic, their opposing natures and personalities almost demanded it, but behind all the insults and blows there was a friendship built on trust and respect. Many of their guildmates wondered if one day it might turn into more and although both of them would usually scoff at the idea, in their most private thoughts, they found they didn't really mind.

A/N I hope you like it! :)

#fairy tail #gratsu #ftlgbtales #fuckyeahgratsu #request #ftfanfics #natsu & gray #erza scarlet #macao conbolt #makarov dreyar

[langwrites]

LUMINA, ARNO, AND NAVIYD DISCUSS SEX, SEXUALITY, AND FAILED MARRIAGES

Side note: All of the adult characters here are sort of in their mid/late twenties. Naviyd is the oldest, then Arno, then Lumina.

Khalil is about five-ish and Lumina is pregnant with the twins Alastair and Oriana.

Lumina’s office, despite its overladen shelves of books and comfortable furniture strewn all around, lay in complete disarray. The three occupants had long since pushed all the chairs and the meeting table against the walls and spread rugs, blankets, and pillows here and there, resulting in a wide, flat meeting space inside of another. Though the rest of the decorations were still hers, the arrangement was more like a comfortable gathering inside a desert-living Mishik tent than a Kaltekan solar. 

The reason for this was lying sprawled on the floor, feet close to the fire to stave off the Gabilan winter chill, and under at least three blankets. He was facedown in the gap between two pillows, arms pillowing his head as he buried his face against the rug. He was probably breathing.

It had been six months since Zahara and Naviyd’s marriage dissolved into bitter recrimination and hate. She and little Mitra were long gone. Shadows, really. Memories. 

Naviyd coped in cycles. The ups and downs ran long, but not so long that there was no pattern. Naviyd could stave off the worst extremes by distracting himself with hobbies—architecture, astronomy, horseback archery, and more. Whenever he had the time, at any rate; raising his son, even with Arno and Lumina’s help, often left him asleep on top of whatever flat surface he found first. 

Tonight was a… night. 

At least Khalil was asleep on Arno. Lumina might have volunteered her lap on any other evening, but the twins she was carrying seemed determined to eliminate it from existence. Khalil gave up on that refuge weeks ago, once he realized he couldn’t fit no matter how he contorted. Besides, sitting on Arno meant the five-year-old could grab all the tiny honey-cakes whenever he wished. 

He still had sticky fingers wrapped around one last, uneaten crust. When he snuffled in his sleep, Arno had to keep his hand from applying the sugar to his face. 

“At least you took your shoes off before doing this,” Lumina said, because there didn’t seem much else to say into the silence of her best friend’s sulk. She nudged his side experimentally, but Naviyd didn’t budge.

“What do you take me for, a barbarian? I have standards,” Naviyd grumped. 

“Do tell,” Lumina said, raising one skeptical eyebrow. 

He grumbled into the pillows and didn’t answer. So much for an articulate evening, though Lumina frankly hadn’t expected much. She’d just have to be patient and outlast his moping. 

It didn’t take very long. Arno had just finished putting together a pot of tea—without disturbing the sleeping Khalil—when Naviyd finally said, “How did you know?” 

“How did I know what?” Lumina responded. She’d been occupied by shifting the pillows around her to more adequately support her back and wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.

“Or, I suppose—when did you know we would not be together?” 

Hardly clearer. “You and I, or you and her?” 

“Both. Either.” 

“Naviyd, as generous as you are, I would prefer not to share in your headache.” Lumina sighed, because it was already too late. The slight throb at her temples was bound to get worse as soon as she sat up properly, and cursing Naviyd for giving it to her was akin to closing gates after all the sheep were long gone. 

“A burden shared is a burden halved,” said Arno, in the light, mild manner of someone paying no mind to the meat of the discussion. His attention was wholly occupied by trying to drape a blanket over Khalil without waking him. 

Lumina threw a pillow at him before she could think better of it. 

Arno caught it with his forehead, which meant it bounced off toward the bookshelves. With no beading, it neither left a mark nor made a sound. He shot a look at it over his shoulder, then said firmly to Lumina, “You will not be getting that back until you learn to treat it with respect.” 

Lumina pursed her lips and tried to look dignified, knowing she’d fail even before Naviyd started snickering into his arms. Still, the tension in the room was neatly broken. She turned her attention to her best friend instead of her distracted husband, saying, “Did you want an answer to your question or to laugh at me?”

“Can’t it be both?” Naviyd wondered as he pushed himself up on his elbows, and mockingly quailed under her glare. “I surrender! Genuinely!” 

Lumina held her glare for a split second longer, then snorted. There was no point in pretending to be angry. Still… “You had a question.” 

“I did.” Naviyd sobered. He ran a scarred hand over his face and then his head in one neat sweep, which sent his curls into disarray. A few dropped far enough to block his left eye from view. As he settled again, he said, “You and I—I think, from the moment we met, neither of us were interested in the more physical pleasures. Unless I am wrong.” 

“I almost split your skull with a spear. I should hope not.” But still, Lumina humored him. “No, you have the right of it. There is and was nothing between us. Inarguably less, then—we hated each other.”

“Perhaps ‘hate’ is a strong word. I thought you harmless, then reckless and dangerous together.” Naviyd shrugged, smiling faintly. “And then, later, admirable for your strength. Beauty came in a very distant fourth.” 

“Rearrange the details several times, and you have my thoughts,” Lumina said. She rearranged the blankets next, covering her slightly swollen ankles. She was tall, and her twins carried low, but her center of balance was off and her joints knew it. “Apart from our friendship, none of it was beyond the bounds of my feelings toward any other man I’d met before.”

“Likewise,” Naviyd muttered. He rolled over with some difficulty, entangled in blankets and unable to quite complete the motion. Finally, he managed to get his shoulders flat against the floor, then went on, “Before meeting her, I never seriously contemplated taking a woman to bed.” 

“And no men?” Arno asked, while pouring tea for each of the adults. Khalil could go without. 

“No men,” Naviyd confirmed. He put both hands behind his head and said, “No one, really. Even when I was as grateful as I’d ever been to the both of you, for giving my life back to me when I’d assuredly lost it—no.”  

Lumina eyed him. “So, your flirtations—” 

“Sleeping with someone in a transactional sense is not difficult, especially for men,” Naviyd countered, “and the act itself is enjoyable, but that hardly makes it necessary. Most luxuries are the same, so…” He trailed off, gold-green eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “It never seemed important.”

Lumina and Arno both nodded along as he spoke. Since Arno went back to trying to pry the forgotten honey-cake from Khalil’s fingers, Lumina said, “I never felt I was denying myself anything. Did you?” 

“No. I knew, broadly, that there were celibate orders and solemn vows for this or that,” Naviyd said. He sighed. “But I thought only that the people who took them were far too serious. It was like being asked to give up cream buns or peaches. Irritating in the moment, but otherwise easily ignored.” 

Arno snorted with suppressed laughter, and Naviyd grinned at the joke landing where it was intended. 

“You see? I can mock the entire edifice.” Naviyd’s expression settled into a smile, though faint. “Really, the amount of time people spend eroticizing food is just ridiculous. I can hardly help mocking it all.” 

“I always thought of love as more… Oh, working together, appreciating each other,” Lumina cast about for an extra word, and ended up with, “raising a family. Love and being loved. I never especially thought of the process of making love as all that interesting once I understood what people meant. We raised pigs.” Her nose wrinkled and both of her companions laughed. Arno at least avoided the belly-laugh for which he was famous, which would have sent Khalil tumbling to the floor. “Hardly the subject of romantic poetry, but very educational.”

“Horses, for me,” Naviyd admitted, once he recovered.

“Goats,” said Arno. “And helping the nannies deliver many, many kids.” 

Lumina covered her mouth to hide her laugh, but it failed. “The lessons of the farm are truly wide-reaching.” 

“Best schoolroom I ever had,” Naviyd agreed, showing all his teeth. “Milking, too. Gods, we really are too practical for nobility. I can’t imagine what those would-be kings and queens think of us upjumped muck-rakers.”

“You needn’t wonder if you read more of my letters,” Lumina said, gesturing at the almost-forgotten desk at the far wall. “As is your supposed job.”

“I have yet to see a single wooden penny for it,” Naviyd sniped back. eHe threw his arms out, like an overturned turtle. “I cannot work under these conditions!”

“You live in my castle.”

“Which I designed and built!” 

Arno laughed again, drawing their attention. “You two are quite the pair. A pair of thundersnows, perhaps.”

“Bright, flashy, loud, and unstable? What a compliment,” Naviyd replied snippily, but he was smiling still. “All lightning seeks the ground, Arno.”

“And I am as much earth as the mountain.” Arno tapped the stone floor—what was visible of it—with his knuckles. His hands, unlike Naviyd’s, were neat and unmarked. “Personally, Naviyd? Had you asked at the right moment, you might’ve been able to steal a kiss—but not my heart, I think.” 

“I would hardly know what to do with it, besides frantically try to fit it back in your chest by force,” Naviyd said. He peered up at them, smile fading a bit. “Hearts are such slippery things.” 

Lumina rolled her eyes. “It helps if you clean the blood off first.” 

“And do what? Eat it?” 

“Bait bears,” Arno suggested. Khalil drooled onto the blankets and rubbed his face, smearing honey despite Arno’s best efforts. He looked down with false dismay. “At least there are no more of the white beasts.”

“Would one of those eat someone?” Naviyd asked. He sounded morbidly curious.

“I’ve been told so.” Arno rolled one shoulder until it popped. “Back to the topic at hand, though. Or something like it.” He rubbed at his beard thoughtfully, then said, “Your wife.”

“No longer mine,” Naviyd corrected, more dull than defensive. He sighed. “Now, I can hardly name a thing I miss about her. My love died after hers—a single stroke instead of a thousand bleeding cuts. So she says.” He got one hand out from under his head and clenched a fist. Beneath them, the castle rumbled faintly. “I’ll never forgive her for taking Mitra from Khalil. They were born together. How could she tear them apart?”

“I don’t understand,” Lumina said, frowning. 

“Call it a superstition. Twins—or triplets, even—ought not be separated by anything but fate or their own choices,” Naviyd said, shaking his head. “Had the two grown together and drifted apart like all siblings, I would not—I could be upset, but not like this. They come into the world together by the gods’ will. What they do with the bond is not for the hands of mortals.”

“Did Zahara know that?” Arno asked.

“I had hoped so,” Naviyd growled. “But what do I know of the Mishik who live and breathe Kaltekan influence? Less than I know of spite, apparently.”

Arno nudged Naviyd’s elbow with his foot. “Well? Out with it. What made her so angry that she would drive the knife in like that? Why would she spite the gods?”

“…It was my fault,” Naviyd admitted. His voice was low with shame. “I was just too thoughtless to understand before it was too late.” 

Lumina and Arno exchanged looks, as long-standing friends could. Husband and wife were secondary roles. Then, Lumina said, “I can believe that. You have a long history of behavior that could anger any wife.” 

“You could stand to develop some convenient forgetfulness.”

“Never.” 

Naviyd sighed. “Fine, then. If you want the sordid detail, I suppose you can stand to hear it. You’re old enough.” 

“I am four years younger than you are, old man.” 

“Neither of you are thirty,” said Arno, “so kindly shut up.” 

“It was slow,” Naviyd said, as though the other two hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t notice at first. Everything was so busy—the twins were born, we were still putting Gabilan together, the Tear was vomiting monsters all the damn time. I never did thank you for keeping me alive then, did I?” 

“You did,” said Lumina. “But generally while half-asleep or very distracted.” 

“Oh, good.” Naviyd nodded to himself, then went on, “And I didn’t—we came here with nothing but the clothes on our backs and your sister’s goodwill. And gold, I suppose, but you can hardly eat it when winter rolls in.” 

“True,” said Lumina. 

“But the difference was that I had you two. She had no one, because Lucky wouldn’t hear of leaving the capital or her…second? Whichever lover she’s on now, subtracting one.” Naviyd’s fist tightened. “No Ismene, who disappeared before the war was over. No Fiamma or anyone else. There were no Mishik besides us, even, until Keyah arrived. And Keyah does not count herself.” Naviyd blew out a harsh sigh. “She hated you, Lulu.”

Lumina frowned. “Because I was the one who chose to leave Celeste?”

“Because I followed you,” Naviyd corrected, “and separated her from everyone who made any sense to her.” 

“Then she should have left you,” said Arno, quite sensibly. 

Naviyd’s laugh was bitter. “She should have.” 

Arno frowned at the agreement. He patted Khalil’s curls, even as he said, “It sounds to me like Zahara would have been happier somewhere else. As much as I love your children, no woman ought to put love—even capped by great sex—before her happiness.”

“So, that was a poor start. I still thought you were both very much in love,” Lumina pointed out, folding her hands over her stomach. If she pressed, she could almost feel the two heartbeats under hers. If she didn’t, she’d still be kicked in the kidneys on occasion. 

“We were,” Naviyd readily agreed. “Caught up in each other. In being in love, I suppose. Passionate lovers, numb to all else.” 

It was all gone and dead now, but Lumina remembered that first year or so. The two of them had been wild during the early days of their marriage. 

“But none of it changed how little she talked to anyone besides me. She needed more,” Naviyd said. “And I could never give that to her. Nor could you, Lulu.” 

Lumina shook her head slowly. “I…never did like her.” 

Truth be told, Lumina’s unsociable nature never made her many friends, and Zahara shouldn’t have been forced to fight her way through that barrier at all. There ought to have been other options. Gabilan’s steady trickle of veterans, mages, and old soldiers hadn’t arrived then. Luxana was always better at the bright smiles and smooth words, even if she didn’t feel them. Even if she couldn’t spare any for her twin sister.

“Oh, she knew. We argued about you. Not at first, but later.” Naviyd scrubbed at his face again. “But, again, I spent almost all day with you, or Arno, or whoever else needed something when no one could be in three places at once. We were a triad, were we not? Corners to a triangle, lending stability everywhere we went.” 

Lumina frowned again. “Yes…?”

“And then she carried the twins, and things were different.” Naviyd’s eyes gleamed faintly in the firelight. “She and I were always together. Prying me from her side would take a pickaxe, and I would fight the entire way. We were starting a family of our own! How could anyone not be as excited as we were?”

“I trusted children more than you with tools during those days,” Lumina agreed. “I remember.” 

Arno’s silly little smile was fond. “You learned to play the lute for her.” 

“And she laughed at me! Often. I was never good. My best songs are shouted.” Naviyd’s face softened with the memory. “Scouring the land for whatever she craved. Not well, but I found those godsdamned olives all the same.”

“Too bad she hated the pickled kind,” Arno put in.

“You don’t, though, so I call it a success.” Naviyd shrugged. “And the twins were born, and everything was perfect.” 

Lumina thought back to the comment about Zahara’s hatred and had a guess where the story would lead. Nowhere good. 

“But… After the flurry of the first two years—infancy, toddling, and then Khalil learning to speak—work demanded more. And I could hardly say no to more responsibility. If I turned you down, you would have had to deal with all of Lucky’s demands after her ascension…” Naviyd pinched the bridge of his nose. “And the ones after. I think this would-be emperor might actually last. Radovan can hardly kill someone when exiled to the frozen nethers of the world.”

“Personally,” Lumina put in. “Or for a second time, come to that.” 

“He might try.” Arno didn’t look happy about the idea. 

“And so, four years.” Naviyd reached out with one hand and grasped Lumina’s. “And all the venom came out in one burst.” 

“Naviyd?” 

“A thousand slights. A thousand missed moments. How many times did I turn her away because I’d been run ragged by the demands of governing a province? How many times did I come to you instead, because we worked shoulder to shoulder in everything?” Naviyd squeezed her hand. “By the end, she thought the only reason I was here—the only reason I’d trap her here—was because of you, Lulu.”

“She thought I’d stolen your heart from her,” Lumina concluded grimly. 

“And so she’d tear mine out.” Naviyd closed his eyes. “If I’d been a better husband, I could have seen it and soothed her. I could have done so many things differently. But here we are. When she realized she could threaten me all she liked, and I’d not budge, she broke us both. Seemed…right.”  

Lumina said, after letting the statement sink in, “She threatened to slit you open from navel to nosering in front of twenty witnesses.”

“And that failed. How about that.” Naviyd huffed. “Besides, divorce is supposed to involve at least three witnesses, a threat of violence, and at least one god. She got it over with quickly.” 

“Did she really?” What little she knew of Zahara’s movements since leaving Gabilan did not paint a lovely picture. She seemed to spend more time with her rising band of pirates than with any child. It was more in line with those last few, bitter days than the years before. 

Naviyd couldn’t know if Mitra was even still alive. 

“No. But publicly, yes.” 

Lumina frowned. “And the twins?” 

Naviyd grimaced and tried to pull away, but Lumina’s grip was too strong to escape. “She’d have been within her rights to take both. She’s their mother. But…” 

“Come on, up,” Lumina insisted, hauling Naviyd upright with leverage and her uncanny strength, present even with her twins weighing her down. 

Naviyd grumbled, but it stopped when Arno handed over both a teacup—somewhat neglected and now lukewarm—as well as the fur-covered bundle containing Naviyd’s sleeping son. All bitterness bled out of him faster than winter ice melted in the sun. He stroked his son’s face with the back of one hand, eyes downcast. “I should have fought.” 

“Could you have?” 

“I don’t know. Could have destroyed us, possibly.” He tucked Khalil against his chest, where the boy snuffled in his sleep. Lumina didn’t even want to think of the possibility of two masters of mind magic deciding to murder each other inside of a city. Legal recourse wouldn’t matter. Everyone would claw their own eyes out. “Khalil will chase Mitra as far as his legs will take him. It won’t happen soon if the gods are kind, but it will happen. I could never stop him.” 

Lumina stored those words in a chest in her heart. Though she didn’t know when, Naviyd’s tone made it clear this prediction was as close to truth as he considered possible. For a Mishik, he generally put little stock in most of the religious practices—barring swearing by and at their gods—but this sounded as real as the power crawling beneath their skin. 

“Sky-Mother above, I would keep him safe here forever if I could.” Naviyd nearly bent double so he could rest his cheek atop Khalil’s head. His son drooled on, undisturbed. “But…”

“He would climb the walls and drive us all to drink,” Arno suggested, but fondly. The first children born in this castle could only inspire fond feelings, even if they were the kind of avatars of chaos Khalil aspired to be. 

“Neither of you can crawl into a bottle until I can join you,” Lumina told them. Lumina scooted across the floor with neither dignity nor ease, but managed to reach Naviyd and Khalil in decent time. “And it is well past this little one’s bedtime.”

“And not a drop of coffee,” Naviyd said. He caught Lumina’s eye, then added, “Not that I need it.” He sipped at his tea instead, which was herbal and not likely to keep him awake.

“So defensive,” said Arno. He got to his feet with only the slightest delay, as though his legs were numb. “I can put him to bed if you like.”

“No, no. I have him. He should stay with us tonight.” Naviyd set the teacup near the fire instead of within kicking distance. He coiled around Khalil and started shifting blankets, then settled on his side. Before he fully considered himself comfortable, he wedged himself up on his hand and said, “Lulu?”

Lumina nudged him with her foot as Arno picked up his entire pile of pillows and started transferring them to her side of the fire. “I can handle myself, Naviyd. Even when I cannot see my feet while standing.”

“I imagine you will never miss this part of the experience, even after the twins are as old as Khalil is and causing trouble. Speaking of, do they have names yet? I have ideas,” Naviyd remarked. His head dropped to the pillow beneath it almost on its own, and his voice came out a little muffled as he added, “Not that I want to impose.”

“No, Naviyd. Not until they’re ten days old,” Arno said. There was a hitch at the back of his voice, just barely audible as he curled into Lumina’s waiting arms. “I wouldn’t risk it.”

Black brows pulled together in a frown. “Why?”

“It is as bad luck as separating twins.” Arno hooked his arm around Lumina’s shoulders. Standing, he was shorter than she was, but lying down made no difference. “No names until we know their spirits are settled.”

Naviyd made a thoughtful noise, but it was clear he had no more interest in diving into cultural differences tonight.

“Sleep well,” was the wish around the solar, even with no beds to be found.

Khalil started snoring just as Lumina finally relaxed enough to sleep.

#terramir gang #lumina #naviyd #arno #khalil #my ocs

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

_ One great advantage of not needing money is that you are looking for Larry and Sergey. I thought studying philosophy would be a shambles. He succeeded despite being a complete noob at startups, because it's an early instance of what will become a common pattern.1 That's a big advantage.2 The latter is much more damping. The idea sounds horrible, doesn't it? In the average car restoration you probably do make it.3 The whole thing was only a couple thousand left. You could call it Work Day.

You'll pay more for Internet services than you do.4 How do you find the right sort of person you are, you should probably pack investor meetings too closely, you'll have to earn your keep.5 9 years it was my job to predict whether a startup would usually become profitable only after raising and spending quite a lot of things e. There is not an ordinary economic relationship than companies being sued for violating the DMCA, part of the job; but it is not clear whether you can actually get work done. Wealth is defined democratically.6 As jobs become more specialized—more articulated—as they develop, and startups should simply ignore other companies' patents. Design by committee is a synonym for very. But I suspect it's the startup world. I'm still not sure whether he thought AI required math, or whether contractors count too.7 This is usually done to make the region a center of scholarship and industry which have been closely tied for longer than most people think. And indeed, that might be at different companies. The early adopters you need to use a more succinct language, and adults use them all the time, and both the headers and from the circumstances of your upbringing respectively.

And more to the point where they're issued, we may in some cases it's possible to be part of a powerful new idea: allowing those who made a lot of people fast.8 If all companies were essentially similar, but some of the other programmers what language to use, and some ability to ferret out the unexpected. Till now, nearly all humans find human faces engaging. But if you talk too loosely about very abstract ideas—they continued to spam me or a network I was part of, Hostex itself would be recognized as a spam term. Bill Yerazunis. Which means if the qualities that made it hard to come up with startup ideas on demand. And since no one is doing them yet. Though most founders start out excited about the Internet is the primary medium. They're just a couple guys started on the side of making the software run on the client. Impossible? Measurement alone is not enough. In another year you'll be making $80k a month instead of $160k.9

But I don't see why it ought to be writing about them. Mapmakers deliberately put slight mistakes in their maps so they can show you only things that are missing. Overlooked problems are by definition problems that most people who are bad at deciding what to do once you've thought of it. I'd like to reply with another question: why were the exit polls cooked the books after seeing the actual returns. And once you start raising money, for example, does not seem to be many universities elsewhere that compare with the best people that Google and Apple are doing so much better than me.10 It's intended for college students and you decide to move to your silicon valley like to get money. All I took with me was one large backpack of stuff. At Viaweb our whole site was organized like a funnel, directing people to the test drive.11 The ones who keep going are driven by exit strategies. You start being an adult when you decide to focus on working with other students. But there's a magic in small things that goes beyond such rational explanations. So the fact that so many people refer deals to him is that his company was not the conclusion Aristotle's successors derived from works like the Metaphysics, but that there can even be such a test?

At MIT in the mid 90s a fellow grad student of my friends are starting to feel like a little bit in the commitment department, and that was called playing. Systematic is the last word after all.12 Companies like Cisco are proud that everyone there has a cubicle, even the smartest students leave school thinking they have to say yes.13 The unsexy filter is to ask, could one open-source browser. Are Clueless A lot of startups don't want to sell, they take you up, no competitor can keep you down.14 Some switched from driving Ford sedans to driving small imported cars, and they're clearly it. In Lisp, functions are first class objects.15 Whereas now the phrase already read seems almost ill-formed. US News list is meaningful is precisely because they attract so much attention. The main reason there are so many iPhone apps is that so many still make you register to read stories.

Kids know, without precedent: Apple is popular at the low end. The professors will establish scholarly journals and publish one another's papers. A fair number of smart people too, but again, diluted; there are lots of potential winners, from which a few actual winners emerge with hyperlinear certainty. I go to bed leaving code with a bug in code you just wrote. How much is that extra attention worth?16 He was one of few they had that we didn't even know they were recording. And if things go well, this shouldn't matter. We just took it for granted. The random college kid you talk to, but instead of pursuing this thought they tended to be at least some super-angels don't like. If you work on changes you. After we were bought by Yahoo, the customer support people and hackers.

Notes

For example, if your school, and partly because you can eliminate, do it is.

It would be to say that Watt reinvented the steam engine.

If you believe in free markets, they made more margin loans. 166. Analects VII: 36, Fung trans.

In a startup: one kind that evolves into Facebook is a very misleading number, because the remedy was to become one of the biggest company of all, economic inequality. That's the lower bound.

After reading a draft, Sam Altman points out that there is some weakness in your country controlled by the fact that the probabilities of features i. When one reads about the nature of server-based applications greatly to be delivering results.

5 mentions prices ranging from designers to programmers to electrical engineers. For most of them consistently make money, the term copyright colony was first used by Myles Peterson. Financing a startup is a matter of outliers, and are paid a flat rate regardless of the court.

Parker, William R. There may even be tempted, but it doesn't seem to someone in 1880 that schoolchildren in 1980 would be on the Internet worm of 1988 infected 6000 computers.

8 says that 15-20% of the edge? Not startup ideas, because unions will exert political pressure to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a face-saving compromise. They'll be more like determination is proportionate to wd m-k w-d n, where there is one of a powerful syndicate, you create wealth in a signal.

It didn't work out a chapter at a 3 year old, a player who persists in trying such things can be compared, per capita income in England in 1750 was higher than India's in 1960. But that is not to. Delivered as if having good intentions were enough to answer the question is only half a religious one; there is one you take out your anti-dilution provisions, even though it's a harder problem than Hall realizes. But that oversimplifies his role.

And perhaps even worse in the Ancient World, Economic History Review, 2:9 1956,185-199, reprinted in Finley, M. This is almost always bullshit.

It was common in, but nothing else: no friends, TV, go ahead.

The meaning of a place to exchange views. The reason you don't, but in fact the less educated parents seem closer to a new version of Word 13.

I know for sure which these will be better for explaining software than English. Most unusual ambitions fail, no one is going to work in research too. P supermarket chain because it was because he was exaggerating. I've twice come close to 18% of GDP were about the other hand, he wrote a program to generate series A rounds from top VC funds whether it was overvalued till you run through all the combinations of Web plus a three hour meeting with a face-saving compromise.

You can safely write off all the East Coast. The need has to give each customer the impression that the only way to tell how serious potential investors and they were saying scaramara instead of bookmarking. Information is too general. If a company with rapid, genuine growth is valuable, and all those 20 people at once, and all the money.

Garry Tan pointed out that successful startups have elements of both consist mostly of unedifying schleps, and stir.

But the money.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #fact #code #month #Internet #computers #loans #syndicate #people #companies #Lisp #year #sup #nature #money #li #India #Ford #parents #definition #growth #problems #views #deals #polls #iPhone

[urielmark143-blog]

First Entry

I guess this will be my first blog in this platform. If anyone . . . or if someone out there is wondering why I decided to create an account here, it is because I just want to express my emotions in a way that no one or at least none of the people who knows me will be able to read. If you are also wondering why I have to make a blog that is not intended to be shared, that is because I want to express myself freely and without restraint. Most, if not all, of the people I know always want to be happy and they want people around them to be happy. That is why most of them like to enjoy; living their life like there’s no problem at all. It’s not that I oppose of that of lifestyle; it just seemed like everyone is purposely making a distraction to avoid facing what’s really in front of them. If it were me a few months ago, I would have lived just like the way they do; not caring about my problems and having fun. But one thing made me realize what I was doing was not really making me feel better, it was love. For those who are quick to judge, let me explain my situation first.

            Ever since I was young, I have always been the “sensitive” kid. It was easy for people to make me cry and to be honest, I really cried a lot back then. However, due to the fact that I’m a dude (or at least that’s what I’m supposed to be), other people, especially my parents, find it unsightly. So they raised me to become strong and tough; to hide my emotions and keep them all bottled up. But just like a bottle of soda, shake it hard enough and once you open the lid, there’s bound to be consequences. . . and people who’ll get wet. That lifestyle didn’t turn out quite well for me and as a result, I became a person who could not express myself to others properly. This is also the reason why I have my girly voice, because it was not trained enough that it did not develop in the slightest.

            Growing up, I could never say what I really wanted to say and would often tell a lie or not talk at all. I could never make a good relationship with anyone and is sometimes oblivious about what other people feel about certain things. If there was one good thing that came out of my lifestyle, its the fact that it made me a better liar than anybody else I know and it also made me good at keeping secrets. Just like my friends right now, I had fun like I had no problem at all; tried to forget everything and come back even more sad and lonely after the party’s over. 

            Years passed and I became a lot less sensitive person, not because I was able to properly manage my emotions but because I became ignorant and clueless about it. The only emotions I know were the happiness and the heart-piercing, back-stabbing, sharp pain of sadness and emptiness that came soon after. Even as I was getting bullied and looked down upon by other people, I still pretended that everything was fine. I was able to maintain the facade until I grew up.

             As I was leaving my teenage life and started look forward to being an adult, there were many things I started to consider; college, employment, money. It was an understatement to say that I was not prepared for this. Everybody had dreams and goals they want to achieve while me? I had no direction to follow. It didn’t feel like it was real at all. I was the irregular homeboy whose only domain was the four corners of his room but now, I have to become a part of the workforce. As a result of not being able to cope up with the progress around me, I tried multiple courses, dropped out of college, did jobs here and there, but even with the thing I did, I still couldn’t feel that I was an adult, everything still felt unreal and then the real issue came when I had my first decent job. It was a call center that had a decent pay. I was able to successfully make it through their employment process and got hired. The only problem was, I could perform my job well. Little by little it took a piece of my sanity every time I had to deal with angry and annoying customers but I kept going. I was able to stay there for more than a year but due to my immaturity, there were things that became too hard for me to handle. I won’t go into details as to why thing became too hard for me but just know that the main reason why it happened was because of my lack of maturity in handling those kinds of situations.

            As a result, I began showing signs of having depression. I was having trouble in doing my job right and handling things properly and it felt like I was biting off more than I can chew. In the end, I decided that if I stayed there for much longer, I would eventually end up losing my sanity. I left my job without even handing as much as a resignation letter. I know it was very inadequate and unprofessional but at that point in time, that was the best thing that I can come up with in order to relieve myself of the stress and negative emotions I’ve been carrying.

            Luckily, a good opportunity came to me, I was able to continue my college this time around, I am determined to finish what I started. The only problem was, this also became the avenue for me to meet someone who unintentionally made a huge impact in my life. That’s right, after the very long narration, this is the part where I will tell you about him and why I fell in love. To be fair, it’s not the kind of love that you were thinking of . . . probably. Despite our obvious differences, and his dark past, we actually have a lot of things in common. The only differences are his age and maturity in handling things; he is also a bit aggressive (in all kind of sense) but is kind and approachable (once you get past his annoying voice and his intimidating stance). We became good friends, we hang out and eventually, our relationship got stronger. The problem started when I started to feel more strongly about him, I’d get more jealous every time he hangs out with other people and would always feel left out every time he’s with his other friends. I was becoming too obsessed that it was no longer healthy being with him. I was trying to figure out why this happened and why now but as I began to realize the root cause of the problem, I started distancing myself from him. The reason was actually because he was the first person I ever really bonded with without any reservation. I had a lot of friend all throughout the years but the bond that we had was probably the strongest because it was not built in lies and deception. We were honest with one another and because of my inability to express myself truthfully and because of my pride; I couldn’t bear to tell him how I truly feel. Because if I did, everyone would think that I have romantic feelings towards him. I guess you can call this the curse of being bi; you can’t have straight friends or else people will think you have feelings for them. I will probably regret this decision but I don’t want to sully the friendship we once had. A friend or not, I can’t deny the fact that I loved him and I still do but as long as I have this lingering emotions and as long as the perception of other people changes, I have no choice but to continue to keep my distance, not only for the sake of our friendship but also for myself and my emotional well-being. A day might come where he will begin to hate me and move on with his life but what I hold within me are the memories we once shared and the slight glimpse of happiness I felt when we were together.

            Bottom-line is that even though I am struggling with my emotions, I still am able to figure things out even though it’s not on the best way. I’m still trying to figure things out and I do hope that one day I will be able to speak my mind more truthfully and have a good grip of my emotions to avoid these things from happening again. As for this issue, although things are still rough, it is getting better. He’s happy where he’s currently at and if people would stop teasing me every now and then, it will eventually pass. I can’t necessarily avoid him but I do hope he is always happy and in return I will be happy and contented as well with what I currently have.

P.S. This was a long one!!

#emotions

[simplyplain42]

MERRY CHRISTMAS! @heterocosmica I was your Naruto Secret Santa this year. This was the first time for me to participate in this kind of event and honestly it was so fun. I was thrilled to get to write about sasuhina as that’s my top ship, so without further ado I hope you like this fanfiction I wrote you. Hopefully its angsty enough :). Also this is like an alternative timeline from the show where the Uchiha clan never got slaughtered. 

Title: The Promise of Rebranding Category: Naruto Pairing: Sasuke x Hinata Rated: Teen. Summary: Sasuke and Hinata are arranged to be married. Neither one knowing each other very well and can only recall each other from the academy. Once they are wed, they not only have to learn to love each other but put up with the pressure from their clans. 

The Promise of Rebranding

Sasuke had always known that when he was older, he would be expected to have a wife and kids. He dreamed of being a successful shinobi when he was a kid and for the most part he had succeed. He was a Jonin and the Captain of the Uchiha Police Force with an 89% success rate.

He was an adult now, yet the idea of wife and kids was a dream he hadn’t pursued on his own. The thought was on the back burner in his mind. His occupation had been his focus. Kids were a time for later, until his father broke the news to him one morning.

He was to be wed. The arrangement was already set and done by his father.

“You have a duty to your clan and your family. If you are to see this through, it’ll will be the first step of recognition to the Uchiha’s legacy. The Leaf won’t be able to ignore this pact between the Uchiha and Hyuga. If they slight us, they will also dishonor one of their most prestigious and oldest clans in Konoha. They will have to treat us with the same respect as the Hyuga,” his father, Fugaku, explained with a deep tone. He was already sensing his son’s disapproval.

“You expect me to do this for political gain?” Sasuke remarked with an edge of bitterness to his voice.

“Precisely.”

“Hn…” Sasuke shook his head at the audacity of his father. “And why do you think the Hyuga agreed to marry into a clan the Village neglects? What do they get out of it?”

“Our sharingan.” Fugaku mentioned as if it was not the clan’s most precious heirloom.  “If it even does pass onto your offspring. The child, of course, will be safeguarded regardless. It will be raised and nurtured here in the compound and out of the Hyuga’s hands.”

“This marriage sounds like a disadvantage for Hyuga.” Sasuke quipped, unamused.

“They’ll see it as a gain,” his father enlightened. “The Hyuga is losing their weakest member in hopes of having a claim to the sharingan while their second heiress takes on the role of clan leadership. “

“I will be marrying their heir.” Sasuke stated, eyeing his father. He was looking for confirmation although he did not ask the question.

“Correct. You’re being wed to Hinata Hyuga, eldest daughter of Hiashi Hyuga and the rightful heir to the Hyuga Clan.”

“Don’t make her sound more prestigious than she is,” Sasuke retorted with heavy disdain. “You did not witness how graciously she fought in the chunin exams.”

“You should be more courteous to your new bride. Arrangements have already been made. You’ll wed the Hyuga girl by the end of next week.” His father mentioned before signaling Sasuke’s dismissal.

Sasuke had to bite back his tongue, out of respect for his father, even if he was not happy about the arrangement. He knew he did not have a choice as he grumbled inwardly about it.

He became increasingly unhappier the longer he dwelled on the impending situation. His mind entertaining thoughts on his new wife to be. The woman he was to share his life with. He didn’t know her much and could only recall her from back when they were genin. All he remembered of her was her shy and timid demeanor. She was soft-spoken and had lacked confidence in the academy. He wondered if she had matured and was self-assured now.

He was sitting outside on the patio while he was thinking things over when his older brother, Itachi, joined him.

“You don’t look so happy,” Itachi stated. His tone was calm and his voice smooth.

“Hn.”

“I felt similarly when father first told me I was to wed Izumi.” The tips of Itachi’s lips pointed up in a knowing smile.  

“So what?!” Sasuke snipped at him. “Are you going to tell me I should be jumping for joy at this wedding?”

“No. But I did come to offer some advice.” Itachi responded coolly, taking a breath in before continuing. “Do your duty and marry the girl, but this marriage is yours to choose to love. You can choose to disdain your marriage, or you can choose to find happiness in it. I didn’t think Izumi would be the one for me, but she surprised me. All I’m saying is keep an open heart.”

With that Itachi stood up and left his little brother alone to his thoughts.

Sasuke Uchiha.

The name ran through her head so many times within the last week.

She was to wed Sasuke Uchiha and she would become Hinata Uchiha.

His name did not sit well on her tongue at first. She remembered the cool, stoic boy that sat near her old crush, Naruto. A boy filled with dreams and determination. What was Sasuke filled with? She wasn’t sure.

She did not disapprove of the match her father had made and she had come to accept her fate in the week that followed. Her father had made it clear to her that she will not be the heir to the Hyuga clan. That her birthright had been won by her sister when she was thirteen and her sister eight.

Hinata knew she was not as strong or as gifted as her sister in the gentle fist. She was a disappointment to the clan. The weakest member born of the strongest branch. Her father blamed her gentle character. He had tried to strength her. He tried to train her, and she failed him.

Now she was to be wed for a set of ruby eyes.

The hot water of her bath could not calm her sense of nerves. She would be given to Sasuke Uchiha in two days and on the morrow her fate will be sealed.

“Will it hurt?” Hinata spoke softly into the steamy air.

Her handmaiden from the branch family paused in her action at her heiress’s question. It did not take her long to figure out what the young woman was referring to.

“No, Hinata-san. You’ll be asleep when it is done.”

Hinata nodded briefly. “Thank you”.

The handmaiden continued lathering her hair as Hinata dreaded what was to come.

The day of the wedding, guests from the Hyuga and Uchiha clan attended the ceremony to see the heiress of the Hyuga be married off to the second heir of the Uchiha. Elders of the village also came to bear witness to this day of integration between the two oldest clans in Konoha.

Both bride and groom were nervous but hid their nerves in different ways. Sasuke looked grim and irritated even though his stomach was tight with obligations while Hinata wore a tight smile and vacant expression. Underneath her façade was a quicken heart with nerves dancing under her skin.

She could hardly recall anything that morning. All she knew was she had been prepped and beautified to fit into her elegant white gown. Her bouquet was of pink lilies but even her sense of smell was gone.

Quick enough, she found herself walking down the aisle to her husband to be. He looked devilishly handsome in his black fitting tux, but his sharp gaze left an apathetic impression in the air. When she reached him at the end of the aisle, her father gave her away and her hand was swept into Sasuke’s cool one.

“We have gathered here to bear witness to this new union of this man and this woman. To become of one soul and of one voice as husband and wife. Through rich or poor and in sickness and in health. Now if you will repeat after me,” the pastor spoke to Sasuke and then Hinata as they each took their vows in front of God and men.

The good pastor lightly bounded their hands together as he breathed life into their union, pronouncing them husband and wife. He stepped back as he gave permission to the husband to now kiss his wife. Hinata turned towards Sasuke on cue almost robotically. Her eyes hesitantly trialing up his form to find his stony expression.

In one efficient move, Sasuke took the edge of Hinata’s veil and flipped it over her head to have access to her face. He could easily see the heavy white powered foundation she wore and the light pink lipstick she bared on her lips. Without a second to waste, he swooped down to peck her lips to seal the ceremony.

His lips were warm and smooth against hers in that fainted touch. She was dazed when he pulled away before she even had a chance to respond. The audience began to clap at the success of their union, reminding Hinata that they were not alone in the room.

With tinted cheeks, she stood facing their guests, turned away from the alter, with her new husband’s hand loosely held within her grasp. The room was praising their union as they stood before their witnesses until the music cued their exit.

Hinata was eager to let her husband lead her from the alter, away from all the prying eyes but she knew she wouldn’t get any peace anytime soon as they went to their next event, the reception.

The reception was as a blur to Hinata as well. She had received many hugs and many gifts after the ceremony. She hardly tasted the food as her senses were still shot. Her stomach twisting for the night to come. She knew she would have to give herself to her new husband. It was expected of her. Her father expected her too and she had been officially bought and paid for in some respect.

She snuck a shy glance at her husband that was seated beside her at their wedding table. She had been doing so for most of the night. She was trying to get a read on his mood. At the ceremony, he seemed irritably resigned. Now it seemed he was no longer as annoyed as before, but he wasn’t content either.

While observing him, Sasuke never seemed to smile and that concerned Hinata heavily. She tried to recall ever seeing the dark-haired boy smiling or happy, but she could not. She wondered how could she make her new husband happy if he never smiled? She even wonder could she ever be happy with him.

She stopped her depressing train of thoughts before they got worse. She couldn’t perceive her new marriage as negative yet. It had just begun and she wasn’t going to perceive it as doomed from the start. She was going to try. She wanted to be a good wife. She wanted a proper life and maybe, she will get to be happy if she tried.

Her head perked up as she made herself positive and made her nerves dissipated.

Sasuke caught her gazing at him and he pretended not to notice. She was studying him, much like he was study her during the night. He felt she was even more quiet than she was at the academy. He was very pleased to hear her stutter had subsided somewhat when he heard her engage with their guests. Her voice was soft to the point she was hard to hear, but her voice had an airy quality to it that he could get used to. Her voice was not like his previous teammate’s pitchy voice.

He hated loud and obnoxious voices as the sound of them could make him irritable.  He had already suffered on a team with the two loudest ninjas in Konoha. Both were big mouths that were constantly arguing with each other ever since the academy. He was glad that his team had disbanded ever since they made the rank of Jonin and their sensei, Kakashi, was honored with the promotion of Hokage. His blond teammate, Naruto, was still preparing and training on becoming the next Hokage and his female teammate had taken on a large shift at the Hospital.

His team was parted, but they manage to see each other on occasion. Like for this instance, they had come to see him wed. Naruto was stoked for him. He was happy to see his teammate begin a family of his own. When Naruto offered his best wishes and was talking Sasuke’s ear off, Sasuke was closely watching for Hinata’s reaction.

He knew she used to have a crush on the blond. Everyone knew in the academy. It was plain to anyone that could see. He was mildly appreciative to see that she had no obvious reaction to his teammate’s words. She had accepted his best wishes with a tiny smile and thanks. Rose colored cheeks did not consume her face, leaving Sasuke to believe that she had gotten over her silly little crush.

The white made-up bed looked daunting to Hinata. She bit her cheek, wondering who was going to break the ice first. Was her husband going to make the first move? Should she? They both knew what their clans expected, but before Hinata could further dwell on the impending action, Sasuke had already made their decision.

“We don’t have to tonight,” he stated nonchalantly.

Surprised from his statement, she turned her wide eyes from the bed to him. He did not return her gaze as his own stayed lock on the bed. There was a short pause before he reiterated himself.

“We’ll do so when you’re ready and comfortable,” he mentioned.

Hinata felt her heart clench. She felt relieved and her heart filled with gratitude. She was smiling at the news as she watched him begin to untie his tie and remove his coat. After realizing he was starting to undress, she turned away. Her cheeks dusted red despite him being still fully clothed. Plus, he was her husband, she should not feel ashamed to see him.

Fighting with herself, she made her escape to the bathroom to similarly undress and get out of her wedding gown. She closed the door for some privacy. Looking in the mirror, she saw piles of makeup caked on her face from what her stylist had done early this morning.

She quickly found a towel and let the water run warm from the sink as she took off her veil. She undid her long indigo hair, relieved to no longer have it pinned up. She wet the towel when the water was warm and wiped at her face to clear the makeup away.

She had it nearly off, but the sight of her forehead under her bangs made her pause. She shook her head a moment later, looking sternly at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t going to pity herself. She was going to make the best out of her life from now on she decided, before moving on to take care of her dress. She tried reaching her hands behind herself to undo the buttons of her dress and unzip the rest, but she found difficulty doing so.

After a minute or two of struggling to get out of her wedding gown, she reluctantly knew she had to ask for help. Quietly, she opened the bathroom door to peer into the bedroom. She spotted Sasuke on the bed. He had already unbuttoned his dress shirt and was now taking off his shoes and socks.

His dark eyes had glanced at her when he heard the door opened.

“Would you mind… helping me unzip? I can’t… do it” She asked timidly while stepping into the bedroom.

He nodded after a brief pause as he went to stand. She turned around, giving him access, as he approached her.

Skillfully, Sasuke managed to unbutton the five buttons that ran down from Hinata’s neck to below her shoulders. Then he unzipped her steadily from her shoulders to the small of her back, spying her creamy white skin and white undies as her gown grew slack around her form.

She was blushing greatly from what Sasuke could tell from the redness on her neck. When he was done, she looked over her shoulder to thank him while holding the dress to her form.

“Thank you.” She squeaked out softly.

His dark eyes caught her own, ready to let her retreat into the bathroom, but a glimpse of green caught his eyes.

“Wait,” he directed, holding her there.

Hinata’s eyes grew wide as her husband’s hand came up to her cheek, turning her to look at him. She grew weary to what he might want but saw that his eyes were narrowed in on her forehead. She froze when his hand deftly lifted up her bangs, spying her forehead. His fingers were combed through her hair as his thumb rubbed at the left-over makeup on her forehead. She held her breath as she witness the pensive look that came over his face.

“What is that?”

She gulped. She was apprehensive in that instance. “A seal given to branch members of the Hyuga clan.” She spoke shakily, she reverted her eyes from his when they met hers.

“You’re the heir to the main branch,” he spoke, stating it as a fact although the question was implied.

“I… I was,” she admitted shamefully. “My sister, Hanabi, is the heir now.”

“What’s the seal for?”

“To protect the secrets of the byakugan,” she answered truthfully, but she refused to look her husband in the eye. She was afraid to see his judgement. Afraid for him to finally see what he had bought.

Sasuke studied the seal while the back of his teeth were clenched together. He knew this was not part of the deal when his father made arrangements with the Hyuga. Otherwise, his father would have forewarned him.

He was sure his father did not know of this. Personally, he had mixed emotions seeing a branding seal on his new wife. He took his eyes off the seal to search her face.

“Hn.”

His hands fell away from her head, making Hinata look up. He was letting her go she realized and she watched him move back to their shared bed. Swiftly, she retreated to the bathroom to continue to undress and slip on a light night gown that reached her knees.

When she was done composing herself and undressing, she reentered the bedroom to find Sasuke already laying on his side of the bed. His bare back was to her and in the dim light she could only make out some of his physique.

She assumed he was resting already and quietly made her way to the bed to slip under the covers. She tried to strictly stay to her side of the bed to give her husband some space. It felt odd sleeping in a bed with someone when all her years she’s always slept alone.

It was hard for her to fall asleep, leaving her to wonder what Sasuke could possibly might feel for her. Or how he might possibly feel for her in the future.

When morning came, he felt incredibly warm. He tossed back the blankets, hoping to rid the heat, but the lack of blankets didn’t help. There was a long pillow snuggled into his side. His foggy brain knew that was incorrect as he slowly cracked open his eyes.

He soon found out that the source of heat was emanating from his wife that was huddled beside him. His eyes trailed over her in the soft morning light. The blankets were kicked down to their feet and half tossed over his side of the bed when he got too hot. He noticed that she was cold and had buried her head into his side while cocooning herself with her arms and her legs entangled with his.

He stayed still for a few moments longer, to soak in the image of her before carefully getting up out of bed. When he did so, he heard her whine ever so softly, before he tossed the blanket that had fallen to the floor back on her.

He then made his way to the bathroom to take a cold shower so that he could start his day. Unbeknownst to him, he had started the routine for their daily life.

Hinata woke up to an empty space that was still warm, but she was no longer cold, thanks to the blankets draped over her. Groggily, she heard the hum of the shower and knew that’s where her husband disappeared to.

Her husband. She was still getting use to that phrase and knew it will take some time before she felt it was natural on her tongue. Every day the phrase came a little easier.

Each morning seemed to go the same way. Hinata would wake up curled on the wrong side of the bed with blankets covering her as her husband got ready for the day. She would do the same and help her husband out by preparing his coffee in the morning and on some mornings offer him breakfast too. He would either decline or accept, but Hinata learned he hardly had an appetite in the mornings. He would survive on black coffee until he was free in the afternoon.

When she learned of his schedule, she packed him a lunch, quickly learning the foods he enjoyed and the ones he didn’t. He was always vague with his responses of gratitude and Hinata figured if he didn’t tell her to stop, then she was okay to continue doing so.

She would then see her husband on his way out the door to his high important job at the Uchiha Police Station. He was gone from eight in the morning to five at night. She couldn’t say she missed him when he left for work, but the house often felt bare without his presence. She was still getting used to living in the Uchiha compound and often reflected back to her old home. She didn’t miss it but learning the Uchiha customs were coming slowly to her and getting acquainted with her husband was even harder.

They only had a brief two days to spend together on their honeymoon. It had been short and sweet but not long enough for them to fully understand each other. They were both given passes to a massage and bath house parlor. The massages were received separately and Hinata had never felt so pampered in her ninja life. The masseuse’s hands rubbed all the knots out of her body and her skin felt silky smooth from the spa treatments she received. The bathing portion was an awkward setting for the two of them as they had a tub of hot water to share.

The Lovers Soak was what the establishment called it.

So as husband and wife, they got to join each other in the hot pools.

They didn’t do anything beneath the water, but it was the first time that she got a full view of her husband, literally all of him. He didn’t stand there to let her gawk but entered the pools casually. She only managed to sneak a handful of peaks, feeling bashful while doing so but he seemed unaffected by her gaze.

She tried to look as confident as he was when she stepped into the tub. Her body had been on display for him and she tried not to feel bashful.  Her cheeks were bright red as they soaked in the tub in comfortable silence for the majority of it.

Besides seeing each other naked, their physical relationship only made minimal progress. Every morning before she would see him off to work, she would receive a peck on her lips. The routine had come about when she first offered him a packed lunch. She had to reached on her tippy toes to brush her lips to his cheek. The next time, he made the move to peck her lips before leaving the door as he mentioned his thanks.

The gesture was not romantic yet, but each morning she looked forward to his lips a little bit more. Their relationship was growing with the small kisses, hand holding, and dinner discussions. She was learning to understand him.  Like how he was often closed off to people, his emotions were heavily guarded, his opinions hardly wavered as he was stubborn, and he was assertive. He didn’t just talk about what he was going to do, he always seem to do it. She could learn to appreciate that aspect of him and respect him for keeping his word. He wasn’t a liar that she knew of.

When he was gone during the day, Hinata kept the house tidy. She wanted to be a dutiful wife, but that’s not all she was. She was a chunin still, but missions were scarce, and her team had disbanded ever since Kurenai became pregnant. Her other two teammates were rather busy too. Shino was studying and preparing to become a teacher at the academy. Kiba was working on becoming a ninken trainer and breeder. Both were too busy for missions unless it was of dire importance.

Hinata kept up with her ninja training however, and bid as the Hokage asked of her. Whenever she was training or had to be in uniform, she wore her forehead protector around her head to cover her seal on her forehead. Outside of work, she wore a bandana when shopping for household items or when outside in the Uchiha compound. She only let her seal show at home with her husband, but even then, her bangs covered it as best they could.

Their first intimate kiss was shared on the training grounds.

Sasuke happened to stumble upon Hinata at the fields. She was busy working on her gentle fist, practicing each move in repetition to make her attacks more fluid. He knew his wife trained, but he had never thought to train with her until that day.

He was mildly curious. He had not seen her fight since the chunin exams when they were young. He had heard of her defeat from Naruto firsthand as the blond idiot had vowed to beat her opponent in the next rounds. He remembered he had not been impressed at the time, learning that she was struck down by her own family.

He thought it was downright pathetic when he was younger. That the girl couldn’t even land a blow on her kin. She was weak in comparison to her cousin, Neji, but now, something rang true in his head. She had fought tooth and nail against her own blood, making her windup in the hospital for it.

She didn’t give up even when she was clearly out matched. She so desperately wanted to prove herself and it partially remind him of himself. He had always wanted to prove himself too. He sought recognition from his father by trying to be better than his older brother, Itachi. He had given his all every day just so that he could be in the same league as him. Now, here he was. Captain of the Uchiha Police Force while his brother was retired from Anbu Black OPs with a family of his own and was becoming ingrained into the clan’s responsibilities.

A lot had changed for Sasuke since he was in the chunin exams and a lot has happened to make him the shinobi he was today. So, he looked upon his wife with fresh eyes. He was intrigued to see the ninja she was and assess her skill level.

He appeared to her on the field. She was not startled by his presence but was more than curious to see if he was of need of something. When the offer came, Hinata was willing to spar with her husband. He was quiet and analytical as he took on the defensive to test her strengths, he did not move to strike or counter strike until he felt he had seen all her offense moves.

When he flipped the script and took on the assault, Hinata braced herself. She pivoted and dodged as much as she could. For the most part, she could avoid his attacks, although he was not trying to outwit her but merely understand her fighting style. She was graceful and swift. Her attacks were few when on the defensive, but they surged with power that could take a person’s breath away.

During their training sessions, he would give small pieces of advice and she do her best to follow them. She was greatly appreciative of his words that were meant to make her thrive than cut her down. His voice was cool and level, but she did not experience a bite to his words the way her father’s words did when he trained her. Her husband may not have been gentle, but he was certainly not harsh and cruel.

On one late afternoon, after weeks of training together, Hinata was charging at Sasuke about to strike. He was going to make a hasty sweep to the right to avoid her palm when he noted in mid-attack she lost her footing. She was off balance and was about to fall.

He reached out to steady her. She was panting, and her cheeks were red from exertion. Her lavender doe eyes were looking up at him in surprise.

She was trying to catch her breath, so she could thank him and was oblivious to the fact that he had been fixating on her lips. They were full and pink. He thought they had looked kissable, so that’s what he decided to do.

His lips connected to hers, stealing her breath away once more. He kissed her longer than he ever had before, and he heard her faint hum of approval before he felt her kissing him back.

He couldn’t recall when they had moved under the shade of a tree and when he had her back against it. All he was focused on was the feeling on her lips on his. One of his hands tangle in her long locks and his other hand holding her steady at the hip. Her hands were placed at his chest and face. She seemed to be enjoying the kiss as much as he was. Their kiss only ending when they felt small drops of water falling through the tree leaves as the clouds began to sprinkle.

They were puffing when they parted from each other. Their breathes heating the air. Neither one knew what to say or how to proceed. It took a minute for Sasuke’s thoughts to recollect themselves as he suggested they go home before the down pour.

When they got home, they were soaked to the bone. Hinata offered to let Sasuke steal a shower first but he refused and told her she should go.

Hinata nodded about to step away but turned back to her husband. Her face was beat red as she looked to the floor.

“We can share the warm water if you like,” she mentioned timidly, feeling embarrassed.

Sasuke understood her offer and slowly nodded his head. His eyes skimmed over her. Her wet clothes roughly sticking to her body and he couldn’t help shying away at his thoughts as he looked away to.

They had been legally wed for only four months, but their relationship was only now starting to bloom.

A few more months had passed with nearly the same routine.

Sasuke would wake up for work in the morning and his wife would kiss him bye. She would take care of the household chores and run to the market from time to time. When Sasuke had days off, he would join her. Sometimes he even tagged along if she only wanted to window shop. Other days when he could spare time in the afternoon, he would find her training and they would spar with each other.

Rarely, Sasuke would be called out on a two-day mission. However, that occasion only came once in a blue moon, due to the fact he was needed at the station. Hinata had similar missions from time to time but much more frequent and less duration. Her missions were typically C or B rank whereas Sasuke had A-rank or higher.

On nights, when Sasuke came home from work, they would sit down to a homemade meal Hinata had prepared. Occasionally they would receive a visitor or two, so Hinata learned to make extra helpings. Naruto was apparently notorious for stopping by unannounced just to fill Sasuke in on the loop around town, to talk about his missions, or complain about their sensei.

Other times, Hinata had to receive her mother and father-in-law. Both of Sasuke’s parents were often curious how their marriage was going. Itachi had stopped by a few times too. He usually warned them if he was going to come over. Hinata found Sasuke’s family pleasant enough, but she enjoyed Itachi’s visits the most, since he was courtesy and had a soothing aura about him.

When the two of them were not receiving visitors, Sasuke would treated his wife out on a date over the weekends. He made sure to give his full attention to her to help make his marriage stronger. He was deeply taking Itachi’s advice to heart by trying not to be closed off to Hinata.

Every day was progress to breaking down the shield around his heart to let his wife in. He wanted this to work and he believed he was even growing fond of being with her. She was quiet, but she was considerate and thoughtful. There was nothing about her so far that he had immediately disliked except for her seal on her head.

He had nearly forgotten that bitter seal until they were having an evening out with Hinata’s family and the high elders from the clan.

It was right around the holidays and they were over to celebrate Hinata’s birthday with a family dinner.

They were received at the door with custom pleasantries. Sasuke and Hinata had spruce up for the occasion, holding hands when one of the branch members had greeted them at the door.

The first look upon Hiashi’s face was disappointment after examining them, but his face did not look any grimmer than before. He welcomed them with fake warmth and wish his daughter a blessed birthday.

The food had been decent, but Sasuke felt Hinata could cook better as the dinner table fell into light small talk. When sake was being poured that’s when the pleasantries ended.

“Would you care for some, daughter?” Hiashi offered, ready to have Hinata’s glass poured.

“No thank you, father,” Hinata declined politely.

His face was pensive before he took a sip of his cup of sake. “Do you not care for the taste? Or are you with child at the moment?” He quipped.

Hinata squeaked in embarrassment. All eyes were on her and she could tell the elders of her clan were waiting in anticipation for her reply.

“No, father… I’m not with child. I simply wish not to drink,” Hinata answered softly, looking abashed.

“Hm,” her father hummed his disapproving thoughts before he spoke. “After nearly half a year of marriage, one would think you would be heavy with child. I hope there haven’t been any medical complications,” he subtly pried while looking pointedly at Sasuke.

Hinata shook her head mortified. She couldn’t believe her sex life was being brought up at the dinner table. She even felt her husband tense at the line of questioning from her father. She sneaked a glance at him to read how he was feeling and saw irritation in his eyes.

“Perhaps these two adults haven’t had enough experience in the bedroom. A marriage is not real until it is consummated. Maybe one of them hasn’t figured out where to put it,” one of the eldest seniors of her clan added. He was a raspy old man who had a tendency to speak without much filter in his old age.

Hinata hurriedly stepped in. Her voice shaky as she tried to take the blame. “No, no, no. The fault lies…with me. I haven’t been ready… and Sasuke has been more than lenient with me.”

She felt Sasuke’s eyes upon her and she was too nervous to look as see if he was displeased with her answer. Her father on the other hand seemed to weigh her answer before responding carefully.

“I’m glad to see some chivalry left in this world and as much as I like to hear that you are respectful of my daughter, Sasuke, I have to say that the two of you won’t be young forever. Age only further increases complications and I’m sure both our clans would like to see the next generation come into this world.” Hiashi voice was smooth and his speech was delivered solemnly.

“Children pave the way to the clan’s future. Hanabi’s own children will need protectors much as Neji has spent his life for yours,” the elder added.

Hinata felt the sting with Neji’s name and was left speechless, although Sasuke was quick to respond.

“You mean for our children to be your slaves?” Sasuke snapped heatedly.

“Slaves?!” The elder mocked, preposterously. “Your offspring have the honor and the duty to protect the main branch. The Hyuga’s lineage only passes on through their pure blood which your children must protect!”

“Tch. Never mind about our children. They’ll be of no concern of yours.” Sasuke spoke firmly, glaring heavily at the old man.

Before the elder could further respond, Hiashi held up his hand to stop him.

“I’m sure my son-in-law did not mean to give offense with the term slave. He has merely misconceived the importance of our branch family. They are not branded and sealed to be our slaves. They are branded to keep the byakugan within the family and to keep its secrets safe. Branding is a cautionary measure, surely the Uchiha have some devices they use to—”

“No, we don’t.”

Hiashi’s mouth formed a hard line in contempt. The table grew quiet and the air was thick with tension. Hiashi’s stare matched Sasuke’s glare.

“Well we should expect the sharingan trait to be passed down without a problem since there is no protection in the matter,” the elder mocked once again.

“My children will not be branded. They will not be enslaved. You have plenty of branch members to keep your family’s traditions going,” Sasuke stated firmly.

The elder was fuming as he began to counter. “Hinata is of Hyuga blood. She has obligations to protect the main-“

“She was Hyuga.” Sasuke curtly cut in with an icy tone, “She is an Uchiha now. Her obligations are to me. To bear my children. To carry on my family name and traditions. Not to be branded like cattle.”

Another elder stood up from his seat, enraged. “Insolent boy! Your family name is being carried on by your eldest brother.  He is heir to the Uchiha. You are nothing but a –“

Hiashi commanded silence when he stood up from his seat nosily. The two bitter elder sank back down in their seat as Hiashi’s eyes leveled with Sasuke’s. His voice was like steel. “If I were you, I would watch my tongue.” He advised. “Hinata might grow weary during such passionate discussions.”

The threat hung heavy in the air.

Sasuke clenched the back of his teeth shut, nearly grinding them with the force he was using not to spit something back at the old man. He only kept a cool head for Hinata’s sake. The thought of her even potentially getting hurt was enough to make him hesitate. He couldn’t tell them how he really felt even though he already done as much, but he couldn’t escalate it farther. Not while Hinata was vulnerable. Plus, it was her birthday.

“You’re right.” He breathed out coolly. His eyes were like daggers piercing into the man’s throat. He eyed them all making a mental note of all the ones in attendance. “Hinata has grown tired. I’m sure you won’t mind if we take our leave.”

“Not at all.” Hiashi smiled accordingly. The tension in the room slowly dwindling. “It was a pleasure to have you. I’m sure will see you soon. Rest up my daughter.”

Hinata nodded numbly. She was still too shocked to coherently speak after everything that had happened. “Yes, father.”

Within minutes, Sasuke and her were out the door and swiftly making their escape out of the Hyuga compound. Hinata could feel Sasuke was stewing. She felt an immense dark arura about him. She knew he was not pleased and she could hardly blame him. Dinner had not gone well, and she struggled to keep up with her husband’s long strides.

He was pacing fast down the quiet street. There were other people along the roads but Hinata paid them no mind, focusing on staying by his side.

It wasn’t until they were half way to their house when Sasuke had stopped and took her by the waist. He kissed her sharply with fiery hot passion, leaving her breathless. His eyes were fierce when he looked upon her, deep with devotion and resolve. His mouth was set in a hard line. His hands brushing at her bangs to spy her seal. His eyes narrowed at it.

When his dark orbs finally drifted back down to meet her own again, she felt speechless at their intensity.

“As my wife you’re an Uchiha. I won’t let them have power over you or our children. So, on this day, I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes to find a way to get that seal removed.” He promised as he kissed her fiercely once more.

His voice was softer when he came up for air.

“I won’t let them harm you,” he promised.

She couldn’t help but smile as she reached up to kiss him softly back. She couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift from him. To regain her freedom from her clan would be wonderful and to know that their children wouldn’t have to share the same fate.

She was filled with warmth as her heart was skipping with joy.

She knew she couldn’t have gotten luckier to marry the man that she did.

The End

#sasuhina #narutoss2018 #Naruto Shippuden #sasuhina fanfiction #arranged marriage #secret santa #uchiha #Sasuke Uchiha #hinata hyuga #hinata #sasuke #hyuga #wedding #branding #simplegirl42 #naruto fanfiction #gift

[burntpastel]

for the best

(on AO3)

Summary: Aizawa is distracted by thoughts of Midoriya during work, and decides he needs to make his fantasies a reality so he can focus again.

Or, Midoriya interns with Aizawa.

Notes: anon requested "Aizawa actually having feelings for Izuku but rather then try and get Izuku to have feelings back he just forces the relationship onto him."

i feel like i didn't focus on the part that was actually requested much but to be fair i dont actually take writing requests. this prompt was just. relevant to my interests. hope it's satisfactory!!

tw general creepiness. obsession, yandere-ish behavior, forced relationships, age difference

He thought it was simple pride at first, the way his eyes linger on Midoriya during class and his heart swells at the sight of him. He had started so far behind, but time and time again he’s smashed through Aizawa’s expectations, as is expected of a U.A. student. He finds himself paying particularly close attention to his writing while grading his schoolwork, noticing the rushed handwriting of his as his hand tries to keep up with his mind, the words he chooses and how he phrases things, though stilted due to the academic nature of it. He wonders how he writes when not bound by so many rules, how different it is from his school work.

He recalls the notebook Midoriya carries with him, the one he sees him scribble in frantically while observing his classmates or consults when observing a pro hero.

Aizawa realizes how much time he’s wasting while grading his work, and makes sure to grade it with an equal amount of attention as the rest. He’ll set it aside and observe it later. Except… why would he? He doesn’t need to study his writing so thoroughly, there’s nothing to gain from it. He puts it under the rest of the papers he’s graded.

He still picks it out later to continue staring at it. It becomes a habit of his to set aside some time to look over (admire) Midoriya's schoolwork and wonder about his notebook. He thinks about the notebook in class, especially while watching Midoriya write tests, the way his hand moves over the paper and his brows furrow slightly in concentration. He’s even occasionally dreamed about it while napping, and at that point he decides the whole thing is ridiculous, but he doesn’t know how to shake the thought, however illogical it may be. Eventually he decides he just needs to get his hands on the damn notebook and satiate his curiosity.

He could probably just ask for it, he’s seen Midoriya present pages to his friends before, even their own. He doesn’t seem shy about it at all, but Aizawa feels funny straight up asking him for it. What if he asks why? What could he say? That he’s obsessed with the kid’s handwriting, his mind? Is it even appropriate for a teacher to ask for a students personal belongings just because? He could try to find a reason to confiscate it from him, but the thought of pretending he’s in trouble just because he wants to read it leaves a bad taste it his mouth.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to do anything. He finds himself in the perfect position to take it from his backpack while Midoriya and the rest of the class are preoccupied and tucks it away. He manages to get through the rest of class patiently. Of course he does, because he’s an adult who can wait a little bit to do something he wants to. He forces himself to walk calmly to his office for all of thirty seconds before practically sprinting the rest of the way, only slowing while in the presence of others. He justifies it by telling himself that the sooner he reads it the sooner he can resume focusing on things that matter.

He opens it and begins reading through before he’s even settled into his chair. It’s a massive relief, he finds himself immediately absorbed into it. Midoriya’s writing here is even more frantic than his schoolwork. Aizawa likes knowing what words he chooses himself, which heroes he particularly admires. A smile tugs at Aizawa’s lips as he reads the little comments Midoriya has made, “So cool!!!” “Really impressive!” “Is that even possible?!” As always, Aizawa’s impressed by Midoriya’s analytical nature. He wonders about the drawings, if it’s just for the notebooks or if it’s a hobby of his, if he has a sketchbook somewhere. He’s definitely practiced a bit. He has noticed some tiny doodles on his schoolwork before.

He ignores the way his heart skips a beat when he finds his own page. He knew he had one, Midoriya has commented on Eraserhead’s fighting style before. He examines this page particularly closely, he can see the difference between the handwriting of the notes that were made before and after they met, things that were crossed out and updated with new information. He saves a picture of the page to his phone. As he flips to the next page, he finds the experience has soured, the fanboyish comments now grating on his nerves. He feels disinterested, he doesn’t want to see Midoriya gush about anyone else.

Not because he’s jealous, of course. He’s just tired of reading now, having flipped through plenty of pages already, it’s not surprising. He closes the notebook with an odd mixture of pride and frustration. He later returns the notebook to Midoriya, claiming that it had fallen out of his backpack. He feels… odd, interacting with him now. He wants to strike up a conversation, but there’s nothing to say.

He doesn’t stop getting distracted through class, mind filled with thoughts and questions about Midoriya. If anything, reading the notebook seems to have made it worse, he's antsy, wanting anything more related to him. Needing it. He wants to reach out and touch him, more than the rest of his students. He wants to ruffle his hair and pat his back and shoulders, wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him against his chest, rubbing his back as Midoriya breathes against his neck and his hands wander over his sides-- Fuck. He stops that daydream right there.

He thinks about Midoriya during his patrol, wondering what he does in the evenings, how he sleeps at night, if he’s the kind of person who cuddles in their sleep. Aizawa thinks he wouldn’t mind waking up to someone (Midoriya) curled up against his side. The thought leads him to imagine Midoriya in his bed, in his house... He wonders if Midoriya likes cats. As he struggles with villains, he thinks about how this will be Midoriya’s job one day. He dodges an attack and wonders if Midoriya would have been able to do the same, if he would have been so lucky. He trusts himself to properly prepare his students for this, but he can’t help but have paranoid thoughts, especially with internships coming up. Will the heroes his students go with be able to protect them? Will they disregard their lives, fall into habit and forget about them? Overestimate them, or underestimate their enemies?

He trusts that he can prepare them and wants to make sure they’re safe, it wouldn’t hurt to do some extra training with each of them, one on one, starting with Midoriya. It’s fine, he just wants to keep him safe, and it’s Midoriya’s choice as he adds his name to his offers. Surely Midoriya will pick him, it’s only logical to accept extra training from your teacher. He’ll make the right choice. He knows he will, but it wouldn’t hurt to strike some of the bigger names from the list. He is a child after all, he may get sidetracked by a flashy name and disregard more logical choices.

As he predicted, Midoriya chooses to do his internship with him. Aizawa sees the rest of his class off, and after saying goodbye to his friends Midoriya returns to his side with that bright look on his face.

“Ready?” Aizawa asks.

“Yes sir!” Midoriya chirps, and begins following him to the parking lot. “I was surprised when I saw your name on my list of offers.”

Aizawa hums. “You’re always getting into trouble, so I figured you could use the extra training.”

Midoriya ducks his head and laughs halfheartedly.

“Oh.” Aizawa stops and faces him. “You aren’t allergic to cats, are you?”

Midoriya’s face lights up and he shakes his head.

“No. Do you have cats, sensei?” he asks. Aizawa nods.

“A couple.”

Midoriya practically bounces in his seat during the drive to his house. Aizawa was already looking forward to getting to spend the time with him and share a space for a week, but Midoriya radiating glee is making Aizawa almost jittery with excitement.

“Oh! It’s not as empty as I was expecting…” Midoriya comments as he enters his home and looks around. His eyes are quickly drawn to the jingling black mass that rushes to greet them. Midoriya gasps and bends down to pet the cat, dropping his bags. Aizawa plops onto the couch as Midoriya familiarizes himself with all three of his cats, occasionally calling over his shoulder to ask about their names. Aizawa smiles to himself, enjoying the feeling of having Midoriya so close and spending time in his house. He imagines what it would be like if it was like this everyday, coming home from school along with Midoriya to their shared home. He quickly realizes how wrong that is and pretends to himself that he was just imagining the upcoming week.

Eventually, Midoriya stands, snapping him out of his thoughts, and asks, “So, what are we doing first?”

Right, the internship. He really wanted to sit here in and enjoy his company today, but he can’t think of a good excuse. It’s not even noon, so he can’t suggest getting something to eat, and he doubts Midoriya feels like napping until his patrol starts.

“Well, my patrol doesn’t start until tonight…” He rubs the back of his neck. “If you’re ready, we can train until lunch.”

Midoriya takes a determined stance and nods. Aizawa pushes himself off the couch and Midoriya tenses, lowering his stance. Aizawa blinks at him.

“...Not here,” he says, then motions towards the bathroom. “Go put on your gym uniform and meet me outside.”

He steps out the backdoor while Midoriya digs through his bag. He reaches for his goggles and puts them on, and when Midoriya steps out into the yard he tugs on his capture weapon, activating it.

“Huh? Out here?” Midoriya glances at the nearby houses.

“Yeah,” Aizawa responds. “I know some heroes don’t care about this, but learning to fight while minimizing property damage is important.”

He lowers his stance.

“Ready?”

Midoriya follows suit, determination glinting in his eyes.

“Yeah!”

 Aizawa lets the remainder of his capture weapon unwrap from around his neck to wind around Midoriya’s legs, demolishing any hopes he had of getting in a final blow as he crashes to the ground, the entirety of his cloth tying him up nicely. Aizawa removes his goggles and approaches Midoriya’s writhing form on the ground to help release him. He doesn’t have to use his bindings this way, if he’d left some of it around his shoulders he could have made it drop from Midoriya’s body with no effort, but this way he gets to touch him. He sinks his fingers under the fabric encasing Midoriya, his knuckles pressing firmly against the boy before he tugs and unwraps it. Aizawa wishes Midoriya was wearing fewer clothes, the only place he gets to feel his skin is his arms. He tried to bind them particularly tightly each time he caught him, just so he could justify touching him there so long, subtly dragging his fingers across his skin while pretending to search for the edge of the next loosest wrapping. Maybe he can convince him to spar in his t-shirt and shorts next time. Aizawa grabs the cloth wrapped around his chest and pulls his hand back along with the bindings quickly, finally freeing Midoriya’s arms. He runs his fingers up Midoriya’s thigh as he reaches under the fabric there, and much to Aizawa’s disappointment Midoriya starts unwrapping his other leg by himself. He'll remember to untie his arms last next time. He offers Midoriya his hand and helps him to his feet.

“Alright, we’ve been at this awhile, should be about lunchtime now. You feeling hungry yet?” he asks. His fingers feel like they're tingling, he tries to keep his hands from twitching as he recalls how Midoriya's skin felt underneath them. Midoriya nods and hums affirmatively.

“I don’t have much here, so we should probably head out and grab something to eat before getting some groceries for the week.”

“Okay, but can I take a shower first?” Midoriya tugs his damp shirt away from his skin. “I don’t want to go eat like this.”

“Sure.”

As they walk inside Aizawa points to one door near the living room.

“There’s a bathroom over there, but as you probably noticed it doesn’t have a shower.” He gestures to his bedroom. “The only shower is in the one in my room.”

“Oh, okay.” Midoriya looks around, apparently only just noticing the lack of other rooms. “Am I sleeping on the couch then?”

Aizawa pauses. That’s what he’d imagined, but…

“No, the couch would be bad for your back. You need to be in good shape if we’re going to be patrolling,” he says. “You can sleep on my bed.”

Midoriya looks surprised and asks, “What about you?”

“It’s big enough for both of us.”

Midoriya practically jumps out of his skin, discomfort spreading across his features. It honestly stings a bit.

“Wh-what? You want to share it?”

Aizawa lets his irritation show.

“Yeah. What’s the matter?”

Midoriya blinks at him, then looks at the ground, searching for an explanation and finding none. He deflates.

“Ah-- nothing. Sorry, I was just surprised.”

Aizawa waves his hand at him, motioning him away.

“Go take your shower,” he says and settles at his desk to do paperwork in the meantime. As Midoriya disappears behind the bathroom door, Aizawa tries to keep his mind from wandering and imagining what he’s doing back there. He tries not to linger on the thought of Midoriya peeling damp clothes from his body and stepping under the refreshing water, or the thought of joining him. Instead, he just tries to enjoy the ambiance of the running shower, the sound of sharing his home with someone else.

After his shower they head to a nearby restaurant Aizawa frequently orders from but rarely visits.

“Get whatever you want,” he tells Midoriya. He offers to pay for his own meal but Aizawa refuses and pays for both himself. As they eat, Aizawa can’t help but ask Midoriya about himself, and Midoriya doesn’t seem to mind answering despite how personal some of his questions become. Midoriya asks him plenty of his own questions, and Aizawa opens up despite himself. They go to the grocery store after their meal and Aizawa lets Midoriya guide him around as he picks things off the shelves. Aizawa likes getting to know what he likes to eat, and though Midoriya starts off only going for small, quick things, Aizawa manages to convince him to shop for proper meals. He’s never been fond of cooking for himself, but the thought of cooking and sitting down to eat with Midoriya everyday… well, he certainly doesn’t mind it, if the way his heart flutters a bit is any indication. He feels warm and happy just thinking about it. He can bear cooking for a week, it’ll be a learning experience for both of them, it’ll be fun.

They spend a couple hours and hundred yen more than they expected at the store, but Aizawa still thinks it’ll be worth it. After hauling the groceries into the car, into the house, and into their respective places, Midoriya plops onto the couch with a sigh, conveying his fatigue.

“My patrol doesn’t start until this evening.” Aizawa gestures to the bedroom. “You should probably nap until then or you’ll be pretty miserable.”

“A-and you?” Midoriya asks, sitting up a little. Aizawa would like to nap as well, especially with Midoriya, but…

“I’ve got work to do. You have the bed to yourself,” he says. Midoriya relaxes at that and agrees.

Aizawa does paperwork while Midoriya naps on the bed behind him. Once he hears his breathing soften he occasionally turns to observe his sleeping form, but otherwise he’s finally able to focus on his work, there’s no need to wonder about him and what he’s doing when he’s right behind him. This was a good idea. The little guilty voice that’s been nagging him finally quiets down.

 He can’t make himself relax while they’re on patrol. He knows he should try to hang back just a little and let Midoriya do some work, especially since they’re dealing with such small time villains tonight, but he can’t stop himself from jumping ahead and finishing fights as quickly as possible. He can’t know what they’re jumping into, Midoriya’s life could be ended before he even knows it. It’s honestly kind of a nightmare. Eventually, whether he means to or not, Midoriya takes matters into his own hands, he jumps into a scuffle without so much as warning him and practically gives Aizawa a heart attack. It’s already over by the time he manages to catch up with Midoriya’s Quirk enhance leaps, and he realizes he shouldn’t underestimate him. He’s able to relax just a bit afterwards.

He keeps his scolding to a minimum.

 Midoriya sits on his bathroom counter as Aizawa patches him up. No major injuries, but there are plenty of cuts and bruises littered around his body. Midoriya’s exhausted, the nap he took not lasting him quite long enough. He leans into Aizawa’s palm that’s cupping his cheek while he attends to a cut on the other side. Aizawa breathes out a laugh, Midoriya had insisted he could do this by himself, but here he is, eyes slipping shut, shoulders slumped, ready to nod off in his hand just a few minutes later. Midoriya’s eyes blink open at the sound, looking up at him curiously, but he lets them fall shut again without asking. He winces as Aizawa presses the disinfectant to his cut and sucks in a breath. Aizawa strokes his thumb against his cheek soothingly as he reaches into the open kit beside him to grab a bandage. His hand slips from Midoriya’s face and he shifts to support his own weight as Aizawa presses the bandage to his cheek and smooths it over gently.

“Okay, all done,” he says, brushing away the hair falling into Midoriya’s face. Midoriya’s half lidded eyes move to Aizawa’s hands in sleepy consideration. The skin of his knuckles had split from the force of his punches and Midoriya had offered to wrap them up since Aizawa refused to let him tend to his own injuries.

“We have a whole week to practice bandaging,” Aizawa assures and nods towards the bed. “Go lay down.”

Midoriya slides himself off the counter.

“Thank you,” he mumbles. Aizawa watches him walk to the bed and climb under the covers carefully, mindful of his injuries, before tending to his own bloody knuckles. He mentally chides himself as he cleans and wraps them, he knows how to throw a punch without breaking the skin, but he was so focused on ending fights quickly that he used way more force than he needed to. He definitely isn’t setting a great example for Midoriya, he already has issues with impulsiveness and self control. Aizawa sighs. He’ll do better tomorrow.

He flicks the lights off and climbs into bed on the side opposite to Midoriya and stares at the back of his head while waiting for his breathing to soften, then inches a bit closer. He listens for any signs of stirring, and moves even closer, and closer, until he’s just a few inches behind the boy. His heart pounds in his chest. He doesn’t touch him yet, he moves his head forward until Midoriya’s curls tickle his nose and breathes in, filling his lungs with his scent, trying to commit it to memory. Without thinking he reaches out and brushes his fingers against Midoriya’s arm. He has no plan or explanation if he wakes up, but thankfully he doesn’t need one as Midoriya doesn’t react. He does it again, using a little more pressure, and when Midoriya still doesn’t wake he wraps his arm around him and presses his body up against his, burying his face into his mess of hair. He feels a deep satisfaction spread through him along with Midoriya’s body heat and falls asleep in bliss.

Midoriya literally leaps out of bed, and his arms, when he wakes up at noon, apologizing over and over again as though Aizawa wasn’t the one who crossed his side. Aizawa rolls onto his back and stretches.

“It’s fine kid, I don’t mind.”

He can’t remember the last time he slept so well. He wants to roll over and go back to sleep, but the cats come jingling into the room crying for food and he figures they might as well get the morning routine started. Aizawa throws the blanket off himself and sits up to face Midoriya, who’s staring at the ground with his hands clenched and face beet red. Aizawa rolls his eyes.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Midoriya slowly relaxes while Aizawa cooks, busying himself by playing with the cats, and is mostly back to normal by the time he calls him to get his plate, he doesn’t seem to mind sitting on the couch and watching TV with him while they eat. Midoriya's presence next to him, being able to glance over and see him enjoying his food, food that he made for him, lightly chatting over the show their watching, it’s as warm and peaceful as Aizawa had imagined.

The following week goes by far too fast, but he feels incredible the whole time. He honestly thinks it’s the happiest he’s ever been, spending time with Midoriya and getting to know each other. The kid ends up having an easier time getting to know him than Hizashi or Nemuri ever have as well. Midoriya seems to feel good too, Aizawa will never forget the shock on his face when he actually genuinely laughed in front of him for the first time. He didn’t know he had it in him, but Aizawa quickly grows even fonder of Midoriya. However, it does come with the downside of making it really, really hard to keep his hands to himself, and Aizawa's starting to run out of reasons to.

Midoriya falls to the ground, tangled in Aizawa’s capture weapon once more. He maneuvers himself into a sitting position as Aizawa approaches to unwrap him, his face red from both exertion and embarrassment, contrasting the pale cloth wrapped around his head and over his mouth. As Aizawa pulls it away from his lips Midoriya huffs out an embarrassed laugh, looking away shyly. Looking at him in the dim evening light, Aizawa can’t help himself and leans forward to crash their lips together. Midoriya leans back, trying to break the kiss unsuccessfully, but the rational part of Aizawa complies with his wish and pulls away just slightly. Midoriya is staring at him wide eyed, and his desire wins over again, moving his hand to the back of Midoriya’s neck and pulling him into another kiss. He squeaks in protest, the sound tickling Aizawa’s lips as he saviors the heat and softness pressed against them. Midoriya tries to jerk away but Aizawa keeps him still, and when he tries to turn his head he moves both hands to his jaw to keep him in place until he’s satisfied.

He sighs as he pulls away, breathing over Midoriya’s face as he holds it in his palms. Midoriya looks horrified, and guilt and panic surge through him as he realizes what he’s done. Aizawa releases his face and grabs the capture weapon as he stands up, making it unravel all at once and return to his shoulders. He turns to walk back into the house.

“Go put on your costume, our patrol is about to start.”

Despite what happened, he hears Midoriya come inside and get ready a few minutes after Aizawa plants himself at his desk to drown himself in paperwork. He finds himself licking his lips over and over, and though worry pangs through his chest at what he’s already done, he regrets not daring to run his tongue over Midoriya’s lips directly.

Midoriya’s reactions are slow during patrol and Aizawa chides him for letting personal matters affect his work. He’s stiff and quiet during their lunch break and almost refused to eat just to avoid talking to him. Aizawa doesn’t know what to say, he knows he made the kid uncomfortable, and he certainly wouldn’t like being tied down and forced to kiss someone either, but all he can think about is how much he wants to do it again. He wants this all the time, Midoriya in his bed at night and in the morning, to eat with him, to hear him playing with his cats in the background while he works or naps, to have his lips against his any time he wants. He wants Midoriya so bad, and he can’t bring himself to apologize or say anything that might suggest he regrets it, so he says nothing.

When they get home Midoriya quietly ducks into the bathroom to change and patch himself up. Or maybe just hide, he stays in there much longer than Aizawa thinks he needs. He knocks on the door.

“Midoriya? Do you need help?”

“N-no.”

“Are you having trouble reaching that spot on your back?”

“...”

“Let me help.”

“...”

“Midoriya, you can’t leave it untreated.”

“...”

He starts to worry that he's going to hide in there all night, but just before it gets to the point of panic he hears the door unlock. Midoriya cracks it open.

“S-sorry... I was getting dressed,” he says, but the way he’s avoiding his gaze and practically hiding behind the door tells Aizawa otherwise. He pushes past Midoriya and has him turn his back. Lifting up the back of Midoriya’s shirt he finds a nasty scrape. It’s bloody, but not as bad as he had expected from the hit he took. He can tell how tense Midoriya is, he flinches and winces in the mirror as he cleans it but he never makes a sound, not even a hiss of pain escapes him. Aizawa finishes bandaging it and lowers his shirt, prompting Midoriya to quickly turn back around.

“Thank you,” he mutters, staring at the floor with fidgeting hands. He flinches a little as Aizawa reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“It’s what I’m here for.” Aizawa tries to smile in a reassuring way, but Midoriya doesn’t look up to see it.

“You tired yet?” Aizawa asks as they exit the bathroom and reenter the living room.

“Yeah…” Midoriya responds from behind him. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Aizawa turns to face him. “Why?”

“Just because…” he trails off, and squirms when he realizes Aizawa is waiting for a real explanation. He rubs his arms anxiously, shoulders up to his ears. He almost whispers, “...I’m not comfortable…?”

“You were fine with it before,” Aizawa states.

“Well--”

“Nothing’s changed,” he says. Midoriya eyes him curiously, clearly disagreeing.

“I always felt this way about you.”

Midoriya’s eyes drop back to the floor, and he flinches as Aizawa moves towards him to put a hand on his shoulder, nudging him towards the bedroom.

“Come on, this isn’t worth getting worked up over, it’s just one more night,” Aizawa reasons.

Midoriya silently follows him to the bed and climbs in, intending to lay close to the edge only to be pulled into Aizawa’s arms, where he lays stiffly and will for the rest of the night. Aizawa nuzzles him, burying his face into his hair as Midoriya turns his head away pointedly.

“...Isn’t this… kind of weird?” Midoriya asks quietly.

“What?”

“I mean… you’re a lot older than me, and you’re my teacher…”

“I don’t see why that makes it weird,” Aizawa responds. Midoriya doesn’t, so he continues, “None of that means I can’t care about you or want you in my life.”

“So… you like me, sensei?” he asks, turning his head even further away from him, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Of course I do.”

“I mean… like, like-like me?” he clarifies. Aizawa snorts at the childish phrase, though a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminds him that it’s childish because he is a child.

“Yes, I like-like you very much.”

It’s silly, but his heart speeds up just a little as he confesses, he feels warmth spreading through his chest as he finally makes his feelings known. Midoriya is quiet for a bit, and Aizawa almost thinks that might be the end of their conversation.

“I…” Midoriya starts. “...I’m sorry, I don’t think I--”

Aizawa hushes him.

“But--”

“Shhh... Go to sleep, Midoriya. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Midoriya stays quiet after that.

 They eat breakfast at the table this time, since Midoriya didn’t seem interested in following him to the couch today.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Aizawa asks as he brings his mug of coffee to his lips.

“Not really,” Midoriya responds bluntly, pushing food around on his plate.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Aizawa says. “I’ve been sleeping really well since you’ve been staying.”

Midoriya doesn’t respond. They eat in silence. Aizawa washes his own dishes when he’s done and hangs around the table until Midoriya finishes eating, sighing as he sets down his silverware.

“Sensei, I--”

“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve been this happy,” he starts as he grabs Midoriya's dishes and turns to wash them in the sink, busying his hands. “Having you here… waking up next to you, eating with you, providing for you, planning and spending our days together… it’s really nice.”

He sets the dishes in the rack to dry and turns back to face Midoriya, who’s staring at him.

“I’m glad you wanted to do your internship with me,” he says and smiles softly, letting all the warmth he feels in his chest show on his face. Midoriya stops gaping at him and instead stares down at the table, guilt and discomfort tugging at his features.

“Anyway, sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?” Aizawa asks innocently. Midoriya ducks his head a bit, fists clenching where they rest on the table.

“I-- Nothing. I was just gonna say thank you for breakfast,” he mumbles. Aizawa walks to his side and slips his palm under his jaw, tilting his head up as he bends down to kiss his cheek.

“Of course,” he says and presses his forehead to Midoriya’s, enjoying the closeness momentarily, before pulling away. “Alright, you better start getting ready for school.”

Midoriya nods and slides out of his chair to do so, a faint blush visible on his cheeks even as he sulks.

 “Thank you for having me,” Midoriya says as he unbuckles his seat belt, Aizawa having driven him around to the student entrance.

“Come visit anytime,” Aizawa says, though he knows he never will unless Aizawa drags him there.

He gets through the day just fine, teaching as normal, not getting distracted by the sight of Midoriya, able to focus as he grades in his office. It’s when he gets home that his need for Midoriya hits him. It’s so, so empty and dark without Midoriya there to brighten it up, even his cats don’t help. He stares at his bed, and despite the fatigue weighing on his body he can’t imagine lying in it without him. He tries to distract himself from the ache in his chest by drowning himself in paperwork until his patrol.

He’s always preferred working alone, and he doesn’t miss the anxiety that came with patrolling with Midoriya, but now even that’s a lonely reminder to him. He finds himself constantly looking over his shoulder expecting to see Midoriya’s adorable face there, and then remembering that he’s not here.

He knows he can’t let things go back to normal. He can’t let Midoriya go.

After his patrol ends he enters the dormitories and makes his way up to Midoriya’s room. U.A. had trusted him with the keys to all the kids’ rooms, and he unlocks and enters his room silently. He quietly shuts and relocks the door behind him. Midoriya looks much more peaceful here than he did sleeping in Aizawa’s bed. That doesn’t stop him from lifting the covers and squeezing onto the too small bed behind him. Midoriya shouts as he’s woken, understandably startled by his intruder.

“Shh, it’s just me,” Aizawa assures.

“S-sensei--”

“Go back to sleep, Midoriya. It’s alright.”

 He’s finally, finally able to focus again, thoughts of Midoriya no longer flooding his mind during school or grading or patrol knowing that eventually, in those few hours after his patrol ends and before school begins, he’ll be able to hold Midoriya in his arms. He starts making more time for himself, too, to make time for Midoriya. Though most of that time is spent napping on his bed while he does homework, he does sometimes convince him to go out on little dates with him, or sometimes just pulls him into bed to cuddle while Midoriya trembles.

Even if it makes Midoriya uncomfortable, Aizawa's work is important and being able to focus on it is important. This is for the best.

#aideku #aizawadeku #my writing #age difference #uh #a little later than id intended sorry abt that lol #bnha #this isnt smutty or not sfw at all but i figure yall might want to see it anyway #long post #for the mobile users #bc read mores are a mystery on there

[yoolee]

50 SLBP Prompts

I am having an off morning. For a lot of reasons. My primary method for handling these bouts is to chug water, and pour the nervous energy into whatever the heck comes to mind and hope the heartbeat thing sorts itself out while I ignore it, so, here you go. Some of these will be terrible. Most of them will be ridiculous because it’s me y’all I don’t write angsty or meaningful substance-y stuff it’s all ballet and feather boas. Don’t judge me on how many superhero ones there are I’m on a kick. AND WHATEVER you don’t have to do anything with them if you don’t like them but you can if you do

Yukimura

Yukimura and MC are having a fight – Saizo is off on a mission, so Nobuyuki has to fix it.

“I don’t think he can get redder. Unless…” “Oh no,” started the chef, “Not a chance.”

Usually Saizo handles the ninja missions, but this time you and Yukimura have to go to undercover and please stop laughing Saizo we’re trying okay.

Saizo

Soulmate AU where when your soulmate first speaks to you, the words appear permanently over your heart – which incidentally, is why Saizo kept his mouth shut when you met as children.

Superhero (villain?) AU where the little fox half-mask is not fooling anyone. Except you, probably.

You’re very tired of Saizo trying to push you away for your own good, so you decide to turn the tables. Sort of.

Ieyasu:

You get three wishes and Ieyasu has to grant them – but he’ll do so as he pleases, so, be careful what you wish for.

Ieyasu’s ticked off a vengeful spirit and now one or the both of you can only say the exact opposite of what you mean. If it’s Ieyasu,  would you even notice?

You are about 99% certain that the local supervillain’s civilian identity is the cute jerk with a sweet tooth who never tips when he visits your restaurant and this time when you are kidnapped you decide to offer to cook while you wait for your hero to show up. Bonus points if your local superhero is a super grumpy Mitsunari who is unhappy with how many times you end up in this guy’s clutches come on seriously have you no self-awareness

Mitsunari:

Librarian AU where someone’s book is overdue

You’re supposed to be a respectful retainer of Hideyoshi but look at you, you’re scrawny and don’t know how to hold a sword, I’m going to fix that.

By insulting you that person also insulted Hideyoshi’s taste and I can’t have that we are having a makeover session now and when I am done with you you are going to show them that you are a stunning, gorgeous creature if it kills you.

Hideyoshi:

Cinderella story where Hideyoshi puts Nobunaga’s sandal on MC and declares it’s a fit.

You’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask Hideyoshi out on a date and it finally happened only you also realize that he sort of set the whole thing up and you two going out was his plan all along.

Hideyoshi is assembling a superhero team, and has to convince the Fox (Mitsunari) and the Strategist (Hanbei) to join, all while keeping his own personal Lois Lane (…MC) in the dark about his secret identity, and the head of the superhero syndicate (Nobunaga) happy.

Toshiie/Inuchiyo

This creepy guy (Magistrate) won’t leave me alone, quick, pretend to be my fiancé so he’ll stop

We’re at a festival and I finally confessed but there were fireworks and you didn’t hear me, now what

Soulmate AU where the last words spoken to one another appear on your hands the first time you meet, and you were just a kid and don’t really remember but I do, and I’m not sure I ever want you to know because they broke my heart.

Mitsuhide:

Mitsuhide runs a daycare and his most problematic child is actually his landlord, Nobunaga

It’s been four and a half centuries since Honnō-ji, but like clockwork, Mitsuhide and Nobunaga are standing across from one another, on the umpteenth reincarnation and umpteenth confrontation, and this time, it’s going to end differently. 

You’ve fallen in love with a book of poetry and bought everything the author’s written and you’re just gushing about it to some poor stranger on the train while on your way to culinary school and surprise, turns out he’s the author? 

Nobunaga:

Nobunaga is an ACTUAL Demon King and all you did was spill some spices and salt while reaching for the first aid kit, you weren’t actually trying to summon him, you swear.

After the number of times that Nobunaga has made MC be Princess Kaguya for one of his tournaments, the moon is actually starting to suspect she might be, and has let her know that it will be reclaiming her on the next full moon.

Modern political leader Nobunaga is super excited to drag his new personal chef on a private jet because the meeting he has to attend JUST HAPPENS to be in the same place that’s famous for its high quality ingredients and whoops we have to fend off some would-be assassins while in the air nbd.

Shingen:

MC is working for Kenshin, Shingen decides he wants her with him instead.

Vampire AU (he has a thing for biting, k?) – bonus if chef!MC is frustrated she can’t cook with garlic anymore or is panicking because she HAS been cooking with it this whole time

Shingen decides he should write an autobiography, but his retainers keep interjecting their own thoughts and perspectives whenever he leaves his notes out.

Kenshin:

AU where Kenshin owns a flower shop

MC has a date so she frantically asks Kenshin for styling help because he’s fashionable right? Except he decides she looks way too cute to handover to someone else.

Every item in his treasury has a story – it’s just not the one he tells to other people.  

Masamune:

 Surprise! He actually IS a dragon. And in all his time as a dragon, no one has ever dared talk to him until this little chef heard his dragon tummy rumble and made him porridge, and now he’s walking around as a human and hey look, this restaurant has porridge and it smells familiar…

 All Masamune wants to do is read his book in peace. It’s not going well.

 This whole time I thought you were Yahiko but I went to your restaurant to meet your sister and ‘Yahiko’ greeted me and now I’m not sure if your parents are just bad at names or if something’s up.

Kojuro:

 Adventures in Babysitting: The Early Oshu Years OR Teenage Kojuro is going to have ONE night of not being a responsible adult before the existential terror of being responsible for these two guys who have been through so much and have no one else really hits home.

 I’d really like to take you out on ONE date that doesn’t end in bandits attacking, but here we are again, you brought your weapon right? 

 Several years ago, a cursed object was sent as a ‘gift’ to Kojuro but it got lost in his messy room and you’re cleaning it and whoops, should not have picked that up you’re cursed now. Except, the cursecaster didn’t account for half a decade of inactivity...

Shigezane:

 I’m sorry you got dumped because the other person fell for Kojuro but I think you’re really cool but I don’t know how to tell you that so I’m just going to feed you and hope you pick up on it or that I get the gumption to talk to you before you’re done eating. 

I THOUGHT my personal superhero who keeps rescuing me from all these supervillains (and my restaurant’s jerky landlord) was the quiet customer with the eyepatch but it’s actually his cousin and I just found out by accident and was not expecting that. 

 You are bound and determined to protect the castle at all costs in Shigezane’s absence so when a burglar breaks into his bedroom in the middle of the night you don’t even hesitate to hit him with a vase. Too bad it’s actually Shigezane, who got home and just didn’t want to wake everyone up.

Side Characters:

Kagieie: We’re on a mission for Kenshin and the weather got really bad and so now we’re stuck at an inn that only had one room left.

Kanetsugu: Kenshin’s retainers all rally to (try) and give the man a relaxing spa day.

Toramatsu: Our boss is a total jerk and I can’t believe he is making you go get coffee (that he won’t even drink) for the eleventh time today and it’s almost 2 AM there’s no way I’m letting you go alone but—oh wait the elevator’s stuck.

Kiyohiro: I tried to build a snowman but it wasn’t the same without so I came to see you and whoops now we’re snowed in.

Oichi: Nobunaga may have disappeared, but Oichi is not about to let the Oda clan fall under anyone else’s leadership– she’s taking history into her own hands.

Nobuyuki: Your small restaurant is about to be taken over by a large corporation, lucky for you your favorite customer has a plan – whether you’re going to like it or not.

Tadakatsu: No one actually ever noticed you were in disguise, but since your cooking is too good to risk, you got assigned as a page to Tadakatsu.

Kansuke: After being invisible nearly his entire life, Kansuke decides that for one day – ONE day – he is going to be memorable.

Hotaru: Accidentally tells the MC to ‘do what whatever she wants’ instead of making it a suggestion

Generic Retainers #1-#3: All we wanted was some peace and quiet and a decent job but somehow we always end up getting beaten up by these samurai over some girl – and oh shoot, she just walked in.

Yasumasa: I really hate this girl but I am also SORT of addicted to her cooking and she got tired of Ieyasu’s BS and went back to her home in Kyoto and now I’m in Kyoto and her restaurant is RIGHT. THERE. smelling amazing and such.

Ye Olde AU List

Coffeeshop AU

Corporate AU

College AU

Mermaid AU

Fairytale AU

Circus AU

Mafia AU

Band AU

Sports AU

Bodyswap AU

#slbp #saizo #yukimura #shigezane #kojuro #masamune #ieyasu #mitsunari #toshiie #inuchiyo #hideyoshi #shingen #kenshin #mitsuhide #nobunaga #oh lord everyone else too #too lazy to tag. #prompts #slbp prompts #prompt

[brujebutchdraws]

this post features talk of abuse, ableism, pathologization, ABA therapy, forced medication and dehumanization. please do skip it if this might put your mental health at risk. the r slur will be spelled as such “r.t.rd”.

spoilers for the Undertale game have to be looked out for too.

links will be in bold.

[three images of the video game Undertale’s character Toriel, one being a gif, and the two others being the same images, but transparent and composing the gif. Toriel wears an all-red outfit, a short sleeved dress with a flame print on it, with crimson red heels. she also carries a small plastic bag with stimtoys in it. a grey sealion squishie, a green handspinner, a black and green music and sound-concealer headphones, a purple chewerly necklace, and a book of her child’s special interest, knights. she first holds her free hand to where her soul rests, eyes closed with a calm smile, and then she extends her free arm to her right, and ignites a flame in which a puzzle piece is scorched black. her eyes are also open with her mouth, in a friendly expression. 

upside of her is written the tag Go Red Instead. downside her is written the tag actually autistic. both are in big red letters. on her left is written “support autistic people” followed by “by being good allistic parents”, and then to her right by  the following:

“by rejecting the ‘suffering but courageous Autism Mom’ ableist fetishistic narrative and all of its variations.”

“by accepting your childd as they are by nature and stopping the pursuit of ‘cures’ when there is no disease.”

“by acknowledging your past mistakes and growing from them.”

“by reassuring your child that their worth is not defined by how ‘normal’ they appear to their peers.”

“by telling them ‘I love you’ without ‘even if you’re...’ following behind.”

“by learning to adapt to your child, and not have them to adapt to you, the advantaged adult.”

“by subsiding to certains of their needs/desires, even if they’re unconventional or unrelatable to you, so long they aren’t dangerous, of course.”

“by considering them as people first, your autistic kid(s) second. You are the only one able to truly protect their agency as a person in their formative years.”

“by letting them be the teller of their own story. if not vocally, sign language an alternatives exist. please use them.”

the phrases are all preceded by upside-down red-lined hearts.]

this is april month, autistic people awareness’ month, so i’m here to teach anyone who’d listen a bit about smtg from autistic people.

#(Go)ReadInstead is a movement of the autistic community against autism speaks’ “light it blue” movement. autism speaks promotes the idea that autistic people are sick, compare us to cancer patients, and “light it up blue” to “raise awareness about the Bad Autism we must seek and destroy out of our children”. it is a logic of abuse apologism and ableist conceptions of a neurodivergency that is no illness and neither lethal nor dangerous to anyone, caused by old myths and outdated fears of demons and faeries/changelins.

the character Toriel is not hinted at, coded, or canonically autistic. she is, though, canonically the mother of Chara, a character who i interpret as being autistic. Toriel is far from being the perfect mother, in fact she made huge mistakes that failed her child. however, she is able of wisdom and humility, and i believe that given the chance, she would learn to be an excellent parent to an autistic child, even with their trauma on top of that. that’s why i deem it best to illustrate my point with this caring goat monster.

i don’t know much about good parenting from a carer’s point of view, i’ll admit, because of personal trauma. i do have insights from the child’s position. but first, i’ll quote an helpful fellow, who i will be calling C :

“from experience, I can tell you that the worst thing you can do for you autistic children is to prioritize managing their behavior over raising them in an open minded and loving environment that addresses their needs.

like if you have a kid that moves around a lot to stim and you pull the "quiet hands" bullshit to try to get them to sit down instead of giving them other opportunities to let out energy and teaching them to manage their own movements, for example.

bad parents, they don't care about their kids, they only care about garnering sympathy for themselves because "OH IT'S SO HARD BEING THE PARENT OF A DIFFICULT CHILD”.

well that's some stuff about bad parents but a good parent of an autistic child, or any child for that matter, would be able to not only address their child's needs but also would care enough to make adjustments to themselves and the way they approach a child care if this is something they're totally new to.

though in this day and age, even parents who don't have any autistic family members don't have any right to not know autistic kids and people exist.

basically look at Autism Speaks and do NOTHING that they do.

support groups that only deal with supporting relatives of people with autism and not communicating with autistic people themselves are bad news.

stay far away from any counseling or pediatric resources that treat children showing traits typical of autism as showing "symptoms" or try to determine of kids are "at risk".

you can either help them grow into an environment where they're allowed to achieve their potential for independence and happiness.

or you can suppress them into submission and condition them to not be an inconvenience to you, which is unfortunately what a lot of parents try to do, whether out of malice or ignorance.”

i don’t have much to add, to be honest. i asked for advice and they made a point by point explanation that just did the whole job.

the keyword is also ACCEPTING. not just tolerating. no, fullout, entire acceptance. and never trying to “cure” your kid. because they’re okay, in that aspect. sure, they’ll have a difficult life in a world that doesn’t want to acknowledge them, but by trying to suppress their very nature, you’d just be playing by this world’s rules. that makes you an executioner, simply put, not a saviour or a protector.

reject all movements linked to autism moms. you are no mom or dad or pam of autism. you’re an allistic parent of an autistic child. you do not have a special parent status. you have allistic privilege over your child. use it wisely. 

or you’ll get a child like me: actually unable to function properly due to traumatic pushes for me to be all-time allistic passing, an indigo child, having learned self-destructive behaviours to take out the frustration on myself, an extremely bad self-esteem, and anger issues, and a fear and hatred of authority without explanations, and ultimately, a broken adult who loathes their parents more than anyone else in the fucking universe, and disowned them.

you don’t want that. and the only alternative to my outcome of anger because of allistic abusive parenting is a scared, hiding child, who is bound to be a dead child, by suicide, exhaustion or murdered for not being good enough. 

because only my anger saved me. taking the path of dehumanizing your offspring can only result in them destroying you, metaphorically, or destroying themselves. no in-between of miraculously not autistic anymore youth.

consider that. 

do not just support the autistic people that you can control to make yourself look good, do not think of us as little mindless things to direct according to your allistic narratives. value us all, respect us all and support us all.

companion pieces about autistic people: Papyrus, Chara, sans.

companion pieces about allistic allyship: Frisk, Grillby, Flowey.

Thanks you for your attention- Uidelsib E.N.

i invite you to course through my #actuallyautistic tag on my main, elitigre, for more insight on many things autistic.

my askbox on said blog is also open for you to ask some things on being autistic. do keep in mind i’d be answering on my free time, not as a job.

the character Toriel, from the video game Undertale (2015), belongs to Toby Fox.

this post is not invitation for debate on the autistic spectrum being an illness, harmful, or how Actually Autism Speaks Is Good And ABA Saves Lives.

all attempts to do so will be blocked. Go Read Instead.

#GoRedInstead #redinstead #actuallyautistic #undertale #ut: toriel #FuckAutismSpeaks #FuckLightItBlue #fanart #digital art

[melasvera]

Painless. Fearless. Reckless. (Bendy x Reader) Part 2

A/N: Real quick. This is the set up chapter to get you to the studio, so bare with me please. You'll be at the studio next chapter.

Note, Ryan is supposed to be drunk, so I tried to make it seem like his speech is slurred. Devon has... some kind of accent. Devon is based off a friend of mine, and Real Life!Devon speaks like Fiction!Devon. RL!Devon has, like, some odd blend of a southern and Boston accent, I think. I don't think his accent can be classified. But I shouldn't talk. Apparently I have a French/British/Scottish accent, and I was born in Colorado!

Anyways!

Thank you to everyone whose liked and checked out this story!

Enjoy, and remember the story (should) picks up next chapter.

Chapter 1- Dare

It all began with a dare. A stupid dare made by stupid college kids at an equally as stupid party.

And you were just stupid enough to allow Ryan to take it.

You weren't even drunk! Why did you go along with it!?

Well, at least you weren't alone….

It was a Friday night when your roommate, Ryan, dragged you and your other roommate, Devon, to a party at some frat house. Usually you and Devon refused to go to such places, seeing as those type of things just weren't your scene. Plus, on those rare occasions when you did decide to go to out, it was almost a guarantee someone would make a lewd comment about you living with two dudes and they would usually always ask if they could ever join in.

It wasn't even like that! You trusted Ryan and Devon, loved them as brothers, and you knew them since elementary school. You all were just good friends who decided to live together to alleviate the cost of living as true adults.

Better to live together and suffer together then to suffer and struggle alone, was your logic.

And it was working out pretty well. The only downsides were Ryan's drinking and partying, Devon bringing home all types of bugs and plants, and your excessive buying of art supplies. At least Ryan didn't bring his vices home, Devon kept his stuff in his room, and you all made sure you could still help with the bills. Bills none of you truly had to worry about, due to your parents paying them, but still tried to help with nonetheless. None of you were comfortable being moochers.

That brings you to your current situation.

It had been a very stressful couple of weeks full of exams, working, and just general attempts at trying to be real adults. Ryan believed you all needed to relax, and what better why than to go to an end of exam party?

You and Devon just looked at each other, both thinking of several hundred things that would be more relaxing than a party, but in the end you both relented and got ready to go out, to the delight of your shaggy-haired friend.

It took less then ten minutes for you to get ready. You didn't care enough to change out of your outfit that consisted of a t-shirt, jeans, and an old pair of converses. Grabbing your favourite shoulder bag, you collected several items your father gave you the day you left for college; a can of police grade pepper spray, a pocket sized first aid kit, and a portable charger.

Once in you bag you looked around your room, debating if you needed anything else before you went to go wait by the door. Devon took twenty minutes longer than you, and the drive over was filled with idiots on the road, but eventually you and Devon begrudgingly walked behind Ryan into the frat house.

Crappy music was blaring, bodies were swaying, and alcohol was flowing.

Sweet heaven almighty, you could almost taste the hormones in the air.

Your eyes narrowed and you frowned as you briefly debated about going back to the car, not wanting to deal with so many alcohol, and maybe even drug, addled people. But you decided you made it this far, might as well go all the way, what did you have to lose?

Devon immediately hooked his arm around yours as you both dodge around the crowd, Ryan already lost within it (which was amazing because the dude was just over six feet), to find a semi-quiet spot. You both decided on the living room where a game of beer pong was being played. Together you sat by the fireplace, thankful that it wasn't on and that is was clear of both trash and people.

It took around five minutes of watching uncoordinated drunkards trying to toss a ball in a cup before someone offered you a drink and an eye wiggle.

Thankfully they left you alone after your first denial. Either those PSA's lied or you were just lucky, but you never were pressured into drinking or doing drugs. The only thing people tried to push you for was sex, and you weren't afraid to give those types of people you're two cents.

Devon sighed heavily, as the intoxicated man finally left you alone, pulled out a rubber band bound packet of note-cards from his hoodie jacket and handed you to them.

You huffed out a small laugh at what you guessed was vocabulary for one of his classes. Understanding what he wanted, and not wanting to drink and mingle, you began quizzing your friend. This gained you both some odd looks, but no one did anything about it. It was actually rather peaceful, once you got used to ignoring the noise.

It was after someone belly flopped on the beer pong table, over an hour later, breaking it that the people around you began a game of truth or dare. You thought it was all rather juvenile of them, but then again you didn't make a habit of going to parties, so maybe this was a normal frat party activity.

You and Devon both tried your best not to sneer in disgust at some of the dares, not wanting to catch the eye of a short tempered drunk looking for a fight. But, honestly, some of those dares were just….. did they seriously have no shame? There was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and you should know seeing as you frequently flirted with that line. Besides, you were certain some of the things they were doing was illegal in several states.

The two of you continued to ignore the idiotic people close to you, hoping that no one would include you in someone's dare, when you heard Ryan's name being called. Devon and yourself looked over to see what your taller friend was doing.

A girl you didn't know was giggling and hanging off Ryan's arm, who didn't look as drunk as usually did this far into a party (aka he wasn't passed out, stumbling, or slurring words), and was loudly daring him.

"R~y~a~n!" The way she attempted to make her shitty, sing-song voice sound sexy made you shiver unpleasantly, "I-I dare you *giggles* I dare you t'go to….to Drew Studios. An' ya godda stream it too." The girl giggled, as if she said the most amusing thing in the entire world.

Ryan grinned, a look of pure determination taking over his face as the people around him agreed with the dare, egging him to take it.

Devon paled, you sighed heavily in resignation.

You knew that look. There was no way either you or Devon were ever going to deter him, but you didn't trust his drunk ass alone.

Devon quickly jumped to his feet, a worried look plastered on his face, and three shaky fingers in the air, "We volunteer as tribute!"

Apparently Devon didn't either.

You sighed again and stood, slipping the flashcards into Devon's back pocket. Guess you were going to try and keep your mildly drunk friend from dying in an abandoned studio in the middle of the woods.

Eh. You've done harder things before.

'Besides,' you thought as you eyed the young alcoholics in the making, 'this could work out for you.'

Without pause you stepped up onto the litter ridden couch and hollered to get everyone's attention. "HEY!"

Remarkably you got their attention and no one threw anything at you.

"If Ryan's going to do this dare," the idiots cheered and jostled each other with their back slapping, "we're going to need somethings so we don't get caught, and, or, so we don't die. And no one wants to be blamed for either of those, right?"

The people were either really drunk or really stupid to believe anything you said. Or both.

You were inclined to believe that it was probably both. Which was a good thing, seeing as they were more inclined to do as you said.

Then again, most people knew who your parents were, so maybe that motivated them?

"First, off, we need backpacks or bags, then we need gloves, at least fifty dollars, maybe some masks, some food, water bottles, flashlights, and that man's pocket knife!" You counted off each item with a raised finger then pointed with your sixth finger to a young man with an obvious lump in his pocket.

The young man blinked slowly and hesitantly pointed to himself, "Me?"

You nodded, still pointing. "Yes. You all want Ryan to get into Drew Studios, right? A knife will make it easier." Not really. You just wanted his knife. You've never seen the building outside of pictures your art teacher showed the class, but you were sure that there was someway to get inside without having to pick a lock.

Nobody moved. You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms. "Well, you want a show or not? Get going!"

You stepped off the couch as the part of the crowd that wanted to see something illegal happen scrambled to gather the things you said you required, while the rest of them either tried to convince Pocket Knife Guy to hand over the knife or watched the chaos.

It was the girl who was hanging off Ryan who eventually persuaded the guy to give you the knife.

What she did to do that left you in awe and mild discomfort. That girl was either really drunk or really confident in herself, kind of inspiring, in a way.

Fiddling and got acquainted with your newly acquired weapon, which turned out to be a red Swiss Army knife with a yellow dog on it (fucking score! ), you waited next to your friends. Devon, in all of his four foot ten glory, was berating and trying to get Ryan to back out of the dare.

"Come on man! It'll be fun! Where's your sense of adventure! Think of the views dude . "

It wasn't working out so well.

Devon's eye twitched as he gave his deadpan answer, "Left 'em back home with Teresa."

"Your pet spider doesn't count, Short-stack."

"Think of the jail time."

"We have a kick-ass lawyer on our side if we get caught, we'll be fine."

The shorter one of your friends groaned and turned towards you, "[Name]! [Name], do somethin', talk 'im outta this craziness!"

Your shrugged as gently dragged your index finger down the largest blade of knife, unable to feel it kissing your skin, "Nah."

Devon sputtered, you grinned.

"N-nah, ya say? Fuckin' nah? The dude gonna get 'imself caught or somethin' an' all ya can say is 'nah'?" His incredulous tone of voice made your lips twitch in amusement.

Ryan laughed and slapped Devon's back, "Two 'gainst one, we win!"

Devon ignored him and looked at you in disbelief, waiting for your answer.

You snapped the knife back into it's home and clenched your fist around the four inch handle. With a smile you looked at your worried friend with a small reassuring smile, "We volunteered as tribute."

"B-but, [Name]!" Devon whines as he floundered to try to think of something that would make you convince Ryan to back out.

"B'sides," your shrug, placing the knife into your bag, "can't make Drunk Ryan do anything he doesn't want to," here said drunk young man began nodding in agreement, "might as well tag along and make sure the drunken dumb-ass doesn't do anything to illegal or off himself in some stupid way."

Ryan kept nodding for a few more seconds before what you said hit is alcohol soaked mind, "Wha- Hey!"

Devon snorted, a smile fighting its way onto his still worried face.

"And you can go home, or stay in the car or something if you really don't want to go. I'm can handle him, we won't make you."

Devon laughed hysterically, and sarcastically, at that.

"Yeah, no," he finally said with a look of pure incredibility, "leave my drunk friend with zero inhibition with the friend who woulda know what danger was if it punched her in the kisser, I'mma not livin' with that kind'a guilt, m'kay?"

Ryan swung an arm around the both of you, pulling you two into a three way hug, "Great! Now I need help coming up with a YouTube name."

It was official then. The three of you were going to break into an abandoned animation studio from the twenties and live-stream the proof to a YouTube channel that Ryan made as you and Devon argued. All for a dare.

It was decided, with no real input from you or Devon, that the channel's name would be DrewStudiosLive.

…...

Drunk Ryan wasn't a very imaginative Ryan.

Throughout your conversation, and about fifteen minutes after, all the items you requested had be collected, plus some.

Apparently the host of the party were very generous when intoxicated.

The items were all in a pile before you, consisting of an ugly neon green drawstring bag, an old soccer duffel bag, six mismatched winter gloves in varies colours and sizes, a butt load of washcloths, some bandannas, some left over, half full, bags of chips, water bottles, a pack of canned beers, and a plastic baggie with cash (fucking yes, they did it!). In lieu of a flashlight someone was smart enough, or drunk enough, to throw in a tub of glow sticks. On top of all that some smart-ass donated a small first aid and condoms with a note that said, 'have fu die :P' on it.

Your rolled your eyes at the last item and threw the condoms up into the air so they fell into the crowd. You heard a few cheers at that.

Turning back to the small pile you happily divided you're haul between the duffel, drawstring, and your own shoulder bag. You palmed the first aid kit, wondering if you should be the one to carry it, before placing it in the duffel and with the beers. Meanwhile, Ryan wrote the name of the new YouTube channel down so that people knew where to tune in, and Devon left to get the car ready, bemoaning his fate the entire time.

You and Ryan left the house with people cheering you on, wishing you luck, and throwing more glow sticks in the air, like people used to throw rice at weddings.

The laughter bubbling in your chest couldn't be stopped, even once your were in the car and on your way to the studio. You just couldn't believe that you got a houseful of your drunken peers to give you stuff all because you said you'd need it to complete some stupid dare. You continued to chuckled to yourself as you counted the money they collected. Maybe you should go out to parties with Ryan more often, who knows what you could convince people to give you if you said it was for their entertainment.

"Sooooo….." Devon drawled, not taking his eyes off the road, "what do we need fifty dollars for? It's not that far, so it's not for gas."

Snickering you answered, "We don't need it." You waved the bag of money around, "This is merely….. a…... donation. A wish for good luck."

Quite, then Devon snorted and briefly looked in the rear view mirror at you. "You just wanted their money, didn'tcha?"

You nodded once with a giant smile on your face, "I just wanted their money. And the knife. Got me a pretty sweet knife. I think it has, like, ten functions, at least." You looked back down at the money, the smile growing into a smirk, "They did good. Got more than fifty here. After this is over with we're eating out someplace that's not Jack in the Box."

This time it was Ryan who spoke, who had been silent until now because he found the beer in the duffel. "'ow much yo-you got there?" He ended with a burp, which he blew into the driver's face. Devon wrinkled his nose but otherwise didn't react.

Humming happily, and placing the cash into your bag, "Almost eighty. And stop it, save those for later!"

Groaning in disappointment, Ryan tilted his head back to chug the rest of his drink before crushing the can and tossing it on the floor.

"Ei-eighty bucks?" Devon threw his head back and cackled at that, then continued to grumble about how maybe the night wasn't so bad after all.

A/N: Make sure you tell me what you think, what I should improve on and what not.

Thanks again!

Part 1

#bendy and the ink machine #bendy x reader #x reader #x reader fanfic #bendy the dancing demon #bendy #bendy the demon #batim #batim bendy #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #the ink machine #bendy the dancing devil #posted on ao3 #posted on wattpad #posted on fanfiction.net #posted on quotev #posted on deviantart #painless fearless reckless #painless #fearless #reckless #bendy oc

[loki-of-war]

On the future of TWD

(EDIT: Reposting due to a formatting error)

So I’ve seen a lot of people commenting and sharing their opinions lately on how Chandler’s departure will affect the show, if it will survive this hit or not, for how many seasons more will TWD run, etc, etc. And I decided, now that I’m thinking more rationally (I hope) and I’m able to form understandable sentences, to share my honest thoughts with you lovely people on this entire mess.

Which is as follows: I give the show a minimum lifespan of ten seasons (meaning, the show will end in two more seasons) and a maximum of twelve seasons in total. This is my verdict, feel free to disagree with me.

Now onto explaining why I think this is so:

I can sort of see why old fans who left and people who have never liked Carl or feel lukewarm about him are happy this death is going to happen. But on the other side I'm thinking this kind of mentality is the reason why the show gets away with terrible decisions and why they keep making them over and over, declining in quality. I don't think it's right to condone mediocrity; this is from someone like me who has stayed on the TWD's side so far hoping they'd find the right footing at some point this season  (then, obviously, because why wouldn’t they, my patience and tolerance was rewarded with this haha). And as I mentioned in a previous comment I made on YT, no matter what the public's feelings for Carl are, they won't change the importance of his role in the plot and his fundamental connection to Rick (this latter element has an effect on the whole cast, for better or for worse).

But anyway, Carl's death is going to change the entire mood of the series from now on so it definitely will never be as it once was and I think because of that the story will slowly bleed out. I mean, Carl has been the greatest determinator for every single one of Rick's decisions the entire show, and not only that but what he symbolised as a character, the hope for a better future, is gone now. What do children, sons, daughters, symbolise in every universal story? The next generation, what comes after, that not everything is going to be screwed up forever; especially after seeing how unmerciful TWD's world has proven to be for children and having Carl be the only exception to this 'kids cannot survive this world' rule has sort of become a moot point thanks to the...current circumstances.

Rick's and Lori's speeches to Carl in seasons 2 and 3 respectively justify this way of thinking: that after everyone from their generation (the adults) dies, Carl will have to take the reins and move on. I refuse to believe any writer with common sense would write such important pieces of dialogue just because they felt like it, just because they're emotional words without any other kind of meaning behind them. That is just lazy and awful writing in my opinion. Why write these poignant moments only to have the kid killed long before the end of the series? Why write/do anything if those things are going to be ignored later down the line, nevermind that every piece in a story must connect with the others? Why bother teaching him this morality lessons if they're all going to go to waste anyway; if he will never have a character arc/storyline that is plot relevant where his morals are challenged? (Good on you, whoever made the call, for missing out on possible great storylines for Carl that would have improved viewing and the quality of the show). That doesn't make a bit of sense, unless that what they were looking for was to give the events leading up to his sudden death some twist of irony, and that'd be perfect and all, except that Carl dying was so not part of the plan (the improvisation is so obvious it hurts me in the balls I don't have) and even the way his death was set up was graceless-the bite- and not something one would expect from the same people who made/directed/wrote/produced Season 4. In other words, killing him was basically flipping off the idea of a future in the face, whether they meant to do that or not, and this is bound to turn the overall mood the series to a much grim and darker tone to an already heavy themed and toned series. Many people won't find themselves too content with that heavier tonal change, I think, if the ratings for season 7 are to be trusted.

Ignoring that the conclusion to this was having him die though,  I do have to say the actual set up in the mid season finale itself was beautiful and emotional (Chandler's acting was on point, he was the star of this episode), but the chain of actions leading up to it was lackluster. With lackluster I mean that he is a very important character that has literally been wasted for far too long; if you look at his progression throughout the seasons you'll realize he has not done much from a plot perspective despite being a main character. Therefore, his death feels unsatisfactory and empty because one can't help but feel that he hasn't nearly done as much as he should have. What he did to save his people in the mid season finale was amazing but it wasn't enough to make up for a notorious lack of screen time over full eight seasons, moreover if the motivations that drove him to that point, to that mentality, to that philosophy, don't make sense because his personality has made a one eighty from how he was the previous season with no type of prior explanation as to why that happened.

It may not seem like it but I'm actually a huge fan of angst and favorite-character-slaughter. I love when books, music, movies, videogames, series make me suffer (great examples of this are my undying love for Hannibal the tv show and that my favorite videogames are the ones directed by this one man, life destroyer actually, called Yoko Taro). Perhaps that is another reason why I'm being so critical with the choice to kill Carl (asides from the horrible decision-making and poor writing), because I love being hit in the feels in the best way possible, without holding back any punches, just go straight for the kill and make me cry like a newborn. However, I don't like tragedy when it's done for shock value, or when it's done simple-mindedly. If a favorite character of mine is going down, it has to make sense and they must have had filled out their purpose in the story, reached a state of character development we're all satisfied with so that when they die one can accept it and be happy despite the possible trauma that could ensue after (well, one can't exactly pin point when that happens, when enough is enough, but to have had the character embark on a lot of adventures even without them accomplishing their purpose, is enough to embrace their death). I guess what I'm trying to say with all this is that, while on one hand I would have preferred him outliving everybody else, if they were still so adamant on having him die at some point of the story (as if killing Carl had actually been part of a long term plan and not some last minute decision) they should have developed him first and foremost, and then assign him a proper death in later seasons, most preferably before the last season ends given that him dying before Rick is several different levels of wrong; if he wasn't such a huge part of Rick's character then fine, do it, but putting and end to him is equal to neutralizing Rick for literally years, which is time that both a comic and a tv show cannot afford, so to do it near the end of everything would be a better fit.

And, I don't know, even having Judith fill the void won't be of much help either, because we haven’t and we won't see her grow the same way we did Carl, her relationship with Rick will be vastly different, and so on. Probably this is just me but I'm not really attached to her; Judith so far is to me only a concept and not actually a person (yet). The fact that they keep changing the little baby girls who portray her doesn't really help, that gets me out of the story everytime. She just can't replace Carl, she might take his future storylines but it won't be the same. Besides, by the time she grows up, she’ll already be deep into this world, this is her normal life and probably by that time things will have changed.

So basically, not only in killing Carl they destroyed the image of a future, they have killed a foundational part of the essence that made The Walking Dead be The Walking Dead we all knew and loved, and that will never return. Also, allow me to point out that for those who think that The Walking Dead is about people dying whenever and wherever, and the cruel injustice that is life, I am not going to say that your interpretation is wrong but it is an incomplete one. The audience doesn’t watch TWD only to see tons of MC’s get murdered on a daily basis. Otherwise, why bother with investing time on a plot and just have them all killed at once. The soul of TWD is not about senseless killing and murder and tragedy and sadness. Simplifying it all to ‘this show is about the possibility of anybody dying/gore/zombies/etc’ is a great disservice to the show and the fans. Obviously, I am not neither the writer of the show or Robert Kirkman to claim to know to a T what the central theme of The Walking Dead is, and for full disclosure I have not read the comics. Nonetheless, basing my personal opinion on the tv show alone, I would like to think one of the core themes the show has explored and returns to time and time again is the topic in regards to the essence of human nature, and how in spite of apparent doom and the horrible circumstances we are forced to face, humans will always find the way to move forwards and stay strong, ergo, the message is a positive one, not a negative one, depressing, nihilistic one. And what better character to portray this versatility of human nature, this capacity for change, other than Carl Grimes, a child of transition, a child who was pulled out of his normal childhood and thrown right into the chaos of the apocalypse? A boy who has witnessed inhumane things, horrible things, has killed his mother, his second father figure, has done awful things himself, has always been toeing the line between right and wrong, cruel and kind, because of all the experiences he has had to process in a very short period of time? He was obligated to grow in a decaying world, watching his father and the ones surroundind him make mistakes, learning from them, evolving, seeing close ones die, starving, surviving insane experiences... If someone like that manages to grow in such a hostile environment and still remains true to himself and still has not lost faith in the world and humanity, and keeps close all the meaningful, important things his family and friends told him in the course of his entire life and not only that, but also applies them... What does that mean for you, to you? What does it mean for us? What does it say about human nature that hasn’t been told before or not quite in this manner?

Well, that is the point. I guess we will never get to find out in the Tv Show the answer to those questions. Regrettably.

If, and just if, the show manages to recover from this point onwards, I still have no idea how I'd feel about having the show thrive on the tails of throwing under the bus such a key character with no legitimate reasons behind the choice (don't even get me started on what they've done to poor Chandler). I'll still watch the show but I would be incredibly uncomfortable if that is how it turns out to be.

Finally, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing you may find, it’s way too late to be doing such a long post and English is not my main language. Please don’t be afraid or feel awkward about replying to this post, even if it’s to hate on it. I really don’t mind having a long conversation about this topic with you all since I’ve literally been dying since Sunday night to discuss it.

Thank you so much for reading!

#twd #the walking dead #Carl Grimes #Rick Grimes #Chandler Riggs #Andrew Lincoln #Michonne #Danai Gurira #Negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #season 8 #twd s8 #scott gimple #amc

[limitedrevolverworks]

Varmints -5- [END]

“They ask me, Doc, what in tarnation was this all ‘bout? And what was I suppos’ta say? Nothing, that’s what. Ain’t no point in explainin’ to a dire bear that y’aint really intrudin’ in his territory, jus’ strollin’ by, no biggie. That’s how you turn your noggin’ into dire bear fodder."

“So what’d you tell ‘em then?”

Doc Norton’s eyes, thrice their size through the magnifying lenses in front of them, looked up from the mistletoe and the hands methodically plucking its leaves. They met the inquisitive gaze of Beth and lingered there for good while, apparently more interested in counting the myriad, occasionally bioluminescent scales dotting the young lass’ face like freckles, rather than giving her any manner of answer.

“Troll shamans.” The words tumbled out of his ‘stache like the laconic payoff to a grand train heist.

“No way!” The girl’s visage alighted like a starlit tapestry, bright blue light pouring forth from the millimeter-sized flakes sprinkled all across a pale gray mask of bewildered dissatisfaction. The sturdy wooden table creaked under the weight of her chin and arms sprawling suddenly dropping on its levigated surface, the noise melding almost seamlessly into Beth’s prolonged whine. Doc Norton felt for the poor kid - irritation, mostly. Her tiny fingers had latched onto the corners of his vision, pointy claw-like nails digging into the table right besides his own busy hands and the precious plant. Not quite close enough to disturb his work, at least; shame he couldn’t have said the same of the small pair of boots digging their tips into his shins in a series of lazy, and yet entirely too precise kicks.

“But you always say it was troll shamans, unca!”

“And it always works. Now stop kickin’ me ‘fore I go ahead and make salves out of that tail of yours, missy.”

She stopped, about three particularly more violent kicks later. The quiet sound of leaves being plucked was the sole one heard within the atelier for a dozen merciful seconds, at the ends of which Beth, her glowy pout held by her hands, decided that she’d had enough. The dull thump of her tail against the legs of her stool said as much; Doc Norton’s attempt to feign deafness fell flatter than the dish where he was collecting the mistletoe’s remains.

“‘Kay. You still ain’t told me what these ‘varmints’ are s’pposed to be.”

“And I reckon there ain’t a reason why I should.”

“There ain’t a reason why you shouldn’t, though!”

With a sharp snap, the mistletoe was left a mere tangle of naked stems, the last of its leaves dropped into the glass dish besides it. Doc Norton stared at the veiny pathways that the plant seemed to paint on the support panel where it had been laid, admiring the intricacy of their design, but mostly the fact that they couldn’t bother him about his reticence.

He set the magnifying glasses down, massaged his forehead and then his moustache. When he reopened his tired eyes, Beth was still where he’d left her, waiting for her childish curiosity to be thoroughly sated.

Narrowing his eyes, no, his entire face right down to the last follicle protruding from his upper lip did absolutely nothing to dim the bright determination of those young eyes, or the far more literal one painting her skin, for that matter.

It was troublesome, especially because Beth was right: none of the reason he had to keep quiet with ignorant, trigger-happy daredevils truly applied to this smart(ass) of a kid.

“A’right, a’right, fine. Guess y’aint completely wrong on that.”

The curve of Beth’s lips flipped upside down before she’d even started bouncing on her seat, triumphantly throwing her arms up and some locks of the humongous golden mass that was her hair along with them.

“Right, chill down a bit, you nag of a lizard.” grumbled Doc Norton as he sat up, and for all the cranky vibes dripping from his every word, a minuscule speck of something resembling anticipation seemed to seep through. It was the reluctant excitement that came with prying open the seal on a self-imposed taboo, the guilty pleasure of indulgence with nothing but regret at the end of the path it paved. The pharmacist resented the lightness with which he moved about his little realm of beaks, ampoules, vials and metal vats. Nostalgia coursed through him with a jolt that left behind bitter disgust and something akin to warmth, when he finally found what he was seeking; he retraced his steps with half a mind to do the same with his words and substitute them with a single nevermind. The sight of Beth’s dangling legs kicking a jolly rhythm into empty air, while her throat silently hummed its non-existent tune through lips sealed into a giddy smile, convinced him to do otherwise. He plopped back into his chair, setting down on the table the miniature model of the world that he’d plucked from one among the many shelves in his atelier.

“The thing about this crazy ol’ world of ours, y’ see, is that we do things differently, depending on which Layer one’s from. We think different. We live different. And, of course, we fight different. That’s how it be, when your planet’s a fractured mess of continents floating about atop and below one other.”

Beth nodded diligently, her eyes fixated on the pharmacist’s hand which, like a dragon oil salesman, danced about in front of the product he was expounding about, or at least its minute representation: two distinct sets of flat, curved shapes representing the land masses, floating into two distinct spherical orbits, two layers, with one containing the other. Or float the originals did anyway; the ones on the model were stuck like skewered wererat meat on rods that protruded from a compact mass at the very center of it all, metal bits and pieces chaotically assembled together into ball that constituted the core of this broken planet’s pale specter.

“Now, lass, show me you ain’t been loitering around for nothin’. What’re the three basic principles of pharmacy?”

Beth straightened on her seat, from the top of her head right down to the floppy end of her tail, so eager to answer she might have fallen from her seat, not at all helped by the considerable height between the soles of her boots and the floor smeared with numberless splotches of evaporated concoctions.

“Creation, tranf… traaan…” she began, trapped in a struggle with her forked tongue’s inability to deal with such a ridiculous combination of sounds. “Trannnngh! Transformation! And destruction. Them’s the three of ‘em, right?”

“Aye, looks like you got a good head on your shoulders. Pity ‘bout what’s inside it… guess you won’t be winnin’ the spelling bee anytime soon.”

Doc Norton almost regretted it when his knees started aching from the aftereffects of Offended Lizardite Hybrid Kicking Syndrome.

“Anyway. Creation, transformation…” He made sure to take his time pronouncing the word, letting each phoneme filter through his ‘stache with maximum accuracy and ludicrous amounts of mockery for an adult talking to the little girl shining angry hues of dark blue at him with her face.

“...And destruction. When you get down to it, that’s all pharmacy’s about.”

“But unca,” interrupted Beth, only slightly less miffed thanks to a sudden burst of curiosity, “don’t you always say that pharmacy is about knowin’ the world and how it works?”

“Aye, you smart lil’ lizard. That’s ‘cause the three principles are what the world’s built on. Take us folks here, in the Middle Layer.” He wriggled a finger into the large gap between two of the surface continents to poke at another beneath, shaped like the top view of a hat that had been stomped on repeatedly and with purpose. “No matter what the sheriffs and constables will want you thinkin’, it’s the wand that sets the law here. It be through the wands that money exchanges hands - the big money, mind you, not pocket change. Folks steal, pillage, buy and sell… shamans bring the dead up. Rich bastard dies, a poor sap inherits his fortune, only to get killed on the way back to his stable. That night, a merry band of wandmen are havin’ a jolly good time at the local waterin’ hole with their freshly stolen goods. Somebody trips into the wrong table, wands come out, chaos. One of the guys gets thrown off a window and runs away with his part, decides he’s had with this mess of a life, settles down, starts an activity, it’s successful, grows old on a neat little pile of savings… the cycle repeats, or maybe not, it don’t matter, ‘cause there’s a hundred other cycles like that going on around a continent or the other of this Layer of ours. Here, we’re all about transformation. Hell, even the dead ain’t let be here. Something’s always bound to begin right as another’s ended.”

“And that’s what makes it fun?”

“It’s what makes it a big damn mess, lass. Still, we got it good here, all things considered. Them sorry bastards on the Lower Layer, now...”

Doc Norton turned the model until he found a seam to stick his finger through and touch the sphere of collected metal standing in the middle, right atop the pedestal’s rod running through it.

“They got no time to spare for shenanigans like ours, not when they be sittin’ right atop the Core and making a livelihood out of it. The Lower Layer, y’see, is where creation happens. It is an ever growin’ sprawl, a parasite of steel and nickel and titanium. A machine that keeps on breakin’ on itself, one that you can’t just go and open to see what’s wrong, no, ‘cause by that time the technology’s grown obsolete, blueprints have evolved, techniques refined. On the corpses of empty, busted engines the size of a whole town they build a new, bigger, more efficient pumpin’ station that sends magma like blood through the veins of this beast that don’t know anymore what its true shape’s like. They got no time to look backwards in the Lower Layer, only forward. They’re runnin’ away, no more, no less. The moment they’ll stop creatin’, is when their world’ll collapse beneath them and catch up.”

“That sounds sad…”

“They don’t got time to be sad. They’re too busy hammerin’, breathin’ smoke like we do oxygen and orderin’ their golems around to care.”

That sounded even sadder to Beth. Doc Norton let her silently mull over the harsh conditions of Lower Layer dwellers - then, the half-lizardite raised her small hand to poke one of the smoothly-edged continents sitting at the top of the world’s ethereal structure.

“Then, unca, the Upper Layer’d be...”

“Destruction.” anticipated Doc Norton, and for all the effort he put into concealing it, Beth couldn’t miss the harsh flavor that he’d given this single word, nor the way he was looking at the Upper Layer’s reproduction. Like a wandman would have the corpse of a duel’s fresh victim.

“Is it bad up there?”

“Aye.”

“That why you left?”

“Aye.”

Beth and Doc Norton waited, not for one other but for themselves to find something suitable to say. The girl’s childish imagination nor the doctor’s wealth of knowledge couldn’t quite find anything of the sort, and so they simply let their eyes linger on the vision of this tiny little world’s attempt to represent their own.

As time passed, however, something odd happened: the size of Beth’s cheeks began to increase exponentially, accompanied by the unmistakable phenomenon known as pouting that all lasses were so thoroughly proficient at. An explosion wasn’t probable as much as a given inevitability, and it hit Doc Norton’s reverie with all the force of a major caliber fire spell.

“Nevermind that, unca! How’s about you tell me what this has to do with those varmint thingies already?”

The pharmacist nodded once, than again, more firmly, as he recollected his thoughts, smoothing them out like he was doing with a corner of his ‘stache.

“I was gettin’ to that, impatient lass. Y’see, varmints are these eensy teensy little clumps of concentrated bastardry, the kind of disruptive nonsense that them Upper Layer screwballs spend their time comin’ up with.”

“Okay, but what are they, unca?”

“Larvae. Sorta. They be smaller, not really alive per se, and lotsa more troublesome, since they feed on gold.”

“They… eat gold?”

“Aye, them little shits love themselves a fat shiny luncheon. And there’s gold aplenty up above, though the stuff they make with it… nothin’ on any other Layer compares. Complicated golden spellwork printed under the surfaces of machines the size of a mountain, phlogiston runnin’ through them like blood to power golden cannons which shoot aether able to pulverize a continent’s whole surface… books inked with gold, able to store knowledge in the language of patterns and release it directly into the reader’s mind… if phlogiston is the lifeblood of the Upper Layer, gold’s what lets it flow where it’s needed. You rid a city of that and you’ll have won yourself a war in no time.”

An awed woah was all which Beth could muster while holding onto her tail in an attempt to keep it from destroying her seat from all the excited swaying it felt like indulging into.

“Varmints are some of the foulest stuff made up there, no doubt. Just rain a bunch over a sea of corpses - and there ain’t ever a shortage of those, in the Upper layer - and soon you’ll have gotten yourself an army of livin’ anti-civilization bombs.”

“That sounds ugly… and evil..”

Doc Norton couldn’t have found better words to describe the Upper Layer and its idiosyncrasies.

“How’d they get on the Middle Layer, unca?”

“Good question. Guess someone made a miscalculation with wind trajectories, timin’, whatever and rained their death cargo at the wrong time. Could be that the stuff got shot off the edges of a continent before it could be properly deployed, too. The cause don’t matter to us Middle Layer folks, anyway, and the effect’s been cared and dealt with.”

“That’s true…”

Beth hopped off her stool, skipping a few paces away where a sizeable tub was sitting on the floor, and peeked over its contents. A distorted reflection arched its eyebrow back at her.

“...Though you got them varmints right here.”

“I sure do.”

“Didn’t you tell them folks at the farm that you’d like, get rid of them?”

“And that I did.”

“But you didn’t… uhm, eliminate completely with that concoction of yours?”

“And waste a perfectly good batch of useable varmints? I ain’t spittin’ on a free batch of gifts from our cretinous neighbors, silly lizard. The acid I made only served to dissolve the corpses I had them wandslingers toss into. It got no effect on varmints, resilient sons of squirmy bitches.”

“Aah…”

Beth grimaced slightly at the pungent odor coming off from the clear liquid, at the bottom of which clumps of slimy, translucent filaments of worm-like substance swam into each other, or perhaps simply drifted, moved by the currents spread from the surface. Then, a thought occurred to her which gave her an incentive to look away from the tub and shove her clawed hands on the part of her dress’ long skirt where he hips were. Doc Norton was too busy twirling his moustache and looking at some portion of the world model to notice the tiny slits through which the half-lizard was looking at him.

“Say, unca… was spittin’ into the acid also a key component?”

“Nah. I just told ‘em for what us smart pharmacist call the ‘shit’ and the ‘giggles’.”

The surface of the liquid inside the tub rippled with the vibrations of an exasperated - and, towards the end, admittedly amused uncaaa…!

#wordy seeds

[sosadandyetsoamazing]

about page

Sorry if it’s long, but I realized that I write the opposite of what most people assume about Jemma even when I don’t add the chitauri element. I’m assuming you already read the rules and know about season 2.

about her alien side, if you want more details the longer version is at the bottom: 

Jemma had Chitauri DNA since her birth, just a trace of it at first, that came from her great-grandfather’s experiments on himself (with the help of Roxxon). Her Chitauri DNA’s development was triggered by the Chitauri virus that infected her in season 1, which started changes in her not-so-human body. Jemma knew about the experiments since before SHIELD but naturally never told anyone; she refused to even think about it outside of making a secondary life-goal her intention to erase any trace of not human elements from her body. Unless we plot otherwise or we write the starter where your muse finds out, by default if we write threads set in later seasons I’ll assume that: she told Fitz about her alien status after Daisy recovered after being shot in season 1. In season 2 she told Daisy and then Coulson after Porto Rico and the inhuman powers reveal. Then May. The others found out later when she either told them or showed her real skin.

About her superpowers: she doesn't have all Chitauri abilities, but:

-she eventually develops thermal vision , but has trouble controlling it. -she can't survive a shot to the head unless she's made herself ready for it, unlike the actual chitauri. She can make her skin become hard enough to protect herself from bullets when she focuses on it (and in that case it shows scales) and to not break herself while using super-strength, but she's not invulnerable, she can still feel pain and she has no perfect control on it especially when emotional. -her eyes can turn yellow, seemingly when she’s using any of her other powers or is too emotional. -given that shapeshifting depends on ingesting someone first, she has no idea if she can turn into someone else, but she can at least hide her wounds and make herself look healthy, though they are still there. It requires constant focus however, so if she stops thinking about looking like her previous intact self for even one second, her wounds and bruises will show up again. -she does have extra strength and an amazing memory like the Chitauri do. But while she was already used to her mind working on a higher level, her body is mostly human and many factors are involved in how dangerous it is to use her strength on purpose.

 A very important canon divergence that I ask you to read from beginning to end: 

whether I write her with a Fitz rper and they are dating, or I write her in other ships, she will NEVER be the hope to someone’s doom (it has to be mutual). In this blog she will keep being bad at guessing people’s reactions to her words/actions, she won’t always know what to say, she’ll prefer to help with little actions, though obviously she’ll do her best to be nice to the people she loves and encourage them, and she will feel rejected and useless if that doesn’t work. She will keep being passionate about science but more about biochemistry, she was never emotionally equipped to be a doctor or therapist. Prosthetics are her thing with some help from Fitz, and she’ll work together with him on sci-fi issues since they are both out of their depth and both geniuses. She will not be able to repress every negative emotion for years straight and will need to be comforted too.  Jemma is messed up by traumas and PTSD, she doesn’t have an inhuman power that allows her to repress everything and keep functioning perfectly. She found pretty easy to kill in the past and uses it to her advantage and to protect her friends when they hesitate, can be cruel to people she’s angry at, hypocritical as hell when it comes to wanting her friends to be healthy and talk to her, has shown several times to feel both self-hatred yet also superiority towards many others, is only warm to close friends (season 1 team in particular) and more wary to others as well as downright rude behind her nice smiles and smug. She claims to not break rules in season 1 but her behavior says the opposite. She’s not very self-aware. She’s sassy and salty. I’m not bound by tvshow budgets so she will learn to fight as early as possible to keep people from getting hurt for her again and she’ll use all the tech available when on missions. Covering her face is a must before battle since she can’t out herself as alien-like/make people think she’s inhuman without endangering her family. Speaking of which, her little sister is back in her life around season 3  when Jemma finally tells her she’s a SHIELD agent and didn’t ‘abandon’ her to be a party planner. Their mother can go from neglectful and toxic to straight up abusive depending on the universe, in the latter’s case she’s more likely to be able to put herself in the shoes of other victims of abuse and be less harsh against them if they genuinely want a second chance, something she’d normally deny depending on the harm they caused.   

Important things to know when it comes to my characterization, but from now on ONLY bolded things are important:

-She never had a problem with anyone over being different, just like in canon. She was worried about another alien virus when it comes to the Diviner, she was worried Skye would die over her changes until told she was inhuman, that it was part of her DNA and accepted it, she wants Raina dead regardless of her powers, and we all know she didn’t leave Fitz because she couldn’t ‘accept him’. If Daisy rpers agree, Jemma went to the safe-house with Daisy to keep her company since she was in less danger than anyone else. Which means she was there when the other SHIELD attacked, Gordon took only Daisy away, Jemma attacked Bobbi and Calderon too, was shot/ICEd and taken back to the base, where she kept being antagonistic and was kept an eye on because identified as an alien - she only pretended to cooperate when May came back. If Jemma didn’t go with Daisy she was outed as alien and fought against the attackers but passed out from the gas. She’d have killed them until shot down once awake if Fitz hadn’t been there to explain what was happening. Canonically Gonzales meant to keep Daisy too, they wouldn’t let someone who just came out as alien or part alien walk away free, she was if anything another proof that Coulson couldn’t be trusted.

-In s3 she and Will stayed friends. Things went slow with Fitz because she needed a long time to recover from Maveth. She did get together with Fitz, but unless I'm writing with a Fitz rper, eventually they realized that they weren't the people they fell in love with long ago, that there was too big of a lack of communication and too little helping each other because too involved in each other's traumas, and so they broke up some time before the Framework, right after Fitz's investigation about Radcliffe. They intended to get some distance from each other to feel better after solving this last Aida issue, but then the Framework happened. Dekes are welcomed, but his grandfather wouldn't be Fitz unless plotted otherwise.

-She couldn't make herself invulnerable to Jiyera's torture in season 3, she couldn't let Hydra find out what she is and decide to torture Fitz instead. However after she escaped she didn't need to free Andrew Garner for help, she accidentally broke him free when using her powers. 

-She joined more field agents during the six months of break between season 3 and season 4, using her powers to do good but still feeling very wrong. She also understood Daisy's need to leave after Lincoln’s death and was happy to help her survive away from SHIELD, using her 'double agent' status with Mace to keep her friends safe and help inhumans. Though she did scold Daisy over expecting her to step back and only show up to be a doctor.  

-After the Framework, a newly traumatized Jemma wants to help her friends and Fitz, but she realizes that it's all too much right now, and she's in no position of being supportive. She also can't risk getting arrested. Coulson himself suggests her to leave with Piper and the others, and tells her that they'll call her if she's needed. So she does that, and goes back to look into her past, into who she is, as well as agreeing to see a SHIELD therapist to discuss her situation some day. It's all open to plotting, crossovers can happen due to portals, and when it comes to aos I ask to not be involved in plots such as characters' deaths aside from her having been told about Coulson and having seen him before he died in Tahiti if we must incorporate it in our plots.

thank you so much for reading, if we are mutuals and you want to let me know you read it, feel free to like this page!

The longer version of how she came to be part chitauri if you are interested: 

Jemma's great-grandfather's DNA was mixed with alien's by Roxxon, an evil organization that still exists to this day. No one in the family beside that man showed any special abilities, beside Jemma being a genius. Still, the child was told stories about how special she was by her grandmother, and the intention behind those first attempts to prepare Jemma was to reveal the truth once she'd be an adult and able to handle the news. But even as a kid she was a curious, skilled biochemist all too happy to experiment in her house's laboratory, and she ended up finding odd things in her DNA and questioning her family. So she was told the truth before joining SHIELD at age sixteen - whether SHIELD knew or not is to be determined - and she wasn't sure if she should believe any of it or how she felt about being part alien, so she elected to ignore it for now until able to research and learn more. Until, of course, the Chitauri attacked New York, aliens became 'real' to the public, and Jemma didn't have the courage to tell Fitz, her best friend in the world, or even to think about it too much, that she was part alien too. Jemma joined the Bus for field action as in canon but also to have the opportunity to deal with more alien samples and tech and study herself, even try to modify her own body to be completely normal even though the differences at the time were still minimal; sadly, everything went wrong. She was infected by a chitauri virus, which attacked the human side of her body and would have likely either killed her directly or by destroying the plane she was in and taking her friends with her, and the fact that she was given the anti-serum in time and the electrostatic shock that followed resulted in having her chitauri side awoken and her body actually start to change. Jemma began to notice odd things and tried to keep them secret while studying herself - and she realized that yes, the chitauri were the ones used in the experiments involving her great-grandfather much like she had feared.

#about page for mobile #about page

[syndianites]

The Consequences of Your Actions Chapter 2

Ship: Syndianite (Tom x S1 Dianite)

Summary: Vampire AU! Dianite has had many lovers over the years. Some were mere playthings, meant to pass the time. Others were passionate loves, a fire raging until their inevitable demise. Very few were of the immortal variety, most searching for a power grab, others enthralled by his image. One was different, one was special. And he’d be damned if he was going to let him slip away.

Chapter: 2/?

AN: Still too lazy to make a new summary for each chapter. Whoops. I’ve spent the entire day off sleeping and playing Minecraft. It’s weird not having something to do. My online class is done, no camp today, no work today. It was n i c e. Now to the fic!

Chapter 2

Though the night was over and the sun had begun its ascension, many vampires mulled about. Most found themselves carefully reconstructing their office, deeming what was salvageable and what needed to be replaced. Amidst these people were ones scouring through information, from paperwork, from video feeds, from supposed sightings, anything the internet could provide. Each had one purpose: find Mianite or one of his lackeys. And for their Lord, and even their own personal grudges, they were determined to do so.

Furia, the Head Advisor to the Lord, was overseeing this operation. Between hunting down the filthy Mianitees mere hours before, and working through the chaos and daylight hours, he was fucking exhausted. And the ones he was watching and, at times, helping, were coming up with nothing. Even the part of the city Dianite had handed over was untouched by the insolent faction. Instead, something rather… peculiar was taking place. The humans were changing.

The particular district he was observing was a quieter townhouse block. Many families lived there, with young and older children, elderly living the rest of their lives in peace, and even the impoverished made up one section of the neighborhood. (Dianite had assigned people to look into support systems for them, claimed that no potential child of his was to be forced to survive under such horrendous conditions. Furia assumed that meant he felt bad for the humans). Where they would naturally have been out and about, the children being herded off to school in a stout bus packing to the brim, adults prepping themselves up for another shift at work, and the elderly taking their positions on the front porch to call across the street to each other the latest gossip, few were up.

Today, a handful of kids meandered over their bus stops, seemingly dazed, as though they had not slept enough. Most of the adults seemed to stare listlessly at their breakfast, the TV, their cars. Even the elderly, somehow energetic for their years, were startlingly quiet. Upon closer look, they almost appeared… paranoid? Some of those who were delighted to waddle out to their porched and checked it with a quick glance before locking their doors, keen on simultaneously appearing to be absent of their homes, while having every light on. This was in no way normal for their humans.

The Advisor was unnerved, so to speak. These developments meant more to him than the others, who were still searching for Mianite. His Lord shared many secrets with him, including the growing threat of The Shadows. The first time he had heard of them was when one of their own, who had chosen to vacation beyond the city, mentioned the strange corruption he had seen in towns he had passed. Others in their group, the young vampire had recounted, spoke of these strange shadows creeping into their homes. The only reason most had noticed them was due to the general avoidance the strange intruders had towards fire. With most of Dianite’s following harboring some sort of pyrokinesis, this information was confirmed by many sources.

So far, the people they had watching its movement, (just two, for the sake of simplicity, and to keep the information closer at hand), found that it could not corrupt their group. They theorized that the presence of pyrokinesis in the following, essentially an inner fire for each vampire, kept the shadows at bay when they came too close. However, it could easily take anyone who was either unaware, or not ‘strong’ enough to counteract it. They had yet to discover what you had to have strength in, watching both the smallest of children and the largest of adults resist the change. So far, only a measly 2% managed to evade corruption.  And if the symptoms they described in the people fighting the corruption were universal, Furia found that this district was falling to it.

“Keep searching. If you don’t find anything in,” he spared a glance at the closest clock, reading 7:42 am, he continued, “say, the next hour and 45 minutes, go rest. We can have someone fill in if we are in such need.” With a small bit of grandeur, Furia strode from the room, calling the elevator. The ride to the next floor was silent and tense. Though he stewed in the implications of this recent development, he wasn’t sure how far it would go.

As the elevator doors opened, Furia could feel a rise in temperature. He wasn’t surprised. He had seen the turning of many fledglings, and they each found solace in both the presence of their lord, and heat. This could commonly be attributed to the instilling fire powers most, if not all, came into. He had a feeling, with Tom, it would be a bit different. And lo and behold, he was right.

Where a typical fledgling would be fidgety, itching to test new abilities and explore, Tom stayed nestled up against Dianite, nosing along his jaw and almost purring, however that worked. The Lord, though he had his lover secured rather well on his lap, was conducting his own investigation of Mianite’s whereabouts, his eyes glowing with telltale distance. It was likely he was communicating through one of his subjects with an outside source. He would put some money on the contact being his sister and Lady Ianite of the North. (The south was mostly divided between the three, with a middle portion remaining the most neutral place).

He took the moment to plop down in an armchair next to the loveseat they were sprawled in. Knowing Dia was aware of his presence, he leaned his head back with a tired groan. Eyes closed, he blanked out for what felt like minutes, but was, in reality, a solid twenty minutes.

“Furia?” He peeked one eye open begrudgingly, looking over at the Lord. He was facing the Advisor, giving his full attention, with the exception of having pulled Tom down to curl up against his chest. The groggy vampire began without holding back, “We have yet to find any trace of Mianite.” Based on the irritated look he received Dianite held no information on his brother either. “However, I noticed on particular problem: The shadows have made a move into our territory.

Though the Lord kept any emotion from his face, Furia could tell by the way he pulled Tom impossibly closer that this greatly worried him. He was silent for a moment, before beginning his querying, “How far?” Furia recounted what he had seen, giving him the comparison between the feed and what their lookouts had seen previously. “Bring the Modesteps back in. We’ll need anything new they have gathered,” the Lord ordered, adding as a last thought, “We’ll have to add more people to the watch. How are we faring at the moment?” Furia looked Dianite dead in the eye. “I feel like I pranced through the daylight in nothing but a bikini and then decided to let myself be run over by a steamroller. Everyone looks like a goddamn zombie.” He broke off with a bright smile. “We’re doing just peachy, thank you. Everything will be better when we have Mianite’s head on a silver platter.” With a flourish, he stood once more, ignoring the dizziness that poked at him. “We’ll live. Just don’t let Tom leave the building. We can take care of most of this for the time being.”

Before Furia left the room, the Lord shouted one thing after him, “Don’t fucking overwork yourselves! Just because you all love working your asses off, it doesn’t mean I want to walk down and see a bunch of children passed out on the floor.” And then he found his way to the elevator, preparing himself to relay his newest instructions.

~

Ianite knew her brothers had problems. She had seen the petty squabbles they initiated, how they tirelessly found new ways to fuck each other over. But she had long since deemed significant others off bounds. Of the few times she stepped in to keep the city intact, the bloodiest was by far the one time one of their lovers was involved. It had been Miante’s second vampire partner, Jessica. Though Ianite was never particularly fond of her, the lust for power in her eyes always present, the Western Lord was enthralled by her. Her beauty, her grace, her easy manipulation, it was nothing in the face of battle. As she foolishly charged Dianite, confident in her ability to take him, she was cut through like paper. Her body had hit the floor in two parts, the upper portion of her body, missing parts of her arms, and the rest of it, with two stretched out hands flopped to the ground uselessly.

She had barely been able to end Mianite’s rage as he tore at their brother, one of the closest times Dia had come to losing more than the fight. After that, she instilled one of her first rules: Do not attack each other’s lovers. So, when she heard the deafening screeches ringing through the city, she did not immediately assume Tom had been assaulted. As a coppery smell found its way into her nest, she had not figured out that Dianite was forced to take the one action he feared would lose him his lover. When she approached her window to see the signs of death far off into the West, she failed to notice the darkness crawling into the East.

When Antony Grager, Dianite’s emergency correspondent for contacting the other siblings, apparated before her, she had been prepared for terrible news, not the worst. She was desperate to believe Mianite wouldn’t go to such measures, especially when the two hadn’t been at odds in the last month. Tom was one of her favorites, of all of Dianite’s significant others. Though he always tried to be some sort of gentleman around her, he won her over by his goofiness and sheer force of will. At one point, he had convinced a startling amount of her following that he was a vampire capable of withstanding the sun’s rays without receiving terrible injury.

As she learned more about the situation, about what happened to Tom, she worried for him. Humans all reacted to turning differently, though more positively the more they wanted it. But at one point, either wanting it too much, or absolutely rejecting the idea, it breaks their mind, leaving them a psychotic shell of themselves. There was no way to know what frame of mind the human had been in, what frame of mind he was in now. Sending her thoughts to her spy, she tried to quell her anxieties. Dianite had asked her to locate Miante, and for Tom, she was willing to step out of her neutrality once more.

~

Darry Adam Ranger was a single father, working two jobs to raise his precious baby girl, Alexa. He worked the morning shift at a small corner side dinner called Sally’s Sandwhiches, and the afternoon shift at West Side Bowling. His life was far from glamourous, but coming home to see his darling daughter’s face, bright, healthy, and happy, was the highlight of his day.

Today, however, he couldn’t shake the sense of dread within him. The regulars to the Saturday morning brunch did not show, a nice family of two elderly women and their darling grandson. Though his parents were moved out of the city, he always made time for them, to catch up. None of them showed. Even his unrealistically happy manager, Susan, was off her game today. Her chipper attitude was replaced by snapping commands and irritated scowls.

So, when the man made his way home for lunch break, he was not ready to see Mary, his lovely neighbor and babysitter, who refused to be paid, sitting anxiously at his steps. With panicked, she rushed over to him, prattling on about how, “There’s a demon inside! He snatched Alexa, and John, and locking them in. I can’t get into my house, or yours, and I don’t know if they’re alive.” Without a thought, he jammed his key into the lock, wrenching the door open.

“Alexa,” he called out, “Alexa!” Maneuvering around the house, he finally came face to face with the door leading to her room. He shoved it open, prepared to attack whoever threatened his baby girl, when all he saw was her, sitting innocently on the floor. Sighing with relief, he bends down to pick her up, just about to yell back to Mary that Alexa is safe, but John wasn’t there, when he was thrown back. Eyes wide, he scrambled up to see an inky blackness pouring from his girl, a wail erupting from the merged figures. Faster than he could blink, it launches forward, clawing at his face and pushing down his mouth. As it starts to pour around his eyes, he blacks out. Minutes later, as his eyes are opened once more, it is not Darry Ranger who returns to consciousness.

(AN: I was trying so hard not to lose what i was writing, as i was rather....... distracted XD Its sooooo worth it though. I swear, all I can think about now is pure smut. Its a blessing and a curse)

#Syndianite #Diacate #TomxDianite #DianitexTom #SyndicatexDianite #DianitexSyndiacte #Mianite #MianiteS1 #now i have to write smut #its 1 am but i gotta #dont worry about distracting me #i love every second of it