#++before anyone bothers me about the background I had to do an absurd amount of patchwork to it since

[jestiamy]

back to my apparently not so bi-annual danny phantom posting

[howtofightwrite]

This is Bait

There’s a recent medical study that says men out punch women by 162%, and even the weakest man is stronger than the strongest woman. This really discouraged me to even stick to weight lifting and training tbh. There’s no point

So, as the title states, this bait hit our inbox last week. Normally, the appropriate response would be deep six this, but let’s use it for educational purposes. I’m holding out the possibility that the person sending this was being misled by someone else. I don’t think it’s likely, but their ask is worth debunking.

First, I’m not going to bother searching for that medical study. You notice, it doesn’t say, “a published study.” In fact it says, “recent,” which suggests that it hasn’t been published yet, and is still undergoing peer review. This creates the illusion that you’re getting in on credible information first, and all that’s left is the formalities. What it really means no one’s checked to see if the article is anything more than an angry screed written on dirty cocktail napkins.

In theory, a published study was examined by other academics in the field. (In the case of medical studies, we’re talking doctors, probably in that specialty.) They’ve examined the data sets. They’ve determined that the data supports the claims made. In controversial cases, they may even try to replicate the results before signing off.

The process of academic publishing isn’t perfect, but it does weed out a lot of garbage “research.” A couple high school students who grabbed some football players and cheerleaders could be described as, “conducting a medical study,” and it would probably return results very similar to this. If you submitted that to peer-review, you would be mauled for drawing those conclusions from your data set.

In fairness, peer-review struggles with outright deception. If a researcher (for example, Andrew Wakefield) decides to wholesale invent their data set, and that data would be difficult or time consuming to replicate, reviewers are less likely to take the time and expense to reproduce the results. That’s not the case here, because the conclusions are absurd, and the data set would be trivial to replicate. (Or, more accurately, it would be trivial to debunk the data set.)

The reason I said you’d be mauled for drawing those conclusions is two-fold.

First, impact force from punching isn’t strength. In fact, a body builder will have a harder time punching, because all that extra muscle mass will get in the way and slow them down. The critical element to being able to strike someone is knowing how to punch, not raw strength. Ask anyone who’s had any background in martial arts. This is also a warning sign about the researchers. (Whether they exist at all.)

The claim that men (universally) punch 162% harder than women is bullshit. This isn’t a video game. You don’t do a fixed amount of hand-to-hand damage every time you take a swing. You’d be hard pressed to generate that statistic in the first place, simply because you couldn’t legitimately get consistent data by gender. To say nothing of being able to cross compare.

The second claim is laughable. Or at least, would be if there weren’t idiots out there who take it at face value.

I’m not sure if, Rebecca “Becca” Swanson is the world’s strongest woman, but I do know she can dead lift over 680lbs, and she’s not the only female power lifter. So, you’re trying to tell me this phantom study found that every man on the planet can bench over 600lbs? I have questions about the drugs these researchers were on.

Becca Swanson also, excellently, underlines the stupidity of anyone arguing against the strength of women. Particularly when they try to resort to sloppy pseudoscience disguised as actual research.

A problem in research is that you cannot check everyone. There’s nearly eight billion people on Earth. It’s far too much work to study all of them at once. With that in mind, researchers will select “sample populations” of people. You can’t check everyone, but you can deal with a couple hundred people. That’s doable. Particularly if you have other researchers, or research assistants, helping collect the data. A reputable researcher will try to get a representative population. There will be statistical errors, but you try to minimize or acknowledge them. A less scrupulous researcher may try to cherry pick their population to support an agenda.

This is where sexism (and outright misogyny) collide with with science. There’s a long, and very shameful history of science being used to justify prejudices. Much like science being used to justify racism, there’s a tradition of “scientific research” using irrelevant or misleading physiological data to support misogyny.

There is also an issue here: The medical field is struggling with a lot of institutional sexism. This ranges from women being under-researched and under-diagnosed. It is a serious health issue. Doctors are, statistically, more likely to disregard a woman’s reported symptoms than a man’s. Medical issues that predominantly affect women are far less researched. In recent years medical researchers and doctors have become more aware of this, and it looks like change is coming, but this is a real problem.

The point to life is what we create for ourselves. No one else can live your life. No one else can tell you who you are. There is no point in letting small-minded little shits shut you down.

-Starke

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This is Bait was originally published on How to Fight Write.

[candlelight27]

Chapter 2: Reach For My Hand

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Objetification (?), anxiety attack, curse words

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4562

AO3: Reach For My Hand

A/N:  Sorry it took too long. My writing process is unpredictable. Besides, it was a boring chapter at first and I think I managed to make it interesting? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!  If you have suggestions, requests, theories or whatever leave a comment of come talk to me on tumblr - same username.

Your first week of university had passed all at once. Time flew between jotting down notes, going back and forth, meeting all your new teachers and, overall, trying to survive. Thankfully, Lysithea had shared all her notes with you, so you weren’t that lost – since Claude was keen on gossiping with you in the middle of lessons…

…And since Sylvain proved himself to be a huge distraction. And an active one, in fact.

The ominous day Byleth paired you with him, Sylvain had approached you after class. Hands in his pockets, his chest a little puffed and a glamorous grin on his face, he had the perfect pose to be on the cover of a teenage magazine. And with his casual tone, he nonchalantly asked you for your number..  

“We better stay in touch to finish the project”, he added. Your heart skipped a beat – or two or three – and you nodded. You hoped that excitement would go unnoticed. There was the slightest shyness in his voice, but you discarded the thought. It was absurd to consider you’d awaken even the smallest amount of insecurity in him, regarding the fact that he was the embodiment of confidence.

“Sure”, you smiled and grabbed a pen. Sylvain stopped you muttering a ‘wait’ and took out his phone. He opened a tab for a new contact.

“Here, write your number.” You took it and started writing. Then, it hit you that Sylvain actually knew how you were called. He had edited the blank space, where you saw all the letters that spelt your name standing triumphantly. He even had added a heart emoji next to it. So, even if he had never acknowledged your existence, he was aware of it.  

“Write me whenever you feel like it,” he said with a wink. Your name rolling out of his lips was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

As he went away and followed Mercedes out of the classroom, Claude rose his eyebrows.

“Well, that went better than expected. Our plan is running smoothly,” he hit you with his elbow.

“Your plan, Claude. I never agreed to it,” you sighed, while he just chuckled and let it be.

But that wasn’t the end of the phone matter. Not at all.

The next day you met your new teacher, Catherine. She was interesting, and she made her lessons about the Evolution of Warfare quite enjoyable – which was itself a great deed, in your opinion. However, there was a downside, and it was that the blonde woman talked your ears off with her millions of tales that weren’t that interesting and definitely not exam material.

It was early and you were barely awake when you felt the light vibration of a message on your mobile phone. Who could be at that hour? You looked next to you. Marianne was as still as a corpse, Claude was probably asleep and Lysithea was fiercely taking notes, so it was not any of them trying to be discreet. Ingrid would never use her phone during a lesson, so she was ruled out too.

With caution, you unlocked the screen of your phone and placed it on your lap.

Unknown 09:45: Are you bored too?

Did Dorothea change her number again?

You 09:46: Who are you?

Unknown 09:46: Look right 😊

You did. And you came across Sylvain waving at you. You saved his number quicker than you’d like to admit.

You 09:48: Good morning, Sylvain

You 09:48: And yes, I’m bored to death

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a smile gracing Sylvain’s countenance, and you felt like a schoolgirl all over again.

Sylvain 09:49: Is Claude asleep? For real?

You 09:50: Most likely…

And that was the beginning of your academic doom.

It turned out that Sylvain was a compulsive text-writer. He wasn’t shy about sending you millions of messages at any time. And you, foolish as always, responded every last one of them. Against your will, as you typed on your phone, butterflies flied around your stomach.

The first days, he limited your interactions strictly to Catherine’s lessons and breaks. But as the week progressed, you found yourself going to sleep a little later just to share a few more words with the infamous flirter.

You two didn’t have meaningful conversations at all. You talked about high school, books, films, you shared jokes and silly occurrences… Yet it made you feel that an already existing connection tying you with Sylvain was awakening. It was absurd, to think there was a bond that had been formed before between both of you, but you couldn’t cast aside that sensation. Like a distant memory of a dream you once had. Like the primal needs our bodies feel. You felt there was something that linked you with him, and it was ancient and significant.

When Claude discovered what you and Sylvain were up, he was delighted.

“Don’t you realize that’s just what we needed for our plan?”, he opened his eyes and leaned in closer, so your classmates wouldn’t hear him.

“Again, your plan, Claude”, you shook your head. “And you seem to be making it up as it goes.”

“Well, that’s my charm, darling,” he laughed, and went on playing with his phone. You threw him your best deadpan look.

With so many distractions, the weekend arrived in the blink of an eye. It was rather cloudy when you woke up, and late, because it was Saturday and you didn’t have any obligation. You rolled in bed, throwing away your blanket and yawning.

Then, you heard a thud next to you. It was your phone. You remembered you had been talking with Sylvain when you fell asleep. You deliberated if maybe it wasn’t better to ignore him for a day. You were starting to get your hopes up, and you wanted to avoid another disappointment. But as if your hands moved on their own, you opened the conversation to see what you had missed.

Sylvain 01:13: What do you mean you HAVEN’T seen Loog and the Maiden of Wind???

You 01:15: ??

You 01:15: What’s wrong?

Sylvain 01:17: It’s Ingrid’s favourite film!

Sylvain 01:18: More like, she loved complaining about how they got all the scenes from the book wrong

Sylvain 01:18: Still she made me watch it like 1819341973 times

You 01:19: She wanted me to watch it

You 01:20: I just happen to have really good excuses 😉

Sylvain 01:25: Well you are going to watch it with me

You 01:26: Why would I?

Sylvain 01:27: It’s called solidarity

You 01:27: I don’t have that

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: ☹

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: Please, suffer with me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: C’mon I promise I’ll be good, I won’t bite you

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: Unless you ask me 😉😉😉

(Unread) Sylvain 01:35: So I’m going to believe that you’re asleep and are not in fact ignoring me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:34: Good night, princess <3

You sighed and got up. What were you getting yourself into? And what were you trying to achieve? ‘Don’t implicate yourself too much’, has said Claude, but you were already in too deep. But your friend probably knew as much and was plotting something entirely different.

Ignoring your best judgment, you started typing.

You 09:53: Good morning!

Goddess, you felt stupid.

“Good morning”, greeted Ingrid when you left your room. “I got some pastries for breakfast.”

“Nice.”

You sat next to her and started to munch on the first sweet piece you found. The television filled the room with a comforting background noise. You were half listening the weather and the news. Your phone suddenly beeped, indicating you had a new text message. You looked at the screen with discretion and unlocked it with an unbothered appearance, trusting Ingrid wouldn’t ask questions.

Sylvain 10:01: I unilaterally decided we’re watching the film today, princess

You couldn’t hide your expression, and Ingrid looked your way.

“Who are you texting?”, she tried to use a teasing tone. “I’ve never seen you so hooked on your phone. Is it Claude?”

There was no use in lying, so you’d answer thruthfully. You could even get some intel about Sylvain without revealing your game if you played your cards well.

“Oh, no. It’s Sylvain?” You feigned disinterest.

“Is he bothering you? I could scare him off,” she offered, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Don’t do it.” A small and nervous laughter escaped your mouth at the idea.

“Don’t tell me he’s done it”, Ingrid said, and she rested her head on her hands, her attention focused on you.

“What has he done?”

��Charming you!”, she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ingrid, I was paired with him for some project. That’s all,” you assured her.

“Well, just don’t fall for him. He can be very disgusting sometimes. He’s a good friend, but he’s not a good boyfriend.” She hummed. “As far as I know, of course.”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled, appeasing, “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s weird, though. He never texts anyone on his own accord. He always says it’s a waste of time.”

“It’s for the project. No biggie,” you affirmed, yet you knew you’d have to keep in mind that fact.

“Ah, that must be it,” Ingrid shrugged. “He may be always chasing skirts, but he’s very diligent with academic matters.”

You 10:15: I have a better idea

You 10:16: Let’s go to the library and start Byleth’s project

You weren’t ready for watching a film with him. In the best-case scenario, you’d faint like Bernadetta on your high school days.

Sylvain 10:17: The library? In this era of technology?

You 10:17: Yes.

Sylvain 10:18: Okay, fine

Sylvain 10:19: You are right, old-fashioned university professors love their bibliographies filled with books :/

Sylvain 10:19: But you owe me one film

You 10:19: … we’ll see.

You 10:19: Let’s meet at the library at 6 p.m.

“I’m going to the library with Sylvain today,” you commented to Ingrid.

“Do you mind if I invite Ashe over?”

Well, you weren’t expecting that. You noted mentally to compare notes with Dorothea, because now you didn’t have any doubt that there was something going on between her and Ashe. Never ever had she invited a guy before that wasn’t Felix, Sylvain, or Dimitri.

“Oh, yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind,” you encouraged her.

“Cool!”

 You were getting ready, mulling over what you were going to wear. You didn’t want to try too hard, this wasn’t a date, but nevertheless you wanted to look good – despite the fact that if anyone ever asked you, you’d completely refuse that thought had crossed your mind. It was absurd, but denial helped you to keep going.  

As you struggled to decide, you heard Ingrid biding you goodbye and the door being closed. You supposed she was going to meet Ashe and bring him to your place. You grinned to yourself. Immediately after, your phone started ringing. It was Dorothea. She had a distinctive melody that she sang herself for you. What on earth could have made her call you? She was the queen of voice messages.

“Yes?”, you began.

“You better tell me what the fuck is happening!”, she yelled with her usual dramatic twist.

“What is happening?” You were quite confused and tried to go over all the things she could be referring to.

“Don’t play dumb. First, Ingrid is all starry-eyed when she talks about Ashe and now you have a date with Sylvain? Is the water in your apartment poisoned?” You wondered how she found out, but Dorothea had a sixth sense for love affairs.

“Well, Ingrid is the one with an actual date,” you pointed to divert her attention. “I’m just going to the library because-”

“Because a project? Why does it sound so familiar? Ah, yes, it’s what I told my parents when I was going to make out with a classmate in high school. And don’t distract me throwing Ingrid to the wolves.”

“What do you want of me?”, you exclaimed out of frustration.

“A confession!”

“Who are you? Seteth?” You could hear Dorothea’s sweet laugh at your joke.

“How could I be so stupid? Your crush has been Sylvain all these years!”, she was creating a fuss on the other side of the phone. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t expect that, not in the least.”

“You are assuming way too much.”

“Shut up! I guess Sylvain is a whole reason himself to keep it a secret, but you should have told me.” Dorothea made a pause. “My poor baby suffering all those years in silence! Aunty Dorothea is here to comfort you!”

“Quit the joking. Now tell me what I should wear for my not-a-date”, you said indignantly.

“Oh, right. Do you recall the Red Canyon? You definitely should put on that thing you wore. It will catch his eye, but it doesn’t seem way too elaborated.”

“Thank you, Dorothea, you are a genius. Are you reading my mind?”

“Really? I can see right through you”, she giggled. “You haven’t changed. And I would you why you are so worried about your clothes when it’s not a date, but you’d just mutter any excuse and ignore me altogether.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Now, inform me of you not-a-date with Sylvain when you’re finished right away, okay?”, she finished with her motherly intonation.

“Fine, fine! Goodbye, I have to go now!” You saw the time and it was really late.

You got dressed in a hurry and grabbed your laptop, some notebooks and a couple of pens.

 By the time you arrived at the library, Sylvain was already there. He was looking around, his bag grabbed laid causally on his back, hold by the handle with his strong fist. His other hand was resting in his pocket.

While his appearance was laid back, you were a bundle of nerves. As soon as your gaze found him, you felt a knot form in your gut. You denied that the young man could have that kind of effect on you, but the evidence was overwhelming. Why did it have to be so difficult in person? It had been so easy when you didn’t have to see his face – so handsome it was unnerving. You were the opposite you had been on your telematic conversations, far from your calm, charming and charismatic charade.

He was wearing a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. It was a mystery for you why he didn’t opt for a modelling career. You forcibly reminded yourself that despite his beauty, he was a Don Juan, totally uninterested in you. You chanted Claude’s words ‘see what happens, don’t implicate yourself too much’ as you approached him.

Suddenly, his tan eyes focused on you as he recognized your figure, so you composed yourself the best you could. His lovely lips displayed a soft smile.

“Hey, Sylvain”, you greeted with an affected amiability. Still, you were tense.

“Hello there, princess.” He winked at you. “It’s nice to see you outside the classroom.”

“Yes, it’s refreshing,” you nodded.

You entered the big building with Sylvain at your side. Neither of you said anything, justifying yourself in the mandatory silence of a library. Some girls giggled as you walked past them, pointing at you two. And you noticed Sylvain looked a bit annoyed. The next thing you noticed was your teacher Catherine distracting the black-haired librarian with her nonstop chatter.

You turned your head to comment something to him, but he grinned, and you forgot your words. You simpered back, and he seemed content with that.

At last, you were in the ‘working-group’ area. The library itself was almost empty – but Dorothea told you it would be filled to the brim during finals week. There were some students chatting and taking notes, but not too many since most of the would be probably going to bars, pubs, and discos. And it was right then when it hit you that Sylvain was not in some sort of date or in a quest to gain the favours of a pretty girl.

So far, you had detected two oddities in his behaviour. Texting and spending a Saturday evening in the library. And the common factor was you.

“Where should we start?”, asked Sylvain as he took a seat, startling you since you were absorbed in your thoughts. You mimicked him and made up your mind.

“Let me thing”, you said. At the same time, you took your laptop from your bag and turned it on. “Since we have to talk about the early history of Faerghus… maybe we can cover the foundation first?”, you suggested. Sylvain had a notebook and a pencil and started scribbling an outline of the project. “We’ll need… a biography of Loog. Or two. And a history book about the 8th century.” You peeked his handwriting. It was neat, with small letters. His S’s had an characteristic flourish.

“I have a good book on the Crescent Moon War, which is also a theme featured in our project”, he said, staring at his sheet. “Well... it’s Miklan’s”, Sylvain grimaced as he added that part, “but I can borrow it.”

“That’d be great.”

“Do you know what’d be great?”, he looked at you. “Watching Loog and the Maiden of Wind! I don’t know what you have against films. It would have been a perfect way to spend our Saturday.”

“Again?”, you laughed.

“It’s for research purposes. No fishy business here.” He placed the palm of his hand over his chest. “Scout’s honour.”

“If I accept will you focus on out project?”, you bit your lip.

“Yes! I promise.”

“Okay. How about we watch it once we’re finished?”

“It’s a deal.” He winked again, looking satisfied with himself. Then, he stood up. “I’ll look for the books we need. In the meantime, you can search on the Internet some good articles on the controversies of Loog’s biography.”

At the moment he vanished, you breathed deeply to calm your heart, since you could almost hear it thudding in your chest. This meeting had been more awkward than you had expected, at least on your part. You wondered if Sylvain was feeling it too, the rusty mechanism of two people who knew each other but had never held a whole conversation in real life.

And all the same… It didn’t feel bad, being next to Sylvain. It was great, even if you were on edge. If you didn’t know it was impossible, you’d describe that sensation as familiar. A déjà vu of some sort, as though you had gone over this stage with Sylvain a million of times and every time your pulse shot up.

You tried to concentrate on looking for articles. You found a couple of them that could be useful, singed under big names of the field that would increase the credibility of your work.

You were absentminded during the rest of your search, trying to figure out how to be natural in your next conversation with Sylvain. You were a little insecure, even when Sylvain seemed to be comfortable with you. Your head was full of what ifs.  

“I got our books!”, Sylvain announced cheerful, interrupting your worry.

He sat again next to you. And you swore he was closer than he was before. You could feel the heat emanating from him, warming your arm. And you could hear him breathing. His scent reached you. He had used just deodorant, which along with his natural smell was intoxicating. His shoulder bumped into yours in what looked like a premeditated manner.

“We could split the work. Maybe we could work together on the main structure and the final draft, and work on the information on our own…”, you said as you tried to concentrate on the pile of history volumes rather than any matter related to Sylvain. Otherwise you’d forget how to speak.

“That seems fair.”

Sylvain made himself comfortable, resting his chin on the hand opposite to you. This way he had a perfect view of what you were writing on your computer – and your face, but you refused to believe he was that interested in you. He was invading your personal space in every way and he didn’t care.

“What do you prefer?”, you asked, all professional. You weren’t going to move away.

“I don’t mind, love,” he shrugged. “What do you prefer?”

“Sylvain, we are a team. You should give your opinion.” He remained silent and you dared to turn your head away from the screen of your laptop. He was smiling, but his eyes were half-close, as if figuring out what you were thinking. “Sylvain?”

“Ah, yes.” He blinked. “We’re a team.” He stopped, savouring the word. “I’ll take the Crescent War Moon in that case.”

He then wrote a couple of lines on his notebook. You could see he was writing down a list of ideas on bullet points. You did the same on a sheet of paper you had on you. After a couple of seconds, he talked again.

“Thanks for taking into consideration my preferences,” he placed his arm around the back of your chair.

“Why wouldn’t I?”, you questioned seriously. You were at total lost with him, so you leant in closer. You couldn’t care less, you were just playing his game. He acknowledged it, because you could see him narrowing his eyes at your movement.

“Let’s say some people is not as nice.”

You didn’t answer. What could have you said? It was not what you were expecting him to reply.

Breaking the bubble that you both had formed around you, two girls appeared out of nowhere. They were the ones you had seen before when you entered the building. Instinctively, you distanced yourself from the redhead.

“Sylvain?”, one of them started. They both were wearing fake grins.

“Do I know you?”, Sylvain asked, showing a bit of discomfort.

“Of course? We had a date in summer!”, the girl continued. She hadn’t taken the hint. “So, my friend and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight, go to a bar, then you could come to our apartment, you know…”

You opened your eyes in surprise at the girl’s forwardness. And judging by Sylvain’s astonishment, he wasn’t expecting either such a direct and shameless offer. Did Sylvain have to deal with that too often? It made you feel uneasy. Of course, Ingrid would say he’d deserve it, because he had cultivated his reputation himself, but every part was so wrong. The way they talked to him as if he was a piece of meat, they way they looked at him.

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer, darling,” he talked in his most conciliatory voice.

“What? Really?”, said the other friend, huffing. “You said he’d agree.”

“Well, I’m working on a project with my friend, so… I’m quite busy.”

“I can’t believe you are rejecting us, Sylvain,” she made a disgusted face. “Anyways, your choice. Enjoy your new girlfriend, but I guess it will last like one week before you can find someone better.” Then, they turned around, looking behind a few times and gossiping.

“What the hell?”, you wondered, bewildered.

“Just my routine”, he sighed.

“We can continue another day, Sylvain”, you tested the waters. You sensed something was wrong and that he wanted to go home, and you had the feeling that he wouldn’t admit it by himself. “It’s getting late anyways.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. Let’s go” He put the piece of paper inside one of the pages of a volume he was going to take. “We can meet other day to put everything together.”

“Of course.” You started putting away your things back in your bag. Sylvain was no longer smiling.

“Can you pass me that book?”, he pointed at the red one you had on your side.

You took it and offered it to him. He extended his hand, and when he placed his fingers around it, they brushed yours. Your heart started to beat fast.

Yet before you could make sense of the occurrence, a stabbing pain stroke you. It felt like a spear had pierced through you, right below your chest. It was so real, so shocking, tears started to form on your eyes. You felt blood coming out, but when you looked for it, there was nothing there. The pain was beginning to expand, a wildfire burning your torso.

You put your palm where you felt the pain, unable to breathe. Suddenly, Sylvain realised something was wrong. You were opening your mouth to take in oxygen, but it was in vain.

“What’s happening?”, he could be shouting your name, but you couldn’t listen because the only thing you heard was a rush on your ears.

He grabbed your arm, but it only made it worse. It made all those strange phenomena more sharp and real. You whispered a faint ‘let me go’, and Sylvain moved away immediately. His steps were so fast he hit the chair and it fell down.

All of a sudden, when his skin wasn’t in contact with yours, everything subsided.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain asked, alarmed. You hadn’t seen him that serious in all your life.

“Yes. I…”, you didn’t finish the sentence. Instead you recovered your breath slowly.

“Stop making so much noise! And don’t break the furniture!”, a kid appeared from behind one of the bookcases. His hair was dark brown, and he wielded a broom that he used to threaten. You felt a little embarrassed, so you muttered an apology before grabbing your things and almost running to the exit. Sylvain followed you closely.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain repeated once you were on the street. As far as you could tell, he was concerned, but more than worry, his eyes displayed suspicion and curiosity.

“Yes. It’s nothing, I just had a problem breathing… maybe it was the dust”, you brushed it off.

“It might have been an anxiety attack. Some people have a lot during their first year at university”, he noted. His smile came back, reassuring. It was incredible how his demeanour could change so quickly. “What a day, huh?”, he laughed. “We should meet again soon. I had fun despite everything.”

“Despite the awkwardness too?”, you replied, both playful and too exhausted from the experience to second-guess your interactions with him.

“What do you mean? That was the best part!”

“C’mon Sylvain!” You denied with your head.

“I don’t know, okay? It just felt nice. You make good company.” He was staring off inro space, and you hoped in the most obscure part of your heart that he was being honest.

“Oh, and you realize that now?”, you teased.

“Better late than never,” your classmate added.

“I suppose.”

Step by step you started walking in the same direction. You were in silence. Each of you had much to make sense of. You weren’t paying attention to the time, until you reached a familiar crossing.

“I’m going this way”, you said as you signalled your direction.

“I’m happy we got paired up in class,” he stated. He was just as handsome as when you met him, but he had a sadder air.

“Me too. See you later, Sylvain.”

“See you.” He stood there, watching you disappear into a corner. Then, he talked to himself. “What a day…”

[lucywiggin]

Bodyguard

Chapter 1: Kang Gook hates stupid love songs

“Never again, “ Gook murmured to himself as he entered his apartment, “no more idols. I’m not doing this ever again.” 

It was almost midnight, and he was just back from fifty-four days of being part of the world’s second most popular boy band (and they were very bitter about not being the first) security detail. Hye-mi suggested the gig because she thought it would be a nice change of pace, and would allow Gook to do some European site-seeing on his free time. Well, it was a change of pace, but not the kind he had in mind.  

Assassins and terrorists, he could handle; but he just wasn’t acquitted to dealing with a crowd of hysterical fifteen-year-olds. All that crying and yelling when there was no real danger meddled with his instincts. 

But nothing mattered now, because he was home, and he’d never have to listen to another stupid love song again. That was a privilege he never would have appreciated in full fifty-five days ago. Gook was only twenty-eight, but dealing with teenagers and their music made him feel ancient.   

He put down his suitcase, yawning. He convinced himself to change into shorts and a t-shirt, then fell face-first on his bed. 

 Gook woke up at eight-thirty to find a message from Hye-mi. 

“Min-hyun really wants to see you,” Hye-mi’s message said, “could you drop by at around ten?”. Gook doubted that Min-hyun actually said that – she was only ten months old – but he went to shower and dress.   

“Look who’s here,” said Hey-mi in baby voice as she opened the door, holding Min-hyun, “it’s your uncle Gook. He’s been away for a really long time!” 

“Hi,” said Gook.  

“How are you?” Hye-mi asked. 

“Fine,” said Gook, “it was a long, noisy tour.” 

Hye-mi led him to the kitchen. “Sit down and hold her for a moment,” she ordered, “I need to get my iPad.” 

Gook held Min-hyun, supporting her head the way Hye-mi taught him when Min-hyun was less than one day old. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.  

 Hye-mi returned. “Your new client,” she said, passing him the iPad, “Han Tae-joo.” 

“No,” Gook said after one look at the photo. “Not another idol. Teenage girls are loud .” 

“He’s not an idol!” Hye-mi protested. “He’s the new chairman of the TB group. Pil-hyun went to high school with him. “ 

“I thought you went to high school with Pil-hyun,” said Gook. “Didn’t you go to school with him, too?” 

“I transferred only for the last year,” Hye-mi explained, “Han Tae-joo’s father sent him to England at about the same time, so I haven’t met him until five weeks ago.” 

“Why five weeks ago?” Gook asked. 

“His father suddenly died of a heart attack, and we went to the funeral. Then we mentioned him to mom, and she insisted we invite him to dinner. He’s an only son and his mother died when he was young, and you know how mom is with strays.” 

Gook was a living proof of that, though he thought treating a Chaebol as a “stray” was pushing the definition of the word. 

Hye-mi went on, “he was here for dinner twice, and she likes him. She told him he should hire you, and he told her he’d think of that. I guess he did, because he called me four days ago and asked to hire you. We already negotiated your terms.” 

Gook knew he was doomed. Between Hye-mi and Ms. Jung, he was stuck with the Han Tae-joo gig until told otherwise.  

Still, he wasn’t giving up without a fight. “Do you really want me to take the job because he was friends with Pil-hyun in high school? That was ten years ago.” 

Hye-mi laughed, “Oh, they weren’t friends. Tae-joo stole three of his girlfriends in a row.” 

“He sounds like a brat,” said Gook. 

“Pil-hyun says he was,” said Hye-mi, “but so was Pil-hyun, and look at him now. Pil-hyun actually thanked him: he said that if he wasn’t single at the right time he would have never asked me out. In a way, we owe him a favor. “ 

“Because he stole Pil-hyun’s girlfriends,” said Gook. He hoped Hye-mi would see how absurd that was. 

“I’m calling you a taxi,” said Hye-mi, who obviously couldn’t see the absurdity. “You’re meeting him in an hour. I sent everything you need to know about him to your email.” 

Gook accepted his fate. “Okay,” he said. “Fine, I’ll meet with him.” Even though he was feeling less than cheerful, he smiled again at Min-hyun before handing her back to her mother, because it wasn’t the baby’s fault that her mother and grandmother scared him into submission. 

“Dinner is at seven, don’t forget!” Hye-mi called after him, “mom really missed you. We all did.” 

 “I won’t forget,” Gook promised before he closed the door. 

Chapter 2:  A very un-Chaebol Chaebol

In the taxi, Gook reviewed everything Hye-mi sent him about Han Tae-joo. They were both twenty-eight, but that was where the resemblance ended. Han was the sole heir of the TB group, a less than ethical (though no suspicion was ever confirmed) conglomerate. He graduated from Oxford University’s Merton College with a first in Economics, then moved to the US, where he completed an MBA in Berkeley. After graduation, he worked at a Sillicon Valley start-up – not the TB’s group American branch, Gook noted – until five weeks ago, when his father passed away because of a heart attack. There were also pictures of him with nine different girls overall, usually at charity events – Han was somewhat of a playboy. Gook was not disappointed, or so he told himself. Most men were attracted to women; why would Han be any different?

Han Tae-joo looked even better in person than in his photos, which Gook definitely did not care about, thank you very much. He was also the most un-Chaebol Chaebol that Gook had ever met. For one thing, he didn’t remain seated behind his desk and waited for Gook to bow to him respectfully, but was out of his chair the moment his secretary let Gook into the room, crossing the space between them to shake Gook’s hand enthusiastically. For another thing, he smiled at Gook. Gook had met more than his fair share of Chaebols – they were abundant in his line of work – but they rarely bothered looking at him, let along shake his hand or give him a smile bright enough to light a room.

 “Kang Gook,” said Han, “I’m Han Tae-joo,” not Chairman Han, Gook noted. “I’ve been looking forward to meet you.”

Even if Hye-mi’s notes didn’t include Han’s long stay abroad, Gook could have guessed from his behavior that he spent a fair amount of time out of Korea. One had to admit, Gook thought, that Han’s attitude was refreshing.

“Chairman Han,” said Gook respectfully, bowing slightly. Just because Han broke protocol didn’t mean Gook was allowed to do the same.

“Please,” Han gestured at one of the visitors’ chairs in front of his desk, “take a seat.” He waited until Gook sat, then went back to sit behind his desk. 

“You know,” Han said, “at first I looked into your resume only out of respect to Ms. Jung. She insisted that you were just the person I needed as my chief bodyguard. However, after the results of your background check returned, I realized she was right on the mark. If I want to survive in this position, I need you to have my back.”

“And you got all of that from a background check?” Gook asked before he could stop himself. There was something about Han that tempted him to throw caution to the wind, and that made Han dangerous. Gook was a professional, and he wanted to leave the gig with his reputation intact.

“I got all of that from your background check plus Ms. Jung, Hye-mi and even Pil-hyun’s recommendations,” Han replied. “According to all your past employers but one – we’ll get to him in a moment - you never use force unless you have to, which means you have a strong moral code. You’re discreet, well-mannered, and my favorite thing about you: you have superpowers.”

shitshitshit

“Superpowers?” Gook asked carefully, putting on his best poker face. “Chairman Han, have you been watching too many Marvel movies?” And that was downright rude, but Gook was caught off-guard. Hey-mi knew about the telekinesis, but he would bet his life she didn’t tell Han. But who did?

Han didn’t look one bit disturbed by Gook’s rudeness.

“Telekinesis and mind control, to be precise,” he said.

doubleshit.

“You’re careful, which I like. According to my sources, you have used your powers on others…” Han paused and made a show of picking up some papers and consulting his notes, though Gook was sure he memorized every incident, “a grand total of eight times, out of which only two included mind control. The first of those was when you ordered that rapist to turn himself in and confess – which he did. “

That was almost seven years ago. It was Gook’s second gig, and he noticed his own client pouring something into a girl’s drink at a club. After that, Hye-mi took over vetting his clients before he accepted a position.

“How do you know I had anything to do with that?” Gook asked, his voice neutral. “Perhaps he had a sudden attack of conscience.”

Han snorted. “Sure he had; of your conscience. He doesn’t have one. About three days later he denied everything he confessed to. Fortunately, he handed the police enough evidence before that sudden change of heart. Then there was the assassin who tried to murder your client, who was also very talkative for almost three days, then again had that mysterious change of heart.”

The incident with the assassin was three and a half years after, and Gook really should have known that commanding him to spill everything to the police would put him at risk.

“I’m guessing the effect of your commands lasts a little less than three days.” Han didn’t wait for Gook’s response. “There were also six incidents of you using your telekinesis. The last time, according to my very reliable sources, was three weeks ago, when you saved a fourteen-year-old girl from being crushed to death by over-enthusiastic fans of that boy band.” Han finished.

Dammit, thought Gook. He thought he was discreet on that one. How did anyone notice, in the middle of that mass of screaming kids?

“I must say I’m disappointed – I expected a kitten saved from a tree somewhere on the list.”

 Gook did not appreciate being mocked. “Get to the point,” he said. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“No!” Han seemed surprised, as if the possibility never crossed his mind.  “I’m saying that I know what kind of man you are, and that I want you on my team. I don’t want a thug,” Han said, turning dead serious, “those are dime a dozen. I’m hiring you because you’re just the opposite. Look, I know that if I do anything illegal with you around, I will find myself at the police station, confessing my crimes, and I still want to hire you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“It tells me you put a lot of trust in me for no good reason.”

Han put his elbows on the desk, leaning closer to Gook. “I have a very good reason,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve been out of this country for ten years. I know very few people and I trust no one. But to succeed in this position, I must be able to trust someone.”

“And you decided on me?” Asked Gook.

“You are, by far, the best candidate. Accept the position, please.”

 Gook never thought he would hear a Chaebol use that word, especially not in such a pleading tone. Either Han was the world’s best actor, or his need - desperation, even - to hire Gook was genuine.

“Okay,” said Gook. “But anything illegal, and you’ll be confessing on YouTube.” That felt strange, acknowledging the power he did his best to forget about. He never shared that secret with anyone, not even Hye-mi.

Han didn’t seem concerned, quite the opposite: he beamed at Gook, holding out his hand for another shake. Gook took it.

“Deal,” said Han.

“Deal,” Gook repeated. “I’ll start tomorrow,” he said, “I’m going to need your address and daily schedule.”

“Don’t you want to know how much I’ll be paying you?” Asked Han.

Gook shook his head. “Hye-mi already negotiated with you,” he said, “she knows what she’s doing.”

“She does,” Han agreed. “Smart lady. Scary, too.”

Gook couldn’t help himself: he chuckled. So did Han.

The story is complete! and you can find the next chapters in AO3. (13824 words overall).

[akimmito]

Heroes are made by the path they choose

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Master List

Chapter 15

After the Akuma battle, Max calls everyone who participated in the battle to talk about what happened. Felix and Marinette agreed to meet later when they settled at the hotel, only Kagami excused herself because she had business to attend to.

An hour passes before everyone is gathered in the boardroom, where all meetings are held. Max stays on the computer, Luka has served snacks for the Kwami and tea for the others, everyone needs to relax to give their opinion, that will help them a bit to wait for Hugo to announce that the food is ready and they can eat, the good thing is that they finished the attack in good time.

Damian feels uncomfortable, perhaps a little irritable at feeling that he has failed at something. It was not his performance in battle, he did what was expected of him exceptionally, even Paris has had good opinions about him, even though he's a child. It bothers him not to identify what caused that feeling.

Everyone notices how introspective the child looks, but says nothing. It's best to let him meditate on what torments him, in the end, only Marinette is able to reach him effectively without receiving an angry look or offensive comment. The child can touch the angelic with his mother close (but sometimes even the worst of his character comes out).

"We're ready." Felix enters the boardroom wearing only the most basic suit, the sleeves of his white shirt roll up to his elbow, and instead of his black shoes, he wears gray, fluffy slippers. Only Felix would present himself like this with the dignity of a king.

By that time, Chloe has also arrived, taking advantage of the lunch hour to meet them, even Nathaniel has taken a break and has arrived, his expression is that of someone who has not slept in three days and is not very wrong, really not he's slept in three days (at that point, Marc is tempted to knock him out with a spatula to get him to sleep).

"We can start." Marinette sits next to Damian after giving him a kiss on the head, he just erases his annoyed expression as a sign of appreciation, calming himself by having her close. "What have they discovered?"

Marc sighs and waits for Max to put on screen the videos of the surroundings of the previous Akuma, it remains to be seen if this last Akuma Purple Dolphin had a similar origin, but with two that are the same, he's sure that this is also the case. When the images appear on the screen behind the engineer, everyone pays special attention to what is displayed.

"Those are images from before Abraham Bélanger was Akumatized, the butterfly suddenly appeared in front of a single camera, so we can assume that our villain moves close to the victims." Marc explains what he had already spoken to Max and Luka, but now they will add the additional information and debate theories. "We didn't discover anyone suspicious, so we also decided to check each owner's vehicles and background. Only one caught our attention."

"A vehicle by the name of Leonard Daract, which is a false name. Although there are several with that name, none of them reside in France and they are not the owners of a car of the registered model. "Max shows the records it found on the screen, since the only real connection is an affiliation with a ghost organization that, due to its investigation, it's a cover for money laundering, but they cannot identify the beneficiary of said scheme. Nicely covered with lots of fake names and dead ends. "Also the name of Jean Laperriére, owner of a vehicle captured away from the origin of the first Akuma, is among the members of B.K. Company. "

"So our villain is good at hiding." Felix analyzes the screen, thinking about which way to go from there. They must be smart and stop walking behind the villain to start taking steps forward.

"That also makes it easy for him to activate organized crime in the city, he already has a way to finance criminal groups without being tracked." Nathaniel comments and then just mutters a few random ideas, plus a couple of curses for the extra work.

"And if he has one, he must have more." Alix gives her little opinion, leaning back in her chair. "That brings me to what I discovered with Detective Fontaine, take. “She pulls out a USB stick and hands it to Max.

In a short time the case files are projected on the screen, the pieces of the bomb found, the witness reports and the names of the victims. Everyone observes a particular name: Nora Bélanger, twenty-two, died on the way to the hospital, the daughter of Abraham Bélanger, the Akumatized victim that day.

"What was the name of today's victim?" Damian asks, feeling that everything has been in motion since long before.

"Let's see. "Max starts reviewing the files on the second computer he has, it's easier that way and he doesn't overload the laptops with so much open file. A couple of minutes later, he has it. "Victoria Jouvet, last night reported a robbery at her house, but it was dismissed and this morning she received a message about it, minutes later, well, we already know what happened..."

"Since when did the police dismiss cases? Alix, did you know about that?"Marinette frowns, she doesn't like how Paris's safety is being affected. Since Mayor Bourgeois was no longer elected and a new mayor took over the city, many corruption cases were disappearing and a dismissal of cases, especially with the return of the butterfly, is not the best practice to keep healthy emotions.

"No, I had no idea." She almost growled about it, maybe she should talk more closely with Detective Fontaine about what's going on inside the police. Too good that she discovered that MT has that kind of jurisdiction, Chloe excelled in supporting the cause, she deserves a reward.

Max continues to collect information and decides to place an alert for registered crimes in the databases, to classify them and be able to monitor the victims. Perhaps there is a way to handle the most violent crimes that Paris has not seen in several years. Yes, there are still murders, robberies and rapes, but it is not something that happens every day and now with emotions as a vulnerable point, they need a way to redirect the negative effect in some way.

"Then the police are falling into old ways, we must clean it up. Kudbel, do you trust that detective?" She nods, resigned to having Felix continue calling her by her last name, sometimes someone's name escapes him, but he corrects him immediately, although she knows that he's fond of everyone, even if he denies it. "So I need you to start a joint investigation, we will make a file of every police in Paris to find out who are the corrupt, we will clean the place to avoid Akuma for police negligence. Any inappropriate behavior will be suspicious, we will remove all the dirty laundry, we have long ignored the police issue. If we only keep two assets in the entire city, it doesn't matter, there is a selection of recruits in the academy that can begin to be sent to the field from the moment we take out the vermin."

"Agree. It's fortunate that Detective Fontaine enjoys being hated by everyone."

"Our guy, tell him we send greetings." Marc says to lighten the mood a bit, although everyone is in work mode now.

"We must create a support project for families, if these police officers have children they must be protected and not left adrift by the mistakes of their parents. "Marinette takes out her phone to write down a reminder to consult Hugo about the possibilities of creating a project about it.

Nathaniel nods in support, also pulling out his phone to check his bank accounts and see if he can support, he doesn't have the exaggerated amounts of money Marinette has accumulated over the past few years at absurd speed, but he's in the same situation that she just He accumulates because neither he nor Marc spend too much, the most expensive thing they have is the apartment and they don't even have a car. They don’t spend beyond what is necessary.

Alix doesn't comment, she, if it were not for living with Chloe, would have a slightly less stable life. Having her own art school doesn't give her millions, but it's something that she really enjoys, just like being an Art History consultant at the Louvre, she doesn't complain, but sometimes she0s surprised at the gap that exists between her and  others. Felix with his millionaire family, Chloe with his exorbitant salary (and the Hotel, which remained in her hands when André was imprisoned for fraud, Chloe didn't touch her heart when she reformed it completely and changed its name, leaving not even the shadow than it was), Nathaniel and Marc have a very stable base of money for their comic book editorial and recently accepted two new writers and three cartoonists for the publication of new works, expanding the franchise, Max has an annual profit that rivals With Luka and his record label, Kagami and the Tsurugi company double Chloe's annual salary (and that's a lot of money)... And Marinette, she has managed to accumulate so much money in just five years that she's close to surpassing Felix's fortune, if her earnings continue to grow at the rate  it's going (and having two Wayne as her clients, she is sure it will happen) she really will go on those lists of the world's richest people. Yes, she is the one who earns the least because even Kim has more stable earnings. And almost all of them have made their salary base in the last four years, working even before starting university.

The MT is full of crazies with money, definitely, but aren't all vigilantes like that? She can bet her kidneys that Batman and Green Arrow are also crazy with money.

"Then with the police business going on. I think it is time to research every company in Paris, find any links with shell companies and list them. That includes ours. ”No one complains, knowing they are not going to be sidelined just because they could end up showing that in court and it is better to avoid suspicion. "All employees must also be investigated. It would be good to speak to Borealis to find out if his informants have any suspicious information. "

"I'll tell him to give us all the information he gets at the meeting." Now it's Chloe's turn to get her phone out and start sending messages.

"Going back to the bomb, do you have suspects?" Marc asks, redirecting the conversation.

"Only one. His name is Felipe Lombard, he was released from prison two years ago. He was arrested for exploiting an apartment building killing seventeen people in Marseille, he was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison and... I really think it should have been longer, but he came out because he made a deal with the prosecution to help dismantle a group of smuggling of weapons that the police had been following for years, but had no conclusive evidence. It seems they found the connection with him and it was one of two, or cooperating or adding another twenty years to the sentence. ”Alix explains with little interest. "He was found dead this morning, according to the detective's call... So we don't know if someone paid him or if he relapsed. "

"Ridiculous, completely ridiculous."

"I think we need to expand our allies..." Luka murmurs, weighing their options, they may have the equipment, but they need more people to give them information and, although Aurore's informants are useful, they are not enough to have more precise control than it happens on the streets. And its allies outside the country seldom have information that relates to Paris in any way.

"Yeah, but we will discuss that when it is the first meeting of the Order." Says Marinette. "By the way, our trip will be short, the jewel is in Istanbul, so after the small obligations that Felix committed to, we'll return. "

"Right, we'd better be going." Felix nods at her words.

Everything is saved and sent to the central database, all are removed and most go to the dining room where Hugo has just arrived thanks to Kaalki. Only Damian doesn't follow the others and instead hugs his mother.

"Sorry. "

"Oh? Why?" She immediately returns the hug and strokes his head lovingly.

"I'm just sorry... maybe I did something wrong."

"You don't have to apologize if you make a mistake, I don't expect you to be perfect or someone you're not for wanting to please me." She smiles and cradles her son's face, she can see the conflict in his green eyes. "I love you as you're."

"Me too, mother." He hides his face in her chest and clings to her as much as he can, feeling really loved and at home. And he decides it's best to ignore the information about soul mates, Constantine's sour gaze upon mentioning it is proof that it's not pleasant for his mother either.

-------

R. Grayson: I have a question regarding the design you submitted

Marie Lenoir: Yes?

R. Grayson: Why is the lining of my suit violet?

Marie Lenoir: Combines with the tie and with your eyes, your shade of blue is very vivid and beautiful

R. Grayson: Thanks, although my eyes are nothing compared to yours

Marie Lenoir: Thank you, I'm flattered.

--------

Lila Agreste is not a bad person, at least, she's not anymore. Being forced to marry Adrien taught her a few things, as well as being a reality hit on the course she was taking in her life. By the time the marriage contract was released, she no longer wanted to have anything to do with the Agreste and marrying the blonde was out of her plans, but she did.

How it happened?

Well, Adrien invested a great deal of money in cleaning up the family name and pleasing her in any way she wanted, that was what persuaded her. But as the years went by, she felt less comfortable with the situation, but she came to sympathize with Adrien's stance and stayed for it, despite the fact that she fell in love with another man. If only the heroes were less useless and found a way to wake Emilie from the coma, she would be free to return to Italy and plan her life with her lover.

She doesn't love Adrien, but she's fond of him. Seven years married in a friendly relationship generates that, he never questioned her and respected her space, in addition to taking her on many trips and including her in various jobs. Yes, she knows that she takes advantage sometimes, but she also feels quite bitter. She doesn't even find herself to lie about anything, she just wants to get out of that horrible life and for that she must play her cards well or the last years would have been a waste of time.

With the only person who keeps in touch during school days is Alya (who doesn't know anything about the contract), the others made their lives far away or their relationships with them fractured, but she knows what has become of all of them because her beloved husband he mentions from time to time, in addition to maintaining a close friendship with several of them. He has even gone to some dinners with him, although she was always uncomfortable.

The only one relevant to her record is Marinette, she was surprised by the turn she gave to her life after that discussion with her parents. She stopped being the annoying girl from school and became a force to be reckoned, the Lady Black brand emerged strongly and remains lifted with the same toughness as the beginning, even expanding to other areas besides fashion.

She's jealous, yes she's, but she learned to recognize that all of that was her effort. She didn't marry anyone to help her, she doesn't even have a partner nor does she need her to have a child. She still doesn't know the famous boy, but Damian Lenoir is not a name that is foreign to her, Alya complained about how that boy seemed about to stab her boyfriend with a table knife... Lila still doesn't understand that possessed her to date that nefarious guy, neither all the money in the world is worth to support such a disgusting man.

"Lila, here!" She smiles as best she can and approaches the table. Alya invited her and, being the girlfriend of the mayor's son, it's a very luxurious place. She has gone there, of course, Adrien sometimes invites her to places like this to give the appearance of a happy couple.

"Hi. "She still doesn't like how effusive the reporter is.

"How was your trip to Kazan? Russia must be beautiful. "She begins, it's been a month since they last saw each other and then just a few calls, Adrien always takes a long time in the cities. Not that she cares, but that gives her time to have a good time at her destinations.

"Wonderful. Adrien paid a tour guide to take us to know the secrets of the city, of course, two weeks is a long time, but we found ways to have a good time while balancing work. "A little lie, she spent most of the time alone, but she's not telling anyone that. Perhaps the only ones who know are Adrien's friends and, again, she returns to that overly successful group. It would have seemed unreal if she hadn't seen their growth firsthand.

"That's great, Lila! I would like to travel more, but Michel is always busy, at least we have the opportunity to have dinner every night. ”She nods as if she was really interested in knowing something about her boyfriend, Nino was a thousand times better and also more pleasant. She still remembers with disgust when Michel tried to seduce her, if he did the same with Marinette, it doesn't surprise her that his son was ready to riddle him with silverware.

"It must be difficult being a surgeon's girlfriend, they can call him randomly at some point."

"Yes, but it's worth it."

Lila wonders if Alya knows or plays stupid, her boyfriend is no better than excrement, however handsome or wealthy he's. Although the reporter has a hard time accepting when she's wrong and after three years of relationship, it would be disappointing, yes, maybe that's it.

-------

­­Alya Cessaire @Alya.Blogs.Out

Reunion! @ LilaA.Rossi

[Attached photo]

Tim Drake @TimDrakeW_

My brother just can't contain himself from flirting, his survival instincts are on the underground

Jason @IAm_YisusXD

@TimDrakeW_ Now what did he do?

Tim Drake @TimDrakeW_

@IAm_YisusXD the normal... only now he forgot that her son has dogs capable of devouring him.

[panda-noosh]

reanimated stars {Sokka x Reader}

Words: 6.8k

Summary: Sokka struggles to impress you. 

Genre: fluff, sprinkle of angst

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions :) - sokka ma boi 

----

     “Hey! Do you wanna fight?”

   Those were the first words Sokka ever said to you.

   Your head snapped up, glasses slipping down your nose with the sudden movement. Around you, the storage room came back into motion. You could hear the grunts and hisses of the other people fighting in the background, the slam of bodies against mats, could smell the sweat and the warm air.

   You immediately hated him for dragging you back to this hell hole.

   You'd seen Sokka around, of course. The arrival of him and his group had been all anyone spoke about these past few weeks, but you never indulged. Quite frankly, you didn't really care. Having the Avatar under the same roof as you was cool when you thought about it, but you weren't about to destroy your entire routine just to impress them.

   So you stayed out of their way.

   Aang, Toph and Katara seemed fine with these arrangements; you were fairly certain they didn't even know your name. However, Sokka was a different story. The social butterfly of the group, clearly he didn't like the idea of leaving anyone out of his social graces.

   He stood over you now, a grin on his face.

   “No thank you.”

  The grin faded.

    You looked back at your book, tucking your head into the crook of your elbow so you could read the words more comfortably, perhaps block out the violent sounds emitting from the room around you. You were waiting for a training mat to become available so you could get your daily sparring in, had decided to read a little bit whilst you waited.

   Sokka continued to stand there, now awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. He played with his fingers; your rejection was not what he'd expected.

   You flicked a glance up at him, raising a brow. “You alright?”

   “Me?” he started. “Yeah, I'm fine. Really good. Fine. I was just – I was told this was the sparring room.”

  You paused. “That it is.”

   “So I came in here to spar,” he continued, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don't have a partner.”

    “You should probably find one.”

  He pursed his lips. “Right.”

  You waited a moment longer, continuing to stare at him. This was the moment you expected him to move, the moment any normal person would have taken the hint and left you to your own devices.

  But Sokka wasn't like that.

  He scratched the back of his neck once more before finally settling down on the chair in front of you. Perhaps it was instinct – a complete stranger getting comfortable with you, it was something you weren't entirely used to. You jerked back, pulling your book into your chest as you regarded the new-comer with narrowed eyes.

  He looked down at the rough, wooden table, scraping his nail along the edge to rid it of splinters. “I'm Sokka.”

   “I know.”

  “You are?”

  “Y/N.” Why were you telling him your name?

  He smiled softly. “That's a nice name. I expected something like. . . like Velociraptor or something.”

  You raised a brow. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “The people around here just look like they should have tough names. 'Cause they fight all the time, don't they?”

   You paused, trying to deduce whether he was kidding or not. He was a new-comer at the end of the day – you couldn't exactly blame him for thinking you and your people were all hostile. Your base, settled in the underground, didn't exactly give off a very welcoming vibe. The smoke that billowed the area from the amount of smokers in the group was almost suffocating. You couldn't speak to anyone who didn't have bruised knuckles, because there was no one like that. The place you called home was a place meant to protect, a place meant to train and gear people up for battle against the Fire Nation.

  But you weren't all bad.

  You, for instance, would much rather curl up with a book and read than fight the people you'd grown to call family; sparring was just a part of keeping yourself safe, but it hadn't morphed your personality. It was just a thing you felt like you had to do to stay alive.

  Sokka flicked his eyes up when you didn't respond to his assumptions. He didn't look apologetic, simply confused that you hadn't answered. “Do you prefer hand-to-hand combat or weaponry?”

   He was changing subjects so fast. He really was making an effort to keep the conversation flowing – you didn't even know him.

  “Hand-to-hand,” you replied cautiously.

  Sokka's eyes flicked down to your knuckles, where bruises from yesterday were still healing. “Are you good at it?”

  “I've been doing it for a few years, so I know a thing or two.”

   “Could you show me a thing or two?”

   You laughed. Sokka did not join you.

   You froze, staring at him with slightly widened eyes – again, it was another moment where you weren't entirely sure if he was being serious or not. He was part of the Avatar's crew. He was friends with the boy who was destined to save the world, and he was asking you for help?

  “I'm serious,” said Sokka, as if reading your confused thoughts. “Toph is still healing. I have nothing better to do.”

  “I'm probably not the best person to be teaching you anything,” you replied, already getting ready to stand up and leave, just as you should have done the very moment Sokka sat down.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” He followed after you, trying to reach for your wrist but the moment he decided against it was written clear on his face; he caught the snarl beginning to take shape and wisely flinched his hand back. “Okay, well, just explain to me-”

  “I'm not qualified.” You nodded towards Adrianna, dressed in just a sports bra and sweatpants, a tiny dab of blood dribbling from her lip as she sparred with a boy from the next bunk over – you weren't sure of his name. Weren't sure of a lot of people. “You're better off asking Adrianna. She knows what she's doing.”

  Sokka followed your gaze, frowning once he caught sight of her. Before he could turn back, however, you've already ducked out of his vision and started towards the exit door.

  Privileged little land-dweller. Though you didn't know as much about Sokka as you did everyone else on his crew, you knew enough to understand where he came from; the southern water tribe. He probably had a family, friends, a life back home that he left for the thrill of adventure. He'd taken one look at the attention Aang was getting and thought he could hop on for the ride, not even once thinking about what it was he was leaving behind.

  The thing so many of your people would have killed to have, he was leaving behind like it was nothing.

  You weren't sure why these thoughts clogged your brain. Maybe you'd spent too much with these people. Maybe the smoke-filled air had gotten to you, made you grumpy, made you pessimistic.

  Maybe you've just seen too much.

  Sokka didn't try coming after you, for which you're grateful. You could forget sparring for the day – just for one day. Tomorrow, you'll work extra hard to make up for it, but whilst the water bender is still there, still insistent on getting your assistance, you'll steer clear.

  ---

  Sokka groaned into his palms.

  Well, that was his chance destroyed.

  Over and gone in less than ten minutes – you hadn't even given him ten minutes! Usually, Sokka was a professional at winning people over. Give him a single line, a hobby, a conversation topic and he could make anyone putty in his hands.

  You'd barely given him the time of day.

  Katara sat by his side, knitting away like she always does in the evenings. The tent the soldiers set up for them is relatively big, but not big enough for Sokka's frustration to be hidden from the three people sitting around him. Toph lays in her sleeping bag, awake but barely picking up on anything, whilst Aang was meditating in the corner.

  The only one making noise was Sokka, and they were purely noises of frustration.

  Katara sighed, always being the first one to break when it came to Sokka's moods. “What's wrong, bud?”

  “Why can't people just appreciate my award winning personality?”

   Katara froze. Though Sokka had his head buried in his hands, he could tell she was giving Aang the look – raised brows, a slight pout on her face, completely her mother's daughter.

  “Uh. . .,” Aang drawled. “Maybe if you elaborated, we could give you an answer.”

  “Do you know Y/N?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sokka perked up, that certainly not being the answer he'd expected. Katara flinched with the speed of which he moved, how he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “You know Y/N?”

  “Well yeah.” Katara shoved him back. “I watched them train a few times. They seem nice.”

  “A real book lover,” Aang chimed in. “I don't know how they can stay still for so long.”

  “They use up their energy during sparring; you should see them go. I wouldn't want to fight with them for too long.”

   Sokka blinked. This was absurd. Utterly and completely absurd; you would talk and bond with his friends but not him? What had he ever done to you? Had he crossed some invisible boundary when he sat down? Did you have something against his hair? Because if that was the case-

  “What did Y/N do to you?” Toph asked, her words slurred by the medication still pumping through her.

  “Nothing. That's what's bothering me.”

  Katara groaned. “Oh my God, Sokka, are you kidding me? You're upset because someone wasn't giving you attention?”

  “It wasn't just that!” Sokka defended. “I sat down, and they just completely turned the cold shoulder on me! They got up and walked away!”

   “Maybe you just made them uncomfortable,” said Aang, as if this answer would somehow settle Sokka's racing thoughts.

  Sokka glared at the meditating boy. Aang peeked an eye open and shrugged.

  “I'm just saying. Sometimes you can come on a little bit strong.”

  Katara sighed, waving a dismissive hand in Aang's direction as she regarded Sokka. “What exactly did you say?”

  Sokka shrugged. “Nothing unusual. I asked them if they would teach me how to spar.”

  Katara blinked. “You asked them to teach you?”

  “Was that a bad idea?”

  “You do realise everyone here only spars because they need to keep themselves alive, don't you?” said Toph. Even in her half-dazed state, she still managed to sound gut wrenchingly judgemental.

  Sokka paused. “So. . . It was a bad idea?”

   “You probably made it sound like you just wanted a quick fight for the fun of it,” Toph clarified, rolling onto her back. “They don't do that shit around here, Boomerang Boy. They're training for their lives. None of this is a joke to them.”

  Sokka's stomach turned – oops. He hadn't really thought of that. At the time, what he'd said didn't seem insensitive, though maybe that was just because he was being ignorant. He thought you looked cute, and that was all the prompting he needed to try and win you over.

  “Ah,” was all he could manage.

  Aang snickered, having fully given up on his meditation in favour of listening in on Sokka's embarrassment. He lay sprawled across his own sleeping bag, his head resting on his curled knuckles, one leg in the air because Aang was just weird like that.

  “You look genuinely upset, buddy,” he said. “Is this one special?”

  Sokka flushed. “Isn't it past your bed time?”

  Aang burst out laughing. Even Toph joined in, and glancing to the side, Sokka could see his own sister trying to hide her amusement behind the half-finished quilt she was trying to knit.

  Sokka grumbled, flopping down onto his sleeping bag and burying his head in the pillows – this day could not have gone any worse, and it was entirely his fault. If he'd just stopped to think about what he was doing, he would have been able to figure out – or even learn – just who it was he was speaking to.

  But now he'd ruined every chance he once thought he'd had.

  ---

  The next day, Sokka was nowhere to be found, and for that, you were grateful.

  You strode into the sparring room earlier than usual, shoulders drawn back. Hardly anyone was present, meaning you had the perfect chance to stretch your muscles out before Adrianna arrived.

  You picked the mat at the far end of the room and started stretching. You remembered Sokka's words from the day previous, remembered his face, his shoulders, the confidence that bore off him even though he had absolutely no reason to be – yes, he had a pretty face and a dazzling smile, but how confident can a man really be when he doesn't even know the place he's strolling through?

  You hated that you remembered him so much, that he played on your mind more than anything else. He was basically famous at this point – mostly for being a wanted criminal in many places, but that was beside the point. You blamed his almost-celebrity status for the reason behind your straying mind. It wasn't fair – he'd come up and spoken to you, and yet you were the one forced to deal with the questions his presence left in it's wake.

  It wasn't an hour later that the door to the sparring room creaked open and Adrianna stepped in, again wearing her sports bra and sweatpants. Her short hair was pinned back, her lip plastered up from yesterday, her eyes shining with the familiar fury you always saw in her. She was in a constant state of ready, and you admired her for that.

  “Where were you yesterday?” was the first thing she asked.

  You stood up straight, cracking your neck. “Didn't feel like coming in.”

  “I saw you at your table, though. You just decided to bail?”

   You shrugged. “It's complicated. I'm here now, though – and I've got a lot of energy to burn.”

   Adrianna grinned, and the fight started.

  She always tried to make it start out slow, but there was never such thing as slow when it came to her – she was a monster, a whirlwind on feet. Her 'light punches' could knock someone out for a solid hour and a half – you'd seen her do it, heard her complain to the leader that she was going easy on him, that she didn't deserve her punishment because she hadn't even started.

  But you'd been sparring with Adrianna long enough to track her movements. Though you would never be able to take her down with force alone, you could dodge her better than anyone else in this shit hole. Using brain power was sometimes just as helpful as using brute force.

  You dodged her hits, ducked beneath her swings, shifted out the way of her lunges. You only got a few hits in every now and then, but the exertion was getting to her; she was still grinning from ear to ear, forever amused by just how lithe you were. She often called you Wriggler, because you never failed to wriggle out of whatever grip, swing or pull she tried to lock you in.

  That was why you two worked so well together; anyone else wasn't a challenge to Adrianna, so her muscles were never exercised. It was the same hitting, the same moves, the same damn thing every single day.

  Until you stepped onto the mat.

  Then she had a challenge, and if there was one thing Adrianna liked, it was a challenge.

   The sparring went on for a lot longer than you'd originally anticipated. Your legs were beginning to feel weak, head beginning to throb, sweat dripping down the column of your throat until it disappeared beneath the collar of your workout shirt. Adrianna's dark brown eyes twinkled, because she thought she had you. You were beginning to slow, and she could see it in the stumble of your steps, the way you panted at any point in which you weren't moving.

  But then she stumbled, and you saw your opening.

  You shot down to the mat and grabbed her ankle. Adrianna roared as she fell, her back clashing with the spongy blue material. You immediately dived on her, grabbing her arm and pulling it behind her back, holding her there, letting her know there was no way she could wriggle free.

  You leaned down. “Tap out, Addie. Just do it. Nobody's here to see it.”

  She grunted, continued to squirm beneath you. You tugged harder on her arm, waiting to hear the moment her shoulder popped. You tugged, tugged, tugged-

  Her other hand slammed down on the mat three times, and you released her.

  She groaned, rolling over onto her stomach. You joined her, flattening yourself against the mat with the worlds biggest grin taking over your face.

  “That was a good one,” you said. “Is your shoulder-”

  Clap. Clap. Clap.

  “What the fuck?” Adrianna shot up, her eyes widening at whoever stood before her. You peaked your head up, shielding your eyes from the bright lights cast from the ceiling-

  And there stood Sokka, his eyes wide and his jaw open.

  You sat bolt upright. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I came to apologise!” he said, sounding almost excited about the task of apologising. “But then I saw you two fighting and I didn't want to interrupt, and wow! You're incredible!”

   Adrianna was struck dumb, staring at Sokka with a mix of awe and absolute confusion. She was just like the rest of the crew – she thought Aang and his friends were the best thing since sliced bread.

  You resisted rolling your eyes. “Well you can go now,” you said. “I've acknowledged your apology.”

  Adrianna whirled on you. “Y/N.”

 You were already standing up, snatching your water from the floor. “I'll send Chuck in next – I think she wanted to spar with you after yesterday.”

   You started towards the door, but your escape wouldn't be so easy this time. Sokka scrambled after you, placing his hand on the door before you could slam it in his face. You gritted your teeth and made your way down the empty halls, your feet echoing off the walls – but they were not alone, as Sokka trotted close behind you.

  “You don't have to apologise, you know,” you said. “I would much rather you just let dead things lie.”

   “That's not how the Sokka-man works,” he replied, before pausing. “Sorry.”

  “Mm.”

   “Look, I really am sorry,” he continued, picking up his pace so he was walking directly beside you. “I didn't mean to be insensitive. My friends and I were talking-”

  “You and the godly-crew?” The words were out before you could stop them. You winced at just how harsh they were, how uncalled for they were. He was trying to apologise, and yet you couldn't stop this unnecessary streak of bitterness from rising to the surface.

  Sokka swallowed, Adams apple bobbing. “We were talking,” he continued slowly, “and they told me about why you guys do this. Me asking for some quick tips wasn't exactly sympathetic to what you've been forced to do.”

   For just a moment, you wanted to strike back with something cruel. You wanted to hurt his feelings, tell him you didn't need his pity, didn't need anyone's pity.

  But then his words settled, and you calmed down.

  You'd been built to think like this, to just lash out at anyone who wanted to help you. Your parents both murdered in a raid by the Fire Nation, you left to rot entirely on your own until Adrianna's parents found you and brought you into their tight-knit circle; even with a new group of friends and a roof over your head, you knew there was no time for slacking off. Not when you were an orphan coming from nowhere, with no one to help you, with no one to protect you but yourself.

  It was a side you wanted to banish. You kind of wanted to be a little bit like Sokka – forgiving. Kind. Realising your mistakes and being able to apologise for them.

  You hollowed our your cheeks, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “It's alright. You didn't mean any harm by it.”

  “Exactly!” Sokka exclaimed. “Now, can I take you for a drink in the mess hall?”

  You paused, glancing at him. “You weren't apologising just to win me over, were you? Because I don't appreciate-”

  “It's a drink,” he groaned, already grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the mess hall. “You really need to loosen up a little bit.”    ---

  Sokka sat down in front of you, and continued to stare.

  You messed with the straw plunged into the whipped cream. Beneath it, hot chocolate steamed. Sokka had chosen a coffee, a beverage that you thought quite well suited his personality.

  He tilted his head to the side, examining you like a hawk. You wanted to shift under his gaze, but giving away the fact that you were uncomfortable wasn't a good idea – he was still a stranger, still a potential threat no matter how much kindness he was willing to show you.

  Finally, he sighed. It was almost dream like, only exaggerated when he slumped forward and folded his arms along the table. “I meant it when I said you can fight really well.”

   You looked up. “Thanks.”

  “Adrianna's really good, too,” he continued, stirring another spoonful of sugar into his drink. “Did you two train together?”

  “She's been my sparring partner since I was twelve.”

  Sokka raised a brow. “Did she grow a little faster than you?”

  “She's just built like that,” you replied. “I'm not.”

   “You're small,” said Sokka, as if this was a brand new revelation. “That's how you get under her arms and stuff, isn't it?”

  You shrugged. “I like to think that's more skill than advantage of height.”   “I'm sure you're very skilled, too,” Sokka assured. “She has the muscle, and you have the flexibility – you're a perfect team.”

  This was the first time you'd ever heard anyone compliment the duo that was you and Adrianna. Usually, people went straight for the “How has she not killed you yet?” and then continued to question just what strategy you had been using to stay alive against her bulk. Sokka, however, seemed genuinely interested in the dynamic the two of you shared.

  “We balance each other out,” you explained. “We spar with each other, but when we actually have to fight someone, we work just as well as a team.”

  “You trust each other.”

  You paused. “I guess so. Trust is a bit of an iffy word with me.”

   You hadn't meant to open flood gates, but the way Sokka perked up had you realising that was exactly what you'd done.

  “Really? Why is that?”

  You shrugged, sitting back in your chair. Around you, the people you'd grown up with chattered and flickered their gazes over to your tiny little table, quietly enquiring why Sokka was talking to you, of all people.

  “It's difficult to trust people when you're constantly in competition with them,” you replied. “We'll all protect each other, but at the end of the day, there's an obvious hierarchy in this place. People want to get to the top, and they'll take you down to get there.”

  Sokak frowned. “Did you not have any friends before you came here? People you could trust?”

  “I've been here since I was a baby. I was raised here.”

  Sokka paused, his lips parting just slightly. It was confusion and sadness and guilt all rolled into one, and you didn't want any of it – you wanted him to look away and stop questioning everything. You wanted him to stop being so perfectly curious about the things nobody else seemed to give a shit about. You wanted to go back to bundling yourself up and pretending the environment you were in was perfectly okay, not at all toxic.

  It was all you'd ever known, so it had to be enough. It had to be okay. You had no other options.

  “Do you have – Do you have parents?” His question was timid. He knew he was treading on thin ice.

  “No,” you replied. “They were killed by the Fire Nation.”

  His breath hitched. “My mum was killed by the Fire Nation, too.”

  Your eyes snapped up, lips parting in the same way his had done only seconds before – that was the last thing you'd expected to hear. Sokka was the happy-go-lucky, annoying little shit you avoided when you needed to. He was the guy who had everything. He was the wanted criminal with a smile on his face.

  He wasn't meant to have a tragic past. That didn't make sense. It didn't add up to the sum that was his personality.

  “Oh, Sokka...,” you whispered, unable to think of anything else. “I'm sorry.” That's what everyone always said to you, and you hated it. You winced at the way it sounded coming out of you now, the way Sokka smiled that awkward little smile you always had to force on your face when the words were repeated to you for the millionth time, meaning nothing each time.

  “It's okay,” he mumbled. “I still have, like, my dad, and my grandma and my sister. I'm not alone.” He flicked his eyes up. “You're not alone either, though. You have all these people who love you.”

  He said it like it was a fact, as if he knew the ins-and-outs of this place after spending only a few days within it's confines. He had such confidence in other people. It crushed you.

  You smiled softly. “You're right,” you replied. “We're not alone. Neither of us.”

  “And you have me!” he added, perking up. He noticed your raised brow and quickly wilted. “Only if you want, of course...”

  And despite every instinct telling you to stop this right now, to back away from him before things got even more tangled, you smiled.

  ---

  “I think I might be in love.”

  “Again?” Toph grumbled, head submerged in a pile of quilts that Aang was trying – and failing – to pry off of her.

  “Toph, please! You need to see sunlight if you want to get better.”

  “If getting up is what I have to do to get better, then you're better off letting me die.”

  Katara sighed, turning her gaze on Sokka. “Where have you been and what do you mean you're in love?”

  Sokka plonked down on the floor next to his little sister, still grinning like an idiot. He couldn't get the thought of your smiling face out of his mind, the way you'd thrown your head back and laughed when he'd burned his tongue, the way you'd shyly wiped his chin when the coffee dribbled down his front.

  He'd made such a fool of himself, and it went perfectly.

  “I might be in love,” he repeated, staring up at the ceiling as Aang and Toph fought for the covers. “I got a drink with Y/N, and they're so much better than I thought.”

  Aang looked up, feet planted on Toph's back as she wriggled beneath him. “Y/N agreed to have a drink with you?”

  Katara clapped her hands together. “Oh Sokka, that's great! Did they forgive you for yesterday?”

  “I think so. It seemed like it.”

  “Great!” Toph grunted. “Now you just have to break things off, because you know damn well we can't stick around here forever. We've got Mr Meditation to concentrate on.”

  Aang dug his knee into her spine.

  Sokka frowned. “Why have you always gotta ruin my vibe, Toph?”

  “I'm telling the – agh! - truth.” She slammed her fist into the floor. The earth rose, knocking Aang in the back. He went tumbling forward, landing on his knees against the wall of the tent.

  “Would you two give it a rest?” Katara exclaimed, before turning back to Sokka. “I think you should ask them out.”

  Sokka's eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Well, yeah.” She picked up her knitting again. “If you really like them, I don't see why not. There's no point in wasting time.”

  “And what if they don't like me back?”

  “Did they make it seem like they liked you back?” Aang asked.

  Sokka pondered; you really were a strange little thing. You'd forgiven him, which put a mark in the GOOD box in Sokka's mind, but in the same breath, it was clear you were quite a restricted person. Though you'd laughed and joked, how far did that really get him?

  “Maybe you should just ask them out and see where it goes,” said Katara. “If it's a no, then it's no big deal; you live and you learn-”

  “And you wallow in the rejection,” Toph added helpfully.

  “That, too,” said Katara. Her eyes popped open, as if just realising what she'd agreed upon. “Uh, but you know, that won't happen. I'm sure Y/N likes you just as much as you like them – you're a catch, big bro!” She chuckled awkwardly, blushed and looked back at her knitting.

  Sokka sighed, casting his arm over his eyes. He wanted to clear his head. He wanted to sleep, even though it was only midday and he'd barely done anything – with Toph sick, the group were taking what seemed to be a little bit of a holiday. The Fire Nation were still after them, but Sokka felt safe in the depths of the underground. He felt safe surrounded by a bunch of soldiers, most of whom had been raised to fight the very threat he was running from.

  But still, sleep would not come to him even if he tried, and he knew that. His day had been too good. His hopes had been exceeded to the point where his bones were buzzing with the need to do something – say something. He just wanted to get up and find you again, but you were busier than he was. You'd left the little coffee date due to a man called Barney looking for you – he seemed authoritative, and Sokka didn't want to get in the way of whatever business he needed you to take care of.

  So, instead, Sokka did what he does best, and he stared up into the darkness, hoping an answer would rise out of nowhere eventually.

  ----

  Darkness was never something you set out to be a part of.

  You just kind of found yourself wound up within it a lot of the time. Like you were drawn to it. Like the fates had somehow pinpointed you as the sad little orphan who needed to wallow every night; they provided you with nothing but moonlight and stars, and you just found yourself in it.

  You sat upon the rooftop, legs dangling. You knew if Barney were to see you now, he would scold you for being so reckless; anyone could see you from up there. You could easily give away their hiding spot, but you were past the point of caring by now. After nearly eighteen years of hiding in the underground, a little bit of adventure could go a long way.

  You sighed, slowly leaning back on the tin roof. The wind whistled past your ears. The stars blinked down at you, and you wanted to reach up and touch them. Adrianna once told you that your parents had taken the form of stars and were watching over you every night – you knew it wasn't true. The pessimistic part of you said it was ridiculous, almost wanted to scoff at her attempts to comfort you. But the other part of you – the part that was present on this roof beneath the stars – wanted to reach out and see if it was true.

  Maybe, if you reached far enough, you would be able to hear your dads laugh again. Maybe you'd be able to hear your mum call you “Pumpkin.”

  The door to your left opened. You closed your eyes.

  “Occupied,” you said.

  “Hey.”

  Sokka. Of course it was Sokka.

  You peaked open an eye and glanced at him. He stood sheepishly by the trap door, dressed in his day clothes though his hair was dishevelled, giving the illusion that perhaps he'd taken a nap before crawling up to see you; part of you wanted to be angry. He got the chance to nap, to rest whenever he wanted.

  However, you were more enamoured by how adorable he looked with his hair ruffled in the way it was.

  You shifted over, not needing to use words to let him know he was welcome. He grinned, closed the door and came to lay beside you. His body stretched out so much more than your own, but neither of you minded, even as his feet hung over the edge of the gutters.

  “What are you doing up here?” he asked quietly.

  “Thinking.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Everything.”

  Sokka hummed. “That's a lot to think about. You sure you want to do it on your own?”

  He was being cute. Maybe it was purposeful. Maybe that was just what Sokka was like – you kind of hated how much you wanted to find out.

  You smiled softly, turning back to the stars. “I was thinking about making my parents into stars.”

  Sokka stiffened. “Okay.”

  You pointed towards the sky, squinting as if that would somehow help Sokka get a better view of the particular, tiny little star you really wanted him to zone in on. He tilted his head, his temple nearly bumping against your own, and followed the direction of your pointed finger.

  “That's my dad.”

   “How can you tell?”

  “I think I can see a little beer belly.”

   Sokka hummed, sitting up a bit. “Yeah. Definitely a little beer belly.”

  He slumped back down and inspected the sky. His own eyes were narrowed, searching for the perfect star, and you knew exactly who he was searching for. You watched him do it, watched his brain work at a million miles per hour.

  Suddenly, his hand shot out. “That one.”

  You had no idea what he meant by that one – the stars were just clusters to you – but you humoured him just as he had humoured you. You leaned your head against his own, squinted and said, “Is that her?”

  He nodded, grinning. “That's her. My mum.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “'Cause she's twinkling. The brightest little star in the sky.”

  Your heart thundered. Sokka chuckled, letting his hand drop back to his chest, and neither of you moved away. You continued to stare up at the sky, continued to stare up at your parents, and his mother, and you wondered if they would be proud to see you like this. You didn't know your parents well enough to know – what did they want of their only child? When they found out you were going to be a part of their lives, what had they wanted you to do?

  You wondered what Sokka's mother would want from him – maybe he was doing it. Maybe he was working towards it. Maybe he didn't know, either.

  That was okay.

  “I think she'd be really proud of me.”

  Your eyes flicked to his. He truly was a mind reader.

  “I'm sure she would be.”

  “She always wanted me to be strong,” he continued. “I think – I think I've done that. Or at least, I'm breaking the surface.”

  “You're strong,” you blurted out. He looked at you, an eyebrow raised. “Look, I'm just trying to tell you she's proud of you. It would be impossible for her to not be proud of you.”

  “Oh?”

  You turned back to the stars. “All parents really want for their child is for them to grow up and be decent. Nice. Caring. Compassionate. All that bullshit. You fit those descriptions perfectly, Sokka.”

    You could count your heartbeats. You were certain Sokka could, too, because never before had you spoken so openly to someone. It was weird, the words tasting like acid, your mind immediately digging into the fight or flight response as you conjured up the worst case scenarios for an honesty like this.

  But Sokka chuckled. “Then your parents would be very proud of you, too.”    You frowned. “I don't think so.”

  Sokka's chuckle quickly subsided, replaced by a grunt of what you could only take as confusion. “You don't think so?”

  “I really don't think so,” you responded. “Growing up in a place like this. . . It's impossible to be a good person.”

  “It's never impossible to be a good person.”

  He shifted, rolling onto his side. He rested his head against his knuckles, stared down at you. You met his gaze in the darkness, wanted to hold it forever.

  “You don't have to be optimistic to be a good person, you know.”

  “I'm more than just a pessimist, Sokka. I'm – I don't know. I'm sour.”

  “No you're not.”

  “You're just saying that.”

  And then his hand was pressed against your cheek, the touch so soft and comforting that you very nearly gasped at the feel of it. It was so different to the punches and kicks you were so used to receiving from strangers – it was different, but a nice kind of different. The kind of different you felt when you got a new mattress, or new quilts.

  You swallowed thickly. “Sokka...”

  “I really don't like you thinking that way.” He frowned. “Why don't I like you thinking that way? Why do I care?”

   “I don't – I don't really-”

  “God, I swear I'm not usually so bad at this.” He screwed his eyes shut, thumb unconsciously stroking beneath your cheek. If it were anyone else, you would have pushed them away by now, but his touch was so welcoming and warm and perfect that you couldn't even bring yourself to move. “I'd really love to know where my thoughts go when I'm around you.”

   “I don't. . . Uh. . . . I don't really know what to say.”

  He opened his eyes. “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop.”

   You froze. For the first time, you realised your own fingers had curled around his wrist. You were unconsciously keeping him in place, even tugging him that little bit closer without realising it. He looked down at where your fingers met his skin, and his eyes flared with something you'd never seen before. It was primal, filled with need, a hint of anxiety showing through the cracks.

  “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop,” he repeated in a whisper.

  You pulled him down and kissed him.

  His arms gave out until the only thing keeping him from crushing you was his forearms, which pressed into the tin by your head. His legs tangled with your own, his chest coming to cover yours, and you were certain you could memorise each thump of his heartbeat if you tried hard enough, kept him here long enough. Maybe if the two of you stayed on this roof for a little bit longer, you would just become part of it and nobody else would ever bother you because who else was crazy enough to come up here when they knew the consequences?

  You. You were, and apparently you were crazy enough to kiss Sokka back with just as much passion as he was kissing you.

  This man who lived a life so separate from your own, and yet nothing felt more natural than coming together in this moment. His experiences didn't matter. Your experiences didn't matter. It was just the two of you – that was all that mattered.

  He broke the kiss first. Your head fell back against the tin roof, eyes blown wide, hair fanning out around you. Sokka traced his fingers along the stray hairs falling against your forehead, his touch like butterflies crawling across your skin.

  “You didn't tell me to stop,” he whispered.

  You laughed a breathy laugh. “I didn't want you to stop.”

[rem289]

Q: Why are you writing this post?

A: Because during the Christmas holidays I started to receive attention from the Zootopia fandom which led me to re-discover some concepts that I thought I had made clear, and since this didn’t turn out to be true, I am forced to reiterate them.

Q: What happened?

A: I discovered that someone had reposted, obviously without my consent, an old comic of Aoimotion and mine on reddit, a site I don't like and on which I had already said not to publish my actually and old contents. This repost "reminded" this fandom of my existence, and after this event some people came to ask us questions such as "when Nick and Judy would reappear in our work?" and the like.

You can imagine how much it bothered me, so I went to reddit and wrote to immediately delete the content. Unfortunately, doing this I couldn’t help but notice how the post had become a place to waste insinuations and insults aimed at me and Aoimotion. In particular, the comments of three users stood out: @ggctuk , @owningsuperset7​ and @hammytotherescue

Q: Why did these users get your attention?

A: ggctuk, which I have no idea who they are, have proclaimed themselves as the narrative voice of the events that have taken place between us and the fandom, providing a lot of incomplete and, in the worst case, completely wrong information, about why we left the fandom and about the alleged "abusive behaviors" we had against translators.

Owningsuperset7 spoke about us (like he does every time the occasion presents itself to him), defining us ungrateful towards the fandom "that had fed us". But "fed" in what sense? It seems to me that we have been those who have definitely "eaten" very little… or likes can be monetized, just like the views on youtube, and I didn't know it? Did they break the keyboard in order to put those likes on our works? If it’s so, I'm sorry, but I certainly wasn't the one who pointed the gun at their head to follow my work. Always remember that paying attention to a work is always and only a reader’s choice. No creator has power over these phenomena, we just create and publish, the rest is always an unknown factor. So expressing yourself as a seduced and abandoned lover on an old and free work doesn’t make you a victim, it only makes you ridiculous. Anyway, I know the subject, who had already decided in the past to talk on DeviantArt before I blocked him, and I decided not to tell him anything in that moment, also because, what can you say to a person who clearly has problems that go beyond fandom? Sometimes ignoring is the kindest choice you can make.

Hammytotherescue instead claimed that he and I were friends in the past, before the duo formed by me and aoimotion became toxic. Since I had no memory of this person and I hate when someone alludes to relationships with me that don't exist, I wrote to him privately on Tumblr asking him if he could kindly refresh my memory about this "friendship" he was bragging about.

Q: How did it end?

A: The conversation, which I report below because I, unlike him, have nothing to be ashamed of, is as follows:

As you can see, Hammy never replied to my last message . But in reality the story was not over. A few days ago, in fact, I discover that the user in question "vented" in the post of reddit, not under my comment (so that I received notification of his reply) but in response to another comment that had been left to me. Showing, as always, the incredible maturity of these people.

After reading this comment, I decided to act by reporting the user on reddit, but the answer I received can be summarized as: "since you are a content creator, you deserve insults regardless." In short, a response as useful and smart as the people who gave it to me. So don’t worry Hammy, you won't be banned from reddit because the only braincell shared by you users agrees that defining a toxic and manipulative person is, to quote one of the wise moderators I talked to, "a fairly typical level of criticism". All is well that ends well.

Q: You mentioned "concepts to reiterate". What would they be?

A: Let's start by denying what ggctuk wrote in that reddit's post, given how much popularity his comments have gained.

My split from this fandom started because I simply lost interest in Nick and Judy and preferred to do something else, something of my own. Black Jack gave us the opportunity to invent many original characters and they was those I wanted to work on. We have never worked for ulterior motives other than having fun together. When we recognized that we no longer have anything to give to this universe, we declared it openly and closed this chapter of our "artistic life". This split could take place in a peaceful and calm way, I would have taken my own path and you yours, since it was obvious, since BJ times, that you had very little interest in our original contents. You also reiterated this between the lines of these last comments, so really, I make a terrible effort to understand your logic of contents belonging to your fandom. It's not your fault, don't worry. You have been spoiled by this entrenched habit of creating any anthropomorphic animal and attributing it to your precious and super-nutritive fandom. Once you labeled this attitude at heresy, now everything is fine as long as it helps you keeping this universe going, honestly, I just pity you. However it seems that your obsession with me prevents you from accepting the fact that my life would have continued even without this fandom and that I would have lived very well even without the amount of likes that fanarts could give me. Indeed my life would be even more beautiful if I didn't have to waste time like I am doing now.

Both me and aoimotion together gave you a lot, and in the end we simply got it back. Jack is a prime example: yes, he is a character born from the scratches of Zootopia's artwork, but thanks to our work he has evolved to the point of becoming a completely original character. This fandom has not been able to accept it and until the end has tried to claim him as its own, and even now it can’t accept that we have instead taken him back, and even less can you bear that we are successfully using him in our original works, which is why you insist so much on his "Disney" origin, as if this defines his identity, and for months you have made fun of us saying that we were claiming something that belongs to Disney as our own. Unfortunately, beyond a doodle and a hint of a hypothetical background, Disney has absolutely nothing. Whatever weight you have attributed to "Jack Savage" is only thanks to our work, Disney has nothing to do with your mania and it has nothing to do with everything we've built up over the years. Still, you took our job and stuck it over the "Disney" label, and that was even when Black Jack was long gone, so don’t use that excuse anymore. You even tried to attribute Cynthia to the Disney universe by calling her "Skye", since you are so desperate to keep your fantasies going, and when you had nothing more to say, you said that my art style was "clearly inspired by Disney". Did you think I could condone such an attitude? I suppose these statements derive above all from the certainly very poor culture that you have of the world outside the fandom (or fandoms), however there are artists who WORKED for Disney, who TEACHED drawing techniques at the Disney Academy and who work at own productions with that style, without anyone attributing anything to the major. If you don't believe me, try using the web for something constructive, like doing some in-depth research on the subject.

As for the matter of our alleged abuses on translators, I will only say two things: the translations started because of my naivety, and we prohibited them because the translators abused their role and went out of control, acting as if the comics belonged to them and / or as if there was a special relationship of complicity between me and them. I'm sorry I gave false hopes to these people, unfortunately I didn't have time to realize the misunderstandings that were being created and how our work was being used. There is a clear difference between the fan content and the original content, so now more than even, less our work passes into the hands of others, the better it is for us.

Now let’s analyzing the brilliant messages of Hammy, both on Tumblr and on reddit:

In both cases, what I see is a desperate need to cling to Rem's "pretty" facade while simultaneously demolishing the person behind Aoimotion. These insinuations suggest that the only possible Rem to conceive for your narrow minds is the kind and lovely one, and everything I say and do that does not fall within this definition is the work of aoimotion.

I will never go into detail about the dynamics between me and her, because frankly it’s not your business and I don’t want to give you further ground to cultivate your absurd speculations and your degenerated ideas. If you have decided to treat us as two two-dimensional characters of some fourth category fan fiction born from your fragile minds and then feel disappointed or offended by my attitude or a severe response I can give you, you cannot help but blame yourself and not who is my friend .

But you have to get it into your heads that when you talk about us in a personal way, you refer only on the basis of two web profiles. You don't know us personally and above all you don't know me. Being an extremely reserved person, I always decided to use social networks to share my artistic side or my interests related to entertainment, nothing more, nothing less. "Rem289" has always been only a blog, a showcase on the web, I’ve never attributed a real emotional and above all personal value to it, even before Zootopia. For the rest I prefer to live my personal life off the web. Unfortunately, you have been so careless as to decide to hit my personal sphere, my friendships and my affections. So no, Aoi didn’t take over between you and me, but the person behind Rem289 took over and you paid the consequences.

Still on the subject of aoimotion, it seems that the moment this comment was written on DA has remained particularly impressed: https://www.deviantart.com/comments/1/765376682/4647911119

This great insult, which among other things is attributed to her as if I didn’t think the same (if not worse) about you, has become the new reason why aoimotion is ugly and bad and is the reason why she deserves to be insulted and disparaged at the slightest opportunity, even during a conversation with me in which she’s not involved in any way.

Now, since this term seems to me rather dated to be used as a matter of indignation during your debates, and since I still find it rather ”soft” to use to outline my intolerance towards you, in order to give you another thing to think over, I will give you an attribute which seems more correct to me: you are sick. Confronting you is like talking to someone who has been brainwashed. You are a broken record that always says the same things over and over again. I can't even feel sorry for you, what I feel is just a great sense of unease. (Of course there are people that still participate in this fandom and are perfectly normal, but those are exceptions and they already know we think good of them.)

And it’s precisely your illness that prompted me to dissociate myself so violently from the fandom. Not aoimotion, as you have been saying for months between an insult and another that you address to her because perhaps you are too afraid of me to address them directly to me, which is rather contradictory since I should be the sweet and pretty one of the duo. After all, it's better to treat me like a poor brainless fool who lets herself be manipulated rather than admit that I also have my own ideas and that, you don’t say, you don't like them.

Q: In any case, you have no right to deprive your fans of old content they love so much, you just want to be spiteful! Why did all your old WildeHopps comics disappear from the web?

A: The decision to delete the contents created by me relating to the fandom from my web platforms or those shared with my partner was not born in the least out of spite or "punishment" towards the members of the fandom. It was a decision made to dissociate my name and my current work from fandom, because unfortunately it created difficulties for my image and real difficulties for readers to understand (you can go on and say that if people think your work is still Zootopia-related is not a big deal, but I assure you it is). All that came after, are only and exclusively speculations built on purpose to find the most sinister reasons of why it happened. Publishing content is only an accessory part of the job itself, a percentage of the process. Deciding to publish, not publish or cancel a publication is at the pure expense of the author, and no consumer has the right to impose his will on the creator. I understand that they are perhaps too complex concepts for you, since it’s clear that you are used to measuring the value of things based on the likes they receive, but this current of thought also exists and I hope it will be useful to you someday, in the remote possibility that decide to take moments of deep reflection (which would be more and more useful than tapping your fingers on the keyboard).

(Little curiosity: in the last few weeks we have forwarded about twenty reports to various sites to remove our old contents posted there without our permission. Not only all twenty reports have been accepted, but the contents have all been removed in less than 12 hours from the date of reporting. This is to remind you that if we don’t want our content on the web, we have them removed and it’s the reposters who pay for it, not us.)

Q: Well, however you can't force us not to talk badly about you or aoimotion, in fact, you can't stop us from believing that she's been manipulating you for years. Almost certainly it’s she who is writing this post without your knowledge, isn't it?

A: The people of the web are notoriously lazy and are therefore often uninformed and constipated in developing their own concepts. They spit sentences without even knowing what they’re talking about, they choose "comfortable" truths, such as the fact of attributing to aoimotion every not nice word that comes from me, and when this phenomenon is reflected on real persons, unfortunately it’s quite difficult to manage.

We are attributed with labels, words, concepts, faults, relationships that don’t belong to us and that are difficult to get away from. A simple comment or a wrong statement towards a person can spread like wildfire and end up marking them for life. Needless to say, these conditions often prevent these same people from continuing with their activities, which instead are healthy, in a serene and peaceful way. Even now, instead of drawing, I’m writing this latest post to defend me and my partner from your sick slanders. Those who allow themselves the luxury of damaging the "active personalities" of the web are people who fully enjoy anonymity behind a screen, and often people who have the matter of regulating them (like the reddits moderators, who are a joke at best) limit themselves to considering certain behaviors "ordinary” in the creator / consumer relationship. The mere fact of normalizing certain behaviors doesn’t smooth out the rules of civilized life, makes these "authorities" complicit and therefore only adds a problem. It’s more than evident that some people are not yet able to distinguish the boundary that exists between objective opinion and direct and personal insult, but from people who lose sleep at night because they have been defined as “lunatic” I don’t expect anything less. Who knows what you will do now that I have called you sick.

I conclude with a message to the interested party:

@hammytotherescue​: I don't know how old you are, however, judging by what you write and how you write it and how you act, I deduce that you should not be more than 14-15 years old. Unfortunately I regret to tell you that the fact you are a minor doesn’t mean that you don’t have to take responsibility for your actions, and if you still have doubts about understanding where you have gone wrong I advise you to ask your parents for advice. I gave you the opportunity to confront me but you ran away to cry on a public platform. Hasn't anyone taught you that real life doesn't work like that? If, on the other hand, you are an adult, I sincerely feel sorry for you, I say this from the bottom of my heart.

I know how comfortable it is to hide behind a group or in this case a fandom to vent one's dislikes towards the individual. This time you and your friends have received the same treatment, you have not caught generic appellations addressed to the fandom but I decided to speak to you personally. My only advice is to use this experience to learn how it behaves on the web, and when you have learned it, you could teach it to all your friends, perhaps starting with @owningsuperset7​.

For @ggctuk: I hope you will appreciate my effort in writing this long post, as so the next time you talk about us again, you can use it as a reference to explain how things went 🤗

[emmerrr]

Em, I got two for you but I’ll send them in separate asks! First, #6 for Andreil.

6: “Explain it to me again - why do we need to pretend to be married?”

sorry this one took a little longer i couldn’t decide how to tackle it, so welcome to an exy free au land where andrew and neil are roommates ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ [this is also on ao3 if you prefer]

-

Really, Neil should have known that telling a lie that specific was going to come back and bite him in the ass one day.

But it had been so convenient.

Andrew sat on the other end of the sofa, turned towards Neil, an impassive look on his face.

“Explain it to me again,” he said.

Neil sighed. “I have this thing for work on Friday. An awards thing. I’m nominated for best sport’s column or some shit, I dunno. Point is, you have to come.”

“And why do I have to come?”

Neil sighed again, and looked at his hands so he didn’t have look at Andrew. “Because they think we’re married.”

“I see,” Andrew said measuredly. “Why would they think that, exactly?”

Neil mumbled, “Because I might have…uhh, told them that we were.”

Andrew sat there in silence as he took that in, before shrugging and saying, “Yep, that’ll do it.”

Andrew had the flu when it had first happened, and Neil had begged off work early to go and look after him. He hadn’t been working at the paper for long at that point, and Seth, one of his least favourite colleagues, had snidely said, “Who’s Andrew then? Your boyfriend?”

Without missing a beat, Neil had replied, “He’s my husband, actually,” even though Andrew was his roommate (and friend) and not even remotely his husband. He’d just wanted to make Seth squirm, and it had the added bonus of getting Neil’s boss to let him leave straight away, clearly wanting to avoid Neil making a complaint against Seth.

After that, being ‘married’ to Andrew just had its perks. It got Neil out of so much overtime that he didn’t want to do, or socialising out of hours with his co-workers.

People seemed to let him off the hook for bailing a lot more if he was going home to spend time with his husband than if he was to say he was just going to hang with his roommate. It was accepted, no questions asked.

Except now it seemed to be a talking point around the office that no one had met Andrew, that Neil never brought him to any of the gatherings he did show up to, that Neil never really talked about him that much.

Then Neil got nominated for that award, and everyone just assumed Andrew would be there too.

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll be able to make it,” Neil said. The only reason he was going was because he had to; awards shows were notoriously boring.

Everyone in earshot had shot Neil sympathetic, concerned looks. “He’s not coming to an important event in his husband’s career?” Matt said, frowning.

“Sounds like a keeper,” Allison said, sarcasm dripping in her tone.

Defensiveness rose to Neil’s surface on behalf of his husband, which was ridiculous because he didn’t have a husband. Theoretically, if Andrew was his husband, Neil was sure he would go. If Neil asked him to.

“No, I mean, I’m not sure if he can get out of work,” Neil said hastily and stupidly. What was it to him if everyone thought his fake marriage was in jeopardy? “He’d love to go.”

“I’m sure he can get off work if he explains the situation,” Dan said, then smiled brightly. “So I guess we’ll see him there?”

Neil had been backed into a corner. He’d nodded weakly, and then at the end of the day had traipsed home and waited for Andrew to get home from his job at the library so he could explain the whole thing.

Andrew listened as Neil filled him in on how exactly he’d gotten them into this mess. He didn’t look annoyed, although he did look vaguely amused at certain points, which Neil was taking as a good sign.

“Sorry,” Neil finally finished. “I should…I can just tell them the truth. This isn’t your problem.”

“Makes no difference to me,” Andrew said. “I don’t mind going to your awards show.”

Neil brightened. “Really? Even though…I mean, they all think we’re married.”

“Yeah, I got that part, Neil.”

“...That doesn’t bother you?”

Andrew looked at him, unflinching. “Why would that bother me?”

Neil wasn’t going to argue if Andrew was up for it, so he shook his head. “No reason.”

Andrew showing up should be enough to get everyone at work off his back for a while, so Neil was in good spirits in the days leading up to the awards show. But he was also, to his surprise, carrying a fair amount of nervous-excited energy. Considering he really didn’t care about the award, he had to attribute it to the fact that Andrew was coming with him. It was absurd; he spent lots of time with Andrew. Why wouldn’t he? They were friends.

Best friends.

Andrew accompanying him meant that Neil didn’t have to pick his own outfit either. Andrew sorted him out in a fitted suit, navy with gold leaf detail. He wore a black shirt underneath, top two buttons undone. He never would have picked it out for himself in a million years, but he liked how he looked in it.

Andrew, for his part, was decked out in a maroon suit with a pale pink shirt. His tie was a midnight blue and adorned with constellations.

“You look good,” Neil told him honestly.

Andrew fixed Neil’s collar. His hands lingered, and he glanced into Neil’s eyes and then away. “So do you.” He stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go.”

They were the last of Neil’s office to arrive at the venue and were quickly shown to their table by an usher. They were on a table with Dan, Matt, and Allison, their seats side-by-side, name-tags in place. Andrew held his up to show Neil, bemused. It said Andrew Josten in a fancy font.

“Don’t remember agreeing to take your name,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dan said, then looked quizzically to Neil. “Then is Josten not your surname?”

“It is,” Neil said. “We’re the, uh, Josten-Minyard’s.”

Andrew’s snort was audible to no one but Neil as they took their seats. Neil made quick work of introducing Andrew to everyone, and when he finished they all sat there and beamed at Andrew expectantly.

“So, Andrew,” Matt said. “Neil never tells us anything. Where did you guys meet?”

“College,” Andrew replied. This was true.

“Bless, college sweethearts,” Dan said. “Did you know he was the one right away?”

Neil groaned and shrank lower in his chair.

“Let’s just say he grew on me,” Andrew said, which made everyone at the table laugh, but there was something in his tone that made Neil sneak a look at him. His expression hadn’t changed, but he didn’t return Neil’s look. 

A server arrived and passed out champagne, and Neil hoped the interruption would nip the line of questioning in the bud.

Unfortunately not.

“What did you notice first about him?” Allison asked. “Kid’s got killer eyes, am I right?”

“His ass,” Andrew said bluntly, and Neil choked on his champagne.

Allison cackled, and Matt thumped Neil jovially on the back. “Well there had to be something about him that piqued your interest since Neil’s such an asshole,” Allison continued, but she said it fondly, because she was an asshole too.

“Sure he is,” Andrew said, but this time he caught Neil’s gaze and held it. “That’s my favourite thing about him.”

For a few seconds, Neil let everything fade to the background and stared back at Andrew. For those seconds, they were the only people in the room, and Neil finally thought he was starting to understand something that had been right under his nose the entire time.

No, Andrew wasn’t his husband, but Andrew was his everything. Theirs was the most important relationship in Neil’s life, the one he held above all the others. It was that simple, and he couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to see it.

“Oh,” he said, and the room came rushing back in.

Thankfully, the conversation shifted, and then the awards ceremony actually started so no one asked any more intrusive questions.

Neil was barely aware of what was going on on the stage, who was winning what. He clapped when other people clapped, but his mind was buzzing. He was very aware of Andrew sitting beside him and was struck by the urge to reach out and take a hold of Andrew’s hand, just to see what he’d do. He refrained.

When it came time for Neil’s award, Dan excitedly said, “This is it!” which Neil was grateful for because he hadn’t been paying enough attention to figure that out on his own.

The nominees were announced, and Neil thought he just about managed to smile when his name was mentioned. He hadn’t been expecting to win, so it did startle him a little when he was, in fact, announced as the winner. He sat there, silently stunned, until Andrew put his hand on the back of Neil’s neck, leaned close to his ear and said, “That’s you, Neil. You won.”

He got to his feet and made his way to the stage to rapturous applause, and accepted his award. It felt heavy in his hands, and Neil let a flicker of professional pride run through his veins.

He stepped up to the podium to make his speech; impromptu, as he hadn’t prepared one. He really hadn’t anticipated winning.

“Uhh, thanks to my friends and colleagues, Dan, Matt, and Allison, you’re all giant pains in my ass but I couldn’t imagine working with anyone else. My editor, David Wymack, your constant threats to sign me up for a marathon if I miss a deadline work wonders, so a part of this belongs to you.” Good-natured laughter trickled through the crowd, and Neil sought out his table. Andrew was easy enough to pick out, but maybe that was because Neil was just always looking for him.

“Most of all,” he continued, “thank you to Andrew, for putting up with me, and for coming with me tonight. I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

Speech over, Neil nodded once again to the crowd who began clapping again, and then he quickly departed from the stage. He didn’t sit down when he reached his table, but he put his hand on the back of Andrew’s chair and leaned down.

“You wanna get out of here?” 

“Yes,” Andrew said at once, then stood up and took Neil’s hand, leading him out of the venue.

He still hadn’t let go when they were in the parking lot heading for the car. “I should have asked,” Andrew said, looking down at their joined hands. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Neil said. “I want you to.”

There was a pause. “Do you want me to because it helps you keep up your fake husband story, or do you just want to?”

Neil squeezed Andrew’s hand. “We’re outside, away from prying eyes, and I haven’t let go. I want to.”

They reached the car, still holding hands, and Andrew pushed Neil up against the driver’s door. His eyes flickered to Neil’s lips, intention clear, but he didn’t kiss him.

“Why now?” he asked, just a hint of frustration in his tone. “After all this time?”

“I don’t know. I just...it’s you, Andrew. You’re who I want to see at the end of the day. You’re who I want to eat breakfast with. You’re who I want to thank when I win meaningless awards.”

Andrew sighed, and pressed his forehead into Neil’s shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

“I know,” Neil said apologetically. “But I got there in the end.”

They stood there like that, fingers intertwined, Andrew so close but not close enough, and then Neil couldn’t take it anymore.

“Andrew? Can you kiss me now?”

Andrew raised his head. “Well,” he said, “I guess I am your husband after all.”

He leaned in, and the kiss was gentler than Neil expected it to be. He liked it; it was like a promise of what was to come now that they had time.

They got into the car and Andrew got them moving, heading home.

“Oh god,” Neil said when they were almost home. “How the fuck am I going to explain this? You have to marry me for real, I can’t do it, it’s too awkward.”

Andrew smiled, a small thing, but a true one.

“Buy me dinner first,” he said.

Neil smiled back; his heart felt full.

“I can do that.”

[funtimebunnyblog]

Diamante d’Italia: Chapter 1

After his Father "generously gave" the teenager a whopping amount of money Josuke finds himself vacationing in beautiful southern Italy.

However, being the trouble magnet he is, he ends up getting caught in Famiglia affairs.

Being so far from his home and his friends, Josuke needs to make some powerful allies to help him out of this mess...

(Chapter 1: Culture shock)

"--and remember to-"

"Yes Mom. I know." Josuke sighed into the phone, rolling his eyes. "I've got everything on me. You know I can protect myself."

They'd had this exact same phone conversation at every other airport he had called from so far. By now the teenager had memorized it all and knew exactly what his Mother was going to say.

Standing in the airport of Naples Italy wouldn't make a difference.

"Ok. But just be careful Josuke. Italy is so far from here." She said over the background clatter. "And you don't even know any Italian."

There was a crackle over the phone as she sighed, he could hear the sounds of dishes clinking in the background followed by running water.

He almost had to plug his other ear to drown out the loud voice on the intercom so he could hear her talking.

"...I know Tonio."

"That joke was horrible, Josuke."

If there wasn't the sound of dishes still being done, he would've been sure his Mother had hung up on him.

There were no words exchanged for at least a full 10 seconds and with each passing second the teenager tried harder and harder to contain every giggle that tried to escape his lips, waiting with baited breath on her reaction.

The teenager couldn't hold in his laughter anymore, wheezing a little as he leaned on the glass wall of the phonebooth.

"I know." He cackled. "But it's kinda true. Tonio told me so much about Italy! It can't be that bad here..."

A change of scenery would do him good. Especially after all he had been through in the past little while with all that serial killer mess.

He had been daydreaming about this trip, this place, but most importantly; the cuisine, for almost a month now.

After his Father so generously "gave" him his wallet upon departure of Morioh, Josuke Higashikata decided it was time for him to see some of the world.

It was definitely time for a vacation and what better place to visit than the country with food that made Okuyasu and him squabble over every single morsel cooked and served to them by Tonio.

He earned a punch to the shoulder however from Okuyasu after telling him the news. His friend wasn't spiteful however and laughed, telling him that he could finally have Tonio and his fine chef skills all to himself while he was away.

Neither of them had really looked at "normal" food that same way after tasting fine Italian food so he couldn't think of a better place to go for some rest and relaxation.

He had also heard that Italy held some beautiful sights.

Josuke promised to bring him home a shitload of souvenirs anyways. He was also considering getting something for Koichi and his Mom back home.

There was another crackle over the phone along with the running water in the background suddenly being turned off, making it a little easier to hear the woman as she spoke.

"If you say so..."

It also made it easier to hear the undeniable concern lacing her tone however.

"Say, what time is it over there anyways Mom?" He questioned, mostly out of curiosity, but also for the sake of taking his Mothers mind off of any worries she held for him.

"Just after 5." She answered with a hum, the sound of a plug being pulled and a draining sink accompanying it.

"Oh wow!" He blinked, peering out off the glass booth to squint at the overly large clock of the airport terminal. "It's only 10AM over here."

"If you're going to call home, please do it around this time Josuke." She told him, a laugh lacing her voice as she spoke. "I wouldn't appreciate being woken up by the phone at 3AM."

The Highschooler laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head. He should probably write that down just in case he forgot, the last thing he wanted was to be screamed at by his Mother over the phone for waking her up in the middle of the night.

"Right..." he murmured. "Anyways. I should probably go now Mom. I'll call you from a Hotel or something tomorrow."

"Ok Josuke."

He could hear her hesitation to let him go in her voice alone.

"I'll be fine. I love you Mom. Talk soon!"

"I love you too."

He hung up the phone at last, a small smile gracing his lips.

Gripping the handle of his luggage tightly, he stepped out of the booth with his head held high.

He was worried about his Mother too of course. She was going through a lot too, especially when she was still grieving for his Grandfather.

However, once he was in possession of his newly aquired money (not stolen! Where would you get that idea?) He had given her a good portion of it and told her to spend the time he was away getting her nails done or treating herself in anyway she saw fit. She needed this little break as much as he did.

"Time to find a cab."

☆☆☆

Easier said than done.

Here he was on a sidewalk, finally into the City after nearly 2 hours of waiting for an open taxi to take him from the airport to the city, his pompador all in a stressful ruffle over the whole ordeal.

His eyes darted back and forth between the outstretched hand of the driver and the meter on the dashboard.

"120 000 Lira?!" He squawked at the cab driver, his aquamarine eyes going wide in their sockets as the man held out his hand before him.

Josuke wasn't exactly a mathematician, but he knew enough to know that amount was absurd! "Th-there's gotta be some mistake, sir! You only drove me to the edge of the city."

This was highway robbery (no pun intended), there was no way it could've been that much!

The taxi driver had rolled his eyes at him and told him otherwise, demanding he pay up or he'd drag him straight to the Police Officers who were standing idle near the Cab on the streetcorner.

Josuke peered into his wallet with a sigh from where he sat on the curb. Damnit. He'd have to think twice about taking another cab. He only had so much money to blow, necessary expenses like food and hotelrooms were his main priority, and he still needed a ticket home to Japan when all of this was over.

He'd just have to settle for walking the entire time he was here.

He tucked his wallet away safely, flicking out a comb and began to straighten out the poof of hair he so adored. He'd have to put some more hairspray in it later if things kept going like this, good thing he packed 8 whole cans.

His Lunchhour.

He stood up, grabbing his suitcase once more and keeping it close to his side.

"Well... I guess it's time to find a hotel." He mused. His thoughts were interrupted however by a punctuating growl of his stomach. He hadn't eaten much on the plane at all and from the position of the overhead sun, he could tell it was noontime.

"Ooh." He breathed, a hand moving to his stomach in surprise. "I'm running on empty..."

However, maybe it was better to ask for directions.

He supposed a Hotel would have to wait. What he really needed right now was a restaurant.

From all the stories Tonio told him about Italian cuisine and the entire culture behind it, he was sure it wouldn't be too hard to find one of those around here.

"Um- excuse me--" he tried to grab the attention of a passing man. The guy kept on walking without even giving him a side glance.

Another man approached him from behind and Josuke turned, stepping in front of him somewhat to gain his attention.

"Er... oh! Sir! A moment please, I'm--"

There went another one, very much like the first.

"Excuse me sir, could you tell me--" he started again. The man stopped in his tracks, nearly bumping right into Josuke.

"Ey! What gives?!"

"Outta my way, bastardo!"

The Highschool student barely had a chance to blink before the guy was right in his face, a fierce scowl pulling on his face.

If looks could kill, Josuke would be getting murdered in that moment.

The man grunted and shoved him further out of his way, balling his fists and grumbling to himself, too low for Josuke to hear, but the teen knew it was all in fluent Italian.

He held up his free hand in surrender, backing up and out of the way of the angry stranger.

"S-Sorry sir!" He practically squeaked. "I... I didn't mean to bother you!"

He rubbed his arm, a frown found its way to his face as he watched the furious mans back.

Sheesh. And here he thought he had been in a rough town back in Japan.

Maybe he should just start walking...

☆☆☆

He was starting to wish he took some language courses with Koichi in this years last term.

Or maybe he could've learned some basic words and stuff from Tonio, the man always seemed eager to share in the wonders of his culture after all.

Or maybe he could've not been an absolute dumbass and bought an Italian to English dictionary to use.

Or worse.

Josuke had been walking up and down the streets for nearly an hour, passing by buildings and signs galore, none of which he could read.

He was tempted to stop another stranger to ask what any of them meant, or even just plain ask where the nearest restaurant was, but he didn't want to get screamed at again.

Staring at the signs like a toddler who didn't know how to read but was trying made it all the worse.

"This is hopeless..." he grumbled, kicking at the sidewalk, sending a small stone bouncing down the white concrete.

He was actually contemplating calling his Mother again to ask her what he should do.

Maybe he could even call Tonio. Or Koichi. Or Okuyasu. Or his Nephew. Or fuck, ANYONE at this point.

Maybe he shouldn't have traveled alone and brought one of them along...

He had a feeling this was going to be a long day and he dug in his coat, whipping out his comb again. His pompadour was getting all ruffled again.

"Ei, tu."

He paused. Did someone... speak to him?

"Um... Hello?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did you say something?"

Frowning, he turned to locate the voice, finding himself facing an alleyway that lead off the street.

A figure stood there, leaned against the brick wall of a building, their eyes gleaming at him. There were others too, just two others, all of them looking at him.

The one closest to the alley entrance, a tall thinner male, looked him up and down, "Sei il ragazzo?" A question of some sort.

The one who spoke sported disheveled brown hair and clothes that were even more so, with strange sunken in eyes that seemed to hold a never ending stare. His two friends were not much different, they all had that same stare and it was locked firmly onto him.

Josuke frowned a little deeper, he didn't really understand what the man wad saying. Did he want something? Or maybe... was he trying to help him?

The Highschool student looked around before stepping into the alley, closing the distance between him and the group.

"Um... I'm sorry I don't understand." He flashed an awkward smile, looking between the three men hoping that someone could understand him or at least translate. "Can any of you help...?"

It sort of reminded Josuke of when he ate his Lunch at the neighborhood park back in Morioh.

The dogs that hung out around there would all approach him, then sit and watch, with their ears up and their backs straight, unblinking and expecting him to give them a piece of his sandwich.

He always thought it was a little creepy, but it was even creepier somehow to see it in a person.

The brown haired one pointed to the suitcase he held, "É questo?" That sounded like another question to him.

This was getting nowhere. He heaved out a sigh, throwing his hands up as he began to back away. "Sorry. I have no idea what you're saying... I-I really got to go."

The more he backed up, the more the blankness of stares seemed to disolve into... anger?

Yeah, suddenly these guys were looking pissed. All three of them were staring even more intensely into him, most especially the brown haired one.

"Prendetelo!" One of the others barked.

"Dacci le maledette droghe, cazzone!" The brunet man screeched and Josuke realized there was a fist coming for him. He stepped back quickly, the closed hand swooping loudly through the air, barely gracing his chest.

What was happening? Why were these men suddenly after him? Josuke barely had the time to consider the options of running away or trying to talk his way out of all of this mess before he was suddenly on the ground.

"Darlo a noi!"

They tried to pull the leather bag from his grasp and he pulled back harder, now full on clutching it to his chest as the fists now rained down on him.

Josuke couldn't even cry out. Everything was happening all at once. His thoughts were loud and his heartbeat was louder. The noise around him had gone to nothing but whitenoise. His only thought was to not let them take his suitcase.

And then... it all stopped. Just as quickly as it happened.

The teenager opened his eyes to find that all the kicking and punching had ceased on him. One of the men was on the ground and there was another person standing over them, yelling into his face.

But here he was. Defending a fucking stranger from a group of junkies.

Leone Abbacchio hated getting involved with common street fights. He hated it especially more when he was supposed to NOT be fighting someone today.

It was his day off after all. Bucciarati told him he could spend his time how he wanted it and he wanted some alone time.

All the Mafioso wanted to do was listen to his damn music and get some lunch when he noticed this damn idiot (obviously a tourist) trying to converse with the men.

'Just keep walking.' He tried to tell himself over and over, trying to pacify the unease building in him.

It wasn't his affair.

This was their problem.

He was a bystander.

He wasn't even in the alley.

He was on his way somewhere.

He shouldn't even give it a passing glance....

And then he watched the punk get knocked to the ground.

Now here he was, kicking the shit out of a damn dirty junkie.

Josuke winced at he the sound of a fist hitting hard against a nose, the crackle of bone filling his ears.

"FUCK OFF!"

One of the men who had been attacking him came up behind the silver haired figure and threw his arms around him in an attempt to pull him down.

Abbacchio didn't even flinch and hauled the man forward, bending so he came right over his head and smacked into the brunet who was holding the nose that was gushing with red blood.

He definitely owned up to his name then and there because to Josuke his gruff and booming voice was like the roar of a powerful Lion.

That was all it took. All three of them were clamoring to their feet and booking it down towards the other end of the alley.

It sort of reminded Josuke of that time he broke that seniors nose.

Thank God his hair was still ok though, after checking quickly he sighed in pure relief. That was truly what mattered to him, along with his luggage.

His eyes turned to his savior and he slowly got up from the hard ground, wincing as he did.

He was definitely going to hurt in the morning. He could already feel a bruise spotting on the center of his back.

"Th... Thank you." He spoke at last watching as the new stranger turned to face him at last. "I just wanted to ask for directions but I didn't know what they wanted..."

The duel coloured eyes of the man burned into him as he looked over him, making the high schooler start to sweat under the penetrating gaze.

"You... seem familiar." Abbacchio said at length. He had seen someone before with the same kinda face, he was sure of it. He squinted at the Highschool student as he wracked his brain for answers.

The teenager was sure of that. He was sure he would've remembered this man purely by the way he looked, let alone the strong and intimidating presence that radiated off him, if he had even glanced in his direction before.

Josuke blinked, his expression not unlike a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Um... we've never met before."

Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "Tch. No shit." He spat. "I've never seen you before either stronzo. You just seem kinda familiar."

Josuke winced slightly, averting his eyes to the ground lamely.

"Sorry."

He really hoped this guy could take a joke. He just got off the ground and didn't want to be thrown back down onto it.

He really was. For what exactly, he wasn't sure, but apologies always spilled from your lips in these kind of situations, regardless of whether you did something or not.

He broke off into an awkward laugh, shrugging as he struggled to meet the mans gaze. "I'm the only one I know who has such stylish hair like this so I don't know what would seem familiar to you."

"Whatever." The Goth finally said, shaking his head. "Judging by what just happened I can tell you're not from around here. You a tourist or something kid?"

Abbacchio folded his arms, looking him up and down again, making him painfully aware of more sweat beading on his neck.

This man was so hard to read to Josuke, kind of like his nephew in that way, he had no idea what the hell he was thinking.

"Oh sure am!" Josuke smiled brightly, a little more at ease. This guy was making some small talk with him, which was usually a step in a good direction.

A direction where he hoped he wouldn't get beat up and almost mugged again...

"I'm kinda on a vacation. I got some money and decided I wanted to see the world..." He rocked on his heels a little, studying the man before him just as much as he was him. "You live around here?"

"You could say that..." Abbacchio hummed, glancing back towards the street. "I don't exactly have a home but I live here."

"Oh!" Josuke had to refrain himself from covering his mouth after letting out that noise in surprise. He averted his gaze, absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh." He said, much softer this time, feeling very awkward. If only he had the ability to make the ground swallow him up. "I'm sorry...."

Leone offered no response.

"Do you like... have a place to sleep at least? Like at nights?"

"Yeah. I tend to move around a lot though." He answered vaguely. Best to keep all that extra information to himself. This brat didn't need to know the ins and outs of his life.

He nodded this time, because he did. He mostly slept at Bucciarati's house, whether upstairs in one of the guestrooms or on the mans couch downstairs.

Sometimes when out on missions, whether alone or with the others, he checked into a hotel (sometimes a Motel) and stayed there.

Other times he slept in the back of a van while on the road to or from said missions.

At least he wasn't drinking himself to death somewhere in the gutter anymore...

He turned his gaze back to Josuke who seemed a little more at ease hearing his words. He narrowed his eyes, "You're not.... in the Famiglia? Are you?"

Josuke blinked a few times. The.... what?

"Fam-eel-e-ah?"

That alone answered his question.

Who the hell other than a Mafioso sported a fucking pompadour?!

Raising one pointed eyebrow, he looked the kid over again. He never would've guessed he wasn't associated because he certainly dressed like a Mafioso.

What with that black coat adorned with those shiny golden hearts, not to mention the peace sign and the anchor as well, and that hair...

This twerp apparently...

Abbacchio huffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Nevermind. Just... watch yourself Kid. More importantly, watch your wallet."

Oh Christ! His wallet! He might've dropped it in that scuffle! Those bastards might've took it!

Josuke panicked, hands instinctively slapping his pockets in a frantic search. Ah! It was there! As soon as his hand found the bulge in his pocket, he let out a breath as relief washed over him like a warm tidalwave on the beach.

"Oh- yeah, yeah... of course." He breathed. "Th-Thanks for reminding me-" here he paused, his pale blue eyes blinking. "I never... got your name."

To his own surprise, Abbacchio complied.

"Abbacchio." He said. "Leone Abbacchio."

"Abbacchio..." Josuke tested the name out, bobbing his head as he idly scratched his chin. "Ha! Cool name. I'm Josuke Higashikata, I actually come from Japan."

The dawny eyed mans frown deepened as he contemplated telling him that his last name literally just meant "lambchop", a far cry from "cool" if you asked him, but he thought better of it.

Yeah. There was no way in Hell Abbacchio was going to try and take a crack at repeating that last name. He'd be there all day.

Just "Josuke" would have to do.

"Japan, huh?" He said aloud, more to himself than Josuke, stroking his chin in thought. "I hear the streets are much nicer there..."

The events of the past couple of months suddenly came flooding back all at once to Josuke. How he and his friends had been attacked left and right, going against all odds, all on a search to hunt down their towns serial killer.

The blaring siren of that Ambulance still haunted him in his sleep and he woke up in a cold sweat each time there came the sound of a head being popped each time it replayed in his head.

He laughed a little, forcing a smile on his face as a hand swept through his hair. "Yeah... you could say that."

Now desperate to change the subject, he decided to steer the conversation to something much lighter. Something that didn't make him remember a massacre.

Or a hand-fetishing serial killer getting his head squashed like a grape.

"You've... got quite the fashion sense." He commented, pointing to the mans open coat lined with laces and purple lipstick maybe a little rudely. "I like your eyeliner."

Leone hardly batted an eye (a well lined eye at that) at his words. If anything, he was surprised the kid didn't outright say anything like "ARE YOU A GOTH?!"

He was quite used to that one, even if the answer was yes it was still irritating.

Besides... that one little girl on the bus that time told him he looked pretty. And that was enough for him.

Or there was always the "Why are you wearing makeup? You're a MAN!"

Now that one always made him fucking furious. Just because he was "a man" didn't make any damn difference. Makeup was to make you look good so it was for everyone.

"Thanks." He huffed. Though his voice hadn't lost any of that gruffness, he truly was thankful for a genuine compliment. "I like your coat."

He wasn't quite like Koichi however. The silver haired teenager thst only came up to his hip wore his heart on his sleeve everywhere he went.

Josuke, very unlike Abbacchio who seemed indifferent to it all, blushed at the praise. His friends always told him he was very expressive and that was true.

When he was happy he walked with bounce in his step, when he was sad it all came out in tears and when he was angry... oh... he was told the sight wasn't very pretty.

"Ah, thanks. It's my school uniform, I really like it."

Here Abbacchios eyebrows shot right up, a frown twinging at the corners of his mouth. A school uniform? This kid must have been living some kind of high life, or maybe at least went to a pretty decent school, if this was just a plain old uniform.

He pursed his lips, the punk kind of reminded him of a stand-user. He had a hunch.

"I see..." he hummed, folding his arms across his chest. "You really are still just a kid then."

Bucciarati often said that stand-users (natural or otherwise) tended to gravitate towards one another. Like "strings of fate" or some cliché sounding shit.

But maybe it was possible. This kid wasn't a Mafioso... but he could very well have powers.

Like lightning striking, Josukes expression changed again. His eyebrows went together and his lips into a sort of a pout.

"I'm 16." He told the man, trying to sound as rough and tough at least as half as this stranger was (Abbacchio quirked an eyebrow, looking completely unfazed at his attempt however, probably because he just watched him get beat up). "Besides. I think I'm pretty mature..."

"I won't call you a kid if you don't call me an old man. Deal?"

This kid was starting to kinda sound like Mista. However if the punk started spewing shit about how the number 4 was unlucky, he would get as far away as possible.

He half chuckled (it was more of an exhale), coloured lips quirking somewhat into a smirk.

Josuke shrugged, uncrossing his arms as his lips pulled into a smirk of their own, cocking an eyebrow at the other.

"Hmm, depends. How old are you?" He questioned, almost playfully. The man must have been at least approaching his 30's but he wasn't sure.

"Well into my 20's." Abbacchio grunted, keeping his exact age number vague to the young teen. "But I've seen more shit than other people do in a lifetime."

For all he know he really could be an old man. He had white hair after all and certainly had the gruffness of an older man.

Maybe he was hiding some wrinkles under that makeup or something?

Only in his 20's? Jeeze... he believed that last part. Most especially when the dawny eyes suddenly locked onto his, staring at him with all seriousness.

"Listen to me, I don't really care what the Hell you do, but when you get out of school... stay away from the bad stuff. You hear me?"

Josuke swallowed, his mouth now felt way too dry, and he nodded to the man almost knowingly. He had been through some bads too... however, he couldn't help but wonder how much similarities there were between him and Abbacchio.

Leone huffed quietly, giving the kid one more solemn nod, before turning on his heel and quietly going on his way down the alley, out towards the street.

The teenager watched him go, feeling painfully out of place all of a sudden, like a puzzle piece that had been jammed into the wrong spot.

"Uh- hey!"

He didn't even realize that he had called out until Abbacchio halted in his tracks, turning to look at him with a deep frown.

Josuke fidgeted on the spot, stuffing his hands in his pockets to avoid fumbling with them out in the open and look somewhat composed under the older mans stare.

Once again, Leone Abbacchio found himself feeling surprised.

"Uhh..." he cleared his throat, trying to focus his thoughts clear enough to speak without stuttering.

"This might sound kinda weird but -uh... you wanna... like grab a coffee or something?" He smiled sheepishly at the man whose expression didn't change. "I mean, you just kinda saved my skin back there and you seem pretty cool. I don't have anybody traveling with me and... we could like... talk more? Ah- only if you don't mind!"

Ah, fuck it. He had already gone out of his way.

Normally when he was out and about and people were forced to interact with him in any way, shape or form, they tended to want to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.

Hell, he had people practically jump out of his way sometimes when he was just walking down the street.

Plus, he was getting hungry.

He nodded to Josuke.

Josuke was now jogging up to him, the man swore he saw stars in the teens eyes to match his bright smile.

Tonio definitely didn't tell him that part about Italy...

He wasn't even sure if he had even been that long here in Italy.

Josuke did his best to keep up, Abbacchios steps were long and deliberate making him quite fast for a man who was just taking a stroll, keeping just a little behind him to avoid bumping shoulders with the people on the streets.

Abbacchio started down the alley again, waving him to follow.

"Comrades, huh?" He laughed a little. "What? You in a gang or something?"

It was meant to be a joke. Something to get his newest companion to roll his eyes and give a half-hearted chuckle. Josuke felt his stomach become as heavy as a brick when Abbacchio swiveled his head to look at him, his white hair flinging slightly over his shoulder as he stared him in the face.

The teen wondered briefly if his new ally would suddenly beat him up like those dealers tried to do and he gulped, preparing to turn tail and run as fast as he could down the street.

The former policeman frowned deeply. Did this stronzo know nothing about the mean Italian streets? The Mafia? Of fucking course he was in a Gang, did he think he was just a streetwalking freak that kicked the shit out of druggies and junkies alike for fun?

Abbacchio leaned closer, his expression radiating all seriousness.

"S-Sorry..." he muttered somewhat lamely, his voice so quiet Abbacchio probably wouldn't have heard him if he weren't so close.

Any idiot would know the true meaning to that answer and Josuke didn't consider himself an idiot.

The man grunted in response and simply kept walking, no more was said as Josuke continued to followed him down the street to this supposed spot.

On the bright side of things... he now reminded him even more of his nephew Jotaro.

Even if it wasn't in a good way...

More importantly, he was finally going to get something to eat.

[fakesurprise]

Bends in the Road

8.

Appleford isn’t much to speak of. It’s more sprawling than Rivercomb and there are enough apple logos and signs scattered about the town that fans of Apple Computers that come here must end up deeply confused. It’s said that the entire civil government use iMacs just because of the town name, but I figured that was always inter-town rivalry. Now I’m not so sure.

Noah is shocked I’ve never been here. Wilbur has a few times, mostly passing through when on trips with his father. At least a third of the town was reclaimed swampland back in the day when turning a swamp into suburban homes was an act of achievement and not an environmental catastrophe. Wilbur once went to Winnipeg during the season where they have to use hoses to spray dead insects out of the streets. Appleford isn’t that bad, but they put out warnings when the mosquitoes have hatched and are heading their way like one would invading goths or a plague.

That alone is reason enough to never make it a travel destination.

We find a dimly lit Italian place where Noah won’t attract too many stares. Wilbur does regardless, but the staff don’t stare as much as probably make bets on how much he’s going to eat.

Wilbur just orders a normal supper, but does get three desserts. I point out that Aram will likely examine the credit card statement and no doubt itemize things and ask questions; he adds a fourth one, to Noah’s giggle.

“Right,” he says between a trifle pudding and creme caramel. “We need a plan that isn’t just both of you getting forks to eat some of my dessert.”

“Less calories. Also a good point. I’d be paranoid if I lived in a place as small as Oscars Bend, so that’s just background noise.”

“Can you sense it from here?” Noah asks.

I don’t bother asking why; Noah doesn’t like wasting words. I reach out with my talent. I’ve never tried to hurt from a distance like this. I’m not sure I even can, but feeling pain from here is almost too easy. I get the town around me, the familiar sense of Rivercomb. And between it, Oscars Bend. I walk outside, try again, return.

“The first time I sensed the town, the pain level was – absurd. Right now it’s what I’d class as low-normal for an area. but it’s not like I’ve made a habit of using this aspect of my talent. You: theory?”

Noah studies his fork for a bit. “It seemed too much? The town is – it’s small, yes, but some kind of – of –.” He shakes his head.

“Bad B-movie set?” Wilbur offers.

“Like that, yes. The pull of it, the feel of it, doesn’t fit?”

“So someone didn’t want me using my talent like that. Even if I did use it on Smith. And Edith.”

“Who surprised you,” Wilbur says slowly. “Small town, high paranoia. Perhaps it’s a self-made ward to keep anyone from scrying it?”

“You had a headache,” I say, pointing my fork as Noah. “How bad was it?”

“It hurt for a few minutes?” Noah shrugs.

“Wilbur. Can you sense the town, instead of just the dead? Try something involving the living?”

He finishes the last of the chocolate pie. “I can try. We might want to be outside Appleford first?”

Noah drives back outside the town, parking off to the road. He puts on the four-way flashers.

Wilbur gets out of the car first. Noah and I follow, waiting near him. “Anyone can become a ghost, though the amount who do is small. There aren’t any ghosts in the town right now, nothing in the cemetery. Even the ghost in the town was barely there, which is often a sign of some other active force. But to see who might become a ghost: that’s easy enough, I think.”

I see nothing, but Wilbur hurls backward as if slapped, hitting the ground with a thud and wheezing for air.

Noah moves over, reaching out with his left arm and pulling Wilbur to his feet. Wilbur is coughing, trying to catch his breath. I don’t move, talent ready, looking about.

“Hit a wall. Solid, aware, bouncing me back into me,” he says once he can. “I think you both hit the same, but didn’t realize what it was?”

“So it threw our talents back at us.”

Wilbur offers up an almost smile. “It’s not as if you’d try and sense your own pain, which I imagine was part of what it threw at you. It definitely magnified what it sent back in my case. Which means you barely used your talent, Noah?”

“It seemed safest,” he says, and dirt falls off of Wilbur’s sweats and jacket without being touched. “Like that? I thought it might be best if I wasn’t noticed?”

“Very much so.” Wilbur walks back to the car slowly, getting in with a wince. He doesn’t even object when I do his seat belt up for him.

“You going to be okay?”

“I have a lot of padding,” he says dryly.

“Not inside. And you did go off your feet.”

“I’ll be fine. Sore, but fine. Noah. You want Anya to drive and get us back faster?”

Noah shakes his head, pulling back onto the road. “You could have been hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not.” Noah actually looks over at Wilbur while driving. “None of us are. Broken bones can be more likely with obesity.”

Wilbur pauses. “You’re telling me to lose weight?”

“Not telling. It would be safer. And worried,” he mumbles, staring back at the road.

“Worried,” Wilbur repeats, carefully.

“Of course,” Noah snaps, as close to shouting as I’ve heard in months. “Obesity means complications. Dangers. Trying stupid diet cures: also dangers, complications. Anya: headaches? Common?”

“Noah?”

“Do you – are they common?”

“No.”

“Or me. We both got those. It went for our minds?”

“And I’m a magician, so it went for my body,” Wilbur says.

“Maybe? Also obvious. Not sure.” Noah looks back at me. “Help?”

I let out a breath. “I think what Noah is trying to get at is that it attacked your weak point. It could be a conscious ward, or an unconscious one, and there’s no way of knowing.”

“That, but not sure about no way?” Noah puts in.

Wilbur turns back toward me. “Meaning?”

“You are morbidly obese. We know this. You were even before your magic four hundred pound mark. If you think we give a shit about that, then you are lazy. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about me. I’m worried about Noah. I’m terrified of Aram and Lia.”

Wilbur snorts at that. “Sorry.”

“We’re all defensive. But I’m a bit tired of you expecting us to hate you or throw judgement at you because you’re obese. I’ve known you for a long time. We’re friends. I don’t want you getting much bigger, but I’m selfish and we can definitely use your help with weird shit. The less you can do, the less helpful you might be. We’re all brought up on the media images of obesity: we can’t shake it, but we can fight it. If you help.”

“Oh.”

“Being honest helps too. I’ve been judged enough. I don’t want to judge you, Wilbur. I spent years with people subconsciously aware of my talent. Of my being aware of it. I was so tired of being called a monster, but not tired enough to cease being one. You helped. And Noah, and everyone else in ways good and bad. I’m better at passing for normal, and honestly some days I don’t like it. Having an invisible illness is hard. Maybe a visible one is, too, if people don’t see it as an illness.”

Wilbur says nothing.

“Not saying you are ill. Honestly, I don’t think anyone knows enough about obesity for claims like that. You love food. Chicken, egg situation and – that’s a really bad metaphor to use.” It wins the ghost of a smile from him. “Noah. can you pull over and check the town?”

Noah pulls over, puts on the flashers, getting out of the car in turn. I follow just as he staggers, clutching his head, straightening after slowly.

“Noah?”

“Head. Hurt somewhat,” he whispers hoarsely, and gestures toward Oscars Bend.

“Noah!” I’m moving even as he hurls to the side as if slapped, hitting the ground.

Noah is light, and conscious. I help him up, and then back to the vehicle, popping the trunk. He sits on the tailgate as I find the first aid kid – Aram packed two – and start cleaning his face and left arm from grit and burst acne. He gulps back Advil Wilbur gave him.

“Explain. Now,” I snap.

“It went for my mind. Couldn’t get in. I hoped –.” He hisses as I rub his face. “I hoped it might try again mentally, and I could push the attack back? It didn’t. Try twice? Please?”

“We have a second first aid kit for a reason,” I say as Wilbur steps behind me in case I fall. I draw my talent up, and he hesitates at being too close for a moment. Ghost magician, well over double my weight, but my talent is what it is. I reach for Oscars Bend, to feel the pain. Two light probes. The first turns everything white again. The second has me on my knees, the world spinning. “Mind. Again,” I get out.

I manage to stand with Wilbur’s help. He jerks back after; I pull my talent inside as deeply as I can. Noah hasn’t moved from the tailgate. Wilbur gulps six Advil, hands shaking a little.

“Wilbur?”

“Back is screaming at me. You – used your talent,” he says unsteadily.

“Front. Sit. Please.”

Wilbur returns to the front and I finish cleaning Noah up as best I can. My head isn’t hurting as much, thanks to my gulping back more of the Advil. And taking the pain out of me for use later. I owe someone for that.

“You sit in the back. Ice on your cheek. I’m driving.”

Noah does so without a word, wincing at his own face in the rearview mirror.

I pull the car onto the road and start driving back to Oscars Bend. “You had a point with me doing that, Noah. Spill.”

“It went for your mind twice. Not mind and body, like with me. Not just body, like with Wilbur.”

“Whoever made it has met us,” Wilbur says. “Of course. They’d have to know hitting your body would hurt you. Would be certain of that for me. But you pass for normal like you said, Anya. So it went for the mind twice, even if that might have hurt less?”

“Which means we need to find out who. And have a chat,” I say, and neither Wilbur nor Noah say anything at all in response to how cold I sound even to me.

[lethe-distillery-blog]

Ash Bringer

I admired her from a distance, though I knew her as intimately as my own flesh and bone, it was still the tantalizing new experiences of seeing her. Sweet and subtle she stood there, surrounded by nothing more than others seeking to be like her; not that she attempted to stand out, in fact, she did everything to blend in. But it was impossible to blend in when you were as perfect as she, so perfectly sculpted with subtle curves, delicate and smooth. She was perfectly remarkable to those who knew anything and faded into the background to those that didn't. Never had I been more fascinated or more intrigued.

Codenamed CITIZEN 001. Experimental stealth fighter craft of the Gravon Forces, personally commissioned and approved of by the royal family itself. She was a luxury, responsive to my touch, and just enough class to be a ladyship. Upon taking ownership of her I had taken to simply calling her ASH. It seemed fitting for such a magnificent thing to hold within her the name of something I found beautiful and oddly apropos to my situation. Though, if I was honest I had named it for whom I found beautiful I supposed. Ash Bringer, my old wingman before life had taken us in different directions.

She was destined for greatness, and I had gone through the spec op branch of our armada until I had reached the top and taken the name Shadow. It was tacky then, still felt it now, but in all ways of describing my particular purpose, it was exactly what I was. In all official capacity, Jorgan Hopkins, the man who had gone into Gravon Specialized Command, G-SpeC in 04252, had perished in recon exercise of the Far Reaches. Not exactly unbelievable as it did happen, but I was pretty sure it was designed to keep other governments and spies to know our true capacities. Still though, it was hard going to your own funeral and seeing loved ones crying over your grave where nothing but an empty capsule was burned because nothing had of your remains had been recovered. Still, I was pleased that my mother had that small amount of ash to comfort her.

It had taught me a lot too, that people lied; there had been plenty that had come to my funeral that had claimed great kinships that I had known nothing about. One or two I could understand, as I had been kind to them and they had appreciated it. But it taught me that others will lie to simply get close. Valuable lesson that. It's amazing the lessons we learn through a very different medium. Still though, I was now a shadow. Left with nothing more than a code denoting my existence, I was now a ghost. This particular landing bay left that magnificent lady to the ownership of one lucky bastard by the name of Geoffry Dune, High Chancellor of the Gravon Royal Court. He was one of four that I preferred cycling through, seemed like a fitting name. The ship was listed under a modified ASEC Fighter Class III, which took a lot of imagination to picture but lucky me, landing bay personnel weren't exactly paid to be in the possession of a brain.

Though I should be home free here at the bay, and the untrained would go straight to their ship and be off this waste of existence of a planet, I took my time. More than one attempt to end the shallow thing I called an existence had also taught me to be more careful of my surroundings and possible enemies that are hidden in plain sight. Point of fact, this last bastard had been part of the organization Hand of Magnum Sa, apparently a religious fanatical group that sought free people throughout all the sectors and did their best to end the monarchies in order for their religion to spread, or some nonsense like that. Deciding that my best course of action was to take out the entire high command of this particular strangeness before they tried anything else I had been in this particular sector for longer than six months. A perk of the job, political immunity, provided whatever I did was in the name and protection of the Gravon Royals, I could do nearly anything I wanted. Granted, if I was caught it was highly unlikely anyone would bother trying to save me because me didn't technically exist.

Oh, and I took out the assassin too, though that bastard had been more trained than I expected, the knife wound in my side still hurt like a sonofa and I still couldn't draw a full breath without it sending searing pain through my ribs. Thankfully I had caught the poison and my wrist computer had managed to pull together a remedy for it, death by an excess of fluid in the brain that causes one's eyes, or skull to explode did not exactly sound like a particularly pleasant way to go out. Can think of several dozen different ways that I would rather go, and that was without even trying hard. Still, I'd take my small blessings as I approached my ship without assault. I had just about enough blood on my hands for the last six months to last me a few days, at least. I closed the ramp and watched the outside world disappear.

The running lights brightened to something more substantial than an orange underglow. I took off my helmet and took a full breath even though I knew it would hurt, a helmet rebreather system could only do so much when one was buried in the stench of human waste and garbage. I needed a shower. About three days ago. A soft voice broke into my thoughts.

"Should I prepare for launch?"

"Yes Ash, thank you." My system's AI was personally designed by me over many months, and perfectly in tune to me, and so happened to sound like the one woman that I had ever loved. It was always bittersweet coming back to her, in some ways it shredded my soul like nothing else ever could, and in another, she felt like home.

I set the helmet down and sat down, I wanted to take off my soft suit too but it was holding the compress in place, so it would wait until later when I could take a shower, get cleaned, and then Ash could help me suture it back together. Provided she didn't nag me to death first. Why had I programmed her to be exactly like Ash? It was things like that that always made me miss her with something terrible. I sat at the chair, moving slowly to make sure I didn't alert Ash to something was wrong, well, she already knew something was wrong likely, but I didn't want to make her fuss at me yet. We needed to launch.

I ran through pre-flight checks, scanning through the systems on the massive display that Ash helped me go through. Normally a ship of this size was navigated by a crew of about a dozen but due to my, predicament, it was better for me to work alone. Besides, I preferred it that way, large groups made me uncomfortable, difficult to keep track of everyone that way, call it paranoia but when you worked with people that sought to kill you on any particular day of the week you preferred solitary. Besides, I had Ash to keep me company. "Systems go."

"Systems go." Ash echoed and I fired the engines. They came alive, it was strange not hearing the dull roar as they came to but the craft was completely silent as I ran through last checks and lifted off slowly moving towards to the bay doors at the end of the hanger and received flight clearance from a very bored sounding dock engineer.

"ASH, you're clear to launch, please take exit strategy 3C."

"Confirmed." I had a wince behind clenched teeth. I followed through to the atmosphere and watched my scanners. Sighing I watched the screen light up with blips, the way they moved was classic and predictable. "Enforcement moving in beautiful."

"Got it, systems primed and ready." It was one thing I liked about Ash, she was ready and we knew each other intimately. Small talk could wait until we were free and clear, thus, why I hadn't had a shower yet.

"ASH, report crew and purpose." I sighed at the hailing call from the local authorities, they were pansies that often felt their need to bully others just to make themselves feel better. How desperately I wanted a piece of them but so far, I had been given a very short leash, play nice, or escape, shoot only to incapacitate, do not kill unless necessary. Seriously made me want to strangle someone but I did get it.

"Captain Geoffry Dune," I wasn't even surprised anymore with how easy lying came to me. "Serial, 19TX624589RS001." I waited for the response.

"You are piloting that alone?"

"One AI assistance," I knew it annoyed Ash when I referred to something so lowly but I couldn't exactly explain to the nice captain that my AI was more sophisticated than the one that ran the entire structural system of his planet. Tended to not go well since it was then deemed contraband and I was obviously a smuggler on the run, and, really, I just wanted out of here. I went on mute for a minute as the man conversed with apparently his colleges, "Sorry Ash."

"Don't worry," I could hear the amusement in her voice, "I'll just get even later."

"What were you doing?" The man's voice came back sharp.

"What?" I was totally baffled this time.

"Our systems saw a drop in ambient noise, you muted us, why?"

I rolled my eyes at the absurd paranoia, "I had to pass gas, I figured that you may not want to hear it." Too late I remembered that I was supposed to be an aristo and I had a sneaky suspicion that they didn't talk like that.

"Be prepared to be boarded and inspected."

Ha. Not happening buddy, nobody violated my Ash, she was too valuable with tech that was lightyears beyond what this backwater hole could dream of and they would likely do their best to confiscate things just because they wanted something to study, or worse, liberate for themselves. "Yeah," I drawled slowly, setting my systems for complete manual control. "How about, no."

I fired my engines, the G-Force of the sudden acceleration slamming me into the chair painfully, I hissed out a breath but kept focused despite the darkness that edged at my vision. I knew Ash was well aware now that I was in pain but also knew that if I didn't get us out of here we were both dead. Well, I was, and hopefully she was too or else she was in for an existence worse than death. I spun the ship in a corkscrew to avoid the plasma bolts that flew off into space. That hyper-heated ball of gasses would melt anything it touched so it was better to avoid those than to try to play hero. I fired back, wide shots, but enough to create an opening.

"Co-ordinates locked," Ash's voice was a soft balm to my ragged nerves. "Fifteen degrees up and ten miles north to the starting position."

"Got it." I hated hyperspace travel, it was dangerous and highly annoying. The positions had to be perfectly mapped or you would be dragged off course by a planet, or worse, smashed into one. Lucky for me, I had Ash. Finally, I broke through the entanglement and reached position. "Now!" And we launched the light drive and space opened before us.

I breathed out a sigh of relief and slumped into the chair, they had been business with the plasma, that shit would chew through the titanium alloy plates of my girl's hull and vent the atmosphere that I, personally, needed to live, and granted if it was small I did have a rebreather system that would function for three hours but if it was large enough the drop in atmosphere would pull me apart. Again, not one of the more pleasant ways to go. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were injured." Ash's hurt tone was obvious and I felt horrible.

"I'm sorry, I was actually planning on telling you so you could help put me back together after I had a shower."

"Ah, so the only reason I would find out is because you couldn't take care of it yourself." Basically, I hated stressing her unnecessarily it just felt like every time I took a hit, she felt it too. I had gotten her programming way too good.

I would have told you." I lied, hoping she wouldn't call me out on it. The HyLoRD buzzed and I sighed. I just wanted my damn shower already. The HyLoRD was a Gravon designed system Hyperspace Long Range Device, basically a phone that could work in hyperspace, and since it was only ever wrung by the Royal House, my affectionate nickname for the device that meant I never got any peace anymore.

I opened the channel, expecting to see his royal highness, King Sirius, the guy could be a prick sometimes but that was mostly when he was stressed about something in particular, and given that he tended to stress about everything, well, he was a jerk. A jerk I understood granted, but still a jerk nonetheless. I was shocked though, to find her royal beauty there, Queen Amoura. She was a stunning woman, porcelain skin that had never seemed to change, eyes so vivid and bright they seared right through to my soul and the very truth of me. She was exquisite, perfection, and beautiful beyond any description that the news sources could ever possibly say about her. "My Queen," my words tumbled over themselves and I moved subtly to mute Ash from the speakers of the ship, allowing her through the comm piece that never left my ear. "I apologize for my lack of appearances, I was expecting your husband to be the one that called."

Too late I realized I had stuck my foot in my mouth, Ash called me on it in my ear and given the smile my Queen held, I guessed she caught it too. The whole innuendo that I wouldn't have bothered to prepare myself for her husband and yet I would have at least tried to look presentable for her. "It's alright. I just got your report that you sent in," she smiled, and it was like a sunrise happened, "I feel much safer knowing what you have done Shadow."

"I would do anything to protect you m'lady."

Her smile was kind but as she took me in I saw the look pass her features. Uh oh. Busted. "When was the last time you took off any time for yourself?"

I knew better than to lie. "About six months ago, maybe seven."

She shook her head, her hair gliding through the air like silk in a breeze. "You need more time than that, I will make it that you take the next two to yourself."

This time it was I that shook my head. "Unable to m'lady," her eyes narrowed on me, "the gathering of the house is within the week and I need to be there to protect you and yours."

"Jorgan.." her voice was pain filled as she looked at me and I cherished the concern there, it meant more than she would ever know.

"Amoura," I dropped protocol to let her know she had done it first. "I told you I would always keep you safe and protect you. I hold by my word."

She sighed, a growl of frustration tinging it. "Alright," she relented, but on two conditions Shadow, one, you do nothing but give us your report and then you get some good sleep, you look like you could use it. Two, you take a week off afterward, you need to do something for yourself, you always seem locked away from others. Alone and isolated, you need to get out and experience to the world."

I was actually rather fine where I was, it kept me from experiencing too much, and that, in turn, kept me from hurting too much. I did know better than to argue though, I would take this victory as much as it was. "So long as no one seeks to do you, or yours harm."

"Alright Shadow, we'll be expecting you at 0330." It was the time I was to arrive on Gravon. "May the gods keep you safe on your journey home to us."

"Gods watch you and keep you safe m'lady." I signed off and let Ash back to the speakers. "Would you like to animate as I shower and you can join me?" I knew how much she enjoyed taking possession of the human-like body I created for her.

In response, I could hear the shower start up and I smiled switching the ship over to autopilot, I doubted we would have any troubles in hyperspace. I came into the bathroom of the captain's lounge and smiled at the sweet smell of eucalyptus and mint, the steam already filling the air. Gods, I had spent days through the sewers dreaming of this moment. I breathed in and savored it. A soft hand touched mine and I smiled down at Ash's animated body. I had designed it perfectly, sculpting her of silicone, fake skin, and making her perfectly human-like. She even had breasts and a functioning sex drive, hey, I am a guy. Everything on her was perfection, exactly how her real-life copy was. Her touch was gentle as she slowly started to undress me, her own skin perfectly glistening in the steam, the pearls of water flashing like amber in the glow of the electronic candles. She was the reason I flew solo, the real reason; because to be in love with the Queen, was treason.