#[Everyone else will just not age or age to some small degree we can kind of choose to age or not]

[cutielando]

my little engineer | o.p.

synopsis: in which Oscar falls in love with a McLaren engineer

a/n: based on this request! the timeline does not really follow the actual season, i just went along with what came to my head

my masterlist

The air buzzed with the energy of the Formula 1 paddock.

Even on a quiet Thursday afternoon, there was a constant undercurrent of urgency, the kind that kept everyone on their toes.

You were no exception to the rule.

As a McLaren engineer, your days were filled with analyzing data, fine-tuning setups, and making sure that the cars were in peak condition. The team’s fortunes often hinged on decisions made in rooms like the ones you were currently in, surrounded by monitors and endless cups of coffee.

You had been with McLaren for 2 years now, your main focus being on aerodynamics. The team had offered to hire you while you were still studying your degree, mainly because of how brilliant your mind was.

Your job was to squeeze every ounce of performance out of the car, translating theoretical possibilities and what-ifs into tangible speed and a sea of accomplishments.

Currently, you were busy reviewing wind tunnel data when a shadow fell across your desk.

Looking up, you saw Oscar standing there, a curious expression in his face. He was dressed casually, but the unmistakable sharpness of a driver’s focus radiated off of him.

“Hey” he said, his soft Australian accent cutting through the silence.

“Hi, Oscar” you greeted him, giving him a small smile.

“Do you have a moment? I wanted to ask you about the changes to the front wing design we made today” he asked, his eyes darting across your desk.

He could see that you were busy, but he couldn’t help himself. Ever since he had joined the team, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was impressed by your knowledge and experience at just 21, basically his age, and he found himself blushing and stuttering every time he would talk to you.

He was acting like a love-sick puppy.

"Of course, take a seat" you said as you gestured to the chair next to you, straightening up in your chair.

Despite only being in his rookie year, Oscar's performance had been nothing short of remarkable. And you also couldn't deny that you took a small, secret liking to the young Aussie driver.

"Can you explain to me, again, what changes we made exactly?" Oscar asked, having sat down next to you.

"Yeah, we've made some adjustments to the endplates in order to better improve airflow around the tires. It should help with high-speed cornering stability" you explained, pointing to the data on one of the monitors.

Oscar leaned in, his eyebrows furrowed as he took in what you were saying and what he was seeing on the screens.

"How does that affect the balance? Will it make the rear feel lighter?" he asked, scratching his chin.

"Slightly, yes. But we've made sure to compensate with some tweaks to the diffuser. It will feel different, but once you adjust, you should find it predictable and reliable" you explained.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful.

"I see. I get it now, thanks Y/N" he said, giving you a small smile.

You smiled back, patting him on the shoulder.

"Anytime, Oscar. Let me know how the car feels after FP1 and we can make some more tweaks if it's necessary" you said.

Oscar nodded and gave you one last smile before heading out. You watched him go, noticing the quiet confidence with which he held himself, even as he walked.

There was something about him that intrigued you, a mix of his determination to become the best and his calm, almost reserved personality and demeanor.

Something you definitely wanted to explore.

But for now, you shook the thoughts away, getting back to work before you could spiral into something else.

Into something more dangerous.

♡♡♡♡♡

Over the next few weeks, your interactions with Oscar became more and more frequent.

Whether it was in the garage, during debriefs, or even in the cafeteria, he often sought you out to discuss details about the car.

At first, everything was purely professional. Mostly technical questions, feedback on changes to the setup, and maybe the occasional joke to lighten up the mood.

But gradually, the conversations began to shift.

“So, how did you end up in F1?” he asked one evening, leaning against the workbench as you adjusted a model component.

You froze for a second but quickly regained your composure, a little surprised at the personal question.

“Well, I’ve always loved racing. My dad used to take me to local karting events when I was little. I wasn’t much of a driver, though, but I was really curious about the whole mechanism behind the cars. I got into university and McLaren hired me while I was still studying” you explained.

Oscar’s eyes lit up with interest as you spoke.

“Wow, you must have one hell of a brain, then” he said, making you laugh and blush.

You shrugged, not wanting to gloat.

“I guess they saw something in me, I don’t really know. I’m just grateful I have this opportunity” you said, giving him a smile.

He smiled back, his eyes twinkling.

“It’s good that we have you here with us. We wouldn’t get far without you” he said, his voice softer now.

“It’s a team effort, really, but thank you” you said, your cheeks now an angry shade of red.

Oscar smiled and nodded, and his eyes lingered on you for a second too long. You looked away, your eyes now focused on the task at hand, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your stomach and in your chest.

Damn you, Oscar.

♡♡♡♡♡

As the season progressed, the dynamic between you and Oscar continued to deepen.

He’d stop by your workstation far more often than was necessary, most of the times just to have a chat with you.

You found yourself looking forward to his visits, your butterflies being swarmed with butterflies whenever you would see him approach you. And even though you tried to keep things strictly professional, there were small, fleeting moments than hinted at just something more.

Like the time he brought you coffee during a particularly tough and difficult race weekend, completely taking you by surprise.

“Here, thought you might need this” he said, setting down the cup of coffee in front of you.

Startled, you raise your eyebrows, but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks” you said, looking down at the cup to notice that he had not only brought you coffee, but he brought your favorite type of coffee. “How did you know I like it black?”

Oscar smiled and shrugged.

“I pay attention” was the only thing that he said before he turned and walked away, leaving you staring after him.

Another instance was when he had caught you off guard with a genuine compliment after a tougher free practice session.

“You’re really good at what you do, you know. The car feels incredible because of you” he said, trying to comfort you after the tough debrief.

You’d brushed it off as you always did, trying to pass everything as team effort.

But the sincerity and gentleness of his voice stayed with you long after that.

Maybe a little too long.

♡♡♡♡♡

Monza.

It was during a rain-soaked qualifying session that the tension between the two of you reached an all-time high.

The team had completely gambled on a whole-new setup, a very risky one at that, and the stakes were higher than they ever were in the championship battle.

You were sitting in the garage with your headphones on, monitoring the data as Oscar ventured out on the slippery track.

“How’s the car, Oscar?” Tom, his race engineer, asked him over the radio.

“A bit twitchy, but it’s manageable” his voice crackled over the radio.

You leaned forward over the computer, your heart in your throat as you watched his sector times closely.

Even though the setup was still rocky, he was pushing hard, managing to find the limits and extract the most out of his lap times with every lap.

When the session finished and he crossed the line securing a spot on the second row, the whole garage erupted into loud cheers.

Everyone was hugging everyone, congratulating you on the proposed setup (a gamble, really) and how well it had played out in the end.

Oscar returned a few minutes later, drenched but grinning widely.

His eyes found yours almost instantly, and you couldn’t help but give him a wide smile back.

“Nice work out there” you said as he stopped in front of you.

“Couldn’t have done it without you” he replied, his voice warm and soft.

For a moment, the noise of the garage faded away into the distance, and it was just the two of you there, standing in the middle of the chaos.

Just the two of you.

Later that night, the team had decided to go out and celebrate the amazing qualifying session.

You found yourself sitting at the quieter end of the table with Oscar. The conversation between the two of you flowed effortlessly, moving from racing all the way to hobbies and childhood stories.

You learned that he loved cooking, had an embarrassingly extensive collection of movie soundtracks and missed the Australian benches.

“What about you? What do you do when you’re not making our cars faster?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you.

You laughed, taking a sip of your drink.

“Not much, to be honest. Work keeps me pretty busy. But I like hiking when I get the chance. It’s nice to unplug and just be with the nature for a little while, away from all the chaos and noise” you said.

He nodded thoughtfully, seemingly hanging onto your every word.

“Sounds peaceful. I haven’t hiked in a long time. Maybe I should start again” he said.

“You should. It’s a great way to clear your head” you said, your lips twitching into a small smile.

The evening stretched on, the line between you and Oscar becoming more blurred with each passing moment.

By the time you left the restaurant, walking side by side under the streetlights of Italy, you felt warmth in your chest at the feeling of him being next to you.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the wine you’d had.

♡♡♡♡♡

The slow burn continued as the season went on.

There were stolen moments in the garage, quiet conversations during long flights and shared smiles that spoke volumes. But neither of you made the step, neither crossed the line.

Not yet, anyways.

But the unspoken tension hung heavily in the air, growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.

And it all came to a head in Abu Dhabi, the final race of the season.

After a very hard-fought battle Oscar had managed to finish on the podium, his best result of the season yet. The team celebrated late into the night, the culmination of months of effort and sacrifice finally paying off.

You found yourself on the balcony of the hotel, the cool desert breeze brushing against your skin.

Oscar joined you a few minutes later, a drink in his hand and a soft smile on his face.

“Couldn’t handle the noise anymore?” he asked, leaning against the railing beside you.

“Something like that. It’s been a long season, I’m exhausted” you said, chuckling.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“It has. But I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you” he said.

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the fire in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Oscar…”

“No, let me say this. You’ve been there for me through everything. You’ve pushed to be better weekend after weekend, supported me when things got tough and the car was shit. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for you” his voice was firm, like there was no room for you to contradict him.

“I was just doing my job” you said, your voice soft as your breath caught in your throat.

Oscar shook his head, determined to make you see exactly what he was feeling.

“It’s more than that. You mean more to me than just…this. I know we’ve got a million reasons why this wouldn’t work, but i can’t pretend I don’t feel this anymore” he said, his eyes boring into yours.

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, all combined shattered every doubt you’d had.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his softly.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it for months, but I don’t want to do it anymore” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a soft smile, and before you could overthink anything, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt as natural as breathing.

The world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the starry Abu Dhabi sky. Months of pining and unspoken tension culminated in a simple kiss, fireworks erupting into every part of your body.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a content sigh escaping his lips.

“So, where do we go from here?” you asked, your voice tinged with both excitement and uncertainty.

“One step at a time” he said, his fingers intertwining with yours. “As long as it’s with you, I’m happy”

And in that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

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[eastern-lights]

Ok so we all know how amazing Baldur's Gate 3 is. I could talk for hours about everything it did perfectly.

But rn, I want to talk about what I think Dragon Age Inquisition did better. And this is not to judge which game is better overall, but what still makes DAI so special to me despite its flaws.

1. Voiced protagonist

Yeah, starting off controversial. I know some people prefer silent protagonists, but I just find myself wishing we could have a fully voiced Tav, even at the cost of fewer dialogue options. I'm sorry, but Tav's silent indifferent face just always breaks the immersion for me, especially when contrasted with the award-worthy acting and animation of the characters they're speaking with. In DAI (and DA2, although to a lesser degree) your character could be heavily customized, but they were always an actual person who fit in with the rest of the universe and flowed seamlessly with the story.

2. Mystery and dread.

BG3 is full of heavy, scary, traumatizing stuff hidden all over the place (or in plain sight). But it can always be explained in some way. There are dreadful things in Faerûn, but we always know what they are (mostly due to most of them having to have precisely given stats as the result of being based on DnD). We know what happens after death and what we can do to bring people back from it. The closest you get to truly dread-inducing mystery in BG3 is "Do Illithids have souls" and "where do illithids come from" and (at least in Act 1) "who is the Absolute".

In Dragon Age, the whole world is made of existential dread. What happens when you die? Dunno. Is God real? No idea and if He does, He hates you. What is the Blight? Are all darkspawn capable of independent thought? What is lyrium singing about? What happened to the titans? What happens when all of the Old Gods die? And this is just the Big Questions. There's a myriad of small things, small mysteries you encounter that just have no answers. Stuff that reminds me of those creepy Goldshire children forming a pentagram in World of Warcraft. While having an explanation for everything makes for deeper worldbuilding, a world full of mysteries without answers makes for a much scarier and, in some ways, exciting experience.

3. Group dynamic and party banter

I enjoyed the party banter in BG3. Hell, it had some of the funniest lines in game. But it didn't do enough to make the group dynamic feel any less Tav/Durge-centric. You hear the companions exchange banter, but you never get beyond stuff like "Karlach and Shadowheart both enjoy wine" and "Gale enjoys Lae'zel telling him about the Astral plane". The protagonist forms amazingly written relationships with each of the companions, but they never seem to have such a bond with one another. The closest we come to what I'd like to see is Karlach and Wyll's friendship, but even that's kind of shallow, I feel. The companions do comment on the others' personal quest, but it's always one sentence reaction, before going right back to being mostly indifferent. DA2 had the same issue, if to a greater extent (srsly, the companions had the same attitude about one another over the span of 10 years)

The banter in DAI was superb. It told a story. It had arcs. You could watch in real time as Solas and Dorian became friends over their shared magical nerd-dom. You could even take part in it, such as when telling Blackwall to stfu about jousting for a moment, or telling Sera that what you and Solas do in private is none of her business. You could see Dorian and Bull fall in love. You could watch Varric slowly chip away at Solas' worldview until he arguably came closer to changing his plans than Lavellan ever did. The relationships grow over the course of the story and by the time of Solas' betrayal, you're not just sad because he betrayed you, you're sad because he betrayed Varric, Dorian, Bull, Cassandra and everyone else. Because you saw how they cared about him, each in their own way.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than Varric's "Chuckles, what have you done?"

In BG3, the relationships are mostly left to your imagination, which has its perks, but still, the group dynamic feels more like a wheel with Tav at the centre rather than a web.

4. Having limits on the romance options

Let me start by stating what I am not saying: I am not saying that bi and pan people shouldn't be represented. Far from it. But I don't think making the whole group pan is the way to go about it. I can't help but feeling it is, in a way, pandering to players, making every single companion interested in them as long as they have a sufficiently high approval.

Making some companions explicitly bi, pan, gay or straight made for a more real experience. Getting rejected by Sera on the grounds of "We have a lot in common - we both like women" felt disappointing, yes, but also real. This also allowed the writers to make the characters' sexual/romantic preferences a part of their, well, character. We got Dorian's personal quest, which I think is great. Limiting Solas' options to just Lavellan allowed the writers to make it about him realizing that his people are not mere shadows. It allowed them to write the Vallaslin scene. None of this could have been done if he were romanceable to all races.

When you have diversity in romantic attraction among the companions, suddenly the pan and bi characters (in Bull and Josie respectively) feel like their orientation is part of who they are, rather than a game mechanic to prevent players from missing out on content.

[anendoandfriendo]

Us being a protogenic-endogenic system, and also a generative system, it's always odd to us to see people talk about it as if the growth and just being a system is suffering, because to us NOT growing and NOT being a system is suffering. So we kind of have to stop ourselves from going like:

You don't want friend???? You don't want found friend???? You kick friend out like a sad lost puppy????

No hugs? Cuddles? No small acts of love? But waking up to the projection of your headmate when he shifts a little trying not to wake you up is adorable. That's...not something people want? :( Like sure the external world can do that too and singlets can do that too but it's not the same. It hits different when the person in question is in your own brain. Double the hug!!! Double the cuddle!!! It's an endless feedback loop until one of us stops!! :D

And also, pinging a more generalized "good morning" and getting hundreds of pings back in return is the most amazing feeling ever.

Also describing in-headspace events to singlets when we do manage to get a connection between frontspace and backspace + someone manages to write it down. Those mf'ers would probably ask us "who needs drugs when you have...whatever is going on in THERE?" which validates both our plurality and also the fact we can be a fucking freak without doing the drugs thing (the sex and drugs hellsite here needs to understand those are not the only two ways to be on the margins).

None of us can really *do* math the way people think it means, but 💜 seems to be able to grasp some of the more abstract concepts in our POD3 training. 💜 is also like, fifteen, so someone else keeps having to drag xem out of the front because "you literally just got here, please let the adults do this until we can figure out how you actually function," and such. Pretty much everyone would feel bad if a systeen got burnt out because of us. And other our-system-is-literally-the-size of-a-village-right-now moments.

Okay but fr does anyone else know the feeling of amazement when you see headmates projecting themselves from your brain and out of the window, so you can see them like playing and stuff? Like everyone knows it's physically impossible to interact with the actual environment in that state but it's nice to see/feel/know about that people can get along this well.

SMXWHCNNLQ WE DO NOT GENERALLY AGE UNLESS WE WANT TO. Either that, or it is very weird since there is at least a lower limit. But we saw Elise very specifically choose how to age up and when, and to what age, which does mean we probably do have some semblance of a choice in our system. It brings us a lot of joy to have seen someone plan things out to that degree and take such pride in it, actually.

So like, yes, people who don't want growth are perfectly valid and fine; we aren't their system, we're The Rusanya Collective of Systems (RCS)/The Rusanya Polyplex. But like sometimes we see people complain about splitting, growing, or just gaining a new member as like some inherently awful thing that must have had a reason for it. We wanted to propose the alternative, which is, no it's not inherently horrible. There's not always a reason for it either. The former statement can set your free if you want it to, and latter is not a bad thing.

[christmasintheloonybin]

could you write about your time spent at community college, discovered your blog today and those were the posts that stood out to me for whatever reason(anime girl with pilgrim dress and sweet boy that dressed as a metalhead) poignantly reminiscent

sure it's funny you bring this up I almost forget my posts are public like out to everyone. I feel like I'm in a group chat or something a lot of the time, it is really a very small group of people I interact with on here most of the time.

like everything else once it's over I remember it fondly. but I specifically remember my first real "it's fucking over" moment. my first day at community college. and I think this was a huge mistake of my life, I wish I had applied to a normal college and just went and studied something and gotten a degree in it and right now I had some career. but whatever.

I was really really into music at the time, right after high school it was a big deal to me. and I had recently gotten really really into John Maus and Ariel Pink, and they were releasing music back then it was great. in 2017. so my main kind of feeling is being on the bus listening to John Maus, going to community college. listening to the song "Believer." walking through snow on the way to the bus. and honestly like, I think about my life and i really was never genuinely depressed until age 20. there was always some kind of light in my life. even if it was just music or anime or something like this, i was also watching anime at this time, there was something that could really excite me and make me feel like wow it's all worth it because there's this thing that's so fucking cool. so I really wasn't depressed I always had that. there were moments I was frustrated with life but ultimately I was quite happy. I felt like my life was about to begin and I just had to choose which awesome and exciting direction to go in. didn't work out that way.

the people you bring up were the main characters really and I guess I've already described them in the post you're referencing. that's pretty much the most exciting part. I never had any adventures with them because I was too shy to have a proper conversation with them. the actual schoolwork was extremely easy. the teachers were often kind of checked out. uninteresting.

I went back recently, well, almost two years ago now, I met another main character type person who I befriended pretty easily, he was like this skater guy who was maybe kind of gay I didn't ask him. from California oddly enough. but we got along pretty well talking about music, which even at this point I wasn't so interested in but I know a lot about so I can have conversations. we were on the path I think to becoming real life friends but I kept honestly forgetting to respond to his texts so eventually he stopped texting me and it never really grew to be a real friendship it was more just in class.

but both stints at community college I would rank as somewhat happier than the baseline for my adult life. shit was going on.

[holonfoil-birthday-cards]

Holon Information Post

{ooc: this is gonna be a bunch of headcanons so I know the rules Phil’s playing by. Feel free to agree or disagree with whatever!)

When I first made this blog I made a poll on what people know about Holon so I could make a post explaining a bit about it as a region. Since then I’ve been making this to try explain parts of our region and what were known for. This will be long but if you’re interested I think it’s worth a read!! Though of course I’d say that!

Contents

Geography Culture δ / Delta Species Pokemon Pokemon ex & Holon

Geography

Holon is both the name of the region and the name of our main city pictured below. For ease, Holon will refer to the region, Holon City/HC will be the city.

Thanks to our very small population and being a place of minimal interest, the region is mostly comprised of Mirage Forest. In the above photo, Mirage Forest is all the wooded bits around the edge. HC is quite small in comparison and completely surrounded by the Forest! This photo is a little old as there are more buildings in the open green spaces but we haven’t expanded the city’s limits. At the centre of the city there is the research tower that’ll be discussed more later.

Holon Lake is on the southern outskirts of Mirage Forest, just past some marshland. The other side of the lake leads to a lovely mountain range that is the most exhausting hike you’ll ever do, even if you use the caves for rest.

Holon is a coastal region! To the north-west of HC is the sea. The main island off the coast is Fract Isle, known as the ~mysterious island~ to most. Fract Isle’s most notable trait is that it grows ex crystals, again to be talked about later. Below is a picture taken on Fract Isle that includes a crystal cluster.

There is also a chain of small islands, the first of which is just about visible from Holon’s coast. There’s very little human presence on them or Fract Isle, just wildlife workers like myself and tourists.

Culture

I’ll be honest, it’s really hard to identify what should be here.

Since we’re a small region, it’s a close-knit community we’ve made. Everyone knows everyone to some degree, even if you never interact with them. This extends to people we know who don’t live here. I’ve talked about my interregional friends so much that when they come over most people accurately greet them and ask them something personal. They don’t come over that much after their first time.

Our relationship with Pokemon is a bit different too. We don’t have as big a “trainer culture” as most other regions. People keep Pokemon if they want to but there’s no obligation to from Holon, most of the pressure is from other regions. As a result we don’t have a Gym or League system, nor an Elite Four. We have one Pokemon Center that’s apparently a little bigger than ones in other regions. I guess this is to accommodate tourists who end up in battles with our Pokemon — they are likely underprepared. Those who do keep their own Pokemon are expected to be able to do most the care themselves. I invested in my own healer when I had to get a Service Pokemon. Very expensive. But that’s what’s expected if you can!

We do have 1 school building that has room for every child of different ages but it isn’t a trainer school — kids or parents who want that for their kids send them to other regions. This is also true of other specialist schools. At that point it’s expected they won’t come back to Holon for years if at all. I myself am an exception.

Another minor thing is a mix of self-sufficiency and collectivism. It’s a “you do what you can for yourself but if there’s anything you can’t do we won’t hesitate” thing. Pretty much every home has at least one berry crop of some kind, the healer thing, apricorn Pokeballs is a common practice; if you can’t do these there’s no shame! Everyone else will give you what you need and do what they can to help you get to the point you can be independent.

We’re getting more tourists than ever, likely due to the Internet allowing other regions to learn about us and our phenomena. I work with Renée and she’s apparently famous on some social site for posting clips and pictures of Sanctuary Pokemon. The issue is people come here wanting to take home a “weird Pokemon” and are grossly unprepared. Like one Ludicolo δ has wiped out a whole group that came wanting something. This has unfortunately put some strain on our Pokemon and how they view humans in general. Even the ones who go to the Shelter have to put a day in at the Sanctuary to be considered for adopting a δ Pokemon to prove they’re up to it.

Another reason may be that someone from Holon is one of the founders of the TCG. Helped us get some fame from there, although that influence has likely long dropped.

δ Pokemon

δ Pokemon, A.K.A. Delta Species Pokemon, are Pokemon whose DNA has been altered so it’s a different type. δ Pokemon are unique to Holon due to our weather; we have electromagnetic (EM from now on) storms fairly frequently. The region has natural EM storms, yet there has been an increase since the Research Tower’s construction as it emitted EM waves for its original purpose of finding Mew. EM waves are what cause the change to δ Pokemon, hence the influx of δs on the mainland despite consistent numbers on Fract Isle and the other islands.

Not all δ Pokemon are one from their hatching. The EM can affect them at “vulnerable stages” which is pretty much hatching & evolution. There are some cases of the change happening while at a healer so that may count but there’s not enough of a sample size to truly suggest the claim. There haven’t been any recorded cases of this but it’s theorised that phenomena such as Mega Evolution, Z-Energy, Giganti/Dynamaxing, and Terastilizing could also form “vulnerable stages” as Pokemon move into/out of them. Terastilizing especially!

( Small side note: Holon and Paldea have a few things in common: Pokemon changing type due to natural phenomena, phenomena-associated crystals, poison Woopers (δ Pokemon in our case), it being considered rude to enter people’s homes off the street, investment & use of door locks, and probably more I’d know if I ever visited Pa more. )

A lot of the time the change in type is addition of the Steel type or, in already dual-type Pokemon, one type being replaced by Steel. For examples, see my Orich (Psychic/Steel) and my friend’s Beedrill (Bug/Steel). Other type changes are possible even within species! I know a whole group of Electric Totodile-line δs that have a couple Grass ones in their ranks. It isn’t preset, so to speak, but it seems EM is more likely to change them to some types over others.

Explaining δs is hard to do without touching on how types work and whether they are real things. I can’t say much as I don’t know any science or sides of the debate, however I do think the traits we associate with the types aren’t just a random collective we group together for no reason. Orich’s got fur like copper, he’s immune to poisons & venoms, and he’s sensitive to heat physiologically. There’s likely a link between these traits all being activated by the EM. That’s just my thoughts though, best to listen to the professionals.

Pokemon ex & Holon

Pokemon ex (a shortening of “Pokemon Extra”) are found in many other regions, they are not a Holon exclusive. From memory they were first acknowledged in Hoenn. Pokemon ex are Pokemon with enhanced ability in all areas but most notably health and attack. They’re sought by competitive battlers as a result, even by those who don’t do Leagues because exs are more capable of different moves. There are whole separate battle systems where exs are legal and their move pools include home-brewed techniques. One of the more famous and recent examples I know of is a Paldean Ampharos ex who has a signature Thunderstrike Tail. However, Holon doesn’t have any part of these systems housed here.

From what I’ve looked up and asked professional researchers I work with, the true cause of Pokemon ex is unknown. The best guess Holon researchers have is ex crystals. Found in abundance on Fract Isle, residents of Holon and tourists alike have a habit of taking some home; our Pokemon Center sells faceted pieces, raw pieces and jewellery. This doesn’t explain exs’ presence in other regions. It’s possible it’s a different phenomenon entirely to what the crystals do and they’ve been incorrectly labelled the same.

And yes, there can be overlap between ex and δ!

Hope this was a good read and not too long! I tried to keep to the need-to-knows and stay off tangents.

[captain-kraken]

7 snippets 7 people

thank you for the tag @sam-glade - see their post here

no pressure tag for @lexiklecksi @kittensartswriting @fictionalbullshitter @toribookworm22 @writingmaidenwarrior @aquadestinyswriting @afoolandathief

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[All snippets are from BB1 (the 80s-90s era)]

Snippet 1

Rujav wasn’t looking at him, chewing at his nails with an odd expression on his face. A small cloud was beginning to form over his head, and the temperature in the room felt as though it had dropped a few degrees.

            “Dad, p-please s-say something.” Viter couldn’t stop the sob escaping from his throat, and he clenched his fists, accidently crumpling the paper in his hands.

His father turned his head in his direction but still wouldn’t look him in the eyes, even as he spoke. “Don’t call me that, Viter.”

-

Snippet 2

            “We shouldn’t do this.”

Viter put his hands on Tafgen’s face. “We both want this.”

            “It’s still wrong.”

            “How is it wrong for us to want what everyone else has? Do we not deserve to be happy? Just because of some stupid rules that say neither of our lives are worth anything?”

He was saying the thoughts that had echoed around Tafgen’s head ever since he was a child. All he’d ever wanted was this. Someone who loved him, just as he was.

-

Snippet 3

Being so close to each other only served to highlight their differences. Whilst Sahrav’s pinkened skin was coated in a thin glaze of sweat, Lerensa seemed unaffected by the dry heat. The only sheen on her rich brown skin came from the golden glitter that had been delicately brushed onto her shoulders. Her eyes burned like a sunset, mimicking the desert land that surrounded them. A sharp contrast to the glaciers that Sahrav’s own represented.

-

Snippet 4

“How did it feel for you? Giving up your freedom willingly?”

Tafgen shrugged. “I didn’t have much freedom beforehand. I wasn’t losing much.”

            “But what about children? Love?” Mahrias rolled over to face him. “Were they easy to give up? Or did they never interest you to begin with?”

            “Children, no. Love though…” He sighed, absent-mindedly stroking his scar. “Love is complicated.”

-

Snippet 5

Deivi stared into his empty cup. “Seventeen thousand, six hundred, and forty-two.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “That’s how many lives Solima lost during the war. How many people died from my family’s choice to get involved. You’re right, Imojin is alive. Perhaps she would have been even if we hadn’t gotten involved. But either way, how can we say that one gishar life is worth that many human ones? We are not gods. We shouldn’t have that kind of power.”

-

Snippet 6

That would be the ideal situation, to marry his son to the daughter of his best friend. Yet Osin had not said a word since Sahrav came of age, and it felt strange of him to ask.

Rujav knew it wasn’t for a personal reason, nor anything to do with Sahrav himself. But it still hurt his feelings. If only simply because Osin had failed to tell him the reason behind the unintentional snub.

-

Snippet 7

The damp wind clinked through the chimes that hung from the sloped roof near the door. It was only when they got closer that Mahria saw they were made from bones, too small to be human, but unnerving to him nonetheless.

As soon as he stepped inside, he knew that he shouldn’t be here. But it was too late to back out now. It was almost as dim inside, lit by a few candles that were laid sporadically around the main room. Shelves and tables bordered the area, filled with the treasures that the twins had gained over the years. Mahrias gulped as he realised that each one of these was a deal made, much like the one he had come here to make.

[bitchin-beskar]

So I've just utterly tanked my PhD interview, got an extremely bitchy HR email from the people who are meant to be hiring me, and had my mum essentially tell me it was my fault (not really, but that's how it sounded in my mind), so I'm GREAT (sarcasm)

Please tell me your week has been better? I could really use some good news/funny stuff, even if it's someone else's

hello my love!

I'm so so sorry your week has been so horrible to you, even one of those things would be stressful, not to mention all of them combined! my week has been pretty average for the most part but i do have a funny story to share, I hope it can help cheer you up??

so!

without getting too detailed, I'm an english language assistant in spain, and i work at a high school with kids between the ages of 11 and 18, and my job basically revolves around helping these kiddos improve their english

one of my co-teachers decided that since i have a bachelor's degree in creative writing that obviously makes me an expert (it absolutely does not) and so i should do a creative writing exercise with the kiddos to help them practice their writing skills in english

so to keep it simple i decided to have the kids work in small groups to create short stories with 3 main elements (a creature, a place, and a time) that as a class we decided on together. for this particular class, the elements they chose were a cat in a park in the city in the afternoon

considering the other classes chose to write about either 1. dinosaurs in a burger king at midnight, 2. the demogorgon in the high school on christmas night, or 3. giant flies in mcdonalds in the afternoon, i was kind of expecting this group's stories to be more tame in comparison

i was so very wrong

the very first group gets up to present their short story and it goes as follows:

Silk is the most dangerous black cat to have ever lived, and there's a statue of him in the middle of the park. It's said that at 6 o'clock pm this afternoon the cat statue will come alive and destroy everyone if a sacrifice is not made.

The corrupt politicians cannot agree on a sacrifice for Silk the most dangerous black cat to have ever lived, so at 6 o'clock the statue comes alive and begins to destroy everything in his path including all the corrupt politicians.

However, there is a secret society who has decided on the perfect sacrifice of The Muppet (aside: I do not know which muppet. I do not know if they mean one of the canon muppets or some made up muppet. They did not elaborate beyond The Muppet.)

The Muppet is unaware of their destiny to be sacrificed to Silk the most dangerous black cat to have ever lived.

To be continued...

...

when i tell you the room was dead silent for a good thirty seconds before I started clapping, i am not joking. my co-teacher looked at the students standing so proudly at the front of the classroom with newfound horror. their fellow students looked confused, though i do not know if that was because they didn't know how to react or if they were unsure if they'd understood the english correctly

i can only eagerly await to see what kind of other hellish ideas this group comes up with in the future

I hope this helps you my love, and I'm always here if you need someone to rant to!! ❤️

[abbyindenhaag]

Everything is different!!!

Landed in Japan and ok, not everything everything is different. But enough.

First, Japan is *obsessed* with cleanliness to a degree that I didn’t understand even after reading Shogun. At most meals, including airplane meals, you get a moist towelette to wipe your hands. I think this is meant to be before the meal but it could be afterwards. Some toilets automatically play the sounds of birds chirping and water running to obscure any “unpleasant” noises. Of course, you have to take your shoes off when you’re going into a bedroom-type space, and at shrines you are expected to rinse your hands, and many people rinse their mouths as well. Every buffet is extremely insistent about using tongs to pick up your food (even though this is actually less hygienic than using your fingers and only touching your food…) There are also other technologies to keep things clean that I have never seen before — in some restaurants, they have bag stands to put your bags in so that they don’t have to touch the ground. That is an innovation I would like to see spread. Oddly, though, there are very few trash cans on the street, and I am not sure if it’s because of the risk that trash would escape the trash cans or if it is just a cultural norm to keep your own trash until you are home.

Second, I keep being surprised by retail and restaurants existing on upper floors. I didn’t realize how used I was to the American city concept of retail on the ground floor and residential above until the principle was violated and I felt all turned around. One night we went to dinner in a restaurant that had been recommended to us, and it was on the 6th floor of a building that may have turned residential at the 8th floor (didn’t quite understand what was above us, though it went up to the 17th floor). A restaurant on a 6th floor! And when we have been walking around, there have been cafes on the 3rd floor or bookstores that have one ground floor retail space and then a second floor retail space in the building next door. The city is just vertical in a way I am not at all used to. Very efficient use of space, though!

On our first night here I wanted to experience something authentic so we went to a “monjoyaki” restaurant a few blocks from our hotel, on a street lined with eateries. A monjoyaki is a local style of “okonomiyaki”, which is itself a kind of pancake with fillings you select, cooked in front of you on a grill. However, pancake is a very loose term for something that ended up being quite liquid. Unfortunately, neither Bart nor I particularly liked the texture, or really the taste. But it was very fun as an experience. We were the only white people in the restaurant, and everyone else was Asian — and I think mostly Japanese, though I wouldn’t swear to it — and mostly people ages 20-35. There were a couple of moms with children, but otherwise everyone was in a couple or a group of 4 friends. And everyone but EVERYONE was wearing black, white, gray, and/or beige. No color anywhere in that establishment except for one of the moms, who was wearing a plum colored sweater over a gray turtleneck. Other than the lack of color, the mood was cheerful and vivacious.

Our hotel breakfast also provides a window into authentic Japanese cuisine, although it is of course melded with an attempt to appeal to Westerners so it is not totally clear what would be typical. However, here is the menu, as best as I can recall it:

For a la carte ordering:

Burger

Scrambled, poached, or fried egg, with side of pork and a side salad. And one small hash brown

Omelette

Shrimp tempura and winter vegetable udon soup

“Fisherman’s breakfast” including clam rice and a slice of roasted salmon, and probably some other vegetables

French toast — this is what I got because the egg dishes were all too runny and I was not feeling prepared to ingest large quantities of fish in the morning, smoked salmon and herring toppings being my limit, apparently. It was actually quite nice, fluffy and not too sweet, with some apple pieces to add dimension. I had this twice.

The buffet (which you can take things from even when you order a la carte) included:

Steamed Japanese rice

“Chinese Rice” (porridge, I think) with unknown toppings

Cereal and milk

European-esque bread, including baguette labeled “bucket”, milk bread labeled “England”, the smallest and least convincing bagels I have ever seen in my life, small croissants, and a variety of rolls, with butter, jam, and some mysterious condiments including one labeled “cheese patties”

“Seasonal hot vegetables” which looked like steamed bell peppers, cabbage, and mushrooms

Mixed “sausage and wieners” (I didn’t know there was a difference but it looked like 2 different types of small sausages)

“Cream stew” which looked like a curry

French fries and condiments including ketchup and mustard

Salad materials, including lettuce, whole cherry tomatoes, raw onion slices, etc.

Shredded and pickled carrot salad

Marinated salmon salad

Tuna and fusilli “salad” (no apparent vegetables)

Steamed pumpkin chunks

Other savory vegetables

Matcha cubes and assorted other treats

Out of all of it, I think the most surprising was the shrimp tempura udon soup. Of course, it’s totally reasonable that anything you would eat for lunch or dinner you could eat for breakfast. But I don’t really want to start the day with a lot of greasy fried food, which I think seems semi objectively reasonable. Although I am now thinking of the fact that I would happily eat tater tots/hash browns for brunch, which is making a pretty fine distinction. The soup I could get behind, really, though it seems a bit salty. The burger basically makes sense, actually, and now I am kind of tempted to get it tomorrow. It’s basically the same as sausage and toast, but with extra vegetables. I am curious what kind of breakfasts we will get at the ryokan, the traditional Japanese inns.

Finally, as expected, the metro is highly sophisticated — trains come almost instantaneously and there is one card you can use for every single service, even across cities, which interoperability began as early as 2013. But oddly, you still have to refill the cards with cash (huh?). Also, my prediction of it being a high trust society is backed up by the fact that half of the metro fare gates are just permanently open. There are sometimes station wardens who I assume would make a fuss if you didn’t tap, but there doesn’t seem to be an issue with fare underpayment. That said, there is a much bigger police presence on the streets, with stations and officers semi frequently to be seen. Humorously, sometimes the most evident weapon is a big stick, which contrasts with the highly visible handguns sported by American officers of the law. Of course, the police probably also have guns, and also likely have training in a martial arts that uses the stick, but still.

Okay, that’s basically all that’s suuuuper different. Bart has some more sophisticated impressions about the relative willingness of Japanese fiction to not take a stance on things (relative to the American imperative for things to be good or bad), which is in some ways admirable and in some ways frustrating, but they are not my observations to make as I have no experience with Japanese pop culture, so I will leave it there for now.

[savrenim]

spoilers for if I ever write this thing below the cut bc I NEED to vent somewhere

so we start with Suguru wanting to go to college for a philosophy degree but also bc he kind of needs to move to Tokyo in order to better deal with all the curses in the city

bc I hate no power AUs

so Suguru is still a sorcerer

except he's the only sorcerer. he has never been contacted by jujutsu society. he went to normal high school. he has never encountered anyone else* who could see curses. he and he alone is able to deal with it, so he's been fighting curses alone his whole life

he finds a really cheap apartment listing and is like "ooooh there's got to be a catch here" but shows up to the interview and it's this super eccentric guy with white hair and blackout glasses who takes one look at him and goes "why the fuck not" so he now has an apartment with stupidly cheap rent

great. he can balance his philosophy major with hunting big city curses.

if they are both college age Gojo is a joint math-astrophysics major. if they are both grad school age gods why are you making me make this decision but I think Gojo majored in math in college but is going to grad school for high-energy astrophysics (with a side of particle physics and quantum), he just keeps up with math. Suguru is still going a college philosophy major bc he never went to college he was a full-time 'sorcerer' (just on his own not getting paid) straight out of high school. one of the reasons he is taking this apartment is that he is Older and Does Not Want To Be On Campus With All Of The Undergrad Babbies They Are Babbies.

Gojo is eccentric and also TOTAL SHIT at taking care of himself. does he even sleep. does he eat anything besides sugar/ energy drinks. he seems like he's treating everything like a total joke but also is producing cutting-edge high energy physics research. it seems like every other weekend he's going on a bender with zero regard for his own health. does he even sleep. he has a friend named Shoko who is maybe in medical school? that comes over to yell at him about his physical health every once in a while. he gets overstimulated super easily and wears a blindfold at home most of the time. he clearly has SOME mental health shit going on bc he keeps making jokes about dying. Suguru tries to do an "oh my gods this is Not My Problem I have enough shit of my own going on" except rip he's Hot

oh my god they were roommates

Suguru is tracking down a special grade curse. and finally finds it. and is way outclassed. (if this is them in grad school so timelines add up it's both Jogo and Hanami.) He Is Going To Die. and then Gojo teleports in, beats them up, full-on deploying Limitless, throwing Red around, hits everyone with an Unlimited Void, Jogo and Hanami barely escape with their lives

Suguru: wAIT WHAT THE FUCK I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE

Gojo: oh huh you weren't here to kill me this whole time?

it is Revealed

that this is not a "no powers except I guess maybe Suguru??" college/university AU

no this is actually a twist on the canon timeline

Suguru was never identified as a sorcerer and so never went to the technical college leaving Satoru alone there

Star Plasma arc happens and with no one to stop him, Satoru goes on a murder spree, kills the whole cult, and gets declared a curse user

an execution order is put on his head. except no one can really enforce it?

so now he's drifting and has nothing better to do than..... go to college?

he decides to major in math bc Limitless is math right seems as good a choice as any, and falls in love with physics along the way

he has no one to help teach or guide him with his powers so, like. some of his techniques he never really figures out. like Red. never figures out Red traditionally. you know what he does figure out? cursed energy is energy and so works perfectly well as a base to build a Kugelblitz black hole. and very small black holes evaporate via Hawking radiation in a huge explosion. so, like. he has something that looks identical to Red. honestly who was to say that Red wasn't in fact creating Kugelblitz black holes in the first place just no one was studying enough physics to be able to name it that

he is 100% producing exotic matter to fly and teleport

one of the infinities behind everything that he can touch is Dirac's infinite electron sea okay it's why he's so good at making things blow up he can yank antimatter into existence and it looks all purple when it explodes

what do you mean his domain expansion "you see and experience everything at once" isn't a Cauchy horizon like I know the fandom has decided that it looks like a black hole but the inner event horizon of a Kerr black hole is a Cauchy horizon all past light and therefore the whole past of the universe "On passing inward through the inner horizon, the infaller sees the infinite past of the Universe reflected in the gravitationally repulsive singularity" tELL ME THAT'S NOT A FUCKING KERR BLACK HOLE

anyways this is mostly an excuse for me to have taking-physics-and-astrophysics-at-a-PhD-level-either-as-a-grad-student-or-just-college-prodigy Gojo have to figure out his powers all on his own and turn to physics for it

meanwhile Suguru gets to experience the whiplash of "OH SHIT I'M NOT ALONE" also "aaaaand I've accidentally aligned myself with the most notorious curse user of the common era (except he's.... at least not using his powers to murder people but instead fo secretly be his own particle accelerator to test his theories for his thesis????)"

*Suguru also gets to experience "hmm also I don't have a leg to stand on wrt the whole murder thing given I too had a mental breakdown and murdered a bunch of people when I was the same age"

bc The Twins are still a thing they're just living happy and well taken care of by Suguru's parents rn

without Yuki to mention that humans produce curses not sorcerers at all, Suguru's reaction to his own murder spree was "oh GODS what have I done" and "I need to never do anything like this again and also repent by saving a bunch of lives and maybe get some therapy" instead of "time to commit to the genocide murder bit"

he was never caught bc the residuals just looked like a bunch of cursed spirits and jujutsu society was busy dealing with "what are we doing about Gojo literally the sorcerer killer couldn't kill him he's not causing problems now but we have to do something right"

anyways this is the setup

probably from here A Bunch Of Plot Happens that is just a fun alternate take on various big events in the anime and/or manga wrt "how would they be different if Suguru has just discovered sorcerers exist, is ostensibly one of the good guys, but is totally hiding the fact that he Did Still Do Some Murders, and also is full on boyfriends with the most notorious curse user of the age, who p much only comes out to deal with curses when one of the kids he's secretly taken under his wing* calls and asks him to but otherwise is in thesis hell and/or having a GREAT time using his powers for physics not curses"

bc esp if this is on the grad school timeline he still fully takes everyone under his wing. he has partially raised Megumi and at the very least kept them hidden from the Zen'ins and given them enough money to get by. he calls on some favors to make sure Yuta isn't executed. he full on takes Yuji in bc no favors are going to stop Yuji from getting executed.

again not totally sure where I'm going from here

just deeply love the combo bait-and-switch of "okay Suguru can still see curses and has his cursed techniques but given Gojo is a normal college students this is probably a mostly no powers AU" to "NOPE PSYCHE IT'S A CANON RETELLING"

but also Gojo reverse engineering all of his own powers from physics concepts

gods DEEPLY tempted to write a jjk satosugu college au that starts with the full on standard astrophysics and joint math bc I'm too self indulgent major and philosophy major this is totally normal they're just in college or maybe grad school depending on what Plot I decide this should have and therefore where in the timeline everyone needs to be and they're roommates (oh my god they were roommates) Definitely Just A Normal College AU hahaha

[revitakid]

[This year the birthday is weird because usually it doesn't feel this. Collective.]

[minorfamilysupremacy]

this post is largely for @therealblessedaffliction bc i can’t stop thinking about that scene on the balcony between gun and vegas, so:

when you rewatch that scene, it is so immediately apparent how deep the abuse goes, and how fucked up it is that gun is tasking his son with this mission. gun knows full well who porsche is and what kind of political points securing porsche’s loyalties/affections would net him. it’s possibly one of the most vile things he does, which is saying something considering everything else he does onscreen, because this isn’t using vegas as a way to secure a business deal or otherwise benefit the minor family in some way. this is all personal and a way to strike back at korn. 

the weird thing is that while pete is correct that gun beats vegas because he feels like he’s a disappointment and he needs to take out his own pain on his son, he’s not entirely correct. gun also beats vegas because he needs to strip vegas of his humanity. if he’s broken enough, he’s easier to control/manipulate into doing the family’s dirty business because he can be bought off with the idea of approval and praise. he can be warped into thinking his entire value to the family, and indeed as a person, is tied to what he can do or bring to the table. he is not valuable as a person; he is valuable as a weapon or attack dog. (’everyone just knows i’m vegas from the minor family’ is a hell of a line because no one sees vegas as a person. ‘vegas from the minor family’ is shorthand for a ruthless, violent specter who will kill without remorse. less of a person than an idea.)

gun would have started this early, back when vegas was small enough to be at his most malleable psychologically, because it would have been less work than trying to break a child old enough to have gotten a backbone or willpower. (how much influence his mom had on trying to avoid this, i’m not sure, because i don’t know how old vegas was when she died. we do know that gun has nothing but malice for her, though -- ‘you’re just as stupid as your mother’ -- and that line suggests that vegas was close to her. it’s very obviously chosen as a line gun knows will hurt vegas to the core.) he couldn’t be initiated into a lot of the very, very dirty work -- torture, contract killings, etc -- until he was a little older, but i have zero doubt he was witness to things very early just to desensitize him and make sure he had no illusions about his future. immersing him in all of this would have been only a practical decision (writing those words made my skin crawl), but also would have been a great abuse tool because it would have isolated vegas from his peers. by virtue of being a theerapanyakul, he already would have had a certain degree of isolation, but then making sure he doesn’t ever breathe a word of his horrific home life to the kids around him? yeah, that’s a breeding ground for an angry, lonely kid who will never learn to form connections. maybe he had a close relationship with his cousins, but maybe not! it’s impossible to tell from what we’re given. (what we know: 1) as adults, they fucking hate each other; 2) korn and gun have a vested interest in sowing discord between the families to keep up the competitive edge. to me, any potential childhood closeness would have been snuffed out as the kids got older when they needed to be more fully slotted into their future roles.)

so from a very young age, vegas would have been taught to distrust, judge, and keep his distance from others. human kindness, frailty, weakness -- those aren’t things he would be allowed to indulge in. he would have had to crush out whatever emotions weren’t practical for survival.

the dehumanization is already underway. strip a little kid of the safety and support they need to grow and thrive and you’re giving them an unstable sense of self and damaging their ability to self-soothe because they don’t learn that skill without guidance. constantly being in danger of abuse is going to keep vegas in constant fight-or-flight mode. he would live only for the recognition and praise of others, because he had nothing of his own to fall back on. gun’s approval, or lack thereof, would shape how he viewed himself as a person.

any kid is going to grow up inherently and instinctively craving love and affection. it’s just how humans are wired. if they aren’t receiving it, though, that’s where they can branch out into any of a hundred different maladaptive coping mechanisms. in vegas’ case, he was given the tool of violence and a half-formed hope of approval. and a lot of abuse victims become violent not only bc they’re mirroring their abuser’s actions (which, obviously, vegas does do), but also because violence is control and it gives them the illusion they’ve asserted some power over their lives. he did not choose to become violent in a vacuum; gun systematically dismantled him as a person and then, in a sick fucking gesture of ‘assistance,’ gave him a path forward by making him a killing machine. and best of all, vegas can’t even see himself as human, so seeing the humanity in others is almost an impossibility. he’s perfect for what gun needs him to be, not that gun would let him know that because it would undo all the work he put into molding vegas for his own ends.

everything vegas knows of human nature and humanity is based on observation, but what he’s observed (and been a victim of) is how to break people. how to spot and exploit weaknesses. he knows how to wheel and deal, he knows how to get people to talk, he knows how to unravel someone and bring them to their knees. he knows how to see people the way other people see him -- zeroing in on what’s valuable about them, like information or influence, and discarding the rest. (look at the infamous ‘head, chest, or heart’ scene from episode 14. porsche and vegas have shared a quasi-friendship at various points throughout the series, but when it comes to this moment, porsche isn’t a person, he’s an easy way to hurt kinn.)

and part of the reason vegas is good at this is not just because he’s violent. yeah, a lot of guys are gonna talk if you rip out their cochlea. but that doesn’t always work! the torture briefcase is not made for the boardroom. you need a lighter, defter touch for that. you need diplomacy.

or, if you’re a theerapanyakul, you just need a vulnerable teenage boy you’re comfortable sacrificing. 

how often did gun pimp vegas out? the novel might say, who knows. i have a feeling it was a lot. for all we know, it’s still happening up until gun’s death. but what better way to show off your broken vanity project than to serve him up to god-knows-how-many powerful men in bangkok and, frankly, probably in plenty of other places as well. vegas is a beautiful man; he would have been a beautiful kid, with that delicate bone structure and that bottomless desire to please. and when he’s, what, 14, 15, 16 (again, vomiting while i write it), he’s a wonderful target for powerful men who want to feel young and in control. if he fights it, it’s more satisfying to break him; if he gives in, he can be easily reshaped into what they best desire. and gun condoned it. korn condoned it. (and if tensions hadn’t already broken the main and minor cousins apart, this would sure do it.) it gets them results; it provides an easy source of blackmail if someone tries to get out of line.

and best of all, it reinforces everything gun has been telling vegas his entire life! it continues to tie his value to what he can do and not who he is, it isolates him, it dehumanizes him and strips him of agency, and it provides more evidence to support a bleak, nihilistic outlook. gun’s outsourcing the abuse to supplement what he’s dishing out. and korn’s condoning it deepens the rift between the two families, thus ensuring that the rivalry won’t sputter out any time soon. (he pours so much poison into the ears of his family and associates, too. pete saying korn isn’t cruel isn’t intentionally malicious by any stretch, but he could have dealt less damage by directly stabbing vegas in the heart. ‘isn’t my fucking life because of this?’ isn’t just about being in hiding; it’s about how within the confines of the theerapanyakul family, he’s always been the most convenient scapegoat for their worst offenses.)

BUT. but! vegas is incredibly resilient. he weathers, quite frankly, an unimaginable amount of shit through his life and yet, as we see in the safehouse, he has kept that terrified, lonely inner child safe all these years. it’s battered and fragile, but still reacts to pete’s gentle -- and perhaps unintentional? -- coaxing. this is different from the side of himself he shows to macau, because with macau, he has to be a caretaker and protector. obviously, with pete, he still engages in caretaker behaviors, but he has an admittedly VERY warped perception of them as more of emotional equals. (it, of course, takes pete losing his shit at vegas for vegas to realize how many of the dehumanizing behaviors he’s been subjected to are now being passed to pete. it genuinely doesn’t occur to him until pete is sobbing and bleeding profusely how hurtful his actions are because he’s normalized them so fucking much over the years. he had no choice, of course, but say it with me AGAIN: intent does not negate impact.)

both actions -- pete’s bringing vegas’ humanity to light, and vegas’ realization of how hurtful denying pete’s humanity is -- come back to one very simple point: gun lost. even before he ended up dead in the main house, he’d failed at one of his life’s most crucial missions, which was to make his son the perfect weapon to destroy the main family. he spent vegas’ entire life abusing him on every conceivable level, only to have someone come into vegas’ life and realize that not every piece of him had been irreparably broken. the delicious irony is that gun trained vegas to build wall after wall and shut out person after person, but in the end, it was those same walls that allowed vegas to keep his truest, most honest self safe. gun wanted to make his son a weapon of war, and he did. he just forgot that a shield can be a weapon, too.

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context:  Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

---------------

It goes like this:

Nobody wants to separate Anakin from the children in his care until they know more about why he’s here. The gamble paid off, to some degree, and he thanks the Force that it did.

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

He knows the logic of why the Mandalorians he’s fallen in with aren’t doing anything yet. He’s an obvious Jedi, and they don’t know why he’s here or what he’s doing. Hedging on the Mando’a and the cultural obligation to childcare hadn’t been anything close to sure, but it was... enough. He got lucky that these Mandalorians leaned on those obligations, at least to the point of keeping them all in the same room. He can sense that much, even before he opens his eyes, and he has to be grateful.

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

Anakin opens his eyes to a guest room of a cell, something well-furnished and cozy, but definitely not meant to be something he can escape from. His saber is gone, and there are Force-nullifying cuffs on his wrists, and he’s pretty sure they’ve taken his--yep, vibroblade’s gone.

Fuck.

His body doesn’t want to move, and he’s still shivering a bit, but he’s mostly back to normal. When he sits up, he notices that there is, in fact, only one Force-nullifying cuff. They detached his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep and tells himself it was probably medically necessary. Large pieces of metal aren’t great for maintaining homeostasis. He’ll get it back.

Probably.

“Ah!”

The voice makes him jolt, and his eyes fly open.

Two cribs, one much bigger than the other. Both are occupied. The larger one has bars, and through it...

“Snips,” he breathes, lurching to his feet and then crashing to his knees, about as graceful as a newborn eopie.

“Bah!”

“Just--just one second,” Anakin grits out, grimacing as he tries to pull himself to standing again. The fact that he’s down an arm doesn’t impact him much, but the shakiness of his legs is... a problem.

“Owwww,” Ahsoka coos with an exaggerated grimace, reacting to his pain with the innocent sympathy of a toddler. She looks, what, two? Maybe? He’s not sure if there’s anything particular about how Togruta babies age. She’s too young for words, clearly.

“I’m fine,” Anakin assures her, even as his heart sinks. She’s Ahsoka, clearly, he knows her in the Force and it can’t be anyone else, but her memories...

She recognizes him, but that’s not saying much.

He manages to get over to the chair next to the crib, but doesn’t trust himself to take her out right now. The snow and the mess of a fight before that haven’t been kind to him. Instead, he just sticks his hand through the bars and lets her grab at his fingers.

He can’t help but smile, really. She’s adorable, and she’s so damn happy to see him.

“Skyguy!”

“Oh, so you are talking,” Anakin says, part of him relaxing just a tad. “I was worried.”

“Mine,” she stresses, patting at his wrist.

“Yeah, your Skyguy,” he says. So she remembers... some things, at least. “And you’re my Snips.”

She squeals and yanks on his hand, just enough that the Force-suppressing cuff clanks against the bars of the crib. “Sky, Sky, Sky!”

Oh, she’s precious.

“You having fun?” he asks, filling the air with words faster than his head can fill with doubts. “Has everyone been nice?”

“Mmmmm,” she grumbles, falling to her butt with a huff. “Doc!”

“Oh, a doctor?” he asks, wondering at his own tone. He never expected to be one for baby-talk. “Was the doctor mean?”

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

She taps at her chest, right where someone might check her heartbeat or breathing; the metal would be cold, and also necessary. He doesn’t fault anyone for it. Considering how poorly Anakin had fared, he’s just happy they’re all alive and mostly fine.

He doesn’t know what year it is. He knows he’s not in the year he should be. He’s vaguely aware of the name Jaster--one of the Mandos had said it while bringing him in--but he doesn’t know when Mereel’s reign ended and Fett’s began. He does know both are supposed to be dead.

Has Anakin been born yet? Has Ahsoka? Hell, has Obi-Wan?

Can he give out any real names?

A series of small, upset noises start coming up from the other, smaller crib.

He stands, but Ahsoka clings to his hand and refuses to let go. He can’t pry her off, not without his other arm, but he pulls away with quiet reassurances that he just has to check on... on...

Her brother, he says, aware that there’s more than a slight chance someone has the room bugged. He’s a Jedi in Mando custody. They aren’t stupid, and neither is he.

Obi-Wan’s the most likely to have already been born. Having the same name and face will draw attention, will cause questions, but... he can’t just rename his master like a recently-adopted pet. That’s just... wrong.

Anakin’s less shaky than when he first woke up, but he still has no way of safely picking up the kids. He reaches into the small crib, something twisting behind his sternum, and tickles under Obi-Wan’s chin.

The baby--the infant--looks up at him with wide eyes, too blue for the Obi-Wan he knows, but full of wonder and--

Love, the Force whispers through the cracks in the effects of the cuff.

“Love you too,” Anakin whispers, though he wonders if Obi-Wan would really feel like this as an adult again. Babies love easily, he thinks, and he’s the only adult that Obi-Wan knows right now. Maybe it’s just chemicals.

He stands there for longer than is probably a good idea, with the state of his body, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan keeps grabbing at his finger and kicking with tiny legs, and sticking a tiny, tiny fist in his mouth as he tries watches Anakin.

It’s all Anakin can do to mutter a stream of meaningless nonsense as he struggles not to cry. He’s always had too many emotions, and right now he’s the only person these two can rely on. He’s the adult.

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

He knows that voice. He closes his eyes and doesn’t turn, because there are a million feelings in his chest and he’s not sure which one is going to come out first.

“Sky?” Ahsoka questions, likely feeling his worry. “Issokay! Good!”

No, she wouldn’t have the mind to recognize why this familiar face she knows as friend is quite the opposite.

Anakin turns away from the crib, and smiles. “Mando.”

“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the teenager in the door says. He’s not wearing his bucket, but the rest of his armor is in place. Anakin would peg him as younger than Ahsoka was, before. Not by much, but... fourteen, maybe fifteen. The face is painfully familiar, and stays utterly neutral as he answers the question Anakin didn’t ask. “We found your Ident card after you passed out.”

Cool, so, Anakin definitely can’t change his name.

“Are they yours?” the teenager that will one day create an army says.

“They have no one else,” Anakin tells him. It’s true enough. Still, he gets the feeling that’s not what Fett’s asking. “They’re family.”

Jango squints at him. “I was told Jedi can’t have families.”

Anakin’s mind flashes to Padme and the fantasies he’d long harbored of children born free, and tears himself away. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think of who he’s--

“Jetii!”

Anakin’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’s shaking. Fett’s not neutral anymore, just... concerned.

“I’m fine,” Anakin spits out, and leans on the crib behind him. He can hear the little ones whimpering. He has to pull his thoughts in and bundle them up into something that won’t hurt the incredibly Force-Sensitive babies behind him. “I’m--I’m all they have. They’re all I have. Are the exact words important?”

Fett doesn’t grimace, exactly, but his expression isn’t pleasant. “I guess.”

Anakin waits to see if there’s anything else coming, but no. Just an awkward silence. He holds onto his frustration, but it still gets the better of him.

“What are my chances of getting my arm back?” he asks.

“Hm?”

Anakin waves what’s left of that arm, the tied-off sleeve flapping about. “My arm. If you don’t want to give me mine back, can I at least have some kind of placeholder? I can’t pick up the babies without worrying that I’m going to drop them.”

“I can ask the medics,” Fett says. He stares at Anakin for a little more, and then asks, “Aren’t you going to ask about our plans for you, or...?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you already would have,” Anakin mutters. “Right now, these two are my only priority. I’m more likely to keep them safe and alive here than I am if I try to break out. I can be patient. I would also assume they wouldn’t have been left in a room with me, alone, if any of us were in danger of medical complications.”

Fett flushes and turns. “I’ll tell buir you’re up and active. There’s a nurse droid in the hall, I can have it handle feedings until you get an arm.”

“Thanks,” Anakin drawls, aware that he’s a little bitchy right now, but not in any mood to temper himself.

He settles himself on the floor next to Ahsoka’s crib, lets her play with his hair while the nurse droid feeds Obi-Wan, and then feeds Ahsoka herself. Anakin thinks he could probably pull the droid apart for an escape attempt if it came down to it. He hopes it won’t be necessary. He’s barely existing in the moment as it is. The droid asks Anakin if he needs anything, and he... shrugs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps some non-perishables,” the nurse droids suggests. “Ration bars, for if you are hungry before one of the Mando’ade returns.”

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

He ignores the droid after that. He’s only mostly cut off from the Force by the single cuff. He can’t blanket his Master and Padawan in his own Force presence, try to make them feel safe and calm with the fact that he’s here and ready to protect them, but he can monitor them. He can meditate, even if it’s not the way he prefers to do it. He doesn’t have the strength for moving meditation right now, but a regular meditation... he can do that.

He needs to do that, because no other stress relief option is available to him right now.

Anakin lets himself feel the babies fall asleep, the two of them radiating contentment and warmth. He lets himself trust that, for the moment, he doesn’t need to worry. He lets himself sink into an absence of thought, and then the Force guides him deeper still.

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

This is not the room-cell in the Haat Mando’ade base he’s managed to stumble across.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, a smile hidden in a beard and worn laugh lines about his eyes. The right age, the right size, reaching for him and--

There’s only a moment’s hesitation for Anakin to process, and then he sprints forward and yanks his Master into a hug.

“You’re good,” Obi-Wan mutters to him, rubbing his back as they both sink to their knees. There’s a click of bootheels against the empty white not-space that they’re in, and Ahsoka buries herself into their sides. Anakin pulls her in a little closer too.

They stay that for longer than is maybe necessary, but Anakin’s stress levels are sky high right now, and he needs this. A hug, even one that’s technically only taking place in his head, is important.

“Sorry, Skyguy,” Ahsoka whispers. “Thinking in the real world is... really hard right now.”

He pulls away from the desperate hug he’d started them off with, rearranges things so he’s leaning against Obi-Wan, lets Ahsoka lie down with her head in his lap, on her back and legs stretched out across the white nothingness.

“I don’t know what happened,” Anakin says. “I mean, Sith stuff, probably, but... we’re in the wrong year.”

“I’d wondered,” Obi-Wan admits. “I thought it odd that I couldn’t feel the clones, but I only have so much energy to think right now...”

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix it,” Anakin begs. “I can’t be the adult, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even been born yet, that’s how far back we are. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t just bang around making bad decisions without you there to pull me back and--”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

“We’re in the Force,” Anakin says, just a little hysterically. “We don’t need to breathe!”

“Actually, I think we’re in your head,” Ahsoka says. She’s pointing and stretching her feet like a dancer, but looks up to grin at Anakin like the little shit she is. “You’re the only one whose brain is big enough right now.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, putting his entire palm over her face as revenge. She giggles and swats him away. “That any way to talk to the guy who taught you how to kill five guys in one move?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over her montrals, smiling when she wriggles and makes a little chirruping noise.

“She’s not wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “Though the phrasing was unfortunate, it does stand to reason that as the only person without the brain of a toddler, you’re hosting. Our minds can’t handle the strain of our own selves, let alone sharing space.”

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

“Ahsoka’s a toddler. You’re an infant. Maybe six months.” Anakin grins, just this side of brittle. He doesn’t want to joke about a problem he can’t fix, but what else is there? “You’re the literal baby of the lineage now.”

Obi-Wan sighs over the riot of Ahsoka’s laugh. “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, Master,” Ahsoka assures him. “Skyguy’s gonna take care of us until we can fight again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, grimacing slightly. “I am sorry for you being put in such a position, Anakin. It’s certainly not an easy one.”

Anakin wishes he could say that his immediate reaction isn’t a sense of hurt, a you don’t trust me, a you don’t think I can do this, a you’re disappointed someone else wasn’t here to handle things instead.

He wishes he could make that claim and have anyone believe him, but they are in a shared meditation, and in this moment there are very, very few secrets. He does not make the effort to hide his reaction in time, and Obi-Wan catches it.

Anakin turns away as Obi-Wan’s face fills with surprise and horror. “Anakin--”

“Can we just pretend you didn’t feel that?” Anakin asks, and flinches when Ahsoka pops up from where she lies and scurries around to hug him like a vise. “Can we just pretend I’m not--”

“Dear one, there are very few people I would trust as much as you in this,” Obi-Wan says. “Those who match up are largely the people who helped me raise me when I was actually this age.”

“Being completely reliant on your padawan isn’t--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off there. “I can trust you to care for me in ways that don’t just come down to making me a useful general again. I already trust you to risk your life and safety and freedom to see us survive, given what little I remember of that storm.”

“You handed yourself over to Mandalorians you knew nothing about so we’d be safe,” Ahsoka mutters into the fabric somewhere over his ribs. “That could have gone really badly, and you still did it because you were worried about us.”

“We trust you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin to his chest and resting his chin on Anakin’s head. “We know you.”

“You don’t even know what happened in the storm,” Anakin mutters. “You were asleep.”

“I caught enough listening to the doctors,” Obi-Wan says. He runs a hand over Anakin’s head and through his hair. “You did well, Anakin.”

Anakin wonders why they don’t do this in real life. Obi-Wan doesn’t usually hug him, let alone cuddle. Maybe it’s because they’re all stuck in too much truth in this shared meditation, and the other two are currently stuck in child bodies that crave physical affection in ways they don’t realize they’re expressing in here as well. Maybe it’s the stress.

“What even can you hear?” Anakin mutters, still in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ahsoka giggles at him, nuzzling into his side in a way he doesn’t think she’d ever let herself, normally.

“We can’t really think in the real world right now,” she muses. “Only when we’re sleeping, and probably when we’re meditating once we’re bigger. If I try to think too hard, my head hurts worse than that time Ventress got me in the head with the back of her saber.”

“Everything takes up more space than it should,” Obi-Wan adds. “It’s... all of my senses are bigger and brighter and take up more of my attention, but they aren’t very clear, really. They’re just more. I can’t focus on anything, either, except... well, the feedings.”

Ahsoka makes an annoyed noise. “The whole diapers and bottles thing is really embarrassing, by the way. Only here, though, I barely notice when I’m awake because...”

“Because you’re a toddler,” Anakin says drily.

She huffs. “How would you feel if you were stuck like that?”

That’s fair.

“I don’t remember much,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “But part of me recognizes familiar things, even if I can’t quite make the connection.”

“Was that Fett, earlier?” Ahsoka asks. “Because I thought I saw a friend, and I pretty much forgot the face as soon as they left, but--”

“It’s Fett,” Anakin confirms. “But I guess that’s good to know? You saw his face and your baby brain just assumed it was one of the clones?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we know we trust you,” Obi-Wan adds, and tightens the hug when Anakin stiffens. “Anakin, I can barely understand the world around me at all right now. It’s like being on the painkillers that don’t knock you out but leave you saying only the most ridiculous things that come to mind. You have a general understanding of what’s going on, but all your emotions are too much and the room spins, you can’t stay on one track mentally, you can’t remember what you’ve done and what you haven’t--”

“You can’t control your bladder,” Ahsoka mutters, just a touch spitefully.

Obi-Wan grimaces and nods. “An unfortunate commonality in the experiences, yes. What I was aiming to address, however, is the fact that I only remember a very few things with any reliability. Most of my adult mind, so to speak, appears to be stored in a stasis form in the Force itself, because the infant mind can only handle the barest edges of who I am. But what that infant mind knows, and what I remember thinking once I have some sense of my full self in sleep, is that there is no one I react to as positively as you, Anakin.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Ahsoka interrupts, “but can’t because he’s trying to be a serene Jedi Councilor who definitely doesn’t break the code, nosiree, is that we don’t remember much about ourselves when we’re awake, but we remember you, and we know that we love you, Skyguy.”

Anakin stares at her, and then twists around to look at Obi-Wan instead.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka croons. “Stop being emotionally constipated. We’re literal babies right not, which sucks, but we’re like 90% emotion. Tell Skyguy.”

“Yes, er, Ahsoka was not incorrect,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard and refusing to meet Anakin’s eyes. “I, that is to say, we...”

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka says, a touch sharper than she might have dared if not for the reversal of their ages.

“I do love you, Anakin, and it’s one of the only things my child mind knows consistently.”

The Force does, in fact, sing with the truth of this. It circles them like a delighted tornado of emotional reality, pulsing like a coat of positivity.

Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and hugs him as tightly as possible.

“Oh! Oh dear, I--Anakin, really, this isn’t news.”

“Master Kenobi, you’re allergic to actually talking about your emotions. Let him hug you.”

“Anakin, I’ve raised you since you were nine, it would be nearly impossible for me to not care, why are you--”

“Master Kenobi, stop questioning him!” Ahsoka whines. “It’s affirmation time.”

“Ahsoka, have you been spending time with the mind healers again?”

“I was a teenager in a warzone and also Barriss bullied me into it for my own good.” Ahsoka shrugs. “I learned some stuff. You two should have gone, too. You were more karked up than I was.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“What are you going to do, spit up on me? You can’t exactly make me run laps, Master.”

“Both of you shut up,” Anakin mumbles, and tries to push as much of his own affection as possible into a little ball of feelings that he can just drop on the two of them while he’s still in his own brain and not somewhere he can’t touch the Force. “Just--just shut.”

Apparently, Anakin’s feelings are a lot, because Ahsoka bursts into tears and Obi-Wan zones out so hard Anakin starts worrying about him.

They’re in a mindscape, a thing that he didn’t really think happened, but does. He shouldn’t have to worry about his--

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling him in tighter. “Why did you...”

“Skyguy, I don’t think you planned on putting in the part where you worry about nobody loving you back as much as you loved them,” Ahsoka says, raw and uneven. “Because, uh, we got that? Skyguy, that’s really wrong!”

Oh shit.

“No, you were... you were not supposed to get that,” he says, just a little strangled. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t--”

“Be our dad.”

Anakin stares down at his Padawan. She stares determinedly back.

“What?”

“Fett asked if we were yours, and you edged around the question by saying we were family, but he was asking if you were our dad. I’m guessing you didn’t want to claim that when we couldn’t agree to it, so I’m telling you now: do it. Adopt us the Mandalorian way or whatever. You were already my older brother, basically, this is just a step sideways in how we talk about it.”

He stares at her a bit more. He doesn’t have words, and his emotions are such a cyclone of conflicting thoughts that he’s surprised the Force hasn’t tossed him out.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be born, but if I am, then I need a name so I don’t have the same one as future me,” she says. She takes his hands, holds them tight and leans in close. “You’re going to be raising us anyway. The Force already made it clear there’s no fixing this, we tried asking while you were unconscious, it wants us to grow up the long way. You’re going to be our dad. Just make it official. Make me a Skywalker.”

Anakin sits up straight, looks her up and down, the determination and affection and--

He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “Master?”

“...yes, Anakin?”

“I know she said ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I’m not letting anyone speak for anyone else. Not for something this important.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and then rearranges himself to something a tad more formal. He takes one of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Anakin, we’ve been family since you were nine. This is just redefining the terms. We can adjust as we go forward, but for all intents and purposes, the majority of the time, I will be that youngling in the cot. For all intents and purposes, I will be your child, and... and I would be honored for you to make that official.”

“Even if it breaks the Code?” Anakin presses.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Obi-Wan says, almost but not quite overriding Ahsoka’s, “This doesn’t break the Code.”

They both turn to look at her. She shrugs. “What? You guys are always arguing about it and Skyguy was married. I went and did some digging about what is and isn’t allowed. This adoption would be skirting the edges of some rules, since we should be taken to the creche to be raised in a communal manner, and official adoptions are discouraged for reasons relating to later padawan stuff, but since the Force is also insisting we stay with the Mandalorians, I think it qualifies as an exception and will be treated as such, retroactively, by the Council. You also won’t be able to take either of us as Padawan once that time comes. It does not, however, violate the Code in and of itself.”

“What the hell, Snips?”

“I’m impressed, young one,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile Anakin can feel. “I could have expected to see you in court in a few years, with an argument like that.”

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

“Rex isn’t a very good liar,” she says. She then droops. “Or, he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. He tried, at least, but I caught on. That was against the Code, though. Just so you know.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, tries very hard not to think about what and whom he’s left behind. He can save that breakdown for later.

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

“I knew you and the Senator were close, considering all the kissing you did in the Arena,” Obi-Wan says drily. Anakin isn’t stupid enough to ask how he knows it’s Padme. “I didn’t know you were married, and am a little disappointed you didn’t at least tell me, or consult me before you did it, considering you were still a padawan... but no, I’m not mad. Even if I were--and I am not--we’ve time-traveled, so I’m fairly certain that qualifies as annulment. It’s a non-issue.”

Anakin pushes down the tidal wave of grief for people who haven’t been born yet, and just breathes instead. This is important. This is too important for him to just kriff it up.

“Names,” he says.

“I still want part of it to be ‘Soka,’ if you don’t think it’s too risky.”

Obi-Wan shrugs with a smile. “Almost every time I’ve posed as a Mandalorian, since my first mission with Satine, I’ve gone by Ben. It would be fitting that, now that we’re here and apparently staying, I take the name for real.”

Anakin nods. He closes his eyes, and breathes deep, and thinks that they may be among Mandalorians on a world of snow, but he has the desert in his bones and will never forget it.

“Ahsoka Tano, sister of my heart,” he says, hoping he’s getting the words right, and takes her hands in his. It’ll have more meaning here and now, where they’re both of full mind. He holds her gaze. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my daughter, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Sokanth Skywalker, she who slips through every hunter’s trap, and you are my child.”

She smiles brightly at him, and looks like she might cry. He presses his lips to her forehead. He turns to his Master. He hesitates, because it’s one thing to redefine his little sister, but...

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, father of my heart,” he says, his voice catching where it shouldn’t. He can do this. It’s weird but he can do this. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my son, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Ylliben Skywalker, he who hunts the monsters of the darkest nights, and you are my child.”

The man before him almost laughs, well aware of how absurd it is for Anakin to be the one adopting him, but keeps it limited to just a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lips. Anakin presses his lips to his teacher’s forehead.

He pulls both of them in close. Padawan and Master. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

“I’m still gonna call you Skyguy,” Soka says wetly. “But Mas--um, Ben. Ben can call you buir, all the Mandos are gonna love it.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says. “I’m going to be telling you Tatooine bedtime stories, by the way. You’ll remember creche stories as you grow, but these’ll be new.”

“I do believe that would be appropriate,” Ben says, laughing just a touch. “I also think we should perhaps disband this, unless you have something else to address. You’re going to be dealing with two very cranky younglings soon.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have headaches after this,” Soka laughs, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “But it’s okay, we got what we ne--”

“No, shut up, what you do mean, headaches? You said that was only when you were awake!”

“I mean, we’d be sobbing after like three minutes if we were awake,” Soka says cheerfully. “This way, it’s been like... an hour or whatever between all the talking and the hugging and the crying and the feelings, and we’re just gonna be grumpy.”

“Oh my--wake up!” Anakin growls at both of them. “I’m responsible for you now, wake up.”

He ignores Soka’s laughter and drags himself back to wakefulness. Behind him, he feels slight confusion and pain mixed with love and delight. Ben starts fussing.

Anakin drags a hand over his face and groans. He gets to his feet, nods to the nurse droid, and steps over to the cribs.

“Can we put them in the same one until I get my arm back?” he asks. The droid obliges, moving Ben to Soka’s crib. She immediately crawls over to him and envelops him in a hug. She pouts up at Anakin, eyes going watery, and he drops into the chair next to her and offers his hand through the bars. She grabs it.

“You’re going to be trouble for a long, long time, huh?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles at her. Yes, trouble in spades, his Snips.

He starts telling her one of the fables of Tatooine, the really sanitized ones meant for children her age, before they got to the slave stories and haunt-tales. She falls asleep for real, no Force Shenanigans, shortly after. Ben is dead to the world by that point, making small snuffling noises whenever the blanket tickles his nose.

Anakin knows he’s got the galaxy’s dopiest smile on his face. It’s fine.

It’s a few more hours before someone stops by. He’s used the fresher by that point, helped the nurse droid coax Ben through a feeding, and helped Soka play with the little stuffed eopie they’ve given her.

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

The middle-aged man ambles over, arms crossed. “Jango said you claimed to be all they had left.”

He is. “They’re family. I’ve had a few hours to think it over, now that I’m not getting shot at or dying in the snow. To any system that allows it, I’ll be their father.”

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

Anakin shakes his head. “Soka has none who would recognize her, and I already--I already babysat her regularly, and she thought of me as a brother. It’s an easy next step.”

“And the human?”

“I... the master-padawan relationship is often one that is compared to that of parent and child,” Anakin says carefully. “My own master was like a father to me, and Ben is... Ben is all I have left of him.”

There. Not quite the truth, but... technically not lying.

Ben makes a small noise in his sleep, fussing, and Anakin reaches through the bars to brush his thumb across the infant’s chubby cheek. He smiles helplessly as Ben whines and curls in tighter on himself, pressing a tiny fist to his mouth.

“You’re good,” Anakin whispers. “We’re fine, Ylliben.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” the Mando says. “But I do believe you’re doing what you can for those kids.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anakin agrees, finally looking away from his... his son.

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

“When are you planning on going back to Coruscanta?”

“I’m not,” Anakin says, standing and looking the man head-on. Anakin’s taller than him. That’s usually useful. “I don’t know why, but the Force wants me to stay here, or at least with the Mandalorians.”

“You want me to believe that you support my cause?”

“I don’t know your cause,” Anakin admits. “But I don’t like Death Watch, and I know you don’t either. Nobody on Coruscant is going to know to miss me, and the Force is warning me away from trying to go back. Whatever it is that needs doing, I’m supposed to be doing it here.”

The man steps forward. “Anyone tell you who I am?”

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

Good for you, Anakin thinks, and doesn’t say. “I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

“I do,” Mereel says. “Wanna tell me how a Knight with a seemingly valid ident card claims nobody will know to miss him?”

“No.”

Mereel doesn’t even blink. “Try that again.”

“It means exactly what I said,” Anakin says. “The ident card is real. My training and rank are earned and deserved and bestowed by protocol. All of it was done at the Temple in Coruscant, but if you phone up the Temple with my name and face, nobody will know who I am.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why,” Mereel grouses. “What’s stopping me from calling them up anyway and asking them to come fetch your hypothermic ass?”

“...the fact that I already offered to help you?” Anakin manages. “I... I did say that part, right? That I’d help?”

“What’s stopping you from wanting to go back? And don’t give me any of that ‘will of the force’ banthashit.”

“I broke the Code,” Anakain says. The words sit heavy in his mouth, but one of his violations is lesser than the other, and-- “I married, and we’re not supposed to do that. She’s... not around anymore, but it still stands that I did it.”

The Tuskens weigh on his mind, suddenly and intensely. He hasn’t thought about them in ages, has always pushed those memories down, down, down, but--

“And they won’t take you back?”

“They might,” Anakin admits. They probably would, with his full title and everything, especially if he told them about the future. “But they wouldn’t let me keep the kids.”

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

“It’s not... technically against the code,” he hedges. “But they’d find out about my marriage while investigating my past--” maybe, he’s not sure what kind of investigation they’d justify for a complete stranger of a knight, especially to confirm the future, but if they had a psychometric so much as touch his saber or arm, once he gets those back, there’d be a risk, “--and after already breaking the code by marrying, they’d be far less willing to bend the rules about the babies.”

He doesn’t realize how likely the risk is until after he says it, because he’s just been focusing on staying alive and following the Force, but.. they’d want the kids in the creche. He’s broken the code enough that any investigation they set to prove he’s legitimately a Jedi Knight that isn’t recorded and isn’t in the system is going to uncover something through the Force. They might not let him keep his family.

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

“Jango kept his last name,” Mereel cuts him off. “Did yours?”

Anakin looks the man in the eye, and then attempts to cross his arms in response, to mirror the pose and hold his ground. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he’s only got the one arm, which is really kriffing irritating.

“I gave them my name,” he says. “They’ll know where they came from, but they are mine.”

Yeah, no shit they’ll know where they came from.

Mereel’s face twitches, but the man is unreadable in the Force. Still, there’s something in the air... “So, those names?”

“Sokanth and Ylliben Skywalker,” Anakin tells him. He spells it out when the droid asks. He assumes it’s just for the medical data their droids are collecting.

“How well can you fight without your laser sword?”

“You mean unarmed?” Anakin asks, and then smiles brightly and tauntingly and waves his empty sleeve around. Mereel does not appreciate the humor. “Pretty well, but I do better when I have the Force, and am not still recovering from hypothermia. And I’m a fair shot with a blaster, but no specialist.”

Mereel eyes him for a moment, and then nods. “One of my snipers is Force-Sensitive. Never was enough to get more than some basic training in mental shields and the control to not hurt herself, but when we mentioned bringing in a Jetii, someone asked her what she thought. Came by the room while you were unconscious and said she thought you felt sad, angry, and desperate... but that she had a good feeling about where you’d be going.”

“Sad, angry, and desperate?” Anakin repeats, a little offended.

“You act like a veteran, kid,” Mereel says. He shrugs. “Damn near everyone that goes through some kind of war has all that going on. S’normal. You got Kamira’s approval, though, and that means a damn sight more. Keep your secrets for now. We’ll get there eventually.”

No we won’t, Anakin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “So, how much of what kind of work would I have to do to borrow a ship to Tatooine and earn enough to free a slave girl?”

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,��� Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

[thunderheadfred]

❄️Todoroki HC's🔥

Aged-up pro hero Shouto. NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - -

General

Might as well be tied with Bakugou for the #1 pro hero spot; they seem to pass the crown back and forth every other year. Everyone knows about their intense frenemies uber-rivalry. Well. Everyone but Shouto.

He's asked to speak at a lot of charity events. If he has time to prepare (and hire a speech writer) he is capable of stirring crowds to standing ovations. But if caught unawares... he gets cornered into hilarious on-the-spot interviews. He's been memed. Mercilessly.

He's an OP character, but unfortunately he rolled -500 in fashion sense. Eventually he wises up and hires a stylist. When he finally cuts his hair a slightly different and even more flattering way, it's a national event. People faint in the street.

Does god-awful sleight-of-hand magic tricks when he meets young fans, even though nobody asked him to. The second-hand embarrassment is palpable. But he keeps doing it. God, why does he keep doing it?

Has hovering arm syndrome in every fan photo.

Super into pop music. Not a fan of any particular group or artist, couldn't tell you the name of a single song. But every time he turns up the volume on the radio it's like... really? THIS? Probably pumps that shit through his hero agency to keep up morale. Has no idea what you mean when you tell him his music taste doesn't match his personality.

Similarly, he enjoys brainless romantic comedies and old silent movies. Doesn't laugh at jokes but loses it over physical comedy. Thinks Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd are the funniest people who ever walked the earth.

He's long and limber. Runs practically a hundred miles every day just to "relax." Doesn't even get sweaty doing it. A filthy yoga addict. He'll probably live to be 200 years old.

He can regulate his body temperature for quirk use but in everyday life he's always half a degree outside the Goldilocks zone. It drives him quietly insane; he has an epic love-hate relationship with his thermostat.

Has a therapy animal pet. Doesn't matter if it's a dog or a cat or a bird or an iguana or a teeny tiny rodent. It's the best-behaved animal in the country and speaks more languages than you. It has its own room and an instagram account with millions of followers.

Lives in a traditional Japanese estate that doubles as a national treasure. Probably has government-appointed snipers at the gate, and he's just like, "don't worry about it." You are afraid to touch anything. Fuck, don't even look at anything, just to be safe.

Has an outstanding personal chef who only gets to cook five things unless (thank fuck!!) company comes over. Impossibly picky eater. He rotates between a few "safe" foods and suspiciously side-eyes everything else. If you cook something unfamiliar for him it will be the most awkward meal of your life, because he'd never tell you he doesn't like it. But oh lord, just look at his face.

This clashes directly with his love of traveling. Frequently uses his hero earnings to visit exotic foreign locales over long weekends... but rarely tries the food.

- - -

Dating

A grey-ace demisexual disaster. You could count the number of people he's been attracted to on one hand. He falls madly in love every time and always gets his heart smashed to pieces when his crush can't magically intuit the meaning of his frigid longing glances and generically courteous romantic gestures.

Which is stupid, because he gets propositioned constantly. He can't walk out the door without being flirted with. People keep slipping him their phone numbers and he always directs them to his agency like a moron. It's a good thing he will never understand how attractive he is because that's the only thing keeping him from total world domination.

Conventional attractiveness does not compute. Shouto doesn't have a type, doesn't care that he's an eleven whilst you are merely mortal. He will fall for your personality above all else.

Probably falls head over heels because your schedules overlap in a completely ordinary way and he witnesses you doing something endearing or brave or most likely: utterly mundane.

Pick a favorite, because you're his favorite coworker, or his favorite barista, or his favorite random bystander in line at the grocery store. You made him smile once; then he spent the next three months daydreaming about your future together before you accidentally stomped on his foot, initiating your first real conversation.

He's big on healthy communication. HUGE. He goes to therapy and it shows. Will talk through literally everything to the point of delirium. Sometimes his dedication to resolving every issue right away can get overwhelming; sometimes you just need some frickin time alone. But it pays off, because the two of you have practically never have a "real fight." There's just no way for bad vibes to fester.

STILL, his family wasn't exactly... erm... verbally or emotionally supportive, shall we say. For that reason, he might not give you all the compliments you deserve, because it simply doesn't occur to him to do so. He assumes you know how he feels. If you're self-conscious or insecure in the relationship, it might take him a while to notice. But when he figures it out (or even better, when you tell him directly) he will make it up to you with enthusiasm.

Will take you on lavish dates. Spoils you rotten without actually intending to. He's clueless about money. If you wanted a sugar daddy, you just hit the fucking jackpot. But if the word valet makes you uncomfortable, perhaps suggest some romantic picnics instead. He can still go all out with the food and five-star location without making you see cartoon dollar signs.

Chronic Insomniac. Stays up too late watching YouTube every night. His viewing history is an incomprehensible blur of k-pop music videos, serial killer icebergs, and super girly crafty ASMR channels. When he's watching a video, he is unreachable. Please call back later and try again.

He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. Doesn't snore, but drools. Sometimes the drool freezes and leaves frost trails on his face in the morning. Still sleeps with the giant stuffed cat pillow that his mother gave him when he was like, zero. He'll inadvertently suffocate you with it, and you will welcome death with open arms because awwwwww!!!!!

The first time he tells you he loves you will be after your traditional Japanese shinto wedding. You won't hear it again until you start a family. Honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't say it often and is always holding you when it happens. It's a knee-buckler.

- - -

Icy-Hot

I don't even need to say it. Shouto is as old-fashioned as they come. You will never open another door or pull out another chair for yourself as long as you live. He will ask before he holds your hand. He will ask before he kisses you. He will stop and check in if you so much as breathe funny during sex.

If you don't orgasm at exactly the same time while staring into one another's eyes, he'll consider himself a failed lover. God forbid you want him to pound you into the futon... cause you are going to have to present that scenario to him in writing first.

Physical intimacy rarely leads to sex. He loves cuddling, craves physical affection. He'll sprawl all over you and turn into goo while you hold him close. He's an amazing, astounding, phenomenally good kisser. And that's... nice and all... but sometimes you have to grab his face and say, "Shouto, I'm horny," before he's like so that's why you're currently dry-humping me?

Even if he isn't technically a virgin the first time (or the millionth time) you sleep together, you won't know the difference. He's a blushing violet. Every. Fucking. Time. This doesn't mean he's a bad lay, oh no. But there's always ten minutes of confused bumbling before he hits his stride and remembers oh yeah, I DO know how to fuck good.

Absolutely silent during sex. Focused. Intense. Sometimes you have to push him a little to make any kind of noise at all, just so you know you're pleasing him (oh don't worry, you are).

His cock is Just Right. Not to big or too small. Perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Somehow pretty. Like a fucking factory prototype. It truly is not fair.

Gets handsy and restless at night, even if you both have work the next day. Seems to crave sex at three in the morning. You've given him more than one exhausted handjob.

Gets offended if you don't cum. Will go down on you for hours. Of course he uses his quirk to tease you. He doesn't typically use it during actual intercourse, but he's all about foreplay, and he'll use every tool in his arsenal.

His sex drive is completely fucking unpredictable. Sometimes he's all over you, other times he's an icy slab. His line of work leaves him busy and stressed on a near-constant basis, so you can't entirely blame his personality for this one. Just give him some time and help him take care of his basic needs. He'll come back around soon enough.