#Endeavor faces justice

[aspenforest732]

Bello Licentiae Chapter 14: Trials and Tributes

Summary:

tw: abuse, trauma Okay, you get a little bit of fluff as a treat. *hides vat of trauma behind back* 'text' JSL Text thoughts

The media was abuzz with the first day of Endeavor's trial. Reporters were pressed against the gates of U.A. trying to get any scoop from any students caught outside. Akira shook their head at the vultures' antics broadcasted on the tv, glad they wouldn't have to deal with the nonsense until the following day. They slid a bowl of cold soba to Shouto when he came down a little later than usual.

' How are you holding up? ' Akira asked, returning their focus to fixing their own bowls of soba with broccoli and beef.

"Fine," Shoto said distantly. He mostly pushed his noodles around until Akira gently tapped a nail against the counter to bring his focus back.

' You should try to eat something, ' they prodded and sat down next to him. ' I figured something light would be easy on your nerves. If anyone bothers you, we'll sic Animal Whisper and Dark Shadow on them. '

That drew a small smile out of Shouto, who slowly nibbled his way through breakfast. Dabi was with the Blue Fang with an excuse of personal business to the League since Akira couldn't be there for him. The kids wouldn't be testifying for another two weeks, and Dabi would be last from what Akira understood. With the severity of the charges, it would be a saiban-in trial where six random members of the public would pass judgment with the three professional judges.

Homeroom and English passed largely in tense quiet, even the loud members of class subdued knowing the opening statements happening in the city proper. In Classic Literature, Cementoss tried to engage the class in discussion over the current chapters a few times before sighing.

"I understand the trial today is weighing heavily on everyone's minds. I have a few topics I was going to open the floor to tomorrow, but we can do that today instead."

Akira looked up from their notes, curiosity sparking as the teacher wrote on the whiteboard.

1984's impact on the 2000s

Big Brother and Heroes

Impact of Globalization on Novels

Translations and the Internet

Cementoss checked over his shoulder after each to no hands raised. After the fourth, Akira's hand shot up and he smiled, gesturing for them to go ahead. ' Number four ties into number three a bit, right? Globalization through the Internet of Things brought together linguists and programmers from across the world to improve translations by hand and algorithms for doing so automatically. '

"That's right!" Cementoss encouraged. "The first decade or so of online translation services relied on word-by-word translations or heavily fact-checked translation of sentences. Google Translate was popular among amateur translators, but at that time had low accuracy. Even when neural machine translation was introduced to the engine, translations that required more than one step quickly decreased in accuracy."

Kaminari raised their hand, head tilted in the endearing way that brought a slight blush to Hitoshi's cheeks. "Why would you need two steps to translate a language?"

Akira jumped in, ' Some languages don't translate well directly, like Latin to Japanese kanji. Usually it has to do with complex forms of words translating to more visual languages. In that example, you translate Latin to English then to Japanese. Each Latin noun has twelve forms and each verb has a hundred and... thirty-something. '

"Exactly! Many struggle to learn Latin in the first place due to its number of declensions and conjugations, so it's rare to find someone else who speaks it. It's been considered a dead language for centuries. Did you use Ecce Romani for the basics?"

Akira sighed in exasperation, ' Yes, I still don't understand how someone could drag out a family being stuck in a ditch for ten goddamn chapters. '

The discussion continued on with advancements in deep learning algorithms and the increased accessibility in closed captioning and translation services. The emergence of Tinker quirks caused a surge in technological advancement with their innate understanding of how things worked and how new technology could work with access to the right materials and people.

Akira sprinted into Ground Beta from their makeup therapy session and made their way to the parkour section. While any of the roofs could be used, this sector had additional obstacles.

' Sorry I'm late, the... ' Akira trailed off as they saw Midoriya running the course with Hitoshi.

Aizawa waved them off, "You already said therapy might run long, so your tardiness is acceptable. Midoriya relies on his quirk too much for underground work."

Akira nodded as they slipped on their snack harness. ' Costume or no? ' they asked as they warmed up. Aizawa shook his head while shooting them a look of fond exasperation.

"You did good, asking Midoriya to talk with me," Aizawa said quietly after a moment. "Thank you for trusting me."

A small smile slipped onto their face as Akira watched Midoriya catch his breath next to Hitoshi on the last low building of one of the easy courses. ' If you could understand Peppermint and me, you could understand Broccoli. Did you notice anything off about the Bakugo or Kaminari family when you talked about the dorms? '

Aizawa frowned, "I've already spoken with both. The Kaminari's needed some guidance, and the Bakugo's are being handled."

' Were you able to find anything on Toga? ' Akira asked, standing back up from toe touches.

His expression softened and looked distant for a moment. "She's in custody of the state, and Tsukauchi opened an investigation of her parents. She's in a psych ward right now and is starting to stabilize physically. Kan is thinking about taking her in once we know more about her situation."

Once Aizawa critiqued the other two's technique a bit, Akira started towards the medium difficulty. Over the past couple months, they'd been getting more used to heights, and their stomach didn't swoop quite as much when they happened to look over the edge of a building. While wearing their costume would improve their mobility, Aizawa insisted they stick with gym clothes until he's confident enough in their footwork that they won't trip on the tassels.

Akira grinned as they took in the next jump, carefully examining the side of the building for windowsills, small balconies, and tiny ledges they could use for leverage as Midoriya and Hitoshi pulled up beside them. Once they had a solid pathing, they turned to the other two. ' Who's first? '

"How are we supposed to get up that without quirks?" Midoriya gaped.

Hitoshi chuckled and gave a sharp nod as he settled on a path. "The handholds are smaller on this one, so if you're not confident, you can go around. There's a less challenging building two blocks up and one to the right."

Challenge sparked in Midoriya's eyes as he shook his head. Turning back to the tall building, he muttered up a storm, eyes darting across the side. Aizawa watched them like a hawk while leaning against an access hutch a few streets over, hidden carefully in the shadows. Akira gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, knowing he could easily get close enough if a safety measure failed.

Midoriya's brow crinkled in frustration as he kept looking over one section. Akira waved to get his attention and signed, ' What's got you stumped? Blank and I have our paths, and we can nudge you in the right direction. '

As Midoriya described his series of jumps and hooks, Akira traced its path up the building. They let him finish before checking in with Hitoshi, who bore a knowing look and gestured to them. Akira guided Midoriya's eyes to a few steps back and showed where he veered off. ' Your first path was a good instinct but is meant for quirk and support item use. You might be able to do it since you prioritize mobility and your legs, but it would be risky. Now, Blank or I should go up first in case you need a little help at the top. Blank, are you comfortable doing that? '

Aizawa stood a little straighter as Hitoshi backed up to take a shot, stretching one more time before sprinting towards the obstacle. There was a brief moment when they teetered on a ledge but caught himself before making the last few jumps to the roof. Hitoshi let out a loud whoop before peeking over the edge and waving Midoriya up.

Midoriya flapped his hands as he jittered backwards, hopping from one foot to the other in anticipation. Akira carefully tracked his movements, ready to step in if he wasn't quite up to it. Just because there were safety nets that would extend when in parkour mode didn't mean it didn't hurt to fall. Green lightning briefly spread across his arms before Midoriya sucked it back in and darted forward. He made it to the first few platforms well enough, his short combat boots thankfully providing more traction than his Primordial shoes.

Akira frowned and took a step forward as Midoriya started to lose momentum halfway up. He hissed as his hand collapsed and lost grip on the next handhold. Midoriya fell backwards, and the safety net shot out between the two buildings. Aizawa was already on the move to them, watching as Midoriya landed squarely inside the area, the material providing a bit of bounce to lessen the impact.

"Are you okay, Midoriya?" Aizawa called out as he lowered himself to the nearby balcony set there for that purpose.

"Fine, my hand just gave out," Midoriya muttered, slowly making his way to the edge. Akira peered over the edge and took in the couple bruises and scraped up hand.

Once everyone was back on ground level, Akira cocked their head at Midoriya. ' Why didn't you activate your quirk? Your reaction time is fast enough, and it could've gotten you to a balcony at least. '

Midoriya shook his head in confusion, eyes darting between them and Aizawa. "But Aizawa-sensei said no quirks...?"

Shoving down the anger, Akira went to clarify when Aizawa sighed. "Problem Child, if you're in danger, you are allowed- no, you will use your quirk if it removes or mitigates the danger. When I or any teacher say no quirk usage, the intention is never to harm you or to allow you to get harmed."

Midoriya slowly nodded, confusion still clouding his eyes. Aizawa led them in cooldowns before they headed back to the dorm. Kaminari jumped up from the couch and rushed over, nearly tripping over themself in excitement. "Hey! Mina, Tsu, Uraraka, and I are having a fems and thems night! Any of you interested?" he chattered on with a bright grin.

A little confused but curious, Akira shrugged. ' Sure? Do I need to bring anything? '

"Nope! Mina's got all the good stuff, so just head to her room when you're ready."

Midoriya was too tired and Hitoshi uninterested, so after a quick shower, Akira took the stairs to Mina's room on the fourth floor. Her door was open, and inside was an array of nail polish, makeup, small colorful bags, snacks, and movies. Mina painted Kaminari's nails black and purple while Uraraka braided Tsu's hair. Akira awkwardly stood in the doorway for a moment before knocking.

Mina lit up, "You came! Sit anywhere, Mori. Feel free to grab snacks, a face mask, or whatever. We were just getting started. Oh, and feel free to close or pull the door to, whichever you're more comfortable with."

' Thanks for inviting me. ' Akira pulled the door to and looked around at the clashing prints and vibrant color scheme. It took them a moment to place the colorful packages as face masks since they could figure out at least generally what the other items were. Akira politely nibbled on some mochi and sat seiza while they read the mask instructions.

"Sooo, have you asked Hitoshi out yet?" Mina cooed, waggling her eyes at Kaminari.

" Mina ," they whined, "come on, they probably don't even like me that much. Toshi and I are just friends."

Akira snorted and looked over in disbelief, setting their mochi on a napkin to sign. ' Blank? Not like you? You were hanging out in their room just yesterday. He hates sharing their personal space with very few exceptions. It took him weeks to get comfortable with small touches, and you're leaning on each other all the time. '

Kaminari's blush grew as they signed until he ducked their face into his shirt, trying to hide it without their hands free. Akira took pity on him and stopped, raising an eyebrow as Uraraka tried to hide her laughter and Tsu looked amused.

"We told you so, ribbit," Tsu commented as Uraraka finished the French braid. "Mina knows about love."

"Hell yeah I do!" Mina pumped her free fist. "After all, I got you two together, didn't I?"

Uraraka blushed as Akira looked at the couple in surprise. I guess they have been spending more time together since the summer camp , they mused. Akira slowly opened the little package, careful not to tear the thin coconut oil mask.

"Ribbit, have you used a face mask before?" Tsu asked while Mina gushed about Kirishima and Katsuki.

Akira sheepishly shook their head, ' I haven't done any of this before. '

Mina gasped dramatically, both hands pressed to her chest after she loosely put the applicator back into the polish. "'That's criminal! Girl or fems and thems nights are the best. We need to get on this stat," she grew serious as Akira pulled back slightly at the intensity.

They looked to Kaminari, who had a fond grin on their face. ' I'll add that to the list? ' Akira hesitantly signed.

Tsu cocked her head slightly as Mina powered on, "Now, your hair isn't long enough to do much, but do you know your curl pattern? I do have some extensions we could play with if you're 2C, and I've heard that flattens out pretty easily with product."

Akira shrugged, ' No? I think it's pretty straight, though. It just got a bit of bounce once I cut it short. '

"Curses," Mina pouted, drawing giggles from the others and a confused grin from Akira. "A couple friends in middle school were Latinx, so I got these for makeovers. How about nail polish? I have so many colors."

As Mina showed off a selection that would go with their color scheme, a neon purple caught Akira's eye. ' Would this work? ' they hesitantly signed. ' It might match my eyes. '

"It does," Tsu piped up. "Mina also has a sparkly silver if you want to want to go all in."

Mina gasped and whipped around to find it, comparing the two against Akira's eyes before nodding. "These are perfect! Great eye," she beamed. "Since you haven't painted your nails before, don't be afraid to stop me if you're feeling uncomfortable or hate how it turns out. No hard feelings, we're here to experiment!"

Mina gently took Akira's left hand and started with a trim, lightly scolding them over the state of their brittle nails and explaining how to take better care of them. When she started to file their nails, Akira quickly pulled back at the bizarre sensation, and Mina easily switched to a clipper without pausing the conversation.

"Oh! We should put a movie on now that everyone's here," Uraraka scooted forward cross-legged to survey the options. "We've got rom coms, Disney... Mina, why are there horror films?"

"Those were my suggestion!" Kaminari grinned. "I brought some that are so bad they're funny. Oh! And a classic, Cabin in the Woods. Mori, are you in the mood for anything?"

Mina let go of their hands so they could respond, ' I've only seen documentaries and a couple adventure movies, so whatever everyone else wants is fine. '

Uraraka gasped, "Not even a nihon date?" At Akira's confusion, she continued, "Once a month, small theaters around here do a double feature for 1000 yen. I thought that was pretty common across Japan."

Akira shrugged awkwardly, lightly worrying their bottom lip. ' I didn't go out of the house as a kid, and I couldn't spare that when I moved here. ' They forced themself to ignore the confusion and concern that crept onto Uraraka's face, instead focusing on Kaminari.

"Can we watch Cabin in the Woods then?" Kaminari buzzed in excitement. "It's more comedy than horror but will still give you a taste of both."

By the end of the movie, Akira was very confused but intrigued by the concept. At some point, they'd shifted to sit more informally once their legs protested the cramped pressure. Mina and Kaminari had showed them how to contour their face depending on whether they were feeling more masc or fem on a given day since Akira was only familiar with traditional feminine makeup. Kaminari ended up in one of Mina's skirts and goth makeup before they all switched to face masks and skincare by the end of the night.

"Sooo I know the lovebirds are staying over, but Denks and Mori, are you down for a sleepover?" Mina asked, excitement dancing in her eyes.

"Totally!" Kaminari cheered as they flopped dramatically into a pile of pillows.

Akira hesitated, unsure of the group but not wanting to disrupt whatever rituals were usually part of such nights. Kami, I'm starting to think like Fumikage . Kaminari caught their eyes with his own blown wide in excitement, and they caved. ' Sure, I'm just going to grab a couple things. ' As they got off the elevator, they sagged in relief to see Hitoshi coming out of his room.

' Oh, thank kami, ' Akira quickly explained the situation.

Hitoshi nodded along sagely and asked, "Just making sure I got the gist. You had a good time at the party, Mina asked you to stay, you don't want to but agreed because of Denki's puppy eyes?"

' Yes? Kind of? ' Akira paused as Hitoshi reminded them to breathe. ' Am I supposed to stay? I don't want to ruin the night, but I might do that anyways with the nightmares. '

"I don't know Tsu and Uraraka as well, but Mina definitely wouldn't mind either way and Denki didn't mean to be pushy. If you don't want to go back up, they'd all understand," Hitoshi decided on. "And if they don't, I'll kick their asses."

Akira chuckled and grabbed their weighted blanket and Bastard plushie from their futon, tucking each under an arm as they rode back up. Maybe it won't be as bad with other people in the room?

Notes:

I was going to progress one of the other storylines then realized that it's been close to a month in-universe since Endeavor was arrested. From what I've been able to scrounge up, it doesn't seem like Japanese trials are public like ones in the U.S. are. Since I've been trying to avoid Americanizing aspects of the story, figured I'd be better off keeping the story out of the courtroom. My Latin nerd friend told me about the struggle of Ecce Romani, and I had to include it XD I realized I'd mostly been writing the masc part of Akira's identity and wanted to show it's ok to have a little fem in your life as an afab person. It's okay to have a lot of it, in fact. Just a friendly reminder that gender identity and gender expression can be totally different, and that's ok 😊 Fun fact! Cabin in the Woods was the first horror movie I watched all the way through and the second overall. My first was Insidious Chapter I, and 20 minutes in I was so bored I turned it off. A friend convinced me to try CitW since it's more comedy than horror, and I loved it! If you haven't seen it, would highly recommend 10/10 Me: initially calls class Modern Literature Also me: starts talking about 1984

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[stillness-in-green]

Sorry if this question rubs you the wrong way, but wouldn't going out of their way to try to help villains to the absolute extreme that you propose be a bit suicidal? I feel like trying to talk no jutsu criminals like Moonfish who's a serial killing canibal, or Muscular who doesn't have any actual reason for commiting violence against others other than he enjoys it, would end up getting people hurt or worse.

Idk, maybe my perception is skewed because my country has problems with the justice system being too lenient with criminals, but then striking hard against honest folk.

Like, let's say heroes try to talk to Muscular about his feelings and stuff, and he just beats them to death. So should they arrest him and take him to jail now, or should they respond "understandable, have a nice day" and let him carry on with his rampage and try to talk no jutsu him the next day?

I’ve had enough exchanges with you, rvg, to assume you don’t mean it this way, but I gotta say, this is an incredibly fallacious way to frame the “talk to Villains” discussion.  I wrote two responses to this, first a characteristically long and rambly response which you and anyone else who’s interested are free to read below the cut.  The second response is much shorter and is here above the cut, if only for those readers who think it’s a waste of time to try and give a sincere answer to what reads like deliberate reductiveness—though again, I don’t think that’s your intent.

Here is my model version of how Heroes should engage with Villains:

Step One: Heroes should put in a basic, good faith effort to defuse and de-escalate every Villain encounter they have with the tools and knowledge they have available; the ideal result is that the Villain will choose on their own to stop presenting a danger to the public.      

Step Two: If that is not feasible for some reason, or if it is ineffective, then the Heroes should make all possible efforts to arrest the Villain with the minimal possible harm.      

Step Three: If there is an immediate threat to the lives of bystanders and there is absolutely no way the Heroes can come up with to stop the Villain non-lethally, then there should, afterwards, be an investigation into the death of the Villain and all Heroes who were involved should have to face questions about their role in the situation and their decision to use lethal force.  Measures should then be implemented to help prevent the situation from arising again in the future.  A Hero killing someone should by default be treated as a punishable failure, not a victory.

That’s it!  That’s all there is to it!  Try talking first, then try arresting, and if killing is truly the only way, be ready to explain why.  That step-by-step should be the standard, and if there are going to be deviations from it, they should be exceptionally well-justified by both the characters and the narrative.  If that’s not the standard, then I think it’s a key thing we need to see the protagonists confronting and changing.

Hero Society is obviously in the not-the-standard camp: most of the Heroes spend most of the series jumping straight to Step Two, totally skipping Step One; there are then multiple instances of Step Three being botched completely, with non-lethal tactics being discarded or ignored and lethal force being accepted without question or resistance.  By the end of the series, a tiny handful of Heroes are now hesitantly attempting what should have been their very first go-to, Step One, but their prior reliance on Steps Two and Three make the Villains much more resistant than they might have otherwise been, which reenforces the push towards lethal force in a society that will still not enforce any consequences for it.

This would all be more forgivable if not for the way BNHA positions its Heroes, as lawful defenders of the status quo in a basically modern version of Japan—i.e. they’re cops but the story either doesn’t want to saddle them with the responsibilities real cops would have or else Horikoshi has some alarming views that treat said responsibilities as bothersome administrative red tape.

Therein is my fundamental complaint: BNHA makes the choice to frame its Heroes as being basically specialized police but then disregards or attempts to minimize how that framing colors the Heroes actions’ and decisions, especially with regard to the Villains.  My thoughts on what the Heroes “should” be doing are nothing more than taking that framing (Heroes = cops) to its logical conclusion and asking the story to treat the Heroes accordingly.

Below the jump, find the longer version of this answer, which contains more picking apart of the ask’s premise, more references to the canon and to real life, and an extended discussion about the non-Hero institutions in BNHA that are in some way responsible for Villains and what Heroes’ obligations are re: those institutions.  It is, in other words, the version of this answer that’s 4000 words long instead of 500.  Reminder that it was the version of this answer that was written first, so pardon any recycled phrasing or reiterated rhetoric.

I’ll just start by re-pasting the question…

What I think is that there is a lot of air between “beating up Villains while being more concerned about the news camera catching your good side than you are about talking to the human being you’re pummeling” and ��trying to talk to the Villain but just shrugging and letting them carry on if it doesn’t work”.

A perennial response Villain fans get when they talk about this is an exasperated, even outraged, “What, so you’re saying Deku should just let Shigaraki kill him or innocent people?!”  And like, no, that’s not what we’re saying at all, and it’s a really reductive, bad faith characterization of the argument.  So I want to talk first about what Villain fans are saying, and then I’ll circle back to your question about trying to talk no jutsu the really bad news Villains and what Heroes should do if that talk no jutsu fails.

First things first, and to get it out of the way, not all Villains are on the level of Muscular or Moonfish.  For the vast majority of the series, the numeric bulk of Villains are just street criminals.  It would not be a life or death struggle for Kamui Woods and Mount Lady to try and talk down a purse snatcher together.  There is so much room for positive change in how Heroes engage with street-level Villains that just gets glossed over entirely when people want to spin-kick the argument all the way to S-class threats like post-surgery Shigaraki.

Note how handily and briskly Hawks deals with the nudist flasher guy when he’s walking around town with Endeavor—he doesn’t even glance in his direction.  Would it have been so impossibly hard to use his feathers to pin the guy’s coat back together and then cheerfully ask him why he went and did a thing like that?

So just keep that in mind, first of all: for the vast majority of what a Hero does day-to-day, especially the powerful ones who are way up near the top of the rankings, there are options available to them beyond “immediately resort to extreme violence” or “give the Villain a thumbs-up and walk away, whistling to cover the sound of civilian screams.”

But okay, how about with the more dangerous Villains?  Well, the point still stands: multiple heroic characters throughout the manga show themselves to be entirely capable of carrying on a conversation—be it with the Villains or with Hero allies—while fighting.  Mirio is able to temporarily keep ShigAFO talking and distracted by simply asking him a few basic questions; he and Nighteye both are able to get at least some answers out of Overhaul(!) just by asking about his intentions. Ochaco and Toga have coherent conversation every single time they fight.  Hawks and Twice have a whole argument while fighting.  As soon as Shouto can be bothered to talk to Dabi, Dabi’s eager to spill his whole backstory to him.

Shigaraki in particular comes off as desperate to share his grievances practically every time Heroes encounter him, and that only stops being true at the very end—and even there, it might be less true if that green twit fighting him could have been arsed to just fucking ask him, “Hey, last time we fought, when we were in the same headspace, I saw an image of you crying with a dog.  What was up with that?”  Deku doesn’t have to stand there with his hands in the air while asking!  As all the examples cited demonstrate, Heroes are more than able to fight and talk at the same time.  So why don’t they try to make that talk a little more actually useful?

What I’m saying is simply that I would like it if less of that conversation were dedicated to Heroes giving moralizing sermons about how bad and unforgiveable Villains are and a lot more of it were dedicated to Heroes just asking why the Villains are doing what they’re doing, and letting the conversation go from there, fighting defensively and keeping the Villain focused on them as much as they’re capable of doing.  We see the results in the series when Heroes bother trying this—think Deku’s results with Gentle Criminal or Ochaco’s with Toga—so it’s damning that they don’t try it more often.

The likely explanation is that professional heroism as a matter of practice and culture does not tend to bother with de-escalation tactics; after all, while you’re standing there trying to talk to the bank robber, some other Hero could easily be coming in for the take-down, and then they get all the credit and glory and not least the pay.  The whole system is geared towards rewarding fast, uncompromising takedowns, ignoring the possibility of more peaceful, productive resolutions in favor of stopping the Public Disturbance as quickly as possible, because it’s more important to stop random civilians feeling inconvenienced than it is to maybe try addressing a Villain’s issues so they stand down themselves and are less likely to become hardened criminals.

Heck, even Deku really only gets anywhere with Gentle because his first instinct—shutting down the fight right away with a Smash—gets him rebounded off an air trampoline with enough force to knock him back nearly a neighborhood block.  The defensive, evasive nature of Gentle’s power means it’s difficult to hit him directly, and Gentle’s personality was such that he kept talking while Deku was figuring out how to beat him.  That talking was really what gave Deku enough insight to trigger his empathy, so he started returning the conversation in ways that he never did against e.g. Stain, AFO, or in his first fight with Muscular.  He didn’t lead by asking why Gentle was invading his school, though; he just ordered him repeatedly to stop.

Heroes and, in turn, the kids, just don’t default to trying to talk to the Villains.  We see that they can, they’re just not trained to, so it becomes a tactic of last resort, or of distraction, or, finally, as being the result of moments of connection that make them incapable of continuing to ignore the Villains’ humanity.  But when it’s a last resort like that, when they don’t bother asking questions until after the Villains have been pushed past the point of wanting to engage, everything gets so much harder and more dangerous.

Look at Shigaraki and Toga.  When Deku and Ochaco initially encounter them, the kids’ first response is basically just revulsion and terror.  And like, okay, they’re students, newly fledged Hero Course trainees.  They shouldn’t have been facing real life Villains for another two years, at least!  So it’s not surprising that they don’t know what to do and don’t react in the most empathetic manner possible.  I’m not blaming them for that.  But I do want to ask what would have happened if their classes and the Hero culture were more focused on attempting dialogue with Villains.

All Might at USJ writes Shigaraki off as a faker with no real beliefs, and Deku at the mall calls him an incomprehensible cipher, but what if either of them had instead asked Tomura why he was there and what he wanted, then asked follow-up questions from there?  How much earlier might they have found out that Shigaraki had some tragedy in his past that he blamed All Might for not saving him from?  What might finding that out early on have led them to change about how they approached Shigaraki in subsequent encounters?

If Ochaco and Tsuyu had asked Toga why she attacked people, then followed up on whatever answer Toga gave about liking blood with some questions about consent, how much sooner might they have found out that Toga spent her whole life feeling ostracized and repressed because she was convinced by the adults around her that people finding out she craved blood would make her a freak in their eyes?  How might they have engaged with her differently if they realized her parents had been verbally abusing her since she was three years old?

But we also don’t have to stop with U.A. types!  Toga went on the run at only 15—how many times did she have had close scrapes with arrest before the training camp attack?  How many other opportunities were there for someone to talk her down before she made it to the League?  Heck, even all the way to the end, if the green twit hadn’t just insisted on antagonizing Toga one last time for the road—as if he’d learned nothing at all since the mall scene!—how much more easily might Ochaco have been able to engage with her?  Maybe if Toga hadn’t set her mind to embracing Villainy because Deku functionally became yet another person calling her a freak, Ochaco could have gotten to the breakthrough point before Toga stabbed her in the gut?

I’ve been talking about the more sympathetic Villains here so far, but all this goes for the rest of them, too.  Sure, Moonfish is a cannibal serial killer now, but was he always?  Or was there a time when he was just like Toga, a teenager wrestling with quirk-driven hungers who was abused and ostracized for them?  I’ve thought, from time to time, about the idea of a League ageswap AU, where Moonfish is that scared but defiant teenager who’s been pushed over the edge and done something violent, but is not yet past saving.  Conversely, it’s all too easy for me to imagine a Toga who was never captured and never shown any compassion growing into an adult who fully embraced her vampire serial killer reputation and “deviant” hungers to become just as much an alleged monster as Canon Moonfish.

How about Muscular?  Was he always a violent sadist?  Was it impossible that he could have grown up to be anything else?  Could that taste for violence ever have found an outlet other than murder?  Could he have gotten into underground fighting, like Rappa?  Could he have become a Hero like Mirko, always hungry for a better challenge than she’s getting?  Quite frankly, even if Imasuji Gouto was a violent little bully who killed neighborhood pets as a child, he still deserved some kind of intervention—psychological counseling, medication, more acceptable outlets, etc.

How many Villains would HeroAca!Japan be spared if the people in power were more focused on intervention and rehabilitation at every stage of a Villain’s life and career?  Why do Heroes think it’s helpful or necessary to tell everyone in earshot their personal opinion about the unforgivability of their opponents?  Why is it such a problem for some readers when Villain fans point out that a lot of issues could be sidestepped entirely, and the HeroAca world considerably bettered, if the Hero Industry were less focused on showy grandstanding violence, less terrified of the optics of being anything other than maximally harsh on Villains?

That all said, that’s the nuance of what I want when I say I want more talk no jutsu.  But let’s go back to your question—what should Heroes do when they run into Villains who can’t be talked down?

Say that all the interventions and counseling programs have failed, and someone—some mother’s son, some father’s daughter—has grown up to become a Villain.  And not just any Villain, but a really dangerous one.  What do?

Well, I do still want to see Heroes try to talk first, unless they have some reason to believe talking won’t work, like knowledge that knowing that efforts in that direction have already been made and documented in previous encounters between law enforcement and the Villain in question.  There’s also some flex here based on how capable of dragging out an encounter the Heroes on-scene are, and how much danger any bystanders would be in—I would want more effort from someone who can hold their own for long periods like Deku than e.g. Manual.  But like, anyone can yell a few basic questions about motivations to see what sort of response they get.

But say our Hero is up against someone like Muscular, who just laughs off questions like that.  What to do then?

Then arrest him.

Seriously, this is not that complicated.  I’m not asking some run-of-the-mill Hero to get their arms ripped off trying to give battle therapy to Muscular!  But I do want Muscular to get therapy, or at least be offered it, once he’s no longer presenting an immediate threat and those conversations can happen in a safe environment.  And if he doesn’t accept it,[1] I still want him to be treated as humanely as reasonably possible in prison, with the therapy option always on the table if he ever wants to try it.  I also want his prison term (even if it’s for life) to not involve methods of punishment that are considered by the United Nations to constitute torture, like Tartarus’s apparent extended solitary confinement.

1: Perhaps because he would rather rip his own arms off than talk about his feelings or waste any more time getting analyzed by shrinks than he already has; pick your poison based on why and for how long you think he’s been killing people.

I truly do not have any problems, ethically speaking, with Heroes arresting dangerous Villains.  My problem has always been that Hero Society is comprehensively awful in how it treats those who don’t fit neatly into society’s little boxes.  Their social support networks are full of holes, their law enforcement is financially disincentivized from attempting de-escalation, their judicial process is completely invisible, and their prisons are concrete holes that only serve to make people worse, as we can see clearly in the case of people like poor Ending—already unstable when he was first arrested by Endeavor, but so blatantly suicidal when his sentence is up that the literal first thing he does after release is to investigate Endeavor’s personal life so as to find a way to goad Endeavor into killing him.

Now, sure, Heroes are not responsible for prison policies and practices; those are under a completely different part of the criminal justice umbrella.  Nor is it up to them to determine how e.g. financial aid programs or family services work.  But I want Heroes to be better in the ways that they—personally and professionally—can be, and I want them to be cognizant of the flaws in the system they uphold.  I want them to have some basic intellectual curiosity about the Villains they fight—why they turned out like they did, if they can be helped, and what’s going to become of them after the Hero hands them off to the police.

Like, what is All Might’s opinion on Tartarus?  He spent 30+ years fighting for the society that maintains it—does he think or care at all about the fact that some extremely damaged, abused people wind up in there after he gets done beating them up?  And if he doesn’t, what does that say about him?  What would Ochaco have done if Toga had lived and said she’d rather Ochaco kill her than let her go to prison forever?  Does Shouto think now about the family situation of every Villain he fights, or did his ability to care about “some mother’s son” begin and end with his mother’s son?

Obviously, Heroes stop Villains all the time; I’m not asking them to do deep dives into the history and treatment of each and every one.  I just want them to ask the questions they can while the Villain is in front of them, and to care about the state of both the systems that produce Villains and the ones tasked with their care.  I think that when handing people over to state custody, Heroes have a responsibility to be meaningfully confident that the state won’t abuse that custodianship.  If they aren’t—if they truly don’t give a shit about what happens to Villains once the police van door swings closed—then in my view they’re no different than any professional who shirks their duty.

So many people insist that the kids—that Heroes in general—have no duty to care about the Villains, but to me, this view comes off as wildly ignorant about the wide variety of jobs in the real world that do, in fact, confer a duty of care.

If…

…a teacher sees a child with unexplained bruises but doesn’t bother to do their due diligence as a mandatory reporter—

…a prison guard leaves a handcuffed inmate alone in a room with a fellow warden wearing brass knuckles—

…a medic doesn’t speak up when a flight attendant asks if there’s a doctor on the plane—

…a bartender just keeps on serving someone who’s obviously intoxicated and then lets them stumble out the door to the parking lot—

—then they are shirking their duty.  There is no shortage out there of examples of this sort of responsibility, one that you can be held legally responsible for, one that you choose to accept when you sign up for the job.

Heroes are not Samaritans doing the work out of the goodness of their hearts; they’re not vigilantes just trying to keep their own patch safe.  They’re government employees, crucial members of the lawful system they represent.  They have to care—not personally, not individually, but on a professional, structural level, they have to care about the people they fight because the system has to care about those people.  And if the system doesn’t care, the system has to be changed.

I'm segueing here into real life stuff, so let me note as a disclaimer that what follows is based on my cultural familiarity with American policies, as well as periodic research into that of other nations. I don't know what country you live in, rvg, so I can hardly speak to its crime-and-punishment situation. This is all a lefty American's opinion on what reading she has done about American, Japanese, and, in the case of this particular post, Scandinavian criminal justice systems.

That said: in real life, de-escalation works.  One of the things you’ll often see talked about in police reform/abolishment circles is that the police are, quite frankly, doing too much work.  Or, more specifically, they’re doing the wrong kind of work, work for which their training has not prepared them and which other groups would be far better suited to handle.

Here’s an article on offering a campus police force de-escalation training and the resulting 26-36% drop in injuries suffered by both civilians and officers; it also talks about how de-escalation tactics are used by SWAT teams but regarded with suspicion by patrol officers, with this quote being particularly telling: “[Special operations] officers were taught to use time, distance and cover to their advantage.  For patrol officers, time was viewed as 'The more time you give a suspect, the more danger you're in.'”  De-escalation is not the usual training patrol officers get, so it runs against their gut feeling, despite its proven effectiveness—compare this to BNHA’s repeated focus on speed in shutting down altercations.

Here’s an article on the results of a test run of a program in Denver, Colorado, in which police officers were completely removed from response teams to 911 calls about situations considered low risk (drug abuse, trespassing, welfare checks, etc); instead, teams of mental health specialists and paramedics were dispatched.  Reports of nonviolent crime dropped 34% over the course of the time the program ran, and the direct financial cost of the response was four times lower than sending police.

The classic dramatic image of this sort of thing is the hostage situation—and when I looked into it, numerous articles said that containment and negotiation tactics have over a 94% chance of resolving hostage crises without fatalities!

The common element in this sort of thing is refraining from showboating displays of force, loud assertions of power and authority, arguments, moralizing, threats, and so forth.  Far more effective is listening, active attempts to communicate and understand, not throwing one's weight around and not rising to aggression even when provoked.

Meanwhile, on the carceral side of things, restorative justice leads to greater satisfaction from both victims and perpetrators, more feeling that they were listened to and respected, and increased belief that justice was served.  While the evidence on its impact on recidivism is mixed, it certainly doesn’t seem to be less effective than traditional retributive justice, and may well be considerably more effective if combined with programs that focus more specifically on lessening recidivism than restorative justice alone (research is ongoing).

This article on how “cushy” Scandinavian prisons are far more effective at reducing recidivism than their much harsher, bleaker American counterparts argues that a crucial factor in reducing recidivism is minimizing the amount of resentment criminals bear towards the system.  When perpetrators can point at unjust or disproportionate punishments, cruel treatment by wardens, rejection by society, etc, it’s much easier to stew on resentment, to turn nastier themselves, to blame outside factors.  Conversely, when life inside prison is made as much like life outside prison as possible with the key difference being the crucial deprivation of freedom, that resentment is defanged, leading to more more self-reflection and willingness to accept responsibility. And again, it works: Norway is a world leader, with their recidivism rate being a mere 20% compared to the U.S.’s nearly 77%.

The studies and the evidence for this stuff is out there, it’s just fighting this huge, ugly uphill battle against people who care far, far more about inflicting punishment than they do actually improving outcomes.  And so much of that is based on cultural values—what people believe, what values they’re taught. That's where pop culture comes in.

That last article I linked above talks about the efforts made in the U.S. to turn prisons into a for-profit industry, and how demonizing criminals to encourage maximum sentences helps that effort; here’s another on how U.S. police departments rehabilitated the popular image of the police in the early part of the 1900s as bumbling fools or a corrupt gang by consulting on the writing of police procedurals, most crucially starting with Dragnet in 1951, but continuing even today.  Here’s one on a growing concern in Japan about the relationship fostered between TV studios and police when police permission and cooperation is required for filming those popular reality TV police documentary programs.

Mass media and pop culture informs this stuff.  True, Horikoshi is not having to get his work cleared by a police PR department to publish it, but you can see from the above how the police have used and do use mass media to polish up their image; they see it as an effective tool to use because it is.  And the closer to our reality a work of fiction is, the more obviously it resembles the world around us, the more it seems to purport to moral instructiveness, the more true that becomes.  That’s why I criticize BNHA much more harshly than any number of other manga or anime I follow where Good Guys Kill Bad Guys all the time and no one thinks twice about it: because those series aren’t parading the Good Guys out as Japanese citizens working with Japanese police under Japanese law to maintain the rosy image of the Japanese status quo.

I’m long past the point where I’m just rambling, so I’ll wind it down here by pointing out this: Horikoshi also thought that things in his world needed to change.  As much as I loathe BNHA’s endgame and think much of its epilogue is trite shoulder-patting pablum that fails to meaningfully address the setting’s real problems, multiple aspects of Hero Society were at least nominally challenged and subsequently changed: citizen inaction, the dominance of professional heroics as a career path, the diminishment of non-Hero careers, quirk-based discrimination.  As a direct result of the main characters’ efforts to address places where the old system was failing people, the incident rate of Villains is decreasing.

The fact that these changes are made provides in itself the evidence that they needed to be made. I think they need to go further still: my number one greivance with the epilogue is that we've seen all these changes aimed at reducing the numbers of Villains that arise in the first place, and that's nice and all, but we don't see any evidence that the Villains that do arise are treated any differently than they ever were, not even the common purse snatchers, much less the serial killers, the cannibals, and the terrorists.

So, should Heroes have to get themselves nearly killed trying to reform a Villain?  Ideally no, but that assumes a world where Heroes are working in concert with a bunch of other people who are also dedicated to preventing, reforming, or rehabilitating Villains.  If none of that other personnel infrastructure exists, then, well, to paraphrase Nedzu, someone has to take the first step.  Why shouldn’t it be the combat-trained professionals with shounen battle stamina who also happen to be the main characters?

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all. 

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion. 

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when���wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was. 

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view. 

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment. 

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow. 

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten. 

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile. 

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion. 

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race. 

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers. 

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.” 

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real. 

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box. 

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink. 

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation. 

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke. 

“I… uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink. 

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment. 

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. 

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table. 

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup. 

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming. 

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. 

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

[charlesoberonn]

Please read the last two paragraphs of Justice Sonia Sotomayor's dissent to the recent 6-3 decision granting presidents absolute immunity:

Looking beyond the fate of this particular prosecution, the long-term consequences of today’s decision are stark. The Court effectively creates a law-free zone around the President, upsetting the status quo that has existed since the Founding. This new official-acts immunity now “lies about like a loaded weapon” for any President that wishes to place his own interests, his own political survival, or his own financial gain, above the interests of the Nation. The President of the United States is the most powerful person in the country, and possibly the world. When he uses his official powers in any way, under the majority’s reasoning, he now will be insulated from criminal prosecution. Orders the Navy’s Seal Team 6 to assassinate a political rival? Immune. Organizes a military coup to hold onto power? Immune. Takes a bribe in exchange for a pardon Immune. Immune, immune, immune. Let the President violate the law, let him exploit the trappings of his office for personal gain, let him use his official power for evil ends. Because if he knew that he may one day face liability for breaking the law, he might not be as bold and fearless as we would like him to be. That is the majority’s message today. Even if these nightmare scenarios never play out, and I pray they never do, the damage has been done. The relationship between the President and the people he serves has shifted irrevocably. In every use of official power, the President is now a king above the law. The majority’s single-minded fixation on the President’s need for boldness and dispatch ignores the countervailing need for accountability and restraint. The Framers were not so single-minded. In the Federalist Papers, after “endeavor[ing] to show” that the Executive designed by the Constitution “combines . . . all the requisites to energy," Alexander Hamilton asked a separate, equally important question: “Does it also combine the requisites to safety, in a republican sense, a due dependence on the people, a due responsibility?”. The answer then was yes, based in part upon the President’s vulnerability to “prosecution in the common course of law.” The answer after today is no. Never in the history of our Republic has a President had reason to believe that he would be immune from criminal prosecution if he used the trappings of his office to violate the criminal law. Moving forward, however, all former Presidents will be cloaked in such immunity. If the occupant of that office misuses official power for personal gain, the criminal law that the rest of us must abide will not provide a backstop. With fear for our democracy, I dissent.

[icanseethefuture333]

PAC: What good luck is coming your way?⋆｡.°•✩

‘I’m so lucky

I’m a star

But I cry, cry, cry in my lonely heart, thinkin’

“If there’s nothin’ missin’ in my life

Then why do these tears come at night?”’

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Potential Breakup Song by Aly & AJ

Best Friend’s Brother by Victoria Justice

(There’s Gotta Be) More To Life by Stacie Orrico

Discipline, Courage, Freedom, Communication, Twin Flame, Talking, Family, Plan A Vacation, Two of Air (Equilibrium), Daughter of Air, & Nine of Cups

The good luck that’s coming to your life, pile 1, is balance, confidence, and stability. Some of you could have Libra or Taurus placements. You could have had a rocky upbringing in life but it didn’t stop you from becoming the individual you are today. You could be a very loving person and have a lot to give to others. You may dim yourself down and feel that you are not all that special and often put others on a pedestal, whether that’s a family member, friend, celebrity, or partner. You need to see what’s special inside of you. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, dear. Some of you could have a very close relationship with your parents or grandparents. I’m having a vision of a little kid running to their guardian for comfort and receiving hugs. This is a message for some of you - you guys should visit your old childhood home for abundance or need to call your parents and rekindle the relationship you had with them, they miss you very much. If you have inner child wounds from your family, you need to resolve them in order to make progress. Don’t get stuck in this current phase of your life, you need to embrace change and new beginnings. I’m seeing that there is an intense connection with a romantic interest. Some of you might be in a stagnant relationship that is not benefiting you and it is hindering your growth, I think it would be best if stay single for a while. You are growing up and you are changing, that is a good thing! Some of you have a crush on someone and you are wishing to express your feelings, I see that if you talk to this person, things could actually go very well! Although, you must focus on making yourself happy first before seeking this person. Again, you need to focus on self love first. When is the last time you did something for yourself, pile 1? Make the choice today to be the hero you always needed. Be brave, pile 1. Some of you as a child might of loved the movie Starstruck and Princess Protection Program. You should watch these films to hear the messages in them, they might give you guidance. A father figure in your life may also provide clarity for what you have been feeling. Try to reflect on the relationship you had with your parents and how that results in your relationships with others. A lesson is needed to be learned at that time, once it is completed, you will notice a drastic transformation in your friendships and romantic life. You are going to be secure with who you are as a person and won’t feel the need for others to complete a part of yourself that was feeling empty. Additionally, some of you are wishing to make a bold move. Are you wishing to travel? Take a vacation? A trip to a place you always wanted to go? Now is a good time to do so. Crossroads could be an important film and may resonate with your situation.

Affirmations:

“I can accomplish what I set my mind to”

“I find the inner strength to face fear with confidence”

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Superstar by Jamelia

Love Don’t Cost A Thing by Jennifer Lopez

Whatever You Like by T.I

Loneliness, Love, Money, Courting, Cassette, Love Call, The Star, Ten of Water (Repletion), & Mother of Water

Your good luck charm, pile 2, is the charm of love, fortune, and gifts. There is someone who wishes to come into your life and spoil you. I feel that you are independent and successful in your endeavors. You are good with your finances and you may look high maintenance in appearance (you may own luxury, brand name items, or your style is just very prissy n pretty). You have an admirer that really appreciates how you carry yourself as an individual and has great respect for your accomplishments. I’m reminded of the lyrics from the song She Got Her Own by Ne-Yo ft Jamie Foxx & Fabolous:

“Knowin’ she can do for herself

Makes me wanna give her my wealth”

When this person approaches you, you will look at them like they’re crazy. You might even be offended when they offer you help or try to do chivalrous things. Do not block your blessing, this person can give you access to bigger career opportunities. You have to release your outdated beliefs. I understand you are trying to protect your heart and peace of mind, but how can you make progress in your desired career field without connections? Your spirit guides know you have expensive taste and that you won’t be the only one capable of funding that lifestyle. I’m getting Nara Smith and Lucky Blue Smith vibes. They are both working individuals but Lucky spoils Nara with gifts like designer bags and luxurious items. You give off WAG and video vixen vibes, pile 2. Your beauty is reminiscent of Meagan Good, Christina Milian, Lee Hyori, & Vanessa Bryant in the early 2000s. You could have received a lot of envy from others growing up and was always in the center of gossip. People’s consistent haterade being thrown at you has made you isolate yourself, you were never lonely because you had to be your own best friend. Some of the people who picked this pile were bullied growing up or had a hard time making friends. You are strong and confident but constantly having your guard up out of fear of being hurt is making you miss out on life. Princess and The Frog may be a very significant film that you need to watch. Tiana was hard working and had dreams of opening a restaurant so much that it made her miss out on having fun and spending time with other people, as well as using work as a coping mechanism to cope with her father’s death. It becomes unhealthy when you have the assumption that most people are inherently evil and focusing all your attention on work, allow yourself to make connections with others and have fun every once in a while. It won’t kill ya to take a break, money isn’t the source of all happiness. Changing your mindset would attract more positive interactions within the workplace, college, and in your interpersonal relationships. You know you have great qualities so try to showcase this when having a conversation. Also smile! You have cute facial expressions when you’re not making a RBF lol. You may have a hustler mindset because of being poor as a child but this does not reflect your current reality, pile 2. Some of you may also be pursuing an education, taking courses regarding your culture could provide you with some insight. Turn to your ancestors for strength and wisdom on making the right choices regarding love. You are divinely protected either way so misfortune is not at all in your destiny!

Affirmations:

“I know that I am never alone”

“I commit to the practice of seeing good in all things”

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Stereo Love by Edward Maya ft. Vika Jigulina

Electric Feel by MGMT

Who Said by Miley Cyrus

Judgment, Pride, Past Life, Ice King, Karmic Relationship, The Snake, Five of Air (Conflict), Four of Fire (Perfection), & Mother of Air

Pile 3, with the lucky girl syndrome~ I see that you will be releasing yourself from other people's expectations and instead will pursue your desires. You could have grew up in a strict household and had family members who believed that being successful, wealthy, and having good grades was more important that self expression and being "happy". Financial security was prioritized over emotions and this had left your heart cold. You could be someone who has a hard time expressing their feelings and can be quite feisty when engaging in conversations. I see that you have always wanted to be more of the rebellious one or had to be rebellious in secret. The Bratz movie could be very significant to this pile, you might relate to one of the girls or one of the Bratz is your favorite doll (Jade, Sasha, Yasmin, or Cloe). I also see The Game Plan and Herbie - Fully Loaded for some of you were your comfort movies as a child. Growing up, you might of changed your clothes after your parents dropped you off at school or got dress coded often by your teachers/principal. You could have felt insecure as a child for not being able to dress like the other kids or not being allowed to wear a makeup. You have the power, pile 3. You are no longer this child anymore, this might hurt knowing you never got to experience the same emotional fulfillment other teens/adults did as children, but the good news is you have so much time to make up for it now! Take the initiative today and write down all things you never got to do but always wanted to have and start making a list of methods you could use to make this possible. As long as you put the effort in, anything could happen! I also feel that you compete with those of the same sex. You could come across people that are catty and try to put you down for no reason. You might also have these traits yourself and you need to reflect on how you treat other people, having opinions is normal but being judgemental and making assumptions about others before giving them a chance, is not. You have to acknowledge your flaws and the triggers you have been avoiding. For example, if you know that you easily get pissed off because you grew up in a household where arguing was normalized, realize that behavior isn't healthy. Overall, the good luck that you will be receiving is in regards to your independence and self expression. Additionally, I see you perfecting your craft. Some of you enjoy fashion, science, graphic design, and/or mathematics, you could receive an award or some sort of acknowledgement for your creative ideas!

Affirmations:

"I understand that everyone has their own unique path and challenges"

"I love myself, and I see myself in everyone"

Thanks so much for reading and I wish you the best of luck with whatever makes you happy in life 🍀

[syoddeye]

consequence / shopping

price x f!reader | 1.5k words series directory tags: stalking mention, white lies, jp fears no 'friend zone', entitled cats a/n: john price vs. his feelings. john price vs. old man allegations. john price vs. his barista . ☕

john’s grip tightens on the wheel as he turns onto her street. he’s imagined this moment since he set her in his sight. possessing the patience of a sniper comes in handy with endeavors such as this, and it’s good to pull a trigger that isn’t lethal for once.

she’s waiting outside. good girl.

nose-deep in her phone, she doesn’t notice him until he’s a building away. his heart jumps into his throat when her eyes lift, and her face follows. she squints, then shades her eyes with a hand. a smile breaks the mild confusion, and she rises to her feet from the steps outside her door.

he forces himself to relax, painfully aware of the intensity of his gaze. he can’t risk running her off, but he has to see it—the moment of realization.

~~

it cannot be the same car. calm down, you order yourself, plastering a small smile on your face as john rolls to a stop, grinning back through the window. it’s statistically impossible. there are thousands of cars in town, plenty of the same make and model. this is just the universe’s idea of a cruel joke: giving your favorite customer the same car you smashed your face and arm into. your good hand shakes as you open the door and sink into the passenger seat.

coincidences happen.

~~

“hey.”

“afternoon. you look nice.”

“yeah? i was worried you wouldn’t recognize me without the apron.” she says wryly, draping her bags over her lap.

i’ve memorized your face and more. which one would think would help decipher the minutiae of her expressions. does she recognize the car? remember it? she was drunk and crashed hard enough to break bone—fuck, he hadn’t thought of the effects of the impact. too caught up.

he watches her buckle, eyes falling to her cast. it’s filling with signatures fast. the space that held his number is covered in a drawing of a cat. all that remains is ‘john’. 

“did you draw over my number?”

“i didn’t think you’d want the free advertising.”

smart girl. the number isn’t traceable further than falsified records, but it's best to avoid nuisance. he lets the doodle eclipse his grand scheme and pretends to adjust the mirror. he’ll wait until the time is right. “that i don’t.”

the drive to her preferred market is ten minutes by car. she might’ve managed alone, but he’s done some of his best work in ten minutes. performed miracles and misdeeds. he spends this bit on recon.

he susses out a little more information about her life: she’s worked, on and off, as a barista for nearly a decade. she recently took in a kitten, the very one depicted on her arm, and named her chicken cutlet a tortoiseshell.

“it's all i had for food. now cece’s a snob.”

“points for uniqueness.” he grins and gestures at the doodle on her arm. though he doesn’t have much of an eye for art, it’s obviously stylized. “and creativity. bet you did her justice, like a regular artist.”

the comment, meant as a compliment, makes her wince. she ducks her head in poorly concealed shame, pretending to check something in her wallet. it comes out casually, like a weather report—she dropped out of an mfa program to move here, for the ex, a year ago.

the details resurrect his anger. 

the tremble in her hand tells him to leave it. he will. for now.

the car park is packed, and it’s all he can do to not celebrate when he finds a space on the first go. he cannot be much older than her, but he’d rather avoid feeding the ‘old man’ reputation his sergeants encourage.

she separates her reusable bags as they climb out of the car. “do you have any pets?”

he circles to her side and takes them without asking, “no. afraid my schedule doesn’t allow for it.”

“oh.” 

he beats her to the baskets, tossing her bags into the bottom, and she strolls past him. he traipses behind, head on a subtle swivel, inwardly tickled at how normal it feels. it’s not often he shops, let alone in the company of a bird. it makes him puff up. go a bit softer in the face, especially when a woman roughly his mother’s age gives them a long, wistful look in produce.

it’s nice playing house, even in the middle of a bustling supermarket, dodging the less spatially aware and rogue children. it strokes his ego to flex an arm over her head to reach the shelves she can’t and carry a bag of cat litter in the other. he cracks a joke about tinned fish, and though she doesn’t laugh, he can tell she wants to. how she ignores his suggestions and color commentary on other shoppers. it’s fascinating to watch her, all business, as if she were behind the coffee bar. tapping items off the list on her phone, triple-checking a recipe.

while she’s distracted, slowly loading the conveyor belt one item at a time, john pushes his luck. he slips his card and pays.

her focus breaks when she sidles up, reaching for her wallet, only for the cashier to offer the receipt. she takes it, confusion turning to understanding, and her jaw clenches. her thanks are muttered, and she promptly joins him in bagging what’s left.

he knows she’s upset before she speaks, practically punching items into the bag.

“please don’t do that again.” she whispers. “my wrist is broken. i am not broke.”

angry as she is, she sails out the doors without waiting. clearly expecting him to tote her bags like a porter and follow.

which he does, of course. it’s what he signed on for.

good view, at least.

the ride back to her place is quiet, but he feels the tension burning away with the light. it’s damn distracting how the sun plays off her skin and hair. ten minutes fly by. she turns to him as the car idles, a storm of thoughts in her eyes. severe, tempestuous, and pretty.

“park. you’re not off the clock.”

“yes, ma’am.”

the bag handles loop into one fist, and the litter rests on his shoulder. he beams, and with the complete confidence he usually carries himself, he starts up the steps of her building.

“uh…john?” 

he glances over his shoulder and sees her fidgeting at the bottom of the stairs.

“that’s…not actually my address.”

his brows raise, fall, and pinch in rapid succession. the minx. a fake address. smart.

she sheepishly apologizes on the walk to one street over and explains. 

“i mean, this part’s weird.” 

“what part?”

“befriending regulars,” she shrugs. “the counter’s there for a reason—to sling espresso, yeah, but it’s also a social barrier.”

“do you often befriend regulars?” he hopes not.

“god, no.”

thank christ. he’ll start memorizing faces on his next trip, just in case.

“but being polite to people is part of my job.”

he cracks a careful grin. “do you get reprimanded for that?”

her eyes roll. “ha. ha. no. my manager’s a coward and afraid of me. what i mean is, it’s a tightrope. be nice, but don’t be too nice to the wrong people, else they’ll stalk you or something.”

john’s gut tightens. what was his plan again? expose her? he manages a chuckle. “and am i one of those…wrong people?” effortless.

“well, you’re a minute from my kitchen with an invitation. so.” she smirks after a second. “are you fishing for a compliment? for me to say you’re special?”

heat shoots up his neck and colors his cheeks. “i am not–”

“relax. i’m joking. but you are the first customer i’ve brought back to my place.”

the phrasing instantly sets him on high alert. it could mean nothing. it could mean anything.

her place is markedly worse than her fake one. he does not like the look of the neighbors, but the exterior light reaches the walk. he bites his tongue when she veers to the side, cutting down a set of steep stairs to the basement. it won’t do, not long-term.

but the interior of her flat—it’s everything he did and did not expect. 

it’s sensibly furnished and lit to compensate for its floor plan and limited windows. it’s cozy and colorful, with artwork fixed to the walls and littering various surfaces. some pieces are more notable than others: tiny statuettes of women, a diptych of a cow, and a collage of what looks like found notes. in the living area, there is a console and a headset, a small collection of games and dvds, and ten too many knickknacks. a stuffed backpack occupies a seat at the table.

he moves mechanically behind her, toeing off his shoes and treading straight into the surprisingly decently sized kitchen. he sets the bags and litter down, rolling his shoulder as he soaks it all in.

might be his only chance, after all.

something bumps his shin. two big amber-colored eyes stare up at him, unblinking.

“you must be the famous cece.” 

“the one and only.”

the young cat weaves through his legs, then jumps, immediately sticking her pointy head into the bag containing the chicken. she meows, indignant, when her human automatically hooks her around the middle without looking and returns her to the floor.

“bad.” she murmurs, unpacking. “would you mind setting the litter next to the door down the hall?”  

john obeys, though he lingers outside of said door, staring through a crack into the dark of her room. she has a big, comfortable-looking bed. a shudder passes over him. an unhelpful throb. christ. feels like a fucking teenager. he pulls himself together, retreating toward the door to leave. probably overstayed his welcome.

just as he turns to say his goodbyes, she glares from the kitchen. around her neck, untied, hangs an apron—don’t be afraid to take whisks.

“where are you going? i’m making dinner.”

it’s not an invitation. it’s an order.

he slips his shoe off.

“yes, ma’am.”

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

I love it when Destiny takes time to show the smaller moments of the universe.

Eido nerding out over preserving culture, people celebrating the Festival of the Lost, baking cookies when the temperature drops, Zavala knitting, Osiris and Saint being tender, random guardians and their friends that we might never get another lore entry on, guardians who we get a handful of lore entries for their shenanigans, conversations about beliefs between characters we know and love, and so, so much more.

In the face of tremendous loss and pain, there are always moments of unconquerable joy and love, even if they are brief. Love can be found in every tale, every crevice, and every event in Destiny despite despairing circumstances and it wins. Maybe not immediately, maybe long after the lovers have perished to their situations, but it always triumphs. It’s seeds always burst through an inhospitable soil to grow into the shade others will lay under, resting their heads upon a person they would propagate a whole forest for.

It is the small moments like finding unlikely companions, enjoying a deeply brewed tea, or collecting candy on holidays that keeps people fighting for the ability to experience such delights.

Destiny is about a universe of people who will choose to survive and endure no matter the cost. It is the assuring sight of different species of children playing in the streets of the Last City that people will suffer time and time again to protect. It is the thought that there will always be a precious experience in life awaiting in the future that makes people want to even keep the very POSSIBILITY of suffering.

Eris has saved the universe to bring justice to her fireteam, protect humanity, and save the ones she loves like Ikora, Mara, and Drifter. That is enough.

Misraaks has helped us in our endeavors to protect Sol for his people and Eido, to see them prosper and grow. That is enough.

Some guardians may fight just to bring in enough glimmer to enjoy a drink at a tavern. That is enough.

Some people right after the Collapse may have continued on because they didn’t know what else to do, they didn’t know why they had it in their spirit to continue on upon a charred Earth. That is enough.

These are all enough to warrant the continuation of a universe that allows for these possibilities. These are enough and more to fight for with bleeding callouses and busted knuckles.

It is moments so fleeting and small that leave such an impression on us that we will fight against odds so enduring and large. We fight for justice, for hope, for good food, for the smell of blossoms in Spring.

We will do it over and over again for it is our right to determine our fates, no matter the indifference we receive from the universe itself and no matter the wants of those who equate the small to be inconsequential.

[printedword]

When he uses his official powers in any way, under the majority’s reasoning, he now will be insulated from criminal prosecution. Orders the Navy’s Seal Team 6 to assassinate a political rival? Immune. Organizes a military coup to hold onto power? Immune. Takes a bribe in exchange for a pardon? Immune. Immune, immune, immune. Let the President violate the law, let him exploit the trappings of his office for personal gain, let him use his official power for evil ends. Because if he knew that he may one day face liability for breaking the law, he might not be as bold and fearless as we would like him to be. That is the majority’s message today. Even if these nightmare scenarios never play out, and I pray they never do, the damage has been done. The relationship between the President and the people he serves has shifted irrevocably. In every use of official power, the President is now a king above the law. The majority’s single-minded fixation on the President’s need for boldness and dispatch ignores the countervailing need for accountability and restraint. The Framers were not so single-minded. In the Federalist Papers, after “endeavor[ing] to show” that the Executive designed by the Constitution “combines…all the requisites to energy,” Alexander Hamilton asked a separate, equally important question: “Does it also combine the requisites to safety, in a republican sense, a due dependence on the people, a due responsibility?” The Federalist No. 77 p. 507 (J. Harvard Library ed. 2009). The answer then was yes, based in part upon the President’s vulnerability to “prosecution in the common course of law.” Ibid. The answer after today is no. Never in the history of our Republic has a President had reason to believe that he would be immune from criminal prosecution if he used the trappings of his office to violate the criminal law. Moving forward, however, all former Presidents will be cloaked in such immunity. If the occupant of that office misuses official power for personal gain, the criminal law that the rest of us must abide will not provide a backstop. With fear for our democracy, I dissent.

— Justice Sotomayor, in her dissenting opinion

[xinxiaogato]

— love at first thrust

summary. as an ambassador from mondstadt, your goal was to persuade the duke of fontaine’s underwater fortress (who reportedly had a herculean physique and an absolute bakery) to agree with your plan on improving international relations. the last thing you anticipated was for him to agree to you getting his rocks off.

love interest. fem!reader x wriothesley.

warnings. unedited, 18+ content (mdni), nsfw, cursing, masturbation, voyuerism, size difference kink, cunnilingus, fingering, name calling (slut), slight orgasm denial, skin biting, almost a handjob, angst (somehow) and comfort, mentions of murder, mentions of pregnancy, porn w plot, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v, fondling, rough sex, impregnation, bdsm (handcuffs), soft dom!wrio.

word count. 5,303.

note. my first time dabbling in smut… to whoever is reading this that somehow knows me irl, pls turn straight around ! you are referred to as “reader” by the way.

romance schmomance. how did anyone expect wriothesley to allocate time in his schedule for a lover while properly running the fortress of meropide? his grace was perfectly content with teasing his two tsundere subordinates, who refused to face their feelings for each other. besides, love appeared too complicated of a matter, as evidenced by the prisoners he overheard lamenting on a day-to-day basis about their marital affairs and unsuccessful endeavors in flirting.

but sigewinne thought otherwise, pestering him recommending that he seek a partner because not only would it fulfill his social needs but also satisfy his sexual urges (he scrunched up his nose every time she made that point). frankly, all the duke needed was his right hand, some lotion, and a thirty-minute break of privacy.

…so what was a pair of eyes doing from the staircase to his office, staring incredulously at him fucking his cock into his curled fist during the thirty-minute break of privacy?

keyword: privacy, meaning no one was supposed to be in his office during this time!

a few minutes earlier…

“ah, ms. reader, right this way!”

an eager guard ushered you to an imposing set of metal doors to which your house back in mondstadt paled in comparison. as the guard, who appeared to be a rookie, fumbled with the keys to the administrator’s office, you turned your attention to the rest of the surroundings that seamlessly blended together due to the lack of decor. rusting pipes ran from the bottom up in austere grandeur, and warm lights were scattered across the stronghold, illuminating the faces of the few dozen or so prisoners wandering around the open space. 

although the conditions weren’t all sunshine and rainbows (literally, since the fortress is hundreds of feet under the surface), serving time in the fortress of meropide was bearable enough to the point that some convicts continued living there even after their sentences were up. this was the piece of information that piqued your interest during extensive research into the nation of justice, as access to rehabilitative programs while incarcerated had reduced the crime rate there.

thus, there you stood, prepared to present the ultimate strategy for promoting bilateral relations to the administrator of fontaine’s correctional institution. in exchange for advice from monsieur wriothesley on how to reform mondstadt’s prison system, the two neighboring countries could collaborate on an event similar to that of the “neighboring nations congenial poetry gala” between mondstadt and liyue.

it made sense since both fontaine and mondstadt were renowned for their romanticism, and the only other thing you could offer from your hometown besides poetry and artistry was… wine, which you knew wouldn’t fly. no government wanted more drunkards bumbling down their streets than they already had.

finally, the guard pushed the doors open (not without almost popping a vein) and gestured for you to enter monsieur wriothesley’s office, and once you did, you averted your gaze to the spiraling set of stairs.

however, prior to making your presence known, strange… grunting noises from the upper floor sent a shiver down your spine and planted you firmly to the ground. rapidly, your mind swirled with a million possibilities of what the source could be. although the duke was allegedly benign, he was still a warden through and through. was he personally punishing someone for their misconduct?

it frankly sounded quite painful, and you were getting worried that you came in at a bad time. after all, you did arrive an hour earlier than scheduled.

…one peek couldn’t hurt, right?

then you’ll be able to determine whether or not he needed a minute.

curiosity killed the cat, and that cat was you. because after gingerly ascending the staircase and stopping to be able to peek just above the metal floor, you chanced upon a scene that not even your wildest dreams could conjure.

the black-haired duke’s coat was popped open, with the hem of his dress shirt stuffed between his lips to muffle groan after groan that flowed past them. for several long seconds, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scars running down his neck and heaving pectorals, gleaming in a slight sheen of sweat.

and when you did manage to tear your eyes away, they instantly flitted past his abdomen (which needed its own place in a museum) to the sight of wriothesley’s large—and you meant large—appendage thrusting desperately into his calloused hand between his gargantuan thighs. a bit of precum dribbled from the tip, trailing down his length only to be pushed back up by his fingers and creating a frothy ring near the head of his cock.

you had to stifle a gasp behind your clipboard, trying to process what the hell was happening. the prison administrator and his little friend definitely needed a minute, so you quickly swiveled around to give them just that—only for the sound of his chair screeching backward to freeze you in your tracks.

“who goes there?” his voice boomed throughout the office.

shit!

your heels weren’t doing you much of a favor as you bolted down the staircase, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins overrode every inconvenience to get you to the doorway as fast as possible. however, you didn’t have the strength to budge the doors open (what were they made of? tungsten!?), and before you could even blink, wriothesley had you trapped between the only way out and his bulky figure.

“you thought you could get away?” he snarled, grabbing you by the shoulder (with the hand that was just wrapped around his dick, mind you!) to twist you around and get a good look at your face. your clipboard clattered to the floor, and you nearly screamed when his cock—which was somehow more enraged than he was—prodded against your stomach, making your insides feel like they were doing backflips.

you tried your best not to look at… it… as you spoke up to defend yourself. “sir, it isn’t what it looks like—”

“i think it’s exactly what it looks like,” he interjected angrily, thick eyebrows furrowed above a pair of piercing blue eyes. “what? did one of your fellow inmates dare you to snoop on the warden for blackmail? how many coupons did they offer? hmm?”

“inmates? coupons?” now your eyebrows were furrowed. “monsieur, if you could please let me explain!”

it took a second for wriothesley to regain his senses, and after noticing your foreign attire and trembling form, he retreated at once. “archons, i…” he stroked his face with his hand and covered his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. “i’m terribly sorry. i thought you were one of them.”

“them?”

he nodded dejectedly in response before dropping his hand to the side and meeting your eyes, but this time, it wasn’t with indignation. “yes, a group of ill-intentioned people recently formed in order to unmask my secrets…” he had to look away for a moment before continuing. “...one of them being what i do in my office during lunchtime.”

“...oh.”

“as for you…” over his broad chest, he crossed his arms that could crush watermelons with one flex (okay, maybe you were overexaggerating.) “how did you gain entry into my office? it should have been locked.”

you cleared your throat. “a guard let me in.” wriothesley parted his lips to question that, but you were already one step ahead. “he seemed new.”

the warden managed to put two and two together, and a sense of dread began consuming him from head to toe. “you’re… the envoy from mondstadt,” he realized, a taste in his mouth more bitter than the tea he oversteeped this morning. “i must say: you’re a bit early.”

you replied with a light shrug, “the cavalry is expeditious.”

“right. that’s… great.” he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “could… could you give me a minute? i would like to make myself presentable so that i can give you a proper introduction, and… again, i want to apologize for having you walk in on something so vulgar. i’ll be sure to compensate for it in any way possible.”

your original plan from the beginning was to give this man a minute, but… the longer you stood in his presence, the more aroused you felt. he was really handsome, standing many heads taller than you and practically oozing with sex appeal. the tidbits about his appearance that you heard through the grapevine in mondstadt couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. watching him jerking off earlier, there was definitely a moment when you wanted to replace his hand with your cunt.

pause.

this might be the only opportunity for you to break away from the perfect image you were constantly upholding. throughout your adolescence and young adulthood, you had trained to become a professional in your field and garnered copious experience in diplomacy so that you could obtain a high-ranking position in government. this caused you to miss out on a lot of the joys in life, including sex. that was the first time you had seen a penis in the flesh.

“did you say any way possible?” you inquired.

“of course, i’m a reasonable man. i doubt i’ll be opposed to anything during today’s negotiations.”

after a moment of hesitation, you braced yourself for an eternity’s supply of humiliation and let your last thread of sanity snap in two. you fell to your knees right in front of his throbbing member, which was still as hard as a rock.

“...then you won’t be opposed to this, right?” you murmured. in a bold move, you leaned forward to press your cheek against the side of his cock, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

wriothesley sharply inhaled through his teeth, blood rushing to his face as he took a step back. “what… what are you…!?”

but he wasn’t dumb. he knew what you were intending. however, this felt more like you were doing a favor for him when he was supposed to be doing one for you.

and do one he shall. 

in one frame, you were hunkered down on the floor in front of his grace, and in the next frame, you were being carried to the second floor of the office in his sinewy arms. you were in no danger of being dropped, but you clung onto his shirt regardless, squealing your head off and flailing your legs like a feral animal, which only added to wriothesley’s amusement.

“are you regretting your decision?” he asked, his lips curled into a smug smile. “i can always stop. just say the word.”

your heart was racing at a mile a minute as he kicked a coffee table out of the way and plopped you onto the couch. when he crouched between your legs, a sheepish you batted his greedy hands away and hurriedly shoved your thighs together. “wait, i… this is escalating way too fast!” you quavered. “are we about to…” do the devil’s tango? the pickle in the jar? the train into the tunnel!?

a gruff chuckle rumbled from his chest. “you were the one who initiated it,” wriothesley pointed out with a wolfish grin. “i’m just finishing what you started, mondstadter.”

“but i just wanted to help you with your… ‘problem’!” you shot back, cheeks rivaling the red of a tomato. “why am i suddenly on the receiving end!?”

“ah, that’s where you’re wrong, because this will help me with my problem,” the duke replied, tugging your pants down your hips to reveal your drenched undergarment. you instantly convulsed and buckled your knees as he pressed his thick fingers against your clothed pussy, and when he drew them back, a string of wetness extended from your underwear to his fingertips.

remember when wriothesley convinced himself that all he needed was self-love?

fuck that.

“your grace!” you cried out as he dove forward and, with his hands anchoring your thighs, began ravaging your clit through the fabric, his tongue swirling and swiping against it ruthlessly. you had not even a millisecond to breathe as your vision blurred from tears of unmitigated satisfaction. with little strength, you reached out to wrench at his dark locks of hair, which only spurred him on further to attack your quivering folds.

archons almighty, what would it feel like if he—

as if he was reading your mind, wriothesley peeled your panties to the side, and the roughness of his tongue along with his pointer finger sliding in sent your body into another realm of pleasure. if accidentally smacking the back of your head against the couch’s gilded crest rail wasn’t the reason you saw stars just now, then it undoubtedly had to be the duke’s skillful ministrations.

“you’re so responsive,” wriothesley murmured, his hot breath deliciously fanning your skin. you were going crazy from his nose nudging against your sensitive bud as he flattened his tongue to completely coat each and every taste bud with your essence, and his digit continued to slide in and out at an inhumane speed, coaxing more and more of your whines and moans. “fuck, and your slut pussy is taking my finger so well. how many people have gotten the chance to see this pretty view?”

pretty view? you mentally scoffed while struggling to keep your wits about. says him! not every day did a tall, dark, and handsome man lap at your arousal like it was his last meal! you questioned how he could even breathe down there.

“no, i… j-just… just you…” you managed between labored gulps of air, your cheeks flushed of color. “i… i’ve never… d-done this… before.”

in the midst of leaving a bite mark on the side of your thigh, wriothesley abruptly extricated his finger, which made your pulsating hole very unhappy. “are you saying this is your first time?” he asked in disbelief.

you nodded timidly. when he didn’t respond right away, you grew worried that he got turned off by your admission, but weirdly enough, he snickered.

“looks like we’re in the same boat,” wriothesley stated to your bafflement. having withdrawn his finger, he brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean of your fluids before returning to lightly thumb your clit using circular motions. you had to scoot away because how else were you going to speak clearly with him doing that!? 

“y-you’re a virgin!?” you spluttered, ogling down at this man like he had just grown a horn on top of his head. 

“way to rub it in,” he jeered at you in a mocking tone. “yes, i’m a virgin. what’s so surprising?”

“because… you’re you!” you stressed. “have you seen yourself in the mirror? it’s a crime for you to look like a sex god without having had sex!”

once again, wriothesley found himself enlivened by your visceral reactions. when an advisor informed him of a diplomat’s advent this week, the warden was ready to be bored to tears by another mundane businessperson. and could you blame him? a few weeks ago, an ambassador hailing from sumeru went on and on about an invention that they wanted to promote to the fortress of meropide’s inhabitants.

…that invention boasted a 41% success rate.

so imagine wriothesley’s gaping jaw when, the moment you bent your knees and voiced your offer, all of his expectations were chucked out of the window.

“‘crime’?” he echoed, followed by a husky chuckle. “i see what you did there. how does it feel to be in love with a criminal?”

a frown weighed down the corners of your lips. “hold on. i may or may not be succumbing to a criminal, but who’s saying i’m in love with one?”

“your body is telling me everything i need to know,” rizzley wriothesley crooned as he rested the side of his head against your thigh. “well, except for your name.”

“…reader,” you answered breathily. “my name is reader.”

“reader.” he nodded in approval. “well, reader, let me show you how we do it in fontaine.”

with newfound vigor, wriothesley mounted the couch so that he was now towering over you and interlocked his hands with yours, pressing them into the vermillion back cushions on either side of your head. as if he was communicating to you that you could no longer escape his advances, even if they became too much.

for some time, he gazed intensely at your blushing face, committing each detail to memory, before he bent down and connected his lips to yours. you tentatively reciprocated his tender kisses, moving your mouth in ways that were unfamiliar yet exhilarating, and shutting your eyes slipped the ground away from your feet and made you feel like you were floating. he let go of one hand to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, which grew into him absentmindedly caressing your cheek like you were made of glass. your neck tickled. your ear burned. every single touch felt like fire on your skin. every kiss was slowly melting your body into mush, melding your body with his. there was no longer a distinction between where you ended and where he began.

after you parted your lips to impart the permission wriothesley’s tongue frenziedly sought, it wasn’t long before the kiss spiraled into a battle for dominance—a battle you lost in the blink of an eye. you could taste remnants of yourself on his tongue from his previous indulgences, which successfully heightened how aroused you were tenfold. your free hand crept up and started kneading your breast through your blouse, your moans swallowed by wriothesley’s mouth.

when he noticed you began touching yourself, he pulled away to your dismay.

he really liked how you craned your neck toward him at the very end of the kiss when he disentangled from you, as though his and your pairs of lips were opposite ends of a magnet. he liked seeing you craving more.

he didn’t like that you were getting ahead of yourself.

“nuh-uh, love,” he whispered, pulling your wrist to the side. “that’s my job.”

wriothesley tugged the hem of your blouse up to expose your bra, and he whistled at the sight. “beige?” he just had to point out with a smirk, bearing a canine. “you really know how to rile me up.”

you internally facepalmed at morning you’s choice of wardrobe. “i was walking into this expecting to have a proper conversation, not to get laid.”

he cocked an eyebrow and suddenly went into business mode. “what was your proposition anyway?”

you couldn’t help but laugh out loud before grasping his large hand and placing it on your chest. “are we really about to do our meeting now?” you chided him.

“you and i are already ‘meeting’ in every sense of the word.”

an affectionate smile broke through your face, and you tugged the man forward by his red tie. “come here, you big hunk.”

wriothesley mirrored your warmth and captured your lips in a searing kiss before traveling down to pepper smooches on your neck and suckle along your collarbone, his teeth the paintbrush and your skin the canvas. he slithered his fingers into the confines of your bra and pinched your nipples to elicit more r-rated sounds from your mouth, and in the corner of your low-lidded eyes, you became very conscious of the reality that his dick would twitch every time you moaned.

anemo archon, forgive me for mine own sins.

“reader,” he gasped. he hunched forward and almost smothered you with his chest as you began to stroke his cock, a bolt out of the blue. you weren’t expecting him to display such a visceral reaction, so you halted at the base of his manhood (which your hand couldn’t even fully wrap around…)

“did i do something wrong?”

“no, not at all,” he affirmed strongly. “i think the problem…”

…was that the sensation of your touch felt astonishingly different to him greasing the pole. it was a shuddering ecstasy that sprinted along his body and unlocked the carnal desires he had kept stowed away.

the key to his dick heart was supposed to have been eternally lost at sea. that was something he was sure of. that was something every person who tried to get close to him was sure of. so he ignored sigewinne’s recommendations, he ignored the rumors of his impotence among the prisoners, and he tried to ignore the hot flashes that jolted him awake in the dead of night, reminding him again that he had always been devoid of love since the start.

but then you came prancing into his office, swinging that key around your finger.

wriothesley’s breathing became shallow, and he pressed his lips firmly into a thin, white line as he stared down at you. how were you shining so splendidly in contrast to the dull lights of his office? how did your frowning lips still look so kissable? how were you looking at him like you were seeing right through him?

he didn’t even know you.

was he deluding himself?

did sigewinne spike his tea?

should he keep going?

what if he hurt you?

a gentle tapping on his forearm hauled wriothesley out of his rumination. he realized he was sweating a lot.

“now i’m sure i did something wrong,” you said worriedly.

wriothesley swallowed harshly before shaking his head, his tufted black hair swaying from side to side. “no… the problem is that… i don’t think i can hold back.”

…

“then what are you waiting for?” you deadpanned. “are you into blue balling?”

wriothesley blinked. “uh, not necessarily…”

“then let’s do it on your table.”

…

“reader…” wriothesley covered his blushing face with the back of his hand. “has anyone told you how… forward you can be?”

a giggle bubbled from your throat. “i’m pretty sure my field requires me to be forward. is it a turn-off?”

“i couldn’t be happier,” he reassured you gladly, and you were soon swept up into another bridal carry. “i will warn you though. if you make a mess of my documents, there will be punishment.”

you smiled. “looking forward to it.” (hopefully, wriothesley didn’t notice he was already going to need new seat cushions after this.)

wriothesley set you down onto his hardwood table, your back toward him, and had you prop one leg up onto the edge, putting your pussy on full display for his enjoyment. he watched in a hypnotic trance as your fluids dripped like a leaking faucet, and he wanted nothing more than to plug you up and fill your needy cunt to the brim. the warden soaked his fingers in your juices to lather them over his shaft, but while he had one hand gripping your hip and the other lining his member up with your entrance, his muscles stiffened. you peeked at him from over your shoulder.

“blue balling bastard!” you almost shouted, but he appeared too distraught to be badgered.

“i don’t have a condom,” wriothesley moaned, falling forward and smacking his forehead against your shoulder. for the first time in a long time, he really wanted to cry. “i would have to walk over to the infirmary and grab one for us, but—”

“—i can’t wait much longer,” you two finished in tandem breathlessly, eyes fixed upon each other. in a matter of seconds, this became a pressing matter that left you and wriothesley in deep contemplation. two strangers—total virgins at that—were literally about to raw dog it. honestly, your parents would be bouncing off the walls over this since they always lamented their graying hairs yet shortage of grandchildren.

but wriothesley… you knew a man of his status was much too preoccupied with handling prison affairs as opposed to prison "affairs". although the iudex of fontaine would be anyone’s first thought at the word “justice”, the administrator of the fortress of meropide delivered his own fair share of justice to maintain order when fights broke out in corridors, to overlook the production of gardemeks, and to protect the peace he had fostered in this very structure.

these things were what made you hurriedly request an audience with wriothesley in the first place. his impressive accomplishments as the new leader of the stronghold were what brought the you from mondstadt to the him in fontaine. however, you now found yourself in a sticky situation that would burden wriothesley further if you two took this risk. a child between you and him… that hadn’t been in your agenda.

plus, the steambird would really get a hoot out of this. “breaking news: mondstadt ambassador walked into the fortress of meropide and walked out with a baby lump.”

so, you made up your mind.

“wrio—”

“will you let me come inside of you, reader?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, making your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. your vaginal walls automatically clenched around nothingness at the thought as you gasped and gaped back at him in bewilderment.

“what…? are you sure!?”

wriothesley nodded. “i-i promise, reader, to be a loving partner to you and devoted father to our child,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve dreamt of having kids with the person i cherish so that they can grow up in a household where they feel safe, but… my greatest fear in life is becoming the monster that… th-that my foster parents were to me and my adoptive siblings.” his face went white. he could feel himself on the verge of vomiting, which he swore he had rooted out long ago. the scars on his body had never felt more painful. “i know that that belief is unfounded, but… i’ve been a violent person since i was a teenager. since the day that i… i killed them.”

“so if you do not wish to bear a child with a person like me, i understand,” wriothesley avowed, his eyes turned down in shame. “i can find other means to make you feel good, and i’ll just… go to the restroom to finish my business.”

you were finally learning about the warden's haunting backstory, sealed behind his assertive exterior. immediately, tears sprung to the corners of your eyes. you twisted your torso to cup his face with shaking hands and look him square in the face.

“wriothesley… you are so much more than your past,” you insisted earnestly. “are you not aware of how incredible of a person you are? of how many lives you have changed for the better? you couldn’t change the past, so you made it your life mission to change the future of every person who’s living and breathing in this stronghold right now. you converted your suffering into something that led to the liberation of many others’.” you gave him a wobbly smile through the tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. “that’s why i wanted to meet you, wrio. i wanted to meet the man behind the operations, behind the smiles on these prisoners’ faces. so please… don’t ever think badly of yourself.”

as the color returned to wriothesley’s cheeks, the duke couldn’t look away from the eyes that sparkled up at him so brilliantly. it was mesmerizing. his heart had never felt this full, and he wanted it to be as close to yours as possible. without missing a beat, his arms wrapped around your body, lightly brushing against your nipples in the process and causing them to harden on contact. he pressed his entire frontside against your back, and you could clearly feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage (and his dick saying hi from between your thighs).

“you’re so good to me, reader,” wriothesley mumbled. “what did i do to deserve this?”

you laughed and caressed the side of his head. “i just told you, idiot.”

his signature smirk returned in all of its glory, and he trailed his hands down to rest on your hips. “hold onto something.”

“what? agh!”

your body lurched forward once wriothesley drove his cock into your sopping heat, every inch dragging along your walls until he reached your cervix and his pelvic bone was right against your ass. a guttural moan escaped as he remained perfectly motionless, reveling in the feeling of your pussy rippling along his length, and you clamped a hand over your mouth to mask the embarrassing noises seeping through. the pain was unexpectedly minimal, but now you had to deal with this enormous object penetrating you to your very core. and not a moment passed before he started pushing in and out of you, squelching noises rebounding off the metal surroundings as your bated breath was yanked from your throat. throughout wriothesley’s grunts of exertion, a moan poured past your lips at each thrust, his balls slapping against your puffy lips and the table legs screeching in reply. his hands slid up to mercilessly flick your nipples with his thumbs at a rate that engendered tightening sensations to build up inside of your lower abdomen.

“wrio!” you exclaimed, writhing in ecstasy. you didn’t think you could handle the pert beads on your chest being fondled in unison with him pistoning your cunt from the back for another minute. “wr-wrio…! hnngh… ah! i feel so w-weird… ah! nngh…!”

“it’s a good weird, yeah?” growled wriothesley amid nibbling on your earlobe. “i can tell by the way your womb is descending to meet my cock, just begging for my seed. and that’s exactly what i’ll give you.”

“nngh, i… i’m… a-agh!” you pathetically blubbered. a stream of saliva ran from the corner of your lips as he pounded into your tight channel with savage intensity, the whites of your glazed eyes beginning to show. “i-i think i’m gonna c-come…!” 

“shit…” he rasped, noticing the telltale signs of an orgasm building up in both of you. “me, too…” he roughly grabbed your chin, fingers digging slightly into flesh, so that he could witness your expression contorting with bliss as you reached your cusp. “i want you to take every drop of my cum, reader. every fucking drop until nothing but my essence flows from your depraved hole.”

you nodded and pursed your lips, overwhelmed by the persistent and passionate onslaught on your pussy that was utterly molded into the shape of his velvet-wrapped steel. “yes, p-please…! wrio, please shoot it inside of me!”

finally, wriothesley bit down on your shoulder and slammed home into your depths, burying himself inside of your womanhood while releasing thick ropes of semen. your muscles convulsed and clamped down onto his cock with a vice, milking it until he had emptied his balls completely. the light humming of the industrial fan above commingled with the heavy panting of the two bodies that have become one, drunk on the languid atmosphere.

“you’re so obedient,” he cooed, nudging aside a lock of hair that was clinging to your sweaty forehead, whereas you were still reeling from wave after wave of endorphins. as you endeavored to muster the strength to respond, wriothesley glanced down at his files freshly marinating in your juices. “well, for the most part,” he added. “what did i say about my documents?”

“i…” you scowled and snapped back at him haughtily, “i wasn’t trying to ruin them!”

his mellow chuckle resonated in your ears, and in the ensuing seconds, the sound of clinking metal pivoted your attention.

“well, you can’t argue that they’re illegible now,” he said, effortlessly restraining your wrists in handcuffs from archons knew where. you also came to the startling realization that his member hadn’t softened one bit since he came within your spongy walls. “and as the duke of the fortress of meropide, i must carry out punishment where i see fit.”

“…lord barbatos.”

“haha, i love you, too.”

(several days later, charlotte got her big paycheck after spotting another “meeting” between you and wriothesley behind café lutece.)

© xinxiaogato. please do not translate my work without permission or attempt to plagiarize it.

[grandisknight]

rafayel: an artist's nails

summary: It’s been a while since your last nail endeavor, and you seek out your creative lover to fill in the missing details once again.

tags: established relationship, fluff, silly rafayel, gender neutral!reader, kisses, light banter, nail polish

wc: 1.0k | (ao3)

a/n: hi hi! eek this is my first time posting like this to tumblr, i'm not too familiar with it so please forgive me for any mistakes (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i hope my short but sweet little headcanon does rafmc some justice! the idea came to me randomly while angst writing (hhhh) so here we are c:

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

“Again?” He looks down at you from the impressive height of his ladder, palette and brush paused in mid motion. The canvas stretching his wall had streaks of pale blue, contrasting the rich sapphire that lay underneath them. Another masterpiece in the making, and you’ve caught him at a somewhat opportune time to air out your proposal.

“Please? I promise it’ll be the last time!” You gave him your best pout, hands clasped together in a pseudo prayer.

“That’s what you said two weeks ago, my love.” Rafayel shakes his head.

“Ra—fa—yel!” You called out, purposefully stringing his vowels in a way that he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.

“Okay, okay. Give me a moment, yeah?”

Leaving his instruments behind, he descends from the perch of his ladder. Dusting off his hands on the edge of his slacks, he straightens his posture towards you with a few strides. Arms crossed over his chest, the warmth of coral and cooled blue examined your presence up close. “You don’t seem injured. Mission went well?”

“It did! But that’s not what I’m here for.” You flash your hands towards him, wiggling the tips of your fingers for dramatic effect. “Look at how much they’ve grown! They’re begging for a new design, and only one curated by Linkon City’s best painter could do the job.”

The bed of coral acrylic was slowly pushing past your natural nail, unflattering to the eye and no longer holding the fresh sheen it once had. It was long overdue for a retouch, and you trusted your boyfriend’s talented eye to decorate your fingers once more.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he half-heartedly remarks, but takes your hands into his own regardless. His fine fingers delicately trace over the rounded edges of your acrylics, tilting them alongside his head to capture their finish in the warm lighting of his art studio. “Hm… They are longer than before, I’ll give you that.”

An internal score in your mind was being kept, and you just landed your first point. “Exactly. So, I was thinking for the next design—“

“Woah, excuse you.” His fingers intertwined with yours, passing his warmth into your palms. He tugs you closer, hands closed like the prayer you presented just moments ago. Rafayel quirks a brow as he continues.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You paused, a blink of confusion crossing your face. “…Am I?”

The plush of his lips puff out like a fish, awaiting your realization. Ah. You had to pay the kiss toll first—how could you forget?

You met his pout halfway, lightly pressing a kiss to pay your dues forward. Rafayel quickly chases your leaning figure, peppering a second, and then a third, to the lips curling into a faint smile at his antics and he mirrored yours all the same.

“Okay—Raf—Mm!”

He swallowed your interruptions with ones of his own, a barrage of straight smooches fluttering over your mouth. Only after the nth kiss did he finally part, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles with a hum in satisfaction.

“Payment accepted.” Rafayel lowered your hands, only to gently tug them in the direction of his desk.

Pieces of sketch paper and paints, pencils and more laid across the surface as you approached. He lets go momentarily, pulling out a chair and swiping away some tabletop space, before patting on the cushion in invitation.

“Alright, why don’t we start sketching out your ideas, yeah? Let’s see if we can make this new set better than the last.”

…

No sooner than a week later did you return to Mo Art Studio, feeling particularly energized as you practically skipped into his living space.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Rafayel called out to you before you had the chance to speak, swiping another shade of cerulean over the canvas. He looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling at your appearance and brow upturned in curiosity. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Did you get them done today?”

You nodded, waving him down with an equally bright expression. “Take a break! I want you to admire your masterpiece.” With an outstretched hand, you await his descending figure in a similar sense of deja vu.

“Yeah? You’re already here though,” Rafayel teases, taking hold of your invitation in turn. “But alrighty. Let’s go.”

Natural habits led your bodies to walk past the floor to ceiling entrance and into the sands hugging his estate. Seagulls chirp overhead as the fragrance of salty seas sting your nose, welcoming in the warmth of sunshine and ocean views all around.

“Maybe the crab from last week is still around,” you mention. “I think it was this way—Ah!”

Rafayel snickers at your enthusiasm, but paused you short of your wandering in an effort to pull you closer to him. He raises your combined hands outwards, turning them in every direction as he observes the new design.

Speckles of pale white and faint pink hugged the tip of your nail, pearly effects blending into the azure gradient that filled the rest of the space. Light traces of a circle or two resemble bubbles, a key seashell charm on your pinky finger and an exclusive Lemurian insignia resembling the bond over his heart were all littered across the set.

He nods in approval, and you could practically see the sharp rise of his shoulders in pride as he spoke. “Ah, they turned out really good this time. I wonder whooo designed them.”

You lean into his playful stance, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watching as his skin flushes in an adoring rouge. “Thank you, my love. Next time, we should do your nails too!”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I want to have another pot with steam drawn by you again,” he retorts, laughing as you lightly pushed his shoulder.

You raised your voice in self-defense, offering him a scolding glare. “Hey! I told you it was a steamed fish. Steamed fish! You of all people should know that well!”

Your voices faded away as you left your footsteps in the sand, the low tides pushing to support the harmony of your banter as the sun slowly settled. Safe to say, you wouldn’t be letting go of these nails blessed by the ocean anytime soon.

[aspenforest732]

Bello Licentiae Chapter 4: Discoveries

Summary:

tw: arrest, mentions of: bribery, child endangerment, child abuse, and neglect Akira meets the League properly this time 'text' JSL Text thoughts

As Akira walked up to their door, they belatedly realized they didn't make enough onigiri to feed ten people. Maybe they already ate? With a huff, they jimmied the door and placed their crutches a little harder as they walked through the genkan to signal who entered. The smell of miso soup wafted out from the living room tinted with alcohol.

"Aki-tan!" Toga cheered, running full tilt at Akira out of the living room.

Startled, Akira pivoted to the side and whipped out a crutch against her shins. They blanched and quickly signed, ' Sorry! Wasn't expecting that, ' as they helped her up.

Dabi and Twice cackled from the living room as Magne ducked through the doorway, concern written on her features. "Are you kids okay? She didn't stab you, right?"

Gaze flicking between the two, Akira shifted slightly away from the towering woman. 'I'm fine, and no, Knife Dancer just startled me. I brought onigiri, although I wasn't expecting this many people, ' Akira signed awkwardly.

"Good, we told you to avoid that at least the first time," Magne gently scolded her. Toga pouted but let Magne herd her back into the living room. "My JSL is a little rusty, but that's a cute call sign for Toga. Come on, we'll introduce everyone properly now that you're one of us."

The first time? Akira hesitantly followed, giving a small, awkward wave as they eyed the cramped space. Shigaraki sat with his back against the closer armrest of the couch. Twice sat closest to him and Dabi on the far side. Toga flopped in between them as they sobered up under Magne's disapproving glare.

Kurogiri leaned lightly against a tiered cart with multiple types of alcohol and mixers set up by the sliding glass doors. Magne grabbed a fancy pink drink off it and settled on one of the floor cushions between a tense Aoyama and Mr. Compress. He tipped a cup of tea to her that was definitely not from the apartment. Spinner stood brooding on the far wall while looking out onto the balcony, which was empty of even stray birds.

Akira froze, lightly worrying their lip as all eyes turned to them. After a moment, realization crossed Dabi's face and he stood up. "Double Trouble, off. Stabby, slide over by Hand Job." Shigaraki bristled at the nickname but just flipped him off as Toga slid over.

"Okay," Twice piped up. "Fuck off!"

He scrambled off the couch when Dabi swirled cerulean fire from his hand. Akira flinched, taking half step back. ' It's fine, I can manage for today, ' they hurriedly signed.

"Pipsqueak, you're fine," Dabi drawled as he settled in the middle of the couch. "They're just here to officially meet you." His calculating eyes promised a conversation after they left, but his body language held the protective tension they'd come to recognize whenever he spoke of the League.

Akira hesitantly moved to the couch and set their crutches against the side furthest from Shigaraki. Dabi lightly rested an arm across their shoulders without weighing them down. They let themself lean into the grounding touch while looking around at the assembled villains.

After a long moment, Kurogiri broke the silence, "Would you like some tea?"

Akira nodded and busied themself with taking the yaki onigiri out of their backpack. They set the bag of treats on the low table next to a pot of miso soup and unzipped their dedicated medical compartment for some cold compresses. Magne introduced herself with the call sign Polaris, Aoyama said Sparkles was fine, Mr. Compress with Marbles, Shigaraki with Calamity, Spinner with Gecko, Kurogiri with Black Fog, Toga liked Knife Dancer, and Twice with Double Trouble.

"Are you okay, Aki-tan?" Toga asked, leaning forward to look at them more closely past Dabi.

Akira nodded and gestured for Dabi to explain as they unhooked the lower part of their pants and adjusted their braces to hold the compresses in place.

"Their family's a bunch of bastards like my old man, so they need pain management," Dabi said bluntly. Akira snorted but nodded again as they felt the room refocus on them. Sitting back up, they noticed Aoyama in particular looking at them strangely. He quickly looked away, taking interest in his own tea.

"Why'd you main hero brat if your family's so awful?" Shigaraki spat out.

Akira took a long swig of tea before signing, ' Justice. Or revenge, depending on how you look at it. ' Chamomile. Good for calming nerves. After a moment of focusing on the warmth from the mug, they added, ' All for One offered the resources and quirks I need to carry that out. His solution would've resulted in the least deaths and least innocents and civilians in danger. '

"My dear, we would certainly like to help you take down the Inoue. I think I speak for all of us when I say that from what we've seen of you, they must be truly horrific individuals," Mr. Compress said.

Akira shook their head, ' There's not much you can do right now without the Doctor and All for One. They have the quirks I need for testing the viability of my Plan A. Since Wildfire said everyone was here, I'm assuming you don't have a way to contact the Doctor? '

"No," Kurogiri said before Dabi finished interpreting. Akira looked over to him in surprise even as the mist briefly flickered and shifted. After a moment, he continued, "Will you require contact with the Doctor before you start working with us?"

Akira swallowed thickly around the lump in their throat and took another sip of tea. Eyeing the League, they tried not to linger too long on Dabi. Who knows what they'd discovered about his situation. ' What would you want me to do? All for One never got to specifics. '

"Sparkles told us about you and the green brat's habit of cataloguing peoples' quirks, strengths, and weaknesses," Shigaraki said, standing up with a gaming console hanging from its wrist strap. "Bring us some of your assessments on the students and teachers, and we can talk."

Akira briefly froze before letting their now-shaking hands set the cup of tea on the low table. ' I'm not giving you information that could get them killed ,' Akira signed stiffly as they tried to hide the tremors. ' You can't forcefully take them, either, since they're heavily encrypted. '

Shigaraki scowled and started scratching at his neck, drawing Kurogiri closer. Akira cocked their head as they recognized the agitation and the scar patterns. With a glance at Dabi, they dug back into their pack and pulled out moisturizer. ' Pink Queen insisted I add it to my kit. This should help Hand... Calamity, ' Akira explained as Dabi gave an amused snort at their slip.

Kurogiri shifted back to them and asked, "What is that?"

' Moisturizing cream? Pretty sure they make ones specifically for dehydration quirks, too. I thought the scar patterns looked a bit off for disintegration... ' Akira's fingers twitched towards their notebooks, but they just made a mental note to correct their entries later. As Kurogiri helped Shigaraki apply the cream, Akira was struck by a thought. They reached back into their backpack and fished out two of their notebooks.

Aoyama's eyes went wide as he stiffened, and Spinner finally looked up with interest. His voice dripped with contempt, "So what, now you're going to help us?"

Akira waved him off as they flipped to the entry for Shigaraki. All the villain entries were in plain text, so they just erased his quirk description and scribbled down a few notes next to questions about the scar patterns and lingering effects. ' I have entries like this for each of you. I can give my analysis, and if you answer my questions, I can tailor it more. ' Akira flipped to Toga's entry and handed it over.

She pouted, "What do you mean, 'severe fluctuation repercussions?'"

'You don't drink blood on a regular basis, right?' At Toga's nod, they continued, 'Quirks fueled by blood require daily intake. Otherwise, you go into starvation mode, which negatively affects your physical and mental health. You wouldn't need much, only twelve ounces or so once you get used to not needing to gorge yourself.'

"Do me!" Twice said eagerly before his expression under the mask darkened. "We don't need to know more about our cursed quirk," he snapped.

Letting Toga keep the notebook for now, Akira hesitantly signed, ' I was actually hoping to get your help at some point. I'm trying to figure out an aspect of my own quirk that is similar to yours and Ectoplasm's. My clones should theoretically be able to use my quirk, but I'm struggling to get them to activate it. Your quirk is one of the few Stranger primaries I've seen trained. Knife Dancer's is another, but blood quirks work very differently. ' They passed their nomu notebook to Dabi to give to Kurogiri, who watched them with an unreadable expression obscured by the haze. ' Calamity's entry is later in the notebook Knife Dancer has, but this is what I have on you and other nomu. '

"Kurogiri's not a nomu," Shigaraki snapped, but he seemed marginally more relaxed with the moisturizer shining on his neck.

Akira cocked their head, ' You're listed as one, though, in All for One's files. I didn't look much into your file since I was pretty familiar with your quirk, but... ' Taking in the League's shock, including Kurogiri, they frowned. ' You really didn't know? How far back can you remember? '

Kurogiri hesitated then his mist started to distort and whip about, exposing flashes of a more solid form underneath. Shigaraki stumbled back as Magne leapt to her feet and took an uncertain step forward, hand outstretched. After a moment, the mist settled and Kurogiri answered flatly, "I can recall very little before All for One. Approximately fourteen years ago."

Akira squinted at Kurogiri, trying to make out the flash of a face they saw underneath. ' We can try to find out who your base is from breaking down your quirk but seeing your face would probably help. '

"I..." The mist distorted and stretched as Kurogiri clutched his head. Leaning forward supported by Dabi's arm, Akira could just make out ashy, tanned skin and fluffy blue hair before it settled again, and Kurogiri stiffly straightened. "That will be unnecessary."

Something about the blue hair tugged at the back of their mind, but Akira brushed it to the side as a wren darted onto the balcony, landing to rest on the railing. Their phone dinged a reminder. ' The arrest should be happening soon. I don't know if you want everyone here...? ' Akira trailed off, glancing between Dabi and the others.

Dabi huffed and started playing with a small flame over his knuckles, "You should go before someone sees you. You've met Pipsqueak now, so fuck off."

"Bye, Aki-tan," Toga waved, tossing back their notebook before she followed the group through Kurogiri's gate. After a moment, Kurogiri gave them the nomu notebook back then disappeared through his own gate.

Akira slumped back into the couch, utterly drained. Curling up, they switched on the news as Dabi lazily rolled a glare their way. "So, All for One?"

Akira silently groaned and shifted to lean against Dabi, carefully avoiding his skin grafts. As they explained what happened after All for One took them, Dabi carded his hands through their hair and awkwardly rubbed gentle circles on their back. As Akira finished explaining why they couldn't go to the heroes they otherwise trusted, Dabi froze and stared at the screen.

Embarrassed heat flooded their cheeks as Akira remembered why they'd requested the weekend off campus in the first place. They jolted up, signing a quick ' sorry ' and setting up the onigiri and tea. Tsukauchi, Fat Gum, and Present Mic led Endeavor in quirk suppressant cuffs out of his agency while sporting a few burns that seemed mild from what they could see. Eraser slipped away with a flicker of movement the reporters didn't comment on. Endeavor was clearly fuming and glared daggers at the arresting heroes and any who dared come close to the group as he was roughly maneuvered into Tsukauchi's patrol car.

Dabi stared at the screen as the reporters started speculating on the charges and whether the people arresting Endeavor were under some kind of quirk. Akira hesitantly started to reach out but retracted as they realized he wasn't aware of his surroundings at the moment. Instead, they poured a bowl of soup and pressed it into his hands. His shaking hands slowly slowed as warmth seeped into them.

Once Dabi's fingers curled around the bowl instead of simply supporting it, Akira shuffled a little closer and draped a cool, damp towel on his neck. Eventually, the news cut to a press conference hosted by Tsukauchi and Fat Gum giving an overview of the charges of child abuse, neglect, bribery, and child endangerment. Dabi finally let out a shaky breath and set the soup down before reaching a hand up to the towel and glancing over to Akira.

"Hey, Pipsqueak," he said with a rough voice. "It's finally happening, huh?"

' Yeah, ' Akira smiled back, ' it finally is. '

Both jumped as Akira's phone dinged several times in a few seconds. Unlocking it, Akira snorted and showed Dabi.

flamingo: did you know about this?

what did he mean four counts?

child endangerment not manslaughter?

is Toya alive?

Sorry, he probably changed his name

reaper: yes, all Endeavor's children

Akira hesitated, looking to Dabi. "Pretty bird can figure it out himself," he drawled.

flamingo: he's got a blue fire quirk

probably some scarring from Sekoto Peak

Dabi opened his phone as Akira muted theirs, the chimes grating on their nerves. Akira looked over and gave a small, lopsided grin.

wildfire changed unknown's name to flamingo

wildfire: stop spamming my friend

flamingo: ???

Who's this?

Wait

Are you the sometimes nice one?

Dabi rolled his eyes and flipped Akira off as they silently snickered.

wildfire: mcnugget, the don't spam me was implied

flamingo: *gasp* I thought I was a flamingo!

When did I get downgraded to a chicken nugget?!

...or is that an upgrade for you? 😉

I'm more of a fried chicken man myself, but I don't judge

Akira groaned and lightly shoved his upper arm before teasing, ' Kami, why did I think this would be a good idea. '

Dabi didn't quite cackle but it was close enough for Akira to relax back into the couch. Keigo could be a good distraction for now, the bi disaster continuing to flirt with their roommate from the rolled eyes and light blush creeping onto his cheeks. The Mad Banquet group chat, which now included Shoto, had a video call going, but Akira let the others handle it since they hadn't been tagged.

Akira spent the rest of the day making sure Dabi ate and felt safe while he made poor attempts to flirt with Keigo. As the last beams of sunlight filtered through the doors, Dabi turned to Akira with a serious frown. "You should have someone in your network you can talk to about this. If you can't get in touch with Fat Gum, you should talk to Aizawa on Monday at the latest. You're not doing this without someone on the outside."

Akira nodded, letting out a breath in a woosh. ' Thanks. I probably shouldn't be late to my own send-off. Don't wait up. '

The much more tolerable night air still left a light sheen of sweat on Akira as they took the slightly longer way to base. They passed a few familiar faces on the mostly barren streets and stopped to reassure them that yes, they were fine but no they wouldn't be around as often.

As Akira made their way deeper into Blue Fang territory, the hair on the back of their neck rose, and Akira made a point to not check over their shoulder every few steps. They adjusted their path to be more directly on Eraser Head's patrol route for the night, but the feeling of eyes on them only increased. About halfway to base, Akira purposefully stumbled and checked the rooftops just in time to see a familiar shadow duck back.

With a heavy sigh, Akira ducked into an alleyway and gestured at the roof with one of their crutches. ' I know you're there, Eraser. Why are you following me? '

Eraser lowered himself into the alley past a nesting pigeon that cooed at being disturbed by his capture weapon with a huff. "I wanted to check how you were doing after the arrest today.'

Akira rolled their eyes, ' You would just ask if that was the case. You gave me a phone for a reason. ' They rolled some of the tension form their shoulders, wincing slightly at the crackles.

"You're walking alone through gang territory – yes it's your own, but still – at night," Eraser stared flatly. "Is there a reason someone isn't with you?"

Akira shrugged, clock ticking in their head as they tried to act casual. ' Roommate's had a rough day, and base isn't that far. Didn't think I needed someone with me 24/7. '

Eraser sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You were kidnapped by the League, which has a long-distance warper. One of the conditions for you leaving campus was that you wouldn't be alone."

Akira bristled, gaze snapping up into a glare. ' I'm fully capable of getting away or at a minimum getting help! Why do you think I stick close to your patrol routes? If something happens, I just warp to a roof and start hopping to where I see or hear you. ' Aizawa snapped his mouth shut and stared at Akira. They pulled back slightly at his confusion. ' Was that not obvious? Sticking to your routes is a roundabout way to get to any safe house, so I assumed you'd notice. '

"Are you alright, kiddo?" a familiar voice called from the mouth of the alley.

Pivoting around, Akira smiled brightly at Cho as ey eyed the pair. They signed ' safe adult ' and eye relaxed. Turning to the hero, Akira signed, ' Just checking in. Not a great look to onlookers for an adult to be towering over a child. '

"Weren't ey the night cashier for the corner store?" Aizawa asked, eyes darkening slightly as Cho froze.

Akira sighed, ' Yes, and ey've helped many people out of bad situations with that trick. I didn't trust you that much yet, so ey got me out of a compromising situation. ' They gestured for em to go on, repeating the sign for ' safe adult ' but pushing it forward slightly. Catching on, Cho nodded and continued on eir way.

Taking in Eraser's slightly more vigilant than usual posture and tension, Akira sighed. ' Would it make you feel better for me to ask who's available to walk me there? '

"I'd feel better if I walked you there," Eraser said, expression tightening as he peered at them. "I'm not losing you again."

' And what would you do with that information? ' Akira asked slowly and pulled their phone out.

"What makes you think I don't already know its location?" Eraser shot back, crossing his arms.

Akira gave him an incredulous look. ' It hasn't been raided yet. We recognize the delicate balance between helping the community and stopping crime, so we give you the courtesy of not putting the decision in your hands when possible. '

Eraser rattled off base's address.

Akira froze in their one-handed typing of a message to Boss and slid their phone back into their pocket. ' How long have you known? '

"The trafficking investigation," Eraser said simply. "I needed to know who would be handing off one of my kids, and watching your base was the logical choice."

Just over a month and nothing's happened... Akira quickly deleted their message to Boss and instead informed her of the development. ' And why haven't you initiated a raid since then? There would've been sufficiently illegal deals for you to have sufficient cause several times over by now. '

"I'm aware of Fat Gum's arrangement with gangs in Esuha," Eraser started, eyes darting to their phone as it lit up. "I'd like to work towards something similar with the Blue Fang, and he's been advising me on gaining their trust."

Glancing between him and their phone, Akira eventually replied, ' Boss wants to meet you. She's not happy about your spying but understands the complexity of the situation we were in. You're fine escorting me back, but you're to stay on the ground. While we're in base, refer to me as Mortis. '

Eraser raised an eyebrow but nodded and started to lead the way. "Your hero name is your street name?"

Akira smirked slightly, ' Of course, that way people from around here can immediately recognize who I am. It's just Mortis, though. ' Their expression fell at the reminder, 'Umbra is the name my twin and I picked out. '

Akira occasionally caught glimpses of runners and muscle spreading out in a net formation as they drew closer to base. A glance at Eraser told them he noticed it, too, as his neutral expression ticked into a slight frown and his gait became a little more tightly coiled. Mortis hoped the talk wouldn't come to that, but they couldn't blame Boss for being cautious of who would be entering and milling about the area.

As they entered base, the few heads in the room turned to scrutinize them. Ayaka and Azumi were fortunately absent, only Haru, Isao, Au, and the night's bartender, Itoh, present.

"Eraser Head, Mortis," Au started, pushing off from the wall. "Boss will meet you in her office. Mortis, would you feel more comfortable having Haru or Isao with you?" As Mortis started to protest, Au narrowed her eyes. "You're getting one of them, nonnegotiable."

Mortis huffed and signed for Haru. He was Quirkless, so Erasure would be of limited use if it came down to a fight. He startled but gave a warm smile to Mortis and a calculating look to Eraser. Placing himself on the opposite side of Mortis, Haru's suspicion was met with a steady, protective look from the hero. Mortis sighed and pushed on, leading the group to Boss' office as Au joined behind them.

"I hope you understand our position, Eraser Head," Boss said as Mortis and Eraser sat down. "We do our best to respect your boundaries as an underground hero, and here you come knocking at our door with the threat of dogs hot at your heels."

She put up a hand as he opened his mouth. "That's not to say I do not also understand your position, but this puts our tenuous relationship on rocky ground. Up until now, I have respected Mortis' need to keep your personal affairs private for the sake of their relations. But that was always contingent on you or the information not posing a threat to my people."

Boss leaned forward, hands forming a pyramid over her desk as her eyes searched his face with a dangerous glint. "So, tell me, Shouta Aizawa," Eraser stiffened near imperceptibly at his civilian name, "are you a threat?"

Notes:

comfort? In one of my hurt/comfort fics? Unheard of XD Fun fact: the hand print in Akira's design is specifically to leave a mark from necrosis. That no longer lines up with my story's canon but I've kept the design element because it's a nice distinctive feature that's easier to replicate and recognize than their eyes. Along those lines, I should technically warm up their skin tone since the initial ashiness was (I think) from anemia due to their constant fluctuation at the start of Mortem ad Wrens, but meh Note for the Twice has DID tag: his characterization does start out as pretty canonical because everyone is off-kilter. I have a whole section in my Characters document for alters with triggers, personality, etc. so it does move to better representation as the story goes on. I guess another fun fact: my initial deep dive into DID was because of a Big Hero 6 fanfiction. The author wanted to give people a better look at what at least a 2-alter system looks like irl, and it piqued my interest. Since then, I've been more conscientious of doing research before writing about anything even in fanfiction. Me: oh we'll have a nice lil scene reinforcing the positive aspects of their relationship with Dabi Also me: takes like 1600 words to get the two alone

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[faithfulren]

field trip bonding

hey guyss! sorry i haven't been posting lately, i haven't had the motivation :((

during a school field trip to a hero agency, you and izuku midoriya get separated from the group. as you explore the agency together, you share your dreams and aspirations, forging a bond that brings you closer than ever.

----

the excitement in the air was palpable as your class arrived at the hero agency. this wasn't just any agency; it was the renowned agency of pro hero endeavor. you could feel your heart race with anticipation, and you knew you weren't the only one. your classmate, izuku midoriya, was practically vibrating with enthusiasm beside you.

"midoriya, this must be like a dream come true for you," you said, smiling at the green-haired boy.

izuku blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "y-yeah, it really is. i can't believe we're actually here!"

as your teacher began to lead the class through the agency, you found yourself lagging behind, mesmerized by the various hero memorabilia displayed in glass cases. izuku noticed and slowed his pace to match yours.

"look at this!" you exclaimed, pointing to a framed photograph of endeavor in action. "isn't it amazing?"

izuku nodded vigorously. "absolutely! endeavor's techniques are incredible. he's known for his relentless pursuit of justice and his intense training regimen."

you admired izuku's passion for heroes, which mirrored your own. the two of you continued to explore, occasionally stopping to marvel at the displays. it wasn't long before you realized the rest of the class had moved on without you.

"uh, midoriya?" you said, glancing around. "i think we might have lost the group."

izuku's eyes widened. "oh no! we should try to catch up."

you both quickened your pace, but the hallways of the agency were like a maze. despite your best efforts, you couldn't find your classmates. Instead of panicking, you decided to make the most of the situation.

"hey, why don't we explore a bit more?" you suggested. "we might find something interesting."

izuku hesitated but then nodded. "sure, let's do it."

as you wandered through the agency, you found yourselves in a training room filled with various exercise equipment and holographic simulation machines. izuku's eyes sparkled with excitement.

"wow, this is where the heroes train!" he exclaimed. "imagine how many heroes have honed their skills right here."

you smiled at his enthusiasm. "it's inspiring, isn't it? seeing all this makes me want to work even harder to achieve my dream."

izuku turned to you, curiosity evident in his gaze. "what's your dream?"

you took a deep breath, feeling a bit vulnerable but deciding to share anyway. "i want to be a hero who can make a difference in people's lives. someone who can bring hope to those who need it most."

izuku's expression softened. "that's a wonderful dream. i know you'll achieve it."

"thanks, midoriya. what about you? what's your dream?"

izuku's face lit up. "i want to be a hero like all might. someone who saves people with a smile, no matter the odds."

you felt a surge of admiration for him. "i believe you can do it. you have the heart of a hero."

izuku blushed at your words. "t-thank you. that means a lot."

just then, you heard footsteps approaching. your teacher appeared, looking relieved.

"there you two are! i've been looking everywhere for you. come on, let's get back to the group."

as you rejoined your classmates, you couldn't help but feel that something special had happened during your time alone with izuku. you had seen a side of him that few others had, and it made you appreciate him even more.

back on the bus, you sat next to izuku, and the two of you continued to chat about heroes, training, and your shared dreams. by the time you arrived back at school, you felt a deep connection with him that you knew would only grow stronger with time.

as you stepped off the bus, izuku turned to you with a shy smile. "thanks for today, y/n. i had a great time."

you smiled back, feeling your heart flutter. "me too, midoriya. maybe we can do something like this again, just the two of us."

izuku's eyes widened slightly before a soft blush spread across his cheeks. "i'd really like that."

you took a deep breath and gathered your courage. "so, how about this weekend? we could go to the new hero exhibit at the museum."

izuku's smile grew brighter. "it's a date."

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you. "it's a date."

as you walked home together, you couldn't help but feel that this was the start of something truly special, a bond that would only grow stronger with time and shared dreams.

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (2)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer’s late-night endeavor is teased as a new case arises. wc: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+ content, graphic detail of murder

A/n: thank you for all the love it’s very much appreciated! also i want to remind you that this will be a long series, but if you like a murder mystery with a hint of humor and smut, then by all means please continue :3

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

BEING CALLED IN AT NIGHT WAS SOMETHING SPENCER WAS USED TO. It was part of his job. The moment he accepted to be part of the Behavior Analysis Unit at Quantico, he knew the downside of it all. The long hours and pressure to perform the job while working with some of the most dangerous and violent individuals could potentially affect him physically and mentally.

But above all that, he always looked at the bigger picture. His job was to bring justice by catching all the perpetrators of each crime he was assigned with. It was a very dangerous job yet he couldn't imagine his life without lending in his time and intelligence to catch the 'bad guys on the loose'—as Garcia would often put it. So having his dearest friend call him at two o'clock in the morning was something that occasionally occurred. He really didn't mind it.

Until tonight.

For the first time in his eleven years working as an FBI agent, Spencer wished the bad news could wait at least in the morning. By then he would have more time to spend his night with the most irresistible woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

He shook his head. Guilt was a complex, powerful emotion and it was what he was feeling right now. A dead body was found and all he could think about was the beautiful stranger who was now more than an enigma than she ever was. Even when he had seen her in her barest form, tucked underneath his warm body. Even when his hands had roamed around every corner of her luscious curves, her desperate moan sounded like the most beautiful melody to his ears.

God, he needed a drink. No, not alcohol, he wasn't one to drink liquor anyway. Well, excluding a few hours ago when sitting all alone waiting for his friends without holding any type of alcoholic drink seemed rather uncommon. He was already feeling out of place the moment he entered the dimly lit bar, his eyes scanning for any familiar faces but being greeted by none.

So ordering a bottle of cold beer seemed ideal as he sat by the bar on his own. He didn't even drink the whole liquid, merely gulping a sip or two before it became a mere prop for blending in with the crowd.

If it wasn’t for Garcia coaxing him into joining her and the girls for a night out in the city, Spencer would still be at the office, his nose buried in the paperwork he needed to finish. But Penelope Garcia was a force not to be underrated. She had a way with words and persuasion, thus Spencer found himself agreeing to spend the night with his peers.

Besides, he enjoyed being around them. He considered the people he worked with as more than mere colleagues. He had spent so much time with them that the bond developed was incredibly special and strong. He considered them as a sort of dysfunctional family in some ways, but it was a family nonetheless. It was a very unique relationship and a special one that he took pride in working with and he was very grateful to be a part of it.

But it didn't stop him from being mad at the fact they had bailed on him at the very last minute.

Fine—a little bit mad. They all seemed to have good excuses for their sudden absence. JJ had to drive back home for her sick son, Prentiss was called back into the office by their unit chief Hotch, and Garcia... well, her answer was pretty vague. All she had said over her frantic call was, "I'm so sorry, boy genius, I need to take a rain check tonight. I'll call you later!"

Then Spencer found himself in a situation he would never imagine being, sitting by himself at the most sociable place he could ever think of.

He needed to leave. The music bouncing over the stereo suddenly sounded too loud, and even though there weren't too many people inside the place, it was still enough to make his demeanor shut down from the several conversations floating in the air.

And don't get him started on the number of pathogens clinging to every nook and corner of this place. He shuddered at that thought as he once again wiped down the bar surface with another pile of napkins he requested from the bartender, who by the looks of it, was starting to eye him with annoyance.

A man suddenly pushed him from behind and went on his way without apologizing. Spencer made a mental note to never agree to another social request without a companion at his arrival. He was feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

His fingers hastily tightened around the strap of his bag, ready to flee the scene when a sudden faint scent of chocolate fluttered through his nose.

Delicious, mouth-watering chocolate.

Spencer had always been conscious of his surroundings. The nerves in his brain would work their way into absorbing all kinds of entities that triggered his senses, and chocolate was a scent he could easily make out.

Chocolate smelled like... well, heaven. It had a sweet, decadent scent that was just divine, triggering all sorts of happy, positive emotions and reactions. He could point out a lot of facts about why roasted cocoa could trigger serotonin throughout one's body, but his brain was too busy trying to pinpoint the source of its scent.

Then he felt movement to his right and the scent lingered around the air like a delicious blanket coating his senses. And there she was—looking divinely gorgeous like heaven on a pair of legs.

Spencer knew there was no singular answer to describe one's beauty, as beauty was subjective and could be defined differently by each person. He also considered himself being very old-school as he perceived beauty through kindness and intelligence. Yet he was still a hot-blooded man and he wasn't going to lie; the woman sitting in front of him was physically attractive and pleasing to the eye.

The way her eyes lit up as they settled on him tightened the knot in his stomach. He might not have much experience with the opposite sex, but he knew when one was interested in his presence, and with that thought in mind he felt rather pleased and flattered.

His eyes roamed around her features; her glazed eyes, her high cheekbones, the delicate shape of her nose, and her plump lips that seemed to look so soft. It wasn't until later in the night he came to the conclusion that they were much softer than they looked. Because tasting her mouth was completely different than simply staring at it.

Spencer didn't know how touch-starved he was until he pressed his lips onto hers, lips that were incredibly soft yet turned every inch of his body very hard. He felt immensely dizzy with need as he nipped her bottom lip, feeling intoxicated each time she squirmed in his arms, her soft body pressing against him, making it more and more difficult to clear his mind with her hands between his legs—

"Late night?"

Spencer looked up. He could feel the blush creeping along his cheeks as if being caught having these inappropriate thoughts. Derek Morgan stood by his side, eying the amount of sugar stashed into the cup of coffee in his hand. To be fair, he really did need something that could wake him up and break him from going down memory lane again.

"Very," he murmured. He proceeded by mixing his caffeine with a spoon, unaware of how Morgan was watching him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"My man," Morgan teased. Spencer sensed the taunting edge in his voice and turned around.

On a normal occasion, he would deny the suggestive tone Morgan would often taunt. His friend had a way of teasing him in what seemed to be simply goodhearted banter. But Spencer wasn't exactly a good liar. He was already quite flustered by the topic of conversation and the moment he opened his mouth, he knew he would only make things worse.

So instead he kept his silence and sipped on his drink, ignoring the grin plastered on Morgan's face as if an epiphany had aroused him in his wake.

"My man," Morgan repeated, wrapping a playful arm around his shoulders. "What has kept the young Dr. Reid awake on this lovely night?"

He shoved his arm away. "I wouldn't consider myself youthful anymore."

Morgan snickered. "You're the baby of the team." Then to annoy him even further, he added, “Kid.”

"I'm thirty-six." Spencer frowned as they climbed their way toward the conference room. "You know, men in their mid-thirties have prefrontal cortexes that are fully developed and they have a lot more experience throughout their lives. Their body is also fully functional so they—I am most definitely a mature, fully grown adult."

"Do you know what else they say about men being in their thirties?" Morgan threw him another one of his grins. "A very high sex drive."

"Actually, studies show that 30% of healthy people aged between 65-74 still enjoy sexual intercourse weekly."

Morgan groaned. "Don't give me that mental image."

"Reid!"

The two men turned to see Garcia scurrying towards them. How she still conjured so much energy at this time of hour would always be a mystery to him. The determined look on her face reminded him of their last conversation on the phone and Spencer quickly turned away, walking into the empty conference room before sitting himself by the round table.

Noticing the weird interaction between his two friends, Morgan threw Garcia a questioning look. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I'll tell you what's going on." She hurriedly entered the room and grabbed the remote control sitting in the middle of the table. She poked Spencer with the device. "This boy right here decided he's too cool to hang out with us."

"Garcia, you're the one who bailed on me."

"So not the point," she deadpanned. "My question is, when are you going to introduce us to your girlfriend? I didn't even know you were dating."

Morgan's brows shot up as he took a seat beside him. "Girlfriend?"

Spencer looked down as she went on, "Imagine my surprise when he answered my call and there was a woman's voice in the background. At this hour."

Morgan laughed at her emphasis on the time because it was common knowledge only certain things happen this late. Especially with an alleged female company. "Really?"

Disliking the way he was thrown into the spotlight, Spencer leaned in his chair and crossed his arms defensively. "She's not my girlfriend."

That statement only raised their interest even further.

"Oh?" That was Morgan.

"You naughty minx." That was Garcia. "Since when have you been seeing her?"

Spencer had two options. He could ignore their curiosity and remain silent, or he could flat-out give them a lie. He looked between the interest on their face and decided he couldn't escape their probing curiosity, so he answered in a very low voice, "Tonight."

"Tonight?" Garcia asked in disbelief. "Wait—didn't you go to the bar earlier?"

"Yes, before everyone ditched me."

"Oh my god," Garcia squealed in surprise. "Dr. Reid, did you spend the night with a stranger?"

There was a long pause as the grip around his mug tightened. Morgan let out a choked laugh. "My man."

"Stop saying that," Spencer muttered, his lips inches away from his steaming cup.

"I can't believe this," Garcia gasped between her giggles, clearly fascinated by this new information. "Our resident boy genius is actually a Casanova in disguise."

"Who's a Casanova?"

The three of them turned to see Emily Prentiss walking into the room followed by a very curious David Rossi. His other colleagues clearly didn't hear the beginning half of their conversation and Spencer wanted to make sure it remained that way.

He casually took a sip of his drink and replied, "Giacomo Casanova. A famous Italian adventurer and author in the 18th century. He became famous for his often complicated and elaborate affairs with women."

Prentiss scoffed as she and Rossi sat down by the table. "I know who Casanova is, I'm asking who is a Casanova."

An awkward silence settled in the room. Spencer shifted in his seat. He really, really didn't want to deal with this. Spending a very intimate night with a stranger wasn't something he would like to discuss in front of his peers. Ever.

He could feel the heavy weight of everyone's eyes and the blush slowly creeping along his cheeks when Derek stepped in, giving the room one of his charming smiles. "We were talking about me."

"You?" Prentiss quirked one of her eyebrows in mocked surprise. "I don't think your girlfriend would be happy with that."

Morgan easily laughed. "We were discussing my old Casanova days."

"Yeah," Garcia interjected. "We were talking about how bad his choices of female friends were."

"Hey!"

"Until now." She gave him a toothy grin. "We love Savannah."

Morgan rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He caught Spencer staring at him with a grateful smile and returned the gesture with an understanding nod. Spencer relaxed as the conversation rolled by and the topic of his secret escapade was long forgotten.

For now.

JJ, another member of the team, entered the room a few minutes later with a huge smile. Then the moment their unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, followed behind, everyone knew it was back to business.

Spencer placed his mug down on the table and focused his attention on the case at hand.

"Alright, so." Garcia pointed the remote towards the black screen and a moment later, gruesome pictures of a murder scene were presented in different angles. The picture of the male body covered in blood greeted them before a passport shot of a middle-aged man smiling happily at the camera was shown. "Fifty-six-year-old Kevin Marshall, a corporate lawyer, was found dead at his home by his secretary."

"At home?" Derek wondered. "Were there no security?"

"There was a sudden blackout going on in the neighborhood for about seven minutes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at that time of hour. His wife and kids were visiting her parents and Mr. Marshall was at home finishing some work. It wasn't later on when he didn't answer his calls that his secretary found him lying in his office with several stab wounds."

"Time of death?" JJ questioned.

"A quarter past midnight." Garcia clicked on her device before another detailed picture of the scene was zoomed in on the screen. "And this was found—no, carved on his back."

The picture had a clear shot of the wound on the victim's back, a sloppy carved-out handwriting slashed across his skin. Spencer narrowed his eyes. "Exodus 20:13," he read, his brain already discerning the meaning of the words. "Thou shalt not kill."

"Quite ironic, don't you think? Given the way the Unsub just brutally acted out his assault," Prentiss wondered out loud.

"The verse might actually tie with the murder into this god-given right for someone to bear arms. The Unsub probably feels justified in murdering the victim because he feels that this man is a sinner, thus he must kill him in the name of the Almighty."

"So, what? Are we looking for a religious vigilante?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Hotch looked over his team and assigned everyone their work. "Since the crime scene is a mere hour away, Morgan can investigate the crime scene with JJ. Reid, go with Rossi to check the autopsy report. Prentiss and I will be here for his family as they're flying straight from Michigan."

"What can I do to help, sir?"

Hotch gave Garcia a pointed look. "Find everything you can on Kevin Marshall. Bank accounts, purchase records, extended family, and also the people he worked with. Report to me when you find something suspicious. Anything."

"Right." She nodded. "Anything."

"And find any possible matches from old cases that have anything to do with carving on body parts. Solved or unsolved."

"Carving on body parts. Got it."

Everyone started scattering around the room, ready to start the investigation. And although his mind somehow drifted back to soft lips and the scent of sweet chocolate, Spencer pushed them away, gulping the last drip of the sweetest coffee he had ever made as if he was draining down all these inappropriate images running through his mind.

It was not the time.

>> NEXT PART

[astroa3h]

Asteroid (128) Nemesis Through The Houses ✨

Asteroid Nemesis, also known as 128 Nemesis, holds significant importance in astrology for indicating hidden enemies, revenge, and karmic justice. Named after the Greek goddess of retribution, Nemesis can reveal where someone might encounter opposition or betrayal through out their life.

For example, Laci Peterson, who was tragically murdered by her husband Scott Peterson, had Nemesis in her 7th house. This placement suggests hidden dangers within her marriage. Instead of a supportive relationship, she faced betrayal and harm from the one person who should have been her safe space.

Where does Nemesis live in your Natal Chart?

Find out via astro-seek.com ✨

1st House (Self-Image and Personal Identity): If Nemesis is chilling in your 1st house, darling, the enemy might be yourself. This placement can point to self-sabotage and identity crises. You might be your own worst critic, constantly battling inner demons about who you are or how you present yourself to the world.

2nd House (Values and Finances): In the 2nd house, Nemesis could indicate hidden foes related to money and possessions. Be wary of those who might envy your material wealth or values. There could also be an inner struggle with self-worth and value systems.

3rd House (Communication and Siblings): Nemesis here can mean frenemies in your immediate environment. Watch out for backstabbing siblings or neighbors. Communication could be a battlefield, so stay sharp in your interactions and don’t let gossip undermine you.

4th House (Home and Family): In the 4th house, the enemy is likely to be within your own family or household. There could be underlying tensions or unresolved issues from your past that haunt you. Family dynamics might need some serious attention and healing.

5th House (Creativity and Romance): Nemesis in the 5th house can bring hidden competition in creative projects or romantic endeavors. You might face jealousy or betrayal from those who should be cheering you on. Keep your eyes peeled for secret rivals in the love department.

6th House (Work and Health): When Nemesis lands in the 6th house, it’s all about those hidden foes at work or sneaky health issues. Coworkers might not have your best interests at heart, or there could be underlying health problems that need addressing. Stay vigilant about your daily routines.

7th House (Partnerships and Marriage): In the 7th house, Nemesis points to hidden enemies within close relationships. This could be a spouse, business partner, or even open enemies you can identify. Relationship dynamics might harbor resentment or unspoken conflicts, so keep communication clear.

8th House (Transformation and Shared Resources): With Nemesis in the 8th house, watch out for treachery related to shared finances, inheritances, or deep emotional bonds. There might be power struggles or deceit in intimate relationships. Transformative experiences could be tainted with hidden agendas.

9th House (Philosophy and Long-Distance Travel): Nemesis here can mean challenges related to your beliefs, education, or foreign connections. There might be hidden enemies in academic circles or during travels. Your philosophical outlook might be tested by those who oppose your views.

10th House (Career and Public Image): In the 10th house, Nemesis can bring hidden enemies in your professional life. Rivals might undermine your career or public image. It’s essential to stay aboveboard and keep an eye on those who might want to see you fall.

11th House (Friendships and Social Networks): Nemesis in the 11th house signals frenemies within your social circle or network. Be cautious of those who pretend to be allies but have ulterior motives. Group dynamics might conceal jealousies or hidden competition.

12th House (Subconscious and Secrets): Finally, Nemesis in the 12th house is like having a ghost in your subconscious closet. This placement suggests hidden enemies from past lives or deep-seated psychological issues. It’s a call to delve into your inner world and uncover any self-destructive patterns.

xoxo Astro Ash 🤍✨ Get your own reading: astroash.net

[etheries1015]

Sneaky Fae + alcohol (short and rather suggestive, minors dni)

Lilia X reader

General warnings: gender neutral

TW: Alcohol consumption, forced alcohol consumption that may make some uncomfortable.

As requested by the lovely @masquerade-of-misery ...I hope I did your little idea justice in one way or another~ <3

You wouldn't consider yourself much of a drinker, perhaps only casually if any at all, is what would best describe your drinking habits. The smell wasn't the most appetizing, and in the back of your mind, you almost feared the things you may say or do when inebriated. Such a thing didn't stop your lover, Lilia, from doing as he pleased, however.

Drinks were seldom in the older Faes world, for being a long-time parent, avid traveler, and war general had become a rather arduous and time-consuming endeavor that didn't leave much time in between for relaxation or guilty indulgences such as alcoholic beverages. This was a treat far and few between, the way he sipped on his drink while talking cheerfully with you. Lilias's cheeks took a rosy tint, hinting at his tipsy state yet not at the point of no return. You found his words to be more poetic this time around, the drink letting off the edge of everyday stimuli fade into the back of his mind replaced with honeyed words and flirty innuendos.

It was a rather mundane conversation, nothing that was unlike any other. Silence reigned only for a moment between the switching between topics before your lover's signature smile crawled upon his lips, squinting his ruby eyes before a hand pressed the back of your head and lips converged with yours eagerly. A mewl of shock escaped your lips as his tongue pushed past your teeth, the bitterness of the alcohol making you cringe and attempt to pull back from the sudden kiss. Lilia chuckled into your mouth, your resistance only causing him to apply further heated pressure upon your lips as he was quick to pin you down to the couch below him. His legs straddled your body and his hands trapped your wrists above your head, a needy moan exuded from the back of your throat with your hips unconsciously moving upwards pathetically aroused by his forceful actions.

Needing to breathe, the sneaky fae pulled away from you leaving a strand of saliva connecting between your mouths. He smiled in satisfaction at your disheveled look- the way your hair messily spread across the couch, the way your cheeks were flushed red and your eyes practically painted with hearts.

"That," You huffed in astonishment while collecting your thoughts, "was disgusting." You cringed with the taste of bitter alcohol on your lips, groaning and chastising him for such sudden and thoughtless actions. Lilia let out a hearty laugh with closed eyes, preparatory to gazing lustfully at your state. His hands as devious as his lips, began to tease the hem of your shirt, fingers slowly and sensually making their way inside your clothes touching against flushed bare skin. Leaning forward, the fae used his fangs to bite your neck with another chuckle after a muffled whine left your body trembling with anticipation.

"How adorable...you barely drink alcohol, and I am curious if it only takes a kiss to leave you such a pretty little mess," His sultry voice teased. You protested him in this statement, yet by the way your face had gotten redder by the minute he could have sworn it was otherwise, and your argument grew to be fruitless against his persistence. He was as sly as any sharp-tongued fae, ensnaring you in a trap with words that were woven with teasing remarks to purposefully egg you on. He couldn't help it, you looked positively adorable when you were upset, and his affection only grew with every drop of the liquor that remained strengthening in his system and releasing his inhibitions completely.

"Although, right now I can't help but wonder if it's truly the alcohol," His hands had made contact with the bare skin of your chest, twisting a nipple between his thumb and index, "or perhaps it's my touch that leaves you in such a drunken state..." he said this barely above a whisper, a low growl if you will. Biting the bottom of your lip, you turned your head away from your fae lover, before he reached over for the bottle and took another gulp of the beverage. using a strong hand, he roughly grabbed your cheeks and forced your gaze onto him, before connecting his lips against yours in another attempt to make a disheveled mess out of his innocent little bat.

Lilia couldn't help it...he absolutely loved seeing you react exasperatedly to his teasing and the flush of your cheeks deepen with every drop he transferred to you through his snarky mouth and was certain to get you drunk not only by the drink alone but by mischevious hands exploring the parts of your body that left you drunk far more than any beverage could ever accomplish.

[percyluvr]

Hiii,i love your blog and your writing sm and that’s why i wanted to be brava and make a request!If you like the idea,can you please write a Percy imagine were reader is the daughter of Thetis(the water nymph/goddess and mother of Achilles)and she is the one that helps Percy with his water powers?Like they bond over that and fall in love with each other?Thank you very much!🩵🩵

percy jackson x daughter of thetis!reader summary: percy meets a nereid; the rest is history wc: 2524 note: thank you so much for reading my works, i'm vv glad u love my blog & i hope i could do this request justice. i wasn't exactly sure if her kid would be a demigod or a nymph, so i thought because i haven't really seen any fics w a nymph!reader, i would get a lil creative w it! i do know that achilles was considered a demigod, but i figured maybe her female children would be nereids(?)

Percy had been claimed as a son of Poseidon about a month ago at this point, and he was desperately trying to understand his powers. When he was claimed, he assumed that it would be easy to harness the power of the sea, since, well, his dad was the literal God of the Sea. Unfortunately, it was not coming as naturally as he had hoped and assumed it would, and so he now found himself swimming in the sea near Camp Half-Blood, searching for someone or something to help him get a leash on his powers.

He tried contacting his dad, to no avail; now aimlessly swimming. The only thing that had truly come natural to him was the ability to breathe under water, which was helpful now, since he didn't have to keep coming up to the surface for breath and could now just focus on finding help.

It'd been about 2 hours of just what others would consider mind-numbing swimming, but Percy enjoyed it anyhow.

He eventually found himself face to face with a young girl whom he would consider one of, if not the most beautiful person he'd ever come across. Though he was a son of Poseidon, Percy swears that he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. The longer he looked at you, the more and more aware he was that he was underwater, and all he could think was 'I'm a son of Poseidon and I'm going to drown, and because somehow it can get more embarrassing than that, I'm going to drown in front of a beautiful girl and she's probably going to laugh and I'm never even going to get to know her name or hear her voice, which is probably the most heavenly thing anyone would ever get a chance to hear and-'

His thoughts are broken when he hears you speak, and somehow your voice sounds even more heavenly than he had assumed it would be.

"Hello, Perseus," you say, smiling, and Percy thinks that his heart might just burst into a million little pieces that will eventually drift out into the water surrounding the two of you.

"Hey, hi, um," he struggles to assemble his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"Take your time, Perseus. You will not run out of breath, as I believe you thought you would just a few seconds ago," you speak, fighting the urge to giggle at the silly boy that has found his way to your home.

"Um, first, you can just call me Percy, if you want. Second, I know I won't, I was just, uh, distracted for a second. And third, I'm here because, embarrassingly enough, apparently the fact that I'm the son of Poseidon doesn't matter to this water, which will not do anything I want it to unless I'm in a life or death situation, which does happen to occur quite often, so really I'd probably be fine, but I would sort of like to be able to have the comfort of knowing that I can actually use these cool powers that every tells me I have," he rambles. "Sorry, that was kind of a lot," he concludes.

"Do not worry, I followed along quite easily, actually. Anyhow, if you require assistance with your endeavors, I am here to aide you. When I'm not busy helping your father at the castle, that is," you offer.

"Really? I mean I was hoping you would say that, but I wasn't sure you would. But yeah, I'll take you up on that, thanks," he flashes you a smile.

"Wonderful. Feel free to stop by or call my name into the water, and I'll hear it and come to you if I'm able."

"Right, uh, not to be rude, but uh, what's your name?"

"Ah, right, I forget how you demi-gods don't bother to learn the names of the Nereids anymore."

When you tell him your name, you believe you see his eyes glisten in adoration, unless, of course, you're making that all up in your head because the boy in front of you is way cuter than you had ever imagined when you had just heard his name being thrown around by the gossiping Nereids around the palace.

"Well, then, Percy, you should be on your way. I have things to be doing now."

"Right, bye then. Thanks for, y'know, offering to teach me pretty much everything," he says bashfully.

"Of course." He begins to swim away and all you are left with the ability to do is wave as he slowly gets farther and farther away.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been not even a week since Percy had been, in his descriptions to his friends at camp, blessed by your presence, and though the two of you had barely become acquaintances, he found himself missing the sound of your voice and the odd, in his opinion, outdated way that you spoke.

This type of yearning for a person's presence is not the type of yearning he feels for his mother, Sally, and so, this feeling is quite new to Percy. Of course, as a teenage boy, he doesn't know how else to manage this intense feeling, so immediately he goes to the beach and calls your name into the water.

"Hello, Percy, I can't say I'm surprised that you're this eager to harness the power of the sea. I was also very invigorated when I first learned of what was possible once at one with the sea."

"Am I not already one with the sea? My dad is literally the God and King of the sea. And are you not also one with the sea from birth? Aren't Nereides water spirits or whatever?"

"Ah, Percy, you misunderstand. You are not born one with the sea, even as a Nereid. You must prove to the sea that you are not afraid of it, and that you will not take advantage of it. It may takes days, or weeks, but I suspect that you will do just fine."

"And how exactly am I supposed to prove that?"

"You will see," you said cryptically, and before Percy could object to this statement, you were gone, and he was staring out into the clear blue water of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Jeez, when someone offers to teach you, you would think they would actually teach you something and not just say some weird cryptic stuff and then disappear," he grumbles to no one in particular.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Of course, you were correct in your assumption that Percy would quickly prove to the sea that he could be trusted to harbor its power. He manages to form a ball of water the size of a fist before losing focus, leaving the water to splash back down and become one with the sea again.

However, he was not discouraged, and in his invigorated state, he calls out for you without even realizing it.

"Hello, Perseus. I see that I was correct," you said, a bit smugly, Percy must say.

"Yeah, yeah. Will you actually teach me now?"

"Indeed. I wanted to be sure that you were competent enough for my help, so I do apologize for how ominous my words were."

"You're all good. I do have a question though, and feel free to try to drown me if this is rude."

"Do proceed with your inquiry." At that, Percy nearly bursts out laughing at how much you sounded like an office e-mail from someone's annoyed boss, but managed to somehow keep composure.

"Uh, why do you talk like.. I don't know, so formal. Aren't you my age?"

"I do apologize. I do believe you are older than me, which may come as a surprise to you. But to answer your main question, I talk so 'formal' because that is simply how everyone at the palace speaks. I suppose we do not have much contact with anyone outside of the ocean, and so we have not picked up on all of the latest dialects and ways of speaking."

"Well, I guess that makes sense then, my bad."

"Do not worry."

"So, uh, do I get to learn more about 'harnessing the power of the ocean' or whatever now?"

"I suppose now would be as good a time as any."

"Cool, cool, where do we start?"

You lift your fist into the air, a large section of water rising into the air and forming into the shape of a large sea turtle, forming into different animals as you rotate your hand in the air.

"Are you able to do that? Even a basic animal shape would be fine, but if not, we must begin, well, at the beginning."

"Oh, man," he grumbled

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been a few months of you popping in a few days a week to assist Percy with his ambitions, and he was finally able to wield the power of the sea like he once hoped he would be able.

However, September was rapidly approaching and Percy would soon have to return to school, meaning he would not get to see you nearly as often, which certainly put a damper on what was already a terrible week leading up to the start of the wretched school year.

And so, he resolved that the two of you would talk every day until he had to leave. He didn't care that he had progressed past the point of needing your help anymore, he just wanted to be in your presence for however much longer possible.

It was nearly instinct at this point for Percy to call your name out into the sea, and he was not one to fight it.

"Good to see you, Percy. But as I'm sure you're fully aware, you do not need my tutoring anymore. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I do believe that you've even surpassed me, and that doesn't come as a surprise," you praise.

"I don't know about that, but I am pretty cool now," he says jokingly.

You smile. "But uh, I didn't call you for practice, I just thought that, uh, that maybe we could just hang out, y'know? I mean you did help me a lot, so I figure why not give you some company outside of all those old people or whatever back at the palace," Percy admits.

"That doesn't sound horrible. You are quite interesting, I would like to get to know you more as well. And yes, I could use some time away from my fellow Nereids at the palace," you sheepishly say.

"That's what I thought. Hey, by the way, you never told me who your parents were. You know who my dad and mom are, but I don't know either of yours."

"Ah, my mother is a bit more obscure nowadays, as she's not one of the Goddesses that the Greeks traditionally worship as they do the Olympians. She is a water nymph, but also a Goddess, and unfortunately is no longer worshipped in the same proportion as she was in Ancient Greece," you sadly explain.

"Huh, that's pretty cool. I mean, not the part that she's not really worshipped anymore, but the part of her being a nymph and a Goddess. Um, anyways, do you ever talk to my dad?"

"Occasionally, your father will ask me to accompany him or to do various tasks. He is a kind man, I do like his presence, if that is what you were trying to get at."

"That's good. I've only talked to him a few times, but I figured he was a nice guy," Percy grins, "Do you ever get to talk to your mom?"

"Yes, my mother, Thetis, and I are quite close. She lives in the palace with me."

"Wow, I'll be honest, I'm kinda jealous. I mean, I think my dad is cool, and I know he's like a big shot Olympian and whatever, but I think it'd be nice if we could actually talk in person and bond or whatever," he admits.

"Yes, I understand. It must be hard, but for the majority of the year, you have your mother, yes? Or are you a year-round camper?"

"Yeah, you're right. I do have my mom for most of the year, so it's worth it. She's the best," he cheers up at the mention of his mother.

"I figured you would say that. She raised you well. You are much kinder than some of the campers here, but I suppose that is not their fault."

"Nah, it's not. It is what it is sometimes."

You nod, and the conversation flows smoothly on.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Today was the last day that Percy would be at camp, since his mother was picking him up later that day after lunch.

He decided that since he only had a few hours left at camp for the summer, he would spend them with the person he now considered one of his closest friends, even though he'd only really known you for a few months at this point.

When he called your name, you appeared almost instantly.

"Hey, Percy," you said, grinning.

"Switching up the greeting today?"

"I suppose since today was your last day here, I would start trying to speak like you and perhaps by the time you came back from school, I would speak more 'naturally,' as you put it."

"Huh, the way you talk doesn't actually bother me, y'know."

"That may be true, but I would like to learn to speak more modernly anyhow."

"If you want to, go for it. But uh, I thought maybe we could do that thing, it's called like, Iris messaging or something? With the drachmas? Then we could keep in touch while I'm at school, too," Percy says nervously.

"That does sound like a good idea. Now that we're friends, I think it would be optimal that we spoke frequently and updated each other on our lives. Good thinking."

He chuckled. "Good, good. I, uh, also wanted to say that... well, I think you're really pretty, and I thought maybe next summer, we could, uh, maybe go on a date or something. I don't know if you feel the same way, but if you do and you do want to, that would be pretty cool," he rambles, interrupted by the foreign feeling of your lips on his.

After a few moments, you detach your mouth from his. "Was that, uh, alright?" You quietly ask.

"Yeah, jeez, that was way better than alright. That was perfect," he says, a deep red adorning his cheeks.

"That is excellent to hear," you say, smiling wider than you'd ever in your life.

"Well, I need to go to lunch, and uh, then my mom is picking me up. I'll Iris message you as soon as I get home, okay? So make sure you're ready."

"See you tonight, Percy," you happily state, dissolving back into the water as quickly as you had appeared.

He stares into the beautiful clear water for a bit before he walks away, unaware that you had appeared again and were watching him walk away, a look of adoration decorating your features.