#I’d only want it to silence after a hundred or so notes

[greetings-inferiors]

I love a post that “does numbers” and all but it does get a tad annoying when you get a notification and it’s like “oh it’s just that banger” like HAVE YOU NOT SEEN ANY OF MY OTHER BANGERS?!!?

[dira333]

The Soulmate Theory - Todoroki Shouto x Reader

I welcome you to my probably last-ever Soulmate fic. As much as I love reading this trope, it's gotten harder and harder to write. I hope you like it. This is for @shoulmate

Trope: You share your Soulmate's pain.

Soulmates used to be a thing. 

A long, long time ago, way before the first ever Quirk was documented, Soulmate bonds were just as common as Quirks are nowadays.

Your grandmother used to be fascinated by it, told you stories about her grandmother who was convinced she shared a soulmate bond even though not one case had been documented in the last hundred years before her.

It’s only natural, you’d say, that you didn’t realize you had one. After all, why would you think that?

-

Pain has always been part of your life.

Your wrists hurt and your legs hurt and your back hurts and your stomach hurts… all the time. The doctors cannot find anything, some even accuse you of pretending for attention. You’d gladly trade all that attention against a pain-free day.

Your Quirk’s Telekinesis and you’re so glad about it, because how else would you be able to move that pen and write that notes when your hands hurt like this?

You’re getting better at it too, threading a needle or picking up the last grain of rice with your thoughts alone. 

-

A dull ache has settled behind your left eye after what has been the most intense pain flare you’ve ever had. All you want to do is rest. 

But your mind is reeling, craving an outlet for all the thoughts inside your head.

Your restless eyes find some fabric in the corner of the room. Soon enough a few needles are working their magic, a creation coming to life before your eyes.

You might not be able to walk around most days, but at least you can still create outfits you’d love to flaunt in.

-

Years later

-

“Can you take over my student?” Kameko asks, “He wants a completely new costume.”

“What year?”

“First year. And his old one wasn’t even destroyed.”

“So? Maybe he found something out about himself.”

She huffs. “Please? I still have to finish Amajiki’s new design and you know how anxious he gets.”

“Yeah, no problem. Can you take another first year off my plate then? His name is Midoriya and he ripped it in half, it seems.”

“Oh yeah, give it to me.”

Someone clears their throat. You look up from your work into a set of heterochromatic eyes, one blue, one grey.

“Yes?” You ask. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here for my new Costume.”

“Are you Midoriya?” You point at the green fabric on your desk, or rather what’s left of the costume.”

“No, I’m Todoroki Shouto.”

“Ah,” Kameko doesn’t even look guilty at being caught. “You’re with her then. Do you need the think tank?” She points at the cubicle where you can go and plan outfits.

Todoroki looks like he isn’t quite sure, so you carefully slide off your chair and shuffle over.

“Come, come,” you wave at him, “It’s never wrong to brainstorm.”

“Are you hurt?” He asks and has the decency not to point at how you clearly favor your left leg. 

“Not more than usual,” you try to joke and though he looks a little confused, he doesn’t ask more questions.

.

Todoroki is a quiet individual. He’s not shy, that you perceive immediately, but he makes sure to check if he’s allowed to speak before he opens his mouth.

He’s also insanely pretty, the red, rough skin over his left eye giving him even more appeal. But he’s also one year younger than you, so you keep those thoughts locked away in the back of your head.

“If you want to change the design, we can do that, no problem.” You remind him when you’ve finally found something he seems almost happy with.

“I don’t want to cause you more work.”

“If you don’t cause me any work I’d have nothing to do,” you joke and he looks at you quietly for a while. You wonder if he’s ruminating over your joke or waiting for you to talk on and sadly, you’re more than likely to ramble in a confusing silence.

You gesture, somehow now talking about the importance of fresh orange juice for the human body, a topic you didn’t even know you could talk about beforehand when your hand connects harshly with the door behind you. Your wrist catches the doorknob and the pain is immediate, sharp and cool, like you’d imagine being stabbed with an icicle would feel like.

Todoroki hisses behind you and you’d compliment him on the empathy if it wouldn’t hurt like that.

When you turn, hand pressed against your chest, he’s cradling his own hand before dropping it. “Musclespasm,” he explains quietly, offering you a hand that is covered in ice. “Do you want me to cool it? It helps.”

-

“I’d like to add some more details to my costume,” Todoroki approaches you with a Bento Box in hand.

You nod, unable to speak for a moment as you focus your Quirk on a particularly tough seam.

“No problem, as I said. What’s it about?”

“Could we use the think tank?”

You turn to check but it’s clearly occupied.

“Sadly not. Is it more complicated then?” You nod at the Bento Box. “Do you think it will keep us occupied during lunch break?”

“No, this is…” Todoroki hesitates for a second before holding it out to you. “It’s just something I wanted to give you. My sister made these.”

 You open it with curious fingers to reveal twelve perfectly shaped cookies.

“That’s lovely, but why me?”

His cheeks turn pink and his lips curl into an adorable pout before he eventually talks.

“I mentioned that I was pleased with the changes and she told me to say thank you.”

“Aww,” you coo. “Your older sister then?”

“Yes,” the pout exaggerates, “I would have said thank you without her intervening.”

“Of course you’d have.” - “But my cookies didn’t turn out good.”

You both speak at the same time, or rather you accidentally interrupted him and he still talked on.

You stare at him now, mouth agape as you process his words.

“You made cookies for me?”

“Yes,” Todoroki nods, “I wanted to say thank you.”

“It’s my job.”

“I still want to say thank you.”

“Next time,” you joke, not quite realizing what you’re saying until it has left your lips and your brain has caught on, “just bring me the Cookies you made. It’s the thought that counts.”

He stares at you with wide eyes for what feels like eternity before a soft pink blush blooms on his cheeks.

You hide your own face in the box of Cookies, hope that he won’t hear the thunderous beating of your heart over the noise of you eating one.

They’re delicious. Of course they are.

-

You don’t know how or when or even why, but clearly, there’s a friendship growing between you and Todoroki Shouto. He’s stopped claiming he’s only dropping in for new additions to his costumes and in turn you’ve tried quite a few of his food creations, each one of them worse than the last.

But he’s cute and honest and real about it and you couldn’t do better if you tried anyway.

Your pain, however, doesn’t stop just because you’ve found work you enjoy or friends to spend your time with.

There are days where you cannot get out of bed. Days where strong painkillers allow you to get to school only for everything to go past you because those painkillers leave you loopy and tired, falling asleep over some costume in the early afternoon hours.

At least you’re not in the Hero Course, you think on the worst days, because you’ve seen the bruises Training leaves on Shouto’s arms and legs.

That’s before you realize that Training is the least of all his problems.

-

Third Year

“How are you?” You ask, because what else do you ask your Crush Slash Good Friend you haven’t seen in months?

Shouto’s got new scars, he’s grown, and he’s fought in a war while you were bedridden from pain, your mother scared out of her depths that you’d die in an attack, unable to move.

But you survived and so did he and if you can believe what you’ve heard on the news, he’s found out some things about his family too.

“Tired,” he admits, dragging a hand through his hair, “I missed you.”

You wonder how hard it was for him to admit that. 

 “Think tank?” You ask, slipping off your chair when he nods.

The last few days have been painless and even though you’re anxious about what’s to come after that, you can’t help but enjoy it.

When the door closes after him, you realize just how small that cubicle really is. 

Or maybe it’s just that Shouto doesn’t step away like he used to do, staying so close to you that you could count every single one of his long lashes if you wanted to.

“Can I hug you?” He asks and you nod, unable to say anything, even less when he pulls you in.

He’s tall and strong, cool on one side and warm on the other and your face nuzzles into his neck like it was meant to be like that anyway.

You don’t speak for a while, just hold each other in the semi-privacy this room provides.

“I want to take care of you,” Shouto whispers at some point. “Can I?”

Somehow it doesn’t surprise anyone that you two end up dating.

-

Your third year is almost painless.

Sure, there are frequent days where you’re sore for no reason whatsoever, but that is nothing against the blinding pain that had tied you to a bed for weeks before. 

Sometimes, Shouto pouts about that. He thinks it’s his job as your boyfriend to look after you and what good is he for if you don’t need looking after?

His friends tell you that he’s less reckless now - as if he’d ever been - making sure to keep himself safe because you need him.

You’ve met his sister, one of his older brothers and his mother, all of them nice, though maybe a bit distanced. 

Emotional vulnerability doesn’t seem to come easy to them.

Shouto, however, likes to talk about his feelings in depth. And he wants to know how you’re feeling too, listening with wide eyes as you explain.

Should it be weird that you’re dating someone younger than you? If so, you’re doing it wrong. 

-

The first(?) hint

“Do we need anything from the store?” You ask, phone crammed between your ear and shoulder as you grab your stuff from the passenger seat.

“I was going to get the groceries,” Shouto huffs on the other side of the call and you can see it, how he pouts at the thought that you’re doing it instead of him.

“I was already on my way. You can do the laundry.”

“I hate doing the laundry,” he groans and you giggle. “I know. I’m going to help you with it, don’t worry.”

“I could cook,” he offers and you giggle again, opening the door to step out. “As much as I love you, Shouto, I don’t love your cooking.”

“Fine,” he says, sounding exactly like a child that didn’t get its way, “But we do face-masks while doing the laundry.”

“Of course. I’ll call you back later, okay? I need both hands for shopping.”

“Sure. I’ll buy you more headphones in the meantime.”

There are a few more teasing remarks, a last “I love you” and then you shove your phone back in your purse and turn to where you think the shopping carts are located.

You don’t see the step in front of you before it’s too late and then you’re tumbling through the air. It happens slowly and then all at once and you’re not really sure what hurt first and what hurts the most. 

For a moment you’re just lying there, face down on the pavement, trying not to puke, collecting your thoughts as if they scattered on your floor just like your open purse.

Your phone starts ringing and that seems the most manageable task so you pick it up from right in front of you and press it against your ear.

“Yes?” You ask.

“Love, are you okay?” Shouto sounds worried.

“No, I just tripped and fell,” you pick your head up from the asphalt and squint at your stuff in front of you, “in the middle of the parking lot.”

“Just after you hung up I felt a lot of pain and I just… I knew it was you.” 

-

It keeps happening after that.

It doesn’t help that you’re clumsy, but maybe that’s for the best now, as you try and figure out this weird coincidence.

If you hurt yourself, Shouto feels the pain.

If Shouto hurts himself, you feel the pain. 

It’s only after he almost gets buried by a collapsing building that you actually tell a Doctor. Or rather Midoriya unloads all the Data he has collected on the poor, unassuming Recovery Girl.

The most likely answer, as strange as it might sound, is the Soulmate Theory.

“Since you’re the first documented case in hundreds of years we don’t have anything to prove this theory. But I’m quite positive that more cases will follow.”

You blink back at her, not quite understanding. Shouto’s left hand, one of the few places of his that are not covered in bandages, squeezes yours.

“You know what that means, right?” He asks.

“Yeah. We’re most definitely never going to break up.”

His eyes widen in a way you’ve grown familiar with. No matter how long you’ve been dating, you still seem to be able to surprise him.

“No,” he presses out weakly, “I meant… That all the pain you went through as a child and teenager, that was me. It’s my fault.”

You lean down to press a kiss to the little spot above his eyebrows that has come away unscathed.

“I’m not saying it was nice, but if I could take at least a little bit of the pain you went through, I’d say it was worth it.”

-

You’re pretty sure Shouto would disagree, but in your eyes Soulmates are not quite as fancy as they’re made out to be.

After all, you found him on your own, didn’t you?

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 4

Secrets Exchanged

Part 1 | Part 5 | Table of Contents | Read this on A03

Characters: Ace x reader WordCount: 9k (buckle up! this is a long one!) CW: alcohol mention

You just had to get through this strategy meeting, and then you could avoid Portgas D. Ace for the rest of the day. It wouldn’t be so hard. You had done this a thousand times, as the lead strategist over all the divisions. Ace being wouldn’t make that much of a difference. 

If you thought about it, the second division strategist was actually a demotion. It was significantly less intense. Two years ago, your job had been to review strategy plans and find flaws in them. Now, you just had to present plans and get them picked apart by the other divisions. 

You thought about going to wait for Marco at the commander’s common room, but you didn’t want to risk seeing Ace yet. So you walked to the strategy meeting alone, with a few minutes to spare. 

Only a few commanders and your father were in the room, but you found Marco there with an empty seat next to him, so you sat down beside him. 

“You should really sit with Ace,” Marco urged quietly. You began to steam at his suggestion, so he quickly added more. “Strategists sit with their commanders on the other side of the table. And the commanders who didn’t have strategists present sit over here.”

You ignored him, shuffling through your papers to find the list of names you’d be presenting. You were so nervous for this meeting. You had done this hundreds of times with much higher stakes, why were you nervous now?

“Y/N,” your father called from the head of the table. You paused your work, looking up at him to acknowledge that you were being spoken to. “I’d like to talk to you privately after this meeting.”

There was no trace of anger in his voice, but you were still concerned over the private meeting. You couldn’t let that show though, you had to keep a cool exterior. If anyone picked up on your anxiety, they would question you and your abilities. You couldn’t afford that, not now.   

You nodded once to signify you heard him, but you still didn’t speak to anyone. You simply looked back down at your paper and continued to give one last look over your report until the meeting began. You saw people trickle in, with an occasional double glance at your placement next to Marco. 

Eventually everyone had arrived. Everyone except your commander. 

“Damn Ace,” your father bellowed. “That boy is always late.” 

“Must be with someone,” Blamenco mumbled. “He’s been busy recently.”

“There was a lot of noise coming from his room last night,” Thatch noted.

“Noise?” someone questioned, but you didn’t see who. 

You were looking at your papers, but you could feel a few eyes shift over to you. You could feel your skin start to bubble, and you took a breath to keep your cool. It didn’t matter if Ace was sleeping with someone else. He could do whatever he wanted to. It shouldn’t bother you what, or who, he did in his free time. But it did. 

“I can go get him,” Marco groaned, finally rising from his seat. 

“No,” Whitebeard said, rather firmly. “His strategist can go.”

You were so focused on appearing to look normal, it took you a few seconds of silence to realize that your father was talking to you. You glanced around the table, and found all sets of eyes on you. 

“Me?” you asked, rather stupidly. 

“You are his strategist, aren’t you?” Your father asked, looking at you. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m his babysitter,” you mumbled. You heard a few snickers from around the table, which brought you a bit of pride. 

“Y/N.” Your father’s voice was dangerously close to anger, and you could see a few of the newer commanders tense. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” you grumbled, rising from your seat and slinking out the door. 

Every step towards Portgas D. Ace’s room felt harder than the last. You found yourself hoping you’d meet him in the hallway, or he got his dates mixed up and would be running to the meeting. But that wasn’t the way Ace did things, which you knew from experience. 

You stood in front of his door, hesitant to knock. You didn’t want to know who was on the other side of this door. You didn’t want to see Ace after he had been with someone else. Or worse, see someone else with him. Your stomach twisted into a thousand knots just thinking about the possibilities. 

But you had to do it. Perhaps it would be better to just get it over with. So you knocked. 

There was no answer. 

You knocked again. “Ace!” you shouted, banging on the door. 

The door swung open, Ace’s freckled face inches from yours. He looked rough, like he hadn’t slept at all in the past 24 hours. You wondered if this was how he looked yesterday, when all the commanders came and grabbed him as you hid under the covers. 

“Y/N.” Ace’s breath was warm on your face, and you took a step back. “Just the lady I wanted to see! Can I show you something?”

“We have a meeting. A strategy meeting,” you said. “The one I worked really hard for? That one. Do you remember?”

His eyes grew wide at your words, and it was clear he had lost track of time. “Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. Shit! I’m so sorry.”

“We need to go.” You started to turn around to walk down the hall. “Now.”

“Wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you turned, and you almost burned him for touching you. Almost. 

“I want to show you something,” he begged. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”

“I don’t want to see who-” but he yanked you into his room before you could finish your sentence. 

His room was empty. Well, empty in a sense that there was nobody else inside his cabin. But it was filled with woven strands and half made hats, and new shelves had appeared on his walls since yesterday morning. Whatever he was doing last night, it wasn’t a person. 

“What is this?” you asked. 

“Shelves. Hats. A little thing.”

You hadn’t even noticed the decor strewn across his floor. You were too consumed with the hats and the shelving. It was a garland of wooden flowers all strung up on a piece of long leather cord. Each of the wooden flowers had been hand cut and painted, and they were all unique. It was beautiful, you had to admit. 

“Why?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. 

You scoffed in disbelief. “You can always sleep.”

“I couldn’t last night. I-” he hesitated, looking at you for a moment before his eyes darted away. “I just couldn’t.”

“We need to go, Ace. Tell me about your weird midnight projects later.”

“Wait! Okay let me show you just really quick. Please.”

“Ace,” you hissed. A piece of you was curious, but you knew everyone was counting the moments until you were back. 

“The hats I’m making for Little Oars, right? I made him one, but it's starting to get old, so I need to make a new one, you know?”

“Ace-”

“And the shelves are for the shells. They’re everywhere, I know. I need to take better care of my stuff and organize things better, so…shelves.” He held his hands out, showcasing the shelves he built. 

“And the decorative thing was just…I dunno. For fun. For you.”

“For me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“You don’t have a lot of stuff in your bunk.”

“I prefer it that way,” you said. 

“But now you can have this too,” he explained. 

You wanted to take it. You could tell he put a lot of effort into it. But your own preservation was key. 

“I don’t like flowers,” you lied. 

“You do,” Ace argued. “I see you smell them every time you pass the garden.”

Your heart raced. “Ace-”

“I know. Creepy. Whatever. Commanders are supposed to give a personalized gift to their strategist when they join. This is my gift.”

Your cheeks flushed with pink. You were about to decline again, but he picked up the garland and shoved it into your hands. 

“No returns,” he said. “If you try to return them, I’m going to hang them up in your bunkhouse myself.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. You held them gingerly, not wanting to ruin his hard work. You looked over them, admiring all of the detail he had done. It was hard to believe he did this in one day. 

Ace watched you for a moment, and then gave a nervous laugh. “I think we should head out, or more people might come looking for us.”

“Shit!” you hissed. “The meeting!”

Both of you took off towards the command center. Luckily you had to pass by your bunkhouse, and you stopped in briefly to drop off your garland of flowers. You tucked them safely in your bedside drawer, to keep them away from lingering eyes and curious hands.

When you walked back into the command center with Ace, you saw that a few people had shifted around the table. Thatch had taken your seat next to Marco, leaving the only open seats next to one another. You scowled at Thatch, but you took your seat next to Ace without any argument. Your papers were at your new seat, at least that oversight hadn’t been missed. 

“Now that everyone is present,” Whitebeard said as soon as you and Ace took your seats. “Shall we begin with the strategy proposal?”

You nodded, passing out a copy of the division breakdowns and a rough outline of the plan as you began to explain. 

It went well. It barely lasted 20 minutes. There was no pushback from any commanders or the other strategists in the room. Everyone was in agreement that your strategy was airtight. It was clear that the commanders still trusted you completely, even though you had been away for two years. 

You ended the meeting with the promise to reevaluate the day before, when Namur got updated schematics, and the rest of the table agreed.

“Nice work,” Ace congratulated you, holding out his hand for a high five. “I’ve never had a meeting go that fast before.”

You grinned at his compliment, and gave him a high five in celebration.

“You slept practically the whole time,” you teased. 

“No! I was just resting my eyes!”

You giggled at his defensiveness as you gathered up your things. “Sure, whatever you say, commander.”

“I sense sarcasm,” he grumbled, which only made you laugh harder. You both stood to your feet and started to leave, when your father called out your name.  

“Right!” You stopped in your tracks, turning back around to face him. “Sorry, sorry. Coming!”

“Let’s go lover boy,” Marco mumbled to Ace, pulling him out the door. 

You hoped your cheeks weren’t red enough to give you away. Even though it was only your father left in the room, you didn’t want him knowing about whatever you and Ace had going on. Not that there was anything going on.

Your father stared at you for a long while, towering above you. You stared back, waiting for him to begin speaking. 

He chuckled to himself after a bit. “I see you're getting back into ship life again.”

You shrugged. “Some changes from being on land, but it’s been an easy transition.”

“How do you like being in the second division?”

He was watching you. Extremely close. Looking for any hint of a lie or nervous behavior from you. 

You chose to answer truthfully, crafting your answer with just the right language.  “Honestly? I haven’t don’t much with the division as a whole. But I’ve missed strategizing. It was kind of fun getting back into it.”

He squinted at you, aware of what you were doing. “And Ace?”

It felt like a careful game of chess. You couldn’t keep your face completely neutral; it would be obvious that you were hiding something. But you also couldn’t completely react to his words, or else it would show that something happened. 

You chose to scrunch your face in slight disapproval. “How honest do you want me to be?”

“Completely.”

“He seems like a good commander who can rally people when they need their spirits lifted. He cares about his family, that’s clear. But…”

You sighed, looking at your dad. “He’s pretty stupid. And he’s always falling asleep.”

Your dad bellowed out a fit of laughter at your comment, and you could feel the air lighten a bit. You had chosen to move the right piece in your chess game. 

“He is definitely a character, thats for sure,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes before he spoke more seriously. “But how do you feel about him?”

You gave him a blank stare. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act dumb. How do you personally feel about him as an individual?”

“Oh,” you said. You had to think quickly. Tell the truth, just not the whole truth. “He’s fine, I guess. I don’t know him very well.”

You saw a glint in your father’s eyes, and you knew that he had some kind of information which contradicted your statement. 

“I see,” he said, watching you closely. You resisted the urge to look away from him. If you did that, he would know for certain you were lying about something. 

“Are you happy with your position?” Your father asked you. 

You nodded. “I enjoy it.”

He hummed at your answer, thinking for a moment. “Do you prefer it to your old job?”

You had noticed that your old position hadn’t been filled. Marco seemed to have taken over as the lead strategist in a sense, but he wasn’t as thorough as you had once been. 

“It’s certainly less work,” you said, instead of an answer. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Are you offering me my old job back?” you countered skillfully. You hadn’t been the lead strategist for no reason. You could see what game he was playing. 

Your father sighed, refusing to play the game any further. “If you’d like it back, it’s yours.”

You wouldn’t belong to any division, just like before. Nobody would be in charge of you except your father. You’d be able to get away from Ace. It seemed like the perfect escape from all your troubles. 

And yet, you found yourself wanting to turn down the offer. You wanted to stay in division two. You had enjoyed the freedom you had gotten since your return. You had more time to enjoy yourself than before, even with a big mission coming up. 

“Can I think about it?”

Your father nodded. “I would be worried if you gave me an immediate answer. By sunrise tomorrow?”

“That works great. Thank you.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” he asked. 

“Your decision to wait for an appointment offer until after my first strategy proposal makes sense. If any commanders had concerns about favoritism, those are surely gone now. I do have one question, though.”

Your father raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. 

“What would you have done if I didn’t get appointed to second division strategist?”

Yoru father smirked and gave a light chuckle. “Listen, brat. You’re not the only one playing chess here. I wasn’t about to take away your promised position without giving you another one. Got it?”

An understanding passing between you both. “And you say you don’t play favorites.” You gave him a cheeky grin, the best way you knew how to genuinely say thank you. 

“Get out of my sight,” he groaned, but you could hear him laughing at your comment as you left. 

You skipped out of the room, happy with the knowledge you gained during your time with your father. He was always looking out for you, even if you didn’t feel like it. You had a big decision to make, and you needed to find Marco to talk about it all. He was always a good sounding board when you needed to make decisions. 

You were still skipping as you turned the corner, and ran straight into Portgas D. Ace. 

He grabbed your arm to steady you. “Hey there, smiley. What’s got you all excited?”

“Nothing,” you sang to him. Whitey still sat in the back of your mind, though her tears seemed more like a distant memory at this point. 

You gave him a boastful smile. “My father is offering me my old job back.”

“What?” his voice was sharp when he spoke, as if someone had stabbed him with a knife. 

His fingers dug into your arm. You weren’t expecting to see such devastation and panic in his eyes. It was so startling you took a step back, burning his fingers to make him let go of you. 

“As the lead strategist” you explained. “Just like before.”

“You can’t take that,” Ace’s voice was desperate. “You’re the second division strategist.”

“Well, yeah. But you can always get another one. You have plenty of great-”

“I don’t want another one,” he hissed. 

“I’ll still be looking over everything and offering up strategies, Ace.”

“It won’t be the same and you know that.” You got the sense that he was mad at you, though you weren’t entirely sure what you had done wrong. This was supposed to be good news.

“Why are you so angry with me?” you asked. “What were you expecting?”

“I was expecting you to stick to your word!” Ace answered, his voice rising with every syllable. 

You weren’t sure what facial expression you were wearing, but Ace seemed to realize his mistake in his tone and his words. 

“Sorry I reacted like that,” he apologized. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“Clearly.” You stepped to the side to continue walking down the hallway, but Ace blocked your path. 

“Did you tell him yes?” He asked. His widened eyes looked at you with a strange mixture of pain and hope. “Are you leaving the second division?”

You knew not to be the one to break eye contact with your opponent, but it was painful to continue to stare at him. So you did the one thing you had never done: you looked away first. 

“I told him I’d give him an answer tomorrow morning.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and his lonely eyes bored into your soul as he looked at you. “Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”

You wanted to collapse from the pain that blossomed in your heart. Portgas D. Ace was so easy to fall for. It made sense why everyone adored him, why everyone constantly spoke of him. He was someone who would make your heart grow three sizes, and then would drop it into the ocean the next day. 

“I just need to think about my options,” you admitted softly. 

“Got it.” His voice was full of sadness, and he stepped to the side to let you by. 

You didn’t want to walk past him. Every bone in your body told you to stay there. But you took one agonizing step after the other, and walked past him down the hallway. 

You wanted him to stop you. A part of you even wanted him to rush up to you and kiss your lips, like you had seen happen so many times during the plays in Wano. But he didn’t run to you, or call out your name. He didn’t even move. 

You had planned to go talk to Marco, but you weren’t interested in that now. You didn’t even want to have to make this decision anymore. You just wished someone else could make it for you. 

But yaybe someone could. Someone who wasn’t invested either way. Someone who would be able to help without judgment. 

You roamed the ship, searching for the sixteenth division commander, until you finally found him at the stern of the deck. He was surrounded by friends-ones you didn’t feel comfortable sharing this information with.  

“Izou, can I speak with you for a moment?” 

The man looked startled to see you addressing him, but he quickly regained his composure. 

“Of course,” he said smoothly, standing to his feet. “How private do we need to be?”

“More private than this,” you admitted as you both walked away from the group. “But less than a soundproof room.”

He smiled at your joke, probably one he often heard from your father as well. “If this is about yesterday morning-”

“It’s not!” you quickly said, your ears and cheeks tinting red at the mention of it. “I…need some advice.”

“Is this about your appointment to second division strategist?”

“Kind of…” You found an unoccupied portion of the deck and sat on the railing. “Pops offered me my old position back.”

“And you don’t know what to do now?”

“Right!” you exclaimed. The words came rushing out after that. “I really like being the second division strategist, and the workload is much easier to manage. Plus, I really like working with Ace-” Izou raised an eyebrow, but you rushed on before he had the chance to say anything. “-but it is kind of a demotion from where I was. And if i was lead strategist, nobody would be in charge of me, and I’d be right under Pops again. And I liked what I used to do. It was stressful, but I helped people and I was good at it.”

Izou hummed, looking out across the waves. “Can I ask you an insensitive question?”

You sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Do you only care about status?”

Your mouth dropped open at his question, but he stared at you waiting for an answer. 

“No.”

“Well,” Izou chuckled. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you hissed. You were regretting coming to him. 

“You seem much happier in the second division. You had nothing bad to say about it except for the status it put you at. If status is all you care about, then you should be the lead strategist.”

You frowned, trying to think of a rebuttal that didn’t give your feelings away. 

“It’s not just about status. There are other things at play.”

Izou raised an eyebrow at you. “You mean other people.”

“Have you always been this observant?” you grumbled, sulking at being read so easily. 

Izou only laughed and ruffled your hair. “Your secret is safe, kid. But you need to be honest with yourself in a decision like this.”

“We didn’t even sleep together.”

“I know,” Izou smiled. “I believe you.”

You were quiet for a long time, trying to work up the courage to ask Izou one last question.

“You’re observant with everyone on the ship, right?”

Izou sighed. “Just ask the question, kid.”

You stared out at the sea and took a deep breath. “Is he as bad as everyone says he is?”

“Ace?” Izou asked, and you nodded. He hummed, trying to think of the proper way to respond. “He used to be. But he’s calmed down in the past few months.”

You looked at Izou curiously. “What changed?”

Izou laughed. “You’ll have to find that out on your own. I’m not one for gossip. Only advice.”

Advice. Right. You had come here for advice on the strategist position. Ace was always distracting you, even when he wasn’t around. 

“The position. What would you do?”

Izou smirked. It was clear he had been waiting for you to ask that question. He pulled out a golden coin. 

“Heads, you move up to lead strategist. Tails, you stay at division strategist. You stick with whatever the coin tells you. Got it?”

“You’re going to let a coin decide?!” you yelled, but he already threw it up in the air. 

It fell into his hands, and he quickly flipped it onto his wrist, covering the result. Your gut twisted into a ball of nerves. 

Izou looked at you, but your eyes were fixated on his hand. “Show it,” you murmured. 

“Without thinking, answer one question for me.”

“Sure,” you said, still transfixed on what the result would be.

“What do you want it to be?”

“Division strategist,” you said softly. You hardly processed his question before you realized you already answered. 

Your eyes grew wide and you looked up at him in shock, but he was grinning back at you. He revealed the coin to show a shiny golden head. Lead Strategist. Your heart sank.

“You have your answer,” Izou said. “You should stay a division strategist.”

You gave him a confused look. That's not what the coin had chosen.

“The result of the coin doesn’t matter,” Izou explained. “What matters is the feeling you have when the coin is in the air. What matters is the side you hope for.”

He held out the coin for you, and you took it. You turned it over several times, but it was just an ordinary coin. You had seen thousand just like this, it wasn’t special.

“Keep it,” Izou said. “For when you need to make decisions.” He left you alone, Still staring at the coin. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, hearing his footseps recede. Could it really all be that easy? If you flipped the coin again, would you be disappointed with the same result?

You threw the coin in the air, and as it hung there, you still wished for the division strategist position. Even if it wasn’t the most logical choice, it was the one that would make you the happiest. That’s what you had to go off of now. 

Your stomach rumbled, and you realized you hadn’t eaten all day. With the meeting this morning, you had been too nervous to eat, and your mind had been so preoccupied since then, you almost missed lunch. There was only about 20 minutes left of lunch, so you went to the dining hall to find whatever scraps were left over. 

There wasn’t much, but you found enough to make a light meal. You prepared your plate, and found an empty table to sit at to eat your lunch. You had seen a few people you knew, but you weren’t up for chatting much at the moment, so you ate alone. 

After a few minutes, someone sat across from you. Blonde hair, and a tattoo across his chest. Marco. 

“You up for chatting?” he asked, looking up from his meal at you. He sounded tired.

“No,” you answered truthfully.

“Okay.”

That was all he said. The two of you ate together in silence, each in your own world while you mindlessly shoveled food into your mouth. 

It was moments like this when you appreciated Marco. He knew when you needed quiet, and you knew when he needed it. There was a comforting reassurance that you were both able to exist together in silence without there being any tension. 

You finished up your plate, and cleaned up your area. You were about to get up from the table when Marco finally spoke to you.  

“You okay?” Marco asked.

You nodded. “You?”

Marco sighed. “Long day.”

“Hard day in the clinic?” you asked. You hated small talk, but it was tolerable with Marco. 

Marco rolled his eyes. “Let's just say some guy cut off his hand.”

“His hand?!?” your voice carried through the dining hall, and a few people stopped to look at you. 

Marco shot you a look. “Try not to announce it to the whole ship next time.”

You giggled. “Sorry, sorry. Tell me more!”

“I don’t even know how he did it,” Marco groaned, covering his face. “Some accident in construction. I was able to reattach it, but it was exhausting.”

“Incredible,” you breathed out. 

“Miserable,” Marco replied. 

The door to the dining hall swung open, and you looked over to find Ace in the doorway. The coin in your pocket grew heavy. 

“I’m out,” you grumbled. 

You didn’t look back at Marco as you walked away from him. You were sure he was making some sort of face, but you weren’t interested in seeing it. 

You threw your dishes in the kitchen sink and headed out, trying your best to ignore Ace on your way. Now that you saw him, you realised you were still hurt by the way he had spoken to you this morning. 

“Y/N,” Ace called. He reached out for you, touching your arm just for a moment before he pulled away. “Can we talk?”

“No.” You kept walking. You had to get away from lingering eyes that were in the dining hall, especially Marco. 

He didn’t follow you. A part of you was a little disappointed, but you were mostly relieved. You didn’t want to talk, and you weren’t ready to forgive him yet. You had already made up your mind. He didn’t need to persuade you any further. And, though you would never admit it, the devious side of you wanted him to sweat a little bit longer. 

You walked into your father’s office, where he was having a meeting with many familiar members of the crew. You found Whitey in the crowd, and you smiled at her briefly before acknowledging your father. 

“Ah, Y/N,” Whitebeard’s voice boomed. “Back already?”

“I made a decision,” you said, walking over to stand beside him. 

“I see. Let’s go talk, then. Are you good here for a moment?”

A few of the members nodded, and you and your father went into his private office. 

“I’m going to stick with the second division for now,” you said as soon as the door was shut. 

Your father did his best to keep a neutral face, but you could see surprise flicker in his eyes. He hadn’t been expecting that answer. 

“I see,” he said, pondering what to say next. “May I ask what led to your decision?”

“Honestly,” you sighed. “I’m happier being in the second division. It’s less work, I like the people, and I still feel like I can provide assistance and feedback to other division strategists in my current position. I’d be happy to take on the strategist duties that Marco took when I left, but I would like to remain in the second division while doing them.”

Your father watched you carefully, and you did your best not to show your hand. You knew he was aware of something extra you were hiding, he just wasn’t sure enough to ask. 

“Let me talk to Marco and see if he’s willing to give up those duties, but I don’t see a problem in your proposition. Thank you for giving me such a swift answer.”

“Of course. If I may-”

Your father nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

You nodded to Whitey as you left, praying that she never discovered what you had just done. 

You ate dinner alone, and went to bed early. It had been a long and draining day, and you simply didn’t feel like being conscious any longer. 

The bad thing about a bunkhouse is whenever someone comes into the room, the door creaks and the lights flick on, and you were always stirred from the edge of sleep every time. 

After the third time, you huffed in frustration and rose from your bed. You needed a night time walk to reset your body and your brain. You opened the door to find your commander standing outside of it. 

His eyes widened when he saw you. “Great, I really look like a creep now, huh?”

“Ace.” Your mind blanked on any other words. You couldn’t think of what else to even say to him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice soft. “If that’s okay?”

“Sure.” You were trying hard to not let him know he had surprised you, but you could feel your ears starting to fry your hair. 

He led you out onto the deck and up to the crows nest, and you followed him quietly the entire way. It had been later than you expected; the moon was high in the sky and only a few people remained on deck. The night air whispered against your skin and caused goosebumps to rise. You thought about turning up your internal temperature, but the cool air made you feel more alive.

You got up the ladder, and you found several blankets and pillows strewn about the small area. It looked rather cozy, especially for such a chilly night. The area was so small, it was almost impossible for you to sit down without touching Ace in some way. You took a seat across from him and wrapped a blanket around yourself, enjoying its soft touch. 

“Sorry I had to bring you up here,” Ace said, handing you a bottle of sake and opening his own. “I had first watch tonight. I tried to make it as comfortable as I could.”

You nodded, but still couldn’t bring yourself to speak. You weren’t sure what to tell him. Should you yell at him for being so rude to you this morning, or ease his worries by telling him you were staying? You opened the bottle and took a swig, trying to think about what to do.  

“I want you to stay as the second division strategist,” Ace whispered. He was avoiding your eyes. He was dangerously close to touching you, but he made himself as small as he could so you could have your own space. You almost leaned into him, desperate for his warmth, but you refrained. 

“So do whatever you need to,” he continued to say. “Yell at me. Curse me. Ask me whatever you want, and I promise to answer truthfully. Please. Do whatever you need to ease your mind.”

You almost told him you had already made a decision. You opened your mouth to say it, but then you thought better. Now was your opportunity to get answers. 

“Why did you make me the division strategist?”

“I already-” Ace stopped himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “I spent a year hearing all of these great things about you. And a few intimidating things. You intrigued me, and the moment I met you I knew I had to have you. On my team, I mean. I saw how calculated and effortless your movements were, and I knew the stories weren’t just stories.”

You hummed, still not satisfied with his answer. “So why are you trying to hold me back from helping everyone? That's what I would be doing as a lead strategist, isn’t it?”

Ace was silent for a minute, and you could see him trying to curate the right answer. 

You glared at him. “Honesty, Ace.”

He sighed in defeat, realizing he had been caught. He took a long drink before answering. 

“Because I’m selfish. And a little jealous. And Whitebeard entrusted you to me, so I would feel a bit like a failure if you left before we even went on one mission. I know you’ve only been here for a week or two, but it still would look bad to have you instantly transfer out of my division.”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Since when do you care about the way others see you?”

He smiled, and you could see sadness plainly across his face. He didn’t even try to hide it. “I’ve always cared. I just try not to show it.”

Your heart gave a painful ache at his words. You could relate to him in that sense. You always had to act like people’s snide comments about you being the captain’s daughter didn’t bother you. You knew you had gotten to your status by your own merits, but other people never seemed to see it that way. It always hurt, but you had to pretend you didn’t notice the sharpness of their words. 

You almost asked him more, or let him know you understood his pain. But you chose to move on, taking another drink from your bottle. “Why’d you join the crew? How’d your path cross with pops?”

Ace groaned at your question. “Anything but that question.”

“Nope,” you said stubbornly. His distress at the question intrigued you. “You said you’d answer any question.”

“I know.” he put his head into his hands to cover his face. “Just don’t hate me, okay?”

“No promises.”

He peeked up at you with a worried expression, and you laughed at him. He gave an uneasy smile, still unsure if you were being serious or not. 

“I had my own pirate crew, and I was making a name for myself on the Grand Line. So…I tried to kill him. Pops.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise at his words, and then you let out a fit of laughter. “You’re joking!” you said, gasping for air. “What made you think you could kill him?”

“I thought I was hot shit!” Ace said, trying to defend himself. “I thought if I killed him then everyone would take me seriously. I tried several times. Even after he brought me and my crew onboard.”

You were still howling with laughter, amused with the fact Ace thought he could ever do such a thing. You could feel your skin warm and glowing, your magma bubbling beneath the surface with your emotions. 

“I know,” Ace said, taking a drink of alcohol. “It’s so embarrassing looking back on it! He told me to join him, to be his son, and I tried to cut his head off! I obviously didn’t get very far.”

“God, Ace.” You were finally starting to calm down, wiping tears from your eyes. “You really are stupid.”

Ace laughed nervously. “In hindsight, it was pretty dumb. But I thought I was invincible.”

You giggled again, looking up at the sky. It still wasn’t an ideal night to stargaze, but the moon was starting to wane, which meant the perfect night was coming soon. 

You thought of the first night you laid with Ace on the deck and watched the stars, and the night he carried you back to his room. You thought of your father’s proposition, and how you had turned it down. And you thought of Whitey. What would she think, seeing you here like this. You took another long drink of alcohol. It burned going down, but you needed the courage. 

“Whitey,” you whispered. At some point yours and Ace’s legs had made contact with each other, and you felt him stiffen at her name. “What happened with you all?”

“Y/N, please.” Ace’s voice was pained. “Please not that.”

You both stayed quiet for a few minutes, staring at the sky. You knew it had nothing to do with your appointment or your position, but this might be the only time you would get it out of him. Still, it was quite cruel of you to put him in such a position. You were at a crossroads of whether or not to forget the question, when Ace spoke. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard about my reputation on this ship,” Ace finally said, his voice barely a whisper. 

You nodded, still looking at the sky. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the freckled-face boy. You weren’t sure why. 

“Well it’s true. I slept around a lot. A few months ago, Whitey started giving me attention. And I gave it right back to her. The flirtation, the soft touches and little whispers, the looks when you think nobody is looking…it was fun for me. I enjoyed the chase more than the actual catch, if you know what I mean.”

You nodded again, though you didn’t really know what he meant. Your stomach churned with envy just hearing him talk about it. 

“She wanted something more. A real relationship. I just-I dunno. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want that. I became a pirate to be free and to do whatever I wanted. Whoever I wanted. I liked sleeping around with a bunch of people. All different cultures, backgrounds, shapes and sizes.”

“Ace. Get to the point,” you said sharply. You felt like you were going to be sick hearing him talk about all of this. 

“She wanted a relationship, I didn’t. We both thought we could change eachother. But it never happened. Eventually the game got boring with…no reward So I moved on.”

Ace took a deep breath, and you could tell he was trying to figure out how to word the next part of the story. 

“She was devastated. The whole thing really hurt her, that was obvious. Not to sound too cocky, but it turned out she wasn’t the only one who fell in love with me. I just never noticed the trail of broken hearts I was leaving. I guess I’m just too irresistible.” He gave a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “But it made me realize my actions were hurting people, so I took a step back and limited the flirting and sleeping around. I never meant to hurt anybody. I just wanted to have fun.”

You finally pulled your gaze from the sky and looked at him. He was staring at the ground, wearing a look of deep shame. 

“I know she’s one of your closest friends, so I don’t blame you for hating me now that you know. But that’s the truth, I swear. If you don’t want to work in the second division, I won’t blame you. Whitey left too after it all came out.”

You pressed your leg against his, trying to get him to look at you. But his eyes stayed glued to the ground. 

You nudged him again, ignoring the pit that was forming in your stomach. “I don’t hate you,” you said softly. “Thank you for being honest.”

“Yeah.” He sounded miserable. Like he didn’t believe your words at all. He was picking at his skin, trying to calm his nerves.

You knew you should let it go. You had caused him enough painful reflection tonight. But the question was burning as strong as alcohol in the back of your throat.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.  

“No." His answer was immediate. "It was what I needed at the moment. And Whitey was a wake up call. I’m glad it happened to me, even if it hurt other people in the process.” He snorted a laugh that held no humor behind it. “That’s kind of shitty to say out loud.”

“Maybe,” you agreed. “But I know what you mean.”

“Thanks.” He still refused to look at you. 

“Hey.” You nudged his leg again, but he didn’t respond. 

“Hey!” You bumped against his arm this time, leaning in closer to him in the process. “Will you look at me?”

He didn’t for a while, but his eyes finally moved up and landed on your face. 

You gave him a small smile, hoping he wouldn’t be mad with what you were about to say. “I told pops I was staying in the second division.”

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Staying?”

You took a drink. “I like it better than my old job.” You gave him another playful nudge. “Better people.”

“You’re joking,” he scoffed, but his eyes widened, and they looked much more hopeful than they had a moment ago.

“I turned him down right after lunch,” you admitted, a soft blush appearing across your cheeks. 

Ace’s mouth feel open in shock. “Lunch? But then-”

“Ace!?” A booming voice called from the bottom of the mast. “Is it safe to come up?”

“Shift change already?” Ace mumbled, looking up at the moon. “I’ll be damned. Rakuyo! You can come up!”

You heard the seventh division commander climbing the ladder, and your heart raced at the thought of him finding you here. What would he think? Would the rumors with Ace start up again because of you? You weren’t sure those rumors ever really died out, but you didn’t want to fuel the fire more. 

Rakuyo’s head popped up between you and Ace, and it was clear that he was startled to see you there. A sly smirk grew across his face. 

“Oh, darling.” His voice was full of mischief. “Ace, seriously? Up here?”

“We were just talking,” you rushed to say.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rakuyo said, waving you off as he stepped onto the crow’s nest lookout. “That’s what they all say.”

You looked at Ace, who’s eye twitched slightly, but he said nothing in his own defense. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled. You chugged the rest of your sake quickly, desperate to get out of the conversation. “I’m going to bed.” You lowered yourself into the hole and climbed down the ladder. 

“Can you throw my pillows down?” Ace asked his fellow commander, lowering himself down after you.

Rakuyo laughed. “You know the rule dude. Whatever stays up here, stays until morning.”

“Dude,” Ace whined. “Thats what I sleep with.”

“Should’ve taken the all-night shift then.”

Ace groaned. “Seriously?”

“Mmmm, so comfy. And alcohol!? Ace, you shouldn’t have!” Rakuyo jested, and Ace gave up on his endeavor of getting his sheets back. 

You and Ace walked back to the bunkhouses quietly. The walk back gave you a lot of contemplation, and a lot of time to work up your courage. He only spoke again when you were at your door. 

“So you’re really staying?” Ace asked as your hand was on the doorknob. 

“Wait here,” you whispered, and you opened the door just enough to slip inside. 

You snuck into your room quietly and grabbed your comforter and pillows from your bed. You hesitated for a moment, and then reached into your bedside table and shuffled around, looking for the bottle of wine you had stashed in there. You finally found the glass bottle, and slipped out the door with the comforter, pillows, and wine. 

You handed off the wine and pillows to Ace, and got a better grip on the comforter before you looked up at him. 

“What are you doing?” Ace asked, looking at the things you had handed off to him. 

“You don’t have bedsheets,” you said simply, your cheeks warm. “So we’re using mine.”

“I can’t take your bedsheets,” Ace said, looking around dumbfoundedly. 

“Relax,” you hummed, starting to walk towards the commander's chambers. “I’ll sleep with Whitey. It’s not a big deal. But we’ll finish that wine first. I have more questions to ask you.”

Ace groaned, but followed you through the halls. “I thought we were done with honesty hour.”

“No way! I have so much more to learn about you, Portgas D. Ace,” you giggled his name. It felt so sweet on your lips. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

“I get to ask questions too, then,” Ace argued. 

You chuckled. “Maybe. We’ll see how generous I’m feeling.”

Ace scowled at your response. You stuck your tongue out at him, which made his mood lighten a bit.

"You're really staying?" Ace asked again, eager for you to finally answer him.

"Yes, Ace!" you said, smiling at him. He seemed to carry himself higher after you answered his question, and the tense air between you two finally cleared.

You danced down the hallway with a newly found lightness, your comforter still in your hands. You felt comfortably warm, and just a little tipsy, though you weren’t sure if that feeling was coming from the alcohol or from Ace being so close to you. The only thing you truly knew was that you were throwing caution to the wind, and hoping that you weren’t as stupid as your best friend.

After a short walk, you reached his room and quietly slipped inside. As he dropped the pillows onto the mattress, you found a place to sit on his bed and wrapped your comforter around you. Ace sat down across from you, opening the bottle of wine and taking a long drink before handing it to you. 

“So,” he started, wiping the wine from his upper lip. “What else do you want to know?”

You weren’t really sure what else to ask him, so you looked around his room for inspiration. The half-made hats were still strewn around, but you already knew the answer to that mystery. 

“The shells,” you said, looking around. “Why do you have so many?”

“They’re from every island we visit,” Ace said, watching you look around the room. “I make sure to grab one every place we see.”

“Why?”

Ace shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Something that nobody else can get. It’s mine and it’s free. Every island has shells.”

“Even winter islands?” you questioned. 

“I’ll settle for stones too.” He pointed at a pile of rocks on his shelf.

They all looked like normal rocks. Just smooth stones that had been worn down by the current of the ocean. He could’ve gotten them from anywhere. Even the shells were mostly common ones you could find on any beach. Someone could easily swap them or steal one and he’d never be the wiser. But they were obviously important to him. 

“I’m going to show them to my little brother when I see him again,” Ace explained. He was staring at the shells, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. “I’m going to tell him all the stories that come with those shells over a nice bottle of sake.”

You liked this side of Ace. He was kind and gentle and sincere. He had a little brother and he loved shells and he wanted an adventure worth telling. 

You picked up a shell on his bedside table. “What’s the story with this one?”

He looked over and saw the small conch shell in your hand. He smiled fondly, and you felt yourself relaxing.

“Narrow Arrow Island,” he said. His hand reached for the shell, and he turned it over in his hands. 

“Me and Thatch had this big mission, but we totally misread the map to find the town we were going to. We ended up walking 5 miles in the wrong direction. We only found out we were going the wrong way because some bandits tried to rob us and ended up telling us!”

You giggled at his story. “How do you mess up five miles in the wrong direction?”

“The island was narrow as an arrow! It wasn’t named that for no reason!” he said defensively. “And we had the map upside down!”

“You’re lying!” you squealed out, nudging him playfully. 

“I swear.” Ace crossed his heart with his index finger, which only made you laugh harder. Ace couldn’t help but join you in laughing at the outlandish story. Even if he knew it was true, he understood your skepticism.

“Okay, okay,” you said, finally calming down. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Ace asked, looking at you with a puzzled expression.

“Ask me anything,” you said, puffing your chest out and taking a long swig of wine. “I can take it.”

Ace thought for a moment, running through his options. He had so many questions, but one had bothered him for a while. 

“Why’d you leave?”

“Pops told me I could have the second commander position if I was stronger,” you said smoothly. It was an answer you gave so frequently, you almost believed it yourself. 

But Ace squinted at you in suspicion. “There’s more though, isn’t there? I imagine you could’ve gotten stronger on the ship if that was the only reason.”

He was good at reading people, you had to admit. Or at least good at reading you. You sighed, taking another drink. You’d need it for this answer. But you owed Ace honesty and vulnerability, since that’s what he had given you all night. 

“My entire life I was always Whitebeard’s Daughter. Everyone looked at me like I didn’t earn my place; like I only got there because of who my father is. Ever since I could remember, wherever I go, his name follows me. Which is fine, most of the time. I love my dad, and I know he loves me. But those looks from others…the hatred, the envy, sometimes a mix of both. I just got sick of it. I needed to know who I could be without him towering over me.”

After you finished, you glanced nervously at Ace to see his reaction. His face surprised you; his mouth was agape in shock, and his eyes seemed to glisten with understanding. He cut his eyes away from you after a moment, deep in thought. 

“I know what you mean,” he mumbled. 

You laughed at his statement. “You know what I mean? And how’s that?”

He glanced over at you nervously, opening his mouth again to say something. He seemed to change his mind though, and reached for the bottle in your hands instead. 

You handed it over him, contemplating on if you should push the question or not. You got the sense that Ace truly did know what you were feeling, but if you tried to open that door, it wouldn’t budge.

“Tell me about your brother,” you offered instead. 

Ace’s eyes lit up. His entire body jumped to attention at your question. He looked like a little kid in the candy store, thrilled to have an opportunity to talk about something he truly loved. 

“Luffy,” he said. “That’s his name. He should be setting out to sea any time now, actually. We made a pact when we were seventeen we’d become pirates. His seventeenth birthday is in a few months, so I’m sure I’ll see him soon. You’ll have to meet him! He’s like nobody else you’ve ever met before, I swear.”

He went on and on, telling you about Luffy’s straw hat and their adventures in the jungle together. They were raised by mountain bandits, which was surprising to you since Ace had such proper manners. He talked about his brother until you both finished the bottle of wine, and you found yourself smiling along at every story. 

“I look forward to meeting him one day,” you said, a sleepy smile on your face. 

“Oh crap,” Ace groaned. “I talked way too much about him, huh?”

“No! I really enjoyed it all, truthfully.” you sighed, rising to your feet. “But I think I do need to go to bed now. It’s pretty late.”

“You can stay, if you want,” Ace offered. His already rosy cheeks turned into a deep shade of red.

You wanted to stay. You really did. It would be so easy to slip back into bed and cuddle up against him. You wanted nothing more than to fall asleep against his warm, bare chest. 

But you couldn’t. He was your commanding officer, and while one night in his bed could be explained away as a fluke, two nights would become a slippery slope. Plus, your absence in the bunkhouse wouldn’t go unnoticed. Whitey was painfully aware of your movements, and the last thing you needed was to hurt her even more. 

“Not tonight,” you said, attempting to give him a smile. “Whitey’s waiting for me.”

He flinched slightly at the name, and you felt a tinge of remorse bringing her up. 

You started walking towards the door, trying to think of something else to say. 

You turned, smiling at him. “Let’s do it again soon though, okay?”

He perked up at that, nodded in agreement. “I’d like that.”

You opened the door and slipped out in the hallway. “Goodnight, Ace,” you whispered. 

“Night.”

You silently shut his door and headed back to your own bunkhouse, unaware of the eyes that were watching you go. 

tags! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog (if you'd like to be included in the tag list, just comment or send me a message!)

[infiniteeight8]

Back AGES ago you said you had a second idea for the Pride and Prejudice inspired drabble. Would love to see that other idea if you still remember it! (IronStrange)

Not so much a second idea as an additional sequel! I had a whole four part arc in mind for this one, and folks only asked for a follow up once, so I’ve been sitting on the notes while I work on other prompts and waiting for either someone to prompt this or for a moment when I had no prompts to write it anyway. LOL. Thank you for resolving the situation!

The first two stories in this series are here.

-

Stephen is reading in the library when someone hammers on the doors of the Sanctum. Tony, his connection to the Sanctum tells him as he stands. The hammering comes again, and Stephen asks the doors to open even as he steps into the entrance hall.

Tony storms into the Sanctum, expression thunderous. “Did you know?” he demands.

“Know what?” Stephen asks. He’s trying to keep calm, but he’s rarely seen Tony this angry.

“That Pepper was going to leave me,” Tony snaps. “Did you know?” He reaches out and gives Stephen a shove, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

The Cloak helps Stephen regain his balance and he plants himself in the face of Tony’s anger. “You said yourself that whatever I saw doesn’t matter in this life,” he says evenly. 

Tony steps up close, glaring. He punctuates his words with a finger stabbing into Stephen’s chest. “You could have warned me.” 

“You didn’t want to know.”

“I’d have wanted to know this!” 

Stephen’s own anger is rising. “How was I supposed to know that?” he snapped. “Out of all the possibilities—some of which you actively rejected—how was I supposed to know which one you wanted to hear about?”

“Pepper—”

Stephen cuts him off. “Sometimes Pepper left you,” he says. “Sometimes you left her. Sometimes you died. Sometimes she did. Sometimes you both did. Sometimes the two of you lived happily ever after, at least until Thanos arrived. There are lives where she ended up with Mr. Hogan. Or Colonel Rhodes. Sometimes she walked away from this entire life and you never saw her again. Sometimes she put on a suit and took up your mantle after you.” Tony is staring at him now. Stephen takes a deep breath. “Fourteen million six hundred and five futures is a lot of options. Do you want to hear about every last one? Because we’ll be here awhile.”

Tony backs away from Stephen. He’s staring, but not really seeing. After a moment, he sits, crumpling onto the steps of the Sanctum’s main staircase like his strings have been cut.

Eventually, Stephen walks over and sits, too, though not too close. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Pepper was my chance,” Tony says bleakly. “For a happy ending. For love.”

“Not your only chance,” Stephen offers.

Tony gives him a look. “I thought you weren’t going to tell me all the options.”

“I’m not,” Stephen says. “But I can tell you that you had other happy endings—pending Thanos—with other people than Pepper.” He’s not sure if he wants Tony to ask who. Or if he’d tell him if he did. Besides, Stephen isn’t the only option, either.

Tony blows out a long breath. “That feels hard to believe right now.”

“Someone fresh off a break up rarely appreciates being told there are more fish in the sea,” Stephen says dryly, and Tony snorts.

They sit in silence for a moment. Eventually, Tony sighs. “Sorry for barging in here and yelling at you.”

“It’s fine,” Stephen says, standing. He looks down at Tony. He looks small right now, still folded in on himself on the steps. “Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t like tea,” Tony says, but he gets up and follows Stephen anyway.

[myreia]

Desiderium

CHAPTER FIVE: THE DARK IN THE LIGHT

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters Pairings: Aureia/Thancred Chapter Words: 3,206 Notes: Set during early Endwalker, spoilers for the start of the expac. Summary: After arriving in Old Sharlayan, Aureia wants to see Thancred’s old haunts. He could not be happier to oblige, but his thoughts are occupied by something else entirely. Prompt: ii. hands | blush Chapters: one • two • three • four • five Read on AO3

They do not sleep.

It’s tempting, of course, to close one’s eyes and while away the time. The silence up here is comforting—it’s in the gentleness of the light shining through the windows, the old and forgotten furniture from days gone by, the stillness of the air. The creak of the couch and the shift of its white cover as they move, the way their twinned breath rises and falls in tandems, these small, ordinary sounds filling the quiet.

Aureia lies on her back, nestled next to Thancred with one of his arms around her shoulders, and stares idly at the ceiling. It’s easy to get lost in tracing the patterns engraved above; even without the glowing constellations there are still hundreds of curving lines and unique shapes to find. She exhales a breath and stretches out, flexing her bare feet as she shivers slightly beneath his coat. Now the heat of sex has subsided, she is yearning for her own clothes again.

But putting them on would mean leaving. And leaving would mean that time would start again.

Thancred rolls onto his side, his gaze trained on her face. “You’re wriggling,” he says. “Everything all right?”

She holds back a smile. “That is called a stretch, sir, and I’m only doing it because my back is getting sore.” Making a face, she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the couch. Tilting her head to the side, she brushes her long hair out of the way and digs her fingers into her shoulder blade. “Ugh, I’m getting old.”

A firm hand brushes hers aside. “Picking up my bad habits, I see,” he chides gently. “You’re far from old.”

“I know. But I certainly feel it these days.” She closes her eyes and leans into him, murmuring in pleasure as he massages the taut muscles. “Some day the world will call on the Warrior of Light and they’ll find naught but a wizened old woman chasing them out with a broomstick.”

“Interesting. Never thought you the type to look to Matoya as a shining example.”

“Some days I think she’s the only one with head on straight. Maybe we would all do a little better if we retired to a secluded cave and relied on animated brooms and frogs for company.”

“I suppose there are worse fates.”

His tone is unexpectedly reluctant. He knows Matoya about as well as she does—which is to say not personally at all—but he has never sounded judgmental of her lifestyle. She pauses, pursing her lips as he retreats into silence and concentrates on the knot in her shoulder blade with singular focus.

“I think this one is perfectly amenable,” she says finally. “Perhaps more than a little appealing.”

He snorts. “You think so?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Considering you once lived in the Dravanian wilds, I wouldn’t think you one to judge.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” He cuts himself short, a grumble on the tip of his tongue. “Tell me honestly, Aur—would you be happy like that? A recluse, secluded on purpose from the rest of the world?”

Her lips twitch. “I haven’t given it that much thought, but I’d be lying if I said the thought wasn’t tempting.” The peace and tranquility this room has offered are washing away, retreating like the tide. Why can’t anything be easy? If it isn’t some impending doom or immediate disaster pressing in on them from the outside, then they seem to resort to making problems for themselves. Sometimes she wonders if it isn’t self-sabotage—as if there is something buried deep in both of them that still believes they are too damaged to deserve happiness. “Maybe not a cave, exactly, but… somewhere far away. A village where no one knows me, or failing that—if none of those exist anymore—then a little home in the wilds, the kind that sees a stray passerby maybe once or twice a year.” 

“I… see.”

She can feel the wheels in his head turning, already overthinking the gravity of this topic. His hands are still moving across her back, absently working the same spot over and over again. The knot has long since disappeared, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell him.   

“And you?” she asks hesitantly.  

“It’s not exactly how I intended to spend retirement, no.”

“And how do you intend to spend your retirement?”

“That’s just it, Aureia. There is no plan. ’Twould be easier to count the ways in which I would not spend it than those I would.” He pauses, a breathy little sigh escaping his lips. She knows that sound—the heavy, weighty acceptance that comes before admitting something difficult. “Until the Telophoroi are dealt with and the Forum’s schemes unveiled, I cannot look that far in advance. And even if I did humour you and played into this fantasy you’ve conjured for us… I cannot see myself partaking in it. Nor can I see you, for that matter.”

Her heart twists, stung by his comment even though he is right. She is reaching for an idea she hasn’t fully thought through, one borne from a desire that is nice in theory, but will never work in practice. He can never stay grounded to one place for long; neither can she, for that matter. Even if they live long enough to consider retirement, they will never stop moving, never stop helping others wherever they can.

All this talk of home and homecomings since arriving in Old Sharlayan must have gone to her head.

A hollow knot forms in the pit of her stomach, distant memories echoing in her mind—white sands burning under her toes, ocean waves lapping at a shore beneath a sky burnt orange. Dense temperate forests humming with hidden wildlife. Laughter and chatter weaving through the square, too indistinct to make out. That was the Garlemald of her childhood, a provincial hometown long forgotten.

Sprawling steel forts that dominate the skyline. The tang of ceruleum polluting the air. The relentless red and blow glow of magitek paired with the heavy tread of soldiers and the long shadows of airships passing overhead—and the relentless snows and ice-crusted streets of the Imperial capital. The Garlemald of her adolescence, of her young adulthood.    

There are no parents to return to, no childhood friends to fondly greet. No libraries to disappear into, no cafés to frequent. No markets to stroll about, no mentors to remember fondly, no old haunts to find. Even if they did exist, she would be dead the moment she stepped foot on Garlean soil without an army at her back, blood splattered across those crisp, bone-white snows.

Zenos may have claimed the privilege of fighting her for himself, but that doesn’t mean his former legions will follow suit. She isn’t just the Warrior of Light, their enemies’ greatest asset—she is the nation’s greatest traitor since its founding. There isn’t a Garlean alive who doesn’t want her dead.

A confrontation with Garlemald is inevitable. The country may be in disarray following the civil war, but even fractured as it is the military might of its legions cannot be underestimated. Not to mention that jester of an Ascian is pulling the strings from the capital itself. Zenos does not concern her. Fandaniel does. He promised her that the crown prince would be waiting for her at “the heart of the chaos” and she believes it.

The only question is what else waits for her.    

Stop it. Don’t think about that now.

The self-given command cuts through the din of her mind. She’s spiralling in silence, Thancred oblivious to her trail of thought. And all this because she thought of home. Because in the midst of witnessing her friends’ homecoming, she found herself—once again—searching for something she does not have. Not because she wants it, but because she keenly feels yet another way in which she lacks an experience the others have come by naturally.

Gods, just thinking it she sounds bitter.

Thancred curses softly, sensing her tension. He bows his head and leans against her, his brow pressing into her shoulder blade. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Perhaps I made too harsh of an assessment.”   

“Don’t be,” Aureia says gently. “And you didn’t. Today’s been an odd day.”

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, cutting herself off before she says more. The urge to ask him a barrage of complicated questions with no easy answers—what does he want from their lives? How does he see their future?—flares and dies. Now is not the time for this discussion. This moment is precious, and already too much of reality is creeping in. She is fighting it off second by second.

So she closes the door on it.

The tension releases its grip on her and she relaxes, sagging forward, her hands on her knees. He exhales a sigh of relief, his breath soft against her back, and runs a hand down her arm. He’s still yearning to touch her, to feel her skin’s warmth beneath his, to make their reprieve last as long as possible.

It’s tempting, so very tempting. To succumb to his impulses, surrendering to another round of desire and heat and pleasure. Tonight he wanted to focus on her, getting off on making her come, but a reversal tastes just as sweet. Some other night—and soon—she will follow through. She has several ideas in mind to wrap him around her little finger.

“Aur?” he murmurs.

She casts an eye across the room, spotting her clothes where they lie in an unkempt pile, his armguards beside them. The broken strap stands out, lying at an odd angle. A blush burns her cheeks. She really did let him undress her right there on the spot, didn’t she?

“Hm?” she whispers.

He catches the length of her hair, toying with the deep crimson ends. For some reason the red is always strongest there; she doesn’t know why. “Should we…?”

The unfinished question is clear. Do you want me? I want you. 

But she is already filled, sated, her core still pleasantly numb. Her body is fatigued from the long day, her mind still fuzzy from the voyage overseas, and her back now sore from lying on the old couch. Though it breaks her heart to leave the privacy of his haunt and return to the world outside, a good night’s rest would do them both some good.  

With a small smile, Aureia turns and catches his face between her hands, kissing him. Thancred groans against her lips, this time not with the heat of desire, but with the warmth of familiarity. She lingers for a moment, running her fingers through his hair. A pause, a breath—and then she lets him go.   

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her lips a hair’s breadth from his.

He rests his forehead against hers. “Whatever for?”

“You know.” She strokes her thumb across his cheek. “Let’s go home.”

She takes no note of the turn of phrase. It is merely words.

Drawing away, she rises and shrugs out of his coat, dropping it in his lap. She pads naked across the room and gathers her clothing from the floor, spine tingling as she feels his eyes on her. It takes her longer to dress than it did for him to undress her. Funny how that goes.

Thancred stays on the couch, watching her from heavy-lidded eyes, his hair mussed, and his cheeks flushed with colour. He spreads his coat across his knees, tugging absently at it. It isn’t until she has laced up her boots and collected his armguards that he finally moves, scooping up his shirt and pulling it on. His movements are slow, lethargic, as if he is half-asleep.

A chronometer chimes, deep and thunderous.

He snaps out of it. Standing quickly, he runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it out, pulls the coat on, and strides across the room. He takes his armguards from her and slips them on, twisting the broken strap around and tucking it beneath the metal. It will do for now.

Together, they leave the chamber to the dust and moonlight, its solitude broken for the first time in years.

It doesn’t take them long to go back the way they came. Aureia is the first to step out into the depths of night, eyes wide and mouth agape as she enters a winter fantasy. The snow is falling quickly enough now to cover the ground with a fine, shimmering layer of white. Large, soft flakes drift lazily through the air, the kind she can imagine children chasing and catching on the tips of their tongues. The chill chafes at her face and turns the tip of her nose red, but she finds herself not caring. She is too mesmerized by the way her breath puffs like mist in the cold.

Thancred follows her out from between the two buildings, and comfortable silence settles between them. They stroll the streets arm-in-arm, taking the time to enjoy these last moments of peace. Old Sharlayan has transformed in the dead of night, silent and steadfast, its lights casting a golden haze across sleepy streets. There is not a soul to be seen.

When they finally reach the Annex—for real, this time—and open its doors, they find Ojika asleep at his desk, a mug of old coffee an ilm away from his outstretched hand. He snorts and snuffles in his sleep, lingering on the cusp of waking only to fall back into a deeper slumber. Thancred shakes his head, murmuring something about the sleep schedules of scholars, and strides around the desk to pick the Lalafell’s fallen jacket off the floor. He drapes it around his shoulders.  

Aureia glances at the doors to the main hall. Broad and heavy and very much closed. Either the discussion has gone late into the night, or they have missed the meeting entirely. She can envision Alphinaud with an anxious crease between his brows, pacing back and forth, arguing that they cannot continue with part of their party missing while Alisaie huffs and rolls her eyes in the corner.

“Should we stop by?” she asks under her breath, careful not to disturb Ojika.

He makes a face. “I suppose we must.”

She flashes him an encouraging smile. Careful not to make too much noise, she tugs the great doors open and slips inside.

The hall is dark. The high windows—their frosted glass as black as obsidian—look out into nothingness. In the sliver of warm light creeping in from the threshold, she can just make out the maps and posters that cling to the walls, their parchment pulling up at the edges. Large bookcases line the far wall, the old wood creaking as they settle in the silence, obscured by the shadows of a lopsided ladder or two. The outline of a large table occupies the centre of the room, pulled from its regular place to make room for the mismatched chairs arranged neatly around it. If the Scions did gather here, they are long gone.  

Aureia glances over her shoulder at Thancred and catches his eye. He cocks his head towards the door, eager to leave.  

“At the risk of sounding like an old matriarch—” a crisp voice calls. “—you’re late.”

A shadow unfurls from a high-backed seat and Y’shtola steps into the light. Her tail is curled behind her and the folds of her black dress rustle at her sides, the skirt rumpled from the way she was sitting. She carries a book in hand, a finger pressed between the pages so as not to lose her spot. True to form, it is far from light reading material—thick, leatherbound, faded letters on the spine. Her keen eyes stare straight ahead, sweeping over them with casual familiarity. Her aethersight must have spotted them the moment they opened the door.

“Yes, well…” Aureia smiles apologetically.

Thancred shrugs. “One could argue we’re fashionably late,” he supplies, crossing his arms.

“And one could also argue there is quite a difference between being fashionable and disregarding etiquette entirely.” Her ears twitch, a small smile on her lips. Her gaze has fallen on his armguard where the broken strap has worked its way loose. That silvery sheen misses nothing. “I expected such from you, Thancred, but for you to pull Aureia into it…”

He blows out a puff of air. “Schooling me on behaviour while you have a Noumenon manuscript in hand? Something tells me the librarians did not part with it willingly. Or perhaps they do not even know it vacated their premises without permission.”

She throws back her head and laughs, snapping the book shut. With it pressed now to her chest and her tail swishing back and forth, she looks ten years younger, like a student halfway through their term at the Studium but without the frazzled nature. “Let’s call it an Archon’s privilege and leave it be,” she says, pressing a finger to her lips.

“Dare I even inquire about the contents of the book you stole?”

“No.” Y’shtola is sounding remarkably un-Y’shtola like. Judging from the flush on her cheeks and the giddiness of her tone, Aureia wonders whether a glass of wine has been involved. “Histories. Mysteries. The like. My lips are sealed.”

“Ah, so recreational reading. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Silence settles throughout the hall. Y’shtola draws herself up to her full height and steps into the light, crossing the room. Though she is several ilms shorter than Thancred and Aureia both, she commands the presence of someone much taller. Her heels click against the floor and she opens her mouth to speak, ready to unleash the riposte of a century.

“Hic!”  

Y’shtola slaps a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

“Well—hic—” She flushes. “—if you would please pardon me.”

Aureia’s mouth twitches and she bites her tongue, trying to keep from laughing. It would seem her guess was right.

Y’shtola swallows another hiccup and coughs, covering her embarrassment. “If you thought I stayed up for the sole purpose of chastising you for behaving like a pair of lovesick students, think again,” she says smoothly. “It must be said we have all taken this evening to indulge ourselves after a long voyage. Truth be told, no made it back in time to reconvene save Krile. I simply chose this hall as the perfect place to study uninterrupted on the assumption all others would be distracted elsewhere. We can debrief on the morrow.”

Aureia and Thancred exchange looks.

Y’shtola’s smile softens. Glancing at Aureia, she gives her a deep nod, then turns her attention to Thancred. She rises up on tiptoe and presses a hand to his cheek, her eyes searching his, bright silver to hazel. Something passes between them—an understanding of very old friends, returned at last to the place that brought them together.

“Welcome home,” she says and passes by, heading for the doors.  

He nods, glancing over his shoulder to watch her go. “Same to you, Shtola. Same to you.”

[acommonloon]

Black hole sons - egos of men daren’t be eclipsed

My sister invited us to visit her new place in Kentucky on Saturday. Her Lawrenceburg address was an hour and a half drive to “nowhere close.” Even Frankfort was 45 minutes away. As it was their one year anniversary at the new house, it was going to be a big shindig. We felt we had to go.

TD, my sister’s husband (although they never use the term and I don’t think they ever officially married) is a Marine(ret) and a black man so…

We would get to visit with some black people! Yay! lol I spent 21 years in a diverse Air Force with many of those years in North Carolina, Georgia, Mississippi, and Europe so, after our last 22 years in white bread Indiana, I was looking forward to a gathering with some color.

We had a good time but this morning we discussed a thing we both noticed.

We arrived on time so we were early. It’s a military thing. My sister met us at the car as we unloaded lawn chairs, a cooler with beer (I would drink) and a bag with a bottle of bourbon, a gift for TD. I apologized as I handed it to my sister because we didn’t find anything we specifically wanted to gift her. Then I said, “Maybe you like bourbon too?”

“I do like bourbon but TD doesn’t like me drinking it.” She said.

What?

“Yeah, he says I get too mouthy when I drink bourbon.” She chuckled

We walked in silence for a few seconds.

“I do love bourbon though.” She sighed.

This morning, I recalled this to D and she asked, “Did you notice how the black women and the white women married to black men were cheerfully subservient to the men.” She went on, “I was really shocked when Jerry said to his wife, “Hey can I get some ice over here?”

His wife, Anita, responded of course honey and brought it right over.

That was some Mad Men level patriarchy right there.

Before we were given leave to eat, TD turned the prayer into his personal story of deliverance by God, the result being the property he now owned. It was his dream, granted to him because he always put God first. He acknowledged the prior owners who were on hand, recounting how it was his note, left under the humidor entreating the, then unknown, owner to always keep the Marine Corps flag flying that sealed the deal. I felt this conclusion somewhat undermined when he admitted the seller asked the two prior contract offers to perform within 48hours and only when they couldn’t, was his offer accepted. Inshallah. After the conclusion of the prayer, I walked over to the prior owners.

What a wonderful place I enthused, “How could you bear to leave it? I asked.

They smiled and I saw genuine sadness as they said they’d always dreamed to have such a place but couldn’t keep it up. They said they’d bought a smaller place nearby but, what I was seeing here now had always been their dream too.

Perhaps they hadn’t always put God first in their lives or maybe it was just his plan to let them toil for years before letting someone else buy the fruit of their labor.

Minutes later, God’s chosen was back on his soapbox. He introduced his son. His oldest son. He said he’d always hoped one of his sons, but especially this one, would follow him into the Marine Corps. He couldn’t be prouder. Oh and his other son, a football coach, would be here later. Yikes

Then he demanded to know where the cake was. He directed this query to my sister. She said it was in the house. Well get it he smiled. She turned and went.

I watched her walk away from the crowd. No one looked her way. I shouted, “Do you need any help?”

FUCK! I never heard a cross word or impolite remark during the event. It was the type of fellowship I remembered from church dinners during my youth. Everyone emoting delight at the company around them. Sunny smiles all around + alcohol.

Earlier as we were driving down, I’d called my sister to say we would be early if that was okay so we could have a bit of time to visit before the crowds arrived. I joked there’d probably be a hundred people. She said that was accurate with all the people TD had invited. “His problem is he’s too likeable!” I joked.

“You don’t have to live with him.” She responded.

These men love their wives like cherished possessions. They ply them with caring condescension giving all credit to godly provenance and their own wisdom for doing so.

[tinyvesselhearts]

(Egon x You) Human after all

(Thing Is: Chapter 11) Based on request for "Reader's possessed, Egon saves you, Hurt/ Comfort".

SFW but hot like my laptop right now.

From the journal alone, Egon is about to learn the following:

One: your father was a curious man. A scientist of sorts. He was fascinated by the concept of cosmic forces. Since he deemed humanity insignificant, only thing that mattered was a giant portal he was building in his barn: a door to humanity’s progress— or, as he called it— Compliance CH2. He used some restored scribbles found in the Marsh chronicles to design the gate. It took him ten years. He built it. It worked.

Two: your dad wasn’t summoning spirits per se. The creatures were alien, of all species. There’s a pattern: every time an alien (one of Yog- Sothoth’s children) was summoned, they would need a host. Like parasites, they needed to infest an organism adjusted to Earth’s conditions. Once they did, they preyed on the organism and slowly regrew it in accordance with their DNA. See, their bodies constitute loose ectoplasmic bonds which leads to another conclusion: while their hivelike minds were powerfully connected, their physical forms were weak. That’s why the PKE meter detected their presence but the proton streams didn’t work.

Three: if love means priority, your dad was shit at it.

---

Egon decides it’s for the best to stay the night at the station. There’s the issue of the mutant guest in the basement and staying within reach if somebody calls. He half expects you to change your mind and dial their number— but time flows, minutes merge into hours and the phone remains painfully quiet.

He dedicates every second to reading your father’s notes. It’s productive, informative. Fascinating, truly— but he soon realizes it doesn’t put his mind at ease. A stray thought keeps reaching to the conflict from a few hours back. He fights it. He tries to. He fails.

There’s a pressure in his chest he’s never felt before. It’s heavy, unrelenting. The cold night air must've pushed some pollen through the city. Allergy always seems to come unannounced. Thankfully, he’s aware of how his body works so— while far- fetched at best— he decides to trust this self- diagnosis and ignore the pain.

He needs to focus. He keeps reading.

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone who takes interest in ghosts?~

He's almost a hundred and seventy pages in when everything clicks. The hybrid intruder in the basement is an infected specimen, who’s grown into a semi- functioning symbiotic organism. While Egon can think of a person who would be enthralled by giving up their body for research, he doubts any reasoning would push him this far. The infected man has no ID. No records, no publicity— a recluse or a tramp. Regardless, there must be a way of helping him. To save the human and send the alien away…

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone—~

He’s on his fifth mug of tea and a third chocolate bar when he hears a loud bang downstairs.

Egon stands up. Frowns. Waits a few seconds and listens in.

There’s a muted echo of footsteps, shy and wary, then complete silence for a moment and then…

“…Hello?”

…You’re here.

Egon runs to the stairs. Hooks the rail, swings and dashes down to the garage in long strides. He looks around and there you stand, right beside the car, unsure, agitated, still. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly off— your coat’s unfastened, pajama shirt peeks from underneath— you’re shivering, trembling, cold. It’s late at night and you didn’t even bother to grab a scarf. You must be in shock or in danger.

He wastes no time— runs the distance and stops right in front of you. You look worried, breaths are shallow and they fill the air as clouds of steam.

“What’s wrong?”

Your eyes are glossy.

“…It’s here”, you whisper, shaky. “It’s with me.”

Egon already knew— he knew the moment he saw you— he just didn’t want to believe it. He should’ve stayed. He shouldn’t have left you unguarded—

The PKE meter in his hand scans you head to toe. The contraption is beeping wildly, condensed spiritual presence detected, unmistakable and progressive. Egon shakes his head— not in denial but disbelief.

“…No. Not you”, he says. “Anyone but you.”

You let out a sob— and a laugh— tilt your head backwards and struggle to hold back tears.

“I hate everything about it. Ah… Why don’t I ever listen to wise people?... I should’ve stayed away from ghosts, the stupid books, this job, the journal—”

“Do not confuse avoiding a problem with solving it. I should’ve never left you on your own. Should’ve been wiser about the dangers, I…” Egon’s brows knit, blood threatens to simmer in his veins. “Stupid. Stupid! How could I—”

He needs to throw something on the ground because, seriously— why did he think leaving you in a vulnerable position was ever a good idea— it’s all his darn fault!— Had he urged you to stay the night here, none of this would’ve happened. He didn’t want overstep but seeing you in this state now is torture. You’re exhausted to the point of crying.

“Come with me”, he says, extending an arm. “I’ll fix it. I know what to do.”

You can’t answer but a step towards him ensues. Your hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white out of fear, pain and determination— but they’re also trembling, which Egon picks up on in an instant. You’re horrified. You’re a hostage in your own body. He takes your hand. Tugs at it and you follow.

Mid- way to the basement, your mouth forms a string of words.

“Ymg' lloig ah mgn'ghft”.

Egon whips his head around. Pulls out a translator from his pocket and it immediately spurts the translation: Your mind is worthy of Him.

Ah, yes. It’s the glorious full- blown takeover stage. That was to be expected.

Egon’s too old for this. He’s seen it all. An imposter is a lowball, truly, he’s dealt with those more times than he cared to count.

“You aren’t staying for long. Don’t get comfortable.”

She is our vessel now.

“Fallacy”, Egon’s tone is casual. “She does not belong to anyone.”

And yet you wish she would.

Egon stares at the translation. His mind is blank.

The pressure in his chest again. It’s there— it’s prominent— his palms are sweaty, air feels hot and an unpleasant cold runs down his spine. How can an Eldritch horror guess… How does it—

Your love for her clouds your judgement.

Oh. Oh.

…Is that what that is?

Eyes wide, arms stiff, Egon glances at you. Your face is distant, entirely unfazed, muscles slack, eyes barely open— but there’s something about your inexplicable awareness that’s almost unsettling. It’s not you. It’s all a trick, he knows but your mouth opens again and a string of freshly translated words appear on the screen.

Good scientists should rely on their brains, not hearts. Yours is worthy of the knowledge we offer.

No, he shouldn’t listen. Staying in place won’t help any.

In a practiced movement Egon leads you by the hand to his lab. He opens it and lets you in, then helps you sit in your chair, in relative distance from any dangerous chemicals. Once sure you’re still, he proceeds to prepare the equipment.

Whatever horror is currently inhabiting your body, it’s suspiciously obedient.

Egon rummages through his desk. There’s a distilled sample of that Class 2 Free- Floating Vapor who attacked you a while back— the one he was pissed about when you got slashed— but now that you’re merged with a similarly complex creature, Egon’s thankful he’s already went through a successful separation process. Ah. Silver linings are always clear in hindsight.

While he’s assembling the set, you keep spilling strings of unintelligible gurgles. He shouldn’t be interested in checking the translations (curiosity killed the cat) but he’s sure he can take it— no temptations could affect him at this point.

Just a peek, you know. Besides, it’s all for research.

The translator shows just one sentence:

You want her. We can make a deal.

“We have strict policies concerning fraternization with paranormal creatures”, Egon replies. “I’m not interested.”

You are. She is human, is she not?

“Not at the moment, no.”

Her mind is here no longer but the body is human. She’s too weak to understand. You aren’t.

His eyes divert from the translator. Your mind is…?

No, you’re still there. It’s all reversable, it surely is— he’s just read all about the procedure, it’s an early stage, it’s not too late. He’ll save you. He can fix this. He has to.

“What is it that you do?” Egon calmly inquires, pulling a wired helmet out of a drawer. “Are you a mind- reader? An empath? How do you collect data?”

What Yog- Sothoth knows, we all know. None of us matter in the grand scheme of things.

The Collective, then. Classic.

Egon switches on the helmet and fuels it up with a luminescent liquid. It pours underneath a plastic egg- shaped shell, sinking bunches of electrodes in the glowing goo. Great: the only thing that’s left is placing the contraption on your head, pushing a few levers and a nice, clear form of the intruder should pop right out. Capturing it would be more problematic (regular traps aren’t adjusted to this level of molecular differences) but he’ll think of something. The priority here is to make sure you’re safe.

He plugs the last wires, ready to go.

You keep talking and right when he’s about to turn to you, he glimpses at the screen.

The burden is light because our sole purpose is to die. See what we see. Have a look.

Ah, crap.

Egon hesitates— and despises himself for it. There’s no way a deal with Eldritch horror could end well— it’s a bait, a classic one, a lure meant to pull new cultists in and spread the extraterrestrial tentacles over humanity— but the possibility of getting to see how they operate first- hand is almost too good to be real.

He’d be the first paranormal researcher to maintain his consciousness throughout the ordeal. He’d witness it, feel it. Describe it in detail. Provide facts. This… Ah, it could be groundbreaking. Revolutionary. His name would ascend to an almost godlike status…

Yes. He’s strong enough. He could take it. Just a peek into the cosmic knowledge and everything changes for the better. The creature is cunning— but so is he.

His mind is set. He turns around, almost prone to sealing his fate— but he looks at you.

Your body is nothing but a physical shell. A wilted form, a stranger. Your face is lax in a way reminiscent of cadavers he’d seen during his coroner years: foggy eyelids struggle to stay up— lips are tilted, brows too low and no— no, despite the body, it is not you. The features are there but they are misplaced, devoid of emotion. They don’t fit. The beauty, the light from within, all gone.

A realization serves as a wake- up call: you’re being abused. All of a sudden, the whole shtick is too revolting to fall for.

He approaches you, scrutinized.

“Puts things into perspective”, he says, easing the helmet onto your head, “but not good enough to risk losing my sanity over. I’ll have to decline.”

He will consume you regardless. Your only choice is whether to accept the knowledge we offer—

“Pleasure to meet you. We’ll end it here.”

The moment he pushes the lever, you lash out at him.

He screams in shock. A familiar hand grabs him by the throat and pushes backwards. A wire rips.

Ah, damn it, no—

Egon smashes against the desk. Your body presses against him. Fingers are clenched around his neck— and it doesn’t hurt but the grip is firm. Piercing stare pins him to place. Your hips and chest press against his, blocking his movement and Egon feels it: every inch of you, every friction. Your breath is warm. You’re so close he could kiss you by merely dipping down his head.

He tells himself that it doesn’t affect him, it’s not you, you’re not yourself, all while seeking something of use on the counter.

He feels a screwdriver with his fingers. That’s a weapon against the body but you’re not responsible for the attack— and the ghost within uses you as a living shield. No use. There must be something else…

Before he has the chance to look, all lights go dark. An unsettling noise invades his ears, horrid chanting of a thousand voices. It’s relentless, intrusive, drilling into his head. His teeth clench but it doesn’t help any: it’s the hallucinations, this is how the Collective operates. He has to act— and act fast…

A sedative. A sedative. The vial, it should be…

Through the fog of erratic stimuli, he reaches a desperate hand into his pocket. There it is: a thin, elegant glass bottle filled with poignant liquid. He curves a thumb. The lid comes off. He presses it to your nose in a swift motion.

He can’t tell which of those are real: the sudden growl, a swirl of lights or hands sliding off of his chest. It’s all mixed with a head- blowing cacophony of screams and the incessant chanting. All Egon knows is this: he keeps clenching his teeth, shoving the chemical right at your face until your tossing about abates.

Your body weakens. Limbs go lax. Knees give in, head falls sideways. Your chest slams against his— and Egon’s still trapped in the cosmic mess— but he catches you, head, back— secures your fall as you slowly ease onto rows of white tiles.

He lays you down.

The exposure to the sedative was short. It wasn’t concentrated either. He has to act fast.

The helmet needs a quick adjustment but Egon knows what he’s doing. Wires plugged, straps fastened, he pushes the abominable lever. There’s a few sparks, a smoke from somewhere and an otherworldly glow of the luminescent goo and— just like that— a massive glob of ectoplasm evaporates from your body.

Egon can’t tell what shape or size it is. It’s unlike anything he’s seen so far. It looks incomprehensible, as if it didn’t have a form: a giant mass of eyes and limbs, a pile of half- physical slime, a stack of unstable tentacles materializing and evaporating in random places. Truly, a marvel in itself. A phenomenon to investigate. It gathers above your head. Escalates. Then disperses and dissolves into thin air.

Everything’s quiet after that.

Egon waits a moment. There’s no chanting. No distortions. His senses come back to reality: shapes, lights and colors he’s familiar with. A minute passes until he’s able to map the place. There’s his desk, the chair and the helmet. Smoke and sparks surround it.

And here, right beside him: it’s you.

You poor, poor thing…

He crouches. Gently lifts your head and arms. Places you on his knee. Waits.

He unties the straps around your head. Unplugs the wires and takes the contraption off. There you are. You’re safe. Your face looks soft and relaxed— no indication of the paranormal. You’re yourself. You’re back, you are. You could wake up any moment…

He hesitates for a split second, then wipes your forehead with one gentle stroke. Skims over your face, checking for wounds. Touches your scalp to make sure you’re not bleeding. His large, warm hand slides down your locks a few times, a thumb softly touches your chin. The movement is attentive, slow and caring— coarse because his palms are rough— but he pours every ounce of his willpower to envelop you (because you’re alive and scared—need to feel safe—have to know you’re being cared for)—

“…Egon?”

His body freezes.

Your eyes are half- lidded, brows knit, fingers hooked at his scrubs— but somehow you manage to offer him a small smile.

And— God Almighty— this is what it’s been all along— he is in love, he’s been in love for a good while now and it’s too late to snap out of it. It’s bad, blatantly obvious, overwhelming. He hasn’t realized the extent of it until he heard it from your own lips, seen it on the screen— and now that he has…

“…Hi”, he sighs, retracting his hand. “You’re back. Splendid.”

There’s a small scar right below your lip. Another on your cheek. Above your brow. An uneven line along your jaw. They’re ordinary, pretty shallow— the kinds every person has so nobody pays attention— except now, he does, because he’s thinking of ways they could’ve been prevented. He wants all of them to disappear. He wants them to heal— to kiss them away, as if sheer wishes ever worked out…

“What is happening?” You whisper trembling, voice shaky.

Egon watches your face: eyes shy away to hide dilated pupils— a forced, dry swallow attempts to calm your nerves. He’s become so good at this, at reading you. The proximity affects you and his heart aches again: the way you try to ignore it but can’t— the way your body’s anxiously shivering— it’s unbelievable how every bit of you that’s usually so outspoken and confident transforms into some startled prey.

It’s intimidating how fragile you are now that he’s close. As if mere step in the wrong direction could shy you away.

He wants to take care of you. Envelop in his adoration. You’ve been hurt, taken hostage and he doesn’t have the willpower to hold back. In a spur of the moment (and hormones, bloody mess—) Egon leans forward.

Foreheads touch. Against all reason, Egon brushes your nose with his.

Your breath catches and his entire body aches to dip down. A shuddered sigh you let out lands on his lips. It carries your scent. It tastes like tea.

He desires this kiss. Aches for it. He’s been denying himself his whole life but this time everything’s different. You seem to want it too. The eyes, the breath, the shiver. He hopes he’s right about it. He hopes it’s not fear, exhaustion or stress that makes you react this way. He hopes it’s him. Ah, he hopes—

A distant echo of your words pops in his mind:

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone who takes interest in ghosts?~

…He winces.

His eyes squeeze shut. He forces himself to pull back.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know”, you manage. “I’m… it’s hazy.”

“What do you need?”

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Closure. Egon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

“Ah. Chamomile tea, then?”

“Egon…” Your eyes are set but a smile cracks on your lips. “I’m serious. It’s all my fault. I never meant to hurt you, or walk away, or leave you there. It was shitty of me. You deserve loyalty, respect and appreciation, and I behaved like an entitled brat. Please, forgive me.”

“But there’s nothing to forgive. We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Does it mean…?”

“…you should stay here for protection.” He says. “Your bed is made. I’d say you’ve dressed for the task.”

He watches you realize you’re in crumpled pajamas, then let out a soft laugh— a stark contrast to the remnants of sadness in your eyes. If he’s great at something, it’s antics and he’ll gladly exploit this talent until you're pure sunshine again.

“Even after yesterday?” You ask.

“Especially after yesterday.”

You look like you want to get up: back straightens, your weight slides off Egon’s lap. But then, just as he thinks that’s it, you hesitantly lean forward and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“I should really bring my stuff here for the long run, huh?”

It’s meant as a joke but Egon thinks that yes, indeed you should. Preferably under different circumstances.

Oh, boy. What a day. What a night. What a revelation.

You’re cradled in his arms. He’s read half of the forbidden journal. The boys are coming in a few hours.

Somehow Egon’s got a feeling tomorrow is going to be even wilder.

[the-journey-was-the-point]

An Argument

A short, emotional fic told from Callonduin's POV!

Summary: After spending a lifetime apart, Callonduin overhears what his twin thinks of him.

---

For most of his life, Callonduin played the part of the ideal ellon, excelling in his studies and combat training, never giving his father cause for worry. He figured his father had enough on his hands taking care of Calarphain, Callonduin’s sickly twin brother. Calarphain was brought to Lothlorien as a child for healing, and their father stayed with him there ever since.

Many years went by before Callonduin's behavior began to shift, gradually becoming more unruly, more delinquent, culminating with him dropping his duties in Rivendell without a word. He proceeded to travel around Middle Earth, partying in taverns and instigating brawls for sport. 

For months he lied to his father, wrote him letters of an uneventful life at home, but during their “working vacation” out east, his father revealed that he knew of Callonduin’s  deception during their entire trip. “They tell me of your alarming behavior,” his father had said, referring to the letter he received from Elrond’s attendant, Lindir, “that you behave recklessly when fighting orcs, that you disappear for several days at a time, then come home smelling of blood and ale.” 

Before leaving their convoy, Callonduin apologized to his father and promised to return to a normal life in Rivendell.

Of course, what he actually did was loiter in a small town along the Anduin. It was pure luck that a band of dwarves would pass through and inform him that Fíli was requesting his presence in Erebor.

“Please, behave.” Fíli had all but pleaded him, as the crown prince was to officially present his intended traveling companions to his uncle, King Thorin.

Did Callonduin behave? Well enough, he cleans up nicely when he wants to. Did that mean his deception went unnoticed? No, and now not only was King Thorin unimpressed, but Calarphain was mad at him too.

Callonduin wandered around Erebor afterwards and upon hearing his brother’s voice, followed the sound to a room, a study perhaps, where Calarphain was speaking with someone the older twin couldn’t see. 

“When I learned I was going to meet my brother, I wondered what type of person he was. Father made him sound remarkable. Turns out he’s… out of control, and boorish, and irreverent, and so cruel to our father! He’s not at all what I was expecting.“ 

Callonduin was a seasoned warrior, one of Rivendell’s best, and the youngest apart from Lord Elrond’s sons to have been part of his personal orc-hunting party. He has been on the receiving end of an orc’s unforgiving warhammer, and yet, these words from his brother hurt so much harder in a way Callonduin couldn’t explain. 

“Sorry, were you expecting Glorfindel?” Callonduin snapped, making himself known. 

Calarphain spun around and froze at the sight of his brother leaning against the doorway. The older twin's lips were curled up slightly in what would have been considered mirth if not for the tumultuous look in his eyes. Unused to dealing with hostility, Calarphain could only stammer. 

“Were you expecting I’d be a paragon of Elvish virtue?” Callonduin continued, “If you knew me at all,  you’d know that what I am is at the bottom of the barrel! But how can you? You never wrote.”

“Father wrote to you,” Calarphain replied at last, voice raised, “and you always made it sound like you were fine! And I did write to you.” 

“Yes! Short notes attached to father’s letters!” Now Callonduin’s voice was raised as well. “ ‘Hope you’re doing well,’ ‘Happy Midsummer’, and nothing more. You never even visited.”

“I was sick, Callonduin, you know this! I was sick, then I had my apprenticeship with Lady Galadriel–” 

“Hundreds of years,” Callonduin interjected, “and you couldn’t make time for one summer with me?”

Silence fell between the two, and Callonduin allowed it. Callonduin wouldn’t deny his flaws, he was very aware of how far he had fallen, but he detested how his brother held him up to an imaginary ideal, when Calarphain never took the time to know him.

He took a shaky breath to calm the well of emotions that threatened to drown him. “Maybe I am out of control, and everything else you said... but if you’re disappointed because of what you expected me to be, that's your fault Calarphain, not mine.” 

Callonduin stormed out, not bothering to wait for his brother's response.

[em-writes-stuff]

Time Loop

day 11 of @febuwhump

villain, hero, and superhero

1415 words

warnings: cursing, character death

~

Villain wakes up and rolls over, taking note of the time before gently shaking Hero’s shoulder. “It’s time to wake up, big day today.” 

Hero grumbles and rolls over, eyes barely open. “Hey handsome.” he says with a smile. “Kiss?” 

Villain rolls its eyes and shakes its head, “After you brush your teeth.” 

Hero whines, but lets himself fall out of the bed, barely catching himself before he hits the floor. “But that’s gonna be forever,” He says, drawing out the words. 

“Then you better hurry up,” Villain says, pulling a pair of shorts on. “But still brush for two minutes. A fast two minutes.” it pokes its head into the bathroom and points to the clock. “Definitely one hundred and twenty seconds though.” 

Hero rolls his eyes and makes a show of putting the toothpaste on the toothbrush before Villain turns out of the bathroom. 

Villain gets Hero’s things together, packing his clothes back in the overnight bag and throwing a few things he’d forgotten past times in too. 

Hero runs out of the bathroom and stands in front of Villain expectantly. “Kiss?” 

With a bright smile, Villain obliges and gives Hero a small peck on the lips. “You have to get going now though. Make sure Superhero makes it to the tower on time. None of your usual ‘running a few minutes late’ business, got it? This is important.” 

Hero mock salutes and nods, “Yessir!” 

They both walk to the door and Villain hands Hero his bag, “You better make it. Ok?” 

“You’ve got a backup plan, right?” Hero asks playfully. Villain’s face darkens and it clears its throat, looking to the ground. Hero shakes his head and chuckles nervously. “I was only joking. It’ll work tonight; you have to believe it.” 

Villain forces a smile and nods. It opens the door and pushes Hero out into the hallway. “You have to get back before Supervillain wakes up. She can’t find out. Go!” 

For the next eight hours, Villain checks the clock constantly. It pops something in the microwave for lunch and moves things around in the house, but always has a clock in sight. It can’t be late. 

Villain’s phone alarm goes off and it jumps up to turn it off. It takes a deep breath and gets dressed, it’s almost time to go. 

Villain walks out the door, trusty dagger tucked into its belt and a worried expression on its face. It looks up and sees the tower. It’s nearly two stories tall, four legs that hold up a small, rickety platform. The ladder leading up to the platform is missing a few rungs, but not too many that getting up is overly difficult. Thank goodness for that. 

Villain gets to the top without much trouble and sits in the middle of the platform, waiting for Hero and Superhero to meet it there. It peeks its head over the ledge and sees Hero’s car pull up to the base of the tower. Quickly, it pulls back and takes a deep breath. 

The ladder starts to shake and Villain spreads its feet out below it to steady itself. 

It can hear Superhero complaining below, “Hero, are you sure about this? It's a lot of trouble to take out one measly bad guy. How’do you even find out about Villain being here? It’s such a weird place and I’d think that it’d hole up in the ground somewhere, not up high. It just doesn’t make sense.” 

Ouch, one measly bad guy? Superhero has to see it as more than that. 

Hero chuckles, his voice closer than Superhero’s, “I have my ways. I can’t go and expose them to you, then you won’t have any reason to keep me around.” 

They fall into an awkward silence and Villain wants to blow its cover just to tell Hero there’s so many other reasons to keep him around, but it keeps its mouth shut. 

Hero’s full head of hair comes into view over the edge of the platform and he peeks his eyes over. His eyes light up and he pulls himself up the rest of the way quickly. 

“Well?” Superhero calls from the ladder. 

Villain and Hero roll their eyes at the same time and Hero pokes his head over the edge, “We beat it here. Now it’s a waiting game.” 

Villain takes a step back and hides behind Hero to get as much surprise it can from Superhero. Hero turns his head to look at it and puckers his lips, he whispers, “Kiss?” 

Villain smiles and obliges, pulling back a second later when Superhero’s hand grasps the edge of the platform. Hero turns his attention to her and takes a few steps forward to help her onto the platform. 

For a split second, she doesn’t notice Villain. But as soon as she does, she grabs the gun on her belt and holds it against Hero’s temple. 

“I fucking knew it.” she spits. “You two are working together.” 

Hero struggles under her strength and he looks pleadingly at Villain. 

“I just needed him to have us meet. I promise, I’m not going to try to do anything other than that.” Villain says, taking steps back to give Supervillain more space. “Let him go.” 

She ignores Villain and grabs Hero by his throat. “How long have you been working against me?”

“I’m no- I didn’t. This is good for you, it’s gonna help, I promise. Just listen to Villain. Please.”

She holds him over the edge of the platform, “How long?” 

“Two months!” Villain shouts. “Two fucking months. That’s it! I found him, told him my plan, practically forced him to follow through. He’s not betraying your trust, he’s trying to save his life.” 

Hero shakes his head and tries to speak, but Superhero’s hand is crushing his throat. 

“Two months?” she asks. “That’s a long fucking time to come up with a plan. The two of you have been doing something else, haven’t you?” 

Hero shakes his head and his eyes dart to Villain, begging her to deny it. 

It shakes its head, “Nothing else. There was never a good time for this to happen, we’d planned a few other times, but something always came up.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, whatever! You’re both fucking lying to me! There’s no way you’re not doing anything else!” 

Hero’s head lolls to the side, his eyes barely open now. Villain lunges forward and pulls him back onto the platform. 

“You’re killing him!” it shouts. Superhero lets it take him out of her hands and into its lap. 

She looks down at them both and takes a deep breath. “If you want him so badly, you can keep him.” 

She points the gun at his stomach and shoots without a second thought. 

Hero wails in pain, writhing in Villain’s lap. Villain presses its hand against the wound and watches as Superhero disappears over the side of the platform, rattling the ladder as she makes her way down. 

“Villain?” he asks, his hand suddenly on top of its. “Do you think I’m gonna die?” 

Villain shakes its head and pulls Hero more into its lap. “No, you’re not going to die. I promise.” 

“It feels like I might,” he says, voice trembling. 

It presses harder onto his wound and looks at the sky, “No, you’ll be alright. I have a plan B.” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t do it, it’s not worth it.” 

It smiles painfully and nods, “I already made up my mind.” 

It’s unforgivable for it to do something so selfish, something that serves no other purpose than to have another try to fuck today up. Villain leans its forehead against Hero’s and whispers, “Kiss?” 

He sobs. “Please don’t do this.” 

After a moment of them staring at each other, Hero resigns and lifts his chin, letting his lips meet Villain’s. 

It smiles and waits for Hero to pull away. “Thank you.” It mutters, “I’ll see you soon.” 

They both close their eyes and the world starts to spin for Villain. Hero disappears from its arms and the cold of the metal platform is replaced by the warmth of its bed. Clothes change from rough to smooth and before it knows it, Villain’s back in its bed. 

Villain wakes up and rolls over, taking note of the time before gently shaking Hero’s shoulder. “It’s time to wake up, big day today.” 

Hero grumbles and rolls over, eyes barely open. “Hey handsome.” he says with a smile. “Kiss?” 

[inquisitive-june]

This week’s theme is “Methods of Managing the Psychological Impact of Misogyny/Feminism”

I wanted academic sources on what the psychological impacts of misogyny were, even if they seemed obvious.  I started by looking for studies on the effects of living in fear of male violence, but with no luck. I found several sources on the intersection of psychology and misogyny, but they were too broad or unrelated. However, I started to notice trends in the sources I read.

This review (1) of the history of Positive Psychology explained how it enforces the American Dream, the nuclear family, and conservative values.  The field was male-dominated, and it was used to silence second wave feminists. For example, Phyllis Schlafly argued that if housewives were unhappy, it was because they didn’t have the right frame of mind. According to positive psychology, morals are universal, so it’s used to argue that gender roles are innate. Feminists who argued that being a housewife was oppressive were seen as having an unnatural worldview.

Another review (2) defined a type of trolling called “Gendertrolling,” which is used to silence women.  It’s different from other types of trolling in that it can last for years, spans multiple platforms (and real life), and is usually conducted by several people. For example, Rebecca Watson was asked to speak at an atheism conference on how to attract more women to the movement.  After the conference, a man she had never met got in the elevator with her and asked her up to his hotel room for “coffee” at about 4 am.  In a video, she treated it like a lighthearted story and said “Guys, don’t do that” with a laugh.  She received rape and death threats and men posted graphic photos of corpses on her Facebook page.  The campaign is ongoing.  The paper argued that this is a silencing tactic used against women who speak up against misogyny, or sometimes just speak up in a male-dominated industry.

In all of the papers I read, the common trend was silencing.  Women voiced their opinions, often about sexism, and men banded together to intimidate or gaslight them. None of the sources adequately addressed how to combat these tactics, but since the weekly topic is managing the effects of misogyny I thought I’d suggest a few.

1. We have to speak up.  The point of these campaigns is to silence us, but we must remember that if we weren’t a threat they wouldn’t bother. Speaking up allows other women to recognize and combat misogyny.  It also shows men that this behavior won’t be tolerated.

2. Support other women.  Some of the victims of gender trolling felt overwhelmed by the hundreds of rape and death threats they received.  It made them feel like everyone was against them.  We need to show that women who speak up will be supported, even if we can’t drown out the violent threats.

These two aren’t mutually exclusive.  The more women who speak up, the easier it will be to connect with one another.  The more we connect with one another, the more we will recognize and call out misogyny in our lives.

Sources

1.   McElya, M. (n.d.). JUST WEAR YOUR SMILE: THE GENDER POLITICS OF POSITIVE PSYCHOLOGY. 21.  

2.   Mantilla, K. (2013). Gendertrolling: Misogyny Adapts to New Media. 9.  

3. Stark, C. A. (2019). Gaslighting, Misogyny, and Psychological Oppression. The Monist, 102(2), 221–235. https://doi.org/10.1093/monist/onz007  

4. Dworkin, E. R., & Weaver, T. L. (2021). The impact of sociocultural contexts on mental health following sexual violence: A conceptual model. Psychology of Violence, 11(5), 476–487. https://doi.org/10.1037/vio0000350  

Note: I only reference the first two sources, but the others were part of my research. I did not think they were as relevant to this topic, but I still found them useful.

[dirtbag-linecook-kyloren]

“You really look like shit,” Rey tells him as she plops into the booth across from him, moving linens and silverware aside to lean on the table. “You’ve worked every hour we’ve been open for the last five days. Please, go home. I don’t care about the overtime, I care about the fact that the bags under your eyes are scaring customers.” Hux shakes his head, not even looking up from the page in his thermodynamics text book he’s highlighting. “I’m two hundred dollars away from my tuition and the payment is due at midnight,” Hux tells her. ”If I don’t work this shift, I won’t graduate on time. So unless you have a pile of money hidden in this restaurant, you’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.” He doesn’t look up, but assumes Rey is drowning in the silence. “You look bad enough I’d almost pull it from my own wallet. Couldn’t you get an extension?” “The bursar waits for no man, woman, or stressed server,” Hux tells her drily, choosing not to share that he’s already at the end of his extension. With enough tears, the bursar will, in fact, wait for a man. He’d filled out three different forms and practically signed his firstborn child away for the extra seven days he had to get his shit together, all while trying to prepare for midterms. “If I have you some concealer, would you wear it?” she tries, and after a moments consideration and a sigh, he nods. “You’ll have to apply it, but if it gets you to leave me alone for the next hour until my shift starts, you can make me over after I clock in.” And then, thankfully, Rey leaves him be, lets him crawl back into the depths of his research and try to forget how little he’s got for groceries after his tuition is paid, and after that, his rent looms in the distance. If Hux weren’t working at a restaurant, he would surely have starved by now. As it was, French fries and strawberries weren’t the ideal diet for a grown man, but he makes due with what he’s got available for free. In theory, his shift starts in sixty minutes. If they stay slow after that, he may be able to keep studying during service and get his presentation finished what he gets home. Hopefully, he’ll be able to roll into bed at three in the morning and wake up at seven, giving him four precious hours of sleep before his eight AM class. Turning the page, Hux is so lost in the scratching of notes that the presence now sitting across the table form him is no more than an afterthought. Perhaps Rey, trying to make him over off company time, or another server who decided that desperation and sleep-deprivation provided excellent ambiance for rolling silverware. It’s not Hux’s favorite, but he truly doesn’t have the time to do anything about it. A plate slides across the table, just hitting the top of his text book, and Hux reaches blindly, grabbing a piece from it. Normally, it’s Phasma, trying to get a plant into his body via carrot medallions or blueberries. This time, it’s puff pastry wrapped around some sort of cheese, herb, and bacon mix. It’s more effort than she normally puts in to feeding him, so Hux takes the time to look up and thank her, only to find that Phasma is not sitting there, neatly cut finger nails tapping against the table. Instead, Solo is staring at him, a mix between blank and bored. “You don’t eat enough,” he says. “Low blood sugar leads to fainting, which is an incredible workplace hazard.”

---

fuck this is so funny to me but also now I want to make brie and herb roll ups this sounds good as hell

i don’t think bacon would actually suit the flavors though I’ll probably swap that out when I edit but for now it stays until I test it out. gonna have to buy my ass some parsley

[idrawgaystffs]

GLaDOS thinks it’s time to buy an apartment, kinda

Modern AU? Of @bondibee & @sarcasticgaypotato ’s Portal Necromancer AU, particularly to bridge the gap of Middle Ages to GLaDOS Is On YouTube uhh enjoy?

[Note: I’m not a contributor to the canon of the AU and all of my add ons can be OOC or use speculations, thank you!]

“Dear?” Chell turned swiftly to catch her lover’s eyes.

They’d been in the throne room and idling for what felt like an hour before the silence had been broken. This was normal, as GLaDOS would often find ways to fill the room with something else to pass the time other than conversation, and Chell didn’t have “big talker” added to her nature after she’d been revived either. But now she was looking at GLaDOS and listening.

“Have you ever thought we should leave the castle?” GLaDOS’s voice rang clear and with confidence. Though Chell knew the question’s weight was hidden behind her perfect tone. The unknown always was a touchy subject when you’re married to what might be the largest collection of knowledge over the past thousands of years.

Chell hmm-ed. Not in a way signifying agreement or disagreement, but just thought. Because she was thinking about that. How long had it been since she had gone outside? The start of her second life gave her a distaste for the sun and a more nocturnal lifestyle anyways, so she had grown attached to the colder and darker areas of the castle, of course she had regained more sense after GLaDOS and her figured out a schedule that would keep her sane and healthy, so she visited her wife more and more often without the promise of food. But she still did wonder. What was going on out there?

“Did a trespasser say something to make you think about it?” She decided to prod out GLaDOS’s feelings on the matter, why the elf even bothered hiding her thoughts from her knight was rather pointless. They were open books to each other.

“No.” GLaDOS’s tone fell a degree noticeable only to Chell.

“No?” Chell repeated knowingly.

“Maybe Someone Couldn’t Stop Mentioning How ‘This Castle Is So Dusty Does Anyone Even Live Here?’ or ‘I Feel Like The Walls Are Gonna Fall On Me!’ because Then Maybe! I Did Put A Spell On The Walls To Crush Him To Death?! Okay!”

Ah there was her temperamental sweetheart.

“At first I only regretted putting hearing enchantments around the castle because all I’d hear was the random rat in our walls or those two bucket heads clanking down hallways.”

Chell cracked a smile at the mention of the haunted armors, she should visit them later.

“But that Intrusive Fly’s last words had made me think of the last time I remodeled this place.”

Chell perked up at the premise of story time. It wasnt often GLaDOS spoke of times before Chell arrived and, in fact, preferred using either Chell’s arrival or the present as a relative date when referring to her ongoing projects. So she did what she did best and took in what GLaDOS had to say.

“I used to be in a smaller castle than this one. Less adventurers took notice of it and it was easier to maintain while I still practiced magic and it’s uses. Over time, of course, I gained my reputation of being a ‘place of no return’ and a ‘great evil to be vanquished’ and more pests came to bother me. After one particular wave, I had been face to face with an adventurer and I heard him say ‘I did not know such an old fort even existed’ that was the first and last thing he said to me. I decided to remodel the place after that! After all it was less that worm’s words and how I didn’t want another professional ‘hero’ to get into my main chamber. I hadn’t realized just how much time had passed since I had settled down here, so I made new traps, built new walls and was far safer in this territory. And yet, a hundred or so years later, you managed to get here. And you know the rest.” GLaDOS finished her spell and Chell was released to think once more.

Chell hmm-ed again but this time as a show of affection towards the praise. She knew how witty and smart she was to make it through her tests. But the information about there being an predecessor to this castle had stuck in her mind.

So Glados did like to change her living space sometime in her life, but no mortal would live long enough to see the whole life of her moves though so it didn’t cross her mind before she arrived herself.

“You want to change the castle again?” Chell asked.

“No, that’s not what I want.”

“What then?”

“I- I want to know more about what’s going on in the rest of the world. The last few maggots had armor that looked different from how yours looked. Their uniforms were stitched evenly and yet their boots looked like they didn’t fit their feet. I’d never even seen this pattern of clothing, Chell! I want to find out how it’s made and what kind of sorcery people have been making out there if this is where they’ve gotten with just simple textiles!”

Chell was rather surprised at how the topic has blossomed. Glados spoke with vigor that was reserved for science and herself.

“I don’t want to just remodel this place. I know it’s our home, but we’ve stuck around long enough to outlive generations. Time is passing and I think we need to catch up a little!”

Chell stood there, in her 1000 times washed tunic and equally worn pants and felt out of place all of a sudden. From what? She did not know. In this place, in their home, she belonged. A wonder about the outside didn’t mean a desire to leave her comforts. She had only recently, well it felt recent to her, gotten used to being undead, and a blood sucking one at that.

She gave Glados a worried look.

Glados immediately slowed down and grew mellower in tone. “Oh but of course I do care about everything that is here. My snakes, my lab, Blue and Orange, You! But I just need you, and I can go anywhere. We can take whatever we need with us till we find a place to settle down for the Next millennia.” Ending on a sarcastic note to help lighten Chell’s mood.

And it worked. Chell smiled, “Okay.”

Glados lit up again! She knew they’d need time to prepare, but a journey was about to begin. Plus, Chell enjoyed a good challenge.

[wispstalk]

six bears

In the Temple’s great hall, at the table nearest the fire, ducks are proliferating. Paper ducks— Martin showed Coradri how to make the folds, to keep her shifty little hands occupied with something other than messing up the carefully-orchestrated chaos of his translation notes.

“Not that one, please,” he says, and swipes a freshly-inked page out from under her hand. Only then does he notice that she’s run out of paper, and his desk is covered in ducks. “You’re fretting.”

“You’re fretting,” she fires back, and rubs at the bridge of her nose, a mimicry of the nervous tic that Martin has been indulging in for quite some time now.

They exchange mirthless smiles. The Hero of Kvatch has been gone for three days longer than his projected return. Tanis is fairly new to writing; Martin supposes he can't complain that it doesn't occur to the man to send a damned letter once in a while.

“It’s only that it’s so dull when Irathi’s gone,” she says with a huff. “You’re really boring, do you know that? At least Irathi will play bar luvahr with me.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, sighs, and pushes the Xarxes away. “Oh, go on and get your tiles, then.”

“Brother! Gambling is hardly seeming for a priest.”

Martin smiles. Does she think he’s never cheated at a hand of cards? “I’m afraid we’ll have to forgo the bets, my dear. You know I haven’t any money.”

“You will have money, though. Lots of money. See, you haven’t even got the right mind for gambling. You’ve got to take some big risks if you want big wins.”

And so the books and the ducks are cleared away, to make room for a set of numbered clay tiles.

It must be near midnight by the time the doors to the great hall swings open, and both of them jolt to attention, their high-stakes game forgotten.

Vast swaths of Imperial wealth change hands: upwards of two hundred thousand septims, the Dragon Crown, the province of High Rock. They’ll have to keep notes if they make this a habit; at this point, Martin can’t remember which of them is supposed to be sitting the Ruby Throne.

--

“You’re back,” Martin says, the same asinine observation he makes each time Tanis returns, but he can’t help it, the way the relief washes over him. “What kept you?”

Tanis sits down heavily, looks between the two of them, and heaves a sigh. “Bear-hunting.” He glances to the side and clears his throat. “For a farmer.”

Coradri wrinkles her nose skeptically. “You’re not even a hunter.”

“No,” says Tanis, with a pensive nod. “No, I am not. I tried hunting one bear with a sword, and, ah… well, that’s a stupid way to hunt, I learned. So for the next one I tried fire. Worked better.”

“The next one,” Martin repeats. “You faced down two bears?”

“Six bears.” He shifts in his seat. “The bears kept breaking into his sheepfold, see, and he said if I helped him deal with the problem, he’d reward me.”

After a silence crawls by, Coradri leans forward in her seat. “And?”

“He gave me a book.”

“A book,” Coradri drawls.

“For six bears?” Martin blurts.

“For six fucking bears!” Tanis throws his hands up. “You know, when someone says they’ll reward you for killing six bears, you hope they mean gold. Sometimes they mean their dear departed gahata’s gravy boat. I didn’t ask. I took the gamble.” He shakes his head. “And I got a book.”

“Well,” Coradri says, rubbing at her chin, “I think the idea is you can sell the book—“

“Yeah, for gold, right? It’s a whole— I would’ve had to go all the way back into town, and—” He swats at the air. “Well, I’m back, anyway, and I’ve hunted six bears, and I’ve got a book now. Does that answer your question?”

The three of them are silent, turning this over in their minds. Martin tents his hands over his mouth. “Was it a good book?”

“Haven’t read it.”

“I just think if I’d gone to all the effort of killing six bears, I’d at least crack it.“

“I’m in the middle of another one, all right?” He puts on his spectacles with a martyred air and snatches up his rucksack, producing the book. “History of the Fighters’ Guild,” he reads off. “It looks fit for tinder, maybe.”

Martin plucks it from his hands. The leather cover is mottled with a dark patina, dust settled in the crevices of the tooling. “This is a first edition,” he marvels, tapping the inscription on the inside cover. “Nearly two hundred years old, I’d wager—“

“Oh? What are we wagering?” Coradri says brightly. Greedy thing, she’s already laid claim to half of Tamriel.

Martin ignores her, carefully turning the yellowed pages. “By the Divines, there’s notes in the margins and everything. Illustrations of some second-era armor... what a stunning little piece of history. And, there, see, in the back? The names of the owners listed. Former guildmasters, that’s my guess. Do you think this farmer of yours might have been a descendant?”

Tanis gestures across the table. “And now the priest is going to steal—”

“Borrow! Borrow.”

“Sure.” He pulls a braided leather loop from his pack, hung with six bear claws, and tosses it toward Coradri. “So there’s the last of my earnings.”

She eyes it with glee, and slips it over her head, all six trophies splayed against her chest in a graceful, brutal arc. It pairs nicely with the slaughterfish fang dangling from her bejeweled ear. “You made this for me?”

“No. But if I leave it lying around you’ll ‘borrow’ it anyway, won’t you?” He kicks his boots up on the table, scattering the game tiles, and surveys the two of them. “Six bears and nothing to show for it now. But you both like these things, eh?”

Martin looks up from the pages. Coradri pauses in her admiration of her forbidding new adornment. Tanis shoots a smug grin across the table and shrugs. “Well, then. I took the gamble, and I won.”

[dickmedowndc]

Mechanics of the Heart - Amazo x Reader

Word Count: 2,160

Summary: He would have an eternity – to learn, to watch, to adapt. But that still meant that every so often Amazo was bound to experience something for the first time. He would need to learn how to navigate things he was unfamiliar with or seek help when absolutely necessary. Amazo had proven that he was capable of acting beyond his initial programming, and feelings were an addition he now grappled with. This feeling however, when he first met you after his return to Earth, eluded him, driving him to seek out an explanation from another.

Notes: Request, by @shimmer-wing11, was specifically for the Justice League Unlimited version of Amazo – gonna be real, had to go back and rewatch the episodes that he was in. Tried my best, y'all.

Part II - Upcoming

…★…

While not common for Amazo to step foot outside of the Tower of Fate, unless his assistance was required for a particularly dangerous mission, it certainly wasn’t something that he partook in often. But he had been created to evolve, and while his time among the stars had been a massive aid in that endeavor, it had left him looking for purpose, something that he sought out at times among the residents of Earth – at least from a distance. 

While he had been named an honorary member of the League, and had aided them in a few instances, his initial introduction to the public still cast a rather aggressive light against him. It was something that he had been assured could change in time as the people saw his true nature, but it could not be expected to happen overnight. 

Maybe that was why your approach caught him so off guard. 

He had known that you were coming up on him, and had stopped a safe distance away. Waiting. 

Finally, he turned from where he was looking over the town – people watching, someone had once told him – so that he could face you. 

You didn’t seem scared. In fact, you seemed the opposite. Eyes flitting over his form in rapid succession before meeting his gaze. You had to crane your neck to look up at him, especially as you stepped closer. “You’re even taller than I thought you would be.” 

Amazo could only cock his head to the side, unsure of how to respond. Not that he had a chance before you were speaking again, pulling something from behind your back. 

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time – but I try to give each hero I see one of these cord charms I make. As a thank you, ya know?” You held the small gift out to him as he inspected it. “You don’t have to take it, but I’d like to offer at least.” 

It couldn’t be helped, especially considering the past, and for a brief moment Amazo peered into your thoughts. You spoke nothing but the truth, though your nerves were far more obvious as your thoughts ran a hundred miles a minute. Carefully he reached forward, plucking the small charm from your hand. “Thank you, though I am unsure where to keep it.” 

It seemed to dawn on you then, he certainly didn’t have pockets or a belt loop to hang it on. So, you stepped forward. “May I?” You asked, motioning for his arm. 

He agreed silently, placing the charm back in your hands and allowing you to tie it loosely around his wrist. 

“That way it should still be easy enough to take off later.” 

Amazo thanked you again, noticing the shy smile that seemed to snake up onto your face before you bid him goodbye, turning to make your departure. So, he was surprised when he heard himself speak once more, before even he had registered it. “If you’re not in a hurry, would you care to join me for a while?” 

You stopped, spinning on your heel and blinking owlishly at the Android, before your grin widened and you moved to sit down next to him. “Lucky for you, you caught me on my day off,” you assured, swinging your legs over the edge as you peered out over the town. 

Amazo admittedly enjoyed the new company, and while the first few minutes had been passed in silence, a simple string of questions had been enough to get you talking. Something he found he enjoyed listening to more than the people below that scuttled back and forth between the buildings. 

It was almost saddening when you had to leave eventually – sleep was still important for a human after all. But the feeling was lessened when you told him he could always come back by on your next day off and you would join him again. If he was free, of course, and if he wanted to. 

Amazo found he did want to, and on the next day you had off he was waiting in that same spot. It was so easy to notice the way you beamed at him as soon as you realized he had returned. 

Something he found that never changed as your meetings became a more common occurrence. 

It was somewhere around the 5th time that the two of you had met up and been talking that he realized he was no longer interested in watching life pass down below. His body was turned away from the sight, facing you. And while the distant thrum of people was background noise, his full attention had been on you. 

He also found that you had never missed a day. While he had no other means to communicate with you, you held true to your word each time you told him you would be there. Perhaps that was why he was so worried when 3 months in you were late. 

He waited, of course. But while you had been due at noon, the sun was now beginning to set and there was still no sign of you anywhere. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost say he was becoming worried. 

He would not admit it though until the weight was lifted off his chest once the stars began their dance across the sky. He knew the sound of your footsteps by memory now, and knew that it was you who was hurrying your way to him. And he waited, turned to your full attention as you rounded the corner, slightly out of breath and clutching a small bundle of flowers in hand. 

“I’m so sorry,” you huffed, hand on your knee as you bent down to catch your breath. You hadn’t looked at him yet, not fully, but when you did it became a little more clear as to what the issue was. “I’ve been sick. I had an alarm set, a few, but I must have slept through them.” You stepped forward, bouquet outstretched in your hand as you did so. “I really wanted to be here; I promise.” 

Amazo couldn’t help but notice the state you were in as he gingerly took the flowers from you. Puffy eyes, practically shaking in place. Face paler, cheeks gaunt and dark bags under your eyes. “You need rest.” 

“I know, but I wanted to come see you.” Your eyes widened for a moment before you covered your mouth. “You can’t get sick, can you?” 

“I cannot, no.” 

You relaxed at that, arm falling away as the muscles in your shoulders stopped tensing, letting you slouch. “I didn’t want to stand you up though.” 

It was your words that began a strange feeling somewhere inside of him, though he pushed it aside, stepping forward to shield you from the biting chill of the wind. “Your health is important.” 

“This was important to me too,” you smiled, though the tiredness it showed stopped it from being as bright as it usually shone. “Besides, how would we set up the next one if I skipped out.” 

You had a point, and though he couldn’t show it he knew that you had caught on from the amused glint in your eyes. You had gotten exceptionally good at reading him in the last few months. Amazo conceded your point before continuing. “Allow me to escort you home. You are in no state to be walking by yourself right now.” 

Without the energy to argue you agreed easily, letting him step beside you as you started back off in the direction of your home – though you could not tell if you were thankful for the short distance to your front door or not. Still, you shuddered against the cold for the moment, balanced on the balls of your feet and not quite ready to go inside yet. “Thank you for walking me home, and I’m sorry again I missed today.” 

“Don’t be. And thank you for the flowers.” 

“I thought you deserved something nice.” 

There is that same warm feeling spreading through his chest. Only ever caused by you. But once more he brushes it aside (he could dwell on it when alone), instead ushering you inside once the pair of you decide on another day – and one more just in case you were still sick when the next came around. It was not until you were safely inside that he allowed his mind to wander, returning to the Tower of Fate almost on autopilot, flowers clutched carefully to his chest to shield them against the harsh weather. 

So lost in thought, he had hardly registered walking through the front door, still trying to piece together this new feeling he was experiencing as he ran the petals gently through his fingertips. 

It was the voice of Fate that finally snapped him back to reality, turning to the sorcerer as he called out Amazo’s name once more. “You seem troubled, my friend.” 

Amazo had to stop for a moment, at a loss for words. Unsure if there was even a question to ask. 

Thankfully Fate filled the silence, taking notice of the flowers. “Those did not come from Inza, where did you get them?” 

This gave the android pause once more. “No, they... they were a gift.” 

Fate was silent, studying him for a moment longer before stepping forward. “From someone important to you?” 

And there was that warm feeling once more, at the mere thought of you. Your bright smile each time you found him sitting exactly where he promised he would be. A flash in his head of the little charm that hung from the doorknob of his room so he could not damage it. “I believe so, but...” The words eluded him once more, and he tried desperately to find something to explain his predicament. 

Fate, for everything thankful, waited patiently, already having an inkling of what plagued the one before him. Admitting as much was never an easy task for some, especially an immortal being experiencing these things for the first time. 

“I met them some months ago, and have seen them regularly since. But lately I have noticed this new... feeling, when I see them. And it was only stronger today, when they arrived late because they had been sick.” 

“Were you mad at them for arriving late?” 

“No, on the contrary, I walked them home and told them to stay rested next time if they were still sick. I was concerned. But I have been concerned before for the well-being of others, yet it has never felt like this.” 

Fate hummed once, nodding in understanding. “What makes this different?” 

“I worry about them when I do not see them, and wonder how their day is going. I find myself looking forward to seeing their expressions and hearing their stories – just to hear them talk. When their smile was not as bright today it... hurt.” Amazo looked to the side at this, the words beginning to spill forth as fast as he could piece the sentences together. “More often than not I find myself preferring to be by their side. I did not want to leave them tonight, especially knowing they were sick. Their kindness and their consideration for me continues to make me feel warm, I suppose. But I am still unsure of what it means, of what this change is.” 

“Would you care for my thoughts on the matter, my friend?” 

“I would appreciate them, yes.” 

“I believe what you’re feeling is affection for this person.” 

“I have cared for others before, but it has not felt like this,” Amazo repeated, thoughts of Professor Ivo and Luthor running through his head. 

“This affection is not the same. It is not the affection of family, as you considered them at one point or another. It sounds far more similar to the feelings that I share with Inza.” 

“Your wife?” 

“I cannot speak for you, Amazo, nor can I know exactly how you feel. But it seems like this is the most likely outcome. You do not feel these things for your other friends, or for acquaintances, do you?” 

“No, I do not. I suppose that is why it has been more than a little confusing.” 

Fate only nodded in understanding, placing one hand on Amazo’s arm as he moved to walk past him. “Perhaps the next time you see them you should speak to them about this – it may help to clarify some things for you.” 

Amazo considered it for a moment before agreeing. “I believe you’re right. Goodnight, Doctor Fate.” 

“Goodnight.” 

And with that Amazo was left alone, gaze shifted back to the flowers still in hand as he ran his hand over the fragile petals once more; finally, he started on his way back to his room. He needed more time to get his thoughts in order before he went to speak with you about them. 

[thatsmazee]

little bachisagi fantasy au heheh they’re so silly i love them.

————————————————————————————————————————

Taking care of a trouble maker

One, two, three, four… he kept counting his steps as an attempt to distract himself from his wounds. Approximately one hundred meters separated him from his destination. He prayed his body wouldn’t betray him now and continued to put one leg in front of the other. Fifty meters, forty, thirty, twenty… he reached the door, grabbed the hang and knocked.

After what seemed like hours a boy opened the door.

“Hey…”

“I knew it…get in.” Isagi wasn’t angry, he could tell by the tone of his voice, it certainly was low, but not angry or at least not with him.

Entering the studio once again brought him the sensation of affection he’d missed for some days. He really liked the place, even though it was messy with all the potions, ingredients, and the big caldron in the centre of the room. The bookshelves were a bit dusty and some of the books had fallen on the floor but the sorcerer didn’t seem to care. The air was warm and the smell reminded him of honey and mint, not too strong or too bland, it was perfect, calming and welcoming.

“Who was it?” The silence fell as the sorcerer spoke.

He hesitated “Mmh. I’d say poachers.”

“Sit on that chair and lay your legs on the pouf, I'll take care of that.”

Bachira looked at him gratefully, it wasn’t every day that a sorcerer offered a beast like him care.

“Thanks, Isagi,” he says low, like a whisper, and barely audible but the said boy still managed to catch that as he approached the wound.

“They knew the agreement…why would they hurt you… I'm sorry, Bachira.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault, please don’t afflict yourself.”

Bachira was smiling, Isagi noted. He had a wound from the clavicle to the sternum, at least one or two centimeters deep, but the angles of his mouth were still turned up. The scales on his cheeks were turning darker and his eyes were half lidded, his breath slightly irregular, but somehow he still had a serene expression.

“I’m concerned though, we came up with the agreement that we say we’re boyfriends to protect you since few people risk touching a sorcerer partner, and still, after all of this, they hurt you. That’s why I'm blaming myself. I should have been more careful, I should've watched over all the clans that threaten dragons… I could have stopped this.” The last phrase went out with a deep shaky breath and Bachira's eyes widened when he understood that Isagi was blaming himself for this.

“Sagii…I told you that this isn’t your fault,” he said, pointing to his wounded chest. “You’re taking care of me now, disinfecting my wound and stitching it."

His smile was so bright; and Isagi felt lighter. A comfort silence fell while the sorcerer proceeded with the medical care, interrupted only sometimes by Bachira whining.

“Ok, all done. Make sure you change the bandages when they get too dirty and take this infusion once a day, k?”

And, his eyes– full of care and worry for a boy that just caused him trouble. They weren’t lovers, like Isagi said it was just an agreement to make things easier, but there was still a deep connection between them. Fate brought them together and it didn’t seem to want to separate them soon. There was a platonic bond that the two loved, they were each other's comfort person, someone who you can tell secrets to, ask for advice, find comfort in their arms, cry and laugh.

Bachira was so grateful for him, he never really had a friend since he was seen as a scary and dangerous monster, but then Isagi appeared in his life and everything seemed to take the right direction.

“Come here, I'll make you dinner. Rice with raw egg right?”

The other boy nodded while thinking about how amusing it was that he still remembered his preferences after months. He happily walks towards Isagi, spying over his shoulder the movements of his hands cracking the eggs. The feeling of home was settled back into his heart.

“You can sleep here tonight, if you want of course.”

Bachira grins, “Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”

“A few times for what I can remember.”

The sound of laughter rapidly filled the house as the two boys enjoyed each other's company.

“You know I care a lot about you.”

“I care about you too.”

“Mh. Bachira, you know what I mean. If you couldn’t have escaped or your injury had been any worse, there's a possibility that you wouldn’t…be here,” he said that while pushing all the air out of his lungs. “And I would have blamed myself till the day I die.”

Bachira never really liked heart to heart conversations or had someone displaying their feelings so clearly, but if it was Isagi, everything seemed easier. He didn’t care when his eyes became glossy, a bunch of tears threatening to spill in seconds, he giggled and smiled because you know the saying “silence is worth more than a thousand words.” It isn't every day that your heart is so full with love that you cry tears of happiness. And as the sorcerer caressed the cheek of the boy he cared so much for, pulling him into a hug, the other wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

He was sure that on this night he found his soulmate.

——————————————————————————

I also posted it on ao3 if you want to check it out and leave kudos <3

twt: thatsmazee

go check out all the works for bachisagi week on twt

[nyx-lyris]

best laid plans - h.f.

fighting your own heart is among the hardest battles in the world.

ruth erwin is a college student at nyu in pursuit of a degree in english literature. though a bit older and more experienced than most of her peers, she has no trouble settling into university life once again. she decides to take a class in coding to spice up her schedule a bit - only to find herself struggling more than she would like.

in search of assistance, she finds herself in the office of one harold wren, her gentle and mysterious professor. she finds herself drawn to him, wanting more from him, despite the forbidden nature of such a relationship.

harold, too, despite his better judgment, finds himself wanting more and more of this lovely student of his. he knows there are a hundred and one things that stand between them, but he can't help but feel drawn to her.

but, when her number comes up, the two are placed in an impossible predicament. with so many dangerous secrets standing between them and so many unforeseen variables tying them inextricably together, the way forward seems cloudier than ever. what, in the end, will prevail?

chapter one: in the beginning

whatever ruth had been expecting upon walking into professor wren’s class it hadn’t been this. the scene before her was colorful, to say the least, and she nearly dropped her bag at the sight. several students were crowded in the middle of the computer lab, shouting and cheering at what sounded an awful lot like a fight. she recognized several faces in the crowd - a bunch of freshmen and sophomores who were required to take this class for their engineering majors. the professor had yet to arrive and ruth wasn’t about to let a bunch of idiots ruin her first day of class after she’d had such a lovely summer break.

“hey!” she shouted. a couple of helpless onlookers turned, but few others reacted. she cleared her throat and tried again.

“hey!” she yelled, a little louder this time. a few more people looked up but it still wasn’t enough.

she huffed and rolled her eyes. “do you morons want me to call campus security? the police maybe?”

the cheering and shouting stopped, although the sounds of punching took a bit longer to dissipate.

"some of you i’ve caught doing some pretty shady stuff on campus,” she continued. “i won't go into detail, but i’m pretty sure most of you don’t have enough money to bail yourselves out of jail - or have families who care enough to do it for you.”

the silence in the hall was deafening.

“now, if you don’t mind, i’d like to enjoy my first day of class.”

she caught a few eye rolls and middle fingers as the students began to take their seats. she took a seat near the front of the room, heart pounding.

a moment later, the professor entered the room, looking frazzled.

“i apologize for being late,” he said, quickly unpacking his briefcase. “i had a bit of car trouble this morning.”

professor wren had a gentle face. he appeared to be at least in his fifties, with wide, intelligent blue eyes that sat behind a pair of dark, square glasses. his brown hair was spiky, likely touched up with some kind of hair gel and he was dressed in a suit, modest but neat.

“i’d like to formally welcome you all to an introduction to coding,” he continued, his careful eyes drinking in every detail of the room. “i hope sincerely you will enjoy this class, even if some of you were not placed here of your own volition.”

he began to pass out the syllabus, explaining in a calm and measured voice about the assignments, grades, and his office hours. he walked with a pronounced limp, ruth noted, and she wondered briefly how he’d been injured. she was willing to wager it was an old injury as there was an element of complacency to his gait. perhaps he had been in a car accident many years ago? taken a particularly bad fall and never healed quite right?

professor wren had returned to his desk at the front of the class by now and ruth realized she hadn’t heard a single thing he said. she felt herself flush slightly at getting so caught up in her thoughts. he was just a professor - what did it matter how he was injured?

“coding is something of an art form,” he was saying. “it requires patience, dedication, and precision to achieve one's desired results.”

the professor’s eyes swept the room again and he seemed to sigh quietly as if he knew his words were falling on deaf ears. ruth found herself leaning closer, wanting to hear more.

“this class represents only the beginning,” he continued, his voice strangely heavy. “the tip of the iceberg. though you may not appreciate it now, there is much more to coding than meets the eye.”

a week later found ruth at the door of professor wren’s office, looking rather sheepish. the assignment he’d given shouldn’t have been that hard. it was so simple, just a basic function - and yet here she was. she huffed as she stared down the door, contemplating whether it was really worth all this trouble. this wasn’t the first coding class she’d taken - although, she admitted to herself, that was over ten years ago now, and she’d never been all that good at coding to begin with.

she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself that her professor wouldn’t think any less of her if she came in and asked for help - it was his job to assist his students, after all.

finally, she opened her eyes and knocked on the door.

“come in,” a muffled voice sounded from behind the door.

she took another steadying breath - why am i so nervous about this? - and opened the door, stepping into his office.

the room was well-sized, for an office, and brightly lit from the sunshine outside. there were several file cabinets behind and to the left of him and, to the right, was a small cabinet bursting with books and decorated with a few fake plants. his desk stood front and center, organized but not overly neat. despite its friendly appearance, there was something off about the office, though she couldn’t say exactly what.

“hello,” professor wren said, pulling ruth from her thoughts. he smiled gently up at her. “how can i help you today, miss...”

“erwin,” ruth answered. “ruth erwin.” she hesitated a moment, blushing. oh, get over yourself.

“i’m having trouble with the assignment you gave us yesterday,” she said.

“oh, of course,” he answered. then, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk, “please, sit.”

ruth pulled her laptop from her bag and quickly pulled up the code she had written for the assignment. it had been a bit of a pain just to pay for and download the necessary software onto her computer. she knew technically she hadn’t needed to - she could have just used one of the computer labs on campus - but she had convinced herself it would be easier to simply have it on her own machine than to rely on the school’s computers.

“now,” he said, settling into the chair next to her. “what seems to be the trouble?”

though the issue with the code itself was a simple fix, ruth stayed longer. she had only barely scraped by in terms of understanding the last time she’d taken a coding class, and she was determined to truly understand what it was she was doing this time around. that and, though she would never admit it out loud, she found professor wren���s presence comforting. he was well-spoken and his voice was soothing. it was apparent he felt strongly about the subject of coding as well - he described it in an almost poetic way, and ruth could hear the undercurrent of passion in his words as he spoke. it was rare to find a teacher so passionate about that which they taught - and his fervor was inspiring.

by the time ruth left professor wren’s office, she had a much better handle on the current subject than before, though she was certain this wouldn’t be the last time she visited his office. she’d never been the best when it came to programming, and she would need all the help she could get - at least that’s what she told herself.

prev chapter - next chapter

a/n: hello everyone! chapter one, as promised. i hope you all enjoyed this, though it is kind of short. i will add a directory of the chapters to my pinned post so you guys can find each of the chapters as easily as possible. i will also upload this to ao3 and i will leave a link to that as well. please let me know if any of the links don't work - i'm kind of new to this and i might do it wrong lol. anyway chapter two will be posted next sunday, so look forward to that.

thank you guys so much for reading!

@javicstories - tagged, as promised! (i hope it worked lol)

ao3 link to best laid plans