#abroad...and i think it is also genuinely shock. that this is his habit.

[fideidefenswhore]

Was the young Henry VIII a very friendly and gentle person?

Assuming you mean on a personal level (since, obviously...ordering executions is not especially 'gentle'), that seems to be the general judgement. There's not actually much variation from it from 1509-20s, foreign observers extol his gentleness and generosity and piety throughout the early 1530s, their only specific criticism there is that he's enthralled with a woman of 'bad character' (shorthand for 'low birth').

'the kindest of princes' (Cranmer, 1526) ‘a man of gentle friendliness, and gentle in debate; he acts more like a companion than a king’ (Erasmus, 1529) 'affable and gracious, harmed no one' (Venetian ambassador, 1519) 'He is kind and affable, full of graciousness and courtesy, and liberal; particularly so to men of science (virtuosi) whom he is never weary of obliging.' (Venetian ambassador, 1531)

There's some interesting post-contemporary observations on this matter, too (that have to be considered more doubtful since they're more influenced by hindsight and sometimes, by partisanship); such as:

"her Majesty's father, though otherwise the most gentle and affable prince in the world, could not abide to have any man stare in his face; or to fix his eye too steadily upon him when he talked with them".

And while I won't arm-chair, body-language 'science', pop psych-analyze that one (search results yield that specific source quote to 'narcissism' discussion), since it's neuroableist particularly to suggest an inability to maintain eye contact is indicative of innate deceit/dishonesty ...it is an interesting observation, considering how long he was in the public eye.

'Otherwise' gentle and affable is what's interesting about this remark, really, because are gentleness and friendliness mutually exclusive with a certain self-consciousness? I don't think so, and I wonder if this manifested particularly once he got to the point in a public ceremony/spectacle where he became overwhelmed by the attention and scrutiny, it is not typically how he's thought of but it's such a specific observation connected (but 'contrasting') those specific traits you asked of, I thought it was worth mentioning.

Mantel touched on this,

‘The burden of kingship,’ he says, ‘no man can imagine it. All my life, to be a prince: to be observed to be a prince; all eyes to be set on me; to be an exemplar of virtue, of discretion, of excellence in learning; to have a mind young and vigorous yet as wise as Solomon; to take pleasure in what others have designed for my pleasure, or be thought ungrateful; to discipline all my appetites, to unmake myself as a man in order to make myself as a king; to waste not a minute lest I be seen to waste it; for idleness, no excuses; always alert to prove, always to show, that I am worthy of the place God appointed me … When I was a young man I suppose I showed the calf of my leg to an ambassador and said, “There, has your French king a calf as good as that?” And my words were reported, and all Europe laughed at me, a vain idle boy, and no doubt people laugh still. But being young I asked myself, if God had formed François better than me, which prince did He favour most?’

And I also thought Mantel touched on this (although I can't find it in my highlights atm, so maybe I'm misremembering); I distinctly remember this scene...where somebody is recalling, as Duke of York, Henry was placed on a pony or horse when he's only two or three years old, and this is really his first public appearance, and he's reported to have acquitted himself well, to have been charming and gracious and graceful, even then...but even then, there was always this dark spectre. The timing of his ennoblement as Duke of York was chosen with purpose, it was in the shadow of a pretender. Was there a sense of unease, even then, that he couldn't articulate until later: that behind every smile, could be a knife?

'[Henry VII]'s children grew up in a world of threats, intrigue, and paranoia', '[Prince Henry]'s earliest years were as emotionally insecure as his father's reign was politically uncertain', '"he is so subjugated that he does not speak a word except in response to what the king asks him"'; again, the latter does not match the gregarious (perhaps even, more self-fashioned than natural) personality he's recorded as having as an adult.

The possibility that he oscillated between two opposite settings, and adapted accordingly, back to back (relative isolation and circumspection, to complete immersion in public celebration and celebrity and grandiose openness/friendliness); could account for the contradiction of an "affable" young man that gradually became uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny to which he was held, and maybe even modulated his habit and outward persona to fit what was expected of a king.

[lettrespromises]

#LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification. ──➤ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋!

─➤ Ushijima Wakatoshi sent you a letter, would you like to read it? #CC of the letter directed to : @babythotshq​.

──➤ #𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : angst, song letter. ─➤ #𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 : “When I Was Your Man” by Bruno Mars. ➤ #𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : slight injury.

❝𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞.❞

His orbs never left once the wilted color of the ceiling, nor did he dare to blink, surely because his subconscious had already made him prisoner jailed in his own thoughts. What did he fear by blinking? Did he fear to wake up in trance from this nightmare? Did he fear being left breathless by the umpteenth realization that you were, indeed, not laying next to him? Ushijima Wakatoshi was laying on his bed. His orbs never left once the wilted color of the ceiling. His arms were spread open (but oddly respected the limit of where your body would usually occupy), like a martyr begging for forgiveness and mercy to the higher beings. But his salute never came, his prayers fell in the deaf ears of vacuity. Ushijima Wakatoshi was laying on his bed. And found himself unable to move. And upon lacing his shoe laces to head out and commit to his morning run, despite being three hours late, he threw a last glance at your shared bedroom, which had become singular with time. He felt his own legs attract him to the edge of the bed, like an old habit poisoning his rational thinking and arbitrary, but was rendered weak and let himself be invaded by the toxins secreted by his own body. It was only when his shinbones hit the wooden surface of the bed that he snapped out of his reverie, and realized that the bed was empty. And realized that there was no forehead left to be kissed this morning, again.  He stepped back from the bed, his steps were cautious and testified of the fear slowly embedding his actions, now the toxins were spreading onto his bones and muscles, it was no longer a burden on his mind, it had metamorphosed into a metaphorical chain wrapped around his muscles which forbid him from enjoying the liberty of his movements. A shaken step caused his to stumble backwards, knocking the radio throning on the shelf behind him. And when Ushijima’s eardrums were expecting a loud bang, to which he did not even shut his lids in anticipation, he was met with a song. Your song. The shock of the radio against the floor had caused the sudden musical eruption of a song which often throned amongst Ushijima’s happiest memories. Now, upon hearing it, he could barely discern what the words meant. It all sounded like a blur, or rather, as if the musical keys had changed. He even wonder if the singer hadn’t released a new version of the song with new lyrics. Ushijima Wakatoshi didn’t go on his usual morning run on this day, he gave in to the assault of emotions and the whimpers of nostalgia hidden between two words sung by the singer, the pain found comfort in the melody of the song.  ❝𝐌𝐦, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝.❞ Each volleyball season ended with a gala organized by the Volleyball Club Association, it was the perfect occasion to give back to charities and at the same time celebrate the victories of this season. Ushijima had the habit of growing oddly quiet whenever this season would arrive, the nerves of knowing whether or not he had been voted as the best performing winged spiker were rendering unable of forming any word. 

And like every year, you were accompanying him. 

You found yourself to be cherished under the flashes of the photographers, exposing in front of the public eye a relationship which was burning with the fire of a Phoenix. Only, to the private eye, you had doubt regarding the renaissance of your idyl. Your love was burning, indeed, burning amongst the unforgiving inferno of a romance which had turnt into a mere illusion. 

Being at a public event, it was common for Wakatoshi to answer the journalists’ question, and being someone quite reserved himself, the preying eyes of the interviewers often gravitated about his private life— who is he dating? Is he single? Does he have someone on his mind? 

A journalist gathered enough courage to approach him, and you thought it was your time to affirm yourself— as the galas went by, you and Wakatoshi grew and grew closer, and this year was your first time as his official romantic date. A grin had already bloomed amongst your facial features in anticipations to his answers regarding his private life. 

“Ushijima-san, thank you for allowing us to ask you several questions. Now, everyone knows you as this relentless warrior on the court, but do you also happen to have the same success on the court as in your private life?” The journalist asked, a gleam of hope shone in the irises of her eyes.

Ushijima hesitated for a short instant which seemed like an eternity, the metaphorical gears in his head were working with difficulty, and the words connected to one another without ever forming a complete sentence, or at least, one which reflected his thoughts. “No, there is no one in my life except volleyball. And I believe it will always remain this way.” He announced to the journalist in response, despite your obvious presence next to him. 

And as the words were drowning in your eardrums, you felt yourself gradually disappear under the haunting sensation of being forgotten. His hold on your hand also seemed to be gradually becoming numb, as if you had truly obtained all the characteristics of a ghost after his reply. After he stated that you meant nothing to him, and will never mean anything.

“Y/N, I’m pleased to see you are happy to be here, should we continue, my love?” His question provoked the rise of a cacophony of miserable whimpers inside your head, not only did Ushijima failed to see you for who you were, but he also failed to perceive your most vivid emotions. ❝𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.❞ You were sitting on the edge of the bed, the back of your calves rocking softly against the wooden surface, your skin had already adopted a spectrum of reddish and purplish tones from all the bruises caused by this constant rocking of your legs against the edge of the bed, you were bruised from waiting for him, you were bruised from loving him. 

“Y/N? I ignored you were waiting for me, you should have gone to sleep instead.” Did this tone remind you of your lover’s? Or did it remind you of yet another lecture given by a parental figure?  “I tried, trust me I tried, Wakatoshi. But I can’t sleep without you anymore... You’re, you’re always abroad and I can never catch you. It’s like I’m dating someone who only exists through phone calls and texts... It’s like all this time I’ve been dating a ghost.” Your lower lip began to tremble under the heavy weight of the words pouring from your mouth, “I don’t even know if I want you anymore or not. I can’t tell if your presence is hurting me or not, I don’t know who you are anymore to me.” The last words died on your tongue in a shameful whisper, your orbs solely focused on the ground. 

Wakatoshi’s hand reached for your shoulder, like a metaphorical saving hand trying to save your from drowning in your most horrible nightmare but as your fingertips were about to touch his and be saved from the misery hovering above you like a sword of Damocles, a sudden sob ripped apart this moment of solace and you felt all alone again, shut away from the world, an exiled soul in a loveless abyss.

Ushijima knew you couldn’t find deliverance in his presence anymore, he knew that in your eyes, he had become a poison you needed to find an antidote for. Each second spent with him felt like pure agony, and he felt eaten alive by his own guilty for having fallen asleep to the sounds of your rocking sobs like the most miserable lullaby. 

❝𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧.❞

The absence, the ignorance.

Two cruel elements which, once associated to one another, signed the end of your relationship with Ushijima Wakatoshi. You had left him a letter with your most beautiful calligraphy, soon ruined by the uneven spheres caused by your tears. You even left him a bouquet of flowers, an attention he used to pour a lot of importance in at the beginning of your relationship when it was still blooming. Now your relationship was wilted, colorless, and already falling apart. And just like that, a petal had fallen on the wooden surface of your kitchen counter. His kitchen counter.

Ushijima tried to make up for your absence by concentrating the burning hole in his chest left by your absence by unleashing his frustration in his spikes. At first, he was applauded by his coach, and his performances were worthy of his peers’ praises.

But the same spikes infused with frustration were now infused with a rare kind of genuine hatred when you sent him a text saying you had found someone else, someone who had more time too, but the last straw was that you had apologized.

Said rare kind of genuine hatred wasn’t directed to the person you were dating, even less you. It was directed to himself, Wakatoshi Ushijima, and how in the deafening silence he managed to give birth to the loudest emotions.

And the praises turnt into worry.

Like your compliments turnt into whimpers.

It was the same circular scheme.

During training, as the palm of his calloused hand slapped the leather surface of the ball, picturing his own face on the martyr of a ball, Ushijima cried out in pain.

He ignored if the origin of the pain emanated from the way he had just dislocated his left wrist, or was it coming from the final rupture of his last heartstring as he had witnessed himself coming undone under the weight of his emotions, his memories, his regrets.

And the praises from his coaches regarding his spikes were now made vocal for another player. And the praises, your praises, regarding himself were now made vocal for someone else whose name wasn’t Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Someone who had the luxury of time.

Someone who had the privilege of loving and being able to be loved.

Someone who wasn’t him.

❝𝐃𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧.❞

[prismatales]

Shoto’s Perspective

Part 2 of Endeavor with a Quirkless Child, this one focuses on Shoto’s relationship with his Sister. I’d recommend to read the first one to understand some points.

Previous - Next

Growing up with a father like Endeavor wasn’t easy for Shoto, after all he was never treated like a child, but as a tool who’s only purpose was to accomplish his father’s ambitions, he hated it.

Then there was his sister, Y/N was always somewhere else, never training, she was always with their siblings or their mother, often were the days he could hear her crying quietly at night. Why was she crying? She never had to train like he had to.

He saw the ways his father ignored her in favor of training him, why couldn’t he ignore him as well? as a child he was envious of her, but as he grew up he came to realize why, she was quirkless and according to his father a “distraction”, he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to her.

Shoto had been accepted into the Hero department, unknown to him you were in the Support department, being all by yourself gave you a lot more time to study, by the time high school was about to start you were already a genius, so getting into U.A. wasn’t difficult.

It was obviously bad luck, your class was going to help in the creation of the costumes for class 1-A, “just my luck, just.my.fucking.luck” Hatsume couldn’t stop laughing at her new friend’s muttering, “It can’t be that bad Todo-chan!” that was the nickname she gave you, eventually everyone in the class started calling you that, even the teachers.

You were not in charge of designing Shoto’s costume, instead it was the costume of a guy called Bakugo Katsuki. The classmate who got Shoto’s asked you about his quirk in hopes you could lend them a helping hand, when they showed you the concept Shoto gave for his costume a chuckle came out without realizing, he was more spiteful than you thought.

During lunch time you would do everything to avoid Shoto, it wasn’t that you hated him, it was on reflex, it became a habit you ended up developing while growing up. That didn’t stop you from glancing at him during lunch time, a few of his classmates noticed the girl staring at him every now and then, you weren’t as sneaky as you thought. The funny thing was Shoto had crossed paths with you more than once but he never recognized or paid attention to you.

Sero and Kaminari told him about the cute girl that would stare at him from a distance, he only listened once, so that’s where that feeling of being watched came from.

During the Sports festival and the accidental reveal he was confused when Present Mic yelled out Todoroki again, he had already crossed the finish line a long time ago, then he heard it again. Todoroki…Y/N? At the mention of your name his body quickly turned towards the Stadium’s entrance.

Crossing the finish line was a girl wearing support equipment, she was bent over, hands on her knees and panting tiredly, but her face quickly shot up in a panic at the mention of her name. Her (Color) hair was short, (Name) was a red head and as far as he remembered her hair reached her waist, but then he saw her eyes, it was her…It was her sister.

what were you doing at U.A.? hadn’t you chosen another school? and why was everyone yelling?! Kaminari and Kirishima were shouting “That’s your sister?!”, before he could go and talk to you Midnight was already announcing the next event, the Cavalry battle.

He noticed your team never got close to his, and although your teammates were good they lost when Monoma took your points, he wouldn’t forget the look on your face, you were so furious you tried to use a bracelet with a taser on the Blond.

With the cavalry battle over and after confronting Midoriya his next goal was to find you and talk, but then Shoto heard Endeavor yelling at you, he followed the noise just to see his father holding your arm, from the look on your face he was hurting your arm.

When you started telling Endeavor how you were ignoring Shoto just like he ordered, that left him thinking, didn’t you hate him for having a quirk? both of your parent’s quirks specifically? he always thought that was the reason you never talked to him, not because Endeavor had forbidden it. He snapped out of his thoughts when you ran off after leaving Endeavor behind.

During the fighting tournament Shoto could notice Y/N watching, she was genuinely cheering for him by the look on her face, not to mention the way she cheered for him along with Midoriya. Unlike his father, his sister shouted his name with genuine concern for him, it made him think of the times his mother tried to comfort him.

With the festival over Shoto tried to approach you, but everytime he’d get close you would walk away, sometime even running away in panic, it made him feel hurt, if you were so concerned for him then why were you avoiding him?

The day he decided to go visit his mother he didn’t see you at home, Fuyumi told him you had gone out. The surprise on his face was pretty obvious when he found you talking to Rei on her hospital room, the look on his mother’s face was joyful, she thought you were getting along, and neither of you had the courage to tell her the truth.

he asked you to listen to him and not to run away once you finished the visit, hesitantly you accepted and took him to your favorite cafe, it was adorable seeing him trying to choose, there were things on the menu he’s never heard of or tried before. His diet had been so strict growing up he rarely tried anything sweet or even remotely close to junk food, the closest thing he’s ever had was probably mochi.

“You do realize our father can’t control your diet anymore right?” you leaned forward, finger pointing the desserts section at his menu. “you can start with something simple like their green tea ice cream, or you can go wild and order the chocolate and raspberry milkshake, it’s really sweet but honestly everything on the menu’s delicious” he gave you a look filled with curiosity “how often do you come here?” “pretty much every Friday, my friend’s the owner’s grandaughter and she dragged me here to celebrate when we started mid-school” you waved at the old couple in the register “She’s studying abroad in Canada, but it was our little tradition to come here on Fridays, and this place has such a cozy feeling it’s hard to avoid”. he had to admit you were right, the moment he stepped in a warm feeling was all around him, it felt right, just like his mother’s embrace.

The both of you talked for a while, about school, your childhood, the festival, he told you how he had ended up listening on your conversation with Endeavor, a part of you felt ashamed of the way you reacted, but shoto reassured you it was fine to react like that at the threat of being pulled out of school.

He found out you had been assigned to work on his new costume, the classmate that used to work on it dropped out, they couldn’t handle the stress, the fact you were the one helping them out the most ended up with the teacher allowing you to work on two hero costumes. You also made fun of the first one.

The day he introduced you to his classmates was a day to remember, Kaminari mentioned how him and his friends would catch you staring from time to time and thought you were a girl crushing on Shoto much to your embarassment, they quickly apologized when they saw you covering your face in shame.

Bakugo called them a bunch of blind idiots for not figuring it out sooner, he knew who you were the moment he met you while working on his costume, not to mention the time he heard your classmates calling you “Todo-chan”, but he just didn’t care, he had to admit you had done a good job on his gauntlets though, that made you ease up a bit.

The girls invited you to hang out with them next weekend, everyone quickly caught up with your nickname, it would be easier to difference you and your brother that way, Shoto was content his sister was getting along with his classmates, specially when Midoriya bonded with you about the feeling of growing up quirkless.

Kirishima mentioned your hair, the color was a bit messy and uneven “It was your first time dyeing your hair, wasn’t it?” “Yes, how did you know?” he rubbed his neck in embarassment and mentioned how the same thing happened to him, later he gave you the name of the place where he had his hair done.

When Y/N argued with their father about the internship she was venting with Shoto “He doesn’t even know how much effort I put in my work! and to think my project ended up being about him! this is unbelievable!” all your brother did was listen and watch as your hands were flying everywhere at the same time you spoke, somehow his eyes landed on your hair and it was like a light bulb went off, he had an idea you probably wouldn’t refuse and quietly went to look for Enji’s credit card.

The result was worth it once he witnessed his father burst into flames at the sight of Y/N as a blonde, Shoto couldn’t help but jokingly aski if you were All Might’s secret love child which you replied with a deadpan expression “I wish”.

During the attack on the training camp and Bakugo’s kidnapping you had stayed at home with Fuyumi, the both of you worried out of your minds when Shoto had gone rescue his classmate. But the moment he came back home the first thing he got was an earful from his worried twin, that quickly died down when they heard his father tearing apart the training room.

Things were calm for a few weeks, you made it a routine to go to the cafe at least once a week an have study sessions together, most of the time you were together in class 1-A dorms, mainly because the majority of the support department was always busy working in the development studio.

Then the day of Endeavor’s debut as the number one hero and the fight against high-end happened. The both of you were watching the broadcast with his friends, and the moment it seemed Endeavor had been defeated Shoto could only watch in shock at the sight of what appeared to be his father’s corpse.

But you? a million thoughts were running through your head in that moment, chills running down your spine, an overwhelming feeling of dread, hearing nothing else but static, you could see Shoto talking, but were unable to listen, the feeling of being lightheaded making you fall on your knees and having trouble breathing. You were having a panic attack.

Uraraka screamed the moment you feel on the floor and started hyperventilating, Iida was quick to carry you to the couch, Shoto snapped out of his shock when he hear the yelling, he didn’t know what to do as tears started running down your face, he was afraid to make it worse, but he tried to talk to you and distract you. Luckily Aizawa arrived soon after to help.

By the time Endeavor rose again and managed to defeat the Nomu you had calmed down, but the stress caused you to pass out on the couch from exhaustion, Shoto stayed close during that time, he was worried and so were his classmates, some of them stayed around in case Shoto needed help with something.

It was almost midnight when you finally woke up with a blanket covering you, turning your head slowly the sight of mismatched hair was the first thing you noticed, Shoto had fallen asleep sitting on the floor, waiting for you to wake up. He woke up at the feeling of hands stroking his hair, but the moment he saw you awake he quickly got up from the floor.

“What happened?” You were still laying down “You had a panic attack and passed out” “oh…” there was silence for a few minutes, but then your brother told you Endeavor had won the fight, the news made you relax a little, but there was a clear sadness in your eyes.

“You want to forgive him don’t you?” “…what?” “Father, the moment everyone thought he had been defeated you started shaking…Do you want to forgive him?” you could only look at the ceiling, did you wanted to? tears slowly started to form in your eyes, just to quickly end up being be wiped with the heel of your hands as you sobbed.

“I…I don’t know what to do” Your could only mutter with a broken voice “…He’s our father…and he hurt us for along time…but he’s trying to fix things with us, would it be the right thing to do?”. Shoto could only stare at his weeping sister, he hated seeing you like this.

The day Natsuo yelled at their father and told him why you had cut your hair didn’t shock him anymore, the day he took you to the salon you mentioned him why you did it, the sad smile you gave made him feel terrible, after all Fuyumi once mentioned how much you loved having long hair.

He knew it would probably upset you, but he still went and told their father about your panic attack, and the way you were hesitant to forgive him, Endeavor was a great hero, but he was lacking as a father, the last thing he told him was that if he wanted to make up for his mistakes he should start with you and Rei.

Months later when he saw your red hair growing out he realized things were starting to change, while you haven’t fully forgiven your father yet, things slowly started to change for the best.

Hope you enjoyed this!

@godtieruwu​

I have like three more ideas for this, it’s probably going to turn into a mini-fic and some side stories.

Want to make a request? my askbox is open!

I also made an avatar on picrew to show you guys the way I imagined reader, this is pretty much how she looks after getting rid of the hair dye

Update / January 19, 2021: This story will change from a Reader insert to an OC.

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (3/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | part 2 | AO3 | 5.8k words

A/N: So I’m not entirely sure what my posting schedule will be like but it’s looking like every 8 days. This chapter is a ton of CS goodness that I hope you like! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​​ for her amazing art (LOOK AT THIS NEW PIECE OMG); and to @kmomof4​​ and @cssns​​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

sorrynotsorry for the Hamilton references; I couldn’t resist

I know they’re not actually singing but the movie is still awesome

part three—tonight, tonight; it all began tonight

Emma couldn’t help it; she was entranced. After so many years thinking she’d merely dreamed of their existence, to suddenly see those blue eyes—and the handsome face they belonged to—it kind of made the world seem to slow. The music, the moving bodies between them—it all seemed to hit some sort of decrescendo, and she found her feet moving toward him without her telling them to.

His gaze hadn’t left hers since they locked eyes, and it was almost as if the crowd was parting around them, leaving a clear path for her to finally meet the man who’d haunted her peripheral vision the last 15 years.

Then, suddenly, he was there in front of her. She breathed; she could smell him—something warm and spicy and vaguely like rum and leather—but there was no heat radiating from him like a human would have. Despite that, there was a solidness to him that proved he wasn’t a hallucination.

“You’re real,” she breathed.

“Aye,” he said in an accented voice. “You’re still here.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” she answered, slightly confused but more enamored than anything. 

“I’m glad,” he said, then reached for her hand. She continued to stare, entranced, as he brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. If her stomach was still capable, it would have flipped. Part of her wondered if he’d walked straight out of a Jane Austen novel, but the odds of him being that old (or older) were significant.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting,” he continued.

“I’m patient.”

“So am I.”

Without further ado, he stepped into her space; normally, she would have moved the opposite direction, but not tonight. Whatever that feeling was she’d gotten earlier—a warning, a sign, an omen—this was what it was bracing her for; she knew it.

(Apparently, she could be a hopeless romantic when she really wanted to be. Suck on that, Snow.)

He wrapped his free arm around her and she felt hers slip up to his (firm) shoulder, like some long-lost muscle memory was taking over. Then he took a step, and she followed. Then another, and another, until they were dancing in their own little circle in the middle of everyone.

“What is this?” she asked, the haze of her shock finally clearing a bit.

“It’s called a waltz,” he answered matter-of-factly. “And the only rule is: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Innuendo was dripping off that statement, and Emma decided she wouldn’t mind figuring out what else he knew how to do—at some point, at least; not here, not with all these people around. 

“I feel like I’ve been seeing you out of the corner of my eyes for years,” she confessed as they continued to step and sway. 

“I wish I could say you have, but I’ve been abroad the past several; there’s no way I would let a woman as lovely as you pass me by without giving her my full and prompt attention.”

She smiled; god, how long had it been since someone genuinely flirted with her? Someone who wasn’t looking for just a one-night fling. (Her sense for these things had only gotten sharper over the years—he was genuinely interested in her, she could tell. And the feeling was mutual.)

“It was you, right?” she asked, moving in a bit closer. “From the night I turned?”

Before he could answer, though, a firm hand was on her shoulder, pulling her away and rudely tugging her back into reality—David.

“Dad, what the hell?” she complained as he moved in front of her, almost like he was shielding her.

“Get back, Emma; he’s not safe,” David commanded, not taking his eyes off of—shit, Emma didn’t even know his name yet. But he too was surrounded by a couple other vampires, and Graham quickly joined the fray.

“He’s with Aurum,” Snow whispered in her ear, suddenly appearing at her side. “And Regina is here with him.”

Oh, shit—Regina was the one who turned her parents. Which meant she could control them, if she was so inclined; just another reminder of how lucky Emma was that her sire was gone. 

“We need to go—now,” Snow hissed, grabbed Emma’s arm, and started to pull her from the crowd.

“Dad!” Emma shouted, because it looked like he was confronting one of the Aurum guys. She knew he could hear her, but he was locked in a tense conversation, albeit brief; she couldn’t hear their exchange over the thumping dance music, but it was obvious from their body language that the tone was tense. She and Snow were nearly out the back door before he and Graham caught up to them and Snow finally loosened her grip on Emma’s arm.

Emma shook off her mother and peered through the door before it mechanically shut behind them. She got one last look of those too-blue eyes, still staring at her from across the bar, before the door closed.

Just her luck: the first time a guy actually gets her attention in at least 25 years, he’s completely unavailable to her due to some stupid ancient rivalry.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Killian raged as he was unceremoniously pulled away from Emma and out of a fog of enchantment—by Robin, of all people. 

“Saving your skin,” Robin answered sharply. “She’s with Coroza.”

Fucking hell—he’d completely forgotten who he’d left her with. Bloody stupid ageless feud. But sure enough, when he looked back, he saw she was still with the Nolans. At the very least, his instincts there had been good. 

She was being dragged away by Snow, but David and another guy—Gary? no, Graham—hung back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” David barked angrily.

“I could ask the same of you,” Robin snarled back, showing his descended fangs and approaching David. “Should have known this club would be trash.”

“Then maybe you should get back to your side of the border and leave us be.”

“Or maybe you should find another feeding ground altogether; I’m sure the fare in New Jersey is cheap enough for your palate.”

“That’s enough. This ends tonight,” David spat. Killian was pretty sure David didn’t have the authority to proclaim that, but he didn’t know the hierarchy in Coroza (and certainly wasn’t up to date on it) well enough to call his bluff.

“Fine,” Robin snarled. “Meet me at Granny’s tonight, 3:00. We’ll set the terms there.”

“Fine.” David turned and left with no further comment; Graham was quick to follow, but leveled a withering glare at Killian first that, if he wasn’t mistaken, was tinged with jealousy.

Whatever. Killian looked past both of them, through the back door of the establishment—where he caught one last glimpse of green eyes and blonde hair before the door closed. He prayed that wasn’t a metaphor.

Robin was quick to usher them all out, and Killian followed, not wanting to make a scene. But he quickly wracked his brain for his old recollection of addresses, and just had to hope the Nolans had the same habit towards moving (or rather, not) that the majority of vampires held. 

That was not the last time he saw Emma—he was going to be sure of that.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma was mature enough to admit that by the time they got home, she was sulking; that teenager feeling she had earlier was definitely still relevant. Her dad and Graham were talking strategy, it sounded like, and her mom was trying to comfort her, it seemed—though over what, she wasn’t sure.

Finally, they reached the townhouse; the boys disappeared to the downstairs office while Emma and Snow headed to the little-used kitchen. At least there was a bottle of black-market blood vodka in the fridge; Emma needed something to take the edge off, her drinking plans being interrupted.

She poured a shot for both her and Snow and quickly downed it. Snow, though, looked at hers a bit pensively. 

“I’m sorry your night out got ruined.”

“It’s fine; it happens,” Emma shrugged off. “I’ve got plenty more to come.”

“I know, but...god, I hate it when they show up like that.”

Emma didn’t let her mom see her roll her eyes; again, she didn’t give two shits about the rivalry—it was the way it seemed to bring out the worst in people that she had issue with. That was what ruined the night; not the mere presence of someone she was supposed to hate.

(Someone whose name she still didn’t know and was most likely the reason she’d been reunited with her parents in the first place—but that wasn’t something she was going to bring up right now.)

“Well, did you at least have fun with Graham?” Snow asked, happy to change the subject. Emma was less receptive.

“I barely even talked to him,” she scoffed.

“I wish you would. He’s a great guy.”

Emma didn’t hide her exasperation this time. “Yeah, he is—as a friend. I just...don’t like him like that.”

“Emma,” her mom sighed, then stepped close enough to wrap her in a hug. “That wall around your heart...it may keep out pain, but it can also keep out love. I just don’t want that for you.”

Emma’s mind immediately jumped to blue eyes and the sense of being drawn in by some unseen force. “I know, Mom, but—you’ve gotta let me do it on my own,” she said, rubbing Snow’s arm.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed.

Emma gave a loving pat on Snow’s bicep, but then pried herself out of her mom’s embrace. “I’m going back up to the roof; I’ll be down later.”

“Alright; be safe.”

Emma chuckled; she was far more dangerous than any other predator out there. But she promised she would and headed up the stairs.

The sounds and smells of the city enveloped her again as she exited on the roof, hints of stars twinkling past the light pollution. It was a balmy and clear enough night that she’d probably consider staying up here for the rest of it, but for now, she was content to sit on the ledge overlooking the alley behind the building. It wasn’t particularly picturesque, but every now and then, a person would stumble through and Emma would feel a bit less alone in the world. 

Despite the family she’d found, being a vampire—and only truly walking the world during the dark—was far more isolating than she’d ever imagined.

Movement in the alley caught her attention; something was sliding through the shadows. It was usually just a stray cat, but this figure was much larger; despite her enhanced vision, it was too far away to make out until it came into the small bit of light that came from the streetlamp a quarter of a block down.

And then she gasped: it was him. Even in the faint light, she could see the sharp blue of his eyes—and they were staring right at her. 

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?” he said softly, loud enough for her to hear clearly but not for the average human. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

If she could blush, she’d be blushing. 

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,” he continued, moving closer to the building and carefully stepping onto the fire escape’s ladder. “Who is already sick and pale with grief.”

“Don’t tell me you’re so old that you actually knew Shakespeare,” she teased; she’d heard rumors that there were a few around here who did, though (including someone in charge of Shakespeare in the Park).

“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head.” He carefully continued the recitation as he climbed gracefully and almost silently. 

“Wait—watch out for the—!” she whisper-yelled—but it was too late. He wasn’t looking where he was reaching and grabbed for the loose rung three from the top with his left—hook? She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed the prosthesis in the bar, but steel met rusty iron, which immediately gave way, leaving him dangling from his right hand. She hopped off her perch, saying “Shit—let me help!”

He chuckled; a low rumble that went straight to her core. “I’m fine, love; I’ve got this.”

And in a move that had no business being either physically possible or as ridiculously hot as it was, he somehow vaulted himself onto the roof with only his right arm.

She just gaped and blinked, her jaw literally dropping, as he landed in front of her with bent knees and then rose to his full height. He smirked, revealing a dimple in his scruff that was far too adorable for the far-from-innocent expression.

“How are you even real?” she blurted out.

“Well, many years ago, I was born, and then—”

“No, no, no,” she cut off; of course he was a smartass. “I know you’re real—I can feel it, felt it—but like...it’s like you walked out of the pages of some fairy tale,” she stammered.

His smirk fell a bit. “If I did, it certainly wasn’t a happy one—perhaps the Grimms’ version?” he posited, stepping toward her.

“Our lives certainly are as graphic as one,” she agreed. 

“I’d say,” he added, then waved his hook for emphasis. Oh god—he’d definitely know better than she would, clearly. She was totally messing this up, wasn’t she? 

“Sorry; I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he waved off. “I know you didn’t.” There was no resentment in his voice; he meant it. In a city full of pissed-off assholes, it was nice to find one who wasn’t easily offended. 

For a long moment then, silence fell over them (as much as anything could be silent in the city) but it wasn’t awkward; his eyes flitted over her as if he was studying her, so she tried to do the same, but had a hard time getting past the bit of chest hair revealed by the open buttons at the collar of his dress shirt. But then she could tell he was smirking again, which made her realize she was staring. 

She averted her gaze to a cracked concrete tile she’d been meaning to fix for...at least 10 years. “Um, sorry about earlier—in the bar, what happened; my dad, he can get—”

“It’s fine, love; my friends are the same,” he interrupted. “Frankly, I'd forgotten the rivalry was still a thing.”

“Oh shit—are you going to be in trouble for being here?”

“Not if I’m not caught,” he shrugged off. “'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”

She smiled at how smooth he pulled that off. “Except I don’t even know your name,” she tossed back. 

“Oh, bloody—” he cursed to himself, running his hand through his dark hair, then straightened back up. “Killian Jones,” he said, adding in a slight bow, “at your service, ma’am.”

God, even his name sounded too fancy to be real. Although, there was probably something equally fantastical about hers. “Emma Swan,” she replied.

“I know.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You do?”

“To answer your question from earlier—if you’re referring to the night that Walsh Baum died after turning his last girlfriend, then yes, that was me who found you.” So she was right—she knew she was, deep in her gut, but to have confirmation was nice. “I’d been sent to follow you to make sure that didn’t happen. But obviously, I wasn’t successful there.”

She tilted her head, assessing the way he was decidedly not meeting her eyes on that last part. “That’s not the whole truth, is it?” Her ability to sense a lie, particularly in humans but also in other vampires, was a well-honed tool. 

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?” he rebuffed, still focusing on his hook instead of her. 

“When I need to be.” She didn’t feel like she was in any danger; but her curiosity demanded to know. 

“I was supposed to kill you,” he said quietly. “But I couldn’t.”

Well. That was not what she expected.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian’s memory hadn’t failed him; the Nolans still lived in the same quaint little Hell’s Kitchen home. The view from the alley across the street was little changed in the last 15 years; just different cars parked on the street; different adverts glued to the utility poles.

He made his way to the alley alongside the building, clinging to the shadows to avoid being seen; he was very good at that. But then a golden spotlight drew his attention: Emma, perched on the edge of the roof, looking fully ethereal in the glow of the yellow streetlight.

And, well, his more theatrical side took over from there. (Yes, it was completely showing off by using only one arm to leap onto the roof, but he hadn’t gotten this far without knowing how to impress a lass.)

He was a little surprised at how well Emma was able to read him; but it was a firm reminder that despite his tracking her (and subsequent years of daydreaming), and despite their intense moment earlier, he really didn’t know her. 

Oh, but he wished to. 

“I was supposed to kill you,” he reluctantly revealed. “But I couldn’t.”

Her green gaze had already turned suspicious, and with that statement, he could almost see the physical walls going up behind them.

“So, what, you’re here to finish the job?” she accused.

“No,” he vehemently assured her. “I had no desire to kill you then, and even less now.” 

Her features softened, but only slighting. “Should I be worried about someone else coming after me?”

“As far as Aurum knows, you’re already dead. If they knew you weren’t, let's just say neither of us would be here to have this conversation.”

The tiniest sparkle of amusement ticked at the corner of her mouth. “I mean, technically I am dead,” she joked. “But...why didn’t you?”

That same familiar expression was in her face as he saw it 15 years ago. “You had that look in your eyes—the one you get when you’ve been left alone. And I...I know what that’s like, and I didn’t think you deserved to die like that.”

He hadn’t intended to make things so heavy, but he also knew he couldn’t withhold the truth. Although he was surprised at how easily he told her; it had taken nearly a decade to reveal anything of his past to Robin, and yet something told him he’d be spilling his full backstory to Emma over the course of the night. 

On her end, she seemed to be slightly overwhelmed by the statement; her eyes had gone wide and she was taking unnecessarily deep breaths (unnecessary in that she needn’t take any at all). “Thank you,” she said resolutely, and he could hear the weight in her simple words. 

Even after two and a half centuries, he still hadn’t learned to accept gratitude, so he just nodded and ducked his head a bit, trying to hide the blush that wasn’t there. “I can’t say it was entirely selfless,” he continued in an attempt to shrug it off. “There’s something to be said about finding a way to disobey the man who’s controlled you for the last 200-plus years.”

“Yeah, but sending me to the other side?”

He had to roll his eyes. “I hardly care about some petty, pointless rivalry that’s stretched through the centuries. While I may be under the thumb of Aurum, I don’t give two whits about sides.”

“Thank God someone else doesn’t,” she blurted out. “Like, I get why my parents do—Regina is the one that turned them, and not gonna lie, that is a bit of a sore spot for me—but that’s a personal issue. No reason to join a gang.”

He chuckled a bit at her simple but rational logic. “Aye; I’m likewise not much a fan of Cora—she killed my love, many years ago—but I only hold that against her; not the rest of her coven.” To this day, he still didn’t know if Cora had singled Milah out because of her connection with him, or her connection with Gold; either way, she had been murdered, and there was naught he could do.

“Eesh, that sucks.”

“Aye, it did.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

“I was angry for a very long time, but the pain dissipated over the years—and I’ve had many of them. Plus,” he added, stepping towards her, “I found someone else has caught my attention recently.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, even though she seemed to know the answer, and smiled. “Who?”

“Well, you see, there's been this fierce blonde running through my dreams the last 15 years or so, and now that I’ve properly met her, I must say—she fascinates me.”

“What a coincidence; you fascinate her, too.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah, and she’s been seeing your blue eyes out of the corner of hers for years now.”

She had moved into his space on that last statement, and the air between them was full of a static tension Killian had never felt before, as if it was drawing them together. This wasn’t the same as what had happened in the club—this was electric, begging for release, and—

—And suddenly his lips were on hers, or perhaps the other way around, but it didn’t really bloody matter because she was soft and warm under him, against him, pressed tight against his body and he knew—he didn’t know how, but he knew—he’d never kiss another pair of lips again.

O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Holy shit—Killian could kiss. 

Emma wasn’t entirely sure who initiated it; just that she couldn’t resist it (him) anymore without touching him. It was like the opposite ends of a magnet being drawn together: inevitable and forceful. 

(Which, given the whole rival teams thing, was probably appropriate.)

Emotionally, her walls weren’t entirely down—they didn’t fall that easily, not anymore, if ever—but she could tell they weren’t going to last, and not just because of his make out skills. She’d known him all of ten minutes and already he understood her better than anyone ever had—more than Neal, more than Walsh, more than her parents even. 

That said: his scruff left a delicious burn on her lips and she could taste the blood rum he’d had earlier, sweet and spiced and so like him and she wanted to get drunk on it (especially since her shot at actual inebriation for the evening had gone out the window).

And the one nice thing about making out when you were technically undead: you didn’t have to come up for air. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, ready to settle in for a while, pressing her entire body against his (and liking what she felt). A rush of arousal washed over her and—

—And her fangs dropped down of their own accord. What the fuck? That had never happened.

She pulled back when they did, instinctively not wanting to hurt him (though logically, she doubted she could). “Sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. “That’s never happened before.”

Killian let his forehead rest against hers. “I thought that was the guy’s line?”

She chuckled and lightly slapped his shoulder, then shifted her weight back a bit, trying to put some space between them—and the evidence of his own arousal, which was doing nothing to tamp hers down. 

Honestly, she was kind of embarrassed; she felt like some horny teenager losing her cool in the presence of an elder statesman. She’d had a few one-night stands since she turned, but nothing serious—and never felt anything as intense as what she felt right now, and they’d barely even touched. It was kind of overwhelming; not in a bad way, just not in a way she was ready to address just yet—at least, not seriously.

“You kiss pretty good for someone old enough to be my great-great-grandfather,” she teased, a smile playing at her lips while her hands, which had somehow ended up on his shoulders, pressed against the preternaturally firm muscles below them.

“There should probably be a few more greats in there,” he quipped back, his hand squeezing her hip and the brace of his prosthesis pressing against her other side.

“Oh really? Just when were you born?”

“The Ninth of April in the Year of Our Lord 1750,” he answered rather officially.

Emma whistled. “Damn. Good thing I like older men. How old were you when you were turned?”

“31.”

“Okay, still older.”

“It’s good to know that’s your entire criteria in seeking a partner.”

She snorted, but only to cover up the way she instinctively balked at his choice of words; she couldn’t deny that it was headed that way, though. Even if it had barely been an hour since their first exchange, it felt like forever ago—or maybe it was just because she’d been unconsciously chasing him for her entire afterlife.

Still—it felt like the world was starting to spin, and she needed it to slow down. She grabbed his hand and stepped away, but tugged him along with her. “Come here; I want to show you something.”

He followed without hesitation as she led him to her tent, but hesitated when she tried to drag him down onto the cushions. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d hate to intrude on what’s clearly something of a sanctuary,” he explained, nodding at her modest fortress. 

“You’re not; I’m inviting you in.” She hoped he understood the double meaning there. 

An adorably shy smile took over and he followed, falling gracefully to her left onto the mound of pillows. She reached to her other side and fiddled with some cords, and suddenly, light filled her makeshift tent as power flowed to the twinkle lights she’d rigged up along the crude wooden framing.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Killian gushed—genuinely, not placatingly—as he stared around.

“It’s better if you lay down,” she told him, then let herself fall back against the cushions; he followed suit.

“I wasn’t talking about the tent but I do agree—I can think of any number of enjoyable activities that involve a woman on her back.”

“You’re just full of one-liners, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had quite some time to accrue them.” 

“Fair.”

A thick sheet of clear vinyl formed most of the top of the tent; if she spent time up here during the day, she’d have stuck with something opaque, but given that she never used it when the sun was most at risk of frying her, it was perfect for dark, wet nights. “I love to come out here when it’s raining,” she explained, “and watch and hear it coming down above me. I could almost fall asleep.” You know, if that was a thing she could still do.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring up, a wistful smile on his face. “Aye, I can only imagine; I used to love the sound of it falling on the deck when I was in lower quarters.”

“What, were you a pirate?”

“Eventually, yes; but prior to that, served in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

“Which ‘his majesty’ was that?” 

“King George the Third.”

“Wait, like, Hamilton King George?” 

“One and the same.”

“Shit, you are old.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I dunno; street cred?”

He chuckled. “That’s the farthest thing from my mind.”

Now her curiosity was piqued. “So, did you fight in the Revolution?”

“Aye, though we didn’t exactly call it that on our side.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

“No, but I did find my sympathies changing sides while stationed here.”

“What, liked it so much you decided to stay?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘decided,’ exactly,” he countered, then turned his head to look at her. Even with the change in angle, it was easy to see that his previous cockiness had given way to trepidation. “Is this where we divulge our tragic backstories?”

She grabbed his hand. “It can be, if you want.”

“Okay.” 

It almost seemed like historical fiction, the tale he told her: born in a poor fishing village, losing his mother when he was young and his father leaving them later, joining the Navy with his brother to get out of a terrible situation, being sent to America to fight the ‘rebels’, falling in love with a woman he met in a tavern in Boston, losing his brother and his hand in battle, and then all hell breaking loose. 

“Milah was nursing me back to help when, lo and behold, her husband located us. Gold.”

“No,” Emma gasped. 

“Aye. He was...less than pleased, as you can imagine, but she managed to talk him down. But we were out on the town some weeks later when Cora cornered us and murdered her. At that point, I had little to live for, and despite my injury, volunteered for the next battle; how my officer accepted me, I’ll never understand.”

“What battle was that?”

“Yorktown.”

“1781,” she automatically finished; she and her mom really listened to the Hamilton soundtrack way too much.

Thankfully, he laughed. “Yeah, that was the year. That was also where I was turned.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s still my favorite song.”

He went on to explain how he was a bit too close to cannon fire from a Continental Navy ship, delivering a fatal blow to his chest that sent him overboard. If the internal bleeding hadn’t gotten him, he’d have likely drowned—except Gold was waiting nearby. “He’s never told me why he was there—if it was the general chaos or me explicitly—but I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

Killian was dragged through the brackish waters of Chesapeake Bay by Gold to the rough shore of a then-unpopulated island and turned; he wasn’t lucid enough to protest (to even notice who his would-be savior was) until it was too late. “My first meal was another soldier who’d washed ashore,” he admitted.

If she could still cry, she’d be wiping tears from her face. Holy shit—what a traumatic way to be turned—to even live. “God, I’m so sorry,” she told him, and squeezed his hand.

He shrugged. “It is what it is; ancient history now. I’m having a hard time complaining if that was what it took to bring me to you.”

Emma had to avert her gaze at that; he was not only telling the truth, he was wearing his damn heart on his sleeve, and it was intense. “Please, you hardly know if I’m worth that yet.”

“Emma,” he said softly, then gently turned her face back to him with his hook. “I’ve met thousands of people over the past two and a half centuries, and not one has made the impression you did in a fraction of the time. I feel...I feel like even if you were following me the last several years, I was chasing you my whole life.”

She needlessly swallowed; it was funny how physical reactions lingered even when they no longer served a purpose. But that was what she did when she was overwhelmed in life, and she was extra-whelmed now. 

Especially because, “I feel that way, too.” It was only a whisper but somehow the loudest thing she’d ever said.

Slowly, reverently, he pressed his lips against hers; she was still reeling emotionally, but his kiss was a welcome balm to her aching mind (or something vaguely poetic like that; she was too focused on how good it felt to come up with a good analogy). He deepened the kiss a bit and pulled her closer, but it wasn’t heated, just—she hated to say this so soon—loving.

It didn’t last long until he broke it, but he stayed close, his arms around her. “And you? I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

“Not much to tell,” she shrugged. “Not as exciting as yours, at least.” She explained what happened with her parents and growing up in the foster system; her first love, her stint in jail, and the baby she gave up; and a brief summary of the years in between her release from jail and that night in Walsh’s apartment.

“Wait—so the Nolans are actually your parents? They birthed you?”

“Yup. I guess I should be thanking you for that, too.”

“No, love—that’s my pleasure. I mean, I had no idea, but I’m glad you were reunited. I had no idea their history with Regina.”

“It is what it is, but we’re making the best of it. Although I definitely feel like a teenager sometimes.”

“I can only imagine,” he chuckled. “And look at you now—hiding a boy from them and everything.”

She laughed, but it turned into a groan. “Ugh. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

“Don’t think of it, then. We have all the time in the world to figure that out.”

Just then, Killian’s phone started vibrated, making them both jump; a perfect reminder that things were not as simple as either of them would like.

“That’ll be Robin,” he muttered, then dug the device from his pocket and began replying to the message he’d received. “Shoot; I have to be at Granny’s in 10 minutes.”

“Can’t you do something to convince them to call this off?” she wondered. “We can’t be the only ones to think this is a petty feud.”

“I can certainly try; but we know how hot the tempers of our kind can run.” It was true; it sometimes felt like emotion had replaced bodily functions. Instead of her heart beating, she filled that void with pure emotion.

“I know, I know; but—try?”

“I will.”

They spent a few more minutes in the tent making out (and maybe a bit of dry humping, but Emma was cautious to not let it go too far lest her fangs make another unexpected appearance), and then stole any number of kisses as they made their way back across the roof to the fire escape.

“I hope it’s always this hard to say goodbye to you,” he murmured between a few last pecks.

“Then let’s not—how about ‘see you later’?” she proposed.

“When?”

“Granny’s, at dusk; I’m working tomorrow and I usually stop there to eat beforehand.”

“It’s a date.”

She grinned and gave him one final kiss, before he made a careful climb back down.

When he was firmly on the ground, he looked up and said quietly, “Not a moment will go by I don’t think of you.”

“Good,” was her simple reply, and he disappeared into the night.

(Something else was on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn’t ready to say it yet. However, it wouldn’t be much longer until she admitted it to both herself and him: she loved him.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[flightlessangelwings]

Trust and Intuition

Chapter 3- Emotions

The Mandalorian x fem!Reader

Link to masterlist in bio, fic also tagged

The children all stared up at you in awe. You kept your identity a secret to protect them, and they never would have guessed that it was the queen herself that protected them. Murmurs ran through the group of about a dozen children before they remembered what they wanted to show you.

“Look, look!” one of the little girls said excitedly as she led you to the child, “The Mandalorian has a baby!”

You pat the girl on the head as you kneeled down at meet the child’s eye. He looked at you and as soon as your eyes met, wide smile brightened his little face. You smiled back at him as you reached your hand out to him.

“Do you know what he is?” you heard Mando’s voice behind you.

“I’ve never seen anything like him before,” you replied to him without turning around. Something about this baby had you completely captivated. Not only was he adorable, but his eyes seemed to look directly into your soul. It was as if he could see things you could not. 

He reached out to you, and you could tell he wanted you to pick him up. Happily, you complied and lifted him off the perch he stood on and sat him in your lap. The children all got quiet as you and the child looked at each other. 

The child stretched his arms up to your face, and you bowed your head down so he could reach. As soon as his little hands touched your forehead, you felt a rush of emotions and could you see an image of your father in your mind. You broke away from his touch in a panic.

You tried to hide your alarm from everyone as you handed the baby to one of the older kids. You bit your thumbnail as you walked to the edge of the cliff with a blank expression on your face. The children all went back to fawning over the baby, and it was only Mando that watched you. 

“You ok?” he asked as he came to stand next to you.

“Where did this kid come from?” you answered with a question of your own.

“It’s a long story,” Mando briefly explained his target-turned-foundling story.

You chuckled, “So you have a habit of saving kids?” you smiled faintly. Clearly something was still on your mind, and Mando could tell you were avoiding it.

“Apparently,” he rested his arms in front of him. He stood next to you in silence for a few minutes as you both gazed over the horizon.

You exhaled sharply and broke the silence, “I’ve never seen a power like this in person before.”

The bounty hunter turned to you, “Power?”

“He gave me a vision. And I could feel,” you paused, “All these emotions,” you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“What did you see?” there was genuine concern in his voice.

“My father,” you could feel his gaze on you, but you kept yours straight ahead. You hadn’t thought about your father or your past in a long time, and it shook you to be reminded of it.

Mando knew there was more to it than this, but he decided not to push the subject any further. You two stood in a comfortable silence as you watched the sun in the distance. You could hear the children behind you, and this was the most you heard them laugh in a long time. While lost in thought, you realized what had to be done and you brought yourself back to the present.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked.

“We wait for nightfall, then we get these kids out of here,” he answered, “Take them somewhere safe.”

You finally turned to him, and the tension melted away from your face. You opened your mouth to say something, but commotion behind you cut off your thoughts. One of the kids ran up to you and called your name.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you put your hands on his shoulders.

The child took a breath before he answered you, “Bad guys, down there.”

You and the Mandalorian turned to each other before you both lept into action, “Looks like we don’t get to wait until night,” you commented with urgency in your voice.

He was quick to get back into battle mode, “Get the kids on the ship. I’ll cover you,” he said as he pulled his blaster out.

Immediately, your focus went to keeping the children safe as you did as the Mandalorian said. You scooped up his young child into your arms to keep him safe as you directed the rest to the ship. From down the hill, you could hear shots fired, and you tried to keep everyone quiet to stay hidden. 

As you got the last couple kids onto the ship, you could see Mando run back up the hill. You didn’t see anyone behind him, but you had a bad feeling that this wasn’t over just yet.

“We gotta go,” he said as you all hurried abroad, “Strap the kids in.” He then disappeared up into the cockpit and left you in the hull with all the little ones.

You couldn’t see anything, but you could hear the engine start up. You wasted no time and helped each child buckle into the row of seats that sat along the wall. To be more efficient, you sat some of the smaller ones into the older one’s laps. As the ship shook from take off, you could hear more sounds: other fighter ships.

The sounds of the children’s cries mixed with the sound of Mando firing on the enemy ships filled the space. Truth be told, you were just as afraid as the children, but you kept your face as level as possible and focused on keeping them strapped in and safe. The ship rocked around as the bounty hunter evaded fire, and you held on to a post with one arm with the child still tightly tucked in your other arm.

Suddenly, a small explosion rocked the ship. The children all screamed as you stared in horror at the small fire on the far end of the cargo area. You tightened your grip on the child as your body flung back against a wall.

“Mando! We’re hit!” you called up once you were able to take a breath. You hated how helpless you felt in the situation; you knew all you could really do is keep the kids from flying about the space. You could only hope that this bounty hunter was as good as the stories said.

The child stared at the growing fire and you could feel the determination in that tiny body as he tended in your grasp. He lifted his arms up and focused all his energy to the damaged hull. You and the rest of the kids all watched in awe as the metal seemed to move on its own and the ship seemed to repair itself. With wide eyes, you looked down and saw the child concentrating intently in your arms.

With one last shake, the mandalorian’s child managed to completely repair the damage, and it was as if nothing had hit the ship in the first place. Everyone in the room was in such shock, none of you realized that Mando had fished off the rest of the attackers and launched his ship into hyperspace to escape.

When Mando came into the hull space, he was met with silence, you and the children stared in amazement at the small green baby. He looked around and figured that the child had used his mysterious powers to fix the ship.

“Everyone ok?” he broke the silence.

You jumped at the sound of his voice and scanned the room to make sure they were all safe, “Yeah,” you breathed out, “Mando...what…?” you couldn’t form a complete sentence. You were aware that powers like this existed, but it was one thing to read about it and another to actually see it in person.

“It’s a long story,” he said with a sigh, “You all should rest. We’re safe now,” he addressed the children in a soft voice. He helped you get all the kids calmed down and settled. You passed his child back to him and watched as he tenderly lay the baby down on a cot. You felt something stir in you as you watched how gentle he was with all the children.

He looked up once the child was tucked in and you realized you were staring. You cleared your throat and looked away as you tugged at your shirt. You vaguely heard him tell you to rest as well before he disappeared back up into the cockpit. However, you were entirely too restless to sit still.

“Hey Mando,” you called up, “Mind if I join you?”

Your answer came when the door to the cockpit slid open, and you climbed up to join the Mandalorian in the small room. He sat in the pilot's chair, but it appeared he had already put the ship on autopilot. 

“What is it, your highness?”

“You don’t need to be so formal with me,” you replied and gave him your name, “That’ll do just fine. I’m not much of a queen right now anyway,” you added with a scoff. Then, you looked up and your face melted. You stared out into the vast space in wonder, and Mando could see your eyes sparkle like the stars.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with genuine concern.

You shook your head to pull yourself out of your thoughts, “Sorry, it’s just that I haven’t been off the planet since I was a kid. I almost forgot how beautiful the stars are,” you stared out the window, wide-eyed.

Mando watched as your face lit up, and he found himself thinking a similar thought. Only, his thought wasn’t about the stars.

Suddenly, you became aware of strong gaze on you. You cleared your throat as you fidgeted with your hands and looked down. “I, uh,  just wanted to say thank you,” you broke the silence, “For helping me, and more importantly for saving the kids.” 

You seemed to have finished your thought, but Mando could feel a “but” in the air.

With a deep breath, you continued, “I hate to ask this of you, especially since you’ve done so much already,” you turned to face him, “But I can’t stay with the kids. I have to go back to Durane.”

“Go back?”

You steadied yourself, “I should never have let things get this bad. I have to fix my mistakes,” clearly, you were afraid. But you knew what you had to do, “I have to take the planet back from the Empire, finish what the rebels started before me. Even if...” your voice drifted off and you balled your hands into fists as your newly found determination drove you.

“I’ll help you,” he said plainly. He recognized that fire in your voice, and he knew how much this meat to you, even if it was a very dangerous mission. He also guessed that the vision of your father had something to do with your drive, but it wasn’t a subject he wanted to push.

This took you off guard, “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve done more than enough as it is.”

“How can you be sure the people have a decent leader if you die trying?” he retorted in an attempt to lighten your spirits.

You cracked a slight smile. He never ceased to surprise you. The same feeling took over you again as you looked at him. Even if you couldn’t see his face, there was something about him that made your heart flutter. “How do you know I’ll be a decent leader?” you finally said in a playful voice.

“I have a good feeling about you,” you could hear the lighthearted tone in his voice and it made you chuckle softly. “Why don’t you get some rest? You’ll need it,” he added for a moment of silence.

You nodded as you were suddenly aware of how exhausted you actually were, “Thanks, Mando. For everything.”

He watched you leave the cockpit and instantly wished he asked you to stay.

~

Notes: That scene at the end was something that was in my head since I started this so I was happy to get to it. I think you guys will like the next chapter too cause it’s lots of fluff! As always, comment or send me a message to be added to the tag list :)

Tag list: @ugly-wall-flower @spottedlekkudancer @smolashie @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @soapjay @ispilledmyink​ @bva14​

[nedcanquen]

Chapter 9: Mr 7th Floor

In the past 8 months, I once again moved to a new country, applied to grad school, started and ended a relationship, and had to care for a family member. I’m sorry for the delay, but Matthew and Daan were never far from my mind.

Thank you to everyone who reads and has been patient with me!

Tags: Slow Burn (like…really slow burn) - endgame is NedCan but they don’t get there directly, Single POV, Yep, Canada will date other people before endgame because he’s very desirable even if he doesn’t always know it, Audit firm AU, Office AU, some angst…

Pairings: NedCan (endgame), NorCan, implied NedDen, DenNor, implied Spamano, France/Jeanne d’Arc, GerIta

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |  Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Image from Pexels

It’s warm here. Matthew breathes in the salty sea air and takes in a view he hasn’t seen in many many years. He loves Cuba already, he’s nineteen and ready for his first adventure outside of Canada, and there’s a part of him that’s not so secretly satisfied that he’s set foot in a place that his brother cannot go…

There’s a part of him that scoffs at that now, but then? You can be forgiven for making sweeping conclusions at nineteen.

He had gone for a special language course at the University of Havana, at least, that was the excuse. It was the summer before he would start his year abroad in Houston (and the disaster that was his personal experience there even if he held the city no personal ill will). Everyone had been yelling at him for years to do something crazy. Well here he was, this was it for him.

Travelling to a new country wasn’t exactly most people’s definition of “crazy” but it was still significant for Matthew. Up to that point, he had played it safe, preferred the quiet, his own company, and the cold. He fell sick whenever the temperatures teased their way to thirty degrees, he swam in the snow just for fun. So yes, running off to Cuba was “crazy” enough. The beginning of Havana had been wonderful - stepping into a new world of warmth and experience. Why had he forgotten it? Maybe because he had set forth for adventure outside of his vast country twice, and both times had made him vulnerable in a way that Canada never forced him to endure. It was easier to choose to forget.

But right now, he’s dreaming of it - he’s dreaming some fantastical, magical version of his early days in Havana, and he can’t bring himself to wake up even though he knows it’s a dream - or maybe it’s a memory springing forth because there’s no resistance to it.

The warm buzz from the wine has taken him back to a different warmth - a warm night. The humidity had turned his hair almost frizzy with curls but he hadn’t cared. His glasses smudged often with grease, humidity, and sweat, but he just wiped them clean with the cotton on his shirt and continued smiling anyway. When someone pressed a cocktail into his hand, he drank from it happily. In that warm haze of happiness he allowed himself to sway to the music - badly probably. That’s when he saw him.

Everything Matthew had wanted to be when he was nineteen, still, actually - confident, charismatic. When Carlos Garcia laughed and danced, he owned the room. And somehow on that evening, Carlos Garcia had decided that he wanted to teach Matthew how to dance as opposed to sway like a dead man thrown into a river.

Somewhere buried in the back of a book that Matthew no longer opens, but can’t get rid of, is a picture of him and Carlos lying down on a beach in Gilbara. Matthew is sitting down, looking out at the water, and Carlos is lying on the sand with his head on Matthew’s lap. The funny thing about something ending is that sometimes your mind blocks out the happier stuff from before. But now that Matthew is allowing himself to remember Cuba again, he remembers Carlos. For Matthew, Carlos is Cuba, there’s no separating the two.

Physically, Carlos and Daan are as different as night and day. Daan is long and lean, while Carlos was a little shorter than Matthew, strong and heavyset. Daan’s hair is short and styled to clean and spiky perfection - not a strand out of place. Carlos’ hair was long and free, twisted into dreadlocks. Looks were shallow though, because both possesed a familiar solid charisma, old-world charm, and frightening honesty that partnered comfortably with an easy confidence that lent well to leadership. Qualities that Matthew desperately wished he had.

Now he wants to wake up. He knows what happens after he leaves Cuba.   

And when he does…

The light through the curtains tells Matthew that he’s overslept. Fuck.

Not overslept actually, it’s just that he tries to wake up before sunrise three times a week for a run. He needs to run to burn off his excess energy, to manage stress, to make sure he doesn’t fall too far behind Alfred physically or his brother will walk all over him by habit. Besides, Matthew isn’t naive enough to overlook the fact that he’s been treated better at work since he’s gotten fit so…Wait, where is he? It takes a moment to adjust, simply because it’s not what he’s used to seeing. Eventually his brain catches up with him and Matthew jumps out of bed with a yelp.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod...” He’s not exhausted and cranky anymore - just a moment ago he was warm, happy, worried, now he’s all over the place and out of sorts. Shit shit shit why did he think about Cuba? What on...forget that. He has to shower, he has to change, he doesn’t have his clothes he has to iron them and he’s late!

Matthew throws his bedroom door open, and sees Daan and Lukas look up at him curiously.

“Good morning.” They both greet in unison, and Matthew stands there frozen for a moment at the shocking domestic normalcy. Daan is sitting at the table, pouring chocolate sprinkles on a slice of bread and Lukas is ironing in the back of the kitchen near the washing and dryer machines. They’re both already dressed, though Lukas is wearing office attire and Daan has his bicycle-riding getup on with a fitting highlighter-orange shirt. Pretty darn fitting. Shit. It’s too early in the morning for this. Too late, but too early. He tries to step forward but instead walks into something.

“Ow! What the-” Hopping slightly and holding his pained toe, he looks down at a...a Roomba? It’s the slimmest Roomba he’s ever seen though, and Nijntje is sitting on it as it carries on, cleaning up the apartment.

“You okay?” Daan is half standing from the table and Matthew desperately waves him away.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just uh...ugh.” He limps a little to the breakfast table, while desperately trying to think of a way to distract them from his embarrassment. “Uh...where’s Mathias?” Why was that the first question out of his mouth?

Daan looks at him with concern and...that look again, that stupid Partner look like they’re reading your mind. Then it seems, as soon as the scrutiny starts, it stops. Daan instead sips coffee from a...a dick mug, of course. “He operates a food place.” He responds after he swallows. “He left hours ago to open up and catch the morning office crowd.” Breathe Matthew. Breathe.

“Oh...right. Uh...I’ll just change quickly and I’ll drive you guys to work? It’s the least I can do, you let me stay the night.”

Lukas and Daan look at each other with amused looks on their faces.

“It’s okay Matthew.” Daan smirks. “You didn’t exactly stay the night by choice.”

“So you’ve already done us a favor.” Lukas adds. “Here, I ironed your clothes.” He turns off the iron and walks up, holding a hanger with Matthew’s clothes, looking even more crisp than they did yesterday. How did he do that?! Matthew can only look at Lukas in astonishment and wonder for a moment again, how he ever ended up being able to date this guy. Or really...any guy he had ever dated, come think of it. At least with Lukas it ended before he could get truly hurt.

“Right, well, time for me to go.” He turns to see that Daan is leaving the table and heading to the door, carrying a light backpack.

“Wait Daan, you don’t want a ride?”

“Today’s a cycling day. I want to fit in as many of these in while the weather’s still good, which also means I need to leave now.”

As Daan takes down his selected bicycle from its place on the wall, Matthew remembers that sometimes, Daan cycles to work. Good thing there are showers in the office. “Oh, okay. Uh, be safe.”

Daan barely shrugs and opens the door.

“Wait!” Matthew calls out, it finally hits him, what’s wrong with this picture. “You don’t wear a helmet?!”

Daan looks back at him with a straight face. “I have a hard head.”

Matthew doesn’t answer because he can’t. That’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard, and he’s tired and out-of-sorts enough that it must show on his face because Daan throws up his hands in annoyance and stalks to a nearby closet.

“Oh fine! Is the auditor happy?” He asks, holding up a helmet and strapping it on.

“I...don’t know why you’re annoyed, I’m clearly the one who’s right here…?” Matthew responds with genuine confusion.

Matthew can’t read the deadpan look on Daan’s face but he isn’t sure it’s all that great. “I bet that’s your response whenever you turn up every year for the scheduled audit. Bye.” He waves at both of them, then leaves.

Matthew waves too, but once the door is closed he turns to Lukas. “Is it just me or was that weird? That was kind of weird right? Wait...ugh priorities, I need to get dressed. Damnit, I really did wake up late.”

Lukas just looks at him, then at the door in concern. Finally he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Matthew, do me a favor. Breathe with me okay.”

What?

But that’s all Lukas does, stands in front of him quietly, with a little roomba working in the background, breathing deeply. Finally Matthew follows and after an initial period of feeling like an idiot he actually just focuses on breathing.

Breathe in, breathe out...breathe…

Eventually the world comes back into focus again. He still needs a shower, but it’s not life or death. Lukas seems to note the change too and nods. “Good. You have time, your clothes are ironed and you drive to work. Anyway, I’m not addicted to cycling, so I’ll take you up on that ride.”

He’s right. Matthew allows himself a smile “Where’d you learn that?”

Lukas scoffs a little. “From two different people - didn’t listen to the first one, then when I learned it from the second one I felt pretty dumb for ignoring it the first time. Simple but effective though. Why don’t you eat breakfast? It’s right there on the table, yoghurt, cheese and milk are in the fridge.”

Matthew looks at the table and notes that everything he would need for a cold breakfast is there. On weekdays he generally grabs something hot on the way into work leaving himself to cook his favorites on weekends. “Okay...cold it is.” He didn’t mind cereal, he just usually preferred something warm.

“You want...eggs? Something more filling?” Lukas guessed.

“No,” Matthew smiles, “I mean I’m used to warm things in the morning but the chocolate on bread thing looked good.”

Lukas nods, looking thoughtful about something before walking back to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some coffee, how do you like it?”

The coffee did wonders for Matthew’s mind. He remembered why he was here in this apartment in the first place instead of his own. Now that he’s more awake and there’s more light streaming into the apartment through open curtains, he notices more than he did yesterday - there’s a balcony with a healthy collection of lush green plants, and colorful flowers. Hitam is drinking water in her open cage, Nijntje is still riding around on the Roomba, and Maple appears to be asleep. It’s such a cheerful place, that clearly had a lot of thought put into it that Matthew feels sorry for Daan that he likely doesn’t spend much time in it.

“Your clothes.” Lukas says randomly, taking a seat across him at the table.

“My? Oh heh yeah. I’m amazed they don’t have anything inappropriate written on them. I suppose there was a limit to the gag gifts?” Matthew jokes.

Lukas smiles slightly. “No, because those are Mathias’ clothes. Makes sense I guess. Daan may be tall but he’s lean. Probably figured you wouldn’t be comfortable if he loaned you his clothes.”

Oh...that made sense actually. Speaking of Mathias, “You know it’s not my place to pry but…how are you doing? How is...I mean you seem tired but overall is it...good?” It’s a little awkward once it leaves his mouth, and Matthew doesn’t quite understand why he’s just asked his ex how it’s going with the first ex, but...well Lukas was the one who had brought him here. The two of them didn’t seem to interact much the previous night.

Matthew can see Lukas think of the answer. “It’s better.” He acknowledges. Lukas’ eyes flicker to his and stops.

“I can take it.” Matthew mutters, not quite sure if it’s true but he’s the one who asked, and somehow it’s less frightening than thinking of the fact that he’s in Daan’s home, dreaming of Carlos and his own mistakes. “Or I wouldn’t have asked. I’m...glad. I mean, is it still raw? Yeah, but it was nice to see the three of you last night, reminiscing and getting along. It was warm and...thanks for making sure I was never left out.”

Now Lukas looks surprised. He nods with a small smile and shrugs. “Thanks for coming here. I’m glad that you felt comfortable. I realize I must have put you in an awkward spot bringing you here.”

Matthew runs a thumb on the handle of his cup, and takes a deep breath. He looks at his mug while he does - a plain thing painted with a cheerful orange color - more orange, there’s a clear running theme here. There’s a lot of splashes of orange in this place. “Thanks for acknowledging that.” He eventually lets out. “But I’m the one who called you, so...I’m not entirely blameless. Did you two manage to talk about Arthur at all?” Matthew still doesn’t understand why a simple request to a friend of Arthur’s to check in on the man led to this but who knows? Maybe Lukas didn’t even know why he came here - maybe it was some unknown childhood dynamic thing - have a problem? Where do you go?

Lukas yawns and nods. “Daan will send me a message if he notes or hears that Arthur has been particularly bad, or is looking forward to a stressful time...which actually will be coming up soon. Daan gave me the heads up that has to hand over a large project to him today.” Lukas looks somewhat disappointed but doesn’t say much more. “He’s right though, a lot of what has to be done well...I’m Arthur’s friend. I have to do it, and I’ll start by taking him on a hike this weekend.”

Matthew smiles at that. It’s apt and appropriate. He’s also glad that even though they probably won’t be hiking together in the near future, that Lukas will still be able to give himself a reason to go.

“Speaking of, I’m helping to organize Arthur’s Partner party. I was planning on inviting you, and Belle, and well, Arthur’s friends basically in addition to my department and his current one. Could you do me a favor and think of anyone else who ought to be there while I finish up and get ready for work?”

“Sure.” Lukas shrugs, relieved and happy that they’re back to the topic of a common goal. “It’s basically one other guy, a friend of ours from the MBA. I think I can convince him to come on over. We can discuss the rest on the road.”

Matthew freezes a little standing up. “About that I...uh. Well I guess it’s a compliment that you trust me to drive so...thanks for that. But honestly it never occured to me until last night that being in a car is something that potentially uh, terrifies you so...if you’re ever in my car and uncomfortable you can-”

Lukas lets out a  sardonic laugh. “I’m terrified in very specific circumstances, otherwise it’s fine. But thanks.”

There’s an awkward beat where neither moves and they smile at each other, but it doesn’t last long. Matthew has a meeting to get to.

Before they get into the car though. “You’re sure you’re fine?” Matthew has to ask again.

Lukas just rolls his eyes with a smile. “Ask me anything else. Yes! I’m fine. It’s not like visibility will be terrible in rush hour traffic. At worst, someone may bump into you.”

Matthew laughs and pats his car with reassurance. “Well she may be old but she’s solid. Part of the fun about driving a pick-up in the city is that people generally avoid you. So no bumps.”

Of course, later he realizes that he’s now kind of stuck in a car in rush hour traffic with his ex and even though things were amiable in the morning, it’s a little awkward. He doesn’t know why he ends up asking about Daan, but it was natural to be curious right? He had just woken up in the man’s home. “Was it just me? Or did Daan seem annoyed with me this morning? Did you guys...talk about me last night? If it was an inconvenience having me over, I…”

Lukas snorts, which surprises Matthew, so he shuts up. “Oh God Matthew.” Lukas takes a breath. “Sorry I shouldn’t have laughed. I’m not laughing at you, and I shouldn’t be scoffing at Daan, there’s nothing funny about his situation, I’m just...anyway. Look, Daan isn’t annoyed with you, at all actually. He’s going through a transition right now, so there will be days he’s annoyed with everyone, but mostly himself. There will be days he’s not himself at all. That being said, if he gives you shit, don’t take it. What he’s going through isn’t your fault.”

A wave of worry and concern washes through Matthew for his newest friend, but if Daan has chosen not to share what’s happening with him, well, he’s not going to pry. Something occurs to him and since there’s an oddly open atmosphere between them right now, and he can’t really help but wonder, so he decides to ask.

“Back when I thought they were dating, it’s just hit me right now that you didn’t question me, you accepted it right away as if them together was really believable?” It is rather striking, now that Matthew thinks about it, that Lukas had accepted that scenario. If he had known those two for most his life and thought it was realistic that Daan and Mathias were together, well Matthew couldn’t really be blamed for having the wrong idea either.

Lukas nods slowly with a rueful smile. “Yeah, silly me. Mathias and I only became a thing when I moved back to Canada - after he had already done so much for Emil and my family, but that didn’t mean that I never...liked him before you know? Stupid teenage crushes. But back then I was just a weird neighbour that he knew and was nice to. But he and Daan? They’ve always been very close. Mathias could convince Daan to do all kinds of reckless or stupid things. Anyway, trust me, I know what it’s like when Daan actually is annoyed with someone. He really isn’t annoyed with you. Don’t let him scare you. Besides, you have it in you to be far scarier than he could hope to be.”

Matthew laughs. “Wait, what?! Where did that come from?” Lukas grins and shakes his head. “Matthew, green light.”

“Oh, right! Thanks. You know that’s not going to spare you from that. How am I scary?! Especially compared to Daan, that guy has made people cry with just a glance! I would never do that!”

But Lukas only laughs. “Have you seen this crying thing? Or is it a rumour?”

“It’s! Well...it’s…hmmm.”

Lukas just smirks and shakes his head at some internal thought. “How long have you and Daan been friends by the way?”

Matthew feels a worm of nervousness squirm in his stomach and tries to ignore it. “Took me by surprise to be honest, but the day after we...had dinner, I nearly got run over by a car and Daan was the Partner who was around and made sure I went to see a doctor. We’ve been ...I guess you could say friends since, but it still feels...I dunno, making friends is different when you’re not in school.” He doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not that he never told Lukas about the stupid crush. Well it would be really stupid to bring it up now. What would be the point? “When he’s not being a Partner he’s not that hard to speak to.”

Lukas nods but Matthew can’t see his expression because he has to focus on driving. “That hasn’t been very long.”

“No. Which is why I felt kind of awkward last night, this morning, and all but…” He shrugs. “Everyone was so nice about it, so...thanks again. I mean it, I’m especially grateful, you made sure I was never too out of place for too long. Sometimes it can be kinda lonely when you’re sitting with a group of people who have known each other forever you know?”

Lukas shakes his head and simply says. “No. Thank you.”

It’s the worst meeting he has ever managed in a long time - remotely or in person. Michelle throws him a worried look from her desk and Matthew decides it’s better to hand the meeting over to her instead. She’s technically a manager now, even though she had started this project before that promotion. Anyway, isn’t this the benefit of having more than one manager? If one is having a no-good ‘I’m stupid’ day, there’s a backup? Michelle reads the look on his face and takes over seamlessly. Meanwhile, Matthew mutes his phone and lets out an exasperated sigh. He can’t leave the meeting, but he wishes he could.

Waking up in a different place, Arthur’s problems, his own weird life and weird morning...Daan seemed to be irritated with him, and when Lukas left the car he felt something a little off there too. Or maybe he was just tired, paranoid and anxious, or maybe Matthew just wasn’t good at having his routine messed with.

Michelle handles the meeting with aplomb, there’s not much that he has to do thank goodness, but he’s angry at himself because it’s basic and easy stuff! He spent years of effort into learning how to lead meetings! He had always known it was a potential weakness of his so he’d practice and practice and practice until the freezing nerves mostly became butterfly nerves, but today the freezing nerves had come back. He choked. No matter what sweet words Francis had for him, it appears that there was a good reason why he wasn’t promoted, and Francis could tell. Partners are their magic psychic voodoo when it came to assessing people, shit.

What good was Matthew? No wonder Daan was annoyed with him, no wonder he wasn’t promoted, no wonder Lukas-

“HEY!”

What the?? “Michelle you gave me heart attack!”

Michelle looks down at him in front of his cubicle with a knowing look. “No Matt.” She says softly. “You were doing that to yourself. Come on boss. Early lunch.”

“Wha?”

“Come on! We’ve barely caught up lately and I want to have lunch with you!”

Technically it wasn’t against the rules, if they ate lunch now that just meant packing food and eating it at their desks when they got hungry again since they were eating at an odd hour. Matthew just didn’t want to be irresponsible after this ridiculous two-hour long walkout the last week he was at work before almost getting hit by a car and getting sick. The time away was supposed to have reset everything, this week was supposed to be him returning to normal.

Michelle waves at Francis and points at the door, Matthew doesn’t look because he can’t bear to at that moment, he’s still too raw, and all too happy to let Michelle take the lead. Which she does. She whisks him out the doors into sunlight and fresh air. City people doing their things, even city birds were different from their non-urban cousins. Everyone and everything with a purpose. Except him.

Michelle asks him questions about what he prefers, but thinking is too much effort right now. Maybe he’s just too slow after the enforced holiday. That’s it. Thankfully, Michelle doesn’t point it out, and before long, he’s seated outdoors across from her at a cozy cafe. It’s nice he supposes, but he can’t wave away the guilt building within for making her worry in the first place, or making her take over his work.

“Matt.” Michelle sighs as she slides a cheerful looking rainbow colored cake towards him. “Remember last year when you rescued me?”

What? It must show on his face because Michelle gently reminds him. “Run of the mill, presentation to department heads, I knew all of them, I knew my work, I knew my own findings. Then I just couldn’t explain them. And the more I couldn’t explain, the more I talked, the more I talked, the less sense I made, the less sense I made, the worse it got. Then you stepped in. You have this power Matt, you calm everything and everyone down. You’ve always been able to do that, but it’s just gotten better over the years. Today was just my chance to repay you, at least once. I also remember you telling me afterwards that it happens to all of us.”

Matthew shakes his head and smiles at her kindness. Good ol’ Michelle. “Shell, you had just found out right before you were about to present that your father had been admitted to the hospital. Your family is an 18 hour flight away. We’re only human, of course under such pressure we all need a little help from time to time.”

“Exactly! So...Let me help you! Are you okay to share what happened to you this morning? You came in kinda...out of sorts.”

Matthew can’t help how hot is face is getting, he can only imagine how red he looks right now.

“Oh. My. God! You got laid!”

“What?! No! N-” Matthew whips his head around. Yes it’s not exactly peak hour but there’s still people around damnit! “No, I didn’t get laid!” He whispers urgently, but he doesn’t know if his whisper is actually soft. “How could you-No!”

“Oh Mattie, is that why you’re upset? You didn’t get laid?” Michelle laughs

“NO! What?? Why would I?? No I didn’t-”

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing! Still, that flush is the same flush you used to have over Mr. 7th Floor. I’ve kinda missed seeing it.”

Matthew throws his hands up in the air. Fucking Mr 7th Floor. This is never going away. “Okay I’m not in the mood to put up with the teasing that is the fucking 7th floor. But who I am ready to talk about is Arthur.”

“Arthur?!”

“Yeah.”

And that was how “Project: RESCUE KING LEAR” was born. Why? Because it was Arthur, and as long as they were dealing with him, they were going to use his ridiculous naming conventions.

Perhaps, sensing his raw mood, Michelle decided to stay by his side for the rest of the day. By the end of the day, she also did something else that was magnificent - she took a load off his shoulders.

From: michelle.velle@pkde.ca

To: <FRENCH_ASSUR@pkde.ca>

Subject: PARTY KING LEAR

Okay everyone here’s the deal - Arthur may have left us for greener and noisier pastures but he still started with us and he’s gotten the big promotion. So...just to be clear, I’M PLANNING THE PARTAY!

There will be kiddies, so no alcohol but that doesn’t mean we’re not gonna remind Arthur that we’re better than any of those 7th floor loudspeakers (we’re hotter too ;) ;) )!

Keep your evenings clear - you’re all getting instructions from me soon.

It’s quiet and dark out when Matthew finishes up for the day. He only found his focus and stride halfway through the afternoon so he decided to stay to get caught up on everything. It was easier after everyone left - as much as he liked them, it was peaceful. He didn’t want to bring work home anymore.

Matthew isn’t the last person out of the building. There are other stragglers on his floor, but his team is tucked in a corner, so Matthew feels comfortable and left alone with himself. He stretches and yawns without care because no one is looking, making sure that he feels and hears the pops and little cracks in his back as he does so.

“Ugh...that feels good.” He’s been too fucking stiff lately. Matthew places his feet up on his desk and stares at the ceiling unseeing for a while. It doesn’t hurt to breathe a little and close his mind off from work before driving home. Of course, it’s at the very point that he feels the most comfortable that his stomach growls. Of course.

Matthew lets out a sigh. He doesn’t feel like cooking, and he’s a little too hungry to wait for takeout. He would prefer to just go home. Looked like it was going to be a vending machine dinner once he actually got the energy to -

“You’re not actually supposed to sleep here you know.”

What? Matthew reluctantly turns his head away from the white ceiling and - oh fuck. “What are you doing -” He knocks some books off his desk as he tries to get his feet off it - shit “here?” Smooth Matt. Real smooth. He sighs and doesn’t bother picking them up, he’ll do that after. Instead he looks up.

Daan looks tired. “You look tired.” Well it’s 9pm and the man is still in the office as well, so of course he is. “Well, it’s-uh...nevermind.”

“Yeah. So do you.”

Matthew really can’t be surprised by the awkward silence that followed. He’s awake enough to be grateful that the second time Daan turns up at his desk is when none of his colleagues are around. That puts a smile on his face.

Somehow, Daan is smiling now too. Objectively speaking, tired Daan smiling is a good look. It’s not like he’s grinning like a fiend or anything, it’s just that with his eyes a little bleary and the corners of his lips have moved up, it’s enough to just soften him a little.

“Anyway, what brings you down here? Well, up here?” Matthew finally lets out.

Daan shrugs. “I saw your status online, still logged into work. Realized you didn’t sleep well this morning, so if you were in, I thought I’d deliver some goods.” He says as he lifts both hands.  

It’s just two plain paper bags but damn, Matthew can smell the goodness from where he is. “How? Where?”

“Ordered delivery. For a couple of months now, I’ve made sure I order extra to make sure that Emil eats dinner too. Well he’s not working late today, so I figure. my mattress sucks or I need to tell my brother to shower more often. You did not look like a guy who slept well this morning.”

That makes Matthew laugh too much, he doesn’t know why. “Oh my God, don’t. The bed smelled fine, the sheets were nice. The mattress was firm, there was nothing wrong with your hospitality. Hell you even fed me, I haven’t been so pampered, ever! Stop being so nice, I’m alive, I’m thriving. But thanks.”

“So you don’t want-”

“Fuck yes, give me the food! ...please. I was just about to go home anyway. You  need a ride? Or are you going to cycle back? If not, I drive a pickup, your bike will fit in the back.”

Daan seems to chuckle as he rolls over a chair, picks up Matthew’s books, and settles down. “I shouldn’t cycle back when I’m this tired. Anyway, I’m not done yet, I actually have to get more shit down after this, need input from Japan, but I’ll call an Uber home. My bike is safely standing in my allocated parking spot. Everyone knows it’s my bike. No one fucks with it even when I leave it overnight. If they fuck with it-”

“Okay I get it. So your bicycle gets its own parking spot. My pickup is jealous.” Figures - Matthew can just imagine that orange bicycle proudly standing between Porsches and BMWs.

Daan looks up with mock disappointment. “Matthew really. You’re not going to let me boast about what happens to anyone who fucks with my bike?”

“Dude I’m hungry.” He was about to say ‘and I’m tired’ but it wasn’t quite as true now as it was just a few moments ago.

Daan shoves the bag over, shaking his head. “Eat up then. Even the young’uns aren’t here. So it’s just us old fogies.” He says, as he tears open his own paper bag.

“You’re eating at my desk?!”

Daan is trying his hardest not to grin now and barely manages to shrug. “What, did you think I was going to mess up my desk?”

“I can’t believe you.” Matthew rolls his chair over to hit Daan’s in revenge - what good are wheels for if you can’t use them for a little bumper chairs once in a while?

“Hey! Do you want a clean desk or not?!”

Matthew has to turn away because he’s grinning too hard. “You’re cleaning up my desk if it gets messed up-”

“What?”

“I swear, because you’re the one who-”

“That’s a great ‘thank you’ for bringing you food. Holy fuck Matthew Williams, after everyone said you’re the ��epitome of what a gentleman is.’ I’m surprised.”

He shouldn’t be laughing this hard. “Excuse me you’re giving me Emil’s leftovers! Fine, I’ll go easy on you. But you need to tell me what people say about me in return. And that...was so totally Arthur omg. What else do they say?”

Matthew is pretty sure that Daan is making the rest of it up, but it doesn’t matter. It’s one of the best work dinners he’s had - ever.

[goldenscript]

badboy!yuto

adachi yuto, japanese exchange student and baseball player extraordinaire

his pitch is insane,,, latest record was 89.5 mph but he might’ve upped it (he did and he’s still aiming to surpass the best recorded speed of 105.1) since the school’s newspaper last interviewed him,,, nervously

he may be a well-known around school for being one of the top-ranking baseball players but he’s actually really intimidating 

equipped with a brooding look and an almost always resting bitch face a lot of people find him,,,, hard to approach and he likes that

being in a new country is tough - getting to know the language and the customs is like being a little kid in elementary school and it’s because of this very reason that he really hates people trying to belittle him or look down on him

it certainly doesn’t help that just by going there has made other people treat him like an actual child but if there’s yet another thing about yuto then it’s the fact that he has this need to prove others wrong about him

there was a kid in like fifth grade who totally ragged on him,, really made yuto feel like he wouldn’t amount to anything especially in baseball and ok sure he was a pretty scrawny kid at the time, a bit of a late bloomer in the puberty department but y’know everyone matures at their own pace physically and mentally

and anyway, it’s this very kid that has just driven yuto to do the very best that he can even if that means overworking himself and only really putting baseball first

because of that, his grades are pretty mediocre which is funny because he just about calculates and figure just how much he can get away with slacking over just to do the bare minimum

it works though,,, his teachers can’t complain since he is putting in effort and his coaches don’t mind so long as he’s getting the required gpa and coming to practice (which he does almost religiously)

and it’s just really remarkable that this sole drive just to prove someone wrong and get back at them for really doubting him drives him that much

his life has always been shrouded in doubt and insecurity and lots of belittlement and out of everything,,, baseball has always offered some kind of comfort to him

he’ll just stand on that field, whether it’s turf or actual grass, and finds peace in all the screaming because the moment he takes his pitcher’s stance it’s like there’s this silence and everything goes still even during his wind-up and suddenly all this power is thrown into a measly pitch and it has people roaring over him

they didn’t care if he was too foreign or too scrawny or too whatever, they were there and they appreciated his skill and i think that’s all he’s ever really wanted as he grew up into the man he is now

instead of sticking to japan, he decided to take up a full-ride scholarship to south korea and when they announced that at the sports banquet he couldn’t help but feel this swell of pride even if that one kid couldn’t see it happen

it’s a rare sight but it made him smile that day because for once he was acknowledged y’know?

anyway, coming to south korea was almost a culture shock (not by a grand scale but enough that it threw him off balance for a while)

it brought on a dry spell for him because he didn’t have friends or anyone to really be there for him to lean on because he was literally alone and not even with someone he could properly communicate with

it was frustrating on the largest scale and it made him feel even more hesitant and angry to deal with anyone other than his roommate, wooseok, who (bless his soul) is a sweetheart and always invites him to hang or play videogames,,,, sometimes he humors the giant

it took time for yuto to get acquainted with the other eight boys in wooseok’s friend circle but it worked out in weird ways

although yuto can’t exactly socialize in a huge gathering, he would spend one on one time with each of them and found comfortable niches with each so he does have a soft spot somewhere behind all his hostility

he won’t admit it a lot either but he’s more of a shower than a teller

but ok, anyway, even tho his first half of the year in south korea has been a huge struggle, he’s used it to push himself athletically and that’s why he’s getting noticed a lot more by others

they’re still intimidated as ever and rumors come flying in all directions about him killing someone with his pitch and none of the students in the journalism club want to interview him for the paper lmao

there was one brave soul but he’s still pretty,,, shaken from yuto’s rbf and you were actually out in this really cool study abroad in japan about tech culture and reported your findings and,,,,

basically you’re literally the only one who hasn’t heard of yuto aka the hardest person to interview on the baseball team so when you heard about a job that no one was willing to take because it was too scary you were just like “LMAO LEMME AT IT”

that and because he piqued your interest

to say the least, you’re pretty made to be in journalism because you refuse to half-ass anything you do and if they want to do a piece on understanding adachi yuto, literally the hottest rising star on the uni’s baseball team, then dammit you’re gonna do it

so, that’s exactly what you do

you go and hunt him down and approach his coach about interviewing him whenever there’s free time because you’re respectful like that y’know and when the older man grins at you and gives you the ok, you approach him on the bench and kindly talk to him about doing an interview

that alone throws him off because 1) you’re not scared of him??? usually just approaching him is nerve wracking for everyone and anyone but here you are just sauntering over like it’s nobody’s business

he just acts like it’s nothing though, coolly saying, “yeah sure whatever - we can do it right now”

“now?” you ask this with some confusion since you usually have some pretty long, extensive interviews just to get a good piece out because that’s how you are - you’re thorough

not many people in the club agree with you since it’s almost like a waste of time to them but neither you nor do the editor care very much because you put out really good stuff

even some of the stuff you wrote in high school are still circulating around as examples of what one should do and your methods too

 you’re not very black and white, you like grey areas and understanding concepts and people especially when they’re misunderstood and yuto is definitely no exception to that

so when he nods and simply says, “i know this won’t take long anyway, so why not right? we shouldn’t waste either of our time”

of course this throws you off,,, but you just nod and start off with some simple questions (to you) like what made him pursue baseball, how much he practices, what are some of his lucky items and pregame ritual habits, and like what are his goals as a player

like i said you’re thorough and even though you said these were simple, yuto was expecting things like “what’s your favorite part of playing baseball?” (pitching, duh) & “is mlb your goal for the future?” they’re pretty basic - during that first interview, he got even simpler things like what was his favorite color and what was his favorite base, and it made him hate that interview,,, significantly

the only redeeming factor of it was how cool they made him sound with his pitching speed record and that’s of course something he prides himself in but it felt so superficial and off,,, he didn’t like it

he didn’t quite feel belittled or anything but it made him disappointed that despite all his hard work,,, no one really cared enough to get to know him ya feel?

it’s silly but part of him working so hard is also for attention and that validation that he never vocally desires

so for you,,, to actually ask him things outside of his pitching speed record and what he plans outside of school and all that,,, is kinda nice

you can tell by the way he loosens up just a tad that he just has really high defenses and it makes you wonder why,, ,like by journalist instincts but genuine curiosity

and you get your answers (”this kid in school,” “four hours minimum a day,” “this keychain my mom gave me” (it’s this little pochacco bc she was like 99.9% certain that he would go into soccer LOL) and “chew hubba bubba gum - the kinda from the roll or it’s a no go, must wear something red SOMEWHERE, and the keychain has to be nearby”, and “surpass 105.1″) not that you’re in any rush because you really do like to get to know the people you’re interviewing

you’re the sort of person that believes in building connections with others - it’s really how one gets a good article and how to thrive in life like although you don’t talk to everyone you know / met on a daily basis you’d like to think that as long as those relationships weren’t superficial during that time you spent with them then it’s worthwhile

so you find all his answers really endearing and kind of cute even though it’s this stoic dude answering all your questions like he has other things to do and ofc you’re not even offended in the slightest because you understand that people get stiff over these things and it feels like people just haven’t been answering him the right questions anyway

but you being you, asks him the one questions he’s actually hoped to hear: “why 105.1?” 

he grins at you, like a genuine one that actually blows you away because his cheekbones are so gloriously prominent and light is just shining in his eyes and honestly if you were a photographer you would’ve really liked to capture this moment but before he can answer his coach is calling him onto the field and he turns to you almost apologetically

but you wave him off with a grin: “guess this means we gotta continue this interview right?” 

a flash of relief washes over his features before he gives you a brief nod, “guess so” 

you have your tape recorder still going, an heirloom of your mom’s because she loved journalism just as much as you do before she had you and in a way you’re fulfilling this dream for the both of you, and instruct him to recite his number for you

he looks a little exasperated but he does it and grumbles a farewell before jogging back onto the field and you go back to your dorm to listen through the interview, wanting to be thorough, and when you get to the part where he recites his number you jot that down with a wide grin

because deep down you really do think yuto is great - you don’t know it with complete certainty but that brief interview was more than enough so you shoot him a text about meeting up on thursday

to which he replies quite quickly in an affirmation

when the two of you meet, it’s at the park by the school’s garden and it’s absolutely beautiful - you know it’s completely unfamiliar to many people because you really have to look so you wind up finding yuto just take him there and he’s kinda flustered about it but it’s cute on him 

you take a moment to turn on your tape recorder and turn to him to ask the question you both left on 

his answer: “it’s the world record for the fastest pitch but i want to have the fastest pitch” 

there’s still a whole round of questions for him to answer and after a good hour of just bantering, you actually find him endearing and funny and really sweet beneath the brooding rbf

and the more he’s with you, the more he wants to open up even if it just for some interview because he feels acknowledged and appreciated 

with you, there’s something different that stirs in his chest - the ease that he felt after getting acquainted with wooseok comes with you but even more so

he really likes the way the gardenias and lilies complement your features, how the sun shines on you two and you bask in it

for reasons beyond him, he’s actually kinda sad that after this he won’t see much of you because there’s still a lot he’d like to know and ask you but between answering your questions and thinking ahead, it’s hard to interject his own considering it’s his interview

and tbh you’re pretty sad about it too but that sort of thing doesn’t hit you until it’s over and you’re playing the tape recording over and suddenly it’s like,,,, well, you want to know more about yuto

so you make a decision

after you’re done with the piece, you hit yuto up and let him read the manuscript and he’s in freakin’ awe because no one has ever really talked about him in the way that you did and he just turns to you and says “thank you” in the most sincerest voice and your heart truly feels like it might fall out of your chest 

you just tell him that “it was my pleasure” because it really was!!

a small moment passes between you two, but wooseok comes in and you two get embarrassed so you excuse yourself to go prepare for the final publishing 

wooseok totally teases yuto btw but one glare from the latter has the former cackling before he goes off into the shower

“you’re so whipped dude”

“shut. up.”

“it’s the truth~~~~~~”

“sleep with one eye open, woo”

when it gets published, everyone is freakin’ amazed ofc and those who read the piece actually get some proper insight on the misunderstood baseball player, and you hand deliver a copy to him because you’re so freakin’ ecstatic and proud because everyone loved it and it looks so great and 

well yuto is really happy and seeing happy is an absolute blessing 

as flustered as he is, he actually expresses a better expression of gratitude and tells you that “no one has ever done something like this for me and i really, truly appreciate it” 

you can feel your heart thudding and your throat closing up because he continues “and honestly, you’ve been on my mind like crazy y/n”

all you can manage is a “why?” but he’s relieved to see blush dusting on your cheeks

“because i want to get to know you and i want to understand you and i-” he whispers the last half: “thinkyou’rereallycute”

you’re almost in shock but you’re too elated tbh and you embarrassingly say, “i think you’re really cute too,,,,” 

so you both spend this impromptu first date wandering the park and going to the campus cafe and just talking but he lets you talk 

 in fact, he wants to know everything about you - why you started journalism and why you decided to take him on and what your favorite color is and what your favorite song is and all those little things that people tend to forget but him? 

he remembers them 

he remembers everything you tell him and he finds it so adorable how your nose scrunches and your features light up and how much you have to say even though you’re usually the one asking the questions

and it just feels so damn good to have someone show interest in you

like yeah sure you’ve made some strong connections and friendships but the way yuto asks you questions and absorbs your answers, even inputting his own feelings, you feel so happy because this isn’t some obligatory “tell me about yourself” it’s a genuine “please tell me more” 

each day you two learn new things about each other too which is really great if you didn’t realize just how mischievous he is 

LOL like it seems to be a hidden personality trait of his but you’ve come to find that being with yuto has become a series of getting soft pranked or just watching others get hardcore pranked and it’s kinda funny

you really wouldn’t expect it from him but the way he softly pranks you is just too adorable for you to get upset with

like well, the first time he ever told you he loved you, he steals your tape recorder from you - not really steal it but one minute it’s on your desk and another it’s in his hands and he’s fumbling with it but he manages to record over the blank tape and goes “y/n, did you know you’re an amazing person?” 

you can’t help but laugh because he has one of those sports newscaster voice and feigned serious face as he holds the tape recorder out to you in wait of an answer so you just shake your head “no sir, i did not” 

he grins, “well, did you know that i, adachi yuto, love you for being the amazing person you are?” 

and even though his cheeks are so blatantly red and yours are too, you’re stunned 

“i-i did not know that,,,,” and you lean in close and place your hand over his on the recorder and say, “but did you know that i, l/n y/n, love you too?” 

and he just pulls you into the sweetest kiss because he just feels so goddamn happy with you, so content, and most of all, so understood

the rest of the boys are really grateful for you because as comfortable as yuto has been with them, you’ve made it much easier for him and his transition because of the article

a lot of the time, people will come up to him and talk about his stats and baseball which he’s actually happy to converse about 

or even those people that kind of judged him at first, they’re not so,,,,, prejudiced y’know?

they have such a great insight on him as a player and it really is because of all the things you put into that article and you’re so damn proud of it

when you get thanked and welcomed into the group, they adore you man

they love how you aren’t afraid to tease yuto or go along with his playful antics and they love that you bring out this undeniably soft side to him that makes even wooseok go “awwww, my roomie has a heart~~” which is of course replied to with a glare that has even you giggling because that’s just how yuto is

like he’s still pretty intimidating looking but most of the school doesn’t think that as badly - it’s usually people on the street in the city

though there were a few people to stop you two because y’all just looked like The Aesthetic couple and it left you both really flustered 

even as you both continue on in your relationship, there are moments where you just fluster each other because y’all just so damn cute and neither of you two can take it

but it works - everything between you just works and it’s kinda perfect in an odd little way 

sometimes you bicker when he gets a little tsundere with you or if he pranks you a little too much (like hides your stuffed pochacco he won you at the fair very unfairly - poor milk bottle worker LOL) 

in the end, you’ll both apologize because you’re both that hyperaware of your actions and you’re both very accepting too 

you can pick up on things that he doesn’t realize and somehow he can do the same with you - with each other, it’s just.... right 

you understand him and he understands you, and honestly, neither of you could ask for anything better than that~~~~

(also lemme just say that on one of your gifts to him was a badtz maru charm for his bat or anything really because it reminded you of him and how pouty he got but literally everyone agreed)

(he hung it btw and it’s considered his lucky charm because he got his pitching speed up to 95.6 mph!!!!!!!!)

[spiteweaver]

Interview #1: Banrai

[ From the private files of Delucius Shadowheart ]

“Thanks for taking the time to chat with me, Banrai.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.”

As I shuffle my parchment into place, I glance up briefly to meet Banrai’s gaze. I am pleased to note that he appears sincere--this interview really isn’t a bother, and judging by the gentle, relaxed slope of his shoulders, he’s perfectly comfortable in my presence. I don’t know what I was expecting. He’s the clan’s emotional core for a reason.

It does make me question how someone so good-natured ended up with a terror like Dreamweaver, though--and not for the last time.

“Have you ever been interviewed before?” I ask.

“No,” he replies. “No one’s ever asked to interview me.”

“Huh.” I tap the tip of my quill against the inkwell. “Feldspar is a major hub for trade in the east,” I say. “I’m shocked my colleagues didn’t beat me to you. You and Dreamweaver aren’t exactly nobodies in Sornieth after all.”

Banrai laughs. It’s that deep, fruity laugh, like a late-summer afternoon, that he’s so well-known for. “Surely you’re exaggerating,” he says. “Our clan isn’t even that large. I could understand Dreamweaver being somewhat of a celebrity abroad--they’re old, powerful, and one of the Lightweaver’s most trusted disciples. I’m just a common tailor, though.”

“You...” I catch his eye and feel my brows furrow. “No offense, but you’re a little on the oblivious side, aren’t you?”

“None taken!” Banrai laughs again, then takes a long, thoughtful sip of tea. “Business doesn’t take me out of the village often,” he explains, “and Dreamweaver is so much more politically experienced than I am that I rarely have anything to do with official clan matters. They don’t like to talk about work when we’re together either; they’d much rather hear what I have to say, for some unfathomable reason.”

“So you don’t get info from outside often,” I conclude.

“Yes,” Banrai says, “I suppose that’s what I’m getting at. If I feel I need to know something, I make an effort to know it. Otherwise, I’m more interested in affairs here at home.”

“Well,” I say, “you’re just as popular 'abroad’ as Dreamweaver.”

“Really?” he asks. “I can’t imagine why.”

“People admire your kindness and generosity,” I reply. “You may not be a political genius, but you’ve got one hell of a heart.”

“That’s...” Banrai’s cheeks turn a shade darker, and he averts his gaze shyly. “That’s good to hear,” he says. “I’m honored. I hope I can live up to their expectations.”

“You already have, if they’re out there singing your praises.”

“O-oh.”

I’m beginning to understand myself why everyone I’ve interviewed has spoken so highly of Banrai. Not only is he pure of heart, but he’s humble to boot. Once again, I find myself wondering how in the Arcanist’s good name he fell for a hellion like Dreamweaver--but I’ll save that question for last.

“So,” I begin again, “let’s talk about your life before Feldspar.”

“Goodness...” Banrai touches a hand to his cheek in thought. “There’s not a whole lot to talk about,” he says. “My world didn’t expand much beyond my birth clan until I met Dreamweaver. I learned a great deal in my travels, about history, and language, and culture, but I didn’t experience it.” He smiles uncertainly. “Does that make sense?”

“You were an outsider looking in,” I supply. “It makes sense.”

“Meeting and falling in love with Dreamweaver sparked something in me,” he goes on. He’s staring into his tea now, his once unsure smile melted into a warm, giddy grin. “I was happy with my family before they came along, but after--after, I felt I needed something more. I had a life before Feldspar, it just wasn’t nearly as full as this one.”

“How would your parents feel,” I say, “knowing that you feel fuller away from them than with them?”

“It’s not a matter of being or not being with them,” Banrai is quick to assure. “If my parents were here with me, my life would be even fuller. It’s more about what new opportunities founding a clan opened up for me. My mother and father never did anything to stifle me, but, as you’ve already pointed out, I’m a simple drake, so I wasn’t even aware there were options other than staying with them and tailoring.”

“Dreamweaver made you aware of those options?”

“Yes.” Banrai nods his agreement. “My childhood was warm and full of love,” he says, “but it was limited. Now that I’ve grown, looking back on my youth is like--like staring at the tiny figures in a snow globe. They’re happy, their world is comfortable and safe, but they know nothing beyond it. It’s not a bad life, it’s a very good one, but there’s no growth, there’s no change.

“My parents--they prefer a more static existence. It’s less complicated, and neither myself nor they have ever been complex dragons. They’re also much older than I am, however--and I was even younger when I met Dreamweaver. They were comfortable where they were, they had grown enough, they had changed enough; I was not, had not, have not.”

“Hmm.” I look between Banrai and the parchment, scribbling frantically to keep up with his impassioned speech. “That’s unexpectedly profound,” I say, “for a simple drake.”

“I’ve had a long time to think on it,” he replies.

“I guess that answers my other question then.”

“Hmm? What might that be?”

“I was going to ask what you see in Dreamweaver,” I confess. “The two of you make an odd coupling. Dreamweaver is more cautious, more reserved, more prone to weaponizing their status--”

“Dreamweaver does not weaponize their status.”

I know I’ve said the wrong thing. Banrai, who, for as long as I have known (and observed) him, has been nothing but forgiving and compassionate, is now looking at me with anger in his eyes. His serene smile has been replaced by a frown, and he’s drumming his fingers on the table rapidly.

I’ve touched a nerve.

“You have to admit, Banrai,” I continue tentatively, “that they have a bad habit of intimidating anyone who disagrees with them.”

“They don’t intimidate others over mere disagreements,” Banrai insists. “They use fear only when they feel it is absolutely necessary. Delucius, I’m simple, I’m oblivious, but I’m not an idiot. I know that I’ve convinced them to grant residency to a good number of potentially dangerous people. Those are decisions I will have to live with should any of them ever succumb to the darkness within their hearts, and I made those decisions, because I really and truly believe everyone deserves a second chance, everyone can be a good person.

“Dreamweaver is doing what they feel they must to ensure that they do not succumb to that darkness before it has a chance to be quelled. If that means reminding them that they could never hope to stand against the might of their founder, so be it. In the meantime, I and the rest of the clan will do our best to bring light into their hearts. Dreamweaver is protecting us.”

“So they’re not just in it for the rush?” I ask.

“That you would suggest that is grossly offensive,” he replies. “You must not know Dreamweaver well if you think so ill of them.”

“I don’t think ill of them,” I say. It’s a half-truth, and Banrai knows it. His eyes narrow. “I don’t think that ill of them, anyway. You’re right, though, I don’t know them very well. My brief meetings with them have not been pleasant, and I’m not ashamed to say I hold a nasty grudge.”

“Delucius...” Banrai sighs. His smile returns. It’s weaker than before, but still genuine. “That’s because you’re constantly causing trouble for the clan,” he says. “They’re wary of you, that’s all. The dragons here have painful secrets to keep, and you--well, not to be rude, but you’re a gossip hound.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“They’re just worried you’ll dig a little too deeply one day.”

I purse my lips. I can’t argue with his reasoning. In fact, I’ve very likely already dug a little too deeply. The image of a certain necromancer flashes through my mind.

I am suddenly very glad Dreamweaver declined to be interviewed.

“Okay,” I say, “I guess it’s good to know that they aren’t as power-hungry as I thought they were. I ‘dunno if we’ll ever get along, though. We’re just too different, they and I.”

“That’s all right,” Banrai says, “not everyone has to get along with everyone else. I’ll settle for setting the record straight.”

“So what do you see in them, beyond the part they played in broadening your horizons?” I ask again. “The two of you may as well be night and day, even if they aren’t a power-hungry tyrant who gets their kicks bullying poor, defenseless investigative journalists.”

“I never said they didn’t get their kicks ‘bullying’ you,” Banrai says with a chuckle. “They do like watching troublemakers squirm.”

“Would they, uh, appreciate you sharing that information?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” he replies, “and neither would the clan. They aren’t particularly shy about it; it’s common knowledge by now.”

“You see?” I say. “Night and day.”

“Opposites attract,” Banrai says with a shrug. “We complement each other. They help me stay logical. I help them sympathize. They’re brilliant, beautiful, wise. They are--” He pauses, his grip tightening on his mug. “They are so full of light. They are so radiant that I sometimes have to turn away from them, fearing I may go blind.”

I have been an investigative journalist for cycles of my life, a detective for even longer, and never, in all my eons, have I seen a drake look more in love than Banrai looks right now, sitting in this cramped room, talking about how wonderful his mate is. It strikes a chord deep within me.

“There’s no one in this world I love more,” he says, “and it’s because of our differences that I love them so.”

“Your relationship is inspiring,” I say. “I’m not one for such things, but even I can see that the two of you are something special. It isn’t any wonder young dragons from all across Sornieth consider your marriage ‘relationship goals.’”

“Ah, do they now?” His smile becomes strained. I can tell that he doesn’t quite grasp the concept. “Well, that’s very kind of them,” he says. “I’m happy to know that Dreamy and I are good, er, role models.”

“On a more serious topic...” I lean forward slightly. Banrai’s smile grows tighter. “How do you feel about the direction the clan is going?” I ask. “There’s been a great deal of turmoil around here lately. Dreamweaver’s in charge of that mess, but, well, I’d like to hear your opinion.”

“I can’t speak on it in the sort of detail Dreamweaver can,” Banrai says, “but I think things are going as well as they could be, given the circumstances. The appointment of our Flight Representatives went smoothly; they’ve been accepted by the clan, and that’s the best we could have hoped for. Clan Aphaster is settling in well after their ordeal--”

“Let’s talk about Clan Aphaster for a bit,” I suggest. “How do you think relationships with them are now, with the Shard line discontinued?”

“The same as they’ve always been,” Banrai replies. “They may no longer be Clan Shard, but they are still our friends and allies. Telos is doing a bang-up job of things, the reconstruction is coming along, there haven’t been any major incidents. Their move to Light opens up greater opportunities for both clans too; but, again, Dreamweaver could speak more intimately on that than I ever could.”

“You don’t think there’s any hard feelings between your clans?” I ask. “They’re Arcanites, and they don’t seem particularly keen on assimilating.”

“That’s between them and the Lightweaver,” Banrai says. “They have their traditions, and I like to think She will accept that. We’ll do our best to help them adjust in a way that preserves their culture and identity.”

“Even if the Lightweaver disagrees?”

“I don’t think it’s our place to say what the Lightweaver agrees and disagrees with,” Banrai says. “Dreamweaver seems satisfied, and they’re in direct contact with Her. If the Lightweaver takes issue with anything Clan Aphaster does, I’m sure Dreamweaver will speak with Telos on the matter and come up with a solution that benefits both parties.”

“You really don’t seem worried,” I note.

“I’m not,” he replies simply. “Telos is a bright young dam, and Dreamweaver has the experience of an ancient. They’ll be able to figure out most anything, if they put their minds to it.”

“What about other tensions?” I ask. “Lutia remains a part of Clan Aphaster. You don’t think her presence might cause some upset?”

“I’m sure it will,” Banrai says, “but this isn’t her fault. She’s a victim in all of this, as much as anyone else. What happened was a tragedy, and it took her son from her.”

“People died.”

“Yes, and Dreamweaver and I still mourn their loss.”

“Doesn’t that deserve some sort of punishment?”

“Is the guilt not punishment enough?” he asks. “Is the loss of her son not punishment enough? Is the fear she sees in her clanmates’ eyes not punishment enough? She is suffering for what she did and from what she lost. Anything more would be insult to injury.”

“There are those in both clans who disagree.”

“That’s their right.”

“You’re surprisingly stubborn.”

“I try not to be,” he says, “but Lutia is one of our oldest friends. We know what caused all of this, and it wasn’t her. She isn’t the root of the problem; punishing her more than she has already punished herself would accomplish nothing positive.” He smiles again, wryly. “Can we go back to talking about how much I love Dreamweaver? That was nice.”

“Sorry,” I say, “but you’re a founder. I’ve gotta ask the hard-hitting questions.”

“I understand,” he says with another sigh, “but political talk is so exhausting.”

“Are you worried about other inter-clan clashes?” I ask. “The Smoke Gyre frequents Clan Aphaster. Your Beastclan Ambassador, Fiver--won’t he have something to say about that when he returns from the Volcanic Vents?”

“If he does,” Banrai says, “he’ll go through the proper channels. Fiver isn’t a rash drake. I trust him to handle any bad blood with dignity.”

“How do you think Clan Aphaster feels about Shard?”

“The Radiant?”

“Junior.”

“Oh.” Banrai casts his gaze down. For the first time since the interview began, he looks anxious. “I hope they won’t hold it against him,” he says. “He was manipulated, just like Sliver and Fragment. He’s also a victim, and I feel he suffers more terribly than anyone.”

“More terribly than those who lost their loved ones?”

“It’s a different kind of pain,” he says. “It’s a kind that not many in either of our clans can fully comprehend. If Lutia ever forgives him, they’ll have quite a lot to talk about.”

“You think they suffer in similar ways?”

“Yes,” he says, “and in different ways as well.”

“If Clan Aphaster shuns him,” I say, “what action will Clan Feldspar take?”

“Dreamweaver and I will stand by him,” Banrai assures. “We will do what we must to help our allies see that he isn’t their enemy. I don’t think it will come to that, though. Clan Aphaster is made up of many wonderful people. Junior is barely old enough to be called a drake. They won’t shun him for his mistakes.”

“You seem confident.”

“I am. I trust our friends implicitly.”

“Final topic.” Banrai seems relieved. His shoulders slump, and he lets out an inaudible sigh. “How do you feel about Phantasos spending so much time in Aphaster territory?” I ask. “He’s your son and your heir by blood, and rumor has it he’s been consorting with a certain being of unknown origin.”

“Faded?” Banrai says. “I don’t think their relationship is anything to worry about. Faded has their own way of doing things, but I’ve never known them to be malicious without need. I think Phantasos can learn a great deal about being Other from them.”

“‘Other?’ What does that mean?”

“It’s a word Dreamweaver uses to describe non-draconic beings,” he explains. “Phantasos has my draconic blood running through his veins, but he’s still fundamentally different from a dragon. Having an Other friend in Faded may help him grow and adapt to life among dragonkind.”

“You don’t worry about Faded’s nebulous nature?”

“No,” he says, “Dreamweaver is the same. Neither of them are natives of this world--not strictly speaking. Just because we can’t possibly understand everything about them doesn’t mean we can’t trust them. Trust comes from who you are, not what you are.

“Besides that, Dreamweaver would never let Phantasos associate with a dangerous Other. If they trust Faded, so do I. They know more about Others than I do.” He smiles again, bright and warm. “Phantasos adores Faded. He thinks they’re fascinating. It’s really quite cute.”

“Cute...”

I don’t know if I’d call two beings of incomprehensible power and unfathomable origin getting together to talk otherworldly phenomena “cute,” but Banrai’s married to one of them, so I guess I just don’t get it.

[apexart-journal]

Radha Gomaty in NYC Day 16

Enroute Washington

1.

Had a particularly rough morning as my India phone suddenly dithered into deep coma just as i was readying to leave to catch the 9 am Bus to Washington .

Quite distraught I sat bent over the phone compulsively pressing the three buttons that i could see in various  permutations and combinations and with varying finger pressures till time on the clock approached danger mark and i had to run from  the room .

I find my way through the subways carrying a heavy shoulder bag besides my usual awfully ethnic glittery (and now rather dirty)cloth tote with its stitches coming undone that somehow gells well with this crazy city .

Of course, then there is my friend’s  handy little leather multi pocket cross sling that carries  everything from my proof of identity , all my various complimentary entry cards and metro /subway cards  .In fact she  hung it on my shoulder with emphasis genuinely afraid that I might lose my papers otherwise and end up in prison or something !

A gift notepad from my god daughter that i had cherished on my table without finding fit reason for using it fits in perfectly and had scrawled in its first page with a waterproof marker all important numbers of immediate near & dear  that proves really useful now that my phoned conked out!

I thanked the stroke of intuition that had me do that just a coulee of ours before i left home for Kochi Airport.

Yet another friend lent  me her veteran leather jacket advising me that i should wear this as soon as i disembark from the flight at JFK so that I look like a true blue New Yorker and not like some babe in the woods.

In short I had made my trip on some old clothes donated to me (category:Something OLD;status-check!)

Some new clothes , shoes and socks (first purchase since I passed school say , some 35 odd years ago and a pair of brand new spectacles  (category :something NEW-check!)

Mostly borrowed stuff right from money for my food to all of my woolens and even two pieces of luggage of the three I had.(category: something BORROWED-Check!)

And something blue?Well ,Besides a pair of rather horrendous blue jeans hurriedly brought and in memory of an older body size that i once inhabited .It was now so large that I have to find ingenious ways every moment to keeping it from slipping  down to the ground.

But then there were some events too just as I leaving home that for a few moments dyed Time to the deepest ultramarine possible.But thankfully only for a few moments ,as off late like a practiced boxer I duck on raw instinct  rather than from rather deadly blows. designed to kill my sustaining spirit .

(category:Something BLUE-Check!)

BTW for readers rom my part of the Globe this business of having something OLD /NEW /BORROWED /BLUE is what a Bride is supposed to ensure she has on her person at the ceremony to ensure some things as follows:

Something old represents continuity; something new offers optimism for the future; something borrowed symbolizes borrowed happiness; something blue stands for purity, love, and fidelity.

A 1940’s song from my childhood that was part of dad’s vinyl record collection .the one i heard was by Vera Lynn but i can’t find it anywhere now trawling the net.

So please listen to  this version by the Velours.

Yup.

I’ve deliberately chosen the one with the excessively frothy pulp romance visuals to rub it in and have people of understated refined tastes to run for cover.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vc0G7y1gfEU

Well !Me , a bride ,huh?

That’s a good one !

I’m sure reading this will have many folks i know in sniggers to downright splits at the prospect of a hat trick (Me too actually …!!! :D :D) , a grossly anomalous event for a woman ,at least in the cultural context I happen to be in !

But jokes aside ,in a way that is true about all trips like this, you know.

It is like one’s self (spelt with small case )and one Self (spelt with upper case)that ,ejected by some hidden cosmic plan across a huge distance from familiar physical coordinates and the habits of time zones ,embark upon on a unique honeymoon together within one …

Like in this  lovely Hindi movie back home called ‘QUEEN’ after  the mild mannered typically middle class protagonist called Rani (meaning Queen in English &played with finesse by Kangna Raut) who is stood up at the altar ,so to speak ,by her recently  ‘settled abroad’ NRI fiancé because suddenly she is not smart & trendy enough to be part of his new life style abroad.

Though utterly shattered she embarks upon a radical decision encouraged by her feisty paternal grandmother -To use her honeymoon ticket and go to Paris & Amsterdam on a honeymoon all by herself as planned like commemorating a wedding that never happened .

The results are unexpected and totally exhilarating  for Rani after some initial shocks  which completely jolts her out of the narrow confines of her comfort zones that were based on role based  conformity and not centred on the realities of her feeling-self.

The film traces how Rani , the average middle class Indian girl,begins to find herself finally in new locales through new & diverse friendships and challenging experiences  restoring her to an unassailable fresh new sense of wholeness.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_(2014_film)

Distance has a way of conferring perspective as little else can as also the cosmopolitan multi cultural bustle that, throwing off-gear one’s sense of context ,challenges one to reexamine , feel ,assimilate and eventually generate anew every moment a new and enlivening context for being.

Just this evening on a watsapp call , my brother was telling me of a new book he was reading on the realities of a Dalit Life called ‘Ants amongst Elephants’ noted for its freshness by Sujata Gudia , based on the locales of her own life written only after she migrated to the US and became a subway conductor.

Even the cold , the wind , the need to layer over skin for a person from more hospitable or warmer climes where one may as well comfortably walk next to naked with just  one multipurpose piece of cloth that works interchangeably  as garment , mat or drape by night changes things in a way that is not easy to describe.But change it does ,from the fundamental level of the nebulous cusp of Body & Being.

The same reasons ,also dictated by a different culture of valuing Tme ,may necessitate similar changes in dressing -from wearing flowing clothes to closely fitted ones that facilitate free movement of limbs while keeping the cold out.

Simply put ,just the simple act of wearing pants  , say even for a woman like me, changes things and facilitates entry  from languid self containment to dynamism & extroverted action .

The giddying verticality of Metropolises also has a similar effect upon those who  like me from not such a heavy metropolitanised( a new word I suspect but let it be!) living backdrop.

In short the stage is set for a strange wilderness to sudden burgeon forth almost overnight overrunning  the complacence of  Familiarity altogether . From within this wilderness strange new animals ,whose presence was only  gleaned hitherto from an occasional track mark of sensation or  from the sharp smell of droppings begin to show themselves better with a new found fearlessness.

Weird flowers blossom of strange hues and heady scents that disorient the head  as in open eyed dreams .Voices unheard hitherto begin to make themselves audible .

I am convinced now that Traveling far makes one more amenable to accept the fact that perhaps the very nature of Life is a virtual reality .I stumbled on that secret long ago but frankly speaking ,its  the darned diciest thing to get used to though with the years and the abrasions of experience ,I think I’ve made much better peace with it .

“…so why did i come so far,my love ? to catch a glimpse of an Amerindian lifetime that still courses through our blood ?The time when the horses brought in by the Spaniards escaped and came in first from Peru through Mexico through the Oklahoma plains to multiply and run beautifully wild and you were part of those who lassoed and made peace with  them to become our steadfast friends ?”

Amerindians??

Did i actually doze off for a split second in the Metro Bus headed to Washington  DC that everyone seemed to called by its euphemism ,’the Blue Bus’?

My fellow passenger , a man from Honduras who has worked in the US for 16years now and longs to return home is happy to let me have his window seat .

He gladly accepts a piece of Kappalandi Mittai or Peanut Candy from back home as agonizing over my phone left me no time to prep or eat anything for breakfast. i make do with gnawing at an apple afterwards thinking I shall eat in Washington.

Washington !

Can two cities be so totally different?

The Metro station has this glam front of cafes et al and suddenly with one turn the whole atmosphere changes into a grey drab one.i have trouble with topping my Metro Card and a family from Kerala reach there just in time as if to help me.The gate won’t open and I enter through an emergency door.

Everything is strange ,bleak,dark and interminably gray even the lifeless mechanical announcements .I feel it takes an eternity to find my way walking too to the Beacon hotel .

The young lady at the desk checks out ‘Margaret Ewing’ under whose name my room has been booked .While she is examining my passport for a second time with apologies for the inconvenience caused ,Trump is delivering voice mime thunderbolts on illegal immigrants on a silenced TV Set in the tastefully decorated lobby.

Standing there i  find myself worrying about one of James’ students, I think one who is on our show at Apex, whose dad is on the receiving end of this with the aftershocks landing on the prospects of the entire family.

James ,whom I met at Apex is a wonderful teacher of Art at a Public or city funded school in the Bronx where the poorest people live ,many of them precariously.

i get my room keys finally and enter a business class room with two huge single beds ,a TV set , a coffee maker and something that I think is a microwave oven .

For the first time since i came ,I'm feeling a bit lost.

I miss my home@1Irving street, the cute white Mac on the table by the window that helps me type my thoughts, the narrow crowded streets outside full of really interesting looking people , the crazy subways abuzz with chaos &music...

Yeah, my phone from India on which I refused to change the time in India to keep in touch withy beloved ones there abruptly dying with all my contacts in it and remembering that it's my father's birthday and my younger son not realizing perhaps that I haven't called not because I don't care but I can't, adds to it.

My packed lunch of Rice and Mung sprouts suddenly turns tasteless in my mouth.

I hurriedly get up.

Schedule beckons …. (to be contd.)

[datingadviceonreddit]

I have been dating this guy for about 5 months now. We are both living abroad for the semester and we agreed to spend the summer together after school finishes. About 2 months ago he told be he was falling in love with me, and he's said he loves me several times since. A few weeks before he told me that, he asked me what I was thinking I wanted after we both had to leave to go home to our separate countries that are on the opposite sides of the world. He asked me not to say that I loved him back until I was sure because he was in a bad breakup a few years ago and I feel like he hasn't really gotten over it since. I said it back though the next day.. Anyways, everything was great, we never fight, really enjoy spending time together, he's very affectionate. About a month ago, I brought up the subject of what we were going to do after the summer ended. He said he did not want to make me any promises he couldn't keep. I brought it up again a week ago, and he said "Do you really want to have this conversation right now?" Well, the conversation happened, and I told him that he could not be in love with me if he wasn't willing to at least try after we went home. That night he told me all these things like that something was missing, he thought I was perfect and he was attracted to me, but that he'd have to be head over heels to try long distance and the feeling just weren't there. He said that we could still spend the summer together and do all the plans we had. That night I was really hurt and he stayed with me, but in the morning he had changed even more, saying that we should only be friends and that we shouldn't travel together and disinvited me to go stay with his family that is visiting in a month. This came as a shock to me and the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. I only wanted to be prepared for what was going to come after, I didn't expect him to also call off the entire summer together. I was devastated.We've hung out twice since as "friends", I made my flight home later (before the "breakup") so I could spend more time with him, all my friends are leaving so I really don't have anything to lose trying it. Both times were fine, I didn't put any pressure on him and we genuinely had a good time. There were moments when I forgot we were broken up, and I know it was the same for him because I saw him a few times reach for my hand out of habit and catch himself. But I really miss how things were. I don't understand why we can't still spend the summer together like we were going to before. Can someone just flip a switch on their feelings that fast? It's also not like he has any other plans for the summer either. Either way, we will both be stuck in the same city very close to each other. I want to try to ask him if this is really what he wants, but I'm afraid he either won't be honest with how he feels or he just won't want to see me at all anymore. If I push too hard too soon, I might push him away but if I don't, I might waste time we could be spending together.What do I do? Any guys willing to give advice? Thanks in advance! via /r/dating_advice