#actually there are worse legacies i mean at least this would raise a smile on the faces of my bereaved social media followers

[nostalgia-tblr]

u know... if i died before finishing this fic then my abandoned-via-death AO3 account would would be my tombstone and the epitaph would be the word "Cockroboros" right there at the top of the page for all eternity

[nightingaelic]

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[sweetcherrypie1967]

In the Name of Love

To everyone around them, what was about to happen had been a complete surprise and not to mention unexpected. But, everyone else didn't know about the secret the two shared. The months of sneaking around Hogwarts just to avoid being seen together, the stolen kisses, the insults they didn't mean, and the fear of what they felt. For if it became public, they'd surely be killed..or worse.

You see, to everyone else, that two despised one another just as they seemingly had for years before now. Even their closest friends didn't have a clue about what they were hiding.

But soon, everyone would know.

The students and staff of Hogwarts gathered around in the courtyard while the Death Eaters were on the other side. Something odd caught most of their eyes though, it was Hagrid. Hagrid, in the midst of the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, not only that but he was carrying someone.

"Who is it that Hagrid is carrying?" Hermione Granger's panicked voice was heard.

"Who is Hagrid carrying?!" Hermione said louder and in more panic than before.

She got no answer, until..

"Harry Potter is dead," the voice of Voldemort rang out. His voice alone was enough to cause someone's skin to crawl, but for him to say that their Chosen One, their friend, was dead?

No!" Ginny Weasley exclaimed as she tried to rush to the body of the boy she loved.

But her father, Arthur Weasley, held her back as she sobbed uncontrollably as he knew that now wasn't the time to grieve.

They were all still in danger.

Hermione knew this, that's why the only reaction she had was hot, burning tears were running down her face. Harry Potter is practically her brother but he wouldn't want her to put herself or others in danger due to her emotions.

"Harry Potter is dead!" he repeated to the students and staff with grief filled expressions. There were earsplitting screams from those who were close to The Chosen One. Even Draco Malfoy was greatly affected by the loss. Not that he had liked the boy much, but he knew what it meant for him and the rest of the Wizarding World.

"Harry Potter is dead!" He repeated once more but to those on his side of the courtyard, and they laughed.

Draco Malfoy had at this point, not paid much attention to anything else. Lost in the realization that the Light had lost and all was doomed, even he who was on the side who won had still lost. For he had a secret that, once revealed, would make him no different to the ones who had been on the other side the entire time.

He was in love with a muggleborn.

It wasn't until he had heard his father beckoning him across the courtyard that he was snapped back into reality.

"Draco!" His father said gesturing for him to come by his side.

The blond boy hesitated, he could stay. He could be among all the other he would eventually die with, he could stay here and get it over with sooner and not have to live without his love. Then again, what about his family? What would happen to them? Weren't they the ones he had done all of this for, weren't they the ones who got him into all of this in the first place?

"Draco!" His father persisted.

Draco was torn, his family or his beliefs. He I surely took a step forward when a small hand caught his and his grey eyes locked with brown ones.

"Don't do it Draco," Hermione Granger begged him, "stay with us, stay with me."

He paused holding his love's fragile hands tight in his own. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he had made his final decision. He stood tall and more confident in himself then he had been in a long time.

Draco would stay. He would stay for her.

He gave her hand a squeeze and small smile to reassure her of his decision, she smiled tearfully and engulfed him in a hug to which he returned. "Anything for you," he whispered in her ear.

"Thank you," she whispered back before breaking the hug but still held his hand firmly.

"The Malfoy boy has become a filthy blood traitor!" Some Death Eater Draco didn't know called out angrily.

"What is this?" Voldemort called after seeing the exchange, "surely you have raised him better than this, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord, we did," Lucius said without emotion.

"It appears you hadn't done a well enough job at it. So few remaining pure families and with even less heirs to carry on their legacy," Voldemort mused, "the mudbloods have ruined so many good family names, Potter's pet has snuck in and now soiled the Malfoy's name."

"Hermione didn't 'soil' the Malfoy name, I did," Draco spoke up, "it was me who fell in love with her and it is me who will gladly choose her over your worthless cause."

"Love," he said in disgust, "what a foolish choice, I thought you were smarter than that. You should be ashamed."

"Just because you've never had it doesn't mean it's foolish," Draco argued, "and I'm not ashamed, I'm doing all this in the name of love. I'm done hiding from it."

"What a disappointment, I had such hopes for this one," Voldemort said sounding hardly disappointed or even surprised, "I'll give you one more chance, young Malfoy. Join me and you family and live a life like you deserve or you can die here and now right after Potter's whore."

"Don't call her that," Draco growled now seething with anger, "my mind is made up, I'd rather be under the cruciatus than live whatever life you would have planned."

"The cruciatus? I do think that can be arranged," Voldemort said casually right before pointing his wand at the boy.

"Cruc-"

Draco closed his eyes in anticipation for the pain he was about to experience, it wouldn't be his first experience with the curse, but it never came. He looked up just in time to see Neville Longbottom cut the head off of Voldemort's snake, Nagini. Voldemort roared at the sight knowing what it meant even when Draco didn't quite understand.

Moments later the fighting resumed, though now Draco Malfoy was known to be fighting on the other side. They had ran back into Hogwarts, if only for their last time. He and Hermione were fighting the death eaters side by side when they heard Hagrid.

"Harry! Where's Harry?" He cried.

While Hermione instantly looked to where his body had been mere seconds before only to find it gone, Draco cast a spell to prevent her from being injured due to her badly timed distraction.

Everything was happening so fast that, before they knew it, everything suddenly stopped when one voice was heard throughout the Great Hall.

"Protego!" Harry Potter shouted.

Everyone watched as Harry and Voldemort dueled for the final time.

And just like that, Voldemort was dead.

Draco had been helping to heal the wounded, he couldn't help but be angry at himself for previously causing a few of them before changing his side but at least he was making it right. He had actually found that he sort of liked helping people like this. Perhaps it was from the exhilaration of it all finally being over, he could finally have the life he wanted. It was after finishing with a sixth year Ravenclaw he didn't recognize that his Mother approached him.

She had gathered him into a hug, which was quite unusual for her especially in a public place, and he recuperated it. "My baby boy," Narcissa kept repeating. When the embrace ended she looked at him with glassy eyes, "I'm so proud to call you my son. You stood for what you believed in and even found love," she told him.

"Mother-" Draco began, truly moved by her words, when she interrupted.

"Speaking of which, I want you to have this," Narcissa told him taking out a small black box, "I'm sure you know what this is and if you care for her as much as you've displayed today, then I'm sure you won't waste any time in using it."

Now Draco was walking with Hermione down the halls of Hogwarts nervously fiddling with the box in his pocket.

"What is it you wanted to talk about? There's no one around anymore I'm sure," Hermione said.

"So impatient," he joked.

"Well while I do love it being just the two of us, there is a lot going on right now," she said in a similar tone.

"I know, I know you'd rather be with your friends than me," he said not unkindly.

She lightly pushed him, "you know that's not true."

"You're right," Draco said trying to stall.

"Plus the anticipation is killing me," Hermione told him.

"In that case maybe I'll wait until later to tell you," Draco teased.

"No! Please just tell me now," she begged and he chuckled.

He got down on one knee.

"I love you more than life itself as I've shown you today and I want to spend the rest of my existence with you. Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?" Draco said pulling out the black box to reveal a beautiful golden ring with both red and green gems in it.

The next words will change both of their lives forever.

"Of course I will!"

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

[fanfic-mind]

Blood on my hands (all that i've gained and all that i've lost)

pairing: merthur

warnings: non

status: fanfic draft, Part 1/? (~ 2300)

It’s yet again an hour of need for Camelot. But the weapon they need to safe kingdom and people comes with a price. Only those who prove that they are powerful and wicked can receive it. The knights of Camelot don’t have enough evil deeds to be worthy of the sword. They think everything is lost - until  Merlin speaks up...

A magic reveal story in which Merlin makes good use of being a morally grey character. Because, yea, Merlin-is-the-victim-reveals are swell and all but he is capable of making his own decisions and some of them are pretty shady. There is still a good amount of Uther bashing included.

Somehow they get into a situation that requires someone with blood on their hands - figuratively (otherwise it wouldn't be a problem because seeing how often Arthur and Merlin and also Gwaine get wounded by just existing they probably wouldn't even have to injure anyone)

Maybe a god of the Old Religion guards a weapon they need to kill the magic beast of the week or to destroy a cursed item.

In any case: they are really desperate. People are dying and this is their last hope, their last resort.

To their misfortune, this weapon is guarded by a very cunning and wicked god and they will only give their weapon to someone who has the power and the will to use it for evil deeds

There is a test that must be passed by the one who wants to receive the weapon. They must prove that they did enough evil deeds to be worthy of it.

Arthur quickly fails his test because despite some wrongs he's done he is way too just and noble to be wicked

The only knight that seems to get at least a few moments more of consideration is Leon who has done some terrible things - however under Uther's orders which isn't quite powerful enough

"Ahh, Uther Pendragon," the god muses, "Him i would have given the weapon. Such rage and blind hatred and, oh yes, so much blood."

Arthur grits his teeth and sets his jar. he wonders if his father would be disappointed in him for not living up to this legacy of his. he wonders - not for the first time - why he wanted to be like his father once and how he managed to end up being so different.

The knights discuss their strategy. non of them is wicked enough to pass the test. they have wicked people in Camelot's dungeons. But Camelot is three day rides off and their quest is really urgent.

They could separate and seek for wicked folk, but the chances seem slim and the risk of them keeping the weapon as they receive it seems too big

People are dying and they need to do something now.

"there must be another way to destroy it," Lancelot suggests, though they've been over this. His eyes stray to Merlin, but Merlin seems caught up in thought.

If there was an easier way to do this, Merlin and Gaius would have come up with it by now. asking the god had been their idea in the first place.

"What if there isn't?" Gwaine argues heatedly. "We can't have waisted six days for nothing. This is probably our last chance."

"so what do you suggest?" Lancelot interrupts somewhat irritated. They temperaments are heated at this point. And suddenly knowing each other’s worst deeds doesn’t exactly lighten the mood. "All of us failed the test. i wouldn't have thought that I'd ever be angry about being found too good and noble."

Gwaine shrugs with a grimace. He hadn't thought that he'd ever be deemed good and noble in the first place.

"maybe there's a way out of that," Arthur says. He hasn’t spoken in a while and all heads turn towards him.

"what do you mean, Sire?" Leon asks, looking uneasy as if he already knows and doesn't like it.

"If you're not noble enough, you proof your nobility by doing good deeds," Arthur starts matter of fact. "so, logically, if I'm not wicked enough, i prove my wickedness by doing an evil deed."

The god smiles a toothy smile.

"To murder just anyone obviously isn't evil enough" Arthur says, looking at the god with disgust. "so it must be somthing worse. murdering a friend, for example."

"My king, with all due respect, this is madness," Leon say carefully.

"sir Leon, that's the point." Arthur says sourly.

"is that really it?" Gwaine shouts at the god who watches his outburst unimpressed. "You want us to slaughter each other?"

the god laughs, distant and hollow and the earth seems to vibrate with it. "The weapon can only be taken by those of power who are wicked and cunning enough to wield it." the god repeats his earlier words.

"So there's not even a guarantee," Gwaine says, throwing up his arms. "Arthur, let's just leave and see if we can find something else."

"there is nothing else, Gwaine, you said so yourself!" Arthur returns. His expression is incredibly pained but determined in a way that makes them all shudder. Leon, Percival and Lancelot unconsciously get into fighting stance.

Gwaine takes a few steps to put himself between the king and Merlin who is the most vulnerable

Arthur nods to himself, seemingly coming to a decision in his head.  Tehn he draws his sword . "If either of you kills me while i try to kill you, that might be enough too" he muses

They all stare at him in horror, unable to believe that he will go through with this.

"My people are dying," Arthur says, his tone pleading, "if i have to sacrifice my good conscience to help them - well, it is a price i must be willing to pay. I'm sorry. But all of you swore to protect Camelot at all costs too."

Arthur halts for am moment then nods grimly. "Don't try to sacrifice yourself. I'm sure that's not what he's looking for" Arthur nods towards the stony god who smiles.

"you can't be serious" Mordred whispers.

"I'm afraid i am. Now, it's been an honour. truely. and i hope - i hope I'll still have your respect afterwards. Though, i can understand if you can't trust me again."

"that's enough."

They all turn around. Partly, because they had forgotten about Merlin who has been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. and partly because they have rarely heard this sort of tone from him. harsh and demanding. a voice more fit for a king than his manservant.

They stare at him and he makes short eye contact with Arthur before he steps forward, in front of the statue that the god is using as a vessel.

"test me." Merlin says. his voice is determined and his shoulders are set.

Arthur let's out a short laugh, because clearly this is absurd, right? Merlin is the best and kindest of all of them. Actually, coming to think of it, if he's really honest, Merlin probably is the reason Arthur is not like his father. Merlin makes him better. Merlin makes him want to be better.

A few of the knights share his sentiments, laughing slightly hysterical with tension but still perplexed over this development.

Only Lancelot steps forward with a frown as if to pull him back, but merlin raises a hand without looking at him and he stops in his tracks.

Arthur who was about to say something stops too.

The god looks more alive than before he seems to stretch himself to his full height as if he has waited for this

"welcome" he starts as he has with all of them. "young warlock, tell me your deeds."

lancelot tenses, casting a worried glance back at the king who stands there, sword still drawn, eyes fixed in Merlin as if he doesn't understand any of this

Lancelot doesn't either. Even if Merlin is a sorcerer - what evil deeds can he possibly have done? Saving Arthur's life over and over without ever seeking credit doesn't have a ring of evil to him.

"I am Merlin, and they call my Emrys." Merlin starts.

Some of the Knights gasp. Emrys is a name they know by now.

Lancelot wonders whether Merlin considers his identity an evil deed in itself. The possibility breaks his heart a bit.

"I was born with magic. I am the most powerful sorcerer there is."

Merlin takes a deep breath.

"i lied to all my friends. I let them think they can trust me, that they know me. But they never will. I could kill them just by looking at them. I am magic and i killed many behind friends backs and before their eyes, but never revealed myself to them"

"I am a slayer of my own people," he continues, his voice hard, "I killed many creatures and men of magic to protect their murderers - the king and his son. I did it out of self-righteousness and out of selfishness because...” for a moment, Merlin halts, but then he continuous with the same hard tone as before, as if something is forced out of him, but he wants to stand for it.

“I loved Arthur more than my own people. i let many of them die even though i could have helped them if i had revealed myself. But i couldn't bear the thought to be separated from him so i stayed quiet and watched them burn."

The god nods Merlin on. They all stand in shock. They know from before that Merlin won't be able to stop telling his deeds before the god thinks he is done.

"I killed the witch Nimueh even though she told me i have to pay with a life to save Arthur's. Instead of giving my life as i promised, i killed her."

"I killed Mary Collins, Afanc, Aulfric, Sophia, Cornelius Sigan, Myror and many more. "

Merlin's voice falters a bit, but he seems to pull himself together visibly, because his voice is clearer again when he keeps speaking.

"My betrayal to my people is so great, my wickedness so deep, i considered to kill a child on the mere possibility that he could threaten what was mine in the future."

Mordred makes a quiet stricken noise.

No one dares take their eyes off Merlin, but Merlin himself turns his head slowly.

There is a gasp of horror when they all see that his eyes are glowing yellow with magic.

Up until now, no one except Mordred and Lancelot had truly believed it.

"I tried to kill Mordred when he was a child and i wish his death even now though he is kind and serves Arthur."

Lancelot looks at Merlin with complete bewilderment as Mordred sobs.

Merlin doesn't answer Lancelot's gaze, he just turns around again.

They can hear him take in another breath and it sounds more halting than before.

"I knew that my friend had magic and i saw her turmoil and her fear of being killed. of being burned by her own kin like all of the others. but instead of helping her, i left her in the dark. I told her to trust me - she trusted my - and then i poisoned her."

Merlin stops for a moment, his voice sounds rough as if speaking becomes quickly more difficult.

"I gave Morgana poison in full intend and watched her as she died and i regretted when she was healed."

"Only i had the power and knowledge to save her, but i turned my head from her suffering, i killed her when she didn't know better than to turn to her sister, it was me that made her what she is today."

There is another short pause. Lancelot is desperate to see Merlin's face. To demand how this all really went. Because though he knows that Merlin is bound to say the truth by the power of the god, he still thinks there must be a mistake or a trick. This is not Merlin. Merlin would never...would he?

"I conspired with and freed the dragon that attacked Camelot which led to the death of many innocent people. I attempted to kill Arthur on multiple occasions."

Lancelot frowns. This one he knows to be untrue. Merlin didn't want to kill Arthur. it was Morgana's doing that he went after him.

"i saved Uther Pendragon's life - more than once. I let him live even though he slaughtered my people. I saved his life even though i didn't have to. I never killed him even though i had many opportunities."

Merlin pauses then, looking up at the god.

"Do i really need to go on?" he asks and it sounds almost indifferent. except they know Merlin and they know how his face looks when he sounds this way.

The god leans their head to one side slowly. the stone his vessel is made of groans.

"You are worthy, young warlock. More than you know. Into your hands i command my sword."

Suddenly, there is noise and light and they cover their eyes, everyone except for Merlin and Mordred.

They can't be sure but they think they can hear Merlin's voice through it all, speaking a foreign tongue. Then, it's over.

When the air clears, Merlin stands alone, the stone vessel of the god has crumbled to pieces, a big sword in his hand. For just a moment, when he turns around to face them, he looks nothing like Merlin at all. His eyes are golden, and his face is grim, lips pressed into a thin line. His posture is straight and majestic and he holds the sword like a warrior. His appearance strikes them with fear. He looks like power incarnate.

The others notice from the corners of their eyes that Mordred kneels before him. and even as they are completely bewildered, they have an urge to do the same.

The next moment though, it's all gone, and Merlin looks like he's never handled a sword before. His eyes are blue and his cheeks messy with dust and tears. He sinks to his knees and the weapon falls from his hands - is pushed from his fingers as if through magic, landing on the ground with a strange sound.

Merlin looks after the sword with disgust clear on his face. Then he looks up and suddenly he looks afraid.

To be continued

[misterewrites]

Bonding (Kainora week)

Hey everyone! E here and with a special oneshot ! My friend is help running kainora week over here @kainora-week and I agreed to at least write one thing for her so it is day 3: Formal Wear.

Set between season 3 and 4, Jinora is asked to make an appearance at a Earth Kingdom Noble party as a part of a deal to ensure they turn over power to Prince Wu when the chaos finally is under controlled. Kai is tagging along and isn't exactly thrilled about the idea.

That's it for me, almost done with the next underground chapter but till then enjoy, have a great week, stay safe, wash your hands and wear your masks!

if you want a easier place to find and read it, check it out over here at https://archiveofourown.org/works/30242472

“Are you mad at me? This has to be some kind of punishment. Some kind of cruel torture for all the scams I ran. Mako put you up to this, didn’t he? Jinora how could you?!”

Jinora let out a tired sigh “Kai, you’re being more dramatic than Ikki.”

The master airbender gently fixed her boyfriend’s collar, loosening it to allow her fellow airbender actually breath.

Kai took a deep breath, ignoring the burning sensation he felt in his cheeks “More dramatic than Ikki? Now you’re just trying to hurt me. Sorry!” he rose his hands in surrender at Jinora’s raised eyebrow “I-I just never dealt with this.” he gestured to his formal Earth Kingdom Attire.

“I know” Jinora agreed softly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the clothing “But you’re going have to. At least for tonight.”

“I don’t see why I have to go.” Kai fumed “It’s just a stupid party for a bunch of crusty nobles.”

“This is more than that.” Jinora’s voice became firm “With the chaos in the Earth Kingdom, alliances are important. These nobles are agreeing to turn over their power to Prince Wu when Kurvira finally calms everything down.”

Kai scoffed, rolling his eyes with distaste “Rich people giving something up willingly? And I’m a pink platypus bear.”

Kai’s blush worsened as Jinora playfully pinched his cheeks “My cute platypus bear and now you’re pink.”

“So.” Kai replied quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment “Is your dad okay with this? Me and you on this mission. Alone. Together.”

Jinora gave a halfhearted shrug “If he’s got a problem with this, then he’s got a problem. There’s no real option. With all the turmoil in the Earth Kingdom, we’re already stretched thin. Dad needed an airbending master here to show we support this show of unity and since he’s busy trying to negotiate with the spirits in Republic City, it’s me. It isn’t like we have another master just laying about.”

“And me? Why am I here?”

“Because” Jinora answered simply “Having someone born and raised in the Earth Kingdom might keep the nobles calm.”

Kai was not convinced by that response “You’re aware I hate the Earth Kingdom, right? You’re really telling me no one else was available? Not even Otaku?”

Jinora gave sly grin “Well, I didn’t exactly tell anyone else.”

“I’m a terrible influence on you.”

“And I’m a positive one for you. Balances out. As all things should be.”

“And I’m guessing he made you promise no romantic hijinks on this trip?”

“I made no so such promise.”

Kai cracked a smile “Alright, maybe it won’t be as bad as I think it’ll be.”

-----

“It’s worse.” Kai huffed, eyeing the giggling group of noblewomen with disdain.

Kai knew it was going to be a terrible time the moment they were announced to the rest of the party: Everyone spared them a single glimpse then proceeded to ignore them.

“Not a very friendly bunch, huh?” Jinora murmured awkwardly.

Kai scoffed dismissively “Don’t take it personally. They’re jerks to everyone.”

“I guess…”

Kai glanced to his girlfriend, the frown on her lips tugging at his heartstrings. He yawned loudly, knocking Jinora out of her stupor. She tilted her head quizzically at him and flushed a bright red when he wrapped an arm around her lovingly.

“Kai! What are you doing?! There’s people around.”

He couldn’t help but smile at how easily he could make his airbending master and general badass girlfriend turn a lovely shade of red.

“You can’t sulk, that’s my job. You’re the eternal sunshine ball remember?”

“True….” Jinora replied though unconvinced by Kai’s words.

Kai nudged her softly “Really. You shouldn’t take these people seriously. Most of them made their money by just existing, living off their family’s legacy and doing nothing with it. But you?”

Jinora felt Kai’s hand slip into hers and give it a squeeze.

“You’re a master airbender.” Kai beamed with pride “You are the granddaughter of avatar and you didn’t just sit on his legacy. You’re changing the world, you’ve saved the world. You can talk to spirits and you make a cute spirit projection thingy.”

Jinora’s fake smile melted into a real one.

Kai’s cheeks were tinged with pink but he didn’t stop “You have done amazing things, selfless things. Don’t let anyone make you feel lesser especially these plebes. I think we wasted enough of our time. We made our appearance and I think it’s safe to assume the nobles are going to keep their promise. They probably wanted to say they got an airbender to show up so they can boast to their friends.”

Before either of them could stand, the group of giggling noblewomen made their way over with a glint of familiarity in their gaze.

“You there!” The oldest one called, pointed at Kai as if he was an attraction at the zoo.

“It’s Kai.” He muttered with barely contained rage.

“Whatever.” She waved him off, uninterested “I’ve seen you before.”

“I doubt it.”

“Yes I have.” The woman insisted “I know have and since I’ve had the finest education, I know I’m right.”

Kai bit his tongue. This was an important mission and it was important to keep civil. Jinora should be proud of him given his usual response was to run away or throw an ill timed comment.

“You were a bus boy.” The noblewoman said with such certainty

“No. I doubt he’d have the hand eye coordination.” one of her friends sneered.

“And that hair?” the other chuckled cruelly “No one would’ve hired him.”

“True.” The leader replied coolly “But I know I’ve seen you somewhere. Somewhere embarrassing.”

“Kai…” Jinora whispered but he was too caught up keeping his rage in check to notice his girlfriend tugging at his sleeve.

“You were poor!” The noblewoman beamed cheerfully. She stood up proudly as if somehow her outburst was something of worth.

Kai’s cheeks burned brightly with a mixture of shame and rage but the trio paid him no mind.

“Yes.” The noblewoman continued, unaware of the rising tensions she had caused “You were out somewhere in the countryside. Some armpit little town daddy was forced to visit and dragged poor me along.”

Her lackeys cooed comfortingly.

“You were doing these little flips and tricks in hopes people would give you money. Of course you barely got a thing so naturally your clothes were just awful. No flair, no style. No wonder I didn’t recognize you. These fancy duds are nice but I’m guessing they’re borrowed. There is no way in a million years you could…”

“Stop it.”

Kai blinked, unsure he heard Jinora correctly. He never, ever in his several months knowing his girlfriend heard her speak with such a dangerous edge in her voice.

“What did you say?” The noblewoman turned up her nose, clearly offended at being interrupted “Do you know who I am? Who my father is?”

Jinora gave a false smile, its coldness sending chills down the trio’s spine.

“You missed the part where I cared.” she spoke with a steely calm “You will not disrespect my fellow airbender in this manner anymore.”

“Airbender?” The leader quizzically titled her head before realization dawn upon her “OH! You mean...him? And yourself?”

Jinora gestured to her traditional air nomad attire “So not only are you unnecessarily rude, you’re blind.”

“How dare...”

Jinora took a step forward, a vicious gust of wind trailing behind. The trio trembled under the sudden cool breeze.

“I understand you’ve lived a sheltered life.” Jinora spoke with the same cold smile “So I will say this once. There are more important things than your silly little shallow problems and the next time you think you can threaten me, I want you to remember I am not only an airbending master, I am the granddaughter of avatar Aang himself. It is my duty as an air nomad to enlighten and help people. Consider this your first lesson.”

Kai could feel his heartbeat speed up at the sight of his girlfriend, fierce and protective all for his sake.

Jinora held his hand tenderly as she motioned for them to leave “Come on Kai, let’s go have some real fun.”

“Yes sweetie.”

[missdawnandherdusk]

Something Old

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four    

Part Five    Part Six    Part Seven    Part Eight

Part Nine

Summary: Now that winter break was upon you, you finally had time to look into what your mother told you about as well as confront the other parent in the situation, the one you dread to think about and the one Draco had to live with.

A/N: Hello my darling loves! We’re finally getting somewhere with plot! And lore! And Latin! ((Seriously, something is lost when you know Latin and can translate the spells on the top of your head... it’s less... magical. But funny because the spells mean exactly what they’re doing and I don’t know if that a cheap lazy move or brilliant.)) Let me know what you guys think! Also I’m toying with the idea of uploading this to AO3... would you guys want that? Love you guys, stay safe. 

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg​ @queenfeatherwings​ @fanficflaneuse​ @go-whovian-universe​ @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise​ @dietkiwi​ @katsukink​ @takemetothekingdom​ @strangerr-things​ @tmnt-queen​ @mccloudchloe​

Snape eyed me as I smiled through my exam, on cloud none the entire way. I had gotten through my History of Magic exam no problem and now Snape wanted us to recreate our Bellum Amoris antidotes. Weeks of worrying and I was finished with the second fastest time.

Draco beat me by a few minutes—he was allowed to the ingredients first—and we walked out of the exam hand in hand, not caring much about anyone who decided to gawk at us.

I was in too good of a mood. The term was done for the winter, I had finished all of my exams, and I wouldn’t be alone for the holidays when I remained at Hogwarts this year as I had the years before.

“I told you, you had nothing to worry about,” Draco nudged my shoulder. “Except beating my time of course.” A grin stretched across his face. “Which you couldn’t of course,”

I rolled my eyes and let out a laugh.

“I think I’ll be okay missing one point because I wasn’t as fast as you,” I drawled.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re dreading the fact,” He teased back as we made our way to the Great Hall. “Have you heard anything from your mother?” His voice lowered.

“Not yet, thought I suppose she’s waiting to hear from me,” I mumbled. 

“You didn’t answer her!?” Draco grew agitated.

“I did,” I reaffirmed, giving him a look. “But I said that I would talk about it later when we had time to... figure things out? I didn’t know what to say...”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” He reassured as we entered the Great Hall that was really magical with the Christmas decorations and warmth from the people within.

“Y/n! Draco!”

We both tensed until we saw Hermione waving at us along with the four Weasleys and Harry. No one was glaring at us—Draco—so I took that as a good sign as we sat down for dinner.

It was easy to sink into the familiarity and safety of the school, but with the Yule Ball coming, worry nagged at my mind. It was a big deal and an even bigger deal to pure-bloods. Another occasion to show off and “be better” than everyone else. My mother wouldn’t care, and I knew that... but Draco’s parents—father—had to have something to say about it and it worried me.

“Have you heard from your father?” I asked in a soft voice during dinner when the others were concerned with the upcoming task for the tournament.

His expression darkened as he glared at his plate.

So, yes then.

“Dray,” I whispered softly, rubbing his arm softly. “What happened?”

“Not here,” He said curtly, his eyes dancing around the merry scene around us.

I nodded and we both put on masks of calm and ease through dinner. His hand held mine throughout and we both lost our appetites. Maybe I should have written my mother a bit more than the vague note I gave. She would know what to do.

____________________________

Draco had gotten the letter last night, before he sent you the invitation to dinner. It what prompted him to send it in the first place. He knew that you could take away the depressing cloud that hovered whenever his father spoke to him.

And you did, almost easily. When he was with you, it was easy to focus on your smile, the way your hair fell into and out of place constantly, the way you almost danced down the hallways because you always gave off the demeanor of not having a care or fear in the world. It rubbed off on him. He’d rather be frustrated with the simple secrets that you kept than frustrated with the conflict about family and legacies.

And you were exactly what he needed last night. Your warmth, and comfort, the games you played and gentle touched you gave and small sounds that were his now to hold. But there were

still dark moments of the night that he couldn’t escape when his father’s words weighed him down.

Draco would never understand how you managed to pick up on the fact that his father had sent him something. Maybe he hadn’t given it away and you were just worrying again.

After dinner the two of you split up for some time, to drop off books and changed from school uniforms and in your case hopefully to find something warmer to wear.

Draco almost didn’t want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower because it was so frigid outside. He racked his brain for anywhere else to go in the school that offered solidarity and warmth. He could sneak you into the Slytherin dorms... but it might pose a danger to you as his house wasn’t as welcoming as yours had been to his relationship with you. The library seemed to be the best place at the moment to finally start looking into what was going on.

He met you outside you Common Room, as always and the two of you walk together. he had taken your books from you the moment you stepped out and though you gave him a curt you, you said nothing.

“I was thinking maybe we go to the library,” He offered. “It’s too cold for you in the Tower.” You hummed in agreement, silent in your thoughts again.

“It’ll probably be empty because of the end of term,” You mused, nodding as if you had settled on the idea.

“You’re quiet again,” He noted, the notion bothering him more than he thought.

“Thinking,”

“Now there’s an idea.” He teased as the two of you sat in a back table in the vacant library. 

__________________________

It wasn’t the same as being alone with him in the Astronomy Tower, but it was much warmer being surrounded by lit fires and a million books.

“Where do you want to start?” The question slipped through as I pulled out parchment and quill to take notes.

I knew the last thing he wanted to talk about was his father, but that’s what worried me the most. It was all for naught if his father could get between us and make whatever this had become into a tragedy. As if he knew this, he slid a folded parchment over to me, not meeting my eyes.

Taking it, I took a breath in and opened it: 

~

Draco,

I have heard many rumors about you, and I pray that none of them are true. You have been raised better than to fraternize a Lupine let alone allow her to kiss you. It is atrocious behavior and it will stop immediately.

They are a disgrace to pure bloods everywhere and are almost worse than the Weasleys. I have raised you with higher standards than this. I am appalled to even hear that these things might be going on.

I do not want you to go near her. I want to hear nothing of you being with her or the people she considers friends. Do not believe her lies or the things that she tells you. It is what the Lupines do. They lie and bend the truth into something that is horrendous. It is what they have always done, and you know this.

She is nothing more than a she-demon come to ruin everything that I have built for you and to steal everything that I have worked all my life to give you.

You are a Malfoy. Do not forget that.

I am beyond disappointed to hear this. Correct what has been done immediately. 

Your Father,

Lucius Malfoy

~

I frowned at the letter as I read it a few more times, trying to figure out what I wanted to address first. At the moment, I just wanted to send this to my mother and see what she would do knowing the fire in her was stronger than mine. But I didn’t do any of that.

Instead, I placed the letter down and looked up to wary blue eyes. “Well,” I whispered. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do?” He snapped; a soft look from me and he took a deep breath, calming.

“If... I know that I’ve dragged you into this. And that you didn’t have much of a choice. So, if you want to... I...” My gaze fell to my lap as I tried to find the right words to tell him... to let him go.

“Why would you think—”

“Because I don’t want you to get talked down to like this by someone who’s supposed to love you!” I threw the letter on the table. “I’m... I’m not worth ruining... You shouldn’t be treated like an errant child because you’re talking to me,”

“I’m always treated like an errant child Y/n,” He scoffed. “Now at least I have a good reason.” 

“What?” I looked up, the frown returning to my face.

“Nothing I ever did for my father has been good enough. I think landing in Slytherin was the last time he was actually proud of something that I did.” Draco picked up the letter and rolled his eyes, tearing it in half.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“What I should have done when I got this letter,” He muttered, tossing it into the nearest fireplace.

I marveled at him, a small smile playing at my lips. I had hoped he would choose me, but now that he had, something heavy was lifted from my shoulders. Though I still wasn’t quite taken with how his father talked to him, but I knew it wasn’t my place to go against Lucius no matter how much of a...

Never mind.

“Now, to the books?” He sat back down, picking up the book I had taken from him not too long ago and he leafed through the pages.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly for a moment and whispering a small thanks before we settled in to read. Taking another book—The Nature of a Soul— from the stack, we got to work. My eyes scanned the table of contents and then the pages.

...Every person has a soul created of the either stars, or earth. Those who have earthen souls are born without magic, but those with Souls of The Stars will grow to be wizards. It is not genetics that decides but the universe itself...

I scribbled down notes as I read, leafing through pages.

...Souls born of the same matter bond to another. It is rare for a Soul of The Stars to bond, but when it does happen it is the work of the universe and no man or magic can break it. This was known as the Consentire Animi Pace. Seers of our kind have often prophesied about Great Darkness that would take hold before these Animi came to unite what was unraveled by generations past. Millenia has passed since this foretelling and it is doubted to exist...

I nudged Draco and showed him the page, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he gnawed on his lip when he read something due to concentration. It made me smile.

“Great Darkness?” He muttered softly.

“You know as well as I do who it could be,” My voice was soft and hesitant.

I knew that Draco’s father had fought alongside Voldemort in the first war and I wondered what happened if it came down to it, what would Draco choose? With what I knew from Harry’s

adventures and life story, the threat of Voldemort loomed now more than ever. Was that the Great Darkness that the text referred to?

“This talks about a prophecy,” He murmured, pulling the book that he was reading. “That might be what this is, I can only make out some of it...”

He showed me the carpet page filled with intricate designs and detailed lettering. Some of the page was burned away, leaving half in its wake. I ran my hand softly over the artwork before reading the script:

Nox defluet et malum surget. 

Dos Animī consentiens

Eō die, nox non vincet

Cum illī ...

I stared at the text, grabbing my parchment and slowly translating.

“What do you know?” I asked softly. “What could you translate?”

“Nox is night, malum, evil...” His brow furrowed again.

“Night... falls—will fall and evil will rise. Two souls... joining?” I wrote down what I could. “On that day, night will not conquer, because these souls...”

“You can read this?” He was baffled.

I shrugged. “Just some Latin. Mother taught it to me. That’s why spells are so easy for me... it’s just Latin all I have to do is translate.”

“Bloody hell that’s genius,” He muttered.

“But some of the prophecy is missing... I think most of it probably.” I mused, leafing through the book to see if I could find anything else.

“Do you really think that this is about is though?” He asked softly, timid. “Even if it’s not... it’s still something to know. And it might be important.”

“The only person who would see this as important is Trelawney.” Draco scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe she’s the one we really need to talk to if prophecies are caught up in all of this.” I thought aloud. “Did you find anything else?” I looked up from my notes.

“Nothing of use. You?”

“Souls apparently are made from either stars or earth and magic or muggle has nothing to do with genetics,” I shrugged, reading over my notes. “So that’s new I guess.”

“What do you mean it has nothing to do with blood?” He snapped.

“I read it; I didn’t say that it was law. And what does it matter anyway? Magic is magic, no matter who uses it or doesn’t.” I defended, narrowing my eyes.

He grumbled and folded his arms sulking.

“Draco,” I chided, but gave up the notion.

I knew it would take time to undo what his father had engrained in him. Maybe this was step one.

Soon after finding nothing more about the prophecy or soul matter, Pince said that she was closing the library for the night and that we should head to bed before curfew. Returning the books to their proper places, Draco and I walked quietly along the halls.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Draco sighed, taking my hand. “Forgive me?” 

I nodded and offered a small smile.

“We grew up in different worlds, it was bound to clash eventually.”

“Doesn’t make it right for me to take it out on you,”

I raised an eyebrow at him, a smug smile finding its way to my face.

“Yeah, yeah shut up.” He muttered.

“One step at a time,”

We walked along in thought, no words needing to be spoken. Pausing outside the Gryffindor portrait, Draco leaned down and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to my lips.

“Goodnight Y/n,” 

“Goodnight Draco,”

There were words stuck on the tips of our tongue that neither of us dare to utter but felt all the same:

I love you.

.

.

Part 11?

[sgrayonderii]

trials of izanagi

SSM20 #8: Let’s play pretend

Sakura tells Sasuke the reasons why they should get married. RTN!AU (Rated T)

When his father calls for a family meeting, Sasuke half fears it’s been finally revealed that he was the one that burned down the garden shed and not the neighborhood teens as he claimed. 

But when his mother also arrives with a stern expression, Sasuke realizes this is worse than a bit of light arson. 

He fidgets at the dining table nervously as he watches his father nod to his mother to begin.

“As you know,” she starts, “you are getting to age where one should consider settling down.”

Sasuke groans. 

“Mother!”  But she raises her hand to silence him. 

“Sasuke, this is a good opportunity for you and the clan.” 

“What about Aniki?” 

His mother’s face adopts a sour look, not pleased to be interrupted. “Your brother has his own duties. You should only concern yourself with your own.” 

Sasuke tries to protest once again but his mother’s stony features leave no room for argument.

“I’d expect you not to embarrass yourself or the clan,” Her expression is one of usual exasperation at his antics. “Sasuke, it is time for you to grow up.” 

---

Sasuke has always been quite bitter that his brother is allowed to gallivant around the countryside with his band of questionable acquaintances while the responsibilities of their clan are dumped onto him.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to get married either! Having spent so much of his life devoted to his family’s whims, Sasuke at least wants to choose who he wants to spend his life with. 

Secretly, he quite enjoys the daydreams where he comes home to have a quiet night with the love of his life and what he is sure to be their small squadron of children. 

So Sasuke comes up with a plan.

He supposes if he makes himself an utter unmarriageable fool, this nonsense would be over. Even a name as prestigious as Uchiha would not be enough to secure an engagement if he is the most undesirable human being in the world.

So the day of the marriage interview, he tries to look like the failure his family assumes he is. Sasuke puts on a sweat suit he wore out to training two days ago paired with his sandals and mismatched fuzzy socks. He doesn’t brush his teeth and doesn’t even style his hair. He even spends a few days trying to grow a beard.

Sasuke looks like an absolute disaster. Which is quite a hard thing to do he might add; curse his beautiful face!

He arrives at the casual diner he had chosen feeling confident and clever, because what could be more disappointing to start off a potential marriage than a place he knows has more health violations than he has fingers?

That is until he realizes who his mother managed to set him up with. 

Sakura-chan, beautiful as ever, is sitting in the sticky booth the hostess leads him to with a cup of what he is sure is black coffee. 

Sasuke immediately regrets every life choice he has ever made. He wonders whether activating the Izanami right now would save him from dying of embarrassment. 

A thousand thoughts are running through his head all at once. Is this a joke? What is Sakura-chan doing here? What about Menma? Should he turn around and walk out like nothing happened?

However she glances up at him with those lovely eyes of hers and Sasuke cannot help but blurt out the most pressing thing tumbling around in his short-circuiting brain. 

“I thought you wanted to get married for love?!”

 Not missing a beat, “Good morning to you too, Sasuke. I see you know how to impress a lady.”

Sasuke wonders if he can throw himself out the window.

But his pride dictates that he cannot embarrass himself anymore in front of Konoha’s fairest, so he squares up, grits his teeth, and slides into the booth. 

“Don’t change the subject,” taking in her own outfit. White coat and business casual. So it must be clinic day. “Why are you here Sakura-chan?” 

He cannot think of any reason why Sakura would suddenly want to marry him; Sasuke has always considered the greatest tragedy and irony in his life is the fact that the love of his life does not feel the same way. So he waits for her explanation. 

Sakura, to her credit, always is cool and collected and is logical to a fault. She does not shy away from his questioning facing him directly to answer. 

“Your mother asked me to consider a marriage into the Uchiha clan.” 

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “Just because you two get along doesn’t mean you have to humor her, especially when it comes to getting married!”  

She takes a sip of her coffee, now not quite looking at him. Almost guilty. “She told me that if I married either you or Itachi-san, your clan would back my bid for Hokage.”

Anger bubbles in his stomach. Envy burns down his throat. Betrayal is bitter on his tongue. It is one thing for his mother to meddle in his life, it’s another for Sakura to be so callous as to use his love for power. 

“Why are you meeting me then?”  His brother might be a flighty vagabond, but Itachi is the heir and he is the spare. 

She seems to understand what he is truly asking. “Sasuke, you are a rising star in the Konoha. The people of this village trust you greatly.”

“You can’t stand me.”

“You’re annoying but I don’t hate you.” She smiles sadly, as if enjoying a particularly cruel joke. “I don’t think I could hate you, truly.”

“Sakura-chan, with all due respect, between your father and the Fifth’s recommendation, I don’t think you need my family at all.”  

Sasuke takes a deep calming breath to hide his frustration, trying to act nonchalant, “But if you still want to get hitched Kitten, I’m all for it.” He even throws in a lighthearted wink. 

She ignores his last comment. “My father and Tsunade-shishou are popular with the people, but the council is not fond of either of them. Too peace loving apparently.”

“My family isn’t very popular with the council either.” 

“But the Uchiha clan is one of the oldest clans in Konoha, its influence is enough to convince other families. Enough to over rule the council.” Sakura smiles wryly, “In return, the Uchiha clan will have ties with the Hokage office. Think of it as a strategic alliance.”

This is just like Sakura, cold and calculating. Sasuke does not hate it; her ambitions are part of her charm.

“What’s in it for me then?”

“If you do accept, your parents would be satisfied you are an upstanding, successful citizen and will no longer have any right prying in your affairs.” 

He doubts that it would stop them but allows her to continue, “I also don’t plan to…interfere with your extramarital activities.” Sasuke begins to feel a sense of dread as Sakura continues, “A marriage of convenience if you will.” 

This is his boiling point and he finds himself shouting. 

“No, it’s a sham! How you could have completely given up on love?!” 

Sakura is a woman who has always been loved shallowly and one can only be the object of admiration for long before realizing  it’s only empty reverence. The one thing she always craved is the unconditional love she lost so long ago along when her parents passed.  Sasuke cannot believe Sakura can give up that so easily. 

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand anything Charasuke!” She is now equally angry, “Do you think I want to use my husband’s name to get the Hokage’s seat!? How everything I’ve spent my life working for amounts to nothing in the eyes of the council?! ”

“It doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own happiness for this!” Because even now, even though his affections for her are unyielding and painful and true, he just wants her to be happy. 

To find love and be loved, even if it isn’t with him.

“I’m running out of time!” She is shaking now, in anger, in frustration, in a hopelessness Sasuke has never seen. “Tsunade -shishou told me that the council is considering making Menma the Hokage after she retires.”

“Menma? What? He can barely carry conversation!” And he is impulsive. Just as likely to start a war as he is to end it. 

Sakura looks sick, “Menma has a strong shinobi, but that’s all he is. He is not suited for politics. He only knows how to end conflicts with shows of strength.”

“Do you really think that Menma will actually accept the position?” Because regardless of their disagreements, Menma is still his best friend. Menma isn’t the type to seek power wantonly. 

“Maybe, maybe not. But he is now married to the Hyuuga family. And you know how easily he can be influenced.”

Sasuke wants to defend his friend’s honor but he admits she has a point.

“So when your mother came to me about this...I don’t know I just thought this might be my only chance. 

I know this is unfair to you, which is why we can just pretend to be a married couple in name only. You are under no obligation to change your ways Sasuke.”  

Sakura is resigned to her fate to a supposedly loveless marriage and Sasuke hates it. 

“But I cannot let Menma and the council turn this village into a battlefield. I cannot let them ruin my parent’s legacy.” 

This is insane. It’s not right. She may be the logical one, but he has always been the romantic. 

This is not at all how he imagines their life together would be. 

Sakura takes in his uncharacteristic silence as the end of the conversation and gathers her things. 

“You don’t have to answer me right now, just think about it.” And with that she departs, leaving him alone in the booth. 

---

Sasuke has always pretended that his family’s obvious favoritism and Sakura’s indifference towards him, never bothered him. 

He distracts himself with pretty girls and pretty flowers. But really, he just does not have the courage to face the reality of being the fallback and second place. 

That no matter what he does or how hard he works, he will never measure up to the Uchiha’s prodigal son or even his best friend. 

He just wants someone to look at him and only him.

And maybe that's why he has always been so drawn to Sakura, the daughter of fallen heroes. 

Because maybe she just also wanted someone to see her tears. To realize what was underneath her facade. 

The pretty girl who cries when she is alone so she doesn’t bother anyone else, yet in front of the rest of the world is the image of stunning grace and confidence. Who heals him when he bleeds and listens to him when he cannot bear the expectations of his family anymore. 

He admires her bravery. He falls for her kindness. 

Sasuke loves her, he has for a long time. 

He wonders if she knows this. 

And so that’s why he is waiting outside the clinic later that afternoon, in his best clothes, clean shaven, with a bouquet of lavender flowers. 

No more pretenses. 

He will give her his name, the world, and their marriage will be anything but loveless. He will make sure of it.

A/N: This was an AU of another AU WIP that went of the rails. Thank you for reading! Happy SSM20 and stay safe!

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Three

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat.

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Gianna was too stubborn to call out of work in the morning, but stubbornness only got her as far as until the gallery manager saw her flagging at her station and urged her to go home. The fumes from the conservators’ delicate chemistry could be dangerous on a good day if you weren’t careful, she reminded her, nevermind if you were already feeling sick. She wasn’t sick, just tired. At least that’s what she was telling herself. Still, she stopped by the drugstore just in case the faint nausea and light-headedness were indeed early signs of some bug.

On impulse, she also picked up some hair bleach and a box of dye. She hadn’t done anything new with her hair since before moving and her brown roots were starting to look more like branches. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered her except, well, for the first time in a long time there was someone she really wanted to look good for. If she was going to ask Beatrice out, first she needed to be in an attractive state of mind.

All her vanity was in vain however; by the time she’d arrived home whatever sickness had grabbed a hold of her was setting in in earnest, leaving Gianna feeling weak and off-kilter. With the last of her strength she managed to force down a couple painkillers along with a cold glass of water before collapsing into bed. 

When she woke up from her addled fever-sleep her skin was clammy and cold. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and forced herself to sit up, squinting in the dark of her surroundings. Something had woken her. The sound of that finicky overhead light blowing out after she’d passed out with it still on. Somewhere in between the passing out and now, night had swept over the city, but as was its nature, faint fluorescent light still streamed in from the world outside her window. She hobbled over and pried it open.

Though the breeze made her shiver, it also brought with it the sweetness she’d come to recognize as the combined scents of the Rappaccinis’ garden. The familiar smell revitalized her somewhat. Actually, she felt remarkably improved after just a few short minutes of sitting by the window. Maybe all this was just chemical fumes messing with her head. She’d never had a problem with it before, but she’d been working longer hours lately. That combined with the recent stress, of course it would leave her feeling poorly, she thought. 

Down in Casa di Rappaccini there were lights coming from every window and shadows moving before them. Gianna had never even entertained the idea of the family having company. Dr Rappaccini really didn’t seem like the kind of man to throw a house party in the middle of the week. 

Gianna pushed up the screen and went to climb down to her usual spot. It was only when she was hovering with her hands on the railing and her blanket still slung around her shoulders like a cape that she realized just how bad an idea that was. She was liable to break her neck or worse trying to climb down in the dark with a fever, and Beatrice certainly wouldn’t be gardening at this time of night. She was probably inside, socializing and having fun, impressing their guests with her vast horticultural knowledge and reciting poetry in Latin or something. Though it might get her attention, lurking around outside her party on the fire escape was not the way to get a woman to like you.

She returned to her apartment and to her bed, pulling the pillow over her head as if to guard against any more bizarre dreams. After a time, she managed to drift back into uneasy sleep, while violet eyes kept a watch on her window from below.

In the morning Gianna roused to a concerned call from work, but her groggy reply was more than enough to secure her another sick day. She went back to sleep for another couple hours, woke, forced down some more pills and some leftover stir-fry, slept, and finally woke again feeling not quite recovered, but at least somewhat rested.

She staggered to the bathroom and washed her face. Her skin was oily to the touch and her eyes were bloodshot but otherwise she didn’t look too bad, she thought. Recalling the night before, she went to sit by the window and indeed the fresh air made her feel worlds better. Whatever it was that was slogging through her system, she reasoned, couldn’t be too bad. Probably just some twenty-four hour flu or something.

As she leaned her head out the window she caught sight of Beatrice working in her garden as usual and she was out and shimmying down the ladder before she could remember her decision not to.

“Hey,” she called, her voice still slightly rasped with sleep.

Beatrice looked up and beamed at her, although her smile faltered slightly to see the loose curls plastered to her brow. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” she huffed, trying to pinch some life back into her cheeks. “I’ll be alright, just a fever or something.”

“That’s why you weren’t here yesterday. I looked for you.”

Something in Gianna’s gut twisted hotly. “You missed me?”

“Of course I did.” 

It was a much more frank answer than she’d expected, and Gianna felt herself blush. No need to worry about her color after all.

“I was worried, I guess. You were acting sort of strange the day before. I thought I might’ve done something wrong.”

“No way,” she assured. Wow, I really am that obvious. “I was just sleeping this thing off most of the afternoon. I sorta thought you’d be too busy to notice, with the party you were having.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “My father was having one of his dinner socials. I couldn’t have gotten away for long either way but believe me, I would pick you over any one of his colleagues in a heartbeat.”

Gianna raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that kind of thing hard on him? With his health, I mean.”

“He hires people for all the preparations and cleaning up after. Father can’t get out very much because of his condition, so this is how he… connects, I think. Otherwise he wouldn’t talk to anyone at all.”

“We all need to connect I guess.”

She nodded, looking away again. “He has his colleagues bring people for me too. Sons or nephews, you know. Boys he thinks would make a good match for me.”

“Oh. That’s… oh.”

“It’s sort of old fashioned, I know. I don’t really-- I don’t like any of them that way. You’re right though, we all need to connect. I used to think I didn’t need anyone else, but lately…”

Cautiously she met her gaze. Her brows were knit together like she was trying to piece together some puzzle in her mind. Gianna thought she should say something, offer some reassurance, but the image of Dr Rappaccini and his equally decrepit associates presenting her with an array of their eligible legacy offspring turned her stomach so sourly that she had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing something venomous.

Luckily or not, before either of them could speak there came a call from within the house.

“Beatrice, come here, girl!”

Gianna bristled but the young woman only turned and said sweetly, “Coming, Father!” She gave Gianna an apologetic glance and then added in a low voice, “There’s something important I want to talk to you about, but I don’t think I can do it here. Come over tomorrow?”

“You mean… like, in person?”

“Yes! Tomorrow my father is going to be out of the house from two to four o’clock. That doesn’t give us long but it’s the only time I can do it.”

Do what, she wanted to ask, bewildered and enticed all at once. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get coffee somewhere?”

“The code for the door is 5214. Meet me here. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” She fidgeted her hands together. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Maybe I can even show you around the garden.”

Something about the way she said that made Gianna suppress a shiver. 

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said. She hated to miss more work than she already had, but she doubted they would suspect anything. Even now her fingers trembled and some of that clamminess was returned to her skin, but oddly enough, she was feeling better than she had all week.

-----

The name placard next to the buzzer read G. Rappaccini. It didn’t sit right with Gianna, the conspicuous absence of the apartment’s other occupant.

Even though she knew she was expected, she felt compelled to announce herself. She pressed the buzzer and after a moment a quiet voice came through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Oh.”

She frowned. “Is that still okay?”

Beatrice let out a sigh. It sounded thin and tinny through the crackle of the speaker.

“Yeah, of course, come on up. Do you remember the code?”

Gianna punched in the numbers and made her way to the apartment. At least this complex had an elevator, saving her the strain of the climb. She was feeling less shaky but at the expense of her appetite which had vanished and made her wary of taking on too much additional strain. Her heart was pounding as it was, watching the floor numbers slowly tick by and thinking about how soon the two of them would be in the same room for the first time. 

Beatrice had never been too eager to meet up with Gianna outside their customary rendezvous, which Gianna had always attributed to her not wanting to leave her father alone for too long. She’d never analyzed her motivations too closely because doing so would mean having to take a serious look at her own.

The truth was, Gianna was scared. This thing she had with Beatrice was different than any relationship she’d had before, for reasons she couldn’t confidently place, and she was afraid that somehow breaking out of the pattern they’d established between them would change things, would tarnish the magic of it somehow.

Too close now to turn back, she stepped into the apartment. Right away the high ceilings and lavish spaciousness inspired a pang of envy. The furniture was antique, yet in pristine condition, everything so clean and crisp that it looked like something out of a catalogue. Not exactly homey. There were several signs of life however: books piled up on an end table in the living room, dishes drying in a rack by the kitchen sink, a stack of empty boxes piled up next to the garbage can. 

There was no TV or telephone, though she supposed that wasn’t so uncommon anymore. But paired with the furniture and the sterile environment it gave Gianna the feeling of being cut off from the modern world entirely. The very idea was stifling to her.

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat. 

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Beatrice looked different. Most notably because she was wearing canvas coveralls that seemed to be too big for her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to make room for a thick pair of gloves. For all the times she’d watched her working in her garden, Gianna had never seen Beatrice actually dress like a gardener. It made her feel a little silly for dressing up herself. She’d, perhaps optimistically, assumed that the first time they met face to face without the span of the alleyway between them would be a special occasion worth dressing up for. Maybe Beatrice didn’t see it that way.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Beatrice asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Gianna forced a grin. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to be here.”

“Here, sit,” she beckoned. “I wasn’t even thinking. I’ll make you some tea.”

“That’s okay, really. I’m not much of a tea person.”

“You’ll like this tea, trust me.”

Gianna found she didn’t have the energy to protest and soon she was sitting in the kitchen holding a steaming mug. It was far from her drink of choice, especially in the summer months, but she gave in and took a sip for politeness’ sake. 

It was good. More than good, it was delicious! As soon as it was cooled enough she drained half the cup in one go. Almost as soon as she had, she found herself feeling better. Her headache was gone and nausea abated. In fact, she was starting to feel hungry.

“Good, right?” Beatrice smirked. As if she had read her mind, she fished out a box of cookies from the cupboard and slid them across the counter to her. “It’s a family recipe, made with herbs from the garden. Everything that grows there is medicinal. You just have to know how to handle them.”

“That’s incredible,” she said between bites. Now that her appetite was finally back it seemed to be making up for lost time.

Beatrice flustered prettily. “It’s not hard when you get to know the plants like I have. The garden was my father’s before it was mine, we grew up together.”

“So the flowers are kind of like your siblings,” Gianna joked.

She beamed. “Exactly like that. Drink your tea. You have to drink all of it for it to really work.”

Gianna did so.

“I know I didn’t say it before,” Beatrice murmured. “But I’m really glad you’re here too. To see you, really really see you, I can’t… there aren’t words, Gianna. It probably sounds crazy but sometimes, when I couldn’t see you, when I couldn’t speak to you, I started to worry you’d disappeared and I would never find you again. Sometimes I even worried you were never real at all. That’s why I… I was afraid to invite you over here. I was afraid to break the illusion, to lose you.”

She stared, speechless, her mouth gone dry. 

“I know how that sounds, I just-- for so long my world has revolved around taking care of father. I didn’t think I could have this, didn’t think I’d even want this. Not as much as I do, at least.”

“Beatrice,” she whispered breathlessly. “I know how you feel.” She reached across the countertop to touch her gloved hand. “I know what it’s like to want something and feel like you shouldn’t. I know what it feels like to be stuck in the shadow of parents who don’t understand you. I promise, you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.”

The girl made a wounded noise, half gasp and half whimper, and clamped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what--”

“It’s okay.” She threaded their fingers together. “It’s okay.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Gianna, I have to tell you something. Something important. Before we get in too deep or you hear it from someone else, I want you to hear it from me. I’m not normal.”

“I know, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“No!” she cried, frustrated. “I’m not--”

The door creaked open and she spun around, pulling her hand away. Standing in the doorway was the hunched form of Dr Giacoma Rappaccini himself.

“Ah, good,” came the rasping voice of the elderly doctor. “You made the tea. I trust you’re feeling better now, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna tensed, unsure of how to respond.

“Father, you’re home early!” Beatrice chirped with false cheer. “I’ll make you a cup too then.”

“No need,” he said with a dismissive wave of his leathered hand. He set down his bag and shut the door behind him. “I had some this morning, remember? Ah, you might’ve been out in the garden then. You have been busy today.”

She shrunk back under the weight of his stare.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir,” Gianna said stiffly with a hand outstretched. “I’m--”

“I know who you are.” His laugh was the sound of dry reeds in a breeze. “Gianna Alexander. I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you started to show an interest in my daughter. I was curious to see how things might progress between you two, but considering the circumstances I decided it might be time to intervene.”

“Father--”

“Beatrice,” he reproached. “Going behind my back? Making secret meetings? You know better than that. Apologize to our guest.”

After only a moment’s hesitation she turned to Gianna and said, “I’m so sorry, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna balked. “What? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken,” said Dr Rappaccini. “You see, there are proper steps to be taken in situations like this. My daughter should’ve spoken with me so I could arrange a proper interview. We could’ve had dinner. It would’ve been so nice.

“Instead, I had to find out what you were doing and pretend to leave my own home unawares just to get us all in a room together. I’m getting too old to play these games with you, Beatrice. It’s disrespectful to me and it’s disrespectful to our guest.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Her voice had become empty, almost robotic, and she cast her eyes to the ground. Gianna felt a dawning sense of dread at the sight.

“Now then,” The old man pulled up a chair and sat with his hands folded over his lap. “Shall we get down to business? Beatrice, as you know, is a very special girl. In fact she’s the product of years and millions of dollars of research. 

“I’ve dedicated my life to studying the medicinal properties of plants and cross-breeding exotic species to develop into natural pharmaceuticals. Eventually I realized that no amount of remedies I could create in my lifetime would be enough to fix every inherent flaw of humanity, so I shifted my focus. Instead of searching for the perfect cure, I decided to create the perfect human being, one immune to mankind’s deficiencies. From my experience with altering and combining the genetic structures of various plants, I crafted a new, superior breed of human. Beatrice is the product of those tireless efforts.”

Gianna’s head was swimming. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr Rappaccini smiled ruefully. “I’ve long accepted that I likely won’t live to see my quest come to fruition. It took trial upon trial just to bring Beatrice into the world, and she’s only the first step. More accurately, the first generation.”

He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Someday, my Beatrice will be the mother to a brand new species, a new humanity. With their drastically increased lifespans, immunity to disease and disorder of the body and mind, and overall genealogical superiority, my creations will rapidly become the dominant species on earth, replacing the feeble excuse for intelligent life that exists now. And, well, with all that revealed, it’s obvious why I couldn’t let this little game of yours continue, isn’t it?”

He looked at Beatrice with an expression that was as a mockery of compassion.

“Socialization is fine, even healthy. I don’t blame you for that. It’s my own fault really, for not providing you with more enrichment and opportunities for companionship here at home. I’ll be more mindful of that going forward. In fact, if you want to continue these little play-dates I am in full support, as long as they’re supervised from here on out. Not for a while though, of course. That’s just what happens when you break the rules, my girl.”

Gianna stood up, slamming her hands down on the counter. “Are you completely insane? This is a person, your daughter, not a pure-bred show poodle!”

Dr Rappaccini spoke to her calmly, a faint amusement in his wrinkled features. “I don’t blame you for your anger, Ms Alexander, because I know it stems from ignorance. Beatrice is special but she also has a volatile, toxic nature the likes of which you can’t comprehend. She needs a guiding hand to help her control herself and make the right choice. Isn’t that right, Beatrice.”

“Yes, Father.”

Gianna stared at her friend in horrified awe. “Beatrice, you can’t possibly be okay with this.”

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. She gave no indication she’d even heard her. It was as if she had been hollowed out, only the fragile husk of her remaining.

“You can throw as big a fit as you want,” Dr Rappaccini said snidely. “But as long as you are a guest in my home I have to insist you abide by my rules.”

Gianna glowered. She spared one last furtive glance towards Beatrice. Her chest ached. “Then I guess I’m leaving.”

--

next chapter

[icedthoma]

Out of spite with Todoroki, please. Congratulations on being here for a whole year! Hopefully you will be here for many more!

6. Out of spite

Pro hero AU! 

Thank you so much lovely anon!! Hope you enjoy! (Also a big thank u to @katsukiscaramel for all ur help)

You were pretty sure you were the only person in this entire agency that hated Todoroki Shouto. 

Well, hate might be too harsh. You didn’t love him, that was for sure. A graduate from the prestigious UA high (who got in on recommendation), a powerful quirk and connections to the hero world, his future had always looked bright. Meanwhile you were over here having tragically failed the entrance exam at UA, having to go to a hero study course at a lesser known academy instead. 

Well, you were thankful for all the hard work you had put in over your high school years that helped you become the hero you were today. It just seriously pissed you off how some people had everything laid at their feet from a young age solely because of their renowned last name. And to you, Pro Hero Shouto was one of them. 

Which was why you felt absolutely no guilt whatsoever working at his agency just because of the good reputation it would give you. If he could use his father’s last name to get him into UA, why couldn’t you use his hero name to add to your resume? You honestly needed all the help you could get. 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to watch several of your coworkers develop a hopeless crush on Todoroki, only to get crushed themselves as they came to the eventual realization that they absolutely had no chance. It also didn’t help that he was painfully blunt with his words, yet frustratingly oblivious at the same time. Todoroki Shouto unknowingly left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went, and you were definitely not going to be one of them. 

“Y/n.”

Shouto’s voice called out to you from where you had just passed his office, back at the agency for a short break before you resumed patrols, and you instinctively groaned. Plastering a smile on your face, you backtracked and stuck your head into his room. “Yes?”

“Come in, please.”

Wondering briefly if you were about to get fired, you edged in and stood with your hands behind your back, looking anywhere but the hero sitting at his desk. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“No,” Todoroki said quietly, and you were uncomfortably aware of his gaze on you from the corner of your eye. What could he possibly want with you? 

The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable minute before he sighed and grabbed a stack of papers, straightening them despite the fact that they were already neatly together. “The--the coffee machine is empty.”

“W-what? Do you want me to refill it?” you asked. You couldn’t believe your ears. He called you in here to refill the stupid coffee machine? 

“Yes.” You couldn’t see his expression because of the papers he was holding. At least you were spared the view of his smug face that had succeeded in wasting your time. 

“Yes, sir.” Biting down the rising retort on the tip of your tongue, you quickly dashed out of the room before he could say anything else, and so he couldn’t see your fuming face. Who did he think he was? You were just as much of a hero as he was, not his personal assistant. 

“Hey, Y/n!” 

“Save it. I’m not in the mood right now,” you spat out, walking right past your fellow coworker on your way to the break room. 

“Woah, cool down. Aren’t you supposed to be out on patrols right now?”

“Yeah, before someone called me into their office and had me stand there for a whole minute just to tell me to refill the coffee machine.” You let out a noise of frustration, hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I honestly don’t get what you see in him.”

“Not this again,” your friend groaned, rushing forward to keep up with your brisk walking speed. “I swear you have some personal vendetta against him or something. Is that why you decided to apply here? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer--”

“I am not,” you protested, refilling the machine like the dutiful sidekick you were. “Do you actually need something from me?” 

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot. I was asked to tell you that you were requested to be at a mission briefing after you got back from patrols. Which was why I was surprised to run into you!” 

“What? By who?”

“Who else? Todoroki, of course.” 

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

This day could not get any worse. 

Folding your arms even tighter against your chest, you forced yourself to focus on the folder in front of you and not on the red and white-haired man across the table. You and Shouto were to go undercover at a large party happening in a few days to apprehend a villain involved in several illegal drug deals--or something along those lines. 

Awkward silences always seemed to follow you and Todoroki around, and this time was no exception. “I...look forward to working with you,” he offered after a moment, holding his hand out. 

You may not like him, but that didn’t mean you were going to be rude. Plastering a smile on your face, you reached out and shook his hand firmly. “Likewise.”

Sidekicks usually patrolled around the city or were backup when necessary. So why were you the one chosen to go on a mission of this type with him? 

Probably because fate hated you.

In a few days, you and Todoroki were headed over to the party, dressed somewhat formally and masks in hand to match the theme. You had to admit Shouto did look rather dashing in his white suit that complimented his eyes well. Next to him, you felt like a boring mud puddle. 

“Do you see him anywhere?” he asked quietly from where the two of you were seated at the bar. His eyes seemed to shine from within the mask he was wearing, dual colors of blue and brown glittering at you. 

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, in that case...” Shouto took a sip of the water glass he was holding. “Let’s talk.”

Raising an eyebrow, you mirrored his actions and drank from your own glass, looking at him from over the rim. “About what?”

He shrugged, one hand supporting his chin and the other lazily spinning his drink around. “Anything.”

“I really do think we should be focusing on the mission,” you said, ignoring the prickly feeling settling upon you to do another quick once-over around the slightly crowded venue. You couldn’t believe him. Why was he wasting time trying to make small talk? 

“Well, we came early,” Todoroki pointed out. “It’s likely he won’t be here for a while. So...why don’t you tell me more about yourself? While we wait.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought the two of you were on a date from the way he was acting. “Um, okay. I’m Y/n L/n, and I’ve been working as your sidekick for a year and a half.”

He laughed at that, a quiet chuckle that he tried to muffle with his hand over his mouth. “I know all that already. What about what got you into wanting to be a hero?”

Sighing, you went along with his antics. "I wanted to make my mark in the world of heroism. Everyone told me it would be hard since I couldn’t get into all the fancy schools like UA, but I’m going to prove them wrong.” 

 “You applied to UA?” You could hear the surprise in his voice. 

"Yep, though I failed the entrance exam. But you went there, right? What was it like?”

“Well, I had to meet very high expectations because of my father’s legacy,” he sighed, forming a small cube of ice within his fingers to plop into his water. “I always felt like I wasn’t doing enough.”

“But you’re practically perfect--” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, instantly slamming a hand over your mouth afterward. “Crap--that was out of line, I--”

“You...you think I’m perfect?” Todoroki repeated, and you really couldn’t tell whether he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. You also weren’t sure which you would have preferred. 

“Well, yeah. You have a strong quirk, graduated from the UA to start your own agency only a few years after, and you’re popular with the ladies. You’re on your way to a shining career in herosim.”

“Did you really have to mention that last bit?” 

“I mean, it’s true. I can think of five people who’ve had a crush on you in the past month.” You couldn’t stop your tone from going a little flat at the end, mostly because the fact so many people wanted him romantically was the bane of your existence. Why was he acting embarrassed about it, anyway? As far as you knew, getting people’s hopes up was his hobby. “We’ve been sitting here for too long,” you murmured, grabbing his hand to tug him to his feet. “Let’s dance.”

He allowed you to pull him to the center of the dance floor, lacing his fingers with yours and letting his other hand rest on your waist before you even had to ask. In between glancing around the room for the villain you were after, you cast multiple side glances at the side of Shouto’s face. Calm and collected as usual. 

Todoroki Shouto had the life you could only dream of. Regardless of your every struggle to claw your way up in hero society, you knew you would never attain his level. You were destined to be nothing more than a sidekick who could be ordered around at a higher ranking hero’s whim. You still hadn’t forgotten how he had made you stand in his office for a whole minute in silence before sending you off to refill the coffee machine, of all things.

It wasn’t fair, and you hated it.

“Todoroki.”

“Hmm?” You almost went cross-eyed at how close he had ended up being after turning his head your way. His nose was barely brushing the tip of yours, his every exhale like a ghost whispering across the surface of your skin despite the mask you were wearing. “Did you spot...him?”

Without thinking, you closed your eyes and leaned in, raising your mouth to his before the rational part of your mind caught up with you. His lips were soft and fit perfectly against yours (though, to be honest, anyone would probably say that if they were kissing the Todoroki Shouto). You didn’t expect him to reciprocate the kiss, however, his lips opening slightly for a moment only to press harder against you a second later. The crowd was your ally, no one bothering to look upon the two of you when there were many more masked figures around you doing the same thing. 

You broke away, only noticing now how his grip on you had tightened ever since you had initiated the kiss. Your face was burning with shame, and you couldn’t believe that you had kissed him in the middle of your frustrations, in the middle of a mission. In a complete contrast to what you were feeling at the moment, Todoroki was actually smiling. His mask was slightly askew and his face was beet red, but he was giving you the biggest grin you had ever seen from him despite the terrible mistake you had just made. 

“Wow,” he breathed, the hand on your waist flying up to run through his hair. “I never thought...you felt the same way I did.”

What? 

Shouto was rambling now, voice uncharacteristically brighter and not letting you get a word in edge-wise. You listened with growing horror as he told you briefly about his past, and how his friends at UA helped him work through his trauma to become a better person and believe in relying on others. “I love how you’re so hard working and determined to pursue what you’re passionate about,” he said earnestly. “I feel like we have that in common, because we’re so different from what everyone else says we are, or what we should be. I tried to find reasons to talk to you more often, but I only ended up making things weird, like--”

“The coffee machine,” you finished vaguely. 

“Yeah,” he said, giving your hand (that had been encased in his this whole time) a gentle squeeze. “I apologize if I’m talking too much, I’m just so...”

You had been horribly misinterpreting this situation the whole time. It all made sense now. From the awkward way the two of you always interacted to why you of all people were requested to go on a mission like this...

How could you have judged him upon first glance, without even knowing his full story? You saw his family fame and strength and automatically assumed he had no problems in life whatsoever. The scar on his face was a sign of the pain he had faced in his past and overcome. How could you let your jealousy over something you couldn’t control overwhelm you to the point that you had kissed him out of pure spite? 

He didn’t deserve to be lied to. Out of all the people he could have chosen to crush on, he chose you (a horrible decision, really). You had to tell him the truth. 

“Todoroki,” you began hesitantly, already dreading the conversation to come. “Listen, I--”

“Wait,” Shouto hissed, pressing a finger over your mouth to gesture at a spot behind you. “He’s here. On your left. Are you ready?”

It was unnerving how quickly he slipped from looking like he was on cloud nine to focused on the mission, and it only made you more uneasy. Not trusting your voice at that moment, all you could do was nod, and he gave you another of those rare smiles you never saw offered to anyone else. 

“Oh, and you can call me Shouto.” 

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

Apprehending the villain was child’s play while working with pro hero Shouto. You had to admit you were slightly distracted the whole time at the fact that he had allowed you to be on first name basis with him literally seconds before. 

But in no time at all the villain was being carted away by the police and you were standing in front of Todoroki once again in the middle of the road, his face illuminated by the bright lights of the city at nighttime. “Good work today, hero,” he said, taking off his mask to put it in his pocket, and you winced. After you told him the truth, would he still think the same way about you? 

"I’m sorry,” you said, voice shaking despite your best efforts. 

“What? What for?”

You explained everything to him. How you hated him in the beginning, purely because he had (or seemed to have) the life you wished you had out of your own self-interest. How you had judged him without even getting to properly know him first outside the rumors. 

You could see the light in his eyes visibly fade the longer you kept talking. “Why did you kiss me, then?” he asked, voice pleading at the end like he was still trying to hold on to any hope that things between the two of you were going to turn out okay. “You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t return my affections, right?”

“I kissed you out of spite,” you whispered. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

He scoffed, turning away so all you could see of him was his back. “To you.” 

As he began to walk away, you saw that he had taken the mask from the party out of his suit pocket. There was a small thud as he  let it fall from his fingers onto the concrete sidewalk, continuing down the road and leaving you on the sidewalk with nothing but your own regret to keep you company. 

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

one year event masterlist

[ampleappleamble]

---

"...Did I fuck this up?"

Edér looked up from his whittling, focusing his good eye on the little woman. The other eye was still swollen shut, shiny and painful from their fight against his late Lord, but with some rest and the help of Raedric's priests-- Kolsc's priests, now-- he and the rest of his friends would be good as new for the trek back to Caed Nua tomorrow.

"Ain't too many ways I can think of to fuck up killin' a terrible murderin' bastard like Raedric," he mumbled around his mouthful of smoke, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Unless y' think we didn't kill him enough, or somethin'."

Axa's lips smiled, but the rest of her face did not follow suit. Her party was spending the night in a corner of the Berathian priests' sleeping quarters in Raedric's sanctuary, and she sat on her borrowed bed gently rocking to and fro, her knees drawn up to her chest, her sharp little nails worrying tiny holes in her trousers.

"The Legacy makes men mad. Perhaps it does worse to women. I do not know." Raedric had looked Axa over, then, had glanced toward his bedchamber where his own wife lay dead in their marital bed--

"No, we killed him exactly the right amount, I think." The smile was already gone, soundly quashed by the memory. "I just... feel like I may have acted in haste here. Like there's something I'm missing about all this that's going to bite me in the ass later, when I least expect it." She pressed her chin into her knees, curling up as tightly into herself as she could.

--if i make myself small enough i can just hide away from all this and no one will see me--

Kana chuckled, idly leafing through a massive tome that dwarfed even his sizable lap as he reclined in the worn armchair next to Axa's bed. "Yes, it is a rough sea, the world of the ruling class! So many nerve-wracking social calculations to make, always looking over one's shoulder... The political alliances to take into account, then the family alliances... But even the Ranga Nui himself and his own son are at ideological odds! And if you're discovered as a fair-weather friend, paying lip service to either or both--"

"I think," Aloth interrupted, "perhaps, that you've made your point, Kana." The elf was just as irritable now as he had been the morning that old drunk had showed up at Caed Nua, and his half-healed broken rib was not helping to improve his mood.

And now the in-fighting begins in the Lady of Caed Nua's inner circle. Axa felt her guts redouble their efforts to destroy themselves, anxiety churning inside her like acid. "Gods, I'm ill-suited for this politicking horseshit. Why did I think I could do this? I'm Ixamitli, we don't... nobody 'owns' the land, that's not how--"

"Oh, don't get me wrong!" Kana pressed on, seemingly oblivious to Aloth's peevish attitude. "Just as hard lands forge strong people, rough seas often yield great rewards. For instance, when we return to Caed Nua on the morrow, we can look forward to seeing your Brighthollow manse restored to its former beauty and prestige! Well, in part, anyway. All because of your actions here today and Kolsc's gratitude!"

"And even if you weren't gettin' somethin' out of it," Edér added, "you're the kinda lady can't rest without knowing you did the best thing y' could. Point being, y' had to do something, long-term consequences be damned. And like I said earlier, if y' have to do something, it's hard to go wrong with killing a mass-murdering shitheel like Raedric. No matter how bad Kolsc might turn out to be, better him than what we had goin' on before." He casually brushed the wood shavings from his lap, either ignoring or unaware of the annoyed glares and whispers from the priests in the room.

Axa glanced across the room at Aloth, who simply lay on his back in his bed in the corner, eyes screwed shut, his grimoire too heavy to hold in his lap without irritating his wounds. "Maybe," she sighed, lifting her head from her knees, "I should just hire on an advisor. Someone who actually knows what they're doing, to help me navigate these choppy waters." Her gaze flicked to Kana, a wicked little grin popping up on her face. "You know anyone who needs a job?"

The aumaua laughed, a thunderous noise that filled the small room. "Everyone I know is either in this room or in Rauatai, my friend! But I take your meaning. However, my own experience with the gentry is limited to the court of the Ranga Nui, a profoundly different environment from the one in which you find yourself, so I'm afraid I'd be more of a hindrance than a boon. And--" He glanced over at Edér, his smile half apologetic and half cheeky-- "I hope he'll forgive me for saying so, but our Edér doesn't seem like the sort to hobnob with the nobility."

The folk man snorted. "What tipped y' off?"

"That leaves you, Aloth," Kana continued, smiling in the elf's direction. "If I recall, you were raised among the gentry in Aedyr, were you not? That's a bit closer to the political system and aristocratic power structure here; any insight you have into that world would surely be invaluable to our Watcher. You're qualified, intelligent, you're clearly quite learned, you're... capable in battle. Why, you even came to the Dyrwood with the express purpose of finding a patron!" He was getting excited now, leaning forward in his seat, gesticulating passionately. "And here she is! What marvelous serendipity!"

Axa couldn't help but be charmed by Kana's enthusiasm, and she appreciated his effort to lift the wizard's spirits. "That's not a bad idea, actually. What say, Aloth?" She couldn't see his face from where he lay, but she could see his ears were bright red.

Not a fan of being the center of attention, I see. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy and warmth towards the man, and found her own ears reddening soon thereafter.

"I wouldn't take the gig 'f I were you. She can't even pay you, 's what I heard." Edér winked at her, taking his attention away from his whittling for just a second, then hissed with pain and surprise as his knife slipped.

Kana shook his head, his grin as wide as ever as he regarded the farmer with pity. "O, poor man! He who thinks coin is the sole and lone benefit of working for a prestigious, powerful woman like our Watcher! The true rewards of such a vocation are not in material wealth, my friend, but in the challenge! Rebuilding the glorious Caed Nua from the crumbling ruins... The intrigue of the political world of the Dyrwood... the tension, the drama... not to mention the treasure trove of ancient Engwithan secrets just waiting to be discovered in the Endless Paths!" He sighed like a lovestruck maiden telling her friends of her handsome beau. "Ah! I'm so envious. Were I more well-suited to the position, I'd have accepted her first offer in an instant! As it is, it seems I'll have to settle for hired muscle. Either way, I couldn't ask for a finer directress!" Now Axa's entire face was getting warm, and she found herself unable to look at Kana, although she could feel his eyes on her, his smile, warming her like gentle spring sunlight.

"Aye, I wager ye'd leap at a position 'neath 'er, slick-a-britches."

Aloth very quickly clapped a hand over his open mouth-- the loud pop! filling the little room-- and then came the long, shuddering groan of pain muffled behind his fingers, the sudden movement having yanked at his sore ribs.

Axa immediately flopped over onto her side, laughing like Hel, unable to stop herself. Edér's eyebrows leapt up his forehead, surprise and delight clear on his face, his wounded thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

"...She seems impressed. I think you've got the job, my friend!" Kana chuckled, flipping to a new page in his gigantic book. He paused, considering, and then leaned forward in his seat, cocking his head with curiosity. "...Did you say 'slick-a-britches'?"

"No. I didn't. I said nothing." The elf's voice was quiet and short and clipped. "I'm in immense pain and I'm speaking complete and utter idiotic meaningless nonsense. ...Can we please talk about anything else." Axa was still giggling, tip of her tongue sticking out between her front teeth. He squirmed with embarrassment, and it hurt.

"As you say. How about this animancy research?" The scholar lifted the huge tome on his lap, tilting it up to show Edér as he crossed the room to wash and wrap his thumb. "I'm no animancer, to be sure, but from what little I've managed to decipher from Osyra's records, she may have been onto something!"

Aloth bristled, his breath hitching as he exhaled a bit too sharply. He had said 'anything else,' hadn't he. "All any animancer has accomplished, at the very best, is to swell their own ego and their own coinpurse. In particular, Osrya was a dangerous, insane monster who mutated kith into abominations. I have no interest whatsoever in reading anything that woman may have seen fit to record."

Anyone else would take the man's curt tone and disparaging language as the opposite of an invitation to continue. Kana continued with renewed gusto, "But if what Osrya posits is true-- and as far as I can tell, her methods are logically sound, if not morally-- why, then this may just provide the solution to the Legacy that the Dyrwood has been searching for these 15 long years!"

Axa had stopped laughing a while back, but only now did she sit back up. She remembered the animancer's words, recited them aloud with an accuracy she would not ordinarily expect from herself--

"It must be a localized effect. Something which strips the soul from a body, as the bîaŵacs are known to do. I have detected, even so, lingering traces of essence upon the bodies of so-called Hollowborn. This suggests that the soul itself has not been wholly destroyed. It remains, I think, intact somewhere."

Everyone-- even Aloth, lifting his head from his pillows-- looked at her, dumbstruck. The few priests remaining in the room hurriedly shuffled out, angrily whispering prayers to ward their souls against blasphemers.

"Um." She coughed, suddenly uncomfortably self-conscious. "That was... what she had to say, anyway. Before we killed her. ...If I'm remembering correctly."

"That's... what's in here, more or less, yes," Kana blurted, his ever-present grin tinged with nervousness as he shut the enormous book.

"So, what," Edér drawled, squinting at his half-finished carving as he turned it this way and that, "Hollowborn got a soul, but... somethin' or, or someone takes it from 'em soon as they're born?" He furrowed his brow, frowned at a blotch of red on the misshapen wooden thing in his hand. "And... what, hides 'em somewhere? Eats 'em? Why?"

"That would depend, it seems, on who or what is manipulating the souls, I would think." Kana actually frowned, now, staring blankly into the book. "Although I'd be hard-pressed to identify a creature capable of manipulating souls on this grand a scale, for this long, with this much apparent ease and consistency... short of, perhaps, a god." He glanced furtively at Edér, holding up his huge hands in deference. "Not that I'm attempting to implicate any particular deity..."

The farmer shook his head slowly, eyes shut tight with conviction. "Don't worry about me thinkin' that. Like I said before-- I can't and won't believe that Eothas was the kinda god would do somethin' like this."

"Do you believe, then, as some in your country do, that the recent prevalence of animancy is to blame?" The scholar was fumbling for a bit of charcoal, now, eager to take notes. "Keep in mind, the Vailian Republics has not suffered a similar Hollowing despite being the leading animancy practitioners on Eora--"

"Whether the recent uptick in animancy has caused the Legacy by inviting the ire of the gods is nigh impossible to know, and thus pointless to discuss," Aloth interjected, "although I certainly wouldn't put it past many of the gods to come up with a bizarre, horrific punishment like the Legacy in retribution for any slight from us kith, real or perceived.” He glanced balefully at the door the Berathians had shut behind them as they’d left. “What can be meritoriously discussed is what to do about the unbridled, barely educated charlatans taking advantage of a terrified and exhausted populace, using the Hollowborn crisis to feed their sick curiosity and their pocketbooks both. That is the everyday reality of animancy that must be dealt with in the Dyrwood." He winced in pain, his impassioned argument a bit too much for his battered body. "...Ahem. In my opinion."

"I don't think I know enough about any of it to have much of an opinion about it, bein' honest." Edér scratched the back of his neck, squinting in confusion as Kana eagerly copied down the conversation, his attention ping-ponging excitedly between each successive speaker. "I feel like that whole world is way, way beyond my ken." He smiled over at the orlan, glad to see her relaxing and engaging with other kith instead of clutching her knees and staring into the middle distance. He'd seen enough of that during the Saint's War. "...Although some of 'em are tryin' to do somethin' about the Legacy, at least. I guess. This animancer was a crazy piece of shit, but she's also the only animancer I ever met, 's far's I know. So I don't really got a lot to go on. Y'know?"

"Caldara was sweet, and extremely helpful." Axa felt an odd little tug of nostalgia at the memory of the dwarf, her warm, motherly smile. "Of course, she was also dead when I met her. So you'll kind of have to take my word for it. That said, ultimately I have to agree with you: I don't know enough about animancy to pass any sort of judgment on it just yet. It seems potentially useful, perhaps even miraculously so, but also extremely volatile and dangerous." The little woman paused, stretching her sore limbs, and then laid back down on the bed with a long, cathartic sigh. "Perhaps once we reach Defiance Bay, we can get a clearer picture of what the day-to-day animancy trade is really like. Until then, I must, in good conscience, reserve all judgment on the subject."

"A wise choice, but a laborious one. Never let it be said that our Watcher takes the easy way out!" Kana rose from his seat as he spoke, seeing that the orlan was getting ready to settle in for the night, and crossed the room to his loaner bed. "Speaking of hardships, I've heard tell that the poor weather over the last few days may have delayed the work on Caed Nua's eastern barbican. If, once we return, we find that to be the case... and if you're amenable to a bit of dungeon crawling after all this fresh air and sunshine..."

Axa half-groaned and half-laughed, like a good-natured mother finally losing patience with her annoying toddler. "Yes, Kana, I promise we will explore the Endless Paths. I already promised you before, too, remember?"

"Forgive me!" Kana chuckled as he reclined, his feet dangling over the edge of the too-small bed. "I don't mean to wheedle you, rest assured. But once I get an idea in my head, I tend to focus on it so intently as to neglect politesse!"

"We've noticed," Aloth grumbled.

The massive aumaua turned to Aloth in the bed next to his, smiling still. "That reminds me-- I've never heard that one before, 'slick-a-britches'. Did you mean to say I slicken others' breeches-- or britches, as you say-- or did you mean my own breeches are slick? As in, ah, lubricated for easier removal? I didn't even know you spoke Hylspeak! You must teach me some!" He wore no malice on his face, only open, honest wonder, and for some reason that bothered Aloth more than if the aumaua had been outwardly hostile.

Axa cackled maniacally in her bed, thrashing her limbs and rolling about. Aloth slowly, deliberately pulled his coverlet up over his chin, then his nose, then his brow. His facial expression did not change.

---

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest - Day 14: Butterfly

2,601 Words

The Junior Quartet, fluff, hurt/comfort, post-canon. 

“Whoa - Zizhen, be careful! If you can’t even make this step, we’ll start to think you’re a fierce corpse yourself!” Lan Jingyi laughed as he caught the Ouyang heir before he tripped over Sizhui’s doorstep.

“She is beautiful like the dawn, kind like a… a… like ripples on the pond!” Zizhen sang, off any key he might have been trying to hit.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any worse at poetry than you usually are, but good for your drunk-self for proving me wrong!” Jingyi dragged his friend over to the table and sat him down. “Why did you even challenge that old man to a drinking contest? You’re the lightest light weight I know.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sizhui said cheerily as he entered his room behind his friends, grinning as if at some private joke. He turned to Ouyang Zizhen, “Who are you talking about, Zizhen?” Sizhui asked kindly, but had a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Only the most beautiful, the loveliest, the…” Zizhen paused, scrunching his face and scratching his chin, “I can’t remember.”

Jin Ling shook his head, sighing heavily, “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.” Zizhen only shrugged in response, grinning.

The four of them had just come back from the annual Spring festival in Gusu, planning to stay over in Sizhui’s room given that Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen would not (could not, given Zizhen’s current state) travel back that night. Jin Ling rolled his eyes, and took a glance around the room.

His eyes widened.

Zizhen, who had followed Jin Ling’s gaze but didn’t have the benefit of a sober man’s restraint, blurted, slurring his words almost incomprehensively “What’s up with all the butterflies, Sizhui?” He gestured vaguely at the dozens of grass butterflies decorating the room, disrupting the otherwise very-Lan appropriate, minimalist aesthetic.

Jingyi whacked him over the head, “He invites you to stay in his home and you ask such rude questions? You should have stayed away from that special Emperor’s Smile brew when you had the chance.”

But Sizhui only smiled, deciding to answer Zizhen’s question, “They’re stories,” he said, as though this explained everything.

Jin Ling turned to him, “Stories?” He raised an eyebrow.

Sizhui nodded, and sighed, “They’re all from…” he pursed his lips and glanced quickly at Jin Ling, then the floor, “They’re from Wen Ning.”

Jin Ling gaped. Zizhen swayed, though only from the wine. Jingyi glared at Jin Ling, challenging him to comment.

Sizhui explained, “He made all of these for me.”

Jin Ling looked around the room, taking in the various colours and sizes of the butterflies, “He made… all of these?” he asked, incredulous.

Sizhui nodded, a bashful smile on his face.

“They’re so pretty!” Zizhen remarked.

Jingyi rolled his eyes, jabbing Zizhen in the side, “Of course they are! Did you expect an uncle to give his nephew an ugly gift?”

Sizhui hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jin Ling, worried at his reaction to the subject of Wen Ning. Jin Ling didn’t seem bothered, though, just curious.

“Why did he make you so many?” the Jin Clan Leader asked.

Sizhui flushed, “They’re each… Well, he makes them, and he tells me a story each time he gives one to me. A story of one of my… my family members.”

Jin Ling blinked, understanding dawning on his face, “What kind of stories?” he asked.

Sizhui glanced around at the various figures, smiling softly, “All kinds of stories. What they were like, things we did together, life in the Burial Mounds, memories from Dafan Mountains, that kind of thing.” His smile faltered as he finished. He looked back to Jin Ling, who had unconsciously reached for Suihua, touching it gently and nodding.

Jingyi steadied Zizhen in a seated position, and made his way to Sizhui, touching him lightly on the shoulder, “Sizhui…” he said.

“I’m ok, Jingyi.”

Something that sounded like choking came from the other side of the room, and the three junior cultivators closest to the door looked up to see tears streaming down Zizhen’s face.

“So each of these,” he blubbered, looking around, “Each of these is one of your clan members?”

Sizhui nodded, “I know it makes things seem a bit messy in here, but it’s nice to have them around.”

“Sizhui…” Zizhen cried, “That’s so… so beautiful…”

It was Jingyi’s turn to roll his eyes, “Be quiet. You’re making Sizhui think about depressing things. Tonight is supposed to be about having fun.”

But Jin Ling was intrigued. “What were they like?”

Lan Sizhui leaned forward, “I’ve heard so many stories.” He looked around the room, and stood up to grab a butterfly dyed a vibrant orange, “This one is Fourth Uncle. He used to carry me on his back when I was little, while he planted vegetables.” He put the butterfly down, and picked up deep red one, adding excitedly, “This one is Wen Ning’s sister, Wen Qing. She was apparently the best at getting me to stop crying, and the best doctor in the world.” He blushed, looking around to see if the thought of him wailing like an infant would make his friends laugh, but they all looked on, nodding, or, in Zizhen’s case, leaning forward on the table, chin supported by both hands, smiling dopily. Encouraged, Sizhui reached for a pair of butterflies sitting side by side, one blue and white, the other red and black, “Uncle Ning made these to be my fathers, so they could always be with me even when they were away.” He paused, stroking the two tiny sculptures softly before returning them to their perch.

He shook his head, “I mean, each one has a story but…” he sighed, looking around fondly at the display, “Well, I don’t want to bore you. Like Jingyi said, we should be having fun.”

“Family memories are never boring.” Jin Ling said firmly. His grip on Suihua tightened. Jingyi, who was currently trying to force Zizhen to drink some water, nodded vigorously.

Sizhui smiled at the two of them, “Well if the two of you agree on something, that must mean it’s true.”

“I disagree though.” Zizhen barely avoided falling flat on the table as he pointed forward wildly. The three others turned to him, one curious, one angry, one annoyed. Zizhen went on, “Yours might be interesting but… my family story is…” he exhaled heavily, “Very. Boring.”

“Why do you say that, Zizhen?”  Sizhui asked. Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi, who had seemed set to ignore this interjection, looked to Sizhui, mirroring each other’s single raised eyebrows. Sizhui cast them a glance that prevented any interference.

“Where do I start?” Zizhen grumbled, “I mean, my dad’s a coward - you saw him at the Burial Mounds. At least your uncle,” he looked at Jin Ling, “actually had personal stuff going on with the Yiling Patriarch, and wasn’t just siding against him because everyone else was.” He bit his lip, “And my mother? I mean, I love her, but she’s hardly as intense as all of your ancestors - Lan Yi, Madam Yu. They were awesome.” He took another look around at the butterflies, “And look at all these! Sizhui, your family’s story is incredible! Refugees, wrongfully accused! Your fathers are the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang Jun, who have the most incredible love story in history!” He looked around to his friends, then down to his lap, “I mean… it’s stupid, but… I don’t know, it’d be nice to have some epic story like that as my legacy, you know?”

A silence worthier of the Jingshi’s name fell on Sizhui’s quarters, before Jin Ling broke it.

“Yeah. It is stupid.” The other three looked up at Jin Ling’s harshness. He sounded more like Clan Leader Jiang than ever, “You want a legacy? You want a family tragedy worthy of those stories you spend all your time reading? You want the heroic deaths of your parents put up on a wall by the person who orchestrated their murders? You want to grow up with one uncle who’s too sad to talk about them and another who worshipped them too much to tell you anything meaningful about their lives? Fine. I’d trade you in an instant.” Jin Ling huffed, crossing his arms. Tears grew out of the corner of his eyes, and he wiped them away fiercely, sitting down on the floor. He gritted his teeth, “An. Instant.”

Zizhen gulped. “Jin Ling, that’s not… I-“ He looked helplessly around to his friend, his inebriated mind only now catching up with what he had said, and what it must have sounded like to the others, “I’m sorry, of course I wouldn’t…”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way.” Jingyi jumped in. Zizhen looked to him gratefully. Sizhui was trying to look anywhere but any of the other Juniors’ faces, choosing instead to linger on a few of the more prominently placed butterflies.

Jin Ling’s shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his frustration, “I know… I just… I mean…” he looked to Zizhen, “Your dad sucks,” he said bluntly. Zizhen recoiled in surprise, Sizhui blinked, torn away from his thoughts and contemplating jumping in given the turn to more personal attacks. Jin Ling went on, his desperate expression and the group’s understanding of this subject’s significance to him preventing further interruptions, “But at least he’s there, you know?”

Zizhen put a hand over his chest, nodding earnestly, “You’re right,” he said, genuinely apologetic, “I shouldn’t be so selfish.” He paused, following Jin Ling’s eyes, which had drifted towards Suihua, “But Jin Ling?” he added, “Your parents were amazing. I wouldn’t trade my parents for anything, but I’m still jealous of the ones you got.” Jin Ling didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched in appreciation. Zizhen took this as a sign to keep going, looking up as his voice shifted to the tone he usually used when he was reciting his most recent love poem to them, though his voice was more garbled than usual, “They had the most epic romance. They fought to the end to protect the things they loved.” He looked at Jin Ling, “To protect you.” He pointed sloppily at the golden-clad teen.

Jin Ling coughed, once, twice, but this was only a fruitless attempt to stop the tears that came anyway. Sizhui placed a hand on each of his shaking shoulders.

“You’re still stupid, but… thanks, Zizhen,” the Jin Clan Leader managed, “Sorry I said your dad sucks.”

Zizhen shrugged, and clasped his hands together, going into a bow which only ended with a faceplant into the table. He was asleep immediately.

Jingyi rolled his eyes, “Idiot.” But he smiled, alongside Sizhui and Jin Ling (although the latter still had tears streaking his face). Jingyi stood up. “I’m gonna go grab some blankets for all of us, and I guess we can just cover him up there if he’s comfortable. No use in him catching a cold before our night hunt tomorrow.”

Sizhui nodded, arms still wrapped around Jin Ling’s back comfortingly, “Thanks Jingyi.” Jingyi nodded, and left.

“Jin Ling?” Sizhui tilted his head, trying to catch his friend’s eye, “Are you okay?”

Jin Ling sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve, “Yeah. Yeah it’s nothing. It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have yelled like that - Zizhen was just being his stupid drunk self anyway.”

Sizhui patted his shoulder before standing up. “I have something for you,” he said.

Jin Ling looked up, watching Sizhui as he walked towards a shelf not far from the butterfly-Yiling Patriarch and butterfly-Hanguang Jun’s places. The Lan disciple stood there for a moment, scanning the various figures before reaching for one that Jin Ling couldn’t quite see. Sizhui cupped it in his hands and made his way back around the table to Jin Ling.

“I want you to have this.” Sizhui said, opening his hands to reveal a delicate grass butterfly, light purple with what looked like dried lotus leaves weaved decoratively into its wings.

Jin Ling looked to Sizhui in confusion, but reached out and took the butterfly anyway.

Sizhui smiled. “While I was still living in the Burial Mounds, my uncle, the Ghost General, he brought me a bowl of soup one day. He had brought it all the way from Yiling. When he told me this story, I tried to think back. I think I can remember that day just a bit - it was a delicious, but stone-cold soup, better than anything I’d eaten in a long time.” He sighed. Jin Ling was confused, wondering if Sizhui was just getting pointlessly sentimental so far past the Lan bedtime, “When he gave me this butterfly, my uncle told me that the soup had come from the nicest woman he’d ever met, and the best cook too. He told me that it had been from Wei Wuxian’s sister, that she had given it to Uncle Ning but that he couldn’t eat it so he had wanted me to have it instead.” Sizhui looked up at Jin Ling in time to see realization dawning on the other boy’s face, “I only remembered the taste of the soup when Uncle Ning told me this story. When he gave me this.” Sizhui held up Jin Ling’s hands, which were still clutching the carefully woven insect. “I think he’d want you to have it.”

Jin Ling held the butterfly up to his face, stroking the sides tenderly, “This…” he gulped, “The Ghost General made one of these… this one is… my mother?”

Sizhui nodded, smiling. “He almost cried when he told me about her. Jin Ling…” Sizhui caught his gaze, “She was an amazing person, kind even to someone like Wen Ning who most of the world hated at that point.” Sizhui sighed, “I’m sorry I don’t know more about your father but, knowing you? He must have been amazing too.”

Jin Ling smiled, though his chin trembled, “Sizhui…” he held the butterfly close to his chest, “Thank you.”

Sizhui smiled, “No need. We all need something to remember people by, right?”

Jin Ling nodded, looking around at the memories of all the people who had been incredible enough to be related to Sizhui.

By the time Jingyi got back, heavy blankets gathered from the guest rooms, he had to cover up not just one but three cultivators. He would make fun of Jin Ling for drooling on his sleeve the next day, but was happy to see the peaceful expressions on all three of their faces.

--

“I am never. Drinking. Again.” Zizhen groaned, holding his head and plodding along behind the others. The four of them followed Wei Wuxian and Hanguang Jun for what was sure to be an exciting night hunt.

Wei Wuxian laughed, “I’ve said that to myself more than once. It never works out.” He punched his husband lightly on the arm, “Right, Lan Zhan?”

Hanguang-Jun only said “mmm” in response, but Wei Wuxian could see the hint of a smirk on his face. Wei Wuxian glanced back at the Juniors. All except Zizhen, who was still too hungover to offer more than a half-hearted grin, laughed with him. It was then that Wei Wuxian noticed, contrasting sharply against the golds of his robes, a little purple butterfly dangling from Suihua’s hilt. Sizhui, who had followed his father’s eyes, looked to him and smiled, confirming Wei Wuxian’s suspicions.

Wei Wuxian sighed happily, turning to look forward again. I’m glad you can still be at his side, Shijie.

[tragedybunny]

Wise Men Say, Only Fools Rush In - Prologue: Landslide

Katarina Du Couteau desires only one thing in life, to make her own destiny beyond her family's legacy and manipulations. To that end, she accepts a job with Noxus Holdings, working under CEO Jericho Swain. It isn't long though before she finds herself challenged in ways she never expected and making choices that will alter her life forever.

She watched her father read the carefully folded letter with the unmistakable scowl of irritation crinkling his eyes. Taking a deep breath she recalled Garen’s words to her the night before. “I love you and you deserve to be free to live your life as you choose.” 

“Are you serious Katarina?” His voice was calm but rage colored his skin, leaving it a shade of crimson to match that which was left in his graying, short-cropped hair. 

“I am. I can’t go on being assigned bullshit, nothing cases at this firm. It’s degrading.” Crossing her arms, she focused solely on standing her ground against the titan of a man who was both father and employer to her. Marcus Du Couteau ran the family law firm with an iron fist, sharp tongue, and ruthless disposition, having inherited the venerable establishment from his father. Down the years, he’d raised his children to take on not only the family business but the family morality too. 

He let the paper fall to the neatly waxed surface of the immaculate desk with what was obvious utter contempt and rose from the high-backed chair, causing her pulse to quicken. A conditioned terror of him began to emerge from the recesses of her mind. “Cassie just started with us. How dare you try to abandon your family at such an important time.” His voice was not raised, it rarely was when he was angered, he was a man who did not need to bluster to threaten. 

He stalked his way around toward her, removing the desk as a barrier between them with alarming quickness. “And she already has better cases than I do, her and Talon!” 

Emerald eyes that had a striking resemblance to her own narrowed, a sure sign his patience was all but run out. “Neither of them have shown themselves to be quite as stubbornly prideful as you have.” Since she was no longer a child he could physically beat into submission, his weapons had become more psychological, shame, guilt, and of course fear. 

Subconsciously, her fingers reached up to trace the line of the scar that carved its way down the left side of her face. The accident had nearly taken her eye along with her naive, over-inflated sense of self-worth. Her first case out of law school, assigned by the very man in front of her now, had been far beneath her talents, or so she believed. In a fit of irritation and disgust, she’d handed it off to an intern to draft their arguments before heading off to slopes around Mt. Targon and its venerable university for a ski retreat with Garen and his sister.

 There were days she could still see that tree looming before her, feel the sensation of knowing she would never stop in time. She was lucky the one scar was all she’d ended up with, that and a concussion that had left her in a foggy haze for several days. During that time there’d been a settlement offer and another lawyer had filled in, taking the terrible deal. The firm had been humiliated and in a rage, her father had refused to fund the surgery to repair the angry red blemish. Now, with a couple of years’ perspective and the funds to make it possible, she no longer desired its removal. It served as an important reminder to her of several very painful lessons from that day. 

She gathered her courage, one of the lessons from that fateful day was that she had to slay those demons of her past, he was just another she had to face. “I’m stifling here. To do anything of worth I need to move on.” 

Marcus rubbed his temples forcefully, agitation evident. The simple truth was, he couldn’t really stop her. No matter how he seethed and threatened, she would walk out of his office no longer in his employ. That made her even warier, he was dangerous when backed into a corner, and she couldn’t predict his tactics. Suddenly he grew calm again, almost genial, his hand reaching up to rub his chin in a sure tell he’d thought of something,  and she braced herself for his next strike. “So tell me, where it is you will be leaving us for. You must have some plan to support your frankly lavish lifestyle and that costly little apartment that’s so dear to you. Did Garen get you a nice position at Demacia Corp?” 

Inwardly she bristled and struggled to keep it from showing, he couldn’t be allowed the small victory of getting to her. It was even more galling to have Garen dragged into it as he’d made no secret of his disdain for her fiancée. “I’ll find something, I have savings and I can always downgrade what I need to.”

The stare of contempt he’d given her while she spoke gave her the unpleasant sensation of an adult negotiating with a child, but then he did something infinitely worse. He began to laugh, a nasally, hateful little sound, the kind of forced laughter one would spew at a rival’s misfortune, a sound that reverberated around the austere office. “So determined my little Kat, just like when you were young.” The words were not a fond remembrance, but another threat. “I’ll tell you what, let’s make a deal.”  She steeled herself, her father was in no way one to make a bargain that didn’t somehow benefit him. “An old client of mine has an opening in their legal department, take the job, excel at it, and I’ll have you back as a full partner.” The smile that accompanied his words made her skin crawl. 

A lifetime of living with him had taught her to be distrustful, as genuine as this offer seemed, there was bound to be more to it. But then again, what choice did she have? She would at least be out from under his thumb and making a bit of a start on her own. Whatever he had in mind, she could make the situation her own. “Fine. What are the details?” Her voice carried a sureness that she couldn’t actually feel. 

That awful smile widened. “Legal counsel for Noxus Holdings. Their CEO is the client I spoke of, Jericho Swain.”  

Time froze for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. She’d almost forgotten about the connection her family had to that notorious company. Noxus Holdings was the kind of company that bought and sold others, retaining the most profitable, and carving up the rest as necessary to keep stocks high. The first catch to her father’s deal was the relationship between that company and Demacia Corp. For years there’d been attempted buyouts and takeovers, leaving many of the employees whose families had been there generationally with a fierce dislike for everything Noxus. This included Garen, and many other members of the Crowngaurd family, her future in-laws. The second catch was that she would still, in a way, be in her father’s control, and many would see holding the position as nepotism, earning her few friends. The CEO himself was known to be cold and ruthless, everything she expected of a man who dealt with her father, meaning she would not be given an easy ride, even if her family ties got her in the door. “Perfect, I’ll get my resume sent over.” She challenged him, voice terse, arms still crossed, waiting to see if he continued to throw hurdles in her path. 

He merely shrugged, perhaps he didn’t realize she had judged all the factors and thought she accepted blindly. It would be like him to judge her in such a poor light.  “Well then, I suppose I must accept your resignation. You are still expected to be a credit to the family name, wherever you go.” Returning to the other side of the desk, he carefully folded her letter and tucked it back into the envelope from whence it came. “You’re dismissed, Katarina.” With no further fuss over the matter, the conversation was ended. 

Still a bit in disbelief, she turned before he could change his mind, and nearly sprinted through the door. The secretary stationed just outside gave her a curious glance but wisely didn’t let it linger. She continued her obvious brisk pace until she made it to the elevator, short, sensible heels, clicking resoundingly against the marble. The floor reserved for partners always gave her the sense of being in a grand mausoleum, impressive, but somehow empty and hollow. Yet, she had always yearned to ascend to this place, to be counted among those acknowledged as the worthy by her father. These last few years though had seen her hopes slip away, like sand through her fingers, until all she desired was an escape. She let her gaze wander to the empty office near the elevator. She’d been repeatedly bludgeoned with the threat of Talon’s promotion to that spot over her until she was numb to the idea. Today had renewed her perspective though, she now had two paths to victory, despite what her father likely believed. Either she’d return triumphant and claim what should be hers, or find another place where her talents would be respected and lauded. This was the only chance she’d have, failure couldn’t even enter her thoughts. 

She stabbed the elevator button harshly, eager to return to her own floor, and stood there, shifting her weight from foot to foot impatiently. The resounding, cheery ding broke the hushed silence of the hall, and when the doors closed securely after her, she could finally exhale in relief. After all the planning, fantasizing, and rehearsing for this moment, she’d still needed every bit of courage she could muster and now fatigue was settling in as adrenaline wore off, and something else as well. Perhaps it was genuine excitement for her future, something she hadn’t felt since she’d gotten engaged since the rest of her life had seemed to deteriorate after that. As much as she’d come to desire distance from her parents, she'd hesitated taking this last step. Freedom could only be gained with the sacrifice of her claim to the family legacy,  at least that’s what she’d believed. She’d convinced herself that her apartment away from the family manor would be enough to let her continue on. Watching Cassie’s career gently guided to the pinnacle had been the last straw, nearly reducing her to tears on a regular basis. 

By the time there was another ding and the elevator released her back to the floor her office was on, she was more resolute than ever. She would make this situation her own, no matter who had set it into motion. Perhaps with the distance, she could even begin to repair the relationship with her siblings. Traveling down the familiar halls of the ancient office building that was styled like something out of a movie from a time when men were men and women were dames, the constant buzz of activity washed over her. Du Couteau and Associates was one of the oldest and most well-respected law firms in Valoran City. She ducked down a small hall with a few doors leading to offices that, although not quite as grand as those of the top floor, were still impressive enough. Finding hers slightly ajar, she pushed it further open to reveal, as though summoned by her thoughts, Cassie and Talon. 

Perched on the edge of her desk, Cassie eyed the space around her as though she were taking mental measurements and performing some sort of calculation in her mind, a look of open hunger on her face. Her gaze drifted to the window and the dramatic view of the city skyline, hey eyes, chocolate brown flecked with gold, their mother’s eyes, widened in approval. Finally, she turned those eyes toward Kat, deigning to acknowledge her. It wasn’t the only feature she’d inherited from their mother. As much as Kat bore a resemblance to Marcus in her sharp, pointed features and shorter stature, Cassie had received her wavy blonde hair, square-shaped face, and rather proud nose from their mother. For his part, Talon had the good grace to sit in a chair, looking at his phone, a look on his face somewhere between disgust and disinterest. 

“I’m not going to lie to you Kitty-Kat,” she rolled her eyes at her family’s much hated nickname for her, “I am going to make fantastic use of this space.” Self-satisfaction and blatant greed dripped from her every word. 

Cassie and Talon had both been granted offices, albeit they were not the same impressive nature as she had warranted being oldest, and they lacked the spectacular view. Father may have disregarded her consideration for partner but having her give up her office would’ve been an embarrassment to them both. “Well, he didn’t waste any time informing you.” Their expeditious appearance likely meant they’d been informed of the meeting before the outcome. No doubt they’d been waiting here nearly since she left. 

“Well, what did you expect?” Her tone stung like venom. “I rather think he’s enjoying this free pass to get rid of his greatest disappointment.” 

“Cassie, don’t.” Kat’s voice was a low growl as she advanced on her sister. She could never figure out what she’d done to Cassie to turn them from sisters to near enemies. 

“Can you two not, for once.” Talon finally spoke, chiding them without moving from his seat, causing both their heads to snap in his direction. With their attention focused on him, he stood, and Kat found herself startled to now recognize how much like their father he’d grown, aside from his shaggy, black hair. 

Talon had been their surprise brother, the product of an affair of Marcus’s that had gone on most of their lives, dumped quite literally on their doorstep one day as a toddler. There had been no conversation with their mother beforehand, no preparing her for her husband’s bastard to suddenly be part of their family. Marcus had simply said to her, in his usual terse and cold manner, that the boy was his and he would stay, and she had best figure out how to live with it. Soreana had not exactly been the warm, caring type to begin with,  and this caused her to finish her spiral into the neglectful, abusive, alcoholic she had been headed towards. 

“Everyone is getting what they want, for once in this family. Let’s leave it at that.” Talon wasn’t usually one for overt displays and she knew the moment must mean something to him. “Congrats Kat, I hope the change makes you happy.” There was a growing distance between them all with her no longer living at home and now not working with them, she held onto that glimmer of emotion from her youngest sibling. 

An annoyed sigh escaped Cassie and she grumbled. “Fine, congrats, go out and conquer the world.” 

Guard down, and feeling a bit lighter than she had in a while, Kat reached over and ruffled Talon’s hair as she had years ago when he was still smaller than her. It had taken her some months to warm up to the silent, scrawny child now sharing their home, but after a while, it was like he had always been their brother, in all respects, good and bad. He made a show of fending her off, not truly offended, hands idly swatting in her direction. Once he had successfully waved her off, she backed up, both of them ever so slightly laughing, and put her hand on Cassie’s shoulder. Her sister quickly focused her gaze back on the window, and the laughter died. After a tense moment, Kat pulled her hand back, silently disappointed, and shoving down a fresh wave of anger. Cassie would be Cassie, and an explosion between them wouldn’t change that, it never had. “Thanks you two, I know you’ll do great things here.” 

“Of course, and now we won’t have to worry about tip-toeing around you to do it.” Her words needled Kat, she never did know when to stop. Even when they were children she’d push until Kat had her pinned to the floor and was savagely pummeling her. 

Again she pushed aside that threatening red tide of fury, and it burned, knowing her sister felt like her words were winning some sort of battle between them. “Well, I need to finish some things up before I head out. Let’s grab dinner sometime soon.” 

Cassie just shrugged, an irritating smirk having found its way onto her lips. “Come on Talon, big sis is too busy to keep entertaining us.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him from his seat and behind her toward the door. He shot Kat a look of regret but waved goodbye and continued to follow. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, if she were Cassie’s sparring partner, Talon was her thrall, used to obeying her whims, a  habit from a time when he feared rejection from his new family. 

Kat sank into her chair, exhausted at the back and forth. Her hopes had been high that her sister would come around this time, that they could part on decent terms. She rolled her eyes at her own delusions. Why had she expected them to start playing happy family now? A twinge of sadness gripped her and like the earlier bouts of rage she did her best to bury it, unlocking her computer. She needed to focus on putting things in order here so she could move on. 

Several hours and a multitude of words later she found herself nearly blinded as the sun began to dip down toward the horizon, shining directly in through her window and reflecting off her monitor. Sighing, she stretched and rolled her shoulders, feeling the stiffness turning into a dull ache. She’d been at this way longer than she’d planned. She was grateful that for the time being she lived alone, with no one to worry or fuss over her long hours and late nights. Except, she recalled, head sinking down into her hands, she had promised to call her fianceé much earlier. 

Rummaging quickly through her bag, she triumphantly retrieved her phone moments later and frantically began to type. “Sorry, been busy. Can you talk now?”

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for her phone to light and begin buzzing in her hand with an incoming call. “Hey.”

“Hey? Is that all I get?” Garen’s voice teased her. 

“Greetings my love!” She injected an overt cheerfulness into her voice, raising the pitch and imitating a much more bubbly person.

“That’s my girl.” He laughed and everything around her seemed brighter for a moment. He had the uncanny ability to make her feel worlds away from whatever family drama she was currently dealing with. Admittedly, sometimes she felt it was too often she leaned on him for that relief. “Still at the office?” His tone was slightly concerned. 

She grimaced, so much for not worrying anyone. “What gave it away?” 

“You always have that tone when you answer at the office. ‘Work Kat’, very professional sounding.” She could tell he was struggling to keep it light. “So, did you get to talk to him?”

Finally to the heart of the matter. “Yeah, I did it. He agreed.” 

“Hun.” He spoke with a tenderness that imparted a feeling of safety to her. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Well…” She grimaced and wondered if he could hear it in her words. “There is one slight catch.” 

“Always is with your family.” If there was one major hurdle for them, it was family dynamics. He never seemed to be able to move beyond the Du Couteau reputation, one of ruthlessness and unscrupulous behavior, not entirely unearned. For their part,  they had not exactly tried to disavow him of that position. In fact, neither of their families really embraced their relationship, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been invited to the Crowngaurd household for dinner. 

“I have to take a job with one of Dad’s old associates.” She hesitated, knowing what the next part would mean to him. “It’s with Noxus Holdings.” The words rushed out, running together. 

On the other end of the line, Garen sucked in a breath, the revelation and its implications washing over him just as they had her earlier.  Demacia Corp meant more than just a job to many, it had always been owned and operated by the Lightshield’s, and often employed multiple generations of other families, much like Garen’s. The manufacturer of steel and “petricite”, a proprietary material said to be harder than that very steel, was a pillar of Valoran City, engaging in charitable endeavors and community improvement work, a fact that only increased the attachment many felt to it. All of which made her looming future employer look absolutely villainous to them. “Well, I’m sure it won’t be a permanent arrangement.” 

A nervous laugh escaped her as she sensed the tension rising between them and sought to diffuse it. Her eyes strayed to the diamond solitaire that crowned her left ring finger, the traditional beauty of her engagement ring so emblematic of the man that gave it to her. There was no way she’d let this come between them. “That’s for sure. I’m refuse to settle for being some nameless corporate drone. Anyway, what do you say to dinner to celebrate?” 

“Hmm, how about dinner and a movie in? My place, my treat?” Insinuation ran beneath his words, and it was not at all unpleasant. “You know this would be easier if we just moved in together.”

A snappy retort came to mind, but much like with her sister, she fought against it. This had so far been their worst point of contention. Their engagement had happened just as they were both finishing grad school. Garen had been eager to get a place together and start their life, but she hadn’t been ready to surrender the apartment she’d fought her family so hard for. She begged and bartered with her father to be allowed to move, finally agreeing to study law at Targon University if she could do it while in her own home. It represented too much to her, even if Garen never let up on the separation it caused them. “Soon babe. Let’s just take this step for now, let me get settled outside of here. I’ve got to pack up and get home. I’ll come by at six tomorrow. Love you.” 

“Love you too Kat. I’ll grab some champagne and we’ll make a proper toast.” There was an uneasiness hovering in the background that didn’t sit well with her. Her throat was dry as they said one more good-bye and hung up. 

[sumeshi-t]

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

a/n: a three-part fic because i didn’t want it to get too long in one post. this is my first time working on an au and hinata so i hope i did him justice. beta-ed by @taeiliee ​ iloveyou mom always <3

i. 》 ii. 》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ "Tangled with another's eyes–nevermind, you were never mine," ✧･ﾟ: *

Your fingers drummed against the table, eyes intent on the ginger sat before you. “So, what do you say?”

He looks away, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his seat. Hinata Shoyou wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous under your gaze, especially when you were the one basically asking him for a favor, “B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

When you don't respond, Hinata decides to raise his eyes to look at you—your face looks solemn, and somehow… something about it, something about you just draws him in. This time, you were the one staring outside the glass wall of the antique cafe. His heartbeat quickened, breath getting caught in his throat—

‘...beautiful,’ was the only word he could find to describe that moment, even if your eyes had a faraway look in them. Hinata knew your true wish was that this never had happened, and that you were talking to Kenma instead.

If only he never went back to the restroom.

You tried not to heave a sigh at your impulsive and brash decision, and at his innocent question. But what can you do when your life's on the line? Ten years left in your life may seem like a long time but, “It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

You had the sudden urge to cough, and, upon doing so, Hinata could only watch as your pale hands covered your mouth, and the sound of coins dropping to the floor entered his ears. There was a bit of blood that ran down your nose, and he immediately reached for a table napkin. More than guilt, it was worry that bubbled from his chest. 

Even if you had explained it—this sickness—that you had, he still found it ridiculous.

You saw nothing but the disbelief in his eyes, desperate to get a grasp at this uncanny reality.

You saw yourself in them, in his constricted pupils and lids widened—reminded of the first time you discovered that you were sick with a rare disease you thought only exists in fiction.

The Hanahaki Disease, a disease acquired from garnering an unrequited love, was something that no medical doctor could cure nor control—anthosectomy, the surgical removal of flowers, was nothing but a temporary solution.

One must be loved in return to be free from it. 

Apparently in your case, the disease has “mutated”. That instead of flowers or petals blooming from your lungs, money would begin to collect in them, beginning from coins and eventually into large bills as it grew worse over time.

You only discovered this fact just two, about three weeks ago, during breakfast, after a lone coin dropped into your cup of coffee, mocking you as it floated; the aftertaste of iron and aluminum on your tongue. 

“Our family inheritance… came from their chest—even your mother’s.” your father muttered regrettably, with a hint of disgust, back turned to you in the study. 

“I didn’t expect for you to catch the disease this early, and you’re doing so well with your current business projects,” he heaves a sigh, fingers grazing through the spines of the books, before pulling a velvet-covered hardcover, worn out from time.

“How long… has this been going on, dad? Is this some sick family tradition?! So… does this mean…?” you couldn’t even say the words—you haven’t even confessed and yet, having this disease only meant that Kozume Kenma didn’t feel the same way you did.

Finally, your father sits before you, sliding the title-less book towards you. He explains further that you read its contents—the ancestral diary—about the history and the findings made by your predecessors.

He calls for your name softly when your wide eyes never left the book in your hands. He looks over you sympathetically, “I thought that by hiding this from you, I was protecting you from harm.” Your father’s eyes squinted, wanting to reach out to you but his conscience telling him he failed you as a parent was stronger.

“But y/n, don’t give up… don’t be like them, like me,” your father says this with blood dripping from the corner of his lips, before clutching his chest, spitting bills of varying amounts out his mouth. 

“I never thought ten years would pass by so quickly,”

You look at him, mortified at his pallid face, standing up in worry, going to his side. “Who…?”

With a weak smile on his lips, your father utters your mother’s name, voice just above a whisper, tender and soft at hearing her name come from his own lips.

“And I don’t regret it. Loving her is the best decision I’ve made, even if she didn’t want it.”

You spent the next week with him, until he breathed his last, inevitably leaving you to face this battle of love and pain on your own.

As if everybody’s expectations from you weren’t high enough already, now that you were alone, it skyrocketed through the roof. Even as you knelt before the portrait of your father, refusing to talk to anyone on the first day of his wake.

You heard their whispers, you knew their motives—nobody really cared about the life of a rich man, they only cared about the man’s riches. You shut down any and all talks about businesses to potential or lifelong business partners; the least they could do was respect you and let you mourn.

On the third and last night of the wake, someone unexpected came to pay his respects.

“Kenma…?”

“Hello, y/n. I…” he looks away shyly, a few strands of hair falling to cover a portion of his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to squeak out. His hand reached out to you, holding a tiny plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, all over a black-white envelope.

Seeing Kozume Kenma in a formal suit, bun loosely tied by his nape, awkwardly scratching his cheek; you could feel the ice in your heart being slowly thawed by the scene before you. You would’ve finally smiled; you would’ve pulled him in just so you could cry out into his chest.

But you felt suffocated, and the slap of this impossible reality you couldn’t dodge stung against your bare and open heart, pulling you back and keeping you rooted in your place.

You knew his apologies were meant for condolences—but your father wasn’t the only one who died. You mourned for your own demise, wishing you could bury these hidden feelings along with his ashes and leave everything behind to start anew.

But secrets turn into regrets, and buried feelings would only grow.

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you took the plastic bag in your hands, the sensation sending sparks to your nerves. You didn’t hear yourself mutter your gratitude, only the sound of Kenma’s soft gasp. The back of his hand wiped the tear stains off your cheek, “How long have you been holding back, y/n?”

‘A long time, Kenma,’ you wished to answer, but you knew you or your words didn’t matter to him as much as you’d have liked to. Even through the tears that blurred your vision, the love in your eyes for him was clear.

Kenma awkwardly pulled you close, a hand behind your head to press your face against his chest, while his other arm remained by his side. His actions strongly reflected how he felt nothing more for you than just a friend and a board director—he didn’t even choose to hug you.

But the unheard truth didn’t stop you.

Behind the lids of your eyes, you saw little moments of joy you had shared with Kenma—maybe it all began with an inevitable meeting in your office, unlike the usual video conferences he would attend. Working with someone your age with the same prospects and visions was rare for you in the world of business—you mused, this feeling was mutual.

Then the meetings became less about business, and more for just the heck of it.

You daydreamed about him, seeing his smile from the corner of your eyes when you were alone. His intelligence was a given, so maybe it was his soft-spoken, honest nature; or the way he was athletic even if he stayed in his house majority of the time.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Because really, it was more of feeling so at peace when you were with him. You couldn’t hold back being yourself when you were with Kozume Kenma because despite hiding behind several secret doors you’ve put up all your life, the scrutiny of his sharp, cat-like eyes opened each of them, finding you over and over.

You didn’t want to lose that sense of familiarity. So, you chose to ignore the signs that you were indeed falling for him. And by doing so, your life was now reduced to a mere ten more years, caught at crossroads, burdened with making the decision between continuing your family’s horrible legacy or carving out your own place in his heart and have him learn to love you.

The words of your father echoed in your head.

And it bounced off your lips, “Kenma… please stay, just a bit longer,”

“Kenma, are you he—oh?”

Hinata Shoyou peeks from behind the corner, checking if he didn’t get lost in your family’s large home. His presence made you shy away from Kenma, clearing your throat before the ginger-haired man was introduced to you.

He offered you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, fitting for the shade of his hair and contrasting the dark hues of his clothes. “Kenma and I go way back, he actually sponsors me!” his cheeks were dusted pink, both embarrassed and excited. “Now I play for a team in Division 1,”

‘Ah, he’s that kind of person,’ was your initial thought. Hinata Shoyou seemed so easy to read, pure and unadulterated intentions out in the open for everyone to see. What’s fascinating was that he makes it seem so easy to not let that be a vulnerability.

Spending a few hours with someone whose energy was bigger than him—cliché as it sounds, but it was akin to standing beneath the rays of the sun. Hinata Shoyou radiates warmth upon your frozen heart, even if for just a moment.

It was a different kind of peace. And you looked forward to seeing more of his large smiles.

Just… not this soon.

Maybe it was fate playing tricks on you. The timing was quite impeccable.

Kenma went ahead first, Hinata had to go to the restroom. Soon as you stood up to see him out, you cough, coins falling to the floor. One of them finds its way towards Hinata, rolling and stopping when it hits his foot.

“Oh? Lucky!” he picks it up, hears more coins hitting the floor that he has to look for the source. Hinata sees your back hunched over, money around your feet. As he was approaching you, he said sheepishly, “y/n-san, is this yours? I was about to take it—!”

“y-y/n…y/n-san… are you… okay?”

Hinata flinched as you glared at him, voice seething, words through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare tell Kenma.”

Hinata nods once, pocketing the coin he had in his hand on instinct, before scurrying away.

You let the incident pass, as you had the cremation and burial to worry about in the meantime. But a few days after, all it takes you is a phone call to Kenma and a few texts to Hinata—which leads you to the present wherein you and the athlete agree to meet at a café.

“Now that you know, here’s the deal I’m offering you, Hinata-san. I’ll sponsor you in exchange for your silence. And…” you take a sip from your coffee, watching him from over the rim of the cup. Hinata was uneasy, confused, and shocked at the illness you had. It was as if he were in a volleyball game, forced to take in so many things at once.

“Hinata-san, go out with me. Let’s date. What do you say?”

“E-Eh…?! B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

“It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

Hinata stood quickly, contemplating just how he was going to help. He has to bite the cheeks of his mouth, looking over you with worry as hundred and five hundred yen coins spilled from you. You felt his hands slightly shaking when he gave you the table napkin, and in return you motion for him to take a drink so he could calm down.

“Sorry about that—so, do you agree to be my boyfriend? If you need time to think of a response, I can give you two days, because I have to go in a few minutes,” you say this, looking at your wristwatch while slowly gathering your things.

“y/n-san,” Hinata began, still standing by your side, looking down to meet your gaze. “I… I agree. Because I want to help you in any way I can, just to give back, with how generous you are and… because you don’t deserve this. But why does it have to be me?”

His words struck something within you, but then your own sorrows blocked him out. “Your timing was just perfectly terrible. I’m sorry for dragging you into my problems, Hinata-san.”

Hinata felt his pulse quicken at how you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. His unease somehow was replaced by something. But your next words broke his trance, “There is only one condition that you have to follow,”

With a smile that never reached your eyes, Hinata feels his own heart break at how you were like a broken porcelain doll, red lips moving so easily to convey words, convey the one law you’ve forced him to follow and would eventually break—

“Never fall in love with me.”

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi ​ @hanibuni ​ @cupofkenma ​ @kawanisshi ​ @milkandc00kiez ​ @thiccbokuto ​ @shinsukestan ​ @sufiawrites ​ @wakaitoshi ​ @skyguy-peach ​ @fern-writes-ig ​ @briswriting ​ @kawaiikraykray ​ @bubbleteaa ​ @miyuswriting ​ @raevaioli ​ @ouikarwa ​ @hakueishirei ​ @pineapplekween ​ @estherwritess ​ @keiji-n ​ @achoohq ​ @badlywritten-hq ​ @mochibeaa @oinkanna ​ @chxrry-wxne ​ @spudicide ​ @airybby ​ @asranomical ​ @karmasuna ​ @nekoglasses ​

gen. taglist: @yams046 ​ 

[dailyandrewandaaron]

Could you maybe write something post-canon where Neil’s ableism comes up and he and Andrew have to sort of navigate it’s effects on their relationship/have some type of discussion over it? Or alternately if you’d rather not, something about bi Katelyn?

not quite that but heres something about ableism 

-

Its not the words so much that bothers Andrew but the silence that always followed them .  

Renee would only smile placidly when Allison named him monster and nobody challenged her but instead took it up for their own use

Aaron would offer no defence when he was named crazy only shrugging as if it was an indisputable truth

kevin raised no objections when he was called joyless , empty , agreeing that he had no purpose in life beyond himself

nicky would laugh  in the same breath as saying he was soulless  as if it was an in joke between them

Neil  did this too  - yes even him

He would later denounce their attitudes one by one pretending to be shocked theyd treat andrew so -  but it was hollow coming from him -knowing  before  their first meeting even he was already psychotic midget and this  is what he would remain -  even after - even when it means something

now - andrew wouldve been fine with a legacy of fear if that was all it was  but it was not  -  not  if he - not if he was - a midget - . yes , thats what cements it , what caused them to hold  him apart  from and below them - it shows  in their eyes - his lack of humanity -  

is he a threat or  is he a joke ? oh , certainly he is both-  they are afraid of him but they show him no respect  

he is that sort  of monster . The kind that  isnt only feared  it is  also pitied. the sort where people think it is a cruelty that he even  lives at all - being what he is  

they call him ruthless  to his face and whisper  midget behind his back

sometimes its  the other way  around  

and that is almost worse

. andrew encased himself with mystery and aggression hoping he could inspire enough fear that his height was never made light of in this way.  

his brother shared this particular burden . Aaron shouldered it by being unpleasant enough that he avoided the types who  would think to patronise in that sickening way due  to their stature  and by commiserating his lack of presence with the fact he was spared the condemnation of being the evil twin -  being short on its own is not monster  worthy status

being short and - crazy - well theres no hope for you there

kevin of all  of them knows the best the feeling , Kevin has words of his own . launched at him from the catapult of ignorance and prejudice  cripple, retard handicapped  he recognises the ripple of pain that surges through him when wymacks  mouth form the words

 Its the same as goes through his own body when neil says psycho , 

when Aaron says evil , 

when nicky says soulless , 

Allison says monster

- Yet Kevin does not defend him. He likes it that  he is one step above him this way.

You have two hands you only have one brain.

Neil in their secret moments tells him he is not worthless that he alone is his love but he never takes back those earlier words never soothing the wounds they made. Neil wont take any of it back

Its his own fault Neil says for not telling them the way it was,  for not explaining- because of course ,of course it needed explaining. This couldnt just be accepted

-but you see  Neil that he is andrew minyard .His reputation went before him . He was monster before he'd even arrived.

You could fight that or you could embrace that and  use  it as your shield . andrew chose the latter.

it kept people off his back at least

He'd known that Aaron was afraid of him skirting around his presence keeping Kevin or Nicky between them pausing before he got into the car hiding and suppressing his other relationships to not raise his ire. His brother who loved him enough to kill still found him a danger

Nicky who had left a happy life for him who had stayed without a deal and didn't leave the moment he could. Nicky  who spent years trying to keep them safe who had sacrificed for them. He believed it too or he had  no scruples in pretending and laughing about how he was soulless. This is a deeper insult from Nicky who actually believed in souls but long ago he'd given up the thought that Andrew would be hurt by such a thing. When things are said to nicky andrew says dont use that word but when things are said to andrew nicky doesnt intervene

Renee is stronger than him. Her fight methods are better. she knows that. She is teaching him he doesn't scare her in the way he scared the others but still she treats him delicate like he'd explode if she pushed too far. She has no problem fighting him but she is afraid not for herself but that one day he would betray her trust and use her careful teaching against those she protected. She would take Allisons side of course she had done before - she stays quiet when allison rants about him

Allison knew him the least but claimed she knew him the best. When you are already  monster , as in her eyes he was ,every thing you do becomes monstrous. She expected nothing less of him. Of course he would be violent . of course he would hurt her .he is a monster

Matt had reason enough he supposed to revile him though he had helped in the long run he distrusted him. Thinks he would hurt Neil. As if he would. A if he would do the one thing that would destroy him. But of course of course Andrew doesn't feel things. people were collected if they were useful. Matt was not useful enough and so he was not chosen. this is how he views it. Doesn't know why beautiful Neil would chose such a strange and damaged person as Andrew. He thinks Neil is an innocent and knows not the darkness of his soul which is assumptions in itself

Dan - he did not know truly what Dan thought of him but it was not warmly. She viewed  him as something to be handled to be put up with to reach a higher goal. His skills were needed his person was not. She kept him and his at arms length enough to say I'm not with them. Now there was a them and he was their leader. She left him alone which he was grateful for but she doesn't bring him in doesn't let him close she doesn't want to hear his voice she doesn't think the psychotic midget has anything useful to say

Seth was his least favourite and that was no secret. He was prejudice in a very boring way. Just the kind that hated those who were not like him and didn't care enough to change that. He hated Kevin the most but andrew , was a close second. His ideas about life having value  didnt extend to the likes of Andrew Nicky and Kevin. Not even Aaron was normal enough for him.

Wymack was a rare thing in Andrews life a older man that he trusted. That he could trust with his family. He knew that wymack would not hurt him -not physically. Nobody thinks Andrew cares what he is called. Wymack didn't hate Andrew he knew that . wymack was actually rather fond of him but he never stoped  using the words.

perhaps you know such a word. it burns deep into your body .It's not icy the shock of it, its hot , white hot. The word is such a noise that it fills you to your lungs.

It drowns you in hot water and you can hardly breathe. He doesn't know if wymack believes the words he calls him but he doesn't stop. He can't say they hurt for it would break the illusion. If they knew Andrew could be hurt by words then it's all over for him he might as well put a knife into his own belly .So  Andrew knows it wont stop .

Wymack would scoff if he ever mentioned ableism. It sounds made up but it surely is not.

Neil would tell him there's no such thing -but how would he know? The only other disabled person he knows is kevin whom he'd called a cripple.

I don't hate disabled people neil would say and  genuinely believe thats enough  That that's the most he can give. Andrew supposed that is what most people think is the best they can do.

that's not what ableism is anyway. Well. it is. but that's not all.

Andrew knew ableism well

The word is new to him but the feeling is not

The experience of it is nothing new

Andrew knows ableism  is not just hate  ignorance and prejudice. It's is not just violence. It is not just fear of the unknown.

Although it is all those things It is also choosing not to acknowledge the difficulties you face .

Choosing not to stop using the words.

Choosing to laugh and not to listen

Choosing not to care because it isnt about you

It is when you are hurt and nobody does anything because nobody thinks that's a thing that could hurt.

When you are hurt physically and everybody shrugs that's just how it is for people like you

You are different so your pain is not important because most can ignore it.

It is the silence that follows the slurs when not one single person says you shouldnt say that

Not your brother.

Not your cousin.

Not your boyfriend.

Nobody

Such is ableism.

when nobody raises it because nobody believes there is such a thing

So it continues unchallenged

because .

Well None of us were offended

say the abled bodied team members