#also catch me getting way too attached to minor characters that I really just came up with because I needed to have some context

[coquettepascal]

felicitas and her general

summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.

warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.

tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.

a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33

wc: 7.2k (not beta read)

It was he who woke you.

A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didn’t wish for. 

You’d never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most don’t think of how Gods can fade. It’s a physical process, one where you’d notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you weren’t as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.

Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldn’t even begin to understand how long ago that was. When you’re immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple. 

The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich. 

You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But it’s muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.

Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It can’t distract you from him though, he is striking.

Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. You’re so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.

“... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.”

Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, you’ve been given a respectful request and offering. It isn’t a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.

He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.

His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after he’s disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.

—

It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. It’s been a month now, and you are coming back to life.

Fading didn’t feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks you’ve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.

In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didn’t interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that “Your wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.”

Acacius. 

You still don’t know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.

You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.

Tonight he’s dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but he’s walking like he’s… drunk? 

Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever you’d like. You’re a Goddess, and though you aren’t major, you are still very fortunate.

But this feels thoughtful.

The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he begins as normal, “I am sorry I am later than usual. Though I don’t know if Goddesses sleep. I was… caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.”

He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.

“I brought you this though,” he gestures to the half burnt bun. “I wanted to bring you something different than meat and… things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.”

Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.

“You have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.”

He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wife’s worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help. 

“Goddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.” 

Then, he leaves. 

You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true you’d have had many children by now, 

But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.

—

You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they don’t need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but that’s only more reason for the distance. 

But today, you venture to meet another deity.

Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bit…dramatic, from what you remember, but wise. 

Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep. 

“Morpheus,” you speak. 

His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.

“O young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?” He questions.

It’s hard not to feel embarrassed. You’ve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but he’s always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when he’s the one giving them to people, it’s hard to hide anything at all.

You don’t want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is… worthy of a visit. 

And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. You’re only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.

“Felicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,” he says jovially. 

Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.

“When you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,” he describes to you.

The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesn’t repel you at all.

Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you. 

—

Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.

He didn’t make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isn’t a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isn’t nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt. 

Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, it’s been better.

Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.

He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.

—

Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but it’s weird because someone else is there.

You’ve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasn’t slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.

The appearance you’ve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue that’s within your temple.

Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. You’ve never met with a mortal before, and you haven’t stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.

You will have to speak first. You’re much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.

“General Acacius,” you speak firmly, though your hands shake. 

This is so unfamiliar to you. You’ve barely even seen his face, as he’s usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time you’ll see him at an equal level, the first time you’ll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you. 

He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.

Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.

Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly. 

He recognizes you.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isn’t how you want this.

Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.

He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you. 

“Acacius,” you say softly, “I am not here for… for ill reason. Please relax yourself.”

You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.

An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of… something. 

The identity of your anxieties isn’t something that you can figure out. Maybe it’s too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe it’s that you’re going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe it’s humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals? 

The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment. 

“I wanted to thank you,” you admit meekly, “for your offerings. You have been very generous and… devoted.”

His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You don’t want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you aren’t significant like that.

“General Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,” you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.

It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.

“You’ve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.”

And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious. 

“To know me?” He clarifies. 

You nod.

“I only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more… personal.” 

Gods that felt awful to say. You’re no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but that’s not what you’re looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that. 

He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldn’t want to lose that.

“Then… yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.” He responds stoically. 

And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples. 

Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.

—

You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but it’s worth it.

The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, he’s confident for the sake of his wife. You’ve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve gotten to know her as well.

It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesn’t he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could. 

After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too? 

Worship isn’t enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.

Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.

Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.

—

You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.

And then you are there, and he is waiting. 

It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and he’s sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how… down he appears to be.

“She is not happy with me,” Marcus confesses before you even sit down.

You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.

“Lucilla?” You ask softly.

He nods.

A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing. 

And so you listen. 

It’s one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesn’t cry, but he seems truly upset. He’s been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much. 

He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this. 

The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isn’t something you can fix, you aren’t familiar with love and its intricacies. 

His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but they’ve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.

Touching is not… something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated. 

That is why it doesn’t surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist. 

“Marcus,” you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t,” he replies swiftly.

At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes aren’t glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.

They’re soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.

It doesn’t soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you aren’t alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.

Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesn’t have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldn’t have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isn’t married, where he could be yours and you wouldn’t feel like a spectator to his heart.

Maybe you want that, but you won’t get it.

Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly. 

The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though it’s the same one.

His eyes don’t move from yours, so you move from his.

The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcus’s dream. 

“When do you leave?” You ask softly. 

You will not follow him into whatever battle he’ll win. Don’t embarrass yourself, Goddess.

He tells you two weeks. You say you’ll see him before then.

Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.

—

Marcus wakes alone. 

Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didn’t tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.

It’s easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.

In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy. 

He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.

Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.

A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. He’s scared, and exhausted.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm. 

At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.

If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isn’t unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didn’t.

Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning. 

Marcus doesn’t fall asleep again, afraid that he’ll see her. 

—

You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle. 

The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached. 

“Enough is enough,” you had thought to yourself. 

But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how he’d always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to. 

However, you can only distance yourself so far. 

It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isn’t bowed like before.

“Marcus,” you greet, your voice muted.

He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.

Tonight’s visit isn’t vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how he’s preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.

It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. He’s so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you don’t fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. It’s breaking you apart.

This is the last night you’re able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.

“What is ailing you, General?” You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.

To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.

“You,” he responds quietly.

His words don’t hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you don’t.

“Me?” You ask, “what have I done?”

Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.

“You have made my life difficult, Goddess.”

Difficult? You have made his life difficult?

You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that you’ve done for him, all the safety you’ve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.

That’s what you should think, that’s how most of you should feel.

But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that you’ve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.

But instead, he’s telling you you’re difficult.

It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos you’ve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.

“I am sorry,” you manage weakly.

Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.

The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you can’t hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.

There is no luck involved with love.

Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.

“I am sorry too,” he says. There’s a finality in his tone that makes you ache.

So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together. 

This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since it’s too complicated to continue on like this.

That’s why he doesn’t move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least that’s what you’ll believe. 

—

Time moves weirdly when you’re immortal, but it all happens so quickly.

Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didn’t feel right, not when you and him weren’t… friends anymore.

But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?

You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.

The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.

That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.

Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.

You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob. 

Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh. 

You were supposed to keep him safe.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.

Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. It’s where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You don’t even care why he’s here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.

—

It’s where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.

And it’s where you find him.

His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucilla’s home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.

Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and you’re sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife. 

Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small. 

He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.

The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. It’s an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know you’re down here anymore, but what does it matter?

Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.

You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten. 

It didn’t matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now it’s more. Is he forgetting you?

—

You’ve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldn’t have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.

You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldn’t tap his shoulder if you tried.

Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached… it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that won’t leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal. 

The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. You’re glad that you’re such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.

“Felicitas?” Marcus’ voice asks.

It’s so hesitant that you think you’re imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do… whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.

Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.

You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what you’re doing here, hidden away in him and his wife’s home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you aren’t here would be ridiculous.

His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.

Something in you wants him to turn away, so you don’t have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesn’t.

His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.

“Dulcissima,” he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.

You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.

What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, “I was supposed to– to keep you safe.”

Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.

“No, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldn’t control myself and I caused this,” he argues. 

It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and it’s as if he hears you.

Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.

“I saw you,” he claims, “when I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.”

Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods. 

He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye.  You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted. 

All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems he’s not upset.

For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.

“I told Lucilla of you, before I died. Not– not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.”

A blessing in many ways.

Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.

“Goddess, I have missed you,” he admits. 

Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.

“Felicitas,” he says quietly, “do you come here for ill reason?”

You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.

“Then relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.”

Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.

“I will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.”

It’s the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but it’s everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again. 

Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon you’re embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend. 

You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close. 

“You will keep me safe here?” he asks jokingly.

It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.

“Yes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,” you assure.

The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more. 

You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.

please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33

tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)

@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie

[erensfeed]

OKAY BUT.

I woke up this morning with like, a flashing need to send you an ask about your LADS Actor AU, which sometimes just consumes my thoughts at random times.

👁️ But the boys recording the MYTHS.

Angst CENTRAL ANGST.

I just remembered the last update where they were doing Caleb's death (haha temporary of course, he's just taking a break) and she's acting out how she passes out and he pops up next to her like, why so sad?

And like... Recording the HEART BREAKING bits of their myths?

Spoilers ahead in case you HAVEN'T seen them all, won't go into detail but...

Dying in Xavier's arms? Forseer Zayne reading her fate and giving up everything for her? Rafayel having to chose between her life and his people's?

Whatever the fuck Sylus has got goin on? With the whole stabbing in the chest?

I was just consumed by the thought of them having to get into that headspace before the scene, having to pretend to see her die or hurt or knowing they won't see her again, when it's fake.

The aftermath of it too, getting out of that, maybe they're all whipped (yes) and just need a good hug and to ground themselves. Method acting you know...

Anyway 👁️ I've ranted enough 👁️

Thank you for reading through this whole ass paragraph, hope your day is wonderful!

content: how i imagine they’d be as actors when filming their myths. * some minor spoilers from me on xavier as well ! * ૮ ˶ᵔ ~ ᵔ˶ ა

you literally have no clue how i literally love you for still thinking ab those silly hcs😭 THANK YOU THANK U THANK UUU !! AND STOP BC THIS IDEA??? ate down.

cause omg they’d literally be love interests who grew head over heels in love with the main co-star in a fr deep(ressive) story. and it’s like gawd. what a life they’d come to lead if they really were actors then LMAOO

but anyway ! they would be told and agree (months prior), that method acting would be the best thing when filming each of their intense myths. and i know for a fact that rafayel would be the one waayyy too into that method acting stuff because it’d all end up feeling really personal.

‘i can totally work with this’ were the exact words that came from him as you watched and listened to him, munching on his box of donuts (this was a habit between you two — going over to the other’s trailer to snack on whatever the other got to eat). not to mention the times he’d re-read his copy of the script analysis for the nth time / before main rehearsals, and how he’d be all “pft, i wonder why [main director’s name] thinks acting all of this would ever even get to me”. and that never aged well at ALL because he ended up being more attached to it than he expected, as his natural reactions were already in tune with his lemurian character anyway.

but anyway during the era of, rafayel would suddenly stay to himself a little more / even got confused on his real feelings for you (?). and of course he’d recognize that and try to keep things professional, but he would also catch himself sometimes looking at or treating you like mc. and it’s like oh ! all this because he somehow tied everything to your irl friendship / dynamic ??? LOL

but anyway much like rafayel, xavier would also see you as the mc. just in a different way of course. cause it doesn’t help that you just so happen to naturally act like the mc, even off camera.

now when acting the real deal of his myth — when you lay lifeless in his arms — he would imagine that you really were the mc, keeping his head down as the feeling of the idea of holding the one he loved but couldn’t save hit him. his eyes would also be vacant during this scene, especially as he held the star tassel, the weight of it feeling heavier as he envisioned you giving it to him before dying.

in this same scene where he had to hold one of your limp hands in his, it actually felt colder. this didn’t show in the final take because xavier acts so authentically, but it did catch him off guard — as no one told him your hands would actually have to be cold for the real scene. and that made the moment feel even more real and intensified this ache in his chest at the thought of losing you. (lolol ofc the directors kept that because gawd everything was so realistic)

he’d tell himself it was just that scene that got to him but he’d eventually grow to randomly start reaching out to hold your hand in his more often, just to feel its warmth.

stop im giggling now bc im abt to go read smth angsty w xavier

moving on though ! zayne and his foreseer myth? especially dawnbreaker?? .. let me not go there bc this would be longer than needed. though i will say that zayne hadn’t planned on being “affected”. but he would quietly start to observe you more, as his way of not directly discussing his emotions. (this was also what prompted him to be quick to protect you on set)

in conclusion. rafayel as an actor, who has the biggest soft spot for you, would pull back just a little while in that headspace. quietly growing to wonder if you’d also forget him & all the moments you shared, once love and deepspace was over. and he would also start joking about his feelings more to mask them during that time. xavier, on the other hand, would develop a habit of finding lame excuses to have your hand in his whenever you were together, since feeling your cold hands that day did actually do something to him. zayne wouldn’t want to admit how it actually affected him but he would eventually be vulnerable about it with only you. lastly and not surprisingly enough, sylus would remain the only sane one regarding his character's darker lore LMAOO. so i’ll just leave that there (until his myth comes out).

but even though their well hidden feelings for you complicated things, they were great actors so it wouldn’t really affect them terribly for long, as they had ways to separate their personal lives from their roles by all the way you’d comfort them after you found out.

a/n: THIS WAS SO FUN & FUNNY TO ADD ONTO. althoughhh i personally don’t feel like this is 100% spot on & tied to the (1st) actor au hcs, as it’s just some ways i think they’d react but that could just be bc i wrote this in one sitting. didn’t also plan on talking that much and ab my glorious 6ft prince rafayel either but anyway thank yeww for this pooks. (also, im giving you a moon emoji for all our next discussions bc i look forward to them🙂‍↕️ )

[thuganomxcs]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSES SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

If we're speaking in the canon sense like in his universe I really do like the idea of yusuke x botan because I like the aspects of him with death...not to mention he's a devil now too soo. I still love Yusuke x Keiko tho just so the peeps know there's no hatred for our girl.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

Anything like a muse being a fucking minor and the other almost hitting their 40's. There's ONE particular verse that does this shit but this ain't about them. As long as you don't ship your literal grown man/woman with a literal definition of a child then I wouldn't have to be disturbed.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFT?

The minute a hand touches a boob or the clothes begin to fly off I'm guessing it's considered NSFW.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

LOL I'd say I am..but people have known to just show up, write with me and in a day of our muses vibing we're already shipping them. I MEAN if I have to be selective I'd say..as long as she's a woman XD

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

Where do I even begin?? First of all I gotta go with the one that started this and that's @belovedblossoms Hiyori. She was the first person I've ever shipped Yusuke with and that relationship has started from not so disney friendly beginnings but entertaining as shit. Then there's @lady-llewellyn El who just ruins the guy, I swear in this ship Yusuke is the innocent one in the relationship no cap. We got @itmeanspeace Shiloh, this one started off just plain physical until she became attached, lol look at me talk as if Yusuke didn't catch feelings too..probably first since he's still kinda technically a human. Give it up for @swordsxandxsakuras Nezuko, the first one to actually go the full nine yards with him to dating all the way down to married with kids. Then there's my homie @fatexbound Chie I wouldn't CALL it a relationship yet but they're definitely in that phase in getting to know one another. You know I gotta put my home girl @adversitybloomed Mulan, who's probably seen everything there is to who Yusuke is as a character, she's been with him as a pervert all the way to him being nice and doing stuff for people. She's also helped him with his family life might have bribed him to go to college but in the end Yusuke proposed to her and it's actually the first REAL proposal I've written as him. I also can't use the term ship without mentioning @bravesung old OC Alyssa, she was definitely a special one who refused to buy into what people said about him, and after discovering he was supernatural (to a degree) just like her it got them to bonding. She's probably believed in him more than he did in himself when it came down to school because she NEVER let him quit HELL she brought his ass TO school whilst he was still sleeping in bed, picture that in your minds if you will. I got good ships and there's even this unhealthy one right here with my girl @acoldsovereign Maiz, tons of ships starts with curiosity, cute moments and even love at first sight and this one is just violence, one devil often tries to get the other devil to dig into those natural urges and forsake his human heart (that literally isn't even working anymore) and just behave like a demon, there's also acts of public terrorism but he'd punch her right..and she'd kick him wrong, it's a tug and pull with 'em. Bruh this segment is getting long since belovedblossom also has other muses that are shipped with Yusuke too and i have a feelin we'd be here ALL day and I've still got a few to talk about. Just know I love all y'alls muses.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

Nah, I mean if we write and there's a connection then I'd say let 'em go for it. EVEN IF you came to me writing Keiko and you're worried about shipping with me cause you'd think it's forced and i'm obligated to because of the canon then don't. It'd still be cool in my book.

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

I'm not ship obsessed but I would say it's a fun thing to have cause when you're talkin' to your homies and the muses come u you can talk about the ship, or how a song reminds you of them. Shipping whether it's romantically, platonically or familial, they bring us together as writers and we because better pals cause of it. Cause there's always something to talk about when we wanna forget about that bill we can't pay.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

Let me tell you something about my fandom on tumblr: It hardly exists XDD there's really only a handful of us.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

Simple, we write. If there's chemistry between the muses well then your muse has got themselves a partner. He's by no means an easy person to love but once you've got him you've got someone that'll be there for your muse indefinitely. And if ya wanna discuss the possibility then my DMs are always open..even if i'm terribly slow with 'em.

tagged: @vartouhix

tagging: Y'all gonna have to steal this one homies. Tag me when ya do cause imma read it.

[elenyagrace]

left-handed

(also posted on ao3)

Ivan is right-handed.

That is just another fact in a long list of facts that need no further explanation. The sky is blue (except when it's grey, which it usually is in his hometown), the Fjerdans hate Grisha, and Ivan is right-handed.

It's a good thing that he is, for the children that favour their left hand over their right... Well, they're treated differently. He lives in a small village near the Fjerdan border, and many of its inhabitants share their neighbours' opinions on Grisha and other things they believe to be witchcraft - such as being left-handed.

So really, it's a relief to his parents that when the first time he gets a hold of one of his older brothers’ pencils, he picks it up with his right hand.

He doesn't join in when the other children pick on those that weren't so lucky, but he too regards those children with caution and mistrust. Like everyone, he knows that it is only a matter of time until the witchcraft that runs in their blood takes a shape more sinister than a simple preference of right or left.

There hasn't been a Grisha from this village in ages, but when a message arrives from the Little Palace that says that testers will visit them in two weeks time, there are no doubts in anyone's mind that the baker's son, Feliks, and the carpenter's daughter, Irina, will be revealed to be Grisha, for they both favour their left hand.

Ivan can hear his parents whisper about them whenever either of them passes, and he knows the other adults are doing the same. The other children increase their torment, and not a single opportunity to call them names like "freak" is passed by.

Once, when Ivan passes Feliks in the street, he sees bruises littering the boy's face. But he knows better than to say anything, knows not to get himself in trouble. No one worries for even a moment that Ivan might be Grisha.

So when the testers come, and neither Feliks nor Irina turn out to be Grisha, but Ivan does, it comes as a shock to everyone.

-

Ivan is sitting in a carriage on the way to the Little Palace, and the look on his parents' faces is still burnt into his mind like a fresh wound. His father left the room without a word of goodbye to his son, and his mother could barely stand to look at him as he packed the few belongings he possessed. Not one of his siblings bothered to say goodbye to him, but maybe that is for the best - Ivan is not sure if he could've endured it.

The Grisha who came to his home and tore apart his life are talking about something, but he tunes them out as he looks out of the carriage's window. They had tried to engage him into a conversation at first, but quickly left him be after his answers turned monosyllabic once he had told them his name.

Ivan knows, rationally, that none of this is really their fault. They were only doing their duty, and Ivan's father, who had served many years in the First Army, had instilled the sense of duty into his sons from the moment they were old enough to know what it meant.

But Ivan is allowing himself this one day to grieve the end of his life as he'd known it for the past ten years. Once they get to the Little Palace he'll accept his fate without complaint, as his father taught him to, but for now he watches the world pass by until nothing in his surroundings resembles the landscape of his home - his former home, he reminds himself - anymore.

-

By the time they pull up to the Little Palace, Ivan has decided to stop wallowing in self pity. His family might hate and fear him for what he is, but he is determined to do right by their name either way. He is going to be the best Corporalnik there is, even though admittedly, he is not quite sure what that will entail.

The first thing he notices when he steps out of the carriage is that in the courtyard they have entered there are three more carriages like the one he travelled in. He isn't really given any time to take in his surroundings before the Grisha who tested him corral him towards the other carriages.

Behind the carriages, Ivan finds a few more adult Grisha and a group of other children. Other recently tested Grisha? There are eight of them in total, some looking afraid, others like they have been crying recently and some looking awestruck by their surroundings.

Ivan's face is hardened by the resolve to prove he is not some little child crying for his mother. He straightens his spine and only allows himself a brief look at the facade of the palace that will be his home before returning his attention towards the adults. There will be plenty of time to admire the architecture later.

"Alright, listen up!"

All the children turn their attention towards the woman clothed in a blue robe with red and yellow ornations who had spoken. She introduces herself as Katya, an Inferni, and launches into an explanation of their new life at the Little Palace.

Ivan listens attentively, not wanting to miss anything, until somebody tugs on his sleeve. Annoyed, he turns to find a boy of approximately the same age as him - Ivan notes that he is one of the few children that had seemed neither scared nor sad, but rather awed.

"What's your name?"

He cannot be serious. Ivan can't think of a single reason why this question couldn't have waited until after Katya is done talking; and to demonstrate just that, the only answer he gives the boy is a glare before he turns away again.

Later, when they have been led to the dormitories where they will be sleeping and everyone is busy unpacking, Ivan turns around from where he had been putting away his things to find the same boy in front of him once more.

"You know, you never did tell me your name."

Ivan just glares at him again, hoping the boy will take the hint. He doesn't have any particular urge to make friends with anyone here, much less this boy who is way too cheery, and, by the looks of him, a city merchant's child. He was fine on his own growing up, and he won't change that now.

Except the boy doesn't take the hint. And when Ivan doesn't answer he simply tries again.

"I am Fedyor. It is nice to meet you," he says and holds out his hand for Ivan to shake.

Ivan considers his options and finally replies with a curt "Ivan." He turns back around without taking the boy's - Fedyor's - hand. This time, he takes the hint and leaves Ivan alone.

-

Only Ivan realises too late that the boy's retreat meant in no way that Fedyor decided to leave him alone indefinitely.

It is hard to avoid him, considering they share a dormitory and Fedyor too is being trained to join the Order of the Corporalki. With his sunny disposition and his affinity for other people, everyone assumes that when the time comes, Fedyor will join the ranks of Healers; just like nobody doubts that Ivan himself will become a Heartrender.

After only a few days, Fedyor has made more friends than Ivan could care to count, but for some reason that evades him, the other boy still insists on pestering Ivan whenever he can. The other children quickly stopped trying to involve Ivan in conversations when they realised he had no interest in exchanging anything beyond the most basic information; but no matter what he does to discourage Fedyor from speaking to him, none of it seems to have any effect on him.

Whether they are in class, eating in the dining hall, or in combat training with Botkin, Fedyor always tries to strike up a conversation. At first, Ivan simply ignores him, still hoping he will be left alone.

But when weeks have passed, and Fedyor still hasn't given up talking to him, Ivan decides to try another strategy: give a non-committal answer and turn the question around on the other. That way, Fedyor will chatter away happily, and Ivan can simply tune him out.

The only flaw in this plan is that sometimes, Ivan finds himself actually listening to the other. And, as over time he gets to know more about Fedyor, he realises with a start that maybe he doesn't mind the boy's company so terribly.

Mind you, he still doesn't like him, and they're certainly not friends, even though Fedyor seems to think they are. But maybe he isn't the stuck-up city boy Ivan had first thought him to be, and maybe some of the things he has to say are actually interesting. Ivan stands by his assessment of "way too cheery" though.

-

The years pass by in a blur. Ivan excels in all his classes; the only one to rival him being Fedyor, who excels likewise. By the time they are fourteen, Ivan has gone from 'if I ignore him for long enough, maybe he will leave me alone' to begrudging acceptance of Fedyor's company, to actually actively contributing to conversations instead of letting Fedyor fill the silence by himself, to 'oh no, we ARE friends, aren't we?'

So when the time comes for them to choose their future, Ivan is the only one who isn't taken by surprise by Fedyor's decision to become a Heartrender rather than a Healer. They had talked about it once, late at night, and Fedyor had admitted that he didn't think he could spend the rest of his life as a Healer.

Ivan had been puzzled at first, because Fedyor simply didn't seem like the kind of person that would choose a path that would undoubtedly require him to kill someone. But Fedyor had explained that while he did loathe the idea of taking a life, he didn't want to be sitting on the sidelines either, watching his friends and fellow Grisha die, while he was helpless to defend them.

This was a feeling Ivan could understand, and after that night he regarded Fedyor with a new-found respect.

So they both begin their training as Heartrenders, alongside a boy named Viktor and two girls by the names of Sofia and Polina.

-

Ivan still excels in his classes, and soon establishes a reputation for his talent in hand-to-hand combat - besides Botkin himself, there is no one who can defeat him. His training with Baghra, on the other hand, is going less than exceptional.

He has no issues accomplishing the skills that require both hands equally, in fact, he takes to those rather well. It's the skills that rely on the more prominent use of one hand after the initial crossing of the hands that trouble him.

It's not that he doesn't know the movements, or is executing them incorrectly. He has practiced them so often that he could likely perform them perfectly in his sleep. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to move past the movements as a performance, doesn't achieve anything he's supposed to while going through the stances.

After yet another unfruitful session with Baghra (who had accused him of not even trying - despite the fact that he is trying so hard that he feels as though it might kill him to try any harder), he seeks out Fedyor.

He finds him sitting with Sofia and Polina, laughing at whatever Sofia is saying. Ivan finds that he doesn't want to ruin his good mood, so he turns to leave, but in that moment Fedyor looks up and spots him.

"Ivan!" he shouts, rather than speaks, despite the fact that Ivan is not standing very far from him. Polina, who is sitting next to him, is evidently not very happy about Fedyor yelling right next to her ear and shoves him away. Fedyor grins apologetically at the brunette before standing up and heading over to Ivan after bidding the two girls goodbye.

"Hey," he says as he walks up to Ivan, smiling brightly. Even after all these years, he is still way too cheery for his own good, but these days, instead of being annoyed by it, Ivan finds it to be comforting.

"Hey," he returns the greeting. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. Sorry."

"What? Oh, you didn't interrupt anything, don't worry! Besides," Fedyor adds, turning to look at Polina and Sofia, "I have a feeling these two don't mind me leaving them alone."

Ivan raises an eyebrow. But as he too regards the two of them, he sees what Fedyor means. They seem to be completely engrossed in their conversation, locked inside their own little world.

"So what are you up to? How did your hour with Baghra go?"

"Fine," Ivan lies, then immediately changes the topic to distract Fedyor, who, even if he noticed the skip in his heart's rhythm, lets him get away with it. "Spar with me?"

"Sure, why not?"

-

It's easy to lose himself in the rhythm of a fight, and that is exactly what Ivan needs right now. No time to replay Baghra's words over and over, no time to dwell on what a failure he's turned out to be -

In the very last second, Ivan realises that he would've almost hit Fedyor full force.

His fist stops in mid-air, then falls uselessly to his side. Fedyor too lets his arms drop and takes a step back, concern written on his face.

"Ivan?" His voice is soft, confusion evident in the way he says Ivan's name.

"Sorry, I -" he pauses, unsure how to say 'I was so angry with myself that I almost hurt you for real' without having to explain himself to Fedyor. "I wasn't paying attention."

"You've been doing that a lot lately," Fedyor remarks, almost casually.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" Fedyor sounds skeptical. "You didn't even roll your eyes at my joke this morning, and I know you usually would have, because everyone else laughed. You're constantly distracted, even in class, and you're never distracted in class! I can tell that something's wrong, and I want to help, but I can't do that if you won't even admit that there's something going on with you."

"Nothing's wrong. I don't need your help, Fedyor," he replies, determined to make the other let this go.

"So which one is it?" Fedyor asks, eyebrows raised so high they disappear behind his messy fringe. "There's nothing wrong, or there is, but you don't want my help?"

Ivan is at an impasse. No matter which answer he chooses, he'd end up lying, and Fedyor would know. There is something wrong, and despite his first instinct being to deny anyone else's involvement in his own problems, he does want Fedyor's help.

But he shouldn't need it, should be fine on his own.

Apparently his silence stretches on for too long, because Fedyor seems to take it as an answer of its own.

"Alright, I get it." He's smiling still, because he always is, but Ivan doesn't need to be a Heartrender to know that he's hurt. "Don't worry, I won't mention it again."

And then he's leaving, and a part of Ivan thinks that he should just let him. But the years spent with Fedyor have almost completely extinguished that part, and every other part of him is screaming, making him run after Fedyor, calling his name.

"Fedyor wait, please."

Fedyor stops walking, but doesn't turn around, so Ivan continues.

"There is something wrong, and I do want your help." He pauses, struggles to find the right words. "I just don't think that there's anything you or anyone can do to help me."

At this, the other turns around. His hands are crossed like they have been taught in training, so he must know that Ivan wasn't lying, but still he finds himself afraid to look at his face, afraid that his truthfulness hasn't made a difference.

"You know," Fedyor says, "sometimes actually talking about it instead of silently suffering already helps immensely."

For a moment, Ivan considers disagreeing, because what good would complaining about it do? He should just try harder, practice more, not whine about his issues when he has been given an opportunity that few are granted.

But when he sees Fedyor's face, cautiously hopeful, he folds.

-

"Have you tried using the other hand?"

Ivan looks up from the book he's been using to study, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"What?"

Fedyor sits down next to him, not bothering to ask if he minds.

"For Heartrendering, I mean," he explains. "No one ever said that you had to use your right hand, you know?"

A few days have passed since their conversation in the courtyard, and though talking about it certainly hadn't provided him with a miraculous solution, Ivan had to admit that telling Fedyor had felt good. And now, whenever Ivan returns from his sessions with Baghra, Fedyor makes an effort to distract him from his thoughts.

"First of all, I'm quite certain you just made that word up." Ignoring Fedyor's look of pretended outrage, Ivan continues. "And no, I haven't. I'm right-handed, so there's no point to it."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try, would it?"

"I don't need to try to know it won't work," Ivan says, exasperated. "I told you, I'm right-handed."

"You learned to write with your right hand, yes. But in a fight, you always prefer your left side over the right." He pauses, shrugs. "Maybe the same is true for Heartrendering."

Ivan groans. "Will you stop using that word?"

The grin on Fedyor's face already tells him the answer before Fedyor gives it. "No. It's a great word, I like it."

"You are terrible." But the grin that has somehow formed on his face belies the words, even as he punches Fedyor's shoulder.

"Seriously though," Fedyor says, teasing tone gone, "there's no harm in trying."

"No, maybe not," Ivan agrees, "but there's no point in it either."

"But you don't even know that if you've never tried!"

"Fine. I will try." Ivan closes his book and puts it aside. "But when you realise that we're just wasting our time, you will let me study in peace, yes?"

Fedyor eyes him warily, probably surprised that Ivan has agreed at all, before he nods. "Alright. Try to slow my heartbeat - if it doesn't work, I won't bring it up again."

Eager to be done with this, Ivan assumes position, and crosses his hands. He knows the movements well enough to mirror them easily, and so he draws his left hand back instead of the right - and stops short when he realises that he can feel Fedyor's heart beat in his hand as though he was holding it.

Fedyor must feel it too, if the smile that spreads across his face is anything to go by. But Ivan doesn't feel like smiling at all.

He can feel his own heart speed up, and a weight settling in his stomach. He drops his hands, abruptly ending the connection to Fedyor, who is looking at him in concern. It is too much to take and Ivan - Ivan, who, even as a ten year-old, had never been anything but stoic in the face of the unknown - Ivan runs.

He runs, ignoring Fedyor calling his name, paying no attention to where his feet are carrying him. He runs, because it's the only way he can think of to escape the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

-

Fedyor finds him under the tree where they often go, staring dejectedly at his hands.

"May I?" he asks, gesturing towards the spot on Ivan's left. Ivan knows that he isn't only asking to sit down though.

A few years ago, Ivan wouldn't have hesitated to send him away. But present-day Ivan hasn't really been able to say no to Fedyor in a long time, and so he only shrugs.

Fedyor settles down next to him, but instead of asking about what happened as Ivan had expected he would, he stays silent. He knows that it is an offer to listen, but Ivan can't quite bring himself to speak.

They sit like that for a while - minutes, hours, Ivan isn't sure. By the time he finally manages to speak, the sun has already set, and they must've missed dinner.

Once he begins, it's like something inside him has broken, and he can't stop.

He tells Fedyor about his hometown, about Feliks and Irina, and the way they were treated by everyone as though they were somehow lesser because they were left-handed. He tells him about the way his father had acted as though he didn't even know him when he turned out to be Grisha, how his mother hadn't even looked at him while saying a performative goodbye.

And he admits that deep down, even though he knew that his parents would never want to see him again because he was Grisha, he had hoped that if he could be as normal as possible, then perhaps one day, if he served the army well, they could look past that.

Fedyor doesn't interrupt him, even when he struggles to continue, just lets him spill everything that has been weighing on his heart for so long.

It's only when he has finished that he speaks. "You know there's nothing wrong with being left-handed, right? It doesn't make you evil, or bad. It doesn't mean anything at all."

When Ivan doesn't answer, he continues.

"Hey, look at me." He waits until Ivan reluctantly does what he asked, then says: "You know Sofia is left-handed too, right? Do you think that that makes her evil?"

Ivan can't help but snort at that. Sofia is probably the only person he knows who could rival Fedyor's cheeriness and kindness, and is just about the farthest from evil one can get.

"Exactly." Fedyor looks just as pleased as he sounds. "So why would it be any different for you?"

Ivan struggles to come up with an answer, but finds that he can't. Still, he can't help but feel like being left-handed would burn the last remnants of the bridge to his parents that he's been holding onto for the past six years to the ground.

Fedyor takes his left hand into his, carefully, as though he expects Ivan to pull it away. "There is nothing wrong with you, alright? You are Grisha whether you're right-handed or left-handed, and from what you've told me, that's not something they are willing to forgive.

"You said they treated them as lesser for being left-handed? Prove them wrong. Everyone knows you could be the most powerful Heartrender in the Second Army one day, now it's up to you: will you become that Grisha, or will you keep holding yourself back for them?"

-

In his next session with Baghra, he uses his left hand instead of his right, and accomplishes everything she asks of him.

He leaves with an almost imperceptible smile on his face, her approving "There he is!" stuck in his mind. Somehow, Fedyor still catches the smile and positively beams with pride.

In that moment, Ivan finds himself thinking that no Sun Summoner could ever shine brighter than Fedyor does.

-

As it turns out, Fedyor was right. By the time they officially complete their training and take their last exams, even the General has taken notice of Ivan's abilities.

He completes the final examination using his left hand, and passes with flying colours.

Later, when they step away for a moment from the group of Grisha they had trained with, who are celebrating the official end to their training as well as their last night together before they receive their first assignments in the morning, they once more find themselves sitting under their tree.

Fedyor once more takes his left hand into his, considering it before asking: "Do I get to say 'I told you so' now?"

"No, you get to shut up now." Ivan rolls his eyes, but his tone betrays the fondness that he feels, but would never admit to anyone.

"But I did tell you s-"

Ivan surprises both Fedyor and himself as he uses his left hand that Fedyor is still holding to pull him closer and into a kiss. (But it does work to make Fedyor shut up.)

-

No one else is surprised in the slightest when they find the two sitting there a few hours later, asleep, their hands still intertwined. But no one would ever dare mention it for fear of facing Ivan's wrath.

[thankskenpenders]

The DiC characters or the adventures of sonic characters are not coming back, ever. 90's nostalgia is super huge right now, tons of companies are doing nostalgia bait and callbacks to especially 90's stuff. If SEGA were to ever use those characters, it would be now. The fact that theyre not, says enough. And they sure as heck wont use them 10 years from now when kids dont even know sonic had those cartoons.

Think about it like this, obscure characters from the Sonic Manga of all things have gotten referenced. That the FF's dont get that or Sonic X characters is for a reason. I'm sure the comic writers would love to do some easter eggs or just goof about the old cartoons, but SEGA must be keepin a tight grip on certain characters not even getting alluded to.

I'm not sure why you felt the need to send this? First of all this isn't even something I've talked about in the last few days. Second... yeah, no shit there are reasons why the DiC characters like the Freedom Fighters or Scratch and Grounder or whoever haven't come back? I've written about all those reasons extensively. The legal drama of the Archie comics, the mixed reputation of the series, the clear desire to differentiate the IDW series from the Archie run, their relative obscurity compared to the Sega cast, the fact that they clash with the modern vision for Sonic without retooling, and of course the fact that Sega has just never really cared about any of them. If getting those characters back was easy then the IDW series would've just been about the Freedom Fighters from the start. I've said repeatedly that folks shouldn't hold their breath

But I also don't think it's completely impossible, even if it's not something I'm counting on. And that's because Sonic is a franchise defined by weird, unexpected decisions. Did anyone expect to get a decades late live action Sonic movie, or for it to be the highest grossing video game movie ever? Did anyone expect Sega to sanction a new classic-style 16-bit Sonic game from a team of indie devs? Or a game where you get to make your own Sonic OC and have them be besties with Sonic? Or a (bad) Sonic RPG from BioWare? Or for them to devote that much screentime to Elise at the big Sonic Symphony? Or for Tangle and Whisper to get their own comic miniseries, a bunch of official merch, and even playable appearances in two mobile games? Or an officially licensed Mephiles the Dark Tech Deck? I could go on and on. Again: I'm not saying it's gonna happen any day now. But weirder things have happened

I also don't think "kids don't know who characters like the Freedom Fighters are" is an argument that holds any water. I mean, yeah, obviously they're not NEARLY as popular as the game cast. But like... older media doesn't just disappear when a new generation of kids rolls around? Especially not when it's attached to a perpetually popular franchise

Like, when I was a kid, I became obsessed with a lot of shit that was from before my time! Classic Mega Man, the G1 Transformers cartoon, EarthBound. And as I've explained before, Sonic too. I got into Sonic in 2002, but it was through catching AoStH on Toon Disney and randomly stumbling upon Archie Sonic #13 at a flea market. It didn't matter that those were outdated pieces of Sonic media because they were still new to me. And I know there are kids out there who are the same way. Months before the movie came out, my little niece and nephew became obsessed with Sonic X (with no involvement from me) because it was on Netflix, and now they love Sonic. It didn't matter to them that that show was nearly 17 years old at the time. While they're definitely in the minority, I'm sure there are kids out there finding SatAM on YouTube (or on Netflix, when it was on there), or finding fanart of Sally online and looking into where she came from. No, they aren't as widely marketable as someone like Shadow, but that doesn't mean NOBODY knows who they are aside from old farts, or that kids who like Sonic turn their noses up at characters they don't already recognize

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter One

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3, Tumblr Master Post

Chapter One

“Lightwood’s Mortuary, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?”

“You know,” Izzy said, “that joke would land a lot better if you hadn’t turned green last week when I mentioned getting to do my first cadaver dissection.”

“First of all,” Jace said, abandoning his laptop in favor of flopping back onto his bed, “it’s creepy that you say ‘getting to’ instead of ‘having to.’ And second of all, no one wants to hear about how much fun you had slicing up dead bodies over Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Max wanted to hear about it.”

“Max also can’t wait to get to middle school because he heard you get to use actual fire in science class,” Jace pointed out.

“Max is just into science like his big sister,” Izzy countered breezily. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”

“Please,” Jace said with far more enthusiasm than the situation probably warranted. “I’m desperate enough for any distraction that will take me away from trying to memorize third declensions that I would love to discuss whatever family holiday drama is so colossal I’m hearing it from you instead of Alec. Is Robert planning to show up uninvited to Christmas dinner with his girlfriend again? Oh! Did Mom finally snap and kill him? Is that why Alec isn’t calling? Is he helping her hide the body?”

“Oh my god,” Izzy laughed. “Dad and Annamarie are spending the holidays in Provance with her family, and there are no bodies to be hidden. This is what you get for taking Latin instead of Spanish like a sane person.”

“This coming from a woman who’s studying both,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah, because a basic understanding of Latin and fluency in Spanish will both help me get into med school, and I need all the help I can get if I’m going to get into Grossman. Besides, I’d never imply anyone in this family is sane. If you studied more, you’d know that ‘Lightwood’ is just Latin for ‘totally fucking cracked.’”

“Please,” Jace snorted. “It’s not even a Latinate name. It’s Germanic. ‘Lightwood’ is Old English for ‘totally fucking cracked.’ Speaking of which, what’s the Christmas disaster?”

“It’s not a disaster exactly,” Izzy hedged, and Jace felt a sudden frisson of actual unease. Izzy normally had no problem speaking her mind. “It’s not a disaster at all, actually. It’s just. I invited someone.”

“Oh.” Jace relaxed. He didn’t know why Izzy was making such a big deal out of this. In the years since the divorce, Maryse had often encouraged her kids to invite any friends without a place to go to join them for holidays. Izzy’s own roommate had come for Thanksgiving last year. “That’s cool.”

“No,” Izzy said, like he was missing something obvious. “Jace, I invited someone. Someone I’m seeing. Seriously.”

“Oh,” Jace said again, this time with dawning comprehension. “That’s great, Iz. I’m happy for you. Wait, Mom’s not doing her overprotective, no-one-is-good-enough-for-my-children thing again, is she? Is that why you called, you need me to run interference?”

“No, no,” Izzy reassured him, although her voice still held an underlying tension. “Mom’s been great, actually. They knew each other already, so that probably helps.” Jace heard a shaky inhale before Izzy continued. “You, um. You know her, too, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Jace said with forced ease, wracking his brain for any clue as to what could have Izzy so freaked out. Whatever it was, Jace wasn’t going to add to her stress. As far as he knew, Isabelle had never even been serious enough about someone before to even use the term girlfriend or boyfriend, let alone bring them home for Christmas. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“It’s Clary,” Izzy said in a rush. “I’m dating Clary.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Jace was glad he was already lying down.

“Clary?” he repeated. “M—” He just barely stopped himself from saying “my Clary.” Because she wasn’t, not anymore. Not for a long time. “Morgenstern?” It was a clumsy recovery, but it was the best he could manage. “You’re dating Clary Morgenstern?”

Jace and Clary had met at the beginning of Jace’s junior year of high school. Clary, a year younger, had just lost her mom, and the two initially bonded over the shared experience of having lost parents. But Clary was fierce and bold and so full of passion even in the depths of her grief that Jace really couldn’t help falling in love with her. They’d dated for nearly two years—practically forever in high school terms—and even though they’d both known they were growing apart by the time Jace had to choose between his first-choice college in Boston and staying in New York to go to NYU, Clary would always hold a special place in Jace’s heart as his first love.

“Yeah,” Izzy said on a heavy exhale. “For a while now. That—that’s why I called. I didn’t want it to be weird, you know? For us all to just show up and for it to be a surprise. But I guess I probably shouldn’t have done it over the phone, either. I just didn’t think—”

“Izzy,” Jace said, much more calmly than he felt. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

“God, I should have told you sooner,” Izzy continued as though he hadn’t even spoken. “I just knew it probably would be weird for you, so I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure—”

“But you are now,” Jace interrupted again. It wasn't really a question. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” Izzy breathed. “I’m so sure.”

“Then it’s not weird,” Jace lied. “I mean, come on, my sister is dating someone who makes her happy and who I know will treat her right. What kind of idiot would I have to be to complain about that?”

“Really?” Izzy pressed. “Because I told Clary I wanted to talk to you before we finalized plans. So, if it is weird for you, or even if you just don’t want to be the only single person at the table on Christmas—”

“I won’t be,” Jace interrupted.

There was a pregnant pause, and then Izzy squealed so loud Jace had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Oh my god, Jace! That’s amazing! Why didn’t you just say you were bringing someone, too, you jackass? Do you know how worried I’ve been about telling you about me and Clary?”

Which wasn’t what he’d meant at all—he’d only meant that Maryse was single, too—but Jace couldn’t resist the excitement in Izzy’s voice, not after her earlier panic.

“If I’d known you were all freaked out, I would have said something sooner,” Jace improvised. “It’s kind of new, and I haven’t even had the chance to tell Mom yet.”

“Let me,” Izzy insisted. “I’ve been trying to get her to admit that she and Luke are an item for ages, and maybe knowing that we’re all happily attached will be the push she needs.”

“Hold up. Mom…and Clary’s stepdad?” Jace was starting to wonder if this was some bizarre stress nightmare brought on by impending finals.

“Yup,” Izzy confirmed, popping the “p.” “They’re not even subtle about how much time they’re spending together, but Mom keeps talking about how they’re ‘just old friends.’” Jace could practically hear the eye roll.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if I leave now, I can catch Mom closing up the bookshop and maybe finally get her to crack. Don’t worry about Christmas plans. I’ll take care of everything. Talk to you later!”

“Iz, wait,” Jace started, but he was interrupted by the telltale beep of the call ending.

Jace stared at his phone, wondering how, exactly, he’d managed to make such a disaster of things. He couldn’t deal with this right now, he decided, tossing his phone aside. He just had to get through finals, and then he could come up with some excuse for why his nonexistent girlfriend couldn’t make it for Christmas. An excuse that wouldn’t make Izzy suspicious. Or Clary. Or Alec. Or— Fuck. Not thinking about it.

He turned his attention back to his laptop only to realize after several minutes of staring blankly that he wasn’t prepared to think about Latin anymore, either. Fuck it. He was going to spend the rest of the evening on the couch, drinking beer and watching stupid people doing stupid things on TV and thinking about absolutely nothing at all.

Because Jace just couldn’t catch a break, he found both the couch and TV already in use. He wanted to be annoyed, especially since he knew this was at least the dozenth time this semester his roommate had watched Return of the Jedi. Part of him was annoyed. But another part of him was…not annoyed. And that was yet another thing Jace wasn’t going to think about.

Jace’s first impression of Simon Lewis, when he’d walked into History and Literature of Music their freshman year, had been that he was kind of hot, in a nerdy way. His second impression, when he actually talked to Simon a few days later, was that the guy was annoying as hell. Over the course of the year, as they somehow ended up hanging out with the same group of friends, it became a tolerable sort of annoying. So tolerable, in fact, that when Jace found himself desperate for a roommate the next summer when Raj bailed on him last-minute, he’d agreed to let Simon have the second room in the surprisingly affordable apartment he’d found.

Jace’s third impression of Simon came four days after they’d moved in together, when he happened to be walking down the hallway at the exact moment Simon stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, a stray droplet of water trailing down his surprisingly well-defined abs. In that moment, Jace must have lost his mind, because he had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to follow the path of that droplet with his tongue and, oh. Oh no. Jace had been wrong this entire time. Simon wasn’t just annoying. He wasn’t just nerd-hot. He was annoyingly hot.

And Jace was maybe just a little bit in trouble.

Because he’d seen the kinds of people Simon dated. Thoughtful. Driven. Well-adjusted. Unlike Jace in pretty much every way that mattered. Not that Jace dated, but he wasn’t the kind of person Simon hooked up with, either, he was pretty sure.

(Jace confessed his fourth impression of Simon to Maia several months later, after many, many shots of tequila. Maia laughed at him for a solid five minutes, but she also poured them another round and never mentioned it again after they sobered up because she was actually a pretty good friend despite how much she always seemed to enjoy Jace’s suffering.)

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked around a mouthful of instant ramen. Jace refused to acknowledge that the way his cheeks puffed out when he ate was cute.

“Just.” Jace shook his head. “Holidays. Family stuff.”

“Your sister planning to make Christmas dinner again?” Simon asked.

“Worse,” Jace said, flopping onto the other end of their stained Goodwill couch. “She’s dating my ex.”

Simon winced. “Ouch, dude.” Simon poked at his noodles with a pair of well-used disposable chopsticks. “You still have feelings for your ex?”

“What? No, of course not. It was ages ago, and we were practically still kids. And the breakup was mutual.” He made a face. “But Izzy’s bringing her home for Christmas.”

“Okay, yeah, that could be a little awkward,” Simon conceded.

“It gets worse,” Jace admitted. “When she told me, I kind of panicked and said I was bringing someone home, too.”

Simon frowned. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” Jace told him. “Which is kind of the problem.”

“Wow. You really know how to make things difficult for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. “Very helpful.”

Simon shrugged, then said, as casual as if he were offering to toss Jace’s towels in with his to make a full load at the laundromat, “You could always take me home with you.”

Jace stared. “What?”

“I mean, I’m going to be in the city anyway,” Simon continued, “and it’s not like my family does Christmas. I think Mom and Becky can manage the traditional Chinese takeout and Fast and Furious marathon without me.”

“Your family watches The Fast and the Furious on Christmas?” It was the only part of that Jace was emotionally prepared to process.

“It used to be Die Hard, but Mom’s got a thing for Vin Diesel, so now we alternate years.”

Jace stared a moment longer, waiting for any of this to make sense. On the television, Boushh threatened Jabba with a thermal detonator.

“Right,” Jace said when it was clear the situation wasn’t going to make sense of itself. “Okay. Rewind to the part where I’m supposed to take you home with me for Christmas and, what, pretend you’re my boyfriend?”

He could picture it all too easily. Simon wielding his enthusiastic charm to keep Izzy out of the kitchen while Jace helped Maryse make dinner. Simon joining Alec in coaxing Jace toward the piano when it was time to sing carols. Simon flushed and smiling after a couple mugs of Magnus’s deceptively alcoholic eggnog. Simon’s hand in his because that’s just something boyfriends do.

It was a horrifyingly tempting prospect.

Jace pushed those thoughts away, crossing his arms over his chest and directing all the scorn he felt at himself into the stare he leveled at Simon. “What’s that supposed to accomplish other than giving me a headache?”

“Hey,” Simon said, setting the dregs of his ramen down on their secondhand Ikea coffee table, “I’ll have you know that I make an excellent boyfriend.”

That wasn’t exactly news. The fact that Simon was friends with basically all of his exes said as much. But Jace wasn’t about to let on that he paid that much attention to Simon’s dating habits. Or to pass up such a good opening. “That why you’re single?”

“Not the one currently desperate for a holiday date here, pal,” Simon pointed out.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty eager to be my holiday date just a second ago,” Jace said, adding a wink just to be obnoxious.

“It was an offer, jackass. One which I now deeply regret.”

“Which you should,” Jace told him, turning to the TV and pretending to watch. “Now we can both forget this conversation ever happened, and I can go back to figuring out what I’m going to tell my family about why my nonexistent significant other can’t make it for Christmas this year.”

“Right,” Simon muttered, picking up his bowl and turning his own attention back to the movie.

Jace told himself he didn’t feel just the tiniest bit disappointed.

“The thing is,” Simon said several minutes later, as Boba Fett tumbled into the Sarlaac pit, “my cousin Rachel is getting married on Valentine’s Day. And my Bubbe Helen is still pretty cranky with me for breaking up with Maia.”

Jace frowned at him. “You and Maia dated for like a month and a half. Over a year ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Simon said, “Bubbe Helen really liked her, but I think maybe that’s because Maia’s the only person I’ve ever brought to a family function. So, I was thinking maybe if I brought someone else to Rachel’s wedding, she’d get the hint and drop the Maia thing. And then you suddenly needed someone to take home for Christmas, and I thought we could, you know, help each other out.”

It was a terrible idea, and Jace meant to say so. He really did. But what came out of his mouth instead was, “You want to introduce me to your grandmother?”

“I mean,” Simon said with a shrug, “she’d probably be happier if you were Jewish, but I honestly think she’d be happy to see me with anyone who’s not a total asshole. Ever since she found out Maia and I aren’t together anymore, she’s been acting like I’m going to end up a lonely old maid or something, which I totally don’t get, because A, I’m only twenty-one, and B, she doesn’t think it’s a problem that Becky’s single and Becky’s two years older than me.”

“Glad to know I meet the very minimal requirement of not being an asshole.”

“Not a total asshole,” Simon corrected with a teasing grin.

“You’re really making a compelling case for trying to convince our families that we’re a couple,” Jace said drily. But he was maybe just a little bit weak for Simon’s smile, so he added, “But you might as well tell me how exactly you think this would work. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Simon repeated. “Right. Well, we’d need to come up with a game plan, obviously. And rules. Rules that we actually follow, because that’s where things like this always fall apart, when someone ignores the rules.”

“Where things always fall apart,” Jace repeated. “Is this something you do often?”

“What? No! I just mean like in movies and stuff. Fake dating is practically its own genre, so we have a ton of examples for how not to do it, and…” Simon frowned as his voice trailed off. “And now that I’m saying this out loud, I’m realizing how dumb it sounds. You’re right. We should forget this conversation ever happened.”

“Or,” Jace said slowly, knowing he was going to regret it but unable to stop himself, “we could spend some time coming up with a plan and then decide if we think it will work.”

“Wait, really?” The slow grin spreading across Simon’s face did nothing to ease Jace’s sense of impending doom, but it did fill him with a soft warmth that made the doom easier to ignore.

“Why not?” Jace shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “I’m done with classes at noon tomorrow if you want to do it then.”

“I’ve got a break from then till three if you don’t mind meeting near campus,” Simon said. “Say, Java Jones at twelve-thirty?”

“Sure,” Jace agreed to the background of Jabba’s sail barge exploding. He hoped that was less metaphorical than it felt.

~~~

“I thought we were planning a couple of fake dates, not staging a major military operation,” Jace said as he surveyed the notebooks and stacks of paper strewn across the rickety cafe table in front of Simon.

“Oh, sorry,” Simon said, hastily shoving exactly one of the many notebooks into his backpack. “I was just reviewing notes for my econ final while I waited.”

“Is all of this really necessary?” Jace asked, attempting to clear enough room on the table for his coffee and the banana muffin that was attempting to pass for lunch.

“It’s so necessary,” Simon told him, reaching over to steal a piece of Jace’s muffin. “I don’t want to end up like Melissa Joan Hart in My Fake Fiancé.” He popped the piece of muffin into his mouth. “Or Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy. Oh! Or even worse, Melissa Joan Hart in Holiday in Handcuffs.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Simon sighed heavily. “I’m saying we need clear, well-defined rules if this is going to work.”

“Is rule number one ‘don’t be Melissa Joan Hart’?” Jace asked, snatching his muffin away when Simon reached for it again and taking a pointed bite.

“No,” Simon said, with far more seriousness than Jace thought the situation warranted. “That’s rule number two. Rule number one,” he continued, opening a blue notebook to a fresh page, “is ‘absolutely no sex.’”

Jace choked on his muffin.

“If there’s one thing everyone seems to agree with, it’s that things always break down when that rule gets broken,” Simon continued as though Jace weren’t struggling to breathe around a mouthful of muffin and why Simon thought they even needed a rule for that.

Jace washed the remaining crumbs of muffin down with a generous swig of coffee, then leaned back in his chair with a deliberately cocky grin. “I mean, I know I’m damn near irresistible, but do you really think you need a rule to keep from jumping me?”

“Rule three,’’ Simon said, scribbling furiously in the notebook, “treat each other with the same respect we’d treat people we’re actually dating.”

“Hey, I would have the same question for someone I was actually dating.”

Simon looked up from the notebook. “That explains so much about your dating history.”

Jace flipped him off, and Simon flashed him a shit-eating grin. “Nope, sorry, rule one. But,” he continued, serious once again, “we should have rules about what kind of physical affection we are comfortable with. Like, I know we don’t normally do hugs, but it would be weird if we never hugged in front of your family if we were dating, right? What about holding hands, is that too much? And what about kissing? I’m definitely cool with cheek kisses, but I don’t know—”

“Simon,” Jace interrupted before he could get too worked up. Or make Jace think about more things he really shouldn’t be thinking about. “You’re allowed to hug me. And hold my hand. Honestly, I’m sure I’d be fine with anything you’re comfortable doing in front of my family, so how about we just go with this: casual touches are fine and for anything else, I’ll follow your lead.”

The look Simon gave him was so searching that Jace almost worried for a second that Simon would be able to see right past his crossed arms and feigned nonchalance to the part of him that was less worried about showing physical affection than how much he wanted it, the part that avoided hugging Simon because he liked it.

“Okay,” Simon said finally. “But you have to promise you’ll tell me if anything I do bothers you even a little bit.”

“You mean like singing Shake It Off at the top of your lungs in the shower?” Jace asked.

“That was one time!” Simon protested. “I was up all night studying and under the influence of too many energy drinks. We agreed never to mention it again.”

“No, you told me never to mention it again and I laughed at you.”

“See, this is why we need rules. You’re already breaking number three.”

“Yeah, because we’re not pretend-dating yet,” Jace said. “That one might be a little rough, but I’m sure I can manage with some practice.”

There was that searching look again, but then Simon nodded like Jace had said something particularly insightful. “You’re right, we should practice.”

“We—what?”

“If we’re going to convince people who actually know us that we’re dating, then we should practice first,” Simon said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not just the rules we know are going to be hard, but all of it, so we can work out any kinks in the plan before showtime.”

And maybe it was reasonable, but it was one thing to put on a show for his family, for Simon’s family, for a few days at a time in places that might be familiar to each of them individually, but that weren’t theirs. It was entirely another thing to do it here, in the cafe they went to at least twice a week, or on campus where they’d first met and had to keep on attending classes for at least another year, or even worse in the apartment they shared, around their friends—

“I really should have thought of it earlier,” Simon continued, blissfully unaware of Jace’s inner turmoil. “My best friend back home, she’s an amazing liar. Like, seriously, she got away with everything when we were kids. But any time she needed me to back up her story, she’d make me practice with her like a hundred times until she knew I could convince her mom and stepdad, even after I got good enough that I didn’t have to practice to convince Mom. Man, those two could sniff out the tiniest discrepancy in any story. Like, if normal parent bullshit detection is a one, my mom’s is probably a solid three, but Fray’s parents? Eleven, easy.”

“I’m pretty sure no one I’m related to has supernatural bullshit detection,” Jace told him. “And it’s common knowledge I’m a better liar than you are, so if you can fool your mom without practice, so can I.”

“Maybe,” Simon conceded. “But a little bit of practice couldn’t hurt, right?”

Jace was pretty sure that it could hurt, actually, but he was also pretty sure he was the only one in danger of getting hurt, so it probably wasn’t worth consideration. Especially weighed against the hopeful enthusiasm in Simon’s expression.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could start by pretending we’re on a date right now,” Simon suggested. “We’re already sharing a muffin. So, just treat me like you’d treat anyone you were on a date with.”

“My dates don’t usually involve this many notebooks,” Jace told him. “And if my date stole my muffin, the date would be over.”

“Come on, you’re not even trying,” Simon said, gathering up the papers and notebooks. “You’d really ditch your date over a muffin?”

“Absolutely,” Jace insisted. “They’d have to be seriously good in bed to make up for it, and I’m pretty sure rule number one says you’ll never get muffin-stealing privileges.”

“If the biggest benefit to sleeping with you is getting to share your muffins, then I’m not the one missing out,” Simon told him.

“You selling your body for muffins now, Lightwood?” an amused voice interrupted. “I bet I know a few people who’d toss a bran muffin or two your way for a chance at that ass.”

“Which is why you’re not my pastry-pimp, Roberts,” Jace said, smirking at Maia as she helped herself to one of the table’s empty chairs. “I only trade this ass for top tier, gourmet muffins. If your muffins don’t have at least two Michelin stars, I’m not interested.”

“I give him a week until he’s working corners for Entenmann’s,” Simon told her. “He was just threatening to walk out on our date over a bite of mediocre banana nut.”

Maia’s eyes widened. “Your— Oh, shit, sorry,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and throwing them both an apologetic smile that Jace was pretty sure wouldn’t be directed at him if he were sitting with anyone other than Simon. “I swear I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought you were studying or something. You guys have fun, and I’ll just—”

“It’s a practice date,” Jace interrupted, “not an actual date. And Simon’s a dirty muffin thief who won’t even put out, so I’m not sure it really even qualifies as any kind of date.”

Maia looked between the two of them, then slowly lowered herself back into the chair. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly is a ‘practice date,’ and why are the two of you on one?”

“Jace needs a fake boyfriend to take home for Christmas, and I need a fake date for Rachel’s wedding,” Simon explained, snatching the last bit of Jace’s muffin without remorse. “And we thought we should practice dating before trying to convince our families that were actually, you know, together.”

“That’s a terrible idea, and I regret any part I played in the two of you becoming friends,” Maia said flatly.

“Yeah, that would probably worry me more if you didn’t say that like twice a week,” Simon told her.

“Oh god, Simon, what did you let Jace talk you into now?” another voice asked, and suddenly there were three more people crowding around their tiny table, because apparently all of their friends were at Java Jones today. Which, in retrospect, Jace should have expected, given how often they all hung out there.

“It was actually my idea,” Simon told Maureen, sliding his chair closer to Jace’s to make room for her, Bat, and Lily. “Jace is taking me home to meet his family over the holidays, and I’m taking him as my date to my cousin’s wedding.”

This proclamation was met with a stunned silence that was broken when Lily turned to Jace and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“That’s for abandoning me, jerk,” Lily told him. “Not that I can really blame you—either of you,” she added, giving both Jace and Simon an appreciative once over, “‘cause damn—but I thought we had an understanding.” She sighed heavily. “Now that you’ve gone over the dating Dark Side, who’s going to be my wingman? You’re probably going to start doing all kinds of relationship-y things and talking about feelings—” she said it like it was a dirty word “—and crap like that.”

“I am not going to talk about my feelings,” Jace said, at the same time that Simon said, “We’re not actually together. We’re just pretending.”

“They’re planning to try to convince their families they’re dating even though they’re not,” Maia explained. “Because they apparently think that’s not just a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh,” Lily said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Fifty bucks,” Bat announced, “says that when this blows up in their faces, Jace is the first one to break down and call Maia in a panic.”

“Hey,” Jace protested.

“Oh, you’re on,” Maureen said, ignoring Jace entirely. “Sorry, Simon, but no one panics quite like you.”

“I’m in,” Lily said, “and I agree with Maureen that Simon will break first, but his call to Maia will be interrupted by Jace calling five minutes later.”

“Why am I the one getting all of the panicked calls?” Maia wanted to know.

“Because you’re the only person at this table who isn’t an asshole,” Simon told her, “but nothing’s going to go wrong, let alone panic-inducing levels of wrong, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Dude,” Jace said, “she’s an asshole to me.”

“You like it,” Maia and Simon said in unison, causing the rest of the table to collapse into laughter.

“Okay, fine,” Maia said around her giggles several minutes later, “if you’re all betting, then count me in, too. I bet that these fools,” she looked pointedly at Jace, then at Simon, “don’t call me when this whole thing goes to hell, but I somehow end up having to haul their asses out of trouble, anyway.”

“I rescind my assessment of you as not an asshole,” Simon told her.

“I’d think twice about calling the woman who’s going to haul your ass out of trouble an asshole if I were you,” Bat said.

“Back to this pretending to be together thing,” Lily said. “What exactly does that entail?”

“That’s actually what we were trying to figure out when you guys showed up,” Simon told her. “We started a list of rules, but we only made it to four so far.”

“Your list should definitely include making out,” Lily said decisively. “Having made out with both of you, I can say with confidence that you’re definitely missing out if you don’t. In fact, you should try it now so we can let you know if it looks authentic.”

“You just want to watch them make out,” Maureen said.

“Yes,” Lily told her. She didn’t add ‘duh,’ but it was implied. “I always want to make hot people make out. But in this case, I’m also being helpful.”

The ensuing argument over the line between helpful and self-serving was thankfully cut short by the opening guitar line of Blonde Redhead’s Barragan.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” Simon said, holding up his phone. “I’ve been playing voicemail tag with Becky all week.” He looked at Jace. “Talk more about this later?”

“Sure,” Jace told him.

“Tell your sister I said hi,” Maia called after Simon as he headed away from the cafe’s crowd.

“You know,” Jace told her in a low voice, “you could always tell her hi yourself instead of always asking Simon to pass messages.”

Maia gave him an unimpressed look. “After everything I just heard, I’m pretty sure you’re the last person in this room I should be taking relationship advice from.”

“Bite me,” Jace told her, but he didn’t disagree.

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 14:

Holiday Playlist

Sold (Dance)

Leo was freezing, shivering in the car with the heated seat under his ass and heat blowing on him. He changed his pants from the ice soaked ones earlier and his ankles were sore from his skates but he was happy. He made a good impression on Logan’s sisters, his mom texted him to let him know the sale went through, and he watched Clay face plant on the ice.

All was well in the world.

He was smiling to himself as he leaned back into the heat of the seat with his arms hugging himself, teeth only chattering a little bit. He is listening to Logan chat with his sisters in the back in fairly fast French-Canadian French, he knows Finn is confused. But Leo is listening to him tap on the steering wheel to whatever song was playing in his head. The radio is off because Leo doesn’t want to overwhelm Finn with too much noise in a small confined place. He would be miserable the rest of the night.

They pull up to Pascal's house and the Trembly siblings are the first out of the vehicle, leaving Leo and Finn in the dust. Finn kisses Leo’s temple after shutting off the car.

“Ready?” Leo smiles and nods, he is honestly a little tired but he’s excited to get a little drunk and just relax with the team plus the team’s families.

Leo grabs onto the handle to push open the door when it is suddenly flung open and he topples out face first first into the ground. Hearing someone gasp from above him he rolls over to his back and blinks a few times.

“I think… I broke my teeth again.” Leo runs his tongue over his two front teeth and feels the chip in his tooth is suddenly much larger, but still less than half his tooth so he doesn’t really care.He has broken his teeth way worse before. Ma will get a kick out of it. “That's fun.”

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Aubry is helping him sit up and is grabbing his still dazed face and looking it over to make sure he’s okay. She looks over to her left and sees Logan looking at her and she can feel the anger rolling off of him. His arms are crossed and his hands are gripping his arms, Sydney takes one look at Logan and steps back a couple of feet.

“Can you let go of my face?” Leo mumbles, causing her to look back at him and smile a little at his squished cheeks. “Also I break my teeth all the time, 90% of my front two teeth are fake so…” He shrugs and smiles at her. She lets go of his face and Finn helps Leo up.

“Again I’m sorry Leo!”

“I feel like I look like Jason Derulo after he tried eating corn off the cob with a power drill.” He laughs at himself as he looks in the side mirror of the car. Rolling his bottom jaw a bit, popping his neck from side to side, then rolling his shoulders. He notices a scrape on his chin and his cheek. “Not gonna lie, I kinda look rugged.”

“Let’s go inside, get you a drink and an ice pack, yeah?” Logan takes his hand and smiles up at him, taking note of his scrapes and his chipped tooth when he smiles back.

“Yes please!” They all make their way inside to find families just chatting on the couches in the living room, people drinking wine and eating little horderves that Celeste and Adele put together. Leo is led to the kitchen where the two chefs were.

“Oh Leo, did you fall on the ice after we left?” Celeste looks at him as she hands him an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel.

“Non, Aubry opened my door with me attached to it and I landed face first on the concrete. Broke my teeth some more but.” He shrugs and his nose scrunches as Logan dabs at his scrapes with a wet paper towel. “Okay! Okay! I’m Okay! OW!” Logan sighs at Leo’s dramatics and goes to throw the paper towel away.

“So you’re the man with the terrible singing.” Adele looks up at Leo from where she is cutting pinwheels. “I wondered if you were ever going to appear.”

“You don’t like my singing?” Leo smiles at her and she smiles back. “Wait, when have you heard my singing?” He absentmindedly starts helping her put pickles on sticks. He remembers catching a glance of her the first time he visited Pascals’ but he doesn’t remember singing when she was around.

“When Logan was really sad after Louisiana, he would only fall asleep to these videos of you singing in front of a fire pit. It was really annoying for a while.” Leo is silent for a moment, Adele looks up at him and notices how he is trying to keep his face blank but the frown lines are still ghosting. “He is better than ever now that you are with him and Finn though, he blabs about you two all the time.” That makes him smile a bit.

“No! Alex! Let go!” Leo and Adele turn around to see an older version of Finn keeping Logan in a headlock. Leo hides his smile by sucking in his lips and holding them between his teeth. “Ah!” Logan is suddenly on the ground with Alex laughing from above him, asshole kicked his feet out from under him. Glaring Logan takes his hand and gets helped up. “Jerk.”

“Hey! You can’t be mean to me or I’ll tell Finn.”

“He would be on my side!”

“He would laugh at you and give me a high five and you know it.” Logan thinks for a moment and then signs knowing Alex is right.

“Why do my boyfriend's siblings bully me?”

“Because we are family, shortstack.” Alex gets punched in the stomach for that nickname everytime. Yet he still calls Logan that any time he gets the chance. After a moment of catching his breath, Alex looks up to see Logan’s face buried into another man’s chest. He was tall and had a couple scrapes on his face but he looked young. Maybe in his early twenties. His hair was barely sticking out from under his.. Cowboy hat… he was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt… with cowboy boots. Who was this guy!? Does Finn know about him and Logan?

“Leooooo, I got some people I want you to meeeet!” Finn walks into the kitchen with his mother and Father trailing behind and bumps into Alex who is just staring at Leo like he's a ghost. “I promise he doesn’t always dress like that.” Taking a few steps towards his boys he gives Adele a fist bump and then leans his head on Leo’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, this is Leo. The cowboy I have been talking about for…. A good year now. He is Logan and I’s boyfriend.” He smiles.

Leo feels his heart pick up a bit as the nerves of meeting parents that have authority makes him feel like he shouldn’t be there. He shakes the fathers hand after Logan goes to help Adele take out more tiny foods. He goes to shake Finn’s mother’s hand but is pulled into an aggressively tight hug that reminds him of his Mama’s hugs. He smiles and hugs her back. Already starting to feel at ease.

“I’m Alex.” Alex pats Leo on the shoulder.

“Leo, Finn talks a lot about you. He has your pictures up all around the apartment. I was convinced you two were twins for a while.” Leo smiles and continues to relax as Alex bursts out laughing.

“I’m not surprised, when we were younger people swore we were twins, and I think Finn would let people believe it when he was in elementary.” Alex ruffles Finn’s hair.

“So, Finn tells us you’re a Professional Bullrider. Correct?” Finn's dad looks to have the exact same face as his boys, same eyes as well. But he is much more tan and doesn’t have a single freckle that Leo can see, his hair is dark brown and curly, his eyebrows were so thick that Eliose would have the time of her life shaping them, his nose is also quite large and protrudes from his face with a little crook in the bridge making him subtly look like a bird.

“Yes, I do ride professionally. I actually leave in a couple of months to go travel the country to do it all again. My best friend Clayton ropes calves as well and my Mother was crowned Miss Rodeo when she was younger. So, it’s interesting when Finn tries to talk about rodeo stuff with us and he just has no idea. He’s getting better though.”

“I always had a dream of riding bulls or just being a cowboy in general but I’m from upstate New York! Not many cowboys there.” He laughs in the loud way most older fathers do and pats him on the shoulder just like Alex did. His smile was large and inviting, it reminded him of Finn.

“Country is Country wide, Sir. I have rode with people from New Hampshire and Massechusets. If you want I could teach you some things! I do train children in the two weeks before I leave to compete.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, he may be young at heart but his body is becoming old and crepid.” Finn’s parents share a kiss and it gives Leo’s heart a small painful yank. He can’t help but wonder if his parents would look that happy if his dad was still alive. He takes a sip of the Jack and Coke that Finn made him and swallows it along with his own self pity.

Now is not the time to mope.

He chats with Finn’s family some more until the doorbell rings. That would be his mother.

“Hello, who are you?” Pascal is looking directly into the sharp blue eyes of a woman who is either the same height as him… or taller. SHe is holding two milk crates, both filled with jars full of clear liquid. Odd. She is dressed in a tight red long sleeve shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans that flare at the bottom with matching red boots poking out from the jeans. Something flashes light into his eye and he notices the giant buckle on her belt.

“Oh excuse my manners! I’m Eloise Knut! My son Leo should be behaving here. This is Pascal’s house, yes?” She smiles and her teeth are so blindingly bright that Pascal has to look away.

“Oh yes of course come in.” He opens the door all the way and she struts in. Clayton was the first person to run up to her, Marc is on his back laughing loudly as they were just pretending Clay was a horse.

“Ma! It’s about time you show up! I’ll take this.” Clay has Marc hop off his back and takes the crates from Eloise, walking away lifting them over all the peoples heads who are sitting down or children.

“Ma! I want you to meet my brother. Sirius, this is Eloise. Eloise, this is Sirius.” Reg is looking between them with this excited glint in his eye, his two favorite adult figures in his life are meeting.

“Ravi de vous rencontrer.” Sirius shakes her hand and kisses her hand. Eloise smiles and pats his cheek.

“Si gentil de ta part.” Sirius smiles, cheeks turning a bit pink as she pinches them a bit. “You are just adorable! You and your brother have the most beautiful hair. I would love to just sit down and play with it all day.”

“Mama, stop hitting on Reg’s brother. Hit on his boyfriend instead.” Remus laughs from his spot next to Leo as they walk up with plates piled high with food. Leo’s vegetarian, Remus’ not. “I mean look at him, he is exactly your type! Short brownish hair, giant brown eyes, probably a bottom- Hey!” Remus swats at his plate of food to try and knock it over, making Leo barely have time to balance it out again.

“Leo, you’re gay. I thought you would have been better at seeing who is top, bottom, or a switch in relationships. It’s pretty obvious if you ask me.” Eloise smiles at Remus. “Since you have your hands full I will just give you a wave, Deary.” She waves at him. “I’m Eloise, Leo’s mother. I hope you haven’t heard anything bad about me, Leo likes to tell stories of when I was younger.”

“I can’t help it Mama, you were just so interesting!” Leo speaks with his mouth full and Reg, Remus and Elosie all give him a look.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full!” They all manage to say at the same time, catching Leo off guard. He laughs and swallows the food in his mouth.

“There are so many mothers around me. I’m going to see who Clay has rounded up to try the shine.” He stands up and leaves his plate on the little table in the middle of them, Reg grabs a few pieces of his food and eats them as he listens to Sirius and Remus talk about how they will be celebrating the holidays.

“I’ll go with you, I should probably meet the rest of the boys.” Eloise follows him into the kitchen to find Clay behind the kitchen island with two jars of moonshine in front of him, explaining to the team what it is. Leo walks over beside him and takes the lid off one and smells it.

“I think this one is watermelon.”

“Thanks for interrupting me. Anyway, moonshine is technically illegal because… honestly I don’t remember but we have been drinking it since we were like 13 I think.” Eloise walks up behind the two, reaching over them to grab the other jar, Clay and Leo move out of the way to let her in the middle.

“You two make me look like a terrible person, you know that? Letting my child drink moonshine at 13. I could get arrested.” She is examining the jar as the boys back track their statements about drinking so young even when they are still under the drinking age. She has a little half smile on her face when she looks through the clear liquid straight into a set of eyes that are staring right back.

Dark hazel eyes surrounded by the longest eyelashes she has ever seen. Dark smooth skin wrinkling around the eyes as this person smiles. Her mouth was very dry all the sudden, her stomach had a pit in it as well.

“Leo why don’t you let me have that, Y’all can keep all the rest.” She puts the jar she is holding down and takes the open one from Leo who was about to take a sip. She leaves the kitchen without another word. Clay and Leo share a confused look as they watch her leave.

Timmy follows a few minutes later.

The music played in the house after all these kids left to go spend the night at other houses, leaving the Dumias house open for adult activities like swearing. Leo, Reg and Clay had all moved the furniture around, with permission from Dumo and Celeste. There was just enough room for people to dance.

No one was really drunk persay but a couple swings of moonshine definitely got people tipsy. Elosie was talking with Ollie, Andrew, and Timmy. Who leo was keeping an extra close eye on, because he just felt like he should. He knows a lot of people find his mother attractive, that's why Eloise always wore her ring, to get people to back off, but she was almost… flirting back with Timmy.

It made Leo feel weird. Clay too.

Leo was staring at Eloise and Timmy when Sold (Grundy County Auction) came on over the bluetooth. He hears a gasp from behind him and sees Remus trying to get Sirius to dance with him.

“Re, I don’t know the dance.”

“It’s easy I promise!” Sirius gives his boyfriend a look and Remus sighs, giving up on trying to yank Sirius up off his chair . Leo walks over because he would also like to dance but his mom is flirting, Reg gets dizzy, his boys don’t know the dance, and Clay is laying across Thomas and Noelle on the couch a bit too drunk to really do anything but smile at them and twist Noelles hair around his finger.

“I know it, and all my dance partners are busy if you’d like to dance.” He smiles and nods his head when Sirius mouths ‘thank you’ in his direction. Remus hesitates for a moment.

“I only know how to follow really.”

“And you wanted me to dance!” Sirius tsks sarcastically and shakes his head leaning back in his chair so the two front legs were off the ground. Making sure there was something soft behind him, Re puts his foot under one of the chair legs and lifts up so Sirius falls backwards onto the pile of blankets that were thrown off the couch. “Re!”

“Well, I only know how to lead so that works out perfectly.” Leo takes Remus’ hand and leads him towards the group of dancing people on the wood floor of the living room. “Think there is enough space?”

“I think so, here.” Remus grabs his hands and they swing in a circle so people give them room. Leo just about trips over his own feet. Remus catches him while laughing, putting a hand on Leo’s shoulder and holding his other while Leo rests his free hand on Remus’ waist.

Spinning each other they are lost in the dance, not noticing the two or three people filming them. Sirius is just watching Remus move so smoothly, without a care in the world. His hair was long enough it swished with him, his laugh was loud and sweet. He didn't know how he didn’t get dizzy from dancing.

Finn was also watching them dance, as well as Logan. Finn was just enjoying his friend and Boyfriend dancing, Logan was too but a bit more… possessive. They all trust one another but Logan can’t help the little voice in the back of his head telling him to make sure Re knows Leo is theirs.

They finish the dance and just straight up sit on the floor to catch their breath, laughing a bit as people return to the dance floor. Eloise walks over to them and holds out a hand to each to help them up.

“Last Song! I want to go to bed!” Dumo announces as he turns the music down for a moment, he turns it back up before people can complain. Celeste was starting to put food away in to go containers and in tupperware to go in the fridge. Dumo walks over to help her but gets distracted when he hears someone drop a glass. He sighs and goes to help them, James, clean up.

“I am going to stay and help Celeste tonight and tomorrow morning. I will see you at the apartment and then we can go out for lunch.” Eloise smiles as Leo nods and lets her kiss his cheek. Leo and Remus make their way back over to their lovers.

“You were amazing!” Sirius hugs Remus, lifting him off the ground and smooching all over his slightly red face. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“My dad and mom used to go to swing classes when I was younger and my dad would always secretly practice with me so he could wow my mom.” He smiles, pushing Sirius’ hair out of his face and sighing happily. “Let’s go home, I’m tired.” Sirius and Reg follow Re out of the house a few minutes later, waving goodbye to the team.

The drive home in the uber was interesting, Leo and Logan were both sliding their hands up Finn’s thighs making his tispy brain only think about one thing. He watched those two whisper to each other before they left the house, Finn didn’t pay much attention, busy watching for the uber to pull up.

Once they enter the house Finn finds himself pinned against the door as soon as it is closed, Leo is kissing and nipping at his neck while Logan is reaching his hands under Finn’s shirt as he kisses him with maybe too much tongue. Finn lets himself be dragged into the feeling of their hands and lips on him.

“Tonight is all about you, sweetheart.” Leo whispers in his ear, Logan pulls away and tugs on Finn’s shirt towards the bedroom. Leo pats his butt to get him moving and follows the other two, stripping off his many layers and stretching his jaw a bit from his fall earlier.

“Hi, how are you?” Finn is pulled on top of Logan who has lost his clothes sometime in between the door of the room and the bed. He was beautiful; basically glowing from the yellow light of the lamp near the bed. Shadows and light contrasting on his tan skin make him look like a work of art. He can’t help but run his fingertips lightly over Logan’s chest and stomach. Smiling as the muscles move under his fingers, he feels a hand on his hand and two hands cupping his face making him look back up at Logan.

“I love you.” Logan pulls him down for a kiss as Finn feels Leo’s rough hands slide his shirt up, he pulls away just long enough to take his shirt off and then dives right back in for more kisses. Logan is very addictive, he lets Finn take over the kiss when he wants and other times he will take over the kiss just to annoy Finn into fucking him. Logan is giggling slightly as they kiss just because all this happiness is bubbling in his chest.

“I love you too, Lo.” He mumbles on Logan’s lips, feeling the bed dip behind him, Finn pulls away from Logan. Only after he is pulled into one last heated kiss that he can barely pull away from. Sitting up on his knees he turns his head to the side and has his lips met with another set of lips he loves.

Leo is almost always soft, besides his calloused hands, his skin is just perfect and makes Finn want to touch him always. He lightly nips at Leo’s lips, drawing a smile from the younger man. They pull away after a moment and Leo wraps his arms fully around Finn’s bare waist, resting his chin on Finn’s shoulder, humming a bit.

“I want to eat you out, is that okay? I mean your ass is so pale it looks like two marshmallows.” Logan snorts at Leo’s comment and flexes his legs from where they are resting on either side of Finn’s thighs, squishing Finn between them. Finn thinks about it for a moment, running his hand up and down Logan’s calf while Leo's hands run all over his torso.

“I don't know. Are you sure you want to? I mean, I just don’t want to find out I’m dirty or something… I also like never shave so… I don’t know.” He absent mindedly twirls a couple of Logan’s leg hairs together between his forefinger and thumb. Trying to ignore the feeling of an embarrassed blush that is creeping from his ears to his chest.

“Finn, you have eaten both of us out. Did you ever care if we were perfectly smooth or whatever else you are worried about?” Logan sits up, Looking him in the eyes. “We want to make you feel good, but if you don’t want to, that's okay too.” After a couple minutes of the three of them just existing together on the bed Finn starts nodding his head.

“Yeah, I want to try it. I think maybe once I get past feeling all jittery I will like it.” He kisses Leo and smiles at Logan. “I want to feel good like how I make you two feel.” He pushes Logan back onto his back and leans over him.

Leo helps Finn out of his shorts and, “Are these… my boxers?” Laughing as Finn nods, Leo also helps him slide off his boxers with fish on them. “You know Fish is a good nickname for you.” Leo starts kissing down his back.

“You named a fish after us and now you are naming me after a fish?” Finn starts to snicker but is cut off by the feeling of Leo licking over his entrance. His brows pinches together, his eyes close and he feels himself turn bright red.

“Hey” Logan kisses his cheek and nudges his cheek a bit with his nose, “Kiss me.” Finn doesn’t waste a second moving to have one hand holding him up by Logan's head and the other is gripping the back of his head with his fingers threaded into the long hair on Logan's neck. “Leo, you’re making him so red.” Logan mumbles on Finn’s lips.

Finn is losing himself in the feeling of Leo slowly opening himself up with his tongue, he knew this made his boys feel good but he didn’t expect it to make his legs shake. He has lost the ability to kiss Logan back because he is breathing so hard, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Every once in a while Finn feels Logan twitch and move under him.

Leo starts using his fingers alongside his tongue, Finn can’t help but rotate his hips in circles as the pleasure keeps flowing through his body. He feels like a soda bottle that hasn’t been opened, but has been shook. Everything was bubbling up and he felt like he was about to explode.

Leo pulls away when he feels Finn is ready. Looking at his boys, they both look blissed out. Leo notices one of Logan’s hands isn’t in sight, Finn is a complete mess. His hair is wild, his face is red, he is panting and looking more out of it than Leo has ever seen him.

“What do you want next?” Leo kisses up his back, nuzzling into the back of his neck and breathing in the smell that is strictly Finn.

“Leo, fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get fucked too?” Logan is staring into Leo’s eyes with his pupils basically taking over his green eyes. Leo nods and leans over Finn’s shoulder to give Logan a quick kiss. Sitting back up, Finn follows his lead and sits up a few moments later. He gets handed the lube from where it is sitting next to Logan and covers his fingers. Logan grabs his hand and shakes his head.

“I already did it.” He smiles shyly at Finn who just blinks a few times.

“Loooogannnn! You know that’s like my favorite part!” Finn is pouting as he uses the lube on his hand to cover his cock. He is still mumbling his complaints as he starts to press in. He is already feeling everything more than normal, so his jaw goes slack and he pauses halfway. “Fucking Christ.” He leans down and presses his forehead to Logan’s as he pushes the rest of the way in. Their heavy breathing syncs up until Finn starts to pull out and push back in, just barely moving.

Leo is watching the whole thing, giving himself a few strokes to ease some pressure. He whispers the question to Finn who slows his thrusts to a stop. Leo slowly starts to press in and feels Finn suddenly tense up, Leo pauses and Finn lets out a noise that he knows like the back of his hand.

Finn just came. Logan moans loudly at the feeling of Finn cuming in him.

“Fuck! Finn~” Leo sees Logans hands grip Finn’s bareback digging his nails in.

“Leo- Please keep going.” Leo takes a deep breath to calm himself from just going to town on Finn. He pulls out and groans as Finn clenches around him. He presses his forehead to Finn’s sweaty back and listens to his plea to go deeper.

“Leo!” Logan calls out to him as his eyes start to roll back and his back arches, following Finn’s example from earlier and cumming between the two of them. Leo continues to fuck them as they moan his name, each others names, and grip one another as if they would lose them if they didn’t.

After finding the perfect rhythm, they all fall into a void of pleasure. Their bodies moving on their own, their voices becoming hoarse from moaning, lips raw from stolen kisses. Everything was perfectly balanced.

Logan suddenly breaks the atmosphere by falling off the edge again. He jerks himself through his orgasm and loses his voice as his vocal cords become taunt. Once the fog in his head dissipates he looks up at his boys.

“Can I watch you two?” The raspiness of his own voice catches him off guard, he clears his throat before Leo pulls out of Finn and Finn pulls out of Logan. Leo is holding Finn up as he has slumped back into Leo’s chest. They rearrange, Logan is laying on his side next to Finn who is lying on his back. Leo is between Finn’s legs and moves them so one is wrapped around his hip and the other is out to the side. With Logan wanting to still do something, he holds the leg that is out to the side and sits up to watch as Leo pushes back into Finn. His eyes wanted to watch where they met and Finn’s face at the same time.

Logan knows that Leo’s eyes when he is fucking is one of the most intense things he has ever seen, Finn tries to look Leo in the eyes but ends up turning his head to meet Logan’s.

Logan's eyes are soft and blown out, beautiful green, calming yet wild. Logan is just a walking oxymoron. He was everything. Finn looks back at Leo who is watching them look at each other. He hits Finn’s prostate just right and Finn cums again as he cups Leo’s face and stares into his eyes.

Leo swallows as he starts to slow down. Finn is still looking into his eyes, Leo kisses him passionately. Teeth and tongue are the main part of the kiss. Finn wraps his arms around Leo’s neck and his legs around his waist, pulling Leo in deeper to him. Leo gets the hint and keeps fucking him.

Finn holds on for dear life as he is fucked into the mattress. He is sensitive from earlier so it doesn’t take long to get him over the edge again. Leo is just about to cum when he pulls out as Finn’s limbs flop to the sides of him, hitting Logan on accident, Leo pulls out. Remembering that Finn doesn’t like the feeling of cum in him. So he jerks himself a few times before he cums all over Finn’s chest and stomach. Mixing with his own mess.

Logan being the impatient boy he is… Fully shoves Leo out of the way, placing two hands on his chest and shoving Leo out of the way. Not meaning to fully knock him off the bed but he does. Logan is between Finn’s legs and licks up his stomach and chest, right through the mess. Taking Finn by surprise he shoves his tongue down his throat.

Leo stands up, watching them making out with the mess and feeling himself start to get turned on again. They pull away and look at him, the softest and sleepiest smiles on their faces.

He loves them.

[haleviyah]

A Hispanic/ Latino Perspective: Border Clarification

This is one of the rare times I’m going to get somewhat political here, but these comments spread by the media are hitting to way close to home for me, so here I go.

Before you pounce on me, let me explain this: I am a moderate. I favor no sides, I don’t treat people by their titles but rather I prefer to judge by character even though I am not the best at it, admittedly. I favour and respect those who keep their word and own their mistakes. In short, if you do what you promise to do, you have my approval whereas if not, you will bear the brunt of my blunt rebukes and sarcastic remarks.

I am also from South Texas, specifically the Rio Grande Valley, and am a descendent of two humble Mexican families who since the Mexican Border War have made Texas their great escape and home.

Bit of a geographical reference, if you don’t know here where the Rio Grande Valley is. Look at the state of Texas, there is a bulge of state going in each direction that makes it look like a fat, lower-case ”t” : El Paso is the most West of the state, the Panhandle (Amarillo) the Northmost, Texarkana the most Eastward followed by Houston, and WAAAAAAY at the bottom is Brownsville and the Southernmost tip of Texas.

And for those of you too lazy to Google or "DuckDuckGo" the map yourself I've attached it:

The four counties: Hidalgo, Cameron, Starr and Willacy county make up the Rio Grande Valley. This is the region I grew up, the place where I experienced the best of a community and the worst of politics and failed promises.

For a bit of background: I have a parent working on the Border and they have been for many years (since I was a kid). Pretty much worked from a security officer to trooper within the span of a decade which is quite impressive and rare considering they never took bribes or anything to get where they were currently. They have told me off and on what their job is like. It’s crazy and boring some days, but also they have admitted somethings that may be fascinating. One of which is, yes, they do own horses and the reason why is so the Troopers can maneuver around tough terrain vehicles cannot go through (such as high water or narrow foot paths in brush). HOWEVER, they DO NOT OWN WHIPS. They don’t even own lassos, according to my Border Agent parent.

The only weapons agents on horse back have is a Glock, ammo, a taser, cuffs, and sometimes shot guns (but they prefer to carry light for the horses and themselves to be more flexible). They mainly carry items that would slow a person down or prevent them from hurting other people, officer or civilian; not for killing. So a whip is absolutely redundant or even absurd to have.

Those long ropes the Troopers are holding are called reins, and they are designed for steering a horse (horses cannot move opposite of the direction of their head; where their head is pointed they move in that direction). They are not made for whipping people, but rather made to get the horse’s attention. That’s it.

I took the liberty of highlighting the reins in red for you all as well as their arms and legs in blue and yellow in contrast to the reins and saddle.

It's clear from a Texan's or horse-riders perspective this Trooper almost fell off catching the other fellow and was holding onto the left rein for dear life hence why the horse looked distressed and its cheek was pulled back.

I'm not joking, you fucking try it if you're so damn horse-smart.

Now, let's look at a more relaxed position.

In short, if you haven't ridden a horse, I advise to keep your comments to yourself on this part. I have and it's way harder than it looks (horses can get cocky).

Second thing, the migrants.

Personally, I don’t know why they were so squirrelly that day. Perhaps they were spooked because they’ve never expected horse back riders to show up, maybe they had some bad experiences back home.

I don’t know!

But it’s clear there appears to be a lack of communication. Perhaps it’s the language barrier given that these guys came from Haiti, African countries and Brazil. English they probably know, but they probably don’t speak a lick of Spanish (Which both languages are mandatory for the Border Patrol).

(Again, I don't know...)

So the reasons why they started running circles around the Troopers’ horses is not for me to speculate, it’s not for YOU to defend blindly, nor is it up for the media to interpret and evangelize.

That should be left to the people to explain. No one else.

(Update: September 29th. I received a tip from a source that the Haitian immigrants (mainly) are not running from anything, they aren’t seeking asylum nor were in poverty as the media claims. They have admitted upon interview they were what we consider middle-low class and had no issues finding jobs before they decided to migrate northward. They’re just coming because they were told to come by “you-know-who”… that’s all. I know, I’m taken aback and scratching my head, too… but anyway. I digress, but do take note.)

Now, another bit of feedback I want to share: When it comes to dealing with Troopers (again, must I remind you this is a Border Patrol agent’s kid speaking), big rule:

DO NOT RUN nor MAKE THREATENING MOVEMENTS. Be calm.

It’s a simple rule, if you’re cool with the Troopers they’ll be cool with you. That’s it. Please respectfully keep in mind, these guys are trained to be safe rather than sorry. So patience and understanding with them is a must. Trust me, I’ve met my parent’s co-workers, they may look stoic and scary or condescending, but they can not let personal emotions interfere their work otherwise they risk safety.

They’re not “paranoid” or “harsh” they just have a job they cannot afford to fuck up otherwise the whole region is FUCKED. They’re the front line of defense, and do keep that in mind.

(Another footnote: I have seen Border Patrol offices, and without giving away how they function it’s not like CIA or Langley level of clean or fancy, so don’t think their offices are high tech and have marble floors with comfy lounges that cost a lot of money. Upon first glance you won’t expect the building to be an office. Border Patrol work with what they have available which isn’t a lot thanks to the ’00, ’04, ’08, ’12 and current administrations. That’s all I can give out.)

I’m going to come clean here and say the citizens in the Rio Grande Valley and the rest of Texas DO NOT FEEL SAFE with a border this wide open and no regulation is applied. Especially the Hispanic/Latino communities. So the pressure is on - and I mean REALLY on! Despite these guys working the Border are overwhelmed, they keep those emotions and opinions on lockdown when on the field. Like I said: If they fuck up, the region is fucked.

Bit of a history lesson: the Border issues on the Rio Grande are not new. Matter of factly, this problem has been happening for decades (The popular peak was during the 80s when cocaine was being distributed), but it was more than just cocaine and pot: Kids were going missing, people getting killed, women were used as mules and sold for sex, etc.

If you watched “Narcos” or “Sicario” you have a brief, dramatized taste of how the cartels function and what life is like for us Latinos. However, coming from someone who grew up there, the parts of watching your back, the abductions and even the gruesome murders are legit. To this day I remember seeing local news coverage (not CNN or MSNBC, our own stations down in the McAllen/Brownsville area) of beheadings, child murders and bodies being found in pieces… It’s something I hope my children won’t have to grow up hearing almost weekly like I did. Now it’s daily… and no one cares. And that hurts.

In the grand scheme of things, at least know this: South Texas has been part of the Cartel battle grounds and it’s obvious we’ve seen shit. Constantly being ignored is the payment we get for being front lines in the Drug War. So don’t blame us for being jumpy, or skeptical, nor even try convince us that the current surplus of immigrants is a good thing.

You can’t argue with our own experiences and history. The way things work down here is simple: You fight along side us, we fight along side you.

It’s called building trust, practicing faith. But we’ve been forgotten and lied to too many times by celebrities and politicians and social movements alike. And those who actually were going to help us are either shut down or unfortunately killed.

We just can’t trust anyone anymore. We are resorting to fending for ourselves basically, speaking up for ourselves… and so far it’s making progress in the mean time.

This level of “doing things on your own” bleeds into why our Troopers are trained they way they are trained - to expect the worst case scenario. To prepare themselves for the corpses, when a criminal pounces, the drugs being hid, for when they find a child with an adult they don’t know, or even a woman who was violated. They just genuinely don’t want to take chances and you just read why. Even my in-laws up in the Northern Midwest are disturbed.

So, considering the case of what happened a few days ago in Del Rio, Texas (as of writing this on September 25th 2021): If you run from a Trooper the first thing they are going to think is either two things:

You did something bad upon coming in to the country or

You don’t want your former government to find you because you did crimes in your home country or the country you were hiding in.

This is protocol, not biased opinions.

If, however, a Trooper commits any form of irresponsibility (such as abusing their power, unreasonable search and seizures etc.) it’s “kiss your badge good-bye” and DEMOTED or FIRED. The stakes of keeping your job in the Border Patrol are HIGH, so they are trained not to act out of line. Even a minor slip up in paper work from being fatigued gets you in SEVERE trouble with the Higher Ups and the County (Yes, that does happen and has happened). But you have to KNOW Border Patrol standards before you accuse them of anything.

With that being said, what’s floating around is not a constructive argument; it’s a distraction. How the public is demanding the trooper in the photo to be fired, tells us Latinos loud and clear that - once again - no one cares about our livelihood; no one is willing to brave enough to face the real hell going on. We are ignored or low-key demonized for simply defending ourselves.

(Now, you guys are seeing why I relate to my Jewish husband and the Israeli’ citizens - Arab and Jew - more; we’re pretty much in the same boat in the case of being ignored. But I digress.)

Before I come to a conclusion, here are other demographic facts to keep in mind that way it’ll help draw conclusions:

86.6% of the Border Patrol is HISPANIC/LATINO in the State of Texas alone.

A majority of children stolen from their families or molested are HISPANIC/LATINO.

A majority of the women violated immigrants on the border are mainly HISPANIC/LATINO.

Latin America collectively (Mexico down to Colombia and Venezuela) has the highest rates of femicide in the world.

So for you or anyone to get angry at Border Patrol agents in an unjust manner, not only are you getting mad at Hispanics and Latinos in UNIFORM for fighting to keep their communities safe, but you are actively contributing to the hell our families go through every day.

When you protest in demand for our cops or even troopers to be defunded, and fired for petty things, YOU are actively contributing to the problem of human trafficking, rape, kidnappings and murder that happens on the border. You are contributing to the Hispanic and Latino communities being dismantled and disintegrated by people who potentially want to kill us or hate us for money’s sake.

Take all of that into consideration before you get angry at anyone here.

In short:

I’ll only consider the accusations if you yourselves have been there and know the burdens we bear.

I’ll only consider your judgement if you genuinely are in law enforcement and know how to ride a horse and try to stop someone from running while riding the beast.

I’ll only consider your feedback if you don’t rely heavily on news like CNN, Telemundo and Tumblr for your information.

Until you grab a gun and fight the cartel yourself, and figure out a way to end this war on human trafficking, don’t come to us Latinos and express that you care and appreciate us.

Because frankly if you GENUINELY did, you’d bring to light what I just said and be slamming the desks at D.C. and DEMANDING the Border to be CLOSED by now.

Regardless of your political and personal beliefs, this is what is REALLY going on, and we’re going to keep fighting. Like the Israeli’s we don’t give a fuck if you hate us. We’re not radicals, we’re not blood-thirsty heathens, we’re not white supremacists (80+% of our population is of Latino Mexican descent) we’re just fed up with running away and being taken advantage of or taken for granted by people who value money over the lives of our neighbors.

If this were California, fine! Rail all you want, cuss us out as much as you want; hold us to those to California standards you keep yourself. But we’re not California.

We’re not D.C., nor Chicago, nor L.A., or New York, Florida, Canada, Mexico or whatever. We are SOUTH TEXAS so treat us as SOUTH TEXAS.

Honor us for who we are and hold us to the standards of what is SOUTH TEXAS, what is The United States Constitution, and the Texas Constitution; nothing more and nothing less. Don’t tear us down for what we’re not nor hold us accountable to an opinion or law we never agreed to nor knew existed.

That’s all I ask: If you’re not willing to honour our community and help us while holding us to our standards on a cultural, State or Federal level, back the fuck off. Generations we’ve dealt with the pressure from both the cartel and corrupt government from both the U.S. and Mexico, and the last thing we need is pampered kids living in the high rises or going to university on loans from school or your parents' paychecks, telling us how to deal with our issues.

You are FAR from a place to tell us how to function and resolve our war.

I’m not trying nor want to start a fight or otherwise, but I’m simply, humbly asking: when did we ever genuinely ask you “social justice advocates” to be our hero?

When did we ever ask you to fight for us or talk about what you think is wrong with us? Because last I checked we don’t want to drag anyone into our battles.

Also, we only know one messiah, but we never asked you to be him nor for him to act like you.

Did you start throwing punches because you wanted to find something to excuse your anger and outbursts, or is your good intentions married with ignorance?

Either case… it’s extremely unhealthy of you, and please just stop before another person gets hurt. We don’t want that. This is no different from the Crusades our ancestors took part in, and it will only end in more carnage than already sown.

So, just please, stop and take a step back for a moment. We don’t need anymore vehement evangelical-like people who just think with their ideals and not take a moment to have a healthy discussion with the One who created us, or let alone divorce their lust for a fight for ten seconds.

To close this off, even though I haven’t been home in a while, I know the spirit and the struggles the Rio Grande Valley goes through. I have met people on the run from the cartel first hand, and I have met people who may have ties with the cartel. I have seen some creepy shit, I have grown frustrated over the Protestant Baptist church doing nothing, and I have even been feeling the pressure my parent goes through with these apathetic riots threatening their job as a Border Patrol agent.

But aside from the pain, I am tremendously blessed that people and my family are still very optimistic despite the craziness and how bleak things are.

The family-oriented culture of the Rio Grande Valley is what is keeping it together… not trends, not clout and neither these guys in D.C. or Hollywood who are playing G-d.

It's the family-oriented connection. Our faith, that's keeping us going.

And even though I may not be the best voice of that region to speak up, I am blessed to have been there and I do plan on coming back soon.

I am planning on giving a more fun journal featuring the culture of the Rio Grande Valley in the future to finish this month off, but for the sake of this “Hispanic Heritage Month” I wanted to share our REAL issues we deal with rather than the made up ones that media likes to mainstream for money and clout.

In a way, I hope this offers clarity and a level of empathy. Again, I’m not sharing this to start fights or get sympathy - we don’t want it. We just want to know if our fights are not ignored, we just want to know we are heard.

That’s all.

[falconfriend]

Central character: Zane

A/N: Pixal isn’t here? Yet, and ideally she’s coming in on part 2. I goofed on the transition originally because I had some canon facts about her timeline wrong, so I’ll be editing that soon. People who’ve followed me since I was more active will know I love Pixal very much; let’s write some fic involving you soon, my girl. (It’s been a while since I published fic at all.)

There’s a part 2 coming.

Warnings: Major (robot) injury, death references, some existential themes going on, minor burns.

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

The hard surface of Nya’s workbench rattles into Zane’s skin, rattles because he’s shaking—

“Zane!” Nya startles, bustling over to him. She puts a hand on his arm as if to pull him back onto his back, but snatches it away, shaking it out at her side immediately. “That’s good. Keep pulling in those deep breaths, Zane, you’re overheating. Oh…”

Nya’s voice holds a sense of command that she’s put there, deliberately, for Zane to latch onto, but also a little for herself. She stares at him for a little longer, hands hovering in the air between them as if looking for some way to help him, before she turns back to her screens, eyes scanning rapidly over line after line. This is the part where she can help him.

She presses a call button, and a much calmer version of her voice rings through the Bounty: “We could use a bit of a hand down here, asap.”

“Nya,” Zane gasps.

Nya winces. Oh, she doesn’t know how to do this part… 

She has grown close with all of the ninja, they’re her family, but aside from trading quips, she and Zane have always… struggled to connect. Kai’s the one who’s good with other people’s emotions. Nya’s just good at calling Kai on his own feelings, and building things, and pulling off logistical feats—

Zane had rolled onto his side when he woke up, and now he’s facing away from her. She walks around the table to him and crouches in front of him. She can’t use a metal workbench with Zane, the electronics need an insulator (though sometimes she runs a cable to ground in case of emergency), but if he stays like this much longer he’ll burn parts of this one dark brown.

“Hi, Zane,” Nya begins, at the same moment that a voice saves her from the doorway with, “Hey, Frosty.” 

Nya could melt in relief. She stands to welcome Cole in, remarking, conversationally, “Not so frosty right now, watch out—”

(This conversational tone is a performance for Zane’s sake, too, like the way some grown-ups can be about tragedies and disasters when a child is in the room.)

And Cole has already rested a hand on Zane’s back. Nya winces, knowing how high the metal has heated, and Cole winces too, pulling his hand an inch back and sucking in a quick hiss through his teeth. He recovers quickly. “Okay, big guy, okay. You’re safe. Eeeeeeasy, Frosty. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

Nya watches from a step behind him, slightly flummoxed, amazed she once thought they were similar people. It’s more of this as she turns back to her workstation to try to figure out what had even happened, Cole’s voice droning on over her shoulder.

“That’s right, Astroboy. Let’s slow it down—Nya, should he be breathing like this?” And then Cole’s voice turns severe, softer: “We will always come for you, Zane. You hear me? We’re always coming for you.”

“Slower is better,” Nya confirms, as Kai and Jay come into the doorway. Her voice has gone softer, now, too. “He is overheating, so I thought that was his fans working on overdrive, but he’s having a panic attack.”

“How can we help?” Lloyd has joined our doorway crew, now, too. It seems less kind to linger in the hall, but the room is so cramped already, and Zane probably needs air.

Nya considers Jay, who looks, though he’s trying not to, like he’s chomping at the bit to ask to double-check her wiring work. She would ask him to if she thought it wouldn’t freak Zane out right now—he tolerates being prodded at like it’s nothing, but it can’t actually be nothing. The part of her that’s learning to be wrong really wants to ask him to anyway.

She checks herself, four times, for overconfidence. Better to stress Zane out and get a second opinion to keep his physical body safe if she has to. But her readings show a clear signal coming from Zane’s CPU and everything else on her screen says there’s nothing wrong.

“Just be a friend right now, I think.”

Zane came into her workshop today totally trashed. She didn’t feel the need to document and explain every one of them to him this time, he’s grown a lot less attached to the original hardware since he rebuilt himself, but she had to put in a lot of new wiring. Welding work. Multiple circuit boards scorched, and half a motherboard she’d assigned Jay to replicate—he keeps spares. 

Jay had found him on the ground torn open.

He must have held off a massive crowd at once. Thirty, fifty. He’d kept fighting long after he should have been on his knees, and most tellingly, he hadn’t let any of them get behind him—the damage is on his front.

Cole has shifted to rub Zane’s back again, now that the temperature’s dropped enough for it to be thinkable, but there’s still a little grimace on his face. 

Kai steps in once he notices that it’s burning him, offering— “Here, I can—”

“I got it.”

And the room settles into this tense sort of quiet.

Cole knows he was a little too sharp.

“I was just letting Zane know we’re always coming for him, and that he’s safe right here on the Bounty. We’re hundreds of miles away from the battle, isn’t that right? Kai, you’ve been manning the bridge.”

“Autopilot right now,” Kai clarifies, “before you worry, Zane. Cole’s right, we’re hundreds of miles away.”

“And what Cole said! We are, uh.” Jay fumbles, because it’s not sounding as good out loud now that he’s saying it. “Always coming for you.”

The stillness really wasn’t fixed by this.

Kai shifts uncomfortably on his feet. 

“No, you know what, that’s not what it’s going to be,” Kai asserts, already decided. “We’re not going to need to keep coming for you, because it’s not going to happen like this. Isn’t that right, Lloyd.”

Lloyd perks up, grateful for something to do. Cole’s eyes are still trained on Zane’s face, Jay watching anxiously over his shoulder, everyone else’s eyes on Lloyd. Nya’s paused in her work to listen.

“That is right.” He decides, then and there. “Zane, if you are in any situation where one of us would retreat or we would die, I want you to retreat. It’s the same standard for everyone. Not any more of this.”

“Retreat wasn’t an option.” Zane croaks out. It’s the second thing he’s said all night. His voice, for all it’s just been through, is surprisingly calm. Cole very gingerly jostles his shoulder, the same way he would ruffle someone’s hair.

“...Okay. I believe that.” Lloyd sounds a little chagrined, voice pulling away from its leader-y command. “I’m sorry it happened that way. We’ll keep a better eye out, alright? No, I’ll keep a better eye out. No one’s running off and getting surrounded anymore—that goes for all of you.”

There are a few very quick murmurs of assent, a quiet aye-aye Lloyd from Nya.

Kai sits on the workbench by Zane’s feet. He reaches as if to touch him, to be here with him somehow, but he’s unsure how to and Zane has already brought his breathing back down. Cole is keeping his hand draped behind the other’s back where Zane can’t see it. Kai notes that the palm’s a little burned.

Zane rolls onto his back, and Cole and Kai move out of the way.

He turns his eyes up toward Nya, who stills, pausing her fidgeting. “Nya, what are my diagnostics.”

Nya rattles them off, one by one, clear and moderately-paced. “You can’t access those yourself, or you just wanted to hear a voice?”

“I wanted a voice.” It’s easier, too, not to need to think for them. If anything is wrong, anything permanently damaged or even just hurting for an extra night, he’d rather not look at it directly.

“Okay, anytime.”

-

It’s well past dark when Kai finally moves toward bed later that night, speeding through the hall with the kind of quiet you use when you’re the only one left awake.

“Retreat was not an option.”

Kai halts. That came from Zane, fully alert—when he walks back to peer through Nya’s door, he half expects Zane to have sat up to face him, but he hasn’t, of course, he’s still curled on his side. He still catches Kai’s eye from the door, all the same, and Kai’s step quickens without waiting for him to ask it to as he steps inside.

“Oh, Zane, are you still-? Lloyd isn’t mad at you, he wasn’t saying-“

“No. Retreat wasn’t an option.” Kai has by now reached his side, and takes Zane’s hand where Zane lies on the workbench. He debates hopping up to sit on its edge, but by the time he’s finished thinking it, there’s already been too much quiet, and he can tell with an uncomfortable internal squirm that Zane is as empathetic to his predicament as he is to Zane’s. He opens his mouth to do something about it, just before Zane shakes his head and cuts in faster, like he’s racing him to break the silence on purpose. “I was built to-“ his voice chokes.

Kai’s eyes lock on Zane’s, and he takes a slow, comprehending kind of breath. He grips Zane’s hand, Zane grips it tighter back.

“...To protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Kai’s mouth helpfully, carefully supplies; he says it like he’s not sure Zane wants it said.

There’s a little moment, somewhere in the space they share right then, when Kai grows something unreadable on his face. A hint of the Kai from years ago who might have snapped on this, who might have given the problem an immediate villain and a villain he wants to punch. He has grown either the maturity or the embarrassment to bite the anger back, and Zane is selfishly grateful for either.

Zane pulls their hands closer to his face, affirmative hum interrupted by a full-body hitch. This part has never been hard. They’re brothers. Zane squeezes his hand, and Kai squeezes it back.

“We can protect ourselves. Zane. We can. Do you believe that?”

Zane shakes his head, not that he doesn’t believe, but that: “Retreat wasn’t-“

“Okay.” Kai cuts him off before he can explain himself into the ground. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna make sure you’re safe, Zane.”

-

“Sorry I’m late, Kai.” Lloyd’s entry, arriving at the door with posture that says ‘casual’ and through the door with posture that says ‘leader,’ turns the half-baked gathering into a Meeting. “You wanted everyone on the bridge?”

“I actually wanted everyone down in Nya’s workshop, but I thought we should get there all at once. We need to talk about this.” 

Lloyd nods in acknowledgement; we all know what ‘this’ is. “You asked Zane?”

“I suggested it, but no, actually, Zane asked me.”

Lloyd nods again, once up and down, and once over his shoulder at the door. Jay, craning his neck up from the back of the room, gives him a smile, Lloyd takes that smile and gives it to the room. His expression goes serious once more, with his head on straight. “Alright, everyone, Zane called a meeting. Did he say right now?”

“Sooner is probably better.”

“Let’s head down.“

[domesticblisss]

Someone New | Pt.02

Fabian Aichner x Female Reader Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word count: 1262 Warnings: Smut. Inexperienced character (both of them are of age, aroung 20), oral (female receiving) alcohol mention. Summary: Fabian’s relationship with the new girl progresses and he wants to try something new. Pt.01

They became inseparable after that eventful Saturday night. Dinners together, movie marathons after work, her going to see Fabian’s practices and him actually showing up more at the deli. Alma was ecstatic to see her son more often, even more when she sees how happy he is with her. “You know, the first day when you came over, the moment I saw you coming through that door, I knew you would bring so much joy to this place, bella”, Alma tells her on a sunny Thursday morning, getting her off guard and leaving her speechless.

Her phone vibrated on her back pocket. Pulling it out and unlocking it, she smiled seeing it was a text from Fabian.

→ Went to the store and got that argentinian movie you like so much and a few others. what do you say, amore mio?

→ We could order some Giorgio’s pizza and I got a couple of bottles of that wine you like so much…

She bites her bottom lip trying to suppress a giggle that threatens to escape. “How did I get so lucky…” she thinks.

← Mmm, I guess… is tiramisu in this offer too???

→ Anything for you, bella.

→ I’ll get out of work earlier today, do I go straight to yours or do you want to come over to mine this time?

← Yours! Grazie mille, gioia mia.

She locks the phone with a smile on her face and greets the costumer that just got in.

They arrive together at Fabian’s place. She gets there and is greeted with a sight of a very clumsy Fabian trying to hold pizza and tiramisu boxes and open the door at the same time.

“Amore, let me help you.” she greets him and gives his cheek a kiss, grabbing the keys from his hand.  

Settling down after entering Fabian’s apartment, they grab plates, wine glasses and her favourite rosé bottle, going straight to the couch. Fabian puts “Medianeras” on first, knowing her love for the movie because of how much she talks about it.

The movie is over, and Fabian talks about how sad the main characters separate lives are but how he is glad they met each other. Next, it is “Frat Star”, a comedy to lighten the mood a bit.

They decide to lie down on the couch, with Fabian behind her, hugging her. It is a very funny movie, they laugh several times. But it is kind of raunchy too, she feels Fabian growing harder and harder on her back. The inevitable sex scene comes on. It is an oral one, where the main character goes down on his interest, making her cry with how good he makes her feel.

Behind her, Fabian is rock hard, trying in vain to hide and not make her notice it. She scoots back, rubbing her ass on his erection. Pausing the movie, she asks him what is wrong.

“Iwannamakeyoufeellikethistoo” he whisper mumbles

“Sorry, carino, I can’t understand you.”

“I wanna make you feel like this too. I want to eat you out.” He says and his face goes red as a pepper.

“It’s okay, carino. Now or do want to finish the movie?”

“Now, please, now.”

“Okay! God you’re so eager.” She laughs and kisses his lips.

He gets out from behind her and she scoots back, laying her head on the couch’s arm rest and getting a pillow underneath her ass.

Fabian is back to her lips, “I don’t know how good this will be, but I’ll try my best for you, amore mio.” he confesses, as he helps her take her shirt off. She reassures him that he will do just fine and if anything, she will guide him.

He trails a path of wet kisses and little bites from her chest to her stomach, stopping right where her pants are, sitting up to unbutton it and taking it and her underwear out eagerly, in one motion. She laughs at his demeanour, one hand caressing his arm, asking “you really want this, huh? Also, take your shirt off. Please?”

Fabian does what she says, telling her she has no idea of how much he has thought about it.

He gets back to where he needs to be, kisses her thighs a couple of times, kisses her mound and goes all in. Eager and clumsy are two words that really defines him. His tongue is a bit stiff, a little too many teeth going on, but hey, at least he knows where the clitoris is.

She lets this go for a while, trying to see if he will catch up with the way she is moving her hips, but he is a bit clueless. She calls him and lifts his head with her hands.

“Baby, look… Fuck, I don’t know how to say this. Look, I do not want to hurt your feelings, but… it is a little rough. Do you know where the clit is?”

“Sorry, carina… yeah, it’s the little pea looking thing…” he says as he lightly brushes his thumb through it.

“See,” she shudders with the contact “that’s how you gotta do it with your tongue. The clitoris is very sensitive. Don’t let you tongue get stiff but also not so soft. Use it whole, the tip and its body. Kiss it, suck on it, lightly. The same goes for the whole vulva itself.” He nods and gets back to it.

He goes in shy, testing the waters and paying for attention to how she is reacting. Surprisingly, he is a quick learner. He gets more confident, applies a little more pressure but still in a pleasurable way. It is a matter of minutes before he feels her hands in his hair and legs close, trapping in his head.

To her annoyance, he raises his head to ask, “can I use a finger?”

“YES! One, two… please!” she quickly nods.

When he comes back to her mound, he comes back with a purpose. His ministrations are surer, he licks and sucks her clit like there is no tomorrow, inserts one finger and then the second, getting an instant reaction from her.

He feels her hips lift up, having to hold her down. One of her hands is holding down on the couch cushion, the is attached to his shoulder, scratching him.

“Amore, don’t stop. Please!” she begs him, her walls constricting his fingers as her orgasm explodes. She whimpers, the sweetest sound he has ever heard. He gets up and starts kissing her thighs, his fingers still working while she comes down from her high.

He comes up to her and it’s the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. Her hair is messy, some of it sticking to her forehead, her breathing is uneven, her chest going up down quickly, her lips carries the laziest smile and when her beautiful eyes open, they give him this look of adoration he can’t describe.

She grabs the arm he used to ravage her and brings his fingers to her lips, making sure to make a show while cleaning them up.

“Babe, that was…”

“So fucking good…”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.” They agree with each other.

They stay in each other’s arms for a while, cherishing the moment. Fabian then gets up, goes to the kitchen and grabs her a bottle water. He positions himself between her legs once again while she drinks her beverage.

“Amore, what are you doing?”

“Gotta practice. I want to be the best for you.”

“Oh god!” she groans, and his lips finds their way once again.

---

Translations:

Grazie mille: Thank you very much

Gioia mia: My joy

Carino/carina: doesn’t have an exact translations, it’s something like “dear”

[ssa-montgomery]

I Tried To Hate You (But Somewhere Along The Line I Fell In Love) Chapter 2

Word Count: 1925

Story Summary: When Addison Montgomery-Shepherd shows up in Seattle Meredith Grey tries to hate her. She really did but somehow while trying to find reasons to hate her she found more reasons to love her.

Characters: Meredith x Addison, some minor Meredith x Derek/Addison x Derek/Addison x Mark, Callie Torres, Mark Sloan

Warnings: Angst, divorce, some surgical talk, mentions of affairs.

A/N: Guess who's finally back with more of this story! I'm sorry this took so long but I'm so glad to finally have the new chapter done :) I hope you all enjoy seeing Addison's point of view! I decided to have Addison take a little longer than Meredith to really realise the depth of her feelings for this one. Thank you all so much for the support on this story so far! And was that a little hint at the next main character to show up at the end of the chapter??

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

If she was being honest things with Addison's marriage hadn't been easy for months before Derek left New York. Even in the chaos of med school and residency her and Derek used to be able to find time for their marriage, they could put time aside to have dinner together every weekend and she used to be able to count on seeing her husband at least once during the day but over time things had gotten worse. Dinners were cancelled in favour of surgeries and Addison found herself falling asleep next to Derek's empty side of the bed almost every single night with him at the hospital. They had let things slip past the point where they could save it.

This had taken a toll on Addison emotionally. It left her feeling unwanted and alone in a house that once felt like a home to her. Derek barely gave her more than a quick brush of lips against her cheek and it had started to make her feel undesired. It's what she would blame when she slept with Mark Sloan, her husband's best friend. Mark had been there for her, had seen her, brought her dinner on nights when Derek wouldn't come home and he had told her she was beautiful when she was starting to doubt it. It was also what lead to the end of her marriage when Derek caught her in bed with Mark.

Derek hadn't flown into a fit of rage like Addison had imagined he would, and perhaps even hoped he would if it meant he still cared enough about their marriage to be angry. Sure he yelled, but it was more just at Addison to get out than anything else. After that, he had taken his things and left for Seattle.

Part of her had hoped that despite Derek's reaction he still cared, that he still wanted her and so she gave him some space before trying to fix her marriage. Before leaving New York Addison had a plan for arriving in Seattle. Her plan had been to work the case Richard had called her in for and finally talk to Derek, finally get him to listen to her about what happened that night and the problems their marriage had before heading back home to New York. Of course, that plan became a thing of the past rather quickly after landing in Seattle.

Addison still had some friends in Seattle - and by friends, she meant Richard of course - who had warned her about the young, doe-eyed, blonde intern her husband was now seeing. The first time she met her was in the lobby of Seattle Grace Hospital her first day in town. She had made a scene, and she knew that. Part of her had immediately felt guilty about the biting comment she had made to the intern. "And you must be the woman who's been screwing my husband."  As soon as she had seen the look on Meredith's face it was clear she hadn't known Derek was married. It wasn't Meredith's fault. If anyone was to blame it was Derek and admittedly herself.

She had quickly realised she didn't blame Meredith at all and in fact, felt sorry for her. After only a few days of working in the hospital, she had quickly learned that gossip spread fast and she had unintentionally placed Meredith right in the middle of it all. It all seemed to be for nothing as well. Derek was back to acting the same way he had in New  York, and possibly even worse with the new title of Adulterous Bitch that he had taken to calling her.

She was starting to slip back into that same mindset she had been in back in New York but this time the person who pulled her out of it was someone she least expected.

Meredith had been on her service for almost a week straight and she was starting to enjoy her company. She was a quick learner and always seemed curious about Addison's work, always watching everything she did closely. Meredith listened carefully when she spoke and it made her feel like the work she was doing actually meant something when it came to teaching the interns.

She had found herself starting to care more and more for the young intern. She felt seen by Meredith and she had to admit she could see why her husband had fallen for her. Not only was she sweet but her beauty hadn't gone unnoticed by Addison. She often found herself staring at Meredith when she was leaning against the nurse's station filling out charts or in the cafeteria when she was sitting around laughing with her friends. Normally Meredith's eyes were almost the colour of steel - her intense concentration reflected in her eyes - but in those moments they would soften and the pale grey was stunning.

Meredith was a young surgeon and she still had a strong urge to learn, no matter the speciality. Addison had no doubt that she would make a fine surgeon someday and she hoped she could at least have an impact on that part of her life. They had learned to work well together and Meredith was now her favourite intern to have in the O.R. with her. She had learned Addison's routine in surgery and would sometimes know what she was about to ask before she even had the chance to say it.

She found herself with a growing urge to get to know the intern outside of the hospital, to maybe even call her a friend. She told herself the urge was just from needing more friends in Seattle but there was something else, some other reason lying just below the surface that she couldn't place her finger on. She hadn't felt this drawn to someone since she first met Derek back in med school and whatever that feeling was, it was out of her control now. With her divorce finally squared away she hoped her and Meredith could spend more time together without Derek's interference. 

When Doc was still at the trailer - oh how Addison missed that old dog, it surprised her how attached to him she had become - Meredith would sometimes make the trek out to the woods to visit him and on a rare occasion Derek wouldn't be home. Addison found these times oddly comforting. Meredith wasn't as open with her then and they would spend most of the time simply talking about Doc or about their surgeries that day but she enjoyed the company.

It was during one of these visits that Addison first noticed the urge to be closer to her. Doc hadn't been on his morning walk yet when Meredith arrived and she offered to take him. Addison insisted that Meredith didn't need to, if she was being honest the walks gave her the chance to clear her mind of the stress at the time but Meredith admitted she had missed taking him out on walks herself. As a compromise Addison suggested they both go. While they were walking down the forest trail Meredith had told her about one, particularly drunken night in Europe where she and her friends had found themselves lost in a forest and she had laughed as she recounted the details. It was the first time Addison had heard her talk about her past and hearing her laugh so genuinely had made her heart flutter.

~~~

It had already been an insanely busy day and it was barely lunchtime. Addison had just gotten out of a four-hour surgery with Meredith Grey and it had ended in a close call. They had almost lost the patient and it took everything Addison had to save her. She was already exhausted and in desperate need of coffee and a conversation with Callie.

The cafeteria was busy when Addison arrived but luckily she had gotten her coffee in the lobby and was able to bypass the queues that snaked around the room. She had to push her way through the crowds to reach the corner of the outdoor seating area that Callie had claimed a table in.  Once she reached the table she pulled out the chair opposite Callie and slumped down into it, placing her coffee cup down on the table. 

"So you've been with both men and women right?" Addison asked casually as she leaned forward to take a sip out of her coffee. Thank God for caffeine, she didn't know if she could make it through her shift without it.

"I- Well, good morning to you too Addison." Callie laughed at the forwardness of her question. 

Callie and Addison had quickly become close friends after their first case together and they were open with each other about everything. When Callie had first come out as bisexual Addison was one of the first people she told. Which is why she was now going to Callie with this issue.

"Callie, I have two labouring moms, surgery at four, a sexuality crisis and only a fifteen-minute lunch break," Addison explained with a frustrated groan. Busy surgical schedules didn't leave much time for personal issues which Addison guessed was why is had taken so long for all of this to catch up with her.

"Right." Callie nodded resting her elbows against the table and leaning in closer to her. "Yeah, I have, what's on your mind, Addison?"

"Does having feelings for a girl feel," Addison hesitated for a moment unsure of what she was even trying to ask Callie. "Different?" 

"You mean different than being attracted to men? It can. It really all depends on what you identify as and I don't want to assume anything here Addison. I will say, if there's someone you think you might be attracted to at the moment and you're comparing it to Derek or Mark, then yes, it will feel different." Callie explained. "Derek was your first love, you fell in love young and that was always going to be different anyway because attraction like that was new and fun. Mark was different because you were hurting because you were confused and it was during a dark time in your life. But this whoever it is, it's going to be different because you're an adult now Addison. You know who you are and what you want. The main thing you need to ask yourself is, do they make you happy and go from there. It's a learning process and it might take you some time."

"She does." Addison smiled then, it was bright and genuine. "She makes me happy. Thank you so much, Callie, you really are an incredible friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Of course Addie." Callie reached across the table and gave Addison's arm a squeeze. "And you absolutely do not have to tell me who this mystery potential crush is but if you did want to your secret would be safe with me."

"I think it's best if I don't say anything right now, it's a bit - messy." Addison laughed. She wasn't even entirely sure where to start when it came to explaining this. How do you explain to your best friend that you've fallen for your ex-husbands ex-mistress?

"Right got it." Callie laughed with her. "But Addison, I'm glad you found someone who makes you happy. I really mean it."

"Thank you, Callie." She nodded. "Oh and for the love god please don't mention this to Mark, I'll never hear the end of it."

Taglist: @alexander-gideon-lightwood-bane​

[ohhoneato]

Next up is Polo Dorenmorphercarger.

Yes that's his real name.

Born in a family of assassins run by his mother after his father passed away, the children in his family are asked to choose a new family name at a certain age, as a sign of maturity. His chosen name was Roamer, which is why Nero's last name was Roamer.

Their little brother, born after Nero's banishment, chose this last name. He obviously didn't mature.

I have a full short story written for Polo that shows off his character perfectly, written in a sort of letter format.

Before going any further though, I know I haven't really put any trigger warnings or anything, but this one really kind of needs it, although it doesn'tgo into detail. So:

Trigger warning: abuse, rape and death.

Now that that's out of the way, please enjoy.

Dear brother,

Mother told me I should start writing in a diary of sorts, as I am soon to begin assassin training. Instead of a “diary”, I decided instead to write letters to the one I care of most, you. As youngest I am the last to begin training, making mother quite worried. She is afraid I will not be good enough. I do not have an affinity for fighting, as you well know, so I will hopefully have an affinity for magic. You have just informed me that I am using too many commas and run on sentences. This isn’t actually meant to be read by you, I hope you know! I have informed you of this promptly and I hope you will take it to heart. I will keep you updated (not really) on the regular and be sure to tell you of everything. Please excuse the terrible punctuation, after all I am only nine.

Love, Polo.

Dear broter,

Sorry for any typos I make, I do not have much time between classes. Things have been very exciting within the last two days. I have begun a sword fighting class, mother beleives that I should be trained all around. Even if I am not very good at it, I can be mus….muscule… whatever… memory trained. It has been hard, but I beleive I may be getting the hang of it. Next class I have is to be a magic class. For using magical items. They are taking me out to find my own magical item within the next few days, but first I must pack and this class is to show me what to pack. I must go now, I was supposed to be in class a minute ago and lost track of time writing.

Love you, Polo.

Dear Brother,

It is my first day looking for a magical item and so far, I am having no luck. I had no idea it would be this difficult to find an item I’m supposed to have a spiritual bond with. Mother and the instructors have told me to stop sighing so many times today, I’m sure that could become their catchphrases. I’m tired and I miss you. But I’ve been assure that it will be worth it. I must carry on. After all, the family business rests on our shoulders. It’s about time I started my training. I must go and continue training. Please keep me in your thoughts.

Love, Polo

Dear Brother,

I have much time to sit and talk with you, as I have finally found it. It only took a week too, mother told us it usually took longer. It’s a shame though, I wanted to beat your record of three days. Ah well, you remain the superior brother for now. I’ll one up you one day. Now, more on the magical item. It is a pink spiritual stone, made for possession and deception. I know you won’t approve much of it, but it is what I’ve become attached to. I beleive it is most definatly mine to have. I will not abuse it’s powers, after all, I’m such a natural with it I shouldn’t have trouble mastering it. It has imbedded itself into my hand and can make copies of itself. It’s truely a marvel. It is also quite beautiful, sparkling like a Rose Quarts or something similar. I must be getting ready for bed now, I will write you more later.

Love, Polo.

Dear Brother,

As I thought, you are not pleased with my gift and have personally decided to speak to mother about it. I even now can hear you and mother yelling at each other. Why can’t you be happy about it? Does it seem too dark? I would have thought you’d be proud of me, finding something so fitting for the profession. No, actually, I can beleive you’re angry. You’ve always been quite protective of me, why would you be happy about this? But I am happy. I would like to keep being happy. I am finally making my way along, becoming one with the family, making mother proud! I’ve been trying so hard- You are exiting mother’s room. I must find out what has happened. I will write another letter in a moment.

Love, Polo.

Brother,

It has been a week since I finished my training and you were kicked out of the family for trying to attack our mother. Mother has tried to convince me to stop writing to you, but I won’t. You will always be my brother, no matter how foolish you act. You were the favorite. You were the best. The better brother. Why? Why would you throw that away so easily?! I need to know. I need to ask you. I have completed my training as I said, so mother will let me wander the city looking for work now. Just think, ten years old and I’m already good enough with magic and decent enough with a sword that I can hold my own in the real world. Why won’t you be proud of me? Why?

Brother,

I will not be writing for a few months as I will be traveling and taking jobs alone. I will have to be diligent and cunning. I will hopefully be seeing you soon.

Brother.

I am not sure I will ever be able to talk about this with anyone, including you. It has been months since I’ve written you, possibly years. I am Fifteen now. I looked back through my old letters. It’s sort of silly, I could not even spell believe correctly then, yet I believed myself ready to go out into the real world. I was so passive aggressive, saying things about you being the better brother. I even heard that within all this time, we now have a younger brother. I will treat him better than you treated me, I promise. I will love him more than you love me. This will be a great feat. You loved me more than life itself. You treated me better than royalty could ever expect. I miss you. Nero, I miss you. I love you. I always will. I wish you could have read these letters in life, especially this one. I am about to tell you what happened to me all this time. Well, a kind of short version. Leaving out some minor things. I wish I could leave some gruesome details out, but since you will never be reading this, no one will ever be reading this letter, I must for a therapeutic reason. Here goes the big thing. I was in the middle of a job. Kill the target, get out as soon as possible sort of thing, except my target had been informed of me. I’d made somewhat of a name for myself by then, I was about to turn twelve in three days time. I snuck into his room and instantly got rushed by his guards. I would have prefered almost any other sort of torture than what they did. My entire body shakes when I think of it. I cannot even stand human touch anymore. Which I feel terrible about, if I hadn’t allowed myself to become sloppy, such a vile thing wouldn’t have happened and perhaps I could have saved you. An odd sentence to be writing, and assassin saving someone’s life instead of taking it. But although what was done to me was unspeakable, I must at least force myself to write the words instead of avoid it as I am. They violated me. They raped me. I can still feel them inside me when I think about it and it sends me into waves of panic. I cannot breathe when I think of this act, I cannot sleep, I cannot live. I wish to die when I think of the incident. Isn’t that terrible. The Pink Gem has been trying to convince me to let her take over and I have almost been convinced many times. It’s hurts so much, she can make the pain go away. Then I thought of you and I now think of our new brother and realize I musn’t succumb, for surely she will try to hurt everyone for self gain. She is selfish, as I must admit it was that selfishness for the same end goal that drew me to her. To continue the story, I eventually after another year, found my way to you. You were living your life in hiding from all those who wanted revenge with a beautiful woman named Rose.

She was an all mother of sorts, as it seemed she took in those with magic whom were abandoned or lost. She was kind, gave me a place to eat and sleep, helping to clear my mind of that which had happened previously. She had the same powers as I, yet on a much smaller scale, only able to manipulate a single town at a time. She did not believe she need it on a larger scale, the humans she kept as slaves and pets were all she needed. I found myself both somewhat disgusted and intrigued by her beliefs. Back to you. I hadn’t even been looking for you at the time. I had sat down to eat and you’d walked up to me. You called my name quietly. I glanced up and the first look of hope came into my eyes that had been there in years. I ran to you and hugged you so tightly. And you hugged back. Oh you hugged back so tightly, I miss it still. I still feel it. I started to panic at the touch, but I forced it away, after all I had been the one looking for you, I’d initiated the hug, what would you think if I had just pushed you away. Then you spoke. And it all went away. All of the panic, all of the pain, all of the terrible thoughts, away with a simple “I love you.”

We released and we began to catch up. I skipped details of most that had happened when I’d begun my search till then. I told you it’d been uneventful. I could see you didn’t believe me. I knew you could see the deadness in my eyes. You could see I’d almost completely given up, not only on finding you, but life. I was tired. I still am. But I haven’t given up. Anyway, you told me about living with Rose, that she was kind, finding orphans and those who’d been kicked out of their towns and all. We both decided it would be better to talk in private. We both decided to walk outside to talk. I accidentally stepped outside of Rose’s protective circle. I was immediately ambushed. You raced to my aid, hacking and slicing away at the attackers, you took the initial hit that was aimed at me. We fought side by side, eventually being joined by Rose, who had sensed the trouble and came to help. We beat them. We beat the attackers. Why doesn’t it feel like we won? Is it because you took poison that was meant for me? Probably. I’m not going to lie. I sobbed the whole time, while her medics told us you didn’t have a chance, while I was saying the final goodbye, and especially when you answered my final question. Why?

“Because I loved you too much.”

So now you’re gone. I gained an ally in Rose, but I don’t know if I could ever face her again. She is just so compassionate and I fear I will not be able to be strong around her. I told her I would ever call if I needed help again though, to make her feel better. I must attempt to sleep so I may travel home in the morning. I love you.

Love, Polo.

Brother,

I made it home. I believe traveling home is where I left off. Our little brother’s name is Marco. He is amazing. I will protect him. Mother is gone, dead from childbirth. After all the assassination attempts, having another child is what did her in. That is most humorous. She doesn’t want me to keep writing these. Sometimes she sounds just like mother. I fear I am losing myself to her. I must go, I have things to attend to as new head of family.

Love, Polo

Brother,

What have I done? Oh gods above what have I done. I’ve hurt him. Marco, my only brother, I’ve done to him what was done to me, the act that has utterly destroyed me. No, it was not me. It was my body, but I have not done this. It was her! SHE DID THIS TO MY PRECIOUS SIBLING!

I MUST GET RID OF H-

Brother,

I am almost gone. I don’t have much time to write this. Marco has taken everything She has thrown at him, but I think she has finally broken him. Cori, his beloved Cori. She’s had him killed. I cannot let this keep happening, but I cannot control it. He will obey Her now. Perhaps if he does, She will stop hurting him. I am so sorry Nero. I’m so sorry Marco. I’ve failed.

Love, Polo.

Dearest Marco,

I wanted you to have these. She would have you be a mindless soldier, but I promised I’d be better than him. You need to know what made me this way, a powerless puppet. Enclosed are the letters I wrote to him, starting when I was nine years old. Our older brother was truly wonderful, I wish you could have met him. He would have been much better of a brother than me. Perhaps enclosed you may find a way to reverse this. I’d much rather be filled with pain than be powerless to stop Her from hurting you. Good luck. I love you. I’m sorry.

Love, Polo

[lynneshobbydomain]

Tie A String Around Me (Day 2 of Komahina Week)

((Thank you sunflower_8 for betaing this chapter for me and for letting me know when I screw up a character’s name. Dear god have mercy on me. As always, thank you all for the kudos and reblogs, they truly make my day).

Prompt: Soulmate AU/ Confessions

Rating: T (Hajime has a mouth)

Summary:  Prequel to Make My Wish Come True In a world where different soulmates had different marks and tattoos and words to say to each other, Nagito considered himself lucky to have a string. He could find his soulmate at any time if he wanted, but he was more than happy to let fate decide when they meet. However, meeting someone at the other end could prove to be his bad luck.

You can read this prompt from under the cut or you can go read it on AO3

There were four tugs on Nagito’s pinky finger that had a red string tied at the end.

Nagito smiled as he walked over to the vending machine on the school campus. Sometimes there were two sharp pulls and he had learned over the years that it meant that his soulmate was nervous or upset. One sharp pull was usually his soulmate telling him to knock it off when Nagito played too much with the string. There were sometimes three slow pulls, as if to comfort. As if to say that he’s okay when Nagito would tug just to see if his soulmate was there. He didn’t have the exact method of communication down, even after all these years, but he liked to think that he understood the subtext of what the pulls could mean.

He wondered if his soul mate was nervous about something, or if he was just also trying to make sure that the red string was intact. It would be just Nagito luck if it somehow broke. He lightly tugged back on the string, telling whoever was at the other end that he felt it. He was still there. Even if he didn’t understand why the four tugs. Four wasn’t a number they usually used.

Speaking of his soul mate, Nagito sometimes felt bad for them. On one hand, they were going to be absolutely brilliant and he knew it! They probably had the most hope that he would ever lay his eyes on. They were also probably the most talented! Oh how extraordinary that would be! To have a talent that could bring so much hope and joy. He thought about the different kinds of professions that could be. Detectives, nurses, doctors, or maybe they were the artistic type like a painter or a sculptor. Whatever kind of soulmate he had, Nagito was just happy that he was going to have someone that had just as much hope as he did.

On the other, the vending machine was stuck again. Nagito didn’t mind it so much, this was a minor inconvenience to what kind of bad luck he could get. Not get any soda? That’s fine, maybe something better was around the corner. Better to have that be the case than to have someone die in a plane crash, or watch a car accident with no survivors, or be the only one to get out of a burning apartment building without a scratch. His luck was the worst when it decided to be on the downswing. Nagito glanced at the red string that was tied around his pinky finger.

He could follow it. It wasn’t frayed and damaged. It had a strong red glow and if he tugged on it just right, he could feel a tug back. He could see where it led, but he never tried. Or more like he felt like if he did try he wasn’t sure what kind of luck would meet him at the end. Meet his soulmate, only to watch them disappear in the end? Nagito was happier to leave it up to fate to decide when they meet. Besides, they could be across the country right now trying to spread as much hope and joy they possibly can. Having a soulmate would weigh them down and Nagito didn’t want them to feel obligated to put their lives on a shelf.

Besides, he found it interesting that in a world filled with different ways of finding soulmates, he had managed to get a more physical manifestation of it. Most of his friends had words written on their skin of the first or the last things that they would say to their beloveds. He had seen soulmates who had symbols that were supposed to match. There were some who thought that they were color-blind, only to light up in joy when they could finally see the world as what it was. So many different ways to spread and find hope and Nagito got the one that was the easiest….and the hardest.

No one else could see the red string. No one really believed in it anymore. It was a soulmate myth that disappeared within the sands of time. That was alright, Nagito didn’t mind the obscurity. In fact, that’s what made this even more hopeful and interesting he thought. To be able to meet his soulmate at any given time and feel them? There was not enough words to express his-

“Are you just gonna keep standing there?”

Nagito jolted and he looked over to see a boy with messy brown hair and deep brown eyes staring back at him. He looked pretty casual with his uniform, a tie tight around his neck and a determined gaze that barely softened at a smile.

“I’m sorry! I got lost in my thoughts.” Nagito held his hands out, nervous. “You may want to try a different vending machine though. This one ate my change, unfortunately. Ah what bad luck.”

“Really? It was working fine earlier.” The boy frowned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. “What were you trying to get?”

“You don’t have to do that for me, it’s alright.” Nagito quickly tried to shoot him down. “I don’t want you to waste your money on me or on-”

“I offered, didn’t I?” The boy gave him a sharp look and Nagito bit his tongue. He had a feeling that trying to get the boy to look the other way wasn’t going to happen here. He placed his hands down and moved to the side. “What were you getting?” He asked again, slipping the coins into the machine, the metal clanging on metal the only other noises that broke the silence between them.

“A Dr. Hopper.” The boy raised an eyebrow, and Nagito shrugged helplessly. “Haha, I needed the caffeine.”

“Huh. I don’t usually drink carbonated drinks, but...I’ll take your word for it I guess.” The boy replied. “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?”

“I’m sure that if we had I’d remember you,” Nagito replied. “After all you’re in Hopes Peak Academy, you must have some sort of talent.”

The boy grimaced. “Yeah... talent.” Oh. Maybe he wasn’t all that thrilled of what he could do. Nagito met other students like that. Always trying to tug at fate’s design, wanting more than a set-in stone path. Nagito thought that was also very hopeful of them. To try to defy the expectations of others! Sometimes it took the roundabout way of realizing that their soulmate was indeed the right one for them, or that their talent was actually what they needed all along. “Sorry, that came out a little-”

“No no! It’s okay to be disgruntled. I don’t like my talent either sometimes. It’s not as inspiring as some of my classmate’s.” Nagito assured. “Being the Ultimate Lucky student may have its perks, but...well they’re only like that when it’s a good day.”

“Like you were enrolled from the lottery right?” The boy pressed the button for an Dr. Hopper and both of them waited on baited breath. “Huh, you’re right. It was stuck.”

“See I to-”

Two cans of Dr. Hopper immediately rolled out into the dispenser. The boy and Nagito both stared at the machine for a bit. Nagito wasn’t expecting the good luck to come at him so quickly, and the boy was probably just stunned that he got to see his luck in action. The boy shrugged and bent down. He tossed both of the cans at Nagito. Not used to having things thrown at him, Nagtio juggled to try to catch both of them, and reminded himself not to open them for a while. Just so that they wouldn’t explode over his face.

“I’m Hinata Hajime. I’m friends with Nanami Chiaki.” Hinata introduced.

“I’m Komaeda Nagito. Your friends with someone in my class then. She’s the Ultimate Gamer. She’s so inspiring! I know that when she gets out into the world, she’s going to have such a fantastic hope shine through for all of us.” Nagito beamed.

Hinata shook his head, “What’s so inspiring about someone that takes a nap wherever?” He asked. “She drools too.”

“Bullying women,” Nagito teased, but his expression turned a little dark. He wasn’t sure if the word “friend” was what Hinata actually meant now. “That’s not very cool.”

“I’m sure she pokes fun at me sometimes, but I’ll lay off.” Hinata relented as he reached into his pocket again. “Do you like it in Hope’s Peak?”

“Hmm. My classmates can be a handful.” Nagito didn’t miss the fact that the boy said “in Hope’s Peak”. He wondered if Hinata ditched a lot to practice his talent, or perhaps he was a loner type and maybe him “bullying” Nanami was actually showing affection in a stageneted way. He wasn’t sure. Nagito realized that he didn’t...exactly reach out to his classmates the same way Hinata seemed to reach out to his friend. Probably a good thing. Closeness was just another way to make things worse. “Midori-san has taken over the music room again, and is driving Akamatsu-san and Maizono-san up the wall with her music. They can’t concentrate when Mioda-san is in there.”

“I think I heard about that. She’s trying to come up with a few new songs to perform for the exams right? Or is she doing this to get them recorded and sold?” Hinata asked curiously. The vending machine rumbled and another can came out from the dispenser. He knelt down quickly and Nagito caught sight that it was orange juice.

Nagito shrugged, “I’m not sure. She keeps changing her mind as to what she wants to do.”

“That sounds like her. Sorry to cut this short, but I gotta get back.”

“No. I’m sorry for being such a bother!” Nagito grinned. “Thank you for taking your time to talk to someone as unworthy as me.”

“Really? You shouldn’t put yourself down that much.” Hinata shook his head. “Later.”

“Bye bye.” Nagito couldn’t wave since his hands were full, but he watched Hinata walk away from the vending machine. Now that he was actually staring at the boy, he noticed a glimmer of red that was attached to the boy’s pinky. A red that...seemingly trailed off behind and headed for Nagito. He blinked slowly. So this was his soulmate. Hinata didn’t turn around, but he did jerk his wrist a couple of times. Maybe to assure himself that his soulmate didn’t disappear?

Oh what luck! Unfortunately it was bad luck because Nagito’s hands were full, but hopefully he was able to give a weak tug to tell his soulmate (to tell Hinata) that he was still there. Now he really needed to find out what sort of talent Hinata Hajime had, and why he wasn’t interested in Hope’s Peak.

                                                            X

Luckily for Nagito, most of his classmates chose today of all days to work on their talents. Which meant that the only person that was in the classroom was Chiaki. She probably was only there because she had just recently met up with Hinata, and didn’t want to go back to her dorms since they were probably a bit of a walk. It wasn’t that Chiaki was lazy in any sort of the means, even if she had a tendency to be tired and liked to nap wherever she could. She was working hard on her talent and it was easy to have energy levels drained.

She was currently working on her talent right now, and Nagito never felt blessed than to see someone being dedicated to their talent. He could hear the 16-bit music play through the console’s speakers as he approached and sat down across from her. He stayed silent and waited for her to glance up at him, not wanting to disturb an Ultimate hard at work.

Again, luck appeared to be on his side. Usually Nanami would take a while before she would look up at someone. “Hey, hey.” She greeted, her tone holding a sweet delicacy that could harden in any given moment. “How are you, Komaeda-kun?”

“I’m doing well, Nanami-san.” Nagito grinned. “How are you?”

“I’m doing alright. I’m having some problems with this level that I’m on, but I think I may have sped through a certain side-quest and I didn’t get it all the way done properly to get the item. I might have to go back and see if that’s the case, or if I misread the map of this dungeon.” Nanami hummed in displeasure, “Is there something that you need?”

“Ah, I don’t want to disturb you if you’re having a hard time with your game, Nanami-san. I know that you’ll do splendidly though! Your talent will shine right through when you get through that level for sure.”  Nagito assured, deciding that maybe he was being a bother after all.

Nanami, though, was just as unpredictable as she was predictable. “It’s alright. I need the break. You look like you’re on cloud nine. Did something good happen with your luck?” Unpredictable and observant. Sometimes Nagito forgot that just because her eyes were glued to the screen didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of her surroundings.

“Ahaha. There’s a chance. I had a question for you, if I may ask. You’re friends with someone named Hinata Hajime aren’t you? He was at the vending machine not too long ago and I ran into him there.”

“Hajime-kun?” Oh so they were close friends if they were using first names. Nagito filed that information away. “He’s a nice guy. He can get a little temperamental, but his heart is in the right place. Why do you ask? Did something happen? Nothing bad,” Chiaki mused, “otherwise you wouldn’t look so happy as you do now.”

“Am I really that much of an open book to you Namami-san?” Nagito asked, rhetorically. “I was curious to know what class he’s in, or what talent he could possess.”

“Hmm…” Nanami reached up and tugged her hoodie over her head, looking downcast. Nagito blinked. Did his soulmate somehow manage to do the unthinkable and get expelled from Hope’s Peak? Had he hated his talent so much that he would go that far to try to destroy it? Nagito tugged subconsciously on the soulmate string, trying to make sure it was still there. It was horrible luck on his side, wasn’t it? To have a soulmate that would probably throw away any and all talent to the side because of something that happened. He wondered how Hinata must have felt knowing that he had a soulmate that was an Ultimate and a part of the school that tossed him to the side.

Maybe this struggle that he was going through would be the stepping stone for something much brighter and sunnier on the other side. “Is something wrong, Nanami-san? You’ve been quiet for a while now...did I cross a line?”

“It’s not that. I just...don’t know how to word it properly. For example, I don’t want to lose our friend rating, but I don’t want to lose Hajime-kun’s friend’s stats too. I worked hard to get to where we are now.” Nanami bit her lower lip. “I mean, it’s not a secret or anything. It’s just hard to talk about.”

“If it’s that personal, then I won’t pry.” Nagito shook his head firmly. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

“You’re his soulmate though, aren’t you? That’s why you’re asking the question. You keep playing with your pinky finger so...I can only assume that you and Hajime-kun are metaphorically and literally tied together.” Nanami  pointed out, rubbing the side of her eye. She looked like she was about to pass out, but she kept herself straight. “This is probably something that’s going to come up sooner or later anyway...I think. So it should be okay to tell you.” She nodded. “Hajime-kun is part of the Reserve Course.”

Nagito blinked slowly. Talentless. His soulmate was a coat-rider of the brilliant and of the shining. Of course his bad luck would turn for the worst. Of course he wasn’t lucky enough to get a man that was talented as he was brilliant. No wonder Hinata was cold towards Hope’s Peak! “Hahaha. What awful luck.” Nagito stood up. “Thank you for telling me, Nanami-san. It appears I have some thinking to do.”

“Don’t cut the thread.”

Nagito froze just as he was about to walk away from the desk. He paused and looked over his shoulders at her. Nanami lowered her head and averted her expression, clutching at the side of her hood. “What do you mean, Nanami-san? What makes you think I’d cut the thread?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something you would do I think.” Nanami frowned. “Hajime-kun...is very attached to his soulmate. He wouldn’t ever try to hurt you. He’ll be sharp sometimes, and hard to understand, but...you should give him a chance. Talentless or not. Besides, I think that it brings a lot of hope that he’s talentless.”

“How would being talentless bring hope, Nanami-san?” Nagito tilted his head, his curiosity still evident.

“Hmm. Maybe it’s just me but, if you could have the ability to be anything that you wanted without someone telling you that’s exactly who you are...there’s a lot of potential there, I think anyway.” Nanami mused thoughtfully. “Which means that he has more of a reach when it comes to spreading hope. You shouldn’t judge people for where they are in business or in school. It’s more hopeful to look at them from a different perspective and see what they can become, I think.”

Nagito wondered if that was true. Being talented meant a lot in this world. It was a way to spread hope and brightness, yes, but no one wanted someone without talent. That was mundane. Those types of people could be found on street corners and in alleyways. Nagito couldn’t imagine, couldn’t fathom not having talent. His parents didn’t have talent and look where it got them, killed in a plane crash and burned beyond recognition.

Hinata Hajime had nothing to protect himself with, and there was no way he had that much hope. “You’re kinder than I am, Nanami-san.” Nagito said after a moment. “To see things that way.”

“I don’t think it’s that hard…” Nanami mused thoughtfully. “But just...think about it. Okay? Don’t do anything rash.”

Nagito nodded, “I’ll see you around.” He didn’t offer a wave as he walked out of his classroom, shoulders heavy with thought.

Maybe it would be best to not go seeking out his soulmate after all.

                                                                X

Here’s the thing about luck. It swings. It swings high and then it swings low. For every bad piece of luck there was always good luck to follow. That’s just how the world went and Nagito was used to it, however he wasn’t used to the way that it was showing up. He kept running into Hajime soon after that conversation. He didn’t try to go out of his way to have a conversation. If their eyes somehow met, he would give a nod and continue on his merry way, but he tried to keep Hinata Hajime at a good arm’s distance away from him. He ignored the tugs of his string to the point where the string was starting to lose its luster. The brilliant ruby red that used to bring Nagito so much joy was turning a dull maroon. Nagito felt a tug in his heart a few times to just...maybe tug on it. Maybe encourage it to not fray. However, he couldn’t step out of his mindset that perhaps this was for the best.

One night, while lying in bed, sleep was far away from him as it possibly could get. Nagito looked at the string on his finger and knew that it was only a matter of time before he was soulmate-less and unclaimed. He wondered how that would be for Hinata, and for himself. Soulmates that didn’t tend to their bonds or try to encourage the person on the other side would lose their marks. Some would smudge and fade. Some would just turn to a different person that was soulmate less too. He wondered what would happen if the string fell off of his pinky.

Would he be reclaimed by someone more deserving of him? Would he be alone in the world? Nagito had thought that he would die in the comfort of his soulmate’s arms considering how sick he was, and he thought that his soulmate would be there for him at the hospital visits, just like Nagito would dream and hope that his soulmate would want him to be there for them. It would be his luck though wouldn’t it, if Nagito was left alone. It was his choice, he could live with it.

He turned, about to go to sleep when he felt a couple of tugs against his pinky, almost pleading. Almost like Hinata was praying that someone on the other end would just...give in. Nagito wondered what would make him persist. What kind of hope did a dull string show? Nagito glanced at his cellphone on his bedside and noticed that there was a notification that was on the screen. Blinking, he picked up the phone.

The number that was there was unknown.

Could this be the good luck, or incoming bad?

Unknown: Sorry to bother you late at night Komaeda-kun, Chiaki-chan gave me your number and told me to talk to you. She said that you also have a string that’s been acting weird.

So Nanami didn’t say anything to Hinata about the string. Nagito thought for a moment about ignoring it, deleting it.

Komaeda: It’s just one of those types of bad luck I’m afraid.

Unknown: Have you tried to tug at them? Ask them if they’re okay? I’ve been doing that, but I’m being ignored. Or maybe they can’t respond because they’re sick. I don’t know. Anyway, I didn’t mean to suddenly bother you about this. Chiaki-chan just told me that you’d get it more.

Komaeda: I haven’t. Tried to tug at it I mean. Actually, Hinata-kun may I ask you a question?

Unknown: Sure. Shoot.

Komaeda: Do you think it’s possible to be disappointed in your soul mate?

Unknown: Well if I’m being ignored then yes, I’m severely disappointed because I don’t know what’s happening and we’re not talking or letting me know that everything’s okay. If something happened and they were sick, I’d be more disappointed in myself for not knowing who they were to begin with and being there for them when they needed me. Makes sense?

That…

Komaeda: I think perhaps there was a misunderstanding. I meant to ask, is it possible to be disappointed in your soulmate who...isn’t who you think they are?

Nagito watched the three dots appear and disappear on his phone screen for some time. He wondered if Hinata had the same feelings and was typing out a novel, or was going to go for a whole spiel that his soul mate couldn’t possibly be as bad as he hoped.

Unknown: I think that depends on what kind of pedestal you put them on to begin with. For me, I just want someone to be my friend. I’m not relying on the string to tell me that I’m loved. I don’t want that. I want my soul mate to prove it with their actions, their words, and I’d do the same for them. Can I be disappointed in looks? Maybe? I mean I fantasized what they might’ve looked like, but again imagination and real life don’t equal.

That was…

Komaeda: For someone as talentless as you, you certainly hold a lot of hope don’t you?

Unknown: I was wondering when that was going to be brought up.

Nanami must’ve in turn told Hinata that Nagito knew about him being talentless. He didn’t mind, it was going to come up eventually, he supposed. He wondered why he was even still talking. There was no point in conversing with someone that would just ride on the glory of the others who worked hard to get where they were.

Yet he was still glued to the phone and decided to respond.

Komaeda: Don’t you feel ashamed being friends with Nanami-san?

Unknown: No, but I’m sure she feels like she could be ashamed of me sometimes. Have you seen her get angry if you manage to beat her at a game?

How many times was Nagito going to get whiplashed emotionally in this conversation? The Ultimate Gamer, beaten? That was unheard of, that wasn’t supposed to happen! He would have to check in on Nanami later and see if she was feeling alright. Maybe Hinata caught her when she was sick or out of it. Sometimes, Nagito worried that Nanami didn’t get enough sleep or enough TLC for herself.

Komaeda: Really? You beat the Ultimate Gamer?

Unknown: Chiaki-chan doesn’t care about winning or losing, she cares about having fun. She cares if other people are having fun too. I’m sure she threw some of the games to give me a fighting chance, or at the very least played casually so that I could keep up with her.

Oh that made a lot more sense. The relief that Nagito felt was instantaneous. Nanami certainly lived up to her Ultimate then. It...made him wonder though why she would be so kind to do that for someone that was talentless. He saw her gather some of their classmates together for a friendly game of smash, and she kicked all of their asses. Of course, there were times where she didn’t play at all, and stood in the background, happy to watch.

Komaeda: She’s a good friend to you it seems.

Unknown: I try to be a good friend back. That being said, you sound like your soulmate did something to make you upset.

Komaeda: Found out that they were unworthy of my time.

Unknown: …….

Unknown: Did you even give them a chance?

Komaeda: Why should I? I don’t think you understand Hinata-kun, but those who are talentless should know their place. They should be watching us and be our stepping stones for the betterment of hope! They get to see what we can do and I think that’s amazing as is, but they shouldn’t be trying to get in our way.

Unknown: I pity your soulmate, Komaeda.

Unknown: Because that’s pretty fucking shallow.

Unknown: I’m sure they would be amazed by you and your talent, as baffling as it is.

Unknown: And maybe you're pushing them away because you think that something bad can happen to them because of your talent.

Nanami must have told him that.

Unknown: Chiaki-chan told me that your luck swings back and forth right? For every bad comes a good or something? I don’t really get it, I never thought luck could be a talent, let alone a power, but I saw enough weirdness going in and out of Hope’s peak and I’m just a guest there.

A guest? Komaeda blinked.

Unknown: Did you want to know something?

Unknown: I could’ve taken a chance to be at Hope’s Peak.

Unknown: I could’ve had talent and be in the same class as you.

Unknown: Chiaki-chan met me that day at a fountain, I was heavily debating about whether or not I wanted to take a chance.

Unknown: Because to have that talent.

Unknown: Hinata Hajime would disappear.

Unknown: I wouldn’t know my friends.

Unknown: My family.

Unknown: I would be a completely different person than I am now. I couldn’t take that risk. I couldn’t throw away everything.

Unknown: Because I know for a fact I would’ve lost my soulmate too.

Nagito stared at the wall of text that had suddenly been spammed in front of him. Hope’s Peak offered...a method to get talent but in order to do that, Hinata would’ve had to lose everything? Komaeda looked at the string that was on his pinky, a dull maroon that was starting to get some color back. Maybe it was the trick of the moonlight that was currently streaming through his window.

How was he supposed to respond to that? It was absolutely insane to just toss that sort of opportunity to the side. Yet Hinata thought about all of the people he would have left behind because of the glory of talent. What did that mean?

Nagito thought for a moment.

Komaeda: How do you think I should try to reconnect to my soulmate?

Unknown: Normally I tug on my string. I usually give three tugs to show that I care. Sometimes I tug on it when I’m nervous or if I’m just trying to see if I can get some support when I’m thinking or emotional or something.

Unknown: My soul mate and I kinda had a system. Well I had a system. I don’t think my soulmate really understood it.

Unknown: I’d tug on it once for acknowledgement. Twice to say goodbye or goodnight. Three times to say I care, and four times to ask if they were alright.

Komaeda: Oh.

Unknown: Yeah. Anyway. Good luck with your soulmate. Hopefully mine will show up.

Nagito glanced at his pinky and carefully wrapped the string into his hand. He took a breath and gave a tight tug. Once. Twice.

The cellphone in his lap rang and Nagito quickly grabbed it.

“You were my soulmate this entire time asshole!” Hinata’s voice whispered-shouted, but Nagito could hear the humor laced in anger. “I thought it was you. You were that upset huh? That wasn’t what you thought?”

“I thought it was my bad luck.” Nagito hummed thoughtfully. “But...Hinata-kun certainly has a lot of hope...and for some reason decided to turn down a chance to be as amazing as everyone else. It makes me curious as to why.”

“No reasons besides the ones I gave you, but if you’re willing to try to figure it out, I suppose we could...talk it over.” Hinata said evenly. “I’m not expecting us to be close right away, Komaeda-kun.”

“Friends then for now.” Komaeda agreed. “I suppose the next step is to figure out a better code with that string. I honestly had no idea you had a technique on trying to get a hold of me.”

“Man, I think I’m the only one that actually thought about it too.” Hinata sighed. “Yeah okay; we’ll talk code when we hang out. When’s a good time for you?”

“Hmm. Whenever you want.” Nagito mused. “I don’t want to be too much of a bother.”

“You're bothering me, alright.”

Nagito hung up the phone and grinned amused when he saw a text message on his screen.

Hinata: Dick.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Remember (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: Referenced minor character death Characters: Penguin, Shachi

Penguin was torn between being irritated at the constant chaperoning and pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to get information out of these pirates. They told him that he was being accompanied everywhere for his own safety, as the Polar Tang – the name of the ship, apparently, and Penguin was trying hard not to dwell too much on the fact that it was a submarine currently hundreds of feet underwater – was full of hazards. The interesting thing was that most of them seemed to genuinely believe that was the case, horrified when he suggested maybe it was because they didn't trust him.

The captain and the talking bear – what was this, a circus? – were the only two to demonstrate any indication of guilt (even if the captain was subtle about it) if the topic was brought up in their earshot. And then there was the ginger who, after finally reappearing from wherever he'd fled to, firmly attached himself to his side with a blinding grin Penguin knew for a fact had to be fake considering his earlier display, and didn't even bother pretending otherwise.

"I'm just hoping you get your memories back before you start trying to kill us," he said far too cheerfully when asked, and honestly Penguin had no response to that. If he knew he was gathering information in order to successfully destroy the crew then why wasn't he doing something about it, rather than answering every question Penguin threw his way?

Night time came, or so he was told – with darkness constantly outside the windows, there was no way to tell what time it was except to rely on the clocks – and his ginger shadow informed him bluntly that he'd be sleeping with him and forcibly led the way to a bunkroom.

"Bottom bunk's yours," he was told, and he sat on it, wondering who normally slept there. It was warm, as if only recently vacated, so maybe it was the one on night watch?

"Who's bed is this?" he asked, because the ginger had never refused to answer a question. The shorter man's shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

"Yours," he said. That would have made some sense, if there was any way that Penguin could ever have been a pirate. He looked around the room, because if nothing else he could at least find out more information about the ginger.

The desk – if that was what that poor thing was supposed to be – was full of clutter, random pieces of paper and paraphernalia covering it until almost none of the wood was visible. Only a single corner, closest to the bed, was visible. There was just enough room for something to settle there, and considering the contrast to the rest of the desk Penguin was certain something did often sit there. A collection of boots – not all the same size, so this really was a shared room – were arranged in some semblance of order by the door, and some of the weird uniforms he'd seen many of the crew wearing hung from hooks above them. The far wall housed a pair of chests with clothes hanging out of them – the left was far more organised than the right, another indication of two people living in the room – and above them, tacked to the wall, were pictures.

The bounty posters drew his attention first, "Surgeon of Death" Trafalgar Law worth a not inconsiderate amount of beris, while the bear boasted a far more pitiful bounty. Penguin couldn't even buy a decent pair of boots with that little money. The poster for the giant of a man, Jean Bart, looked old and crumpled, as if it had been pulled out a bin. No poster for the ginger now shrugging off his clothes without a care in the world to pull on something to sleep in – Penguin noted the copious bandaging around his abdomen; that was an obvious weakness he could definitely take advantage of.

"You can turn the lights out whenever you're ready," the ginger said, shimmying up the ladder into the top bunk with the ease born of years of practice. Penguin turned away from the wall and headed to the lower bunk, flicking the light switch as he slid into the bed. He didn't bother getting changed, not wanting to wear any clothes belonging to a pirate. It was bad enough that he was spending the night in a pirate's bed.

Sleep came for him faster than he expected, dragging him under almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. It felt… right, but he didn't stay awake long enough to register what that implied.

He didn't know what he dreamed about, but when he started awake, heart pounding and feeling decidedly guilty, he knew there must have been a dream. It was probably his memories pushing at his subconsciousness, and Penguin rolled out of the bed and padded towards the door silently, needing to get out. Knowing that his memories were so close, yet out of reach, was frustrating. He was trying not to think of the obvious gaps in his memory, the things that didn't quite fit, or were just plain missing, and in the daytime, gathering information and formulating plans made for an effective distraction. At night, his mind refused to be so easily distracted.

"You want to talk?" the ginger asked suddenly, startling Penguin. He'd figured the man would be fast asleep as it was clearly the dead of night.

"No," he said shortly, yanking the door open and striding out of the room, mentally counting the seconds until he was caught up, and jumping when it was less than two before the ginger was walking by his side. "Go back to sleep!" he growled, not in the mood for puzzles while he was dwelling on his missing memories. The ginger said nothing, remaining a silent shadow as Penguin stalked his way around the entire ship for the rest of the night.

It was when the rest of the crew stirred, hours later, that Penguin recalled something. Not one of his missing memories, annoyingly, but one of the things tacked to the bunkroom wall. With the call for lights out, he hadn't looked at anything other than the bounty posters in any detail, but there had been a sketch that now stood out in Penguin's mind, registering as important.

His parents. Even without colour, it had been unmistakably them, but they hadn't been alone, and Penguin didn't recognise the man and woman also in the picture, but the boy in front of them strongly resembled the ginger still shadowing him. Did that mean that he'd been telling the truth about them growing up together? If so, why had he forgotten his family but not the others on the island? Why couldn't he have forgotten his parents' deaths?

The memory washed over him, uninvited and unwelcome as he screamed from underneath his mother's corpse until he was pulled out, Noona bundling him in shaking arms as a quiet, scared voice called for his mother.

Wait, that wasn't right. He hadn't screamed, hadn't called for his parents. He'd been struck dumb by the shock, going through the motions but unable to react. It had been the little ginger boy who was crying, begging his mother to wake up even as he'd been drawn into Noona's hold, too. He'd been bleeding – they'd both been bleeding. Penguin saw the gouge by the ginger's left eye, bleeding profusely but ignored in grief. That would scar.

"-uin?" a voice called, jerking him out of his recollections. "Penguin?" He forced his eyes open to see the ginger in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

Ginger. Like the boy.

Penguin lurched forwards, snatching the shades off the man's face to a startled cry. There, by his left eye – twitching and weeping in the light and that guilt washed over him again – was a neat scar, perfectly matching the memory. Penguin touched it, feeling the change in skin underneath his fingertips.

"Hey!" voices shouted, and there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him back from the ginger, who hadn't moved, not even to flinch back. He could have killed him then, it would have been so easy when the man didn't even have the instinct to retreat from him, but the bloodlust had drained away all at once. Staring into snowblind eyes as he was bundled back, his mind supplied a colour for them despite the fact there was no colour visible due to the damage.

Penguin knew this man. It was only one memory, but it had revealed something important, and potentially changed everything. He'd lost his parents to pirates, too. The same pirates, the same attack. Yet, he was a pirate. Penguin still couldn't think what would make him choose that path, but if the ginger had, then maybe… maybe it wasn't so impossible that he had too.

"What's going on?" a voice demanded, but Penguin ignored it, surging forwards and catching the pirates out, many of them losing their grip.

"Shachi," he said, reaching him again and tracing that scar once more. "You got this the day your parents died." The hands that had been restraining him slackened, but Penguin continued to ignore them, waiting for a response. He expected a nod, or maybe a spoken 'yes'.

He didn't expect to be body tackled, the ginger's arms wrapping tightly around him and his face burying itself in Penguin's shoulder as he staggered backwards.

"Hey!" he complained, instinctively catching Shachi. "What are you doing?"

"You remembered me!" the ginger sniffled – was he crying?

"Just one memory," Penguin corrected. "I still don't believe this pirate nonsense."

"Let's take things one step at a time," the captain said. Penguin realised he had been the one demanding what was happening. "You're not going to remember everything straight away. See if you can focus on Shachi for now."

Penguin was dubious – it was only one memory, it didn't prove anything beyond knowing of Shachi's existence as a child – but looking at the ginger sobbing into his shoulder the same guilt he'd woken up with surfaced again. His arms wound themselves around the shorter male of their own volition, and it felt right.

[ktspree13]

Surf & Turf pt. 2

Warnings: brief mentions of cutting, small allusion to suicide, domestic violence, mention of murder, illness, concussion, mention of pedophilia, underage characters Word Count: 1,486 Summary: AU inspired by commission for @slamncram by @juls-art and a prompt on the thorki discord server. Prompt: slow burn surfer thor au where loki is spending the summer with laufey and his family at like. their summer home.  and they’re pieces of shit yk.  and he just hangs out at the beach all sad and alone and he sees thor, watches him because it’s pretty interesting and thor keeps catching him peeking.  starting up a summer romance and then trying to figure out a way to keep it going past august. ________________________________________________________________

He was sitting on a bench at the boardwalk, staring out at the beach when it happened again.  The mind-numbing pain followed by throwing up the entire contents of his stomach into the trashcan next to him.  Then came the piercing ringing in his ears and a tilt to the world before he curled up on the sand and passed out for a few minutes.  

The first few times it happened, there were people surrounding him, wanting to take him to the hospital, wanting to call the police, but he’d learned how to hide, how to manage.  

That day on the beach, he’d come home with puke on his shirt and Laufey had beat his head in.  When he was almost sent to the hospital the next day, returning to that damn Winnebago empty handed, his father hadn’t been much happier, slamming Loki into the metal shell of the RV, forcing him to sleep outside in the sandy dirt.  Not that he had such great accommodations inside…

It hadn’t been much better the past two weeks.  He walked around in a fog most days, had an episode like this one every so often.  

This time, when he woke up, Thor was sitting on the bench and he thought his life was over.

His stomach lurched again as he coughed bile up, weakly.  He tried to get his body to move, to flee, but he was just so tired and uncoordinated right now.  He’d been too tired to cut, even, since he’d met Thor, and most days that felt like a lifeline.

“Hey, easy.”  Thor had his hands up again, like he was in the wrong here.  Trying to be non-threatening, Loki guessed.  “I really think you need some help, Loki.”

“Mmm fine,” he mumbled.  “Tired.”  Loki coughed, trying to clear the awful taste from his mouth.  He’d gotten some of the bile on his shirt and would probably catch crap again.  “...Dad’s being shirt again.”  He wrinkled his brow.  Something in that sentence wasn’t right, but it hurt to figure out what.

“You aren’t fine,” Thor growled, lowly, like he was mad at him, a stranger, but trying not to be obvious about it.  “I think you might have a concussion.”

Loki laid there at Thor’s feet for a few more minutes.  It was a weird, tense silence.  “What’s it to you?” he asked, wiping his face from the bile and tears.  The headaches got to painful sometimes.  “I stole your wallet.”  He felt like he should point out the obvious.

“I gave it to you,” Thor sighed.  Loki could hear him take a deep breath before letting it out slowly, like he was trying to calm himself down, like Loki’s response made him so upset he had to work to respond.

“I fuckin’ stole it you pussy,” he shot back.  “Just forget my face, Thor.  Forget me.  I’m only supposed to slip in and out of here.  We’re leaving when the tourist season is over.”  He was probably revealing way more than he should.  “Grow a pair and let me go,” he groaned, working to sit up.

The sun was sweltering today.  He should’ve found a drinking fountain awhile ago.  Stolen a few wallets by now.  He shouldn’t be talking with blond surf gods who wanted to help him.  Thor put a bottle of water down in the sand next to him.  It was dripping in sweat, just like he probably should be.

He ignored it for a little while, but the longer Thor sat there, pointedly not leaving, the longer that water sat there crying, wore him down.  His eyes welled up, stinging as he wiped them again, his dirty long sleeve clinging to his scars.  He snatched up the water, struggling with the cap for a moment before he pried it open.

“Just go slow.”

He couldn’t help it.  When the cool liquid hit his tongue, he gulped it down, drinking faster and faster until he could feel it getting torn from his hands.

“Jeezus, Loki!”  Thor held the refreshing elixir out of his reach as he sat there, panting.  “I said go slow, or you’ll throw it all up.”  He watched Thor’s throat bob as he swallowed.  Noted the way he bit his lip staring down at Loki.

“Are you some kind of pedo?” he shot at Thor.  The blond stared back with a look of shock and revulsion on his face.

“Why would you even say that?”

“Because it’s true!  Some 20 year old playing savior to a minor—”  Loki coughed, stomach roiling a little.  Ok, maybe Thor had been right.  “Trying to fuck some tight young ass is more like it.  He steals, he won’t narc.  No one would miss him…”  Loki coughed again, throwing up a little of the water.  Thor was silent.

For a long time neither of them spoke.  But Thor did hand the water back, and Loki drank much slower, moving to sit on the bench, finally, stare out at the ocean again.

“Am I right?”  He was almost afraid of the answer.  He mostly didn’t want it to be yes.  He surprised himself by wishing Thor was actually just a good guy.

“I’m only 17.”

“How much cash you got?”  He took another sip.  “I might let y—”

“You’re sick, Loki.  You need a doctor.  I would never take advantage of you like that.”

He watched as Thor swiped a thumb over his eye.  He felt a little guilty.  He’d actually made the jolly green giant cry.

He leaned his head on Thor’s shoulder, letting himself believe for just a moment that he had a real brother in this world.  Someone to look out for him and take care of him.  A real home.  That he’d just done some kind of suicide jog with Thor and he was resting on the beach with him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling Thor’s arm wrap around him.

“I’ve watched you all summer,” Thor confessed.  “Even when it was hard to find you.”

Loki took another drink, staring out at the water.  It really was a beautiful place.

“You don’t have to go back, you know.  I have a hideout you can stay at.  A buddy of mine built it when we were young.  It’s secluded, fully stocked.  No one would find you if you didn’t want them to.  Or you could come to my place.  My parents would be ok with it.  My mom could take a look at your head.  Or I could take you to the hospital...”

He let Thor talk himself out.  It was a new feeling for him, someone wanting to help and not seeming to want anything in return.  Strange.  The last person to do that was his mother.  And Laufey had beat the hell out of her before she died…  Hence the Winnebago.

“What do you want Thor?” he sighed.  He was just so tired.  And hungry.  He drank more of the water, slowly. “I just want you to be safe, to not have to live like this, to—”

“Why me?  Do you do this for all the street urchins?”

“Well, no—”

“Then why me?  What do you want?”  He sat up, staring over at Thor with a fire in his eyes.  He needed to know.  He needed to know what strings were attached, because he didn’t want the rug pulled out from under him.

“I like you, ok?”  Thor blushed, like he was ashamed of himself.  “Maybe I should pay better attention.  Maybe I should be helping more people like you.  I don’t know.  But I saw you.  And I wanted to help.”  He sat there, like a dejected kid who just learned Santa Claus wasn’t real.  Sad, pathetic, lost.  And Loki had to believe him a little…

He finished the water.  “How much cash do you have?” he asked, still feeling that fog inside his head.  “If you got a few hundred the bastard might not beat me tonight.”

Thor handed over a brand new wallet.  He could tell pretty quickly that there was more than a few hundred inside.  It also contained a key and an address.  Loki wanted to cry in that moment.  He couldn’t go right away.  He still had his things in the Winnebago.  The lone photo album he’d kept hidden all those years.  The only photos he had of his mom, and him.  The few times he was happy.  He didn’t want to leave it behind.  One last night and maybe he’d leave for good.

Thor handed him a bottle of gatorade.  He hated the stuff, but...electrolytes, he guessed.  He sipped on the sugary beverage as Thor handed him a sandwich, too.  “How do you drink this stuff?” he asked, scrunching up his nose in distaste.

“Open cap, pour in mouth, swallow.”  Thor grinned, mimicking drinking for Loki.

“Asshole,” he rolled his eyes.  But for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 [FIC]

‘come things only happy and whole’

Original Character/Sharky Boshaw -Pre Relationship. Deputy Rook, Sharky Boshaw, Earl Whitehorse, Original Characters

@ask-chibi-rook

This was a really fun experience with a really cool character concept! I think I scrapped like five ideas, which almost never happens. TYSM and I hope you enjoy! 

Notes: general warning for Jacob Seed who is Sir-Not-Appearing but still felt, brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage, gentle flirting, as close as I get to fluff.

–

The circumstances are specific.

Eden’s Gate has a now unusually large population of pregnant women. The Resistance has few in the family way and explicitly no children in or around the compounds. So colour Pastor Jerome Jefferies and Father Joseph Seed surprised when they received identical messages asking them to parley a little north of Dutch in a zone they’d been habitually calling Bear Trap. Because of the bears. Twelve women who had been friends on Facebook before the Reaping started had kept to the agreement they’d made to meet up at Sally Sue’s old cabin and stay the days or weeks it took for all of them to give birth. This would have been a ridiculous thing to organise if a) every single woman involved hadn’t been previously part of a larger prepper group before making a smaller, more intimate one and b) that smaller group hadn’t been specifically for women who’d survived multiple miscarriages. 

“They’re ah, not coming down.” Some poor son of a gun has to tell Whitehorse at two am on a Thursday. They’re out in the chill, on the porch of a little house. “They’ve got four doula’s and a bunch of equipment they’d set up beforehand as well as a doctor. Marcie, that’s, uh, Walter Whit’s Marcie, says that we can shove it up out be-hinds if we want them to come down. It’s between them and God now.”

“She tell Seed that too?”

“She told Walt that.” The boy sighs. “She told Seed that he should have kept that prize winning show dog of his brother under better control as he stressed Wendy and Carlie something awful with their atonements. And that keeping any pregnant women near Faith, who she did have something unpleasant to say about as per her use of Bliss, was just about his greatest crime.”

Whitehorse snorts. “Has she seen the bodies?”

The boy holds up his fingers to make quotation marks. “That’s killing folk, not killing babies, and Seed was coming awful close to asking them to kill babies.”

“That explains the Peggies. When it came right down to it they picked their kids over the Father.” Whitehorse muses. “Would’ve been nice if they’d stood up for us. No, don’t relay that Jimmy, that’s me being an old grump. If those girls need things from us, you get it to them, alright?”

“Yessir.”

“And you,” he turns to point at Rook, tucked under a blanket on the front step with him, “go get some sleep.”

Rook points at herself, flips to the page in her small notebook that says me?

“Yeah, you. Relax Rook. Ain’t nobody around here going to need you to fix this.” 

She probably should have figured that Whitehorse would catch on. It’s been a week, maybe two, since Jess took an all terrain bike and an exhausted, largely non-responsive Rook back to the Henbane. She has marks she doesn’t remember and bigger, scarier blanks in her memory, left to white knuckle it through whatever recovery is possible. Rook spends a lot of her life kind of tired. When it’s hard to communicate you have to be quick and clear about what to say. She’s gotten it right down to essentials by now but that leaves out everything complex. There’s a lot of things sitting just behind her teeth, just behind her gums, that she’ll never have time to tell anyone. Certainly not if Joseph gets his way. 

From what she understands they are at a critical junction in Joseph’s plan. Months at most from his intended end of the world and he has been reacting with his expected fanaticism. A bunch of women trekking off into the woods should be a minor concern. All of this would be a minor concern, solved by Jacob, who had no one among the Prosperity Prepper Pregnancy Yarning Circle, but for one Miriam Lee, of John’s faithful, who led security. She’d changed the locks on any number of critical supplies and literally taken John’s secret stash of solar panels with her, leaving John to explain why he had solar panels in Joseph’s unreasonable and unlikely future, and why Miriam Lee was the only person who knew how to change all the passwords. This still wouldn’t have stopped Jacob but for Joseph, who had decided he’d had a vision and his eldest brother would be cast from paradise should he take arms against the innocent. The absurdity of that statement about that particular redhead aside it seemed the Father was dead serious. 

For all his numerous faults it seemed Joseph Seed was unwilling to harm a child. 

(Ha)

So the circumstances? Very specific.

Rook takes his advice and heads in to sleep. In her dreams places red and deadly pass and prosper, knives sharpen and music plays, a familiar voice sweet and betraying. It’s further away than usual, buffered in her dreams by smaller, stronger feelings currently unsaid. Her mind is dark, not quite unpleasant. When she wakes in the morning, just a few hours later, the Montana morning is fiercely pleasant. The weather is beginning to suggest it’s turning but it hasn’t done more than throw up some surprising afternoon wind changes. Enough that a light jacket and a scarf stashed somewhere is enough for almost any day. 

Someone knocks on the door of the small space she’s been allotted. Rook pulls on her clothes. Soft flannel, thick socks. Two shirts for those aforementioned wind changes. She makes sure she has a small notebook and pen on her. There’s a small box of blue ones under her bed here, liberated from John, so she never feels quite bad enough about how often they get snapped. The door knocks again and she rushes to open it.

On the other side Sharky Boshaw has a chipped mug of tea and a little bit of a nervous look.   

The soft feelings from her dreams return in daylight’s full glory. She waves hello, takes the mug and invites him in. Sharky takes in her messy nest of blankets, the pens scattered on the floor from her dash to answer the door and how, apart from her bed, there isn’t anywhere to sit. She can see him thinking, her own embarrassment flooding her face with colour, before Sharky kneels down and starts picking up her pens.  

“I heard from Isaiah -that prepper with all the grenades? The one the Peggies stopped going near because he set landmines attached to flamethrowers, well he’s been rehabbing a Judge. Found her ripping through Jacob’s territory baiting his people into traps. Clever as hell. He invited me up there ‘cause I brought him some beer a week or two ago and I made a bet against Hurk about it. Says she’s nearly ready to get the hell off his property on account of how she keeps activating his traps to scare the wildlife.” He pauses, glances at the ceiling while he scratches his chin. “Also I owe Hurk money.”

Rook hears all that and as usual has specific questions. She opens her book. Sharky hands her a pen. She writes: You brought a man surrounded by landmines beer?

Sharky looked faintly offended. “I ain’t afraid of fire.”

But the landmines? She asks with genuine concern.

“Landmines are fine if they’re attached to flamethrowers.” He waits a moment to see if she has anything to say to that, then adds, “Obviously I just figured out how those worked and went backwards. Easy.”

Easy, obviously.  

Sharky rubs the back of his neck. “So, wanna pet a dog?”

–

Whitehorse is a paternal combination of pleased and worried that Rook is leaving the relative safety of the Prison to pet a dog with a pyromaniac. On one hand, she’s been a mess since she came back from the Whitetails -the Whitetails that want her back pretty badly, not including Jacob- and a strong interest in doing things that involve walking outside in a relative state of peace is indicative of the good mental health she never exactly had. On the other hand Sharky Boshaw is taking her through woods not quite Resistance and not quite Peggie to pet a wolf that kills people. 

“Kills Peggies.” Sharky corrects when Whitehorse manages to stop grumbling long enough to state his problem. “And Boomer does that too.”

“Boomer is a good dog.” Someone Rook doesn’t know says from their left. “Let the girl pet a dog, Earl. It’s not the most dangerous thing she’s done for us.” 

Whitehorse makes a face she dimly recognises from her early days, when she stayed at the station all hours and didn’t so much as a glance at forming a relationship outside of work. At her one month review he’d said that he hoped that she’d one day find people here she could trust, that he hoped to be one of them, but until then he’d do his best to at least be a soft place to land. It’s months later, and there’s a war on, and his face still says that. Rook spends all her time trying to be what the Resistance needs, the person it needs. There’s not much room for being soft. 

Whitehorse relents, settles on take the shovel and gives Sharky back the rocket launcher and the nun-chucks that Whitehorse personally took out of his trailer about three months before all of this started. Sharky treats both of these gifts with a reverence that they have all learned to tolerate while living in close quarters. He also gifts Sharky with a ten minute long lecture while Rook goes and resupplies her day pack. There’s no explicit mention of her but she gets the feeling Whitehorse has been telling everyone to just be nicer, try to get her out of her shell.    

They take a car part of the way and leave it tucked in an overhang that the Peggies have yet to figure out. The way requires crossing the river and taking a circuitous route through some unallied areas. The trees are just sparse enough to let the sun bite her on the neck. The dirt is coming up off the ground at a rate that’s alarming covering them to their knees in grime and debris. The greenery sings with the sounds of small animals, cautious bird calls and absolutely no gunfire. Silence will fall all across the county for a few moments every now and then, as if the whole world is being as cautious as the birds.  

Sharky just talks and talks and talks. But he’s Sharky enough, whatever weird thing in the Drubman-Boshaw family makes them simultaneously caricatures and decent folk, to look back at her every so often and make sure she’s okay with him. Maybe it’s that he’s used to sound without answer, even if it’s from the opposite side. Maybe he’s just a guy who needs social skills and less access to nitroglycerine. 

“Whaddaya think?”

Rook hasn’t actually been listening. 

“Ah well, not important anyway.” He holds his hands out to her, baffling, before she realises he means to help her up into the knot of a tree. “Oh shit. Come look at this. Haven’t been back here in ages.” He plants himself and all but throws her up into a curvature of branches. “Man I got a twisted twunkle in this tree once.” 

Rook takes his hands. He guides her carefully among the brown bark and the sparing leaves.  

The tree itself is huge and old. It might once have been several different ones that melded together as trees sometimes do. Under her hands the bark feels warm and dry, aged away and tough. It feels alive but waiting, like it’s been here before and will be here again long after. She tries to take that feeling inside herself. Being steady and rooted instead of the constant swaying that digs deeper and deeper after every nightmare. Sharky helps, first by literally pulling her further in until they can sit on a thick branch together, and then by telling her all about the things he knows about this place. She’s not sure how much is true but it’s nice all the same. From the height, and the little raised hill the tree sits on, they can see a little bit of the space around them. The occasional smoke of a fire, or a plane flying in circles. She pulls out her radio, more habit than need, idly flicking it on and off, frequency to frequency, in case someone needs help.  

The radio speaks for a moment: -coming off the mountain-zzzt-no sign yet-zzzt-heads on a swivel A-Team, targets tricky and lean- Jacob hunting Whitetails, even in so-called peacetime.

Sharky turns it off, not soon enough to stop her sense of self crumbling at Jacob Seed’s voice, but soon enough that when he gives her a quick hug she clings to it. Sharky smells like a heavy mixture of adult male body odour, what was left of the laundry powder and wet ash. It’s pungent enough to clear her head. Sharky holds onto her for a moment or two past appropriate then slides away not quite smooth enough to be cool.   

“Hey, Rook, look at that.” He points straight out, and she assumes it’s just to change the subject, but soon enough a small dance of butterflies flies across the sky. They twirl in a circle and pass the tree close enough for Rook to see that they’re spotted with blue and bright green, creatures of the Bliss for certain. They dip down intending to take a pass right through the tree Rook and Sharky are sitting in. Sharky says oh shit just before they’re hit-

The butterflies fly around them, the whole world the colour of wings and white, before it’s the clear Montana sky again. One lands on Sharky’s nose and he pulls a face of intense disgust.

She can’t help it, she laughs at him.

He looks at her for a moment trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with her face. When she’s done she begins to climb down, the small bubble of mirth still sitting high, right behind her teeth. 

–

It’s just past dusk when they get there. All of the Resistance keeps odd hours. Isaiah’s house involves a hike that’s near vertical. They see signs of Peggie work as they circle closer -spray cans next to symbols on trees, a copy of Joseph’s Bible, the occasional item of clothing for some reason- but those signs thin as they get closer to the house. Instead scorch marks and gun holes pepper the land like confetti at a wedding. Rook pulls out her shovel. 

Eventually Sharky takes a sharp turn, ducks behind a thick crop of trees and leads her to a neatly kept front yard in front of a shabby barnhouse-cum-fortress. There’s even an American flag hanging from the roof of the added-on porch. Sharky whistles loud and clear across the space. After five minutes or so a man emerges.    

His thick beard and scarred hands tell a story all their own. He shuffles across the porch with a bag under his arm and a cane in his other hand. His leg acts like dead weight across the wood, scraping and scratching along. He makes an unhappy groan low in his throat. Acid burns. Isaiah never had a last name. Or if he did, he refused to give it.

“Hey, buddy.” Sharky hops over some line only he sees turns and holds out his huge hands for her small ones. Like before she hands him her trust and no small amount of affection and amusement and then they do the world’s silliest looking dance:

“Over here -that’s a trip wire, don’t hit that, good-”

“-now this’ll sound strange, two inches left with your bum or you’re gonna lose a bunch, and you’re small enough, ow, from your leg Po-Po-”

“-did you just trip? Dep, this is a real hotzone, come on-”

“-look, I know what it means when a woman makes that face at me, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to grope you, but they’re nice, so-”

“-Good, great, no, nope, that way goes Sharky’s testy festy and he needs ‘em for the Testy Festy seed swap, so come over here-

Finally they come up to the porch. Isaiah sits on his rocking chair under a blanket with ice tea next to him. His chest keeps expanding in little giggles.  Both Rook and Sharky are sweaty and breathing hard. Rook’s hair is stuck to her neck and she’s sure she’s never been this embarrassed before. No wonder the Peggies stopped trying. Sharky stops her with a solemn hand. “Okay now we’re gonna hop twice.”

She abruptly realises he’s fucking with her. Gently, with good humor, but still teasing her. She kicks a clod of dirt at him now that they’re close to the porch and reasonably unlikely to die in a fire. Isaiah makes this noise, like a cat yarking up a bird, his whole upper body moving. He’s laughing. Sharky laughs as well and proclaims he’s going to see if there’s any beer. With nothing else to do Rook climbs up onto the porch and takes a seat against the railing of his porch. Isaiah passes her a glass of the tea. He taps his own throat, the angle revealing its scars and warps, then pulls out a  pen and a board. With unpracticed fingers he writes on his own whiteboard: I heard you speak like this.

Rook nods. Isaiah nods back and returns his writing implements to their bag. Within reach but out of the way. The tea is blessedly cool against her forehead when she presses it in.   

“He-ey girl!” Sharky calls from inside the house. “Guess who found beer! You don’t have to guess, it’s me.” He sticks his head out, probably to ask if she needs something, so she holds up her half full glass. 

The Judge trots onto the porch. Her coat has been shaved down, patches still that bone terrifying white where the hair is longest, but all over are swathes of grey brindling. Her sharp blue eyes are clear as water in a face returned all the way from the Bliss. Around her foreleg a bandage is slowly turning pink from the injury beneath. She comes to rest her huge body near Isaiah but with her sightline out to the world. 

Sharky pats her cautiously then fits himself down next to Rook. “What’s her name?”

Isaiah considers. Then he opens his throat. “Boudica. Queen stayed free.” His voice isn’t clear. It’s pained and filled with the feel of disuse. He names the wolf anyway.

Boudica rolls on her back and shows her fluffy, scarred belly. 

Rook stands and shuffles closer. Her hand shakes as she brings it down, firm, on her upper chest. Boudica wriggles but stays still. Rook keeps patting. Her skin is scarred all the way up to a sharp cut right across her throat. She didn’t die. She can see it: Jacob’s knife, his music and his soldiers. Running as far and fast as you can because you can never be free but you can be away. Boudica defies that, though. Her fur is turning back from the Bliss and there’s not a hint of madness in her eyes. 

Rook returns to her seat. Isaiah gives her more tea. 

Boudica snuffles, rubs her nose with a huge paw. She picks herself up and trots through the front yard they had to dance through. Her path is noticeably straightforward. 

“What the fuck?” Sharky says.  

Isaiah laughs again. “Bad leg. Don’t have time.” He flings his hand towards Rook, the yard and possibly the entire concept of the war beyond it. 

“‘t’s not fair.” Sharky whines. “When I brought you stuff you made me strap it on my back and crawl!”

Isaiah slaps his knee, giggling again, points at Rook and then back at Sharky. “You danced.” Isaiah rubs his throat, as if it pains him. Then as if it would pain him more not to tease, “Fair.”

“I- Well-” Sharky chugs his beer instead of talking. Isaiah refills her glass to the top and bullies Sharky into pulling out Boudica’s bespoke sleeping pen, giving lie to the idea that she’d ever be coming back down with them. 

Night falls properly. They eat together. Isaiah has no room for them inside but Rook’s slept rougher and he brings out a little heater and a bottle of bourbon. Sharky unearths a pile of excellent quality sleeping bags in a shed hidden on the side. Rook watches him whine his way through the whole thing since they don’t actually know there aren’t landmines. The bourbon makes Sharky feel better, though.

He’s talking about…something, honestly she’s not sure how he transitions from topic to topic. She pulls out her notebook. She wrote it earlier in the day, never said it. Thank you, Sharky. 

He smiles, face lit by what little ambient light there is. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, Rook.” 

Rook stays sober under a pile of blankets. Sharky has long since collapsed into snoring. The night is starry and silent. If she sleeps now she’ll have nightmares: falling through red rooms, black blood dripping down her mouth, her tongue returned but unable to make human noise, another layer between her and other people. Another place for someone to slide a knife. The night is starry and silent and in Hope County that will have to be enough. 

Boudica comes back in the early hours. Rook is still awake. Her muzzle is a little bloody but mostly she seems tired and pleased with herself. She comes over for a very quick pat but returns to the nest of hand sewn blankets and repurposed pillowing that she calls a bed. She tunnels in, turns and wiggles her body, huffs, sleeps.

Not his wolf, she thinks, and goes to sleep herself. She was right about the dreams. But between terror and noiseless pain is her own feet under her running like she thinks Boudica would.