#and there's so much emotion and dedication and determination in him and he has nowhere healthy to go with it

[supervisormeero]

It's dark and windy and rainy outside and I'm making myself sad about Syril Karn

[simplyundeniable98]

I need you now *Bradley Bradshaw*

Pairing - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female!reader

Warnings - angst angst angst, arguing, explicit language, Reader has a hard time expressing her emotions, yearning, smutttttttt, mdni or so help me, makeup sex ofc, breeding kink 😏, Bradley LOVES his wife, lots of petnames, brief mention of pregnancy (rooster is so dad sue me), talk of death, mentions of the uranium mission, this timeline isn’t the most accurate, prob some incorrect navy talk, also bradley’s a captain in this instead of a lieutenant commander because captain just rolls off the tongue a little better yk.

Word Count - 5.2k

-This is LOOSELY based around the song "I need you now" by Lady Antebellum.

First Rooster fic, kinda nervous.

Mornings in the Bradshaw house when he was home were your favorite part of the day. Nothing beat waking up next to Bradley clinging to you like a koala. All six foot and then some clinging to every inch of skin that was left uncovered.

Usually, you were woken up to kisses being pressed to every surface he could reach. Your body was his canvas and he vowed to not let any of it stay untouched. The course hairs of his mustache raking across your soft skin rousing you from your slumber. Sleepy smiles and tender touches shared in the intimate moments of the morning before having to begrudgingly start the days activities.

This morning had been different. Bradley had gotten a call in the early spouts of the morning for an emergency briefing that had him rushing out of bed and onto base with nothing other then a note that read

"Be back later, love you sweetheart"- Roo

The bed was cold. That was the first thing you noticed as you blinked awake. Your human heater was nowhere to be found and tender kisses had yet to be given.

The note on the counter had etched a frown on your face the moment you picked it up. Bradley had gotten back from a three month deployment only four weeks ago and you missed him. God you missed him.

Although he had been home for four weeks your time with him still felt limited. He was so busy now that he had jumped rank and started as an instructor back at Top Gun. The added stress of making sure his pilots were safe in the air as well as himself had taken a toll on your husband.

Bradley loved you. You knew that. The picture of the two of you at your wedding had stayed put in the cockpit of his plane. The now frayed edges of the picture from being stashed in his helmet, clutched in nervous palms, and pinned to the instrument panel of his cockpit were a constant reminder that he had you to come home to.

You were his life. You were his sun. The force of gravity pulling him towards you had never faltered. His love for you ran deep in his bones and had since the first day he saw you.

But he is only human. And as expected, he makes mistakes. He forgets to kiss you before he leaves in a hurry. He forgets to do the sink of dishes that you had asked him to do two days ago. He is passionate and feels so much all at once. His determination and dedication to his career is a quality you love about Bradley. His commitment to the Navy was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place.

"Bradley you just got back, tell me you are joking" You say exasperated as you throw your head back.

Bradley had been ordered an emergency deployment for tomorrow morning. It was non-negotiable. Uncle Sam doesnt like to wait and you knew that. It didnt make things easier of course.

"Im sorry honey. Its an important mission and Warlock doesnt trust anyone else to do it." His voice was quiet yet so loud in the silence of your living room.

You could feel the tears start to burn your eyelids. The deep ache in your chest that always manifested when he had to leave like this. You just got him back.

"I never get to see you anymore Roo. I feel like im living on borrowed time." Your voice was starting to raise an octave. The emotions you were feeling were quickly transpiring into anger despite feeling the exact opposite.

" Im alone!" You threw your hand up in the air " I know its your career and I love you for how passionate you are about your career but this is ridiculous." You were yelling now.

Bradley shook his head and raised his palms to cover his eyes.

"Baby please not tonight." He sounded stressed. This was the last thing he wanted the night before he left. He was set to be gone for 3 weeks.

"Then when Bradley? Because its getting old. Im tired of having to love you from afar." You were crying now. A steady stream of tears now running down your face that set alarms off in Bradleys head. You were crying because of him. His girl.

"Sweetheart its three weeks, its not that big of a deal" He closed in on you grabbing your face between two calloused palms. The rough pads of his thumbs carelessly wiping away calculated tears in their path.

You scoffed and step out of his hold shrugging him off. You ignored the pang in your chest as his face dropped slightly.

"Babe seriously calm down" He was starting to get frustrated now. When he got the news earlier today he had expected the night to go a completely different direction.

He wanted to press you into the sheets and draw out those pretty noises he loves. He wanted to show you how much he loved you. Give you a proper goodbye before he was out on boat in the middle of the pacific.

"Calm down? Dont tell me to calm down Bradley. I cant do this" You were overreacting now. You could feel it. You were in too deep. The worry you felt in your chest had blossomed into something ugly and it was too late to back down now.

"Cant do what? This is ridiculous honey can we please just go to bed." His voice was raised now. The temper the two of you had shared was rearing its ugly head as you teeter on saying things you know you both dont mean.

"I need time Bradley." and that was the truth. You needed time to understand the emotions that were rushing through your body. You had finally got him back. Your Bradley. And now he was being shipped off again except this was another dangerous mission.The close call from the uranium mission had planted something ugly deep inside you. There was a chance you weren’t getting him back this time.Your Bradley. Just the thought had the blood rushing to your skull and your vision going blurry.

He was the love of your life. Losing him was out of the question. You had gotten so lucky when he came back in one piece on that F-14. How could you ever live peacefully knowing that the luck may not find him again?

"Time? You need time? I hate to break it to you but thats all your about to have." Bradley winced as soon as it left his mouth. He didnt mean to sound so mean. He knows exactly whats going on in that pretty little head of yours.

He knows you. His girl. He knows that the anger you’re feeling comes from a place of love and worry for him. Knowing it however doesn't ease the irritation thats starting to pool at the base of his spine.

You let out a sound thats halfway a laugh and halfway a sob as you tread towards your shared bedroom. How did the night end like this? How did you manage to let your emotions take over and ruin the last night you will have together in a month.

Bradley followed behind you as he leaned against the doorframe to watch you slam open his drawers in a haste. You may be mad at him but hes still your husband that you love endlessly, you had always helped him pack and nothing would change tonight.

He would give you your space. If thats what you needed then thats what youll get. If you asked Bradley to jump he would ask how high. Thats just how he was.

The two of you silently worked your way through the bedroom getting together everything he would need in his three weeks away. You were too stubborn to back down and Bradley knew you well enough to know to let you work it out on your own.

You had always been supportive of his career. There was never a moment where you thought that your husband being a naval aviator was anything less then a blessing. You were only human. You have human emotions and worries. It just so happens that you have a hard time regulating those emotions into words. Even though you hadnt comprehended it yet, this argument truly did stem from a place of love.

Bradley was your bestfriend. Being away from him on its own set your heart on fire and the added anxiety of knowing he could be in danger set your emotions into overdrive.

The two of you still had not said a word as you mindlessly got ready for bed and slipped under the covers. He said nothing as he pulled you to his chest and buried his face into your hair.

You said nothing as the tears you had been holding back finally fell as he handled you with so much tenderness. He was always so gentle with you. Even after you blew up on him about something you know he cannot help.

You fell in love with an aviator pilot. Deployments were part of the contract. In the six years that you had been with Bradley he had been deployed seven times. You were by no means a stranger to the game. It just felt different now. He had barely come back last time.

He pressed tender kisses to the top of your hair as you drifted off in his arms. Careful whispers of apologies and praise spoken into the silence of your shared bedroom because he would never understand what it would be like to be in your shoes. It would crush him if he knew you were in danger and away for weeks at a time.

Bradley had given you everything. He had given you every ounce of love he could possibly manage. He had given you every ounce of his attention that wasnt directed towards his career. But more importantly Bradley had given you grace. You were human. And it was times like these that he had learned to love the flaws you carried.

The hurt and fear that transpired into anger tonight was only an indication that you loved him. Your clipped words and hushed tears were only an indication that you worried for him. So yes, he would give you time. He would give you all the time in the world if that what you needed. His girl.

Bradley had slipped out that morning with a kiss on your head goodbye and a whisper of an I love you before he headed to the docks. Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to turn around and crawl back into bed and kiss your worries away. His heart was heavy as he stood on the deck watching the boat pull farther away from the dock.

-

The days without Bradley home seemed to be even harder this go around. Maybe it was the fact that he had little to no service this time or maybe it was the disruption you had caused before you left.

You hadnt been able to call him. There wasnt much service in the middle of the ocean anyways but Bradley had been working almost every second that he was there.

Rooster was worked to the bone. When it wasn’t one thing it was another. Every second he was in the air his mind was on you. Every close call the only thing he saw was your face. Every time his fist slammed down on the red button to his left he heard your sweet voice telling him you loved him. He couldn’t wait until he could hear it again.

The photobook weighed heavy in your hands as you sat down on your bed. This had become routine now. Looking at photos and memories helped ease the ache of him not being home.

You smiled to yourself after turning the first page. It was a picture of you and Bradley not long after you had met. He had just finished his second year at topgun and the two of you were at another aviators new year’s eve party.

The pictured had captured you leaning your head back as Bradley held the shooter of tequila between his teeth to pour into your open mouth. His hand cradled the back of your head supporting you from falling.

You turned the page again and this time the picture was much sweeter. You sat perched on Roosters lap as he sat on the piano bench at the Hard Deck. The veins in his neck were prominent as he sang and your head was tilted back in a laugh.

You sucked in a deep breath closing the book. You turned to look at the clock that resided on Bradleys bedside table. A quarter after one. It was rounding about evening time for Rooster right now as you debated calling him. There was a chance he was too busy to answer. You wanted to hear his voice so bad. You chewed your thumbnail as you stared at the phone laying in front of you.

You huffed and reached for it unable to fight it any longer. You hastily pressed his contact and nervously brought the phone to your ear.

Every ring of the phone felt like a stab in the chest. What if he didnt want to talk to you? What if he finally decided that he had had enough?

"Hey sweetheart" His gravely voice rang through your speaker effectively causing all of your worries to cease.

"Bradley" You gasped in relief. Relief that he was okay. That he wanted to talk to you.

"Baby" He cooed. You could feel the adoration through the phone. You could cry.

"I need you Roo. Im all alone and I need you now" You were crying now. Rushed gasps of breath and choked sobs that you fought to keep down.

"Take a deep breath honey. I know, I know." Bradley fought to keep the hurt from showing through his voice but it was nearly impossible when you sound so desperate for him.

"Im so sorry Bradley. I was so mean. I didnt-" You fought for a breath as you try to calm yourself.

"I didnt mean it. I was just so worried about you and I miss you so much all the time." You cry to him. Hearing his voice opened the floodgates and this next week until he came home couldnt come faster.

"I know baby. Its okay, I know." He cleared his throat pushing back tears that were fighting to surface. "I love you. I love everything that comes with you. Im not mad honey, I miss you" He reassured you. Just like he always did. Your Bradley.

"Tell me about your week honey" He spoke softly. Bradley always had a way of making everything better. All of your worries and doubts simply melted away at the hands of your husband.

-

The west coast sun had done nothing to ease your nerves as it blared down onto the smooth stretch of concrete that held hundreds of families and spouses eagerly waiting for their loved one to return.

He was coming home today. After three weeks of waiting, today was the day. Realistically you knew that this deployment was one of the easier ones. You and Rooster had been separated for six months at a time, so what’s three weeks?

The pale blue sundress you were wearing (with the knowledge that it was Bradley’s favorite of course) helped to ease the feeling of being suffocated in the California heat. Your insides were practically buzzing. You couldn’t wait to get ahold of him. The past week was spent with limited phone calls and promises whispered into the other end of the phone.

The sound of clapping startled you out of your thoughts as you looked towards the water from inside the car. The carrier was barely in view as it inched toward the dock

At the sight of the carrier, you put Bradley’s bronco in park, locked it up and made your way closer. After all this time, Rooster always knew how to find you through the crowd.

It took awhile to find him in the sea of flight suits and reuniting families but when you did he was unmistakable. His long legs carried him quicker and he reached you in about 4 strides.

Wasting no time you threw yourself at him. His bag dropped to the ground to catch you and he didn’t even budge from the force of your weight. He inhaled a sharp breath now that he finally had you back in his arms.

Bradley had missed you. The argument the two of you left on weighed heavy on his mind. Countless nights spent on his navy issued mattress worried about you. What if you didn’t want to be with him anymore? What if the time away made you realize you deserve more?

You turned your head to press kisses against his warm cheek. Bradley was sunkissed before but after being against the pacific for weeks he was especially tan.

“I missed you so much” and you did. More than he could imagine.

Bradley could barely keep his hands off you as you walked to the bronco. They were everywhere he could reach. You were far from complaining though, you could barely keep your hands from lingering as well.

Rooster pressed a kiss to your lips before opening the passenger door for you before getting into the drivers seat himself.

He hummed and tapped the steering wheel before settling in with his hand on your thigh.

The ten minute drive to yours and Bradleys shared condo had never felt farther as his hand drug up and down your exposed thigh. Your skin felt like it was on fire as you drug your fingertips up and down his forearm that was reached out towards you.

Energy was buzzing through the both of you. Unsaid words and hushed promises were transpiring into so much more. The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Bradley said nothing as he pulled onto the street you lived on. He missed this. His neighbors tire swing hanging from the oak that hes pretty sure has been there since before he was born. Your throughly decorated porch covered in flowers and the porch swing he made you two summer's ago.

"Cmere" He mumbled after the car was in park. In seconds his strong hands were grabbing and pulling you onto his lap. His hands were on you immedietly. Both of them coming to rest on top of your thighs.

You immedietly feel at home on his lap. That peice of you that felt missing had found home when you wrap your arms around his shoulders to bring the two of you impossibly closer.

His lips were on yours in an instant and immediately you felt like you could breathe again. His kiss was gentle and unforgiving all at the same time. It was almost difficult to keep up.

Noticing your reaction he couldn’t help but smirk into the kiss. He always knew exactly how to play his cards. Every spot and trick to make you putty in his hands. He grabbed at your thighs and pulled you towards him.

The rough bulge of his flight suit was rubbing you oh so deliciously and if he wasn’t careful the two of you were going to get a public indecency charge here soon if you didn’t move from the driveway.

Reluctantly, you pulled away. Still cautious of the steering wheel pressing against your spine you climbed off of him. The last thing you needed was to honk the horn and alert the neighbors of yours and Bradley’s less then decent escapades.

-

Fuck. You missed him.

He pushed you onto the bed, crawling on all fours as he hovered over your body with that wide grin you love so much plastered to his face.

His lips began trailing down your abdomen sending chills running up and down your spine with every breathy kiss, every drag of his mustache against your skin. With a skillful hand, he reached behind you to untie the bow that sat in the middle of your back, sitting up as he pulled it off of you. He hooked two fingers into the crotch of your underwear, shoving them out of the way as he ducked his head between your thighs. Feather-light kisses dotted your inner thighs before his mouth finally found you. He flattened his tongue against your slit, running it up your folds slowly as he savoured everything he’d missed out on for the last three and a half weeks.

“God, I missed you so much honey. Fuck”

His fingers spread your folds apart, giving him better access to your clit. The tip of his tongue traced shapes along it, the tip of his nose pressing into your puffy cunt, swollen from how badly you’d been wanting him. He mumbled something against your skin, his lips vibrating against your clit as he pressed another kiss to you.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your loud moans and the lewd sounds coming from between your legs. Bradley’s tongue was now prodding against your entrance, teasing you relentlessly. You found it hard to breathe as cry after cry left you. Slowly, your high began building. When two of your husband’s thick fingers pushed inside your weeping cunt, your back arched so hard off the bed, Bradley had to pause to make sure you were okay. He cooed at you pressing a kiss to your thigh before returning to the task at hand. The smirk on his face told you that his sympathy was anything but.

Bradley was relentless. His thick fingers stretched you open deliciously, making a scissoring motion as he licked around your greedy hole. Crying out, your heels dug further into Bradley’s back and you pulled hard at the brown curls that resided on the top of his head. You were pulling so hard you could have swore it was hurting him. Instead, he groaned and began slurping harder. Within seconds, you were gushing around his fingers. Your ears were ringing and you could feel your heartbeat everywhere.

He kissed the skin of your stomach as he slowly fucked you through your high, breathy praises leaving his lips as he stared up at you. “Good girl,” he murmured, placing an open mouthed kiss to your ribcage before hovering back over you. “So pretty honey”.

You moan against his mouth when he kisses you hard, his mustache pricking the skin above your upper lip in the best way. “Bradley, please,” you beg against his lips. “Please, fuck me. I need it. I miss you.”

The groan he let out shot straight to your core as pulls away to unzip his flight suit. He practically throws it to the floor along with the rest of his clothes before he’s back on top of you pressing in between your spread thighs, his mouth is pressing open mouthed kisses all over your collarbones and shoulders leaving goosebumps in his wake. “I need it, too,” he confessed, settling in between your legs and pushing his tip to slide against your swollen clit. “I need you all the time. Think about you every second i’m gone baby”

Your lips were puffy as his met them in a searing kiss before slipping inside you with a sharp thrust. Moaning against his mouth, you wrap your legs tightly around him digging your heels into the base of his spine and grip either side of his ribcage to pull him impossible closer to you.

He wasn’t in a rush, wasn’t fucking you quick and hard like you usually liked it. He was taking his time,pushing into you with such passion it left you breathless, aching for more but feeling overwhelmed all at the same time. He was loving on you in all the ways he could have been , should have been the last three weeks. Hell, in the last four months. He had taken this for granted.

Your velvety walls noisily suck him in deeper with each deep thrust he gives you, your previous orgasm providing him with all he needed to fuck into you hard and slow. The noises the two of you had come together to make were border lining pornographic.

Bradley’s eyes make their way downwards so he can watch the way your pussy sucked in his cock every time his hips met yours. “Fuck, look at you,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Taking me so well baby, aren’t you?”

“I love you. Fuck Bradley I love you” You finally manage to gasp out. Bradley fucked you good every time but you were damn near speechless as you rocked into you. He wasn’t just fucking you this time. No he was making love to you. He was showing you just how much he loves you with every piston of his hips into yours. Every glide of his cock against your greedy walls was a promise.

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to hold back for him. You knew you were close already. It was dancing around the borders of your perception, melting in your blood, burning in your gut, and you could feel it, had been feeling it.

"God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much." Bradley was babbling now as he pressed his swollen lips to yours.

"Missed you too, Bradley. So much", you moaned against his lips, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, baby, you are", he groaned. "So good for me. Perfect. My girl."

“Bradley god-“ you gasped out. White was starting to flood your vision with each slow drag of his cock against your velvety walls. His cock grazed past that spongy part of you and he knew he found what he was looking for when you gasped and clenched down on him.

“I’m so close don’t stop” You whined high and breathy. There it was. Those pretty noises Bradley loved so much.

“Yeah? Me too baby.” He finished his sentence with another sharp thrust. “Gonna fill you up hmm?”

His pace never faltered “Gonna get you pregnant. Give you a baby to keep you company while i’m away. Is that what you want pretty girl?”

“Yes. God yes.” His words making you tip over the edge. You felt like you were on fire as a breathless pleasepleaseplease tumbled out of your gasping lips.

Bradley’s hips stuttered as you clenched down on him. Your pussy was gripping him like a vice. He was a vision with his head thrown back and mouth hung open in a guttural groan.

“Fuck” He rasped as he painted your insides keeping himself in the deepest part of you.

You winced as he slowly pulled out, not letting any of it go to waste. He was serious about his promise. There was nothing he wanted more than seeing you carry his baby. Bradley pressed chaste kisses along your neck before reaching your lips and pressing one there.

The slow drag of his tongue along yours had you whimpering before he got up to fetch a towel leaving you absolutely spent and tangled in the sheets.

He was gentle as he carefully wiped you down before pressing a kiss to the spot above your pubic bone. He quickly got comfortable and pulled you close tangling your legs together.

“I love you” He hummed into your hair pressing kisses to the top of your head. You smiled and pressed yourself closer to him.

“I love you Bradley” You replied before putting distance between the two of you to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry about the way I acted” You truly were. Your emotions got the best of you and instead of talking about it, you took it out on him. Your Bradley. He was the last person you should worry about not understanding. He always treated you with so much respect. So much tenderness.

“I think I just got overwhelmed. Usually it doesn’t bother me but this time with your deployments so close together and after what had happened to you…I didn’t know how to react” Your voice was quiet as you finally let him in. It’s what you should have done a long time ago.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me?” Bradley questioned. You were his girl. You were supposed to be able to tell him anything.

“I didn’t want you to be worried.” You glanced up at him shyly with a small smile on your face. “You’ve just got so much going on at work and the last thing I want is for you to think I don’t support you. Because I do. I really do” You place a kiss to his lips.

“I love that you are so passionate about your job and i trust your abilities as a pilot to come home to me. It’s just that sometimes I get worried you won’t come home from something that you can’t control.” There were tears streaming down your face now that Bradley was steadily wiping away.

“After that uranium mission, it’s just been different ya know?” You sniffled as Bradley nodded along.

“It made it so much more real. The thought of you not coming home…” You paused squeezing your eyes shut and inhaling sharply.

“Baby…” Bradley cooed. He propped himself up on his elbow to look down at you and brought his hand up to cup your cheek.

“I can’t promise you I’m gonna come home every time” He wiped away the tears that fell at his words.

“But I can promise you I’m gonna fight like hell to come back to you every time.” He pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I can promise you that every time i’m in the air, I’m thinking of you.” You let out another choked sob at his confession and he silenced you with another kiss.

“I need you to tell me when you feel like this baby. So i can be there for you. I don’t know what it’s like to be you honey but I can sure as hell do my best to make it better.” God he was perfect. You truly believed Bradley Bradshaw was sent down from the angels himself. You silently thanked Carol in Heaven for her god sent parenting.

“I love you.” You finally spoke after some time. You pressed a kiss to the scar on his shoulder, and another one to the scar that went across his neck, making your way up to the one that adorned his cheek, and finally one to his kiss swollen lips.

“So you’re tryna knock me up huh?” You questioned with a laugh lightening the mood. You felt Bradley twitch against your thigh as he groaned and pressed his face in your neck.

“Yeah but i’m not sure this one stuck, I think I need to try again.” You giggled as he rolled on top of you making it hard to breathe as you support his weight.

“I think you’re right Captain, let’s try again for good measures”

[violetmuses]

Roman Reigns + Female Reader 🖤

Fandom: WWE

Character: Roman Reigns

@expert-texpert @persethegawd @episodes-ff @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @babybratzmaraj 🏷

=====

2012

Despite facing progress with NXT, wrestler Roman Reigns entered the venue feeling drained this time around. His own thoughts jumbled.

An energy boost would help beyond words right now. There's only so much that Roman could tell himself before dueling opponents at the show.

Turning one corner, Roman paused out of nowhere and his heart started to race.

In the distance, you smiled near other people and waited for this match to begin.

While you just looked absolutely beautiful tonight, sweet laughter echoed in this hallway as time moved along.

Good God! He thought. Who are you?

Smiling by the floor, Roman turned away before you noticed his presence, ready for another broadcast.

*****

Following this battle, Roman took the announcer's microphone and stepped forward, leaning against ropes to witness spectators located upfront.

Even while sweat trickled down one muscular frame, long and dark hair curled back. Shorts covered his waist as shoes nearly marched.

In that same moment, Roman noticed your smile as you joined the crowd. This man knew exactly what to do here.

“You….what's your name?” Pointing in your direction, Roman arched his brow.

“I can't!” Laughing out loud, you can barely hear anything while everyone cheered for the impromptu moment.

“Call me.” Still playing games, Roman gestured to one phone call and winked at you, leaving the ring victorious.

====

2022

Now working in character as the Tribal Chief, accomplishments lined up years of hard work and dedication this time around. No doubt whatsoever.

Shirtless through his muscular frame again, dark hair slicked when brown eyes moved to face one unexpected person. Joyful cheering picked up.

“Wait a minute. Hold on!” During another intense match, Roman slid away from the ropes and walked ringside, possibly dreaming right now.

“Woo!” Others would start raving over and over again.

By some absolute miracle, you joined thousands of people and lifted one finger to acknowledge him.

“Bring the camera closer to her! I can't believe this.” His Southern accent pulled forward as Roman shook his head and grinned, almost breaking character.

“Hi!” Subtitles would pick up your genuine happiness.

“This for my girl. Let's go!” Realizing his point to finish, energy surged back when Roman moved from you and faced cameras again.

“Chief!” Encouraging Reigns further, your kind voice shouted near theatrics for once.

I'm on fire, baby! Roman's mind couldn't help spinning through determined thoughts.

“Ooh-wa!” Lifting his arms and calling skyward with that audience, Reigns plotted the most diabolical Spear maneuver to defeat his opponent.

“Just listen to this place! Our building has erupted for Roman Reigns himself. The Tribal Chief pushes on!” Announcers almost jumped up.

Guided with security just in case, you ended up standing by the ring and watched Roman.

“C'mere!” Adrenaline would pull several emotions here. Reigns marched closer and opened both arms once more, suddenly wanting you to reach the embrace on live television.

In this large-scale venue, heated spotlights and true sweat didn't even matter when Roman hugged you in person for the very first time.

As you both distanced one another, Roman still towered beyond height and you glanced up, smiling when his stare prompted eye contact.

“You gon’ call me now? Huh?” When Roman grinned through jokes, his Southern accent deepened while the tough voice rasped.

Even cameras zoomed inward to catch the movement of his lips. Reigns offered you this playfully bright smile.

“Watch yourself.” You could play games right back.

“Still beautiful.” Roman just kept speaking at this point.

“Slow down, Chief. I work here now. Bye!” You turned away and laughed out loud, making Roman swoon just like the past.

[gwaeddblaidd]

“Do you remember the promise I made to you?” Ellarys asks, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I certainly do. I mean, how couldn’t I? It’s the only promise that has any meaning to an elf… You humans, you burn so bright and so beautiful, but your lives are little more than a flicker to us; blink, and you miss it.”

Ellarys looks around the clearing, forcing his gaze away from the thing before him. Looking at it makes him feel sick in a way he’s never felt before, a deep unease that grips his heart and threatens to cease its double-time rhythm. The clearing is much the same as it always has been; plants have grown, died and grown once again, the ravaging of time holding little power over mother nature’s grand schemes. A field of ghostly white flowers litter the forest floor, beautiful to the untrained eye but a sign of terrible danger to those more knowledgeable in the matter of undeath. Commonfolk believe these flowers to grow on the graves of the fallen in springtime, as a sign that their spirits live on in a new form. Any fledgeling phytomancer will tell you, however, that these are in fact grave lilies – flowers grown from the accursed corpses of victims of wraiths, spectres… and liches.

Forcing himself to look at it, Ellarys addresses the lich once again. “I’ve known about you for a long, long time, now. A lich, in these very woods? It doesn’t take an archmage to figure out what’s going on.” He searches the flesh-bare face of the creature before him for a sign of recognition, of emotion, of anything that even suggests his dear friend is still in there somewhere. “Was your death not good enough for you? I tried. I tried so hard to make sure everything was perfect. I held you as you passed into the everafter. Not your wife, not your children – me.”

Ellarys spits the last word out with so much fervour, such passion, that he surprises even himself. He takes a deep, steadying breath that is far shakier than he ever thought possible for an elf. “I offered you the greatest honour I could possibly bestow upon you. Not everyone gets to be buried here, you know? Royals, war heroes, friends of the rich and powerful… but not some sheep herder from the middle of nowhere. Do you know how much ridicule I endured for laying you to rest on these hallowed grounds?

“But it was worth it. Nothing anyone could say could threaten our bond. None of it mattered in the way that you did.” He falls silent for a moment, eyes downcast as he considers his words. “And I kept my word. For a thousand years, I’ve dedicated my life to that promise. Over thirty-five generations of your descendants… I protected them all; offered myself in service to them. Some were wonderful; reflections of yourself so close to the you in my memories that I could’ve sworn you’d been reborn. Others were terrible people; warmongers and murderers and all sorts… but still, I gave myself to them. Because your legacy deserved to endure.”

Ellarys closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, fighting back a surge of memories demanding to be re-lived. When his eyes open there’s a newfound determination in them, a coldness that would shake the confidence of any living being planning to face him. “But now they’re gone. All of them. Every last branch of your family tree has reached its end, and my promise is complete. Now…” Ellarys draws his blade from his side and points it towards the creature. “...I must uphold another vow. I will do what I must.”

Moonlight glints from the curved, silver blade, highlighting the runes etched along its length. Few speak the ancient language of the dwarves, and fewer still can read their writing. Those that can, know of its power; of its command over the magics of the world. Where elves and humans call upon the power of mancy, the dwarves instead conquered nature with science, eternalising their learnings in the form of imbued runes. This blade in particular was crafted by an incredible human using the finest elven materials, then fortified with the unmatched knowledge of the dwarves. By no right should it belong to Ellarys, but the punishment for larceny matters little to an elf of his age.

“I brought you to this place, this sacred place, and you polluted it with dark magic and the filth of undeath. Tell me, how long before your death were you planning this? How many meals did we share, how many hunting trips? How long did you hide your true self from me?”

No answer comes from the creature. It remains sat against a great stone obelisk, the bones of animals and humanoids both formed into a rough throne beneath it. Dark, barbed vines bind the grim collection together, weaving through rib cages and skulls and wrapping around the base of the monument. The lich itself is little more than a skeleton, with threads of fabric hanging from its limbs and a thick miasma encompassing its lower half. Fumes rise from the smoke and wisp away, becoming one with the night sky.

“Why did you do it?” Ellarys asks, taking a step forward, before repeating: “Why did you do it!? Answer me!” But no answer comes. “Was it just human arrogance? Refusing to die when the appointed time comes? You wouldn’t be the first, and you probably won’t be the last. You’re not special; just another stupid, greedy human…”

Tears prick at Ellarys’ eyes, but he makes no move to wipe them away. No, this has been a long time coming and he’d regret not speaking his mind before the chance is lost. “The Watcher, the Hunter, the Eraser and the Fool… The Architect, the Wanderer, the Pathmaker and the Teacher… They will all bear witness, and the rest too! You have no place in their designs, and they will guide my hand to strike you down. So, tell me…”

One last try; a final plea for some sort of closure before the end.

“Why?”

A stirring from the creature takes Ellarys aback. He takes a step back and falls into a combat-ready stance, his sword held in both hands at head height, pointed forward and ready to strike. Bone fingers flex and the miasma spreads outwards as the creature rises from its throne of thorns. The lich is taller than its human counterpart, standing at nearly twice Ellarys’ height as it takes a shambling step towards him. Bright eyes the colour of sapphires shine from the sockets of its skull, but they lack life. They remind Ellarys of the eyes found on a hunting trophy.

“You’d be lonely without me.” The voice is hoarse and gravelly, reverberating throughout the clearing unnaturally.

“I… What?” is all Ellarys can bring himself to say.

“You looked… so very sad,” the creature says, its mouth unmoving but its eyes flashing with each word. “Whenever we talked about what would come after my death… It’s like you couldn’t imagine your future without me. You weren’t ready to say goodbye… Are you ready now?”

Ellarys finds himself dumbstruck. He expected a monster; he was prepared to face what his friend had become. But this? Hearing his voice, his words… It’s all just too much. After much deliberation, he finally answers. “I accepted your death a long time ago.”

“Then kill me. I deserve it. I’ve killed… so many in the protection of this place.” Its voice seems to break in a way that one wouldn’t expect a being without a throat to be able to.

Ellarys scoffs. “Protection? This wasn’t your place to protect! Do you have any idea how many graves you’ve desecrated with your filth?”

“I’m sorry… El, I’m sorry. I was waiting for your return. I wanted everything to be perfect…” It shouldn’t be possible for a lich to shed tears, but upon its face is the undeniable streak of a liquid stemming from its eye. It’s black, though, a painful reminder to Ellarys that much as he might wish for it not to be the case, his friend is undead. There’s no getting around that.

Ellarys sighs deeply before readying his weapon once again. “May you find peace in the everafter, with your family.”

“Oh El, we both know my soul belongs to the void, now. The great dark awaits me.”

“Then may you find peace in its silent embrace, until we meet again at the crossroads of oblivion.”

The creature nods its head, before kneeling down before Ellarys. “I’m sorry, El.”

“As am I.”

Two tears fall in tandem as a flash of silver pierces the night. Two souls reunite before parting, a final understanding between them achieved. Two birds call out and fly away, before silence falls upon the forest forever more.

Long ago, a young elf met a young human in the forest of Eternia and they became best friends. Now, a millennium later, that same elf faces his old friend, the now terrible lich lord, in the same forest.

[ericspinkhair]

dirty thoughts from a distance

pairing: dom!changmin x virgin!reader, best friends to lovers, college au!

synopsis: you masturbate while thinking of your best friend and he catches you moan out his name

word count: 3.8k

warnings: maybe slight angst, (getting caught) masturbating, mutual masturbation, sex in general ig

a/n: y'all are crazyy! it has barely been 19 days and I have already hit 100 followers🤧 thank you guys so much for your support and sending in requests!!! everytime I see leave me nice messages I feel so encouraged to keep on writing even though there is still a lot of room to improve and I am not always completely satisfied with what I create. I wish all of you a great day and hope that you stay happy and healthy!!

this chapter is especially dedicated to @bangcrispychannie​ and anon who requested this kind of scenario ❤️

masterlist + requests

for three years you wondered why you hadn't lost your virginity yet. it's not like you didn't have enough opportunities since you had been in two relationships so far, both lasted about five to seven months.

the feelings in your first relationship were been mostly one-sided however.

when a guy in your biology class named Minho confessed his crush for you, you thought that the only logical next step was to become a couple. you were quite flattered that he had taken such an interest in you and believed and hoped you would eventually develop feelings for him as well. the problem was you didn't. after not being able to be emotionally let alone physically intimate with him for a few months into your relationship, he finally confronted you and you confessed that you just couldn't bring yourself to see him that way. your relationship came to an end just before becoming a senior in high school.

in your last year, you got close with Seonghwa. you were seat neighbors in your english class and you'd chat all the time. he was perfectly sweet, smart and funny and you instantly got along just fine. you developed an interest in him and he seemed to feel the same way. he asked you out with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and some chocolate and you agreed to being his girlfriend without much thought. you caught yourself falling in love with this boy and didn't shy away from physical affection such as kissing and holding hands. you were convinced you were ready to give yourself to him during prom night but when it came to it you chickened out. a couple of hours before, you had found out that your best friend changmin had broken up with his girlfriend of six months.

for a long time you hadn't been able to decipher why you hadn't slept with Seonghwa then. as time passed, the unpleasant answer became clearer and clearer: you had brought up your hopes.

you had been best friends with changmin basically since you started elementary school. on the first day, he scared you with a stupid horror mask he had sneaked in from home and made you cry. he felt so guilty and was determined to make it up to you and to become friends. you had been inseparable ever since.

when he got his first girlfriend in junior year you were devastated. you convinced yourself that the reason for that was that you had been scared he was going to replace you as his best friend but in reality you had felt jealousy.

you were suppressing your feelings because if you confessed, things might become awkward. there was no way changmin could ever like you the same way.

all of this became more difficult as you moved in together for college. you were sharing an apartment now and every day, it became harder to avoid your growing and troublesome feelings. your heart would beat faster whenever he walked around shirtless (which was most of the time) and you decided to try to ignore him. this was especially difficult since you wanted to appreciate his physique. when had he become this handsome? changmin had been dancing all his life so he had always been fit but now that he was majoring in it and training most of the time, his body had developed and he had become super toned and his abs were more prominent.

he'd often make his way into your dreams and you'd let him do inappropriate things with you. you'd wake up wet and needy and even more confused. you were ashamed of seeing him this way. this was not how one normally thought about their best friend.

it was a wednesday morning and you were eating breakfast when changmin joined you in the kitchen. he flashed you a big smile, making his pretty dimples appear which you didn't see as you did not look at him.

'good morning, y/n!' he greeted you in a good mood. you just grunted in response, intensely staring at the cereal swimming in your bowl.

the fact that you couldn't even spare him a glance hurt changmin but he tried to not let it show. he wanted to get you to talk to him.

'do you want to watch a movie and play some board games today after class?' he proposed. you hadn't spent a lot of time together ever since you had become aware of your feelings.

'I have an essay due tomorrow,' you quickly made up as an excuse. the corners of changmin's mouth twitched but you didn't notice as you were too preoccupied with doing anything that didn't include looking at him.

'then maybe on the weekend. or next-' 'I'll be busy,' you interjected. 'I have lots to do.' you stressed the lots to emphasize there was absolutely no way you would be able to hang out with him any time soon.

'umm… okay. I'll be going to class.' he told you dejected. your heart sank but you didn't respond. he was wondering whether he had done anything to make you upset but he couldn't wrap his mind around it. this had been going on for a while and he was starting to become desperate.

when you first got the apartment you spent every free minute of the day together, happy that you finally moved out and could be with each other 24/7, but then you stopped talking to him completely out of nowhere. from one day to the other, you would avoid leaving your room when he was outside and barely talked to him anymore. at first, changmin thought you were just stressed and that you'd eventually warm up again when exam season came to an end but a few months had passed and, if anything, the situation was even worse than before.

you were watching the time and after ten minutes you decided to leave for classes as well. you had started doing this so you couldn't possibly catch up to him and risk having a conversation.

'hey, y/n, what's up!' your friend chanhee hugged you when you arrived on campus. you were both majoring in fashion design and were getting along on well since the beginning of the first semester.

you sighed exasperatedly. 'changmin's up.' you puffed your cheeks and pouted. chanhee nodded knowingly. he was the only person who was aware of your little secret and that was only because you had accidentally drunk confessed the whole story to him at your first college party.

'you know maybe you should tell him. this whole thing is clearly not making you happy and I saw changmin walk by a few minutes ago. if I had to guess I'd say he was in an even worse mood than you. someone accidentally ran into him and he pushed them hard and called them names. it's not like him to overreact like this. he's usually super collected. I think you finally managed to break his spirit,' chanhee reported to you.

this had never been what you intended. why did everything have to be so difficult? you didn't want to be the cause of your best friend's unhappiness.

'he must feel like I despise him. but I cannot confess to him, that would be the end of our friendship!' you were constantly torn apart by this dilemma.

'well, if you're not gonna act on your feelings, maybe try to move on? find something casual or serious with someone new? then you'd forget all about changmin and you'd be able to go back to acting normal around him' he suggested.

chanhee's advice didn't sound too bad. if you couldn't get with changmin then you had to de-crush yourself and find somebody different to focus your emotional energy on. but on who?

'is there anyone you could think of?' you ask chanhee. he had great taste in practically everything so you highly valued his opinion.

'hmm, you could potentially try younghoon hyung? I've seen him eyeing you for weeks now and he even told me thinks your gorgeous.' he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly.

younghoon was a pretty art student, whom chanhee knew from high school. you didn't talk to him often, mostly at parties and he wasn't exactly your type but you tried to remember shouldn't judge him by his first impression when you haven't even got to know him.

chanhee pulled out his phone and soon you felt yours vibrate in your back pocket. you looked at him questioningly.

'I sent you his number in case you're interested,' he explained proudly. he put his hand on your shoulder and you could see the concern in his eyes. 'you really need to get over changmin if don't want to confess,' he insisted firmly.

so you decided to text younghoon during class. he was very polite and you thought he was cute as he seemed excited to talk to you. you agreed to hang out sometime to get to know each other and decided to meet up friday for dinner.

after the end of your classes, you walked home to warm up yesterday's leftovers. to your dismay, changmin had also decided to come home for once. since you began acting all weird and refused to eat with him, he usually spent lunch time with his dance mates as they had practice after anyway. why had he decided to come here today? your question was answered when he ran up to you, smiling from ear to ear and you noticed he was hiding something behind his back.

'you know how there is a blackpink concert downtown on friday? guess what!' he held up two tickets. surely you would at least agree to spend time with him if it meant being able to see your favorite group, right?

he must have gone through so much trouble to get tickets for you and since blackpink were your favorite music artists you were actually contemplating on going but then you remembered you had made plans.

'I can't. I'm going out with younghoon friday night.'

'kim younghoon?' he raised an eyebrow skeptically.

'why would you to be spending time together? I didn't know he was even talking to you,' he questioned you. anger was boiling inside of you.

'maybe it's because you don't know everything about me,' you snapped at him. you were aware that you were being harsh but somehow his words hurt you. why did he doubt you? did he think you weren't able to get with someone as awesome and popular as younghoon? did he not consider you pretty enough?

the microwave beeped, indicating your food was ready, making you snap out of your thoughts.

'y/n, I swear, that's not what I meant.' he stepped directly in front of you so you were forced to look at him. you stared deep into his pleading eyes as you closed the microwave door, turned your back to him, stomped to your room and slammed the door shut, leaving changmin behind in the kitchen.

your whole body was tense as you listened closely to any sounds coming from outside and felt relieved when you heard the front door close. feeling sad and depressed always made you feel tired so you decided to take a nap to forget about all the negative feelings.

when you woke up you were horny af. you had a dream about changmin taking you on the kitchen counter and now your panties were completely soaked with your arousal.

desperate, you pulled them down and tossed them somewhere to the side. it didn't matter. you needed relief now.

you closed your eyes as you slowly started rubbing your clit, imagining it was changmin's slender fingers touching you instead. your imagination was running wild and you sped up the tempo.

eventually, you plunged your middle finger and then your index finger inside you, pretending that changmin was stretching your walls with his cock.

you moaned loudly and picked up the pace, chasing your high. oh, how much you wished he was the one making you come.

'yes?' you opened your eyes and gasped loudly as you saw changmin watching you from the doorway. you hecticly pulled up your blankets to your chest to cover your naked lower body. for how fucking long had he been standing there?

'oh fuck, changmin...' you cursed out loud.

to your surpise he laughed. 'oh, is this why you have been so distant? were you embarrassed about imagining doing dirty things with me?' your cheeks were burning red and you were unable to move a muscle.

'you know, if you had told me you were thinking of me while doing it then I could've helped you out already. that would have spared both of us a lot of frustration.' he stepped into the room and pulled the sheets away, his hungry eyes fixed on your desperately dripping pussy. you tried to hide it with your hands.

'n-no… what are you saying? aren't we best friends? ' you couldn't comprehend what was happening right now. the way he was acting was so unexpected that you didn't know how to react or what to say. he brushed his hand over your burning cheeks. his eyes were conveying disparity.

'but what if I told you I don't care? that I like you? that I see you as more than just my best friend?'

'wait, you like me?' you couldn't believe your ears. was he actually reciprocating your feelings?

he groaned in exasperation. 'y/n, why did you think I ended things with my ex out of the blue?' you shrugged your shoulders as you weren't sure. you had thought it was because she had lost interest in him, at least that's what changmin had told you back then.

'because I realized I was in love you, you dumbass. how could I be together with someone if I had feelings for someone else?'

'I actually ruined my chances of having sex with seonghwa for the first time for the same reason. it was just after I had found out about the breakup,' you confessed, relieved that you were finally beginning to make sense of everything.

he climbed onto the mattress and positioned his knees next to your closed legs, leaning his hands on the wall behind you so that he was hovering above you.

'I'm sorry that you lost that opportunity. let me make it up to you,' he whispered with his face mere inches from yours and then kissed you. losing all self-restraint, you immediately pulled his body closer so that he was straddling you. after all these months filled with sexual frustration and just frustration in general, you were desperate for his touch. your hands wandered under his dance shirt and you were finally able to touch those abs you had been secretly admiring for so long.

you broke the kiss to take off both of your shirts and changmin skillfully unclasped your bra.

while his tongue was exploring the insides of your mouth, his hands were kneading your breasts, occasionally rubbing and pinching your hardened nipples. you felt his hard dick press against your lower abdomen as he grinded himself into you to get friction.

after having dreamt about this moment for so long, you felt impatient. this was too good to be true and you were scared that if you didn't act quick, your bubble would bust.

without thinking twice about it, you pulled down the hem of his sweatpants and boxers just far enough so you could easily reach inside and whip out his dick. you stopped for a moment to admire his length. it looked even better than you had ever imagined in any of your wildest dreams.

he sat upright, leaning on the wall behind you, while you stroked his cock. he was sensitive to your touch and not shy to show you how well you were doing by responding with moans.

'fuck, y/n. you're doing amazing.' his praise made you eager to show him just how good you could make him feel. your lack of experience was barely noticeable as the adrenaline flowing through your veins was guiding you.

you tapped his thighs to signalize him to inch closer. that way your mouth had easier access to his dick. you hesitantly licked up his length and were fascinated by how he tasted. wanting to have more of it, you swirl your tongue around his pink tip. changmin eventually became impatient and forced more of his dick inside your mouth so you tried to take as much of him as you could but your gag reflex made it difficult for you. instead, you worked your hands where your mouth couldn't do its job.

not wanting you to feel neglected, changmin reached behind him to stimulate your clit. he skillfully started rubbing all the right places and you moaned around him, sending vibrations through his cock.

he couldn't take this stimulation for much longer before he had to force himself to pull out of your mouth.

'wow, you almost made me come there.' he panted heavily. 'but I want to be inside you first.' you got lost in his touch as he placed a long kiss on your lips but a sudden thought brought you back to reality.

'wait, I don't have a condom,' you informed him embarrassed. you hadn't planned to lose your virginity any time soon so you hadn't bought any. did that mean the end of this wonderful dream?

but changmin laughed light heartedly. 'no need to worry. hold up, let me get some from my room.' you relaxed again as he disappeared and came back shortly with a condom wrapper in his hand.

you were prepared for him to start right away and took a deep breath in preparation but he didn't do anything.

'I don't think it's a good idea to start yet since I haven't even prepared you. the last thing I would want to do is hurt you so just lay back.'

he positioned your legs over his shoulders so your hips were hovering in the air. you felt his warm breath against your vagina before he drove his tongue inside you, seeing for himself how wet he had made you and tasting your arousal. you clasped your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from releasing any sounds.

'don't do that. I want to hear how good I make you feel,' changmin complained.

when he slid two fingers inside you, you couldn't hold it in anymore and let out some kind of aroused squeal. you felt self-conscious but it seemed like changmin was only more eager to please you.

at the same time, his tongue was abusing your swollen clit and it was impossible for you to hold back the curses that were spilling out of your mouth. the pleasure he was making you feel was a whole different sensation from anything else you've experienced before.

'more please, changmin!' you begged. you wanted more. you needed more. you needed him.

he carefully lowered your hips back down. 'are you sure you want this?' he asked you, waiting for you to clearly consent to having sex with him.

'I want you. you, and only you,' you reassured him and brought his face closer to kiss him. changmin's typical bright smile formed and you felt the butterflies in your stomach go crazy.

he positioned himself at your entrance, swiping his dick between your folds like a credit card to coat it with your juices.

you gripped his arms tightly as he pushed in. he slowly continued until all of him was buried deep inside you before stopping. the feeling of a whole penis inside of you was very different from your or changmin's fingers. it filled you up to the brim and was rubbing all the good spots. while it initially caused you a bit of discomfort, it wasn't overwhelming and it also felt good in a weird way.

when your walls finished adjusting to his length, he began to steadily move his dick in and out.

changmin intensely studied your face. he couldn't believe that after all those years you were finally close to being his. he wanted to savor every single expression you made while he was inside you.

you wrapped your legs around his torso, trying to push him deeper. he slammed his cock back inside you.

'you are mine,' he declared and started going harder and faster.

'I am yours,' you confirmed and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

because of the extensive foreplay and your own masturbation prior to this, it didn't take long until your walls were tightening around his dick and you felt an orgasm approaching.

driven wild by you clenching around his cock, he thrusted into you even faster. you rested your sweaty foreheads against each other as both of you almost came simultaneously.

changmin kissed the top of your head before he pulled out and threw away the used condom. you opened your arms and he let himself fall right into your embrace.

'I know this might be kind of weird to talk about right now but do you want to be my girlfriend?' Changmin asked you. he still wasn't too sure what all of this meant for your relationship and he desperately needed to know where your mind was at.

'after having liked you for all this time I'd be an idiot to say no.' 'you're an idiot anyway,' he teased. you slapped his arm.

'hey! I'm not the one who ignored you for a couple of months because my hormones are out of control.' you hid your face in the crook of his neck, too embarrassed face him.

'I'm really sorry for that. you just mean so much to me and I didn't want my feelings to get in the way of our friendship.' he stroked your hair.

'I do understand that. if I hadn't heard you moan my name today I wouldn't have acted on my feelings either. but all is good now, right?' 'right.' you smiled and placed a small kiss below his ear.

'there is still one thing you need to do,' changmin tried to remind you. you looked at him, puzzled.

'what do you mean?' 'younghoon,' he hinted. you immediately started looking for your phone. that date was definitely going to have to be cancelled. there was no need for you to find a distraction anymore since you had been granted your wish after all.

[in-tua-deep]

Are you into my hero academia? What about an AU or crossover with tua?

UHHHH I am technically, like, peripherally? I watched some seasons of the show like two or three years ago and since then have simply absorbed all content through osmosis, reading fanfiction that has canon events, and my sister telling me about the arcs of her fav characters lmao

so a crossover hmmm

First of all you'd have to like, establish whether bnha is an alternate universe or just The Future If No Apocalypse with quirks being traced back to the descendants of the kids born without mothers

So let's say it's that - the glowing baby was the "first quirk" but the truth is people had powers before that. But - well, the Umbrella Academy was obviously a marketing gimmick to those in the future! There were even comics based on them

In the future, you might find some of those comics in museum exhibits dedicated to depictions of powers in the pre-quirk era, but they're just fun depictions and much less popular than, oh, DC or MCU comics which are also in the exhibits!

End of s2 doesn't happen I guess in this au?? No sparrow academy at least lmao. So, the Umbrella Academy stop the apocalypse (again) and the Commission threat is? Neutralized? Whatever. They decide to jump back to the future

Five warns them that time travel is a crapshoot, that he has no fucking idea when they'll land beyond some nebulous "future" because Five can at least control the direction if not exactly how long

Also, Five is like. Super tired. Incredibly tired. Homeboy still has a healing gut wound, time traveled twice, has been jumping all over the place, gotten even more injured, experienced paradox psychosis, and managed to undo time all in the space of like, two weeks. There actually more than that but we don't have time to get into how fucking tired Five is from his ~Month of Hell

Like genuinely this is like putting someone almost delirious from lack of sleep in the driver's seat of a car and expecting to get to your destination in one piece

But hey, the siblings are like "do it uwu" and Five has sacrificed everything for them already so why not get behind the wheel again

So Five jumps them, and of course something goes wrong because Five has pushed his powers like a great big rubber band and honestly it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip and it snapped back to hit him

So here be the umbrella academy: spilled out into the future like a cup of bad coffee.

Five probably isn't in too good of shape tbh, like they're hundreds of years in the future (but hey at least confirmation of no apocalypse am I right) in a world full of superpowers and Five is like. bleeding from his ears and nose probably idk

Let's handwave a little bit - Reginald made them all polyglots so the squad all speak varying levels of Japanese. Allison is the best at it, Five is second best but tends to use more archaic words bc he had missions in Japan back when he was with the commission, and Klaus is third best.

(Ben is the worst bc he decided when he was 16-and-dead that he didn't have to do anything regarding lessons and maintenance and hasn't given a shit since - but also he's dead so)

So you have a bunch of weird adults with a bleeding child in like, an alley who have appeared from nowhere

so of course heroes get involved

Anyway, the squad get taken in and Five is conscious but like, barely? And he's not going to let himself get separated from his siblings again fuck-you-officer and there is a lot of confusion

anyway detective tsukauchi ends up getting involved and ends up having to hear this batshit story and be like "...truth." which sends all kinds of people scrambling because fucking time travel? Like yeah, it's been theorized to be a possible quirk but there's no recorded cases of any sort of time travel that is for more than 24 hours let alone hundreds of years

"I'm an adult." Five says sourly, "I just happened to be returned to my 13 year old body when I time traveled one time."

"True." Tsukauchi says, feeling his soul leave his body, but like. absently. the way he does when he's called in at 2am after getting off of work at midnight.

"I'm 58." Five says.

"Lie." Tsukauchi says, because this is a headcanon hill I will die on.

"I'm probably 58, but it was hard to keep track. I'm at least 50." Five corrects.

"True." Tsukauchi sighs like these six (seven? they keep referring to another sibling and Klaus said 'ghost' like that was fine and it registered as true and Tsukauchi is not nearly paid enough for this) are not giving him a migraine by just existing

on the bright side there's like, probably protocols in place for individuals who are Legally Chronologically Adults but thanks to quirks are Not Physically Or Not Mentally Adults with tests to determine if the individual needs a guardian or not

though i'm gonna be honest idk if Five would pass the test bc he literally cannot take care of himself at all, has never paid taxes or understands how to exist legally, and also his emotional maturity is stunted as all hell. also like. we don't actually know how much being in his thirteen-year-old body affects his mental state but yeAH Five is vibing

anyway Tsukauchi probably phones a friend on this bullshit because Time Travel Child alone is probably enough for the Hero Commission to be like "find a way to control and use it or nuke it from orbit" and that's not even touching whatever the fuck Klaus is doing (shit gets real once 'dead men tell no tales' stops being true) let ALONE Allison's whole deal

on the bright side like, at least Vanya isn't getting side-eyed that much bc Big Destructive Quirks aren't exactly unknown? if vanya wanted to i guess quirk suppressors exist for that until extensive training on how to control a super powerful quirk happens

Tsukauchi in the group chat: Aizawa please I am literally begging you to take this bullshit on

Aizawa: in this economy? with my class?

RatGod: lol we'll take them ;3c

Aizawa: no

Anyway they probably end up having to live at UA while Five insists on trying to get them home still and everyone else is like "oh hey we used to be child soldiers as well! (:" and Aizawa is like "i hate everything about this and everything about all of you but also like nedzu is making me interact with you so :/"

nedzu is out here vibing like "lol i just don't want the hero commission to get their little paws on these time traveling fuckers, i think you should make then teaching assistants or something"

honestly the siblings are probably like. figuring out how to function in the bnha universe and getting like, legally registered and stuff while Five ferally refuses bc that's like saying he's giving up on getting them home and he can do this

Recovery girl tries to heal him a little when he arrives and he passes out for two weeks like, immediately bc homeboy is running on fumes and spite at this point

also i think on principle it would be REALLY FUNNY if the squad got to tag along with the class bc like. Five is thirteen and the class are all 15. this does not sound like a large age gap. anyone who has interacted with teenagers know that the class would squint at Five and be like "who is this sassy lost middle schooler."

I feel like when I was a sophomore we were still like "freshman... babie" even though we were literally only one year older.

i think the difference between the umbrella academy and school kids would be pretty funny like. objectively the bnha kids are lowkey child soldiers?? like they're 15 and fighting villains but like, there's all this red tape and laws and stuff but,,, deku still be breaking his limbs in a child fighting ring against equally superpowered children for like. entertainment and sponsorships sooo

but also like Five would be like "oh cool when is the experimentation class"

"the what"

"you know, when your powers are pushed real hard by putting you in different terrible situations while your dad and sibling stand by with clipboards writing down the exact voltage it takes before you can't use your powers anymore when being electrocuted"

"hound dog's office is right there. therapy is available to you at any time. i need you to know this."

all might calls Luther "my boy" like one (1) time and Luther just breaks down crying probably because he is starved for positive attention

klaus and midnight get along like a literal house on fire, aizawa tried his best to keep them apart for as long as possible but god damn

(klaus: your name is shimura nana??

all might: immediately dies choking on blood)

i feel it absolutely necessary to point out that aizawa, present mic, and midnight are all like, 30? and the umbrella academy are all between 29-early 30s? they are PEERS but like. the umbrella academy are more chaotic due to childhood trauma

the umbrella academy probably get offered to like. also train to be heroes. i mean,, there HAS to be some sort of track for people who change careers right?? you don't have to cement your future as a hero when you're 15 i'm sure there must be something and the squad already have experience if they want to go be legal heroes

diego probably does at least?? diego just vibes honestly. diego gets momo to make knives during a team exercise and they just go feral on everyone else and it ends with diego highfiving momo and someone getting way to close to being stabbed for comfort

Five might just be. legally enrolled as an Actual Student? But also i think it's funny to picture the entire squad just. all in the back of the classroom with luther trying to fit into a high school desk as they take notes on the laws of The Future surrounding heroics

every word out of the umbrella academy's mouths just make everyone more concerned on principal but like, five and klaus are probably the worst offenders. Klaus just says whatever comes to mind with no filter and Five doesn't get what people would consider to be abnormal anymore like

Five: yeah our dad bought us when we were babies and experimented on us throughout our childhood in order to make an elite team of child soldiers superheroes, it happens

Todoroki: ...have you heard of quirk marriages?

izuku probably has an aneurism bc he's is the only person who might recognize them from the comics because you know ya boy extensively researched the idea of heroics in pre-quirk eras (batman was an inspiration alright???) and might dredge up a memory of a less popular comic series

Five: I can time travel but it is very hard, which is why we are hundreds of years in the future. And why I look like a child.

Kaminari: so are you a kid or not?

Five, serenely: whatever is most convenient for me at any given moment

Mina: hell yeah game the system

they have a brief lesson on astronomy and Luther raises his hand like "ooh! i was isolated on the moon for four years and did SO MUCH research" and then just gets up and starts infodumping like way too much information on the moon

Izuku sitting there like "damn if quirks hadn't popped up we could have achieved so much in terms of space travel. please tell me more giant man who lived in pre-quirk era."

Vanya finds out about the quirkless and is like "oh mood that genuinely sounds like my childhood, being ordinary in a house full of extraordinary people, and then i found out that i did have powers but only much later in life after i had already been emotionally scarred by the experience"

deku: vanya we have so much in common

iida and uraraka: concerned noises

aizawa: hound dog. therapy with hound dog for all of you.

there's probably some conflict with like, the hero commission wanting to get their hands on the time travelers?? but probably especially five and klaus as a) time travel and b) ghosts (the hc def has bodies they would like to stay buried)

five has a pavlovian reaction to anything with 'commission' in the name and hates them on site, probably plays into his age in order to become a ward of UA or something to protect him from the commission a little bit.

(this makes nedzu Five's legal guardian. aizawa has his resignation papers all prepped in a drawer marked 'in case of emergency' but let's be real, if nedzu wants to take over the world aizawa should probably be on the rat-bear's side of things :/)

five: ah, i do recall the inhumane experimentation that we were subjected to

nedzu, who was experimented on: haha same hat! want me to dig up the location of reginald hargreeves's remains so you can spit on them?

klaus: nah no worries we dumped them out in the courtyard unceremoniously like, a while back. how long ago varies for each of us because of time travel!

luther: you said hound dog's office was down the hall and to the right?

on the bright side, Luther probably feels like. way less self conscious about his body, partially bc of his fighting and all that in the 60s but also bc !! now he genuinely doesn't feel like a freak. no one even gives him a second glance. one of the teachers looks like a slab of cement with a face. gang orca looks Like That. there is literally a student with an entire bird head and goth aesthetic. Luther does not stick out at all

allison and shinso bond over having "villainous" voice-based quirks

allison and shinso having worn muzzles at some point in their youth as punishment 🤝

aizawa probably helps train vanya as well with the whole, being able to erase a world ending quirk safely thing he's got going on which makes for a very nice safety net

i don't think vanya would want to be a hero at the end of things though. maybe the assistant teacher in the music class or something?? all vanya wants is to be able to not end the world

i feel like as time goes by, five brings up trying to get home less and less. part of that is because like,,, genuinely what do they have to go back to?? Allison has Claire, but like. I'm 100% sure the first thing she did in the future was try track down Claire's records and found out Claire was like. fine. became an adult, had a family, probably became the ancestor of the first "quirked" kids who officially popped up after light baby. had a good life, died at an old age etc. etc.

they start settling into the bnha world with like, "we can always hop aboard the five express into where the fuck ever" as a plan Z if things go completely pear shaped (again)

i'mma be real, five himself doesn't give a fuck as long as there is a) no apocalypse and b) his family is alive. Like that's it. His bar is so incredibly low and yet his life keeps fucking trying to limbo under it

i just think it would be funny to have like, Five trying to get along with his "peers" and make friends while the siblings do the same but like, in the staff room

also think it would be funny for five to just walk into the staff room and get coffee occasionally.

a teacher: why is a student in here -

Five, sipping coffee: i'm an adult

nedzu like "what kind of guardian would i be if i didn't teach my new son all the tunnels around ua so he can pop out wherever"

five like "hey new dad can i put stashes of supplies all around ua of weapons, money, food, and other assorted things that might be useful if one needed to fight or make a run for it" and nedzu is like "haha just put your list of what supplies you want in your go bags on my desk and i'll critique it later!"

anyway a bnha/tua crossover would be incredibly chaotic but probably very funny

[lokilickedme]

The Way

I’m writing horror again.  I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason.  And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.

Even though I know why, and you know I know why.

Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.

Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.

And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.

.

8592 words I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.

Warnings: Death, mostly.  Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.

A Note:  I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you.  But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed.  It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case.  We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to.  There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did.  If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us.  We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew.  Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care.  It’s over.

Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.

It was something I needed to do, finally.

This is PART ONE.  There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.

Please feel free to comment if you wish.  As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me.  I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.

And thank you.

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This is, regrettably, a true story.  Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.

----------

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They made up their minds And they started packing They left before the sun came up that day An exit to eternal summer slacking But where were they going without ever knowing the way

They drank up the wine And they got to talking They now had more important things to say And when the car broke down They started walking Where were they going without ever knowing the way

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

Their children woke up And they couldn't find them They left before the sun came up that day They just drove off and left it all behind them But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

- The Way, Fastball, 1998

.

That was the year James died in his sleep.

Or that’s what they say, anyway.  Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption.  Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances.  We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks.  Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well.  You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave?  The one who died under mysterious circumstances?  That one.

He left the way he always came in.  Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.

But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking.  She probably never will.

So maybe it’s time I did.

December 1998.  I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband.  He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live.  It wasn’t bad.  He’d tell you otherwise.  The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it.  I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.

I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times.  But now I know.  That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back.  It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.

But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway.  This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.

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It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of.  The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon.  My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other.  James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him.  Perception bias, he said.  Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.

He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly.  We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe.  We meant it.  He made people nervous.  He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know.  It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.

The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones.  We were the smart ones, in retrospect.  I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family.  But mostly the congregation.  It was always more important than anything else.  And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking.  Usually also when they weren’t.

But sometimes, not quite.

And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right?  The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition.  They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home.  Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed.  God’s not like that.  And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it?  I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.

I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain.  A moral code, yes.  But isn’t that what God is, really?  Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us.  But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result.  Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.

And faithless meant condemned.  And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water.  The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.

James escaped that somehow.  He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest.  So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay.  I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.

I’ve never forgiven her for that.  Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself.  It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day.  The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that.  It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.

We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further.  Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different.  What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person.  I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then.  You were just weird, or you weren’t.  And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking.  But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.

He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to.  He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known.  And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.

None.

I’m going to stop calling it a religion now.  I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.

We were raised in a doomsday death cult.  There’s no other name that fits.

And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it.  My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later.  My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.

I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.

James, though.  He took the easy way.  He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.

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December 22, 1998.  Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us.  The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work.  We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years.  The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires.  Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.

I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making.  He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot.  Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time.  I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.

He was different, he wasn’t dumb.

We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother.  He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior.  The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong.  Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult.  It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.

They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.

Things might have ended differently for us if they had.

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My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation.  They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise.  I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son.  I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy.  She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.

I was scared of my grandfather.  Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much.  He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders.  My grandmother couldn’t swim.  We could make another Ruthie, he said.  But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.

He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice.  I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.

Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy.  I was never close to him.  But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me.  I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life.  But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.

He couldn’t speak.  I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear.  And I felt bad.  I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized.  My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.

I didn’t want that at all.

I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying.  Granddads are supposed to be fun.  Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam.  And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.

I know my mother resented him.  She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on.  She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown.  That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next.  How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand.  It affected her.  She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it.  And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for.  He’d forgotten her weeks ago.

The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad.  The homestead.  The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived.  A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives.  James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for.  She’d wanted us all to stay.  We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said.  That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be.  We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.

A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke.  It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.

Nobody saw it but me.  James was dead, had been for years.  Robbie was dead now too.  Dad was gone, so was granddad.  Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them.  We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life.  And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.

It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.

James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts.  Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land.  And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew.  The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.

We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it.  It was just an old grave.  The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground.  My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him.  He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.

My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it.  He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line.  It was a cool jacket.  Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era.  He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.

I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door.  To this day I can’t sort it.  It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness.  It wasn’t grief.  It wasn’t even shock.

He was sorry.

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

I’m sorry.

I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for.  It was cold.  I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it.  And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.

James is dead, he finally said.  He’s in his house.  I went up there and he’s dead.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told.  He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.

I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants.  There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do.  And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.

I think I asked How at some point.  He said he didn’t know.  He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.

I don’t know if it was important.  Something tells me it was.  Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.

I’m sorry, he said again.  He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow.  I’m sorry.

What do we do?  I asked him.  I’ve never felt more blank.  What are we supposed to do?

I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother.  I remember thinking that was a good idea.  Robbie would know what to do.  He always did.  Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them.  He would get on it, whatever needed doing.  He would figure it out.

I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut.  I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.

No clue at all.

I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.

----------

It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it.  Someone you saw just yesterday.  Someone who was alive.  Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow.  And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from.  The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life.  I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him.  I never saw him.  I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van.  I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with.  And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.

I hold onto that.  Some days it helps.  And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped.  I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.

He’s out there.

I hope he’s happy.

The ice storm hit the next day.

----------

For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill.  Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable.  We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm.  Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office.  There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.

His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down.  And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.

Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice.  By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.

Six bodies melted, including James.

----------

No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose.  The end report was obtained two months later.  It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue.  There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death.  His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life.  There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.

No reason.

He’d simply died.

It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery.  He was a secretive person, intensely private.  He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.

And so we drew our own conclusion as a family.  He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep.  There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box.  He simply hadn’t woken up to use it.  Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

We pretended not to see it.

He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.

They came back different.

You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said.  He was melted, literally.  It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.

Dad had nothing to say.  He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.

You can go see him, mom told me.  I’ll go with you if you want to go.  But I don’t recommend it.

I decided not to go.

And so I never saw my brother dead.  I never saw any proof that he was gone.  He just wasn’t there anymore.  There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.

----------

Dad was different from that day on.  He’d always been stoic, terse, strict.  My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years.  The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.

James being gone flipped a switch in him.  He was nicer suddenly.  Mellow.  Kind.  After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny.  The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before.  He and I became friends.  I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it.  But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again.  And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.

We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again.  He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him?  She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished.  Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes.  I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager.  I answered directly to the boss.

That didn’t go over well.  She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority.  She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he’d given me.  I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.

She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down.  I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.

She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.

I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.

That moment changed our relationship forever.  It changed me forever.  That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either.  She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.

For this she disowned me.  It was the first of several disownings over the next few years.  I got used to it.  We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk.  It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.

My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.

As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.

That land is cursed, he said.

----------

A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together.  It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him.  The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.

It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there.  I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.

There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric.  James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end.  The blood had come from his nose.

I touched it.  I don’t know why.  It was dry.

He was gone.

----------

David and I laughed a lot that day.  James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted.  And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me.  He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him.  He was unknowable and therefore unbindable.  But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.

There was an engine in the bathtub.  I’m not sure what it went to.  Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on.  There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it.  Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before.  Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved.  David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his.  I told him to take it.  It had never been used.

I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something.  One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.

Inside was a CD single of The Way.

It was the only thing I took.

----------

My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived.  After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge.  He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another.  There had been several more on the floor around the bed.  My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone.  Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how.  Just not the same.

He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.

It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with.  My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing!  We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common.  Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation?  Dad was the only one that spoke to them.  They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that.  My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.

The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.

At the same time.

In the same car.

Four years later, on October 18, 2002.

----------

The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it.  Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.

The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.

----------

The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us.  There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway.  There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret.  In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring.  We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.

James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death.  We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me.  James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.

He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway.  The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.

He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.

----------

We never felt safe on the hill again.  Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession.  She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice.  We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness.  But we knew she was evil.  We just didn’t have any proof.

The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.

I believe she was probably right.  But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself.  She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive.  The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.

James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife.  He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails.  He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat.  One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.

She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.

Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death.  She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming.  She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies.  Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come.  At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.

Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized.  She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load.  She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.

Jessica had been staying with her for a while.

----------

We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house.  The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.

Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would.  She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it.  The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.

The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to.  They also knew her.

My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out.  I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her.  She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently.  No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face.  It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment.  That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are.  I can’t do that.  I won’t let her win that way.  I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.

God’s name.  I took it in vain that day.

More than once.

I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away.  My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.

God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said.  He knows what she is.

I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered.  But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.

“That land is cursed,” he said.

I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.

----------

Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking.  He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.

It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.

He was walking away from the hill, toward the west.  The way we were going.  And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.

.

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today

.

[commonwealthoccurences]

Companion’s React: Young Sole, Their Child, and Future

Prompt: “Okay, weird ask but I imagine my Sole as like late teens early 20’s, so I’d love to ask about how the companions would react to a sole that young and pouring that much work into their future while taking care of their own child?”

Cait:

Honestly surprised and a little in awe, though she probably wouldn’t say it out loud

Finds Sole’s determination to still do something for a world they’ve just become a part of admirable

And the fact that they’ll stand up to everyone’s greatest fear in the name of protecting their family? Incredibly badass

Overall surprised

Eventually has to confront some feelings of bitterness; she wishes that her parents would’ve fought that hard for her, too, and sometimes she becomes withdrawn from Sole if she reflects on that for too long

Curie:

Honestly is quite used to the hardworking aspect of some people; she doesn’t tend to think twice about it, other than noting that she appreciates that Sole can keep up with her work ethic

The one thing she does pay attention to is the way they refuse to let the Wasteland get ahold of them and their family

She makes a comment quietly to them one day that anyone would be lucky to have them as a parent

Danse:

Danse is a little less impressed than the others; he’s witnessed younger members of the Brotherhood go through a lot

However, he does think it’s significant that someone pre-War is keeping up with the trials of the Brotherhood and the post-war Wasteland to fight for their future

As for their dedication to their child, he doesn’t know what to think of it

It’s hard to find families so willing to go above and beyond for each other; either families cling together like nothing else or they accept that there’ll be loss sooner than expected and choose not to get attached to each other

He finds it admirable that they’re so loving, yet believes them naive to be willing to love someone so much

He often stops to think that he hopes he never has to watch the world shatter that naivety

Deacon:

Deacon respects the hell out of their hardworking nature

He can’t understand how they can love their child as much as they do, though

Well, he can. He’s loved like that before, but he didn’t get a happily ever after like he hoped Sole would

Like Danse, he hopes that they continue to live in the world where they get to continue to fight for their child

Could never imagine himself in their shoes

Gage:

Finds them foolish to be so willing to attach themself to someone

Honestly disapproving with how caring they are for their child, but to each their own

Grateful for their work ethic; that’s something that they’re willing to give credit to Sole for

Haylen:

Hands down admires how hard Sole works for their future and their child

Will let them know that she thinks more parents should behave in the way they do

Hancock:

The way they care for their child may make him emotional; not a lot of people get that privilege in the Wasteland

Their work ethic definitely contributes to his willingness to associate with them

May even consider involving them in Goodneighbor’s government system if they get close enough

Doesn’t take any aspect of their personality for granted

MacCready:

One of the few companions who pays more attention to their willingness to do everything for their child over their work ethic

Still appreciates the way they fight for their future, but definitely feels seen in the way they love their child

Once they’re close enough he may sit them down and have a talk with them, just to get in their brain and listen to them explain the way they love and parent their kid out of curiosity

Nick:

Appreciates all of their efforts; he’s seen a lot of residents of the Wasteland get lost

They lose sight of what they were aiming towards, lose the will to fight for what they want to protect

Sometimes he can’t blame them; the Commonwealth takes a lot out of people

But seeing Sole come out of nowhere with this willingness to do whatever it takes really makes him pause in admiration sometimes

Piper:

Finds comfort in knowing someone with the same drive and goals as her

She and Sole get along like a house on fire when it comes to those aspects of their personalities

Preston:

Definitely thinks they make a fantastic General

The combination of wanting to protect their future while also wanting to protect their child is something that puts them in the right position to run the Minutemen

Tries to help them out in whatever way he can on both levels

Overall really looks up to them

X6-88:

Institute:

Really struggles to understand their attachment to their child if he’s honest

He understands that they raised/are raising the child, but there’s so many factors to consider, and it’s quite illogical to get so attached when something’s likely to go wrong

Really doesn’t see the point, overall

But their work ethic and willingness to fight for their future is something that he notes quietly to himself as they work together

Definitely stands out as someone that disproves his generalizations about the Wasteland

Post-Institute:

He honestly finds himself wanting to observe more and more of their relationship with their child

Maybe it’s jealousy, maybe it’s longing, maybe it’s simply fondness of witnessing that sort of familial love, who knows

But every time they’re around each other he finds himself watching them interact

Sometimes he gets overwhelmed with a feeling of longing for a childhood he was never given, to be loved in that sort of naive, innocent way

Tries to brush it off the best he can

Still admires Sole’s work ethic and fighting spirit just as much

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (45) || atz

The stunned silence brought on by the ludicrous request is broken by Commander Kang actually adding on to that preposterous behest. Even in your own stupefied daze, you somehow manage to hear the next words that leave the commander’s mouth.

“I also want my son, Kang Yeosang.”

Every thought flees your mind all at once, leaving only a barren mental landscape behind, a mere deserted wasteland. Time seems to slow down for you, air turning liquid as the words drift over to you gently like a fallen leaf swirling and eddying on the surface of a still lake. A moment of eerie calm is all you get, before the actual meaning of the words, with all the force of a sledgehammer, smash into you harder than a battering ram.

You’re terrified.

Numb, predatory fear prowls into your mind, nestling and rooting itself there before you can finally register its presence. It’s tormenting you, torturing you. Your base instinct screams at you to flee as fast as you can possibly run before this man can get his hands on you, but your legs are frozen to the deck. You can’t even scream if you wanted to, let alone run, and even if you could, where would you run to?

Your mind is pulled and twisted by fear and anxiety in all directions, but as much as you hate to admit it, doubt wells up in you.

Yes, you know that the crew think of you as one of their own. Yes, you think that they truly do care about you and that they would, under some of the harshest circumstances, never sacrifice you for their own interests.

But in response to this deal? The reward is too enticing, as alluring as fresh nectar to a honey bee. How do you even refuse an offer like this? Hell, you’re tempted to take the deal yourself, even if it means sacrificing yourself in the process. One crew member of the ship for the safety and security of the entire crew? When will you ever get another offer like that?

However noble you may want your intentions to be, though, you know that you’re selfish.

Because deep in you, you’re desperately wishing that your captain turns it down.

No matter how selfish that makes you, no matter what your crew has to give up, part of you is terrified of dying. It’s more than a mere survival instinct, more of a deep seated desire rooting in you. You can’t die, not now, not when you’re nowhere near the end of your journey-

At your own trail of thought, something claws at your heart, so painfully you actually feel it in your body. Shocked panic runs through you at the words that have just passed through your mind, because when you try to figure out exactly what they mean, the pain in your head grows more and more, from a mere throbbing to an agonising pounding of your mind.

Journey?

But before you can think your brain into a catatonic state, your captain speaks up, his voice trembling with fury, knuckles white around the handle of his cutlass as if he can’t wait to slice the man before him into a million tiny pieces. Even if it’s not aimed at you, the incensed, red hot rage is all too clear in his words, sending a shiver down your spine as your survival instinct screams at you to bolt.

“What. Do. You. Want. With. Them.”

Every syllable is shaking with vengeful fury, as if he can’t wait to rain hell’s wrath upon the Commander, but Kang Yongsun merely stands his ground calmly, eyeing the captain with a cool, collected gaze.

“I want my son back with me for personal reasons-” He begins, but San finally snaps, lunging forward furiously before Jongho catches him by the arm, yanking him back even though you can see from the battlemaster’s furious expression, he wants nothing more than to bludgeon the man before him to a bloody pulp as well.

“How dare you call him your son that after you were the one who abandoned him in the first place?” San screams, writhing against Jongho’s grip, his usually calm demeanour completely shattered into smithereens. For such a lithe man, your master is surprisingly strong, nearly wriggling out of Jongho’s hold before the young battlemaster catches him once again. “You f*cking destroyed him when you betrayed him like that! You’re a heartless liar!”

You too, can feel anger rising up in you even through your numb shock. From the little you had glimpsed of Yeosang’s memories, the navigator had truly looked up to his father, loved him dearly though he’d gone years without seeing his face, idolised him, even. When he had been given over to the Pirate King as the object of a deal, you had felt everything within him shatter like glass.

Yeosang had truly almost been destroyed beyond repair.

“It is not my problem that Yeosang was foolish and believed that I loved him.” His father states dispassionately, as if he doesn’t care the least about his only son. Horror and disbelief runs through you as you stare at the man. How can any human being be so… inhumane? “I never told him I loved him, so I’ve never lied to him in the least.”

Your heart drops in your chest. This man…

“Let me go, Jongho, let me kill that bastard! He thought you loved him!” San continues howling in rage, thrashing against the younger battlemaster. You’ve never seen your master in such an uncontrolled manner, and he’s not even drunk. “Yeosang almost starved himself to death the first few months he was on the ship because of this shithole, I’m going to kill him-”

“Mingi, bring San to my cabin and help me keep him there for now.” Your captain says coldly, obviously noting that Mingi’s barely restraining himself from swinging that huge axe and chopping Commander Kang right in half, seething with white knuckled fury. The quartermaster, clearly knowing that he’s going to do something reckless if he stays here any longer, merely grabs San around the middle and hoists him into the air, carrying him away from the main deck to the captain’s cabin, San screaming and swearing the whole way.

“And don’t you dare touch my apprentice! I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth and destroy you, you asshole-”

The cabin door slams shut, effectively cutting off the sounds of your master’s fury.

Then your captain turns back to the commander, who looks completely unruffled by San’s accusations and screams. For a moment, you’re actually terrified at how stony this man’s face is. His facade is as cold as ice, to the point it almost unnerves you. It’s nothing like the silent calm Yeosang possesses, but he instead has a far more menacing, emotionless demeanour, as if he’s more golem than you are.

You imagine yourself like that, briefly, for a moment. A body of clay, with silent, unblinking, dispassionate eyes. More soulless than any human being around you.

The mere thought of it scares you.

“And what do you want with Chin Hae?” Your captain then adds on with gritted teeth, barely managing to cling on to his own facade of calm. At the sound of your name, your hands start to shake from fear, but then Yunho takes your hand in his, gripping it tight.

You turn slowly to look at him, knowing that you probably look like the day you had first met, terrified of the death that was ever so imminent in that alley back in Raguza, except this time your fate lies not in your hands, but your captain’s.

Yunho meets your eyes with a nervous, uneasy gaze, but when he speaks, his voice is full of surety.

“Hongjoong-hyung would never give you or Yeosang up, no matter the price.”

And you believe him. Your captain had already endured so much for you and the crew, if not him, who else could you possibly trust with your life? His actions spoke louder than words, with his body he had already shown you his dedication to his crew back in Nassau. With the determination he had plunged straight into the sea witch’s den, you knew he was willing to give up so much for you.

Yes. Your captain would not accept this deal. You believe that, at the very least.

“I cannot answer.” Commander Kang answers calmly, but from his words alone you can tell he’s not lying in the least. “My superior officer has ordered for it, so I obey his orders without question.”

“Like a obedient dog cowed into mindless submission.” Jongho snarls mockingly, grounding the end of his mace against the deck. But Kang Yongsun doesn’t react to the sneer at all, instead nodding in agreement with the statement.

“I do my job as required of me.” He replies, his voice completely devoid of emotion, before turning back to look at your seething captain, his one eye now a bright, venomous green. “But even if you do not give the woman Chin Hae up to the Royal Navy in a deal, we will still be forced to hunt her down anyway. She has a bounty on her head as well.”

At that, Hongjoong actually flinches in shock. You yourself are confused, why would you of all people be targeted specifically by the Royal Navy? In comparison to all the other members of the crew, you’ve not committed as many crimes as they have, so why you?

“How much is it? The bounty.” Your captain demands tonelessly, and Commander Kang opens his mouth to answer.

And with his next words, you feel your mind melt into a puddle of incomprehension.

“One thousand gold pieces.”

You nearly spit blood in shock, and from the way Yunho’s body goes entire rigid, he’s just as stunned as you. One thousand gold pieces, you imagine blearily, as if you can’t think straight anymore. You must be going crazy.

It can’t be possible. You’d heard from Yunho that the bounty on the captain himself is five hundred gold pieces, wanted alive by the Crown. How can your bounty be twice the price of your captain’s?

That’s it. You’re either dreaming, drunk, going deaf or crazy, because you can’t be hearing any of this. None of it makes sense.

Commander Kang continues calmly, as if he hasn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of the century on every person on board this ship simultaneously. “And our orders are to take her back alive, so you needn’t worry about her being killed in our hands-”

Hongjoong lunges with his cutlass faster than your eye can see.

There’s a clang of steel against steel as Commander Kang raises his blade just in the nick of time to save himself from being split from head to toe by the edge of your captain’s sword. Even for a man well past his prime, the Commander must obviously still be fighting fit, because his arms only tremble slightly when he holds his sword steady against your captain’s overhead slash.

They stand there for a moment, locked in some sort of stalemate, before the two of them pull apart, swords levelled at each other.

You realise that this is the first time you’ve seen your captain in action. Not the playful mock duels that he, Yunho and Jongho have on deck with the crew cheering them from the sides, betting on who would win, but an actual fight in which your captain’s eye is completely cold and calculating, reading his opponent’s every move, predicting every strike. Adrenaline floods your veins from the sheer tension in the air, but you’re frozen with numb shock.

Nobody moves as the two captains exchanged dark looks, charged to the brim with unspoken meaning.

“I should kill you where you stand.” Hongjoong hisses, lips bared in a snarl. But Commander Kang simply smiles through gritted teeth, keeping his blade at the ready for another surprise strike from your captain.

“But I’m the only one who knows why the Royal Navy wants the woman.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen your captain so incensed.

“Her name. Is. Chin. Hae.”

Whirling around, Hongjoong lunges forward with a flick of his wrist, the cutlass darting out like a snake’s tongue, ready to cut at least some part of his opponent’s sword arm off, but then the hooded man from the side slides between your captain and the commander in the blink of an eye, the longsword in his hands stopping the cutlass dead in its tracks.

The hood falls from the man’s head, revealing soft brown curls, soft, sweet features and a gentle nose, deep brown eyes that seem all too familiar to you even though you’ve never seen the man before in your life.

Why are they so familiar?

Because you’ve seen them on someone else before.

There are three rings braided in his hair, brushing his temple lightly.

Next to you, Yunho freezes, eyes going wide as if he’s seen a ghost. The spear actually goes clattering from his trembling hands to the deck, the sound unnaturally loud in your ears, his face turning white as a sheet as he manages to utter just a single word in disbelief, barely above a whisper.

“Gunho?”

On a ship somewhere in the middle of an ocean, a man sits silently in the cabin with his eyes closed.

He’s so still he might just be a statue, completely motionless. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he could have been mistaken for a dead body. A minute passes, then two, the water clock in the corner making soft noises as it keeps track of the time.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes slide open, a sinister smile curling on his lips as he breathes in deeply, resting his chin on his fingers, the picture of calm and composure. However, his eyes dance with a terrifying, maniacal light, his deep blue eyes glowing ever so slightly in the dim room with some sort of unearthly gleam.

“The prophecy is finally coming to pass.” He sighs in pleasure, the dangerous purr of his voice like silk dragged across skin. “I knew you would do me proud... my son.”

There’s a knock on the door and he rises to his feet, stepping across the room. Soon, he will be free of all of this, he deserves more, so much more, he’s going to be the one with dominion over the-

“Captain! We’ve caught its trail!”

Twisted, depraved glee rises in him as his fingers dance on the hilt of the silver knife at his side excitedly. He pushes the door of the cabin opening, the sun’s rays crushed under his feet as he steps forward to the main deck, watching the sea of blue all about him.

He drags his tongue against the blade, a deranged grin on his lips as he seeks out his next prey. The sirens are easy targets, but they don’t yield nearly enough.

“Let’s go kill the hafgufa.”

[koalitypop]

broken promises

pairing: soobin x reader

genre: angst

word count: 1.9k

requested by anon

a/n: I started this one shot just before my first exam and I have been working on it for the past few weeks. Hope you enjoy it! What I wrote is a bit different from what has been requested, but I still hope you will like it! Thank you so much for spending your time reading! 

Maybe that was all life was about? Growing. Out of your comfort zone, out of your habits, out of letting people lead you to your doom. Out of not setting yourself first.  

Sitting in your office that day, you found yourself thinking about him once again. You were thankful to him. And you hated him. And yet you loved him, secretly. 

***

Coming back home after a long tiring day, you were excited to see Soobin. Lately, he had been so busy and you weren’t particularly free to visit him at the company, so you looked forward to spending some time with him that night.  

Entering the apartment, you were faced with darkness and coldness. Hasn’t Soobin already arrived? He said he’ll come back home early. Taking the phone out of your pocket, you call him.  

Beep  

Beep  

The person you are trying to reach is busy. Please try again later.  

You sighed and put the phone back in your pocket. It was okay, his job demanded lots of dedication, passion, focus. You took off your coat, turned on the thermostat and headed to the bedroom. All alone, you cosied up on the bed, trying to warm yourself.  

***

Nobody knew that, but you still kept that photo of you two making out on the couch on your bedside table. Framed, just behind the photo of you and your mother. You would open the frame way too often, taking the picture out and staring at, your finger on the place where your hands were, holding ever so tightly on each other. It would take you some time to brace yourself back, put the photo behind the one with your mom and closing the frame.  

Then you would get up, dress up and go back to your office. You’d rather spend the entire night there than looking at that photo.  

A bath, seven episodes of The Big Bang Theory and a half an hour nap, Soobin was nowhere to be seen. You tried to call him once again, but you again couldn’t reach him, so you just ditched your phone in the living room as you didn’t want to bother him. You didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. He couldn’t find the time to simply text you that he’d be late for your date. That he got more and more forgetful of the things you were talking to him about, of the things you liked, of you. It hurt like hell.  

About an hour later, you heard the door open. You barely found it in yourself to get up and welcome him.  

“Hello, darling,” you greeted.  

***

As time went by, you became stronger, it got easier to hide all the pain, all the love. It felt wonderful to see yourself getting powerful, stoic, even more determined to make your dreams come true. Although, from time to time, it didn’t truly feel that your dream was power and success. But you were now able to stop those thoughts from consuming you and focus on your job.  

Maybe if that didn’t happen you would have always been so nice, so dependent, so scared of the big world. Maybe you should be thankful to Soobin for breaking your heart. Because you were able to pick them up and rearrange them in a way you can fight against the world.  

***

“Yeah, hi,” Soobin murmured, taking off his shoes.  

You came closer to him and tried to help him take his jacket off, when he took a step forward, moving away from you.  

“Actually, I’ll be quick,” he stated.  

“Oh, alright then,” you sighed.

You were disappointed, but nowhere near surprised. That had happened a bit too often the past few months to be taken aback, so you just took a deep breath and swallowed all the pain.  

Soobin sat on the couch and took one of the decorative pillows in his hands, playing with its uneven edges. You watched him closely and took a seat next to him, waiting for him to put his hand over your shoulders as he normally does.  

“I want to talk to you about something,” Soobin said, his eyes stuck to the decorative pillow.  

“What about?” you put on a smile on your face.  

“It’s something serious, Y/n.”

In your heart of hearts, you knew what he meant by that. But you refused to let yourself believe that.  

“I’m all ears, Soobin.”

***

Your heart still skipped a beat every time his name was mentioned. That was why you tried your best to avoid personal use of social media, you stopped watching TV, you didn’t even listen to TXT anymore, although you used to love their music.  

It was all work and success now. Nobody dared to leave you as you were so important, so competent, so powerful, so successful and capable of doing even more. Everyone respected you, tried their best to spend time with you, to reach you. You found yourself in a love-hate relationship with authority and triumph as the desperate need of the people around you to be with you happened to be somewhat annoying from time to time. Yet, it was way better than being left all alone, so you always grinned and let them believe they have your full interest.  

As you were reading the business plans of companies in need of investments, you found thinking yourself about Soobin. You put the business plan on your desk and inhaled deeply, eyes focused on the beautiful view of Seoul from your office. You were about to go back to reading the business plans when the ringtone of your personal phone tore the silence in your office apart.  

***

“It has become harder for both of us to stay happy in this relationship. You are constantly busy with your studies and the more TXT grows, the harder it is for me to find time for you. Believe me, I’ve tried to make you my main priority, but as a leader of a band like this, a band that’s getting bigger and bigger, I can’t run after you and you cannot do this as well.”

“Is it so hard for you to be honest to me one last time,” you laughed at him, looking at him coldly.  

“I am honest, Y/n, we both know that this relationship was doomed from the very beginni-”  

“Soobin, I don’t want to hear any of your poor excuses, they are meaningless to me,” you hissed, "you’ve fallen out of love with me, admit it.”

Soobin remained silent with you watching him as if you were ready to kick him out.  

“I’d prefer you scream. Or hit me. Or blame me. I’m saying the truth, Y/n, with lives like ours it’s just impossible to keep this relationship. The more we lie to ourselves, the more it will hurt,” Soobin muttered.  

You crossed your legs and looked him in the eyes.  

“You are such a coward. A coward for blaming your dream, my dream, everything else but your own emotions for the end of this relationship.”

***

Taking your phone out of your handbag, you wondered who it is. Your parents and the few friends you had knew better than to just call you during the day while you are at work, so it must be something urgent.  

The person’s phone number wasn’t added to your contact list, but you knew it too damn well for it to be unknown.  

***

“Look, I’m sorry, Y/n, I promise I tried to find time for you, but I just couldn’t keep track of everythi-”

“So, you are saying that you are breaking up with me because you don’t want me to feel left out.”

Soobin couldn’t look at you, knowing that you are well aware of what is happening but being fully incapable of telling the truth. Because telling you that the love he promised is gone would break you, as if you weren’t already in pieces.  

“I am so sorry, Y/n.”

“Don’t be,” you smiled.  

***

Soobin.  

You didn’t know why he would call you and you surely didn’t know whether you should pick up.  

Hot waves spread out your body. A breath was stuck in your lungs. Your hands were shaking as you held your phone.  

You picked up.  

***

You felt betrayed. Your body was cold yet hot. You felt like you couldn’t bear looking at Soobin any longer, still, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, somehow afraid he’ll slip away as sand through the fingers.  

Soobin was about to say something, but you knew way too well what his next words were going to be.  

“Don’t you even dare say you’re sorry again.”

“I couldn’t keep my promises.”  

That’s how you knew he doesn’t love you anymore. Promises. All of the time. Being there for you forever. Holding you forever.  

Loving you forever.  

***

“I bet you didn’t expect my call,” Soobin mumbled.  

His voice sounded like a lullaby. So soft, so soothing, magical. You didn’t know you had missed so bad.  

“You can’t blame me. But please, tell me, what’s the reason behind your call?” you asked, your grip on your phone ever so tight.  

“You sound different, Y/n,” he whined, his voice letting you know how tired and maybe even tipsy he is.  

“You can’t expect me to stay at home, crying and waiting for you to fix everything. I grew up and did it all on my own,” you scoffed, going to the window.  

“You’re right, I can’t,” Soobin murmured.  

You had a million thoughts running through your mind, you couldn’t choose which one you should bark out first, angry at him for calling you, making you go through all the feeling you have tried to hide for the past few years. At the very same time, you were glad he called. Because you knew you wanted to hear his voice. You shouldn’t but you needed to.  

“I heard you are a CEO now. Congratulations. I’ve always believed in you and your ideas.”

“Thanks, Soobin.”

It was the first time in years you’ve pronounced his name. You had nearly forgotten how beautiful it was, how your soul trembled by the sound of it.

“W-would it be selfish of me to confess that I miss you?” Soobin stuttered.  

You took a deep breath and sat back on your chair.  

“Yes. Very.”

***

“I-I think it’s time for me to go,” Soobin stated, putting the pillow back on the couch.  

If you were to open your mouth, you were going to start screaming. You wanted to keep your composure. You wanted to look stable. You wanted him to remember you like that. Broken yet strong. Because there was no way in this world, he didn’t know how bad he had just hurt you.

Done putting on his shoes, Soobin took a look at the apartment and at you, making you go crazy, hoping he’ll say that he’s taking his words back, that he wants you to stay by his side. Because that day was one of the last ones when you would’ve taken him back.  

“Goodbye, Y/n,” Soobin sighed, leaving.  

You took the pillow he played with and hugged it tightly, inhaling his scent. As you were looking at the door, a tear fell down your cheek. Thousands more followed.  

***

“Y/n, I promise, I-”

“Soobin, you see, your broken promises have taken me quite far. But please, do not make any more. I don’t think I’ll be able to get any better than that,” you enunciated.  

“So, there is no chance that we ever...?” Soobin couldn’t even finish his sentence.  

A light knock was heard from the door, your secretary asking for permission to come in.  

You laughed bitterly and rested on your chair.  

“The chance you are looking for now was lost a long time ago.”

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

[guicas04]

10 Interesting Brazilian Fiction Novels

1.) “I Didn’t Talk” By: Beatriz Bracher

A professor prepares to retire—Gustavo is set to move from Sao Paulo to the countryside, but it isn’t the urban violence he’s fleeing: what he fears most is the violence of his memory. But as he sorts out his papers, the ghosts arrive in full force. He was arrested in 1970 with his brother-in-law Armando: both were vicariously tortured. He was eventually released; Armando was killed. No one is certain that he didn’t turn traitor: I didn’t talk, he tells himself, yet guilt is his lifelong harvest. I Didn’t Talk pits everyone against the protagonist—especially his own brother. The torture never ends, despite his bones having healed and his teeth having been replaced. And to make matters worse, certain details from his shattered memory don’t quite add up... Beatriz Bracher depicts a life where the temperature is lower, there is no music, and much is out of view. I Didn't Talk's pariah’s-eye-view of the forgotten “small” victims powerfully bears witness to their “internal exile.” I didn’t talk, Gustavo tells himself; and as Bracher honors his endless pain, what burns this tour de force so indelibly in the reader’s mind is her intensely controlled voice. 

2.) “The Brothers” By: Milton Hatoum

Set among a Lebanese immigrant community in the Brazilian port of Manaus, The Brothers is the story of identical twins, Yaqub and Omar, whose mutual jealousy is offset only by their love for their mother. But it is Omar who is the object of Zana's Jocasta-like passion, while her husband, Halim, feels her slipping away from him, as their beautiful daughter, RGnia, makes a tragic claim on her brothers' affection.

3.) “Crow Blue” By: Adriana Lisboa

I was thirteen. Being thirteen is like being in the middle of nowhere. Which was accentuated by the fact that I was in the middle of nowhere. In a house that wasn't mine. in a city that wasn't mine, in a country that wasn't mine, with a one-man family that, in spite of the intersections and intentions (all very good), wasn't mine.When her mother dies, thirteen-year-old Vanja is left with no family and no sense of who she is, where she belongs, and what she should do. Determined to find her biological father to fill the void that has so suddenly appeared in her life, Vanja decides to leave Rio de Janeiro to live in Colorado with her stepfather, a former guerrilla notorious for his violent past. From there she goes in search of her biological father, tracing her mother's footsteps and gradually discovering the truth about herself. Rendered in lyrical and passionate prose, Crow Blue is a literary road trip through Brazil and America, and through dark decades of family and political history.

4.) “Child of The Dark” By: The Diary of Carolina Maria de Jesus

A first-hand account of life in the streets of Sao Paulo from 1955 to 1960, details the plight of an artist, writer and single mother of three children who, while living in a hovel, supported her family by digging through the garbage for paper and scraps to sell.

5.) “The Sad End of Policarpo Quaresma” By: Lima Barreto

Policarpo Quaresma - fastidious civil servant, dedicated patriot, self-styled visionary - is a defender of all things Brazilian, full of schemes to improve his beloved homeland. Yet somehow each of his ventures, whether it is petitioning for Brazil's national language to be changed, buying a farm to prove the richness and fertility of the land, or offering support to government forces as they suppress a military revolt - results in ridicule and disaster. Quixotic and hapless, Quaresma's dreams will eventually be his undoing.

6.) “Adultery” By: Paulo Coelho

A woman in her thirties begins to question her seemingly perfect life: she is married to a rich and loving husband, has well-behaved children and a successful newspaper career. Her apathy changes when she interviews a former boyfriend, now a successful politician.

7.) “The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas” By: Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis

The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas builds on a macabre conceit—Brás Cubas, already dead, is recounting his adventures from beyond the grave. This vantage point allows Brás Cubas to talk about his life with the kind of blithe irony and callousness only accessible to those who have nothing to lose or gain.Jun 17, 2020

8.) “Lord” By: João Gilberto Noll

As Lord begins, a Brazilian author is arriving at London's Heathrow airport for reasons he doesn't fully understand. Only aware that he has been invited to take part in a mysterious mission, the Brazilian starts to churn with anxiety. Torn between returning home and continuing boldly forward, he becomes absorbed by fears: What if the Englishman who invited him here proves malign? Maybe he won't show up? Or maybe he'll leave the Brazilian lost and adrift in London, with no money or place to stay? Ever more confused and enmeshed in a reality of his own making, the Brazilian wanders more and more through London's immigrant Hackney neighborhood, losing his memory, adopting strange behaviors, experiencing surreal sexual encounters, and developing a powerful fear of ever seeing himself reflected in a mirror.

9.) “Perfect Days’ By: Ralphael Montes

Teo Avelar is a loner. He lives with his paraplegic mother and her dog in Rio de Janeiro, he doesn't have many friends, and the only time he feels honest human emotion is in the presence of his medical school cadaver--that is, until he meets Clarice. She's almost his exact opposite: exotic, spontaneous, unafraid to speak her mind. She's working on a screenplay called Perfect Days about three friends who go on a road trip across Brazil in search of romance. Teo begins to stalk her, first following to her university, then to her home, and when she ultimately rejects him, Teo kidnaps her, and they embark upon their very own twisted odyssey across Brazil, tracing the same route outlined in her screenplay. Through it all, Teo is certain that time is all he needs to prove to Clarice that they are made for each other, that time is all he needs to make her fall in love with him. But as the journey progresses, he keeps digging himself deeper, stopping at nothing to ensure that no one gets in the way of their life together.

10.) “A Cup of Rage” By: Raduan Nassar

A pair of lovers—a young female journalist and an older man who owns an isolated farm in Brazil—spend the night together. The next day they proceed to destroy each other. Amid vitriolic insults and scorching cruelty, their sexual adventure turns into a savage power game between two warring egos. This intense, erotic masterpiece—written by one of Brazil’s most highly regarded modernists—explores alienation, arrogance, machismo meltdown, the desire to dominate, and the wish to be dominated.

[namjhyun]

Hospital Playlist | Winter Garden

*SEASON 01 SPOILERS ALERT*

Remember you can find all the Hospital Playlist reviews/analysis filed in “hospital playlist reviews” tag at the end of the post.

It would be very difficult to talk about Jung-won without mentioning Gyeo-wool and vice versa. Their respective journeys have been intertwined from the very beginning and in ways we didn’t even know until the end of the first season of Hospital Playlist. Theirs turned out to be a symbiotic relationship. So, I decided to dedicate a full review to them.

Jung-won’s life was one of the first mysteries in Hospital Playlist. The drama introduced his character little by little and almost always thorough other characters to give us an idea of the kind of person he is. So, when it was revealed that he is the youngest son of the CEO of Yulje Foundation and Hospital, we already got the general idea that he was a dedicated and hardworking doctor, with a very particular (and hilarious) family situation that put him in the spot to take over his father’s place. And that he didn’t want that position at all.

Still, it’s pretty obvious Jung-won has a head for business. You can tell by the proposal he presented to Chairman Ju in the first episode when he transferred his family’s hospital stocks to him. In exchange he got lofty jobs for his friends and himself, and even complete control over the money coming from the VIP ward in the hospital. This is a man that clearly thinks several steps ahead. A man that goes the distance. A marathoner.

Right after his father’s funeral (in March) and finally free of the pressure of having to run his family’s foundation, Jung-won put that determination into achieving his childhood dream of becoming a priest.

Enter Jang Gyeo-wool.

When we were first introduced to Gyeo-wool, I remember thinking she was the opposite of Jung-won. While she was presented as blunt and aloof, he was tactful and a bleeding heart. Because of this I always believed the two actually made a good team and that they could learn from each other.

Now that the first season is over, I think that was Writer Lee and PD Shin’s purpose all along: to make the viewers connect the two, at least in a professional light at first, so that we would eventually start picking up subtle hints that something else might be going on between them.

Of course, Hospital Playlist exceeded my expectations because things started to be not so subtle pretty fast. For me it really was when Jung-won said that Gyeo-wool wasn’t his “cup of tea” that I started to think about them in terms of a possible loveline. But it was the scene of the maggots that really solidify it and I told everyone “He likes her”. Not for one minute I thought Jung-won was going to go through with his priesthood plans after that.

Soon, Jung-won’s good deed of helping his friends get better jobs backfired on him spectacularly: Lee Ik-jun, MD and Certified Cupid, was trying to find ways to win Jang Gyeo-wool’s favor in order to get her assistance in the OR. And since Hospital Playlist spent the entire first season letting us know that Ik-jun always knows what’s up, naturally he realized Gyeo-wool had feelings for Jung-won. And that they might not be unrequited.

The journey was slow paced and frustrating at times. With each episode it was more and more clear that Jung-won was going out of his way to keep Gyeo-wool at arm’s length. He was resolute to keep on track with his decision to become a priest and I commend him for it... but this is when his smoking became a sign that things wouldn’t be going his way. For someone who wants to be pure and closer to the Lord, that’s a pretty nasty habit. One that to me was always a sign of doubt. Bottomline, it’s a sign of his humanity. Another sign? His headaches. He was suddenly overthinking things and questioning himself.

I’m not saying Jung-won wasn’t sincere about becoming a priest but if he had wanted to do it, a man with his kind of determination, would have got up and leave. Instead, when he talked with the priest helping him with his journey to Italy, Jung-won kept pushing the date of his departure over and over again. Always prioritizing his patients. This is when I knew that priesthood was a dream idealized from childhood and I believe that in some place of his subconscious he was choosing this path in order to runaway from the pain of not being able to help all the people he wants to help. Fact is that at some point in his life he had fallen in love with his profession as pediatrics surgeon but his soft personality put him through much pain, specially with the most difficult cases. He had given up on hobbies like photography because he couldn’t stand to see the photos of patients he lost, and almost never took time off to do any of the sports he loves so much. When he did it was to support a cause like breast cancer.

My point is that I understand why Jung-won wanted to quit: he is overworked, stressed and tired of having to carry on his shoulders an understaffed pediatrics department. Add to all that he was also running the Daddy Long Legs program by himself, getting calls from hospitals all over the country, and that he was in a passive aggressive fight with his Mother that didn’t want him to become a priest. The only down time he was getting was when he played the drums with the band and went out with his friends. But even then we saw him get up and help the people running the restaurant. Yeah, he clearly couldn’t go on like that. Something needed to change.

His first move was to delegate the Daddy Long Legs program to Song-hwa. A wonderful idea and the first hint that he was up to something. Like I mentioned before: Jung-won thinks several steps ahead. And this was also around the time he had his heart to heart talk with Ik-jun. At this point of the story, it was clear to Jung-won that his feelings for Gyeo-wool were not going dispel and that spending time with her, watching her work through her hardships and getting to understand her, were only making him fall deeper in love with her.

In return, Gyeo-wool spent that time growing as a doctor, learning from Ik-jun and Jung-won on how to talk to patients and their guardians. Something none of the other doctors bother to teach her before because they all considered her competent enough due to her OR technique. She shed off some of her shyness and started to show her warmth, became bolder and more proactive to try to find ways to connect with people around her. She went from eating alone to always share a meal with other residents and/or Dr. Bong. She sassed Min-ha on her make up, kinda told off Jun-wan and behaved like a cutie pie around her honorary big brother Ik-jun. Gyeo-wool remained steadfast and composed through every professional and personal hardship, and her bluntness was no longer a weakness but a strength. I honestly believe that by watching Gyeo-wool in action, Jung-won learned a thing or two about perseverance and not running away but facing your troubles.

I also think Ik-jun didn’t tell Gyeo-wool about Jung-won’s feelings for her because he didn’t believe it was his place. Sure, he had his fun trying to get reactions out Jung-won and giving his support to Gyeo-wool but, at the end of the day, he knew it was Jung-won and Gyeo-wool the ones that needed to take matters into their hands and have a proper talk about their feelings.

When Mama Rosa witnessed that sweet, sweet, moment all the shippers were waiting for between Jung-won and Gyeo-wool, she saw her last hope. A last-minute Hail Mary. And while I think Mama Rosa put Gyeo-wool in a terrible position by asking her to stop Jung-won from becoming a priest, this was the first time Gyeo-wool got any indication that maybe her love could be successful. That her heart and instincts were in the right place. And despite the uncertainty that followed her through the entire first season, she went for it. Like the complementary sprinter she is to Jung-won’s marathoner. Watch out Usain Bolt.

What none of us knew by the time episode 12 started is that Jung-won had already made the decision to stay after the family of a patient thanked him for going the extra mile for their daughter. The past months of being able to have the 99ers as a support system at Yulje and having Gyeo-wool around to help him with his work, made him felt happiness and a new sense of fulfillment. For the first time in years, he was feeling the weight on his shoulders was lighter and his good friend Song-hwa could see it in his face. She knew all along he was in a crossroads about his profession. That scene in Song-hwa’s office was significant because it was the first time he voiced out his feelings and to his surprise, just like Ik-jun, Song-hwa knew all about his Lady Winter.

So, when Christmas arrived and Gyeo-wool finally musters up the strength to go to his office, everything comes together. Even though she thinks Mama Rosa is wrong about him having feelings for her or that she knows it’s not her place to interfere with his decision of becoming a priest, she still can’t let go of him. Meanwhile, he had decided weeks ago to stay at Yulje, in no small part because of her, and remained silent. He held back. Again! And fret over how, when or what to say - just like he did in front of the ER’s door- because he didn’t know how to start the conversation. Why? Because the fool himself put them in a strictly professional relationship by refusing to have any kind of interaction outside the cases they shared or the hospital.

But in that final scene at his office, Jung-won sees a vulnerable Gyeo-wool. Suddenly her emotional resilience is nowhere to be found and she is wide open for him to witness how much he has put her through over the past nine months. Even worse he realizes that she knew all along about his plans and said nothing. Gyeo-wool’s bravery makes him see himself for the coward he has been for the past three weeks. For the first time in the whole season, he stops overthinking, FINALLY does as his heart is telling him and jumps into action. Jung-won answers Gyeo-wool’s confession and request with tender affection, longing looks -that communicate he too has been struggling-, kisses and a hug. He didn’t need to say anything. Like Gyeo-wool taught him: actions speak louder than words.

[patandpran]

Lost and Found - A PangWave fic

Summary: Pang knows something is missing from his life and when he tries to remember, everything is blurry. Until he runs into a Gifted student named Wave with whom he feels an instant connection. Unfortunately, Wave wants nothing to do with Pang... or does he?

Post season 1, pre-season 2. My prediction about how Pang might get his memories back. 

There were times that Pang felt like he belonged to something but he often let those feelings go, especially when he remembered that he was in Classroom 8. He had always felt distant or different from others but when he didn’t get his Hogwarts letter when he turned eleven, his hope began to dwindle.

But when he went to his knew school, he felt like he had a chance. It was somewhat of a fresh start but somehow the first half of the year had been a dull blur and while he had had made some friends, there felt like there was something starkly missing. He tried many times to put his finger on it but the thought always seemed to to slip away before he could fully form it.

Until, one day, Pang passed someone that should have been a stranger in the hallway that practically swept the very breath from his lungs. The student was quite ordinary but had a fierce glare on his face and wore a pair of glasses that made Pang do a double take. He could have sworn the student’s gaze softened when he passed him but Pang might have been making things up.

Pang felt the urge to approach this stranger so he quickly turned and ran after him. Pang stepped in front of the student and quickly zeroed in on the ‘Gifted’ program pin that the stranger had on his crisp white shirt. Pang had no idea what he was going to say but the instinct to make a connection was stronger than his planning skills so he just ended up blurting out, “Hi.”

The student scrunched up his nose in what looked like an attempted facade of annoyance but Pang could see right through it. He boldly continued and shot out his hand to introduce himself. “I’m Pang. I feel like we might have met before… you seem familiar… but I don’t know your name. Sorry.”

The supposed stranger looked at Pang as if he came from a different planet but Pang caught a flicker of recognition in the student’s eye that betrayed the act that the stranger was putting on for a reason Pang could not possibly understand. Pang lowered his hand and asked, “What’s you name?”

“Wave.” The student muttered, his gaze falling to his shoes. The name made something shift slightly inside of Pang’s memory, although he could not quite connect it with anything concrete. All he knew, in that moment, was that he was determined to keep Wave talking. There was something about Wave that made Pang want to reach out to him and hug Wave in relief but he was not sure where the urge was coming from. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“You’re a part of the gifted program?” Pang prompted, eyeing the pin on Wave’s shirt.

At the question, Wave looked down at his shirt as if he was unsure of his response and when he met Pang’s eyes again, Wave looked as if wanted desperately share something with Pang but instead he remained silent and opted for a stiff nod in response.

Pang realized that he was likely making Wave uncomfortable with all the questions, so, as disappointing as it was, he took a step back and put distance between he and Wave. He still sensed some sort of link between them but Wave obviously did not want to clarify what it was about or maybe Pang was just looking too much for change in his life that he was making things up.

“Sorry.” Pang shared, stepping out of the way so Wave had a clear path to continue on his route to his next class. “I didn’t mean to startle you or upset you or anything. I just… something has felt like it has been missing from my life for a few months now and when I try to focus and decipher what it is, my memory is fuzzy. But then I saw you and something seemed to call out to me… Just forget I ever stopped you.”

Wave’s brows knitted together in the briefest moments of what Pang would define as concerned before it disappeared again. A look of rage replaced before Wave hissed, “I strongly suggest you keep your distance from me. There will be consequences if you don’t.”

Before Pang could object to the threat that Wave had thrown at him, Wave stalked away and disappeared into a computer classroom that only Gifted students had access to. Even if Pang wanted to follow him - and he wanted desperately to do so - it wasn’t worth the risk of being suspended for trying into somewhere he didn’t belong.

-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-

Weeks passed and Pang could not stop thinking about his interaction with Wave. It became somewhat of an obsession but whenever he tried to find Wave in the usual restricted portions of the school that were dedicated to the Gifted Program, Wave was nowhere to be found. Pang did not understand where this urgency was coming from but he felt as if something was slipping through his fingers and if he did not try to grasp for it, it would be gone forever.

The next time that Pang saw Wave, Wave was with a group of Gifted students. Pang and Nac were using a shortcut through the Gifted cafeteria to make it to the Rec field as they were about to be late for Physical Education. They did not usually use this route due to the risk of suspension but Nac insisted that it was worth it to avoid the wrath of their Gym teacher.

As soon as they stepped into the cafeteria, the students watched them like hawks, although Pang felt as if more of their attention was on him. When Wave’s eyes met Pang’s, Pang felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He did not know how a complete stranger could have this great of an impact on him. It made no sense.

Pang slowed his pace and muttered, “Nac, you keep going. I forgot something in the dorm but I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, see you in class.” Nac shrugged it off and continued on his way without looking back at Pang.

Pang took a deep breath and boldly approached the table that Wave was sitting at. As he got closer, Wave rose to his feet and a flicker of intensity rose through the group, as if they were preparing for some sort of battle against Pang.

As Pang looked each of the students over, there was something in his mind that whispered to him but he couldn’t make the message out. The frustration at this propelled him forward and he reached out to grab Wave’s wrist and despite the resistance that he felt immediately, Pang turned away and quickly led Wave away from the group. Wave did not protest audibly but he did put up a bit of a fight. Thankfully, Pang had the upper hand and nobody from the Gifted group seemed to be pursuing them.

Pang turned down a dimly lit hallway and found an empty classroom. He only let go of Wave’s wrist once he closes the door behind him. The classroom did not have much light but Pang could still see the look of distress and anger on Wave’s face. Pang felt immediately guilty about inflicting such emotions on Wave but as soon as he got the answers he needed, he would never bug Wave again.

“Wave. Please.” Pang urged and Wave turned away from Pang in retaliation. “I need to know what’s happening to me… I can tell you know something…. It feels like we know each other… Honestly, at this point, you can report me to the Director for all I care, I just need to understand why I am so drawn to you.”

“The Director would be the last person I shared this with.” Wave spat out as he turned back to face Pang.

Pang was shocked to see a look of fear in Wave’s eyes at the mention of the Director. It made Pang wonder what the hell Wave had meant then about consequences if Pang attempted something like this again if it had nothing to do with being expelled or suspended.

Wave hung his head, sat down on the edge of a desk and murmured, “We can’t do this, Pang. It’s too dangerous. You don’t understand what we’re up against here. It’s better if things stay the way they are.”

“No.” Pang protested and walked up to Wave. “I can’t go back to the way things were before I saw you, Wave. I…. I can’t stop thinking about you and I don’t understand why… were we…”

Wave looked up and the fear that had been in his eyes before was now replaced with shock. His question came out more as a whisper, “What are you asking me?”

Pang collected his thoughts. There was something drawing him to Wave and the Gifted Program but there was also a shadow of something else dancing in his memory. Even though Wave had put up a front of aggressiveness toward him, Pang somehow knew there was something else stirring beneath the surface that he inherently trusted and, for some reason, this made him want to take care of Wave. Pang recognized the pain that Wave was in, although he did not know the source, and it made Pang desperately want to wrap his arms around the person he weirdly felt like might be his best friend, although he recalled nothing of their history aside from the emotions that linked them together.

That was one thing about memory loss, you could take away the details but not the feelings behind them. Those still remained.

Pang took a risk and tried to share this with Wave in the only way he knew how. He reached down and pressed his lips to Wave’s gently. Their lips ghosted against one another and, at the contact, Wave’s breath hitched. Pang was shocked to find Wave putting up no resistance to the action so Pang brought his hands up to cradle Wave’s head in his hands before guiding them into a deeper kiss.

Wave seemed to be relaxing into the kiss despite his initial shock. Pang felt a wave of overwhelming emotions flowing through him but he tried to remained focused on the reality that Wave was actually kissing him back.

But then the pain in his head exploded and it sent Pang reeling back away from Wave. The pressure was beyond anything that he had ever endured before and he clutched his head to try to keep some of it at bay but nothing worked. He began to cry out and stagger around, trying to resist what was going on but the pain kept surging within his head.

“Pang!” Wave cried out in a tone that indicated his worry. “What’s going on?”

Even though he could not bear to open his eyes, Pang knew that Wave was close by so he reached out for Wave. Maybe Wave could help him somehow or, at least, Pang could find comfort in knowing Wave was there.

Wave found him and immediately put an arm around Pang and guided him to the group. “My head….” Pang moaned, the pain still ripping through him.

“I’m so sorry, Pang.” Wave shared in an urgent tone. “I should have worked harder to avoid you. I knew you were looking for me… I’m so sorry that this is happening to you…”

G - G - G - G - G - G

The memories came flooding back with a force of violence. Every detail from the first placement test, to meeting his classmates, to learning about their Potentials, returned to Pang in a swift flash of recollection.

He recalled his friendship with Ohm and Namtarn, the trials that they went through and the corruption they discovered as the year wore on. All the bizarre situations that they had navigated together as each classmate’s Potential became clear, even though Pang’s took the longest to discover.

But the thing that shocked Pang the most about his memories returning was that nothing explained his feelings for Wave. They had worked together to rise against the Director but they weren’t actually together.

So why had he felt such an urge to kiss Wave? Why was that what brought his memories back?

G - G - G - G- G- G

When Pang was able to re-gain consciousness, he found himself staring up at a very concerned looking Wave. He was seemingly lying in Wave’s lap, and, fuelled by his last thought, Pang scrambled anxiously away from his friend. The shame and guilt for kissing Wave weighed on Pang immensely.

“Wave. I’m sorry.” Pang muttered, avoiding eye contact with Wave. “Please just forget that happened. I think I was just confused about us being friends. It won’t ever happen again and we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Y-you’re back.” Wave responded in such a vulnerable tone that Pang could not help but look back at Wave.

The emotion in Wave’s eyes caught Pang off guard. He suddenly realized how difficult it must have been for Wave and the rest of the Gifted class to pretend as if they did not know Pang after everything that had happened - how painful and confusing that must have been when he got to go on back to his previous life and live in ignorance when he had been the cause of the problem.

A smirk replaced the look of relief on Wave’s face, “Took you long enough.”

Pang could not help but feel something in him unfurl. Despite crossing the line with the kiss, it seemed like Wave was just happy to have Pang back and that made Pang feel like they were back to where they had been right before he lost his memory. Things didn’t need to be weird now that they knew where they both stood and Pang had his memories back.

“Happy to be back.” Pang answered, a grin stretching across his lips.

“We tried so many ways to get you back.” Wave explained, shaking his head. “But we had to be so careful and none of them seemed to work until…”

“Until I kissed you.” Pang confirmed and felt the jolt of guilt return to him. “Like I said, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just pretend it never happened and tell everyone that you played the video for me somehow.”

“No. I don’t want to forget about it.” Wave explained and Pang felt his heart racing. “... I missed you so much.”

Pang could hear the pain in Wave’s voice and he dared to reach across the distance between them and grasp Wave’s hands in his. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you again. I missed you without even knowing what I was missing and look where it brought us. Wave, you’re what brought my memories back. If it took me losing them again to figure out how I felt about you, I’d do it.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Wave’s tone became stern and Pang chuckled fondly at how stubborn Wave was.

“So....” Pang leaned in closer to Wave. Pang was careful to not touch Wave as he asked the next question as he wanted to be absolutely sure that Wave was responding of his own free will, not because of Pang’s Potential. Pang continued, “I guess we should make up for some lost time. Can I kiss you again?”

Wave simply nodded. Pang closed the distance between them and brought their lips to meet once again. Whatever the future held, Pang knew that Wave and he could handle it. Now that he had his memories back, it was time to rise up against the Director and make a change but it was going to take everybody working together to make the kind of change they really needed.

Sometimes it took losing something to figure out what you wanted from it in the first place.

[starswornoaths]

A Little Fall of Rain - Commission!

A commission for the always lovely @anorptron, featuring an equally lovely Sage! Thank you so much for your support! \o/

Commission info!

cw: mentions of injury, mentions of death

5.0 spoilers ahead! Emet/WoL

After the sin eater attack on Lakeland, the Scions are at an all time low. Their morale is shattered, the high of their emotional and personal victories stolen from them by Vauthry’s cruelty.

And Emet-Selch should have been happy about that, so why wasn’t he?

After raising up and guiding both the Allag and Garlean Empires with his own hands, after dedicating multiple lifetimes to serving as both the Architect that built such civilizations to soaring heights, and the Harbinger of their downfall, Emet-Selch was more than aware of the delicate balance one had to strike between benevolence and wrath. When the time was right to be gentle and nurturing to a fledgling civilization, and when to bring his might as a sorcerer of eld to bear in order to tear it down at its zenith. 

Despite being one of his more resounding successes in sowing those seeds of chaos, Vauthry had no such natural affinity for wielding his authoritarian power with any semblance of grace or dexterity. Even in victory, Vauthry couldn’t help but act as a gloating child, jeering from an overhead loud speaker attached to his personal airship. 

It didn’t even matter that they were on the same side, technically: the sound of it alone was enough to grate on Emet-Selch’s patience. 

Vauthry’s bellowing, made tinny through the speaker he was projected through, rang sharply in his ears even now, after those gaudy Eulmoran airships had long since taken off for brighter skies. Even with the heaviness of the rainfall that had happened during the battle, and the fat droplets that yet stubbornly continued to fall in the ensuing stillness, were nowhere near as weighty as the defeat they suffered, nor the weight of the insult that Vauthry heaped upon them, on top of it all.

Emet-Selch should be happy. He should be pleased with the progress that his plans have made, now that the final pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. He should have taken this victory and rode its high as long as he could and just basked in it. The sin eaters besieging the already beleaguered people of the Crystarium— at the height of their hope, no less! — should have been the definitive moment of triumph that he had always thought it would be, his just reward for having played his part so perfectly.

So why did it all ring so hollow?

The wounded and dying soldiers, battered in both body and pride, barely paid him notice as he drifted about Fort Jobb as a wraith: silent, looming, practically gliding around the writhing and the eerily still alike. It was hardly a new experience, all but floating among the dead and the dying, and he paid it no mind.

“The tragedy that has befallen you is of your own making. Divine retribution for your defiance.” He distinctly recalled Vauthry taunting.

Cruel for both the callousness of the words and the lack of truth to them; those who dwelled on the First were hardly responsible for the circumstances that led them to this point— in particular when it was the Ancients that guided them to their fate, even before the Ancients themselves fully understood how they had arbitrated over their now fractured world.

They weren’t even people, these frail, fading fragments. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t stand up to destiny. Not even the Ancients could, once.

They weren’t his concern, besides. Hawkish gold eyes scanned the crumpled forms in search of someone familiar. In search of one soul in particular, though if any of those other miscreants were scuttling about, they would do: they would all lead him back to Sage.

It was ultimately the mistrustful gunblade wielder that Emet-Selch found first. Just as well; judging by the purposeful strides he was taking, he was going somewhere in a hurry. Keen on tracking down the Warrior of Light amid the aftermath of such a struggle but not wanting to have to subject himself to this particular buffoon’s empty words and threats, the Ascian hung back and observed from the shadows, as he did best.

A ponderous frown marred his face when he realized that Thancred was not, in fact, approaching the Warrior of Light, but instead speaking with one of the less wounded Crystarium guards. What benefit of the doubt he might have been inclined to give the Scion was promptly dashed when he then moved on to checking in on that discarded little shard of Hydaelyn’s voice— she had a new name, he vaguely recalled with disinterest. With a huff of frustration, he moved on to the next Scion.

That sorceress provided more promising results, for a blessing, as she did not tarry in tracking Sage down— but then, she’d admittedly not had to look far, as he was helping one of the wounded to her for healing just as she had begun her search for him. Feeling charitable— or perhaps, pitying them when they were at their lowest, Emet-Selch silently decided that this would make them even for him ripping her out of the lifestream. 

Sage himself was unsurprisingly nondescript as he helped that granddaughter of the Exarch’s into one of the cots that had been haphazardly set up for triage of the battered battalion.

Y’Shtola clicked her tongue in admonishment, even as she helped ease Captain Lyna down with him. The moment Lyna was settled, Sage withdrew and awkwardly straightened— awkwardly, because of the way it seemed like he couldn’t quite straighten himself to his full height. As if he were too injured to do so.

“Get yourself situated in one of the empty cots, Sage. I’ll be with you as soon as—”

“I’m not wounded.” Sage lied, hands attempting to be subtle as they cradled his side.

“Sage. I’m not completely blind. Nor a fool besides.” Y’Shtola pursed her lips, displeased, even as she had already begun to examine Lyna more meticulously. “You need tending to.”

The Raen’s face crinkled in an almost endearing way. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.” He insisted, unmoving and uncompromising as ever.

After a moment of scrutiny from the corner of her eye, Y’Shtola’s shoulders slumped, ever so slightly, as if in defeat.

“I will not beg you to lean on me, Sage. If you say you are well enough, so be it.”

Even Sage seemed surprised at her words, gaze flitting to the other Scions scattered about the triage center. The young boy twin in the blue coat, he seemed the most fretful, even as he continued to weave healing magicks on a soldier lying on the cot before him, with the assistance of his carbuncle. His sister winced as she looked away. That card flinging fae lover was nowhere to be found. If Emet-Selch had cared to guess beyond his indignation, he might have conceded that the man was simply using his healing magic elsewhere. The gunblade wielder sat on one of the cots, under the watchful eye of that little Oracle girl, both of them strangely silent.

When it was clear no one was going to truly argue with him, Sage took his leave and scurried off with a relieved expression on his face. Curiously, the Scions only looked all the more troubled for his leaving, even as they made no move to go to him.

He said nothing, and for a moment longer, observed from a distance. It was a curiosity, wanting to know how the Scions took Sage so obviously wounded and limping off, even as he felt a low roiling anger in the depths of his belly at how none of them even spared him a second glance as he left. 

“I can’t heal stubbornness.” Y’Shtola all but growled, as if to herself, her focus on the injured Captain.

It surprised him to hear that frustration in her voice almost as much as her dismissal of Sage had been to begin with. 

“Sage doesn’t like relying on us, you know that.” Thancred spoke, his voice oddly soft for how brusque the man had been in all the time Emet-Selch had known him.

They must not have realized he was standing there yet, still so caught up in attending to the wounded and shoring up what tattered defenses they had.

“But we are not leaving him to suffer.” Alphinaud piped up firmly, even as he didn’t look away from his task. “Once we’ve tended to the more immediate cases, he is getting healed.”

“As if that were in doubt.” Alisaie snorted, almost indignant.

Emet-Selch’s frown deepened. They might have thought that was truly good enough, but the thought of Sage being left in obvious agony for any length of time, even for reasons like this, sat poorly with him. Even disregarding what physical wounds he had, it was clear that Sage was already in obvious agony from the light that he had already absorbed.

And his task was not yet done! None of them were! Even as wounded and bleached out beyond all recognition as Sage was, those who purported themselves to be his dearest friends would leave him languish because he’s stubborn? Unacceptable.

“Let this be a lesson to all those who would walk the path of sin— the wicked shall not inherit this world!” Vauthry’s words again echoed in his mind. On that one point, they both agreed.

The writing was on the wall: things were looking grim for the Warrior of Darkness and his cohorts. If there was ever a moment for him to determine that Sage’s cause was unworthy, his abilities lacking, it would, sensibly, be here. 

And Emet-Selch should have been happy about it, Zodiark take him. This should have been a moment to gloat.

If the Scions had at all noticed him at any point before, during, or after that, he didn’t stick around long enough to find out for himself. He had already melted into the dark, already uninterested in their petty meandering and their simpering, hand wringing uncertainty . Now that he knew where Sage was, and understood that he would not be able to well and truly enjoy this victory without knowing that his enemy was alright, there was nothing else for him to do but try to make sure Sage was hale and whole.

A complication in his plan, the Warrior of Light. Emet-Selch wasn’t supposed to care.

That fact didn’t stop him from easily catching up to Sage, didn’t stop him from emerging into the moonlight and making the effort to appear as though his arrival was entirely coincidental— or at least, antagonistic.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He purred as though he happened upon Sage by complete accident.

The Raen met his gaze evenly; it would seem that there was no patience between either of them for ruses and games. Just this once, given the circumstances, Emet-Selch couldn’t find it in him to be bothered by Sage’s stoicism. It shocked them both when he reached for the Bard and caught his chin in his hand. Even as his own actions startled him, Emet-Selch refused to show it, tipping his own chin up to pointedly stare down his nose at the Warrior of Light.

“You can’t just flit to and fro with such injuries.” He clucked his tongue in admonishment, and he felt his nose wrinkle in displeasure of its own accord when Sage winced.

“...Yeah.” Sage agreed quietly. “Didn’t want to worry them, but...I’ve been better.”

That admission was enough to shock Emet-Selch down to his bones. Sage couldn’t say that to the Scions, but he could admit it to his enemy? For what? To what end? He scrambled to make sense of it— what angle was Sage trying to play, what advantage—

Sage flinched again when he tried to move, and practically bit his tongue when he jolted out of Emet-Selch’s grip to curl into himself, as if to try and shield his body from the pain. It was such a reactionary, in-the-moment movement that it would have been almost impossible to fake. 

He wouldn’t anyway, the thought occurred to him, even as he did not want it to.

Something akin to understanding, bone deep and centuries old, awakened in his chest when realization settled over him: like himself, Sage felt more comfortable being weak with someone who was an active threat to him than let himself be vulnerable in the company of his comrades. 

After a long moment where neither of them dared to move, Sage deflated around a sigh, and stole the breath from the Architect’s lungs altogether when he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the shoulder padding of his coat.

The contact made him seize up bodily in spite of himself. The two of them had always, always had distance between them, physically. It had been a safety precaution— on both their parts, he imagined— and it had been preferred. To have that line crossed, not with violence but with vulnerability, was a situation that he had never thought would come to pass. Most of all, because he never believed either of them would ever allow for such vulnerability to exist in the first place.

Most worrying of all, in particular for him, was that he was not repulsed by this new nearness, but instead bent his head down and curled, ever so slightly, into that horrifying new lack of space between them.

“...Sage?” Emet-Selch called his name quietly. He wasn’t sure whether he should be upset or not that his name felt natural to say, despite having never said it once before as anything but a curse, what few times he had said it at all.

He wasn’t even sure how that name felt on his tongue, when not wielded as a weapon to be brandished at the hero.

“Sorry.” The Bard mumbled, and swayed dangerously on his feet. “...Sorry—”

At the buckle of Sage’s knees, Emet-Selch’s arms were wrapped around him to keep him from collapsing onto himself in a heap, and though the motion made the Warrior of Light gasp in pain and clutch and claw at the back of the Ascian’s coat, Emet-Selch remained gentle, shushing him as he carefully knelt with Sage in his arms.

Every tender feeling he had buried since he had lost his first Imperial son rose to the surface, burning the otherwise numb and bitter bones of him. Even as he winced at the way it made the hollow of his chest ache, he held on just as tenderly to Sage, with no less care. In that moment, something inexplicable and undefinable had gripped his very soul, and something about the predicament they now found themselves in made Emet-Selch feel as though all he had in the world who might understand him was the man in his arms.

“Stubborn fool, playing at normalcy while you’re falling apart,” said the Architect, fond even in his insults. His voice was strangely thick with emotions he couldn’t name and daren’t examine. “What ever am I to do with you?”

Any response that Sage might have given him was cut off when he choked back a noise of pain again. He shifted, just barely, in Emet-Selch’s arms to ease the pressure off of his wounds, inadvertently pressing himself deeper in his enemy’s arms.

“Need to be strong for them.” Sage ground out, as if to chastise himself, through his clenched teeth. 

The words were half grumbled into the front of Emet-Selch’s coat, almost inaudible for what trickle of raindrops still pattered against their coats. Sage’s broad hands clutched at the back of his coat with such a desperation that he heard the thick cloth creak under the strain of his grip. He felt his heart squeeze in his throat. Even now, even beaten down so low, Sage would still wrestle with himself and rally every bit of strength he had in himself to fight. And for what? A group of ingrates that didn’t understand how much Sage mattered? Or if they saw, they did next to nothing to show it?

“No, you don’t.” He said darkly before he could stop himself. 

Sage looked up at him, but Emet-Selch was already overwhelmed, and avoided his gaze as he took a moment to swallow his heart. It still pressed hard against his throat when he spoke again, voice thick with everything he denied feeling.

“Do you not understand how tales work, hero?” He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I didn’t spend entire lifetimes as Emperors that built the arts just for story structure to be ignored.”

“This isn’t a fairytale, Emet-Selch.” Sage shook his head, still trying— and failing— to keep himself from grimacing. 

“Isn’t it?” He challenged. “Or have you already forgotten your role, hero? This is your low point. Your rock bottom before the triumphant rise. This is no time for you to hide your wounds away and act tough, or else you won’t be ready for the finale.”

The silence that Sage answered him with stretched on, marked only by the faint pitter patter of raindrops trickling down from the heavens again, inconsistent and faint as they were. It barely registered to the two men huddled around one another. Almost nothing else mattered but them in that moment.

At that point, there wasn’t much left to matter outside of them, for how thoroughly beaten down and all but decimated the Crystarium’s resistance was.

Sage looked up at him, and it was so, so hard to hold that piercing gaze when he was looking up at him so imploringly. Those eyes were too familiar for him to dismiss as a stranger’s gaze, but too different to let himself believe that he was fine with settling for this shard of his former friend. 

Too enchanting to pull away from.

“If you keep staring at me so, hero...I might think you are expecting something.” Emet-Selch managed around the lump in his throat. 

With the ongoing history of Sage flustering at such ribbing, he’d been all but praying to Zodiark that another such instance would be enough to snap the Warrior of Light out of such a state. Anything to bring back that tinge of strangeness with this new-old friend of his.

“A kiss, maybe.” 

Sage’s lips had barely wrapped around the last of his words before the look on his face told Emet-Selch all he needed to know: he had not meant to say that. The slack, shocked expression, the way his body tensed impossibly more, even through the agony and the injury, was enough for Emet-Selch to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was no ploy, no feint to try and catch his enemy on the back foot; in truth, Emet-Selch wasn’t even sure there was anything Sage could do in his condition, even if the doubt had been given any chance to take proper root in his mind.

Sage truly meant it. He wanted to kiss him. He might have laughed had he not been sent reeling by the revelation.

“And why would you want that, exactly? From me, no less?” He snorted before he could stop himself. When Sage tried to duck his head, Emet-Selch’s gloved hand shot out to hold his face there by the chin to force him to maintain their eye contact; if he couldn’t look away, then neither could Sage. “Ah, ah, ah, honesty is preferable among allies, is it not?”

“‘M no fool, Emet-Selch. I know this means all bets are off between us.” Sage ground out around another wince of pain. “Is it so awful to want a soft goodbye?”

Somehow, despite how adept he was at laying out blueprints for a plan aeons in advance, the thought hadn’t even occurred to the Architect, to end their alliance here. After one loss, even one as catastrophic as this? Even as Sage’s purported enemy, that struck him as grossly uncharitable, even were he to not account for the victories that had led the Scions here.

“Were you not listening, hero?” He sneered down his nose at the battered Bard. “I told you. This is your low point. Your rock bottom before the triumphant rise.”

When Sage opened his mouth— to retort, to gawk, it didn’t matter— Emet-Selch sealed it with his own.

Despite the man asking for it, Emet-Selch expected some level of resistance, some sort of tension, something to imply that Sage had some sort of misgiving. Something to tell him that this was wrong, that they were wrong for bridging that divide between enemies in search of something softer. 

There was no sign to be found, and its absence doomed them both.

Sage all but melted into him, those large hands of his moving in the scant space between them to clutch and claw at his robes, to pull him closer, as if breathing him in would be enough to mend the wounds and the light that have ravaged his body. His grip was so strong, Emet-Selch could hear the leather and the dense fabric of his coat creak between his fingertips. For a moment, it felt as though it were his heart that Sage was squeezing for the rush of endearment that hit him. It was enough for him to cup Sage’s face in his gloved hand, enough to inspire gentleness in him that he had long forgotten.

When had he last kissed someone, and so earnestly? His last wife, when he was the young Garlean Emperor, perhaps, but even then, his attachments to mortals were typically ephemeral, fleeting. He had made the mistake of loving the families he had helped to build, only for them to be lost to him all over again. As if Zodiark himself punished him for straying, for forgetting his first family, from an all but forgotten time when he didn’t know the fear of losing those he loved. 

Sage should have been no different. He should have been a passing curiosity, a flickering comet streaking across the night sky, momentary and easily forgotten. Not this...this aching, raw reminder of the person he used to be, even as every detail that did not match the friend he remembered was as a knife to his heart. 

There was a passing temptation, an itch, beneath Emet-Selch’s skin to rip his gloves off, to feel the Warrior of Light’s skin and scales beneath his fingertips— but that would require him letting go of Sage. The thought of it rankled something dark and possessive, awakened that long slumbering want to covet and keep. 

That wriggling want nestled itself beside that longstanding ache for the one that came before, the one that had shattered into so many fragments and scattered them among the stars. That this fragment was warm and familiar and solid was enough to stir Zodiark into pulling hard at the back of his mind— remember. Remember who you have lost. Remember who I can yet save.

Emet-Selch buried all of it— the whispers of his Lord, the almost-familiarity, the passing impulse, and his fingers, all in Sage’s hair when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It was hard to block out all of those warring thoughts, the thundering of his own heart, all of it, but the taste of Sage on his tongue made that struggle worthwhile.

In truth, it was harder for either of them to know where one ended and the other began anymore— or what any of this meant for them going forward. 

It startled him, how reluctant he was to pull away from Sage. By all rights, it should have been nothing but a performative gesture, a hollow token of false affection. It should have made him feel nothing. As it stood, it felt like he were drowning, it felt like he could not breathe for fear of letting even more of Sage into his very being, but he couldn’t help but gasp deeper between kisses. Intoxicated, he could only let Sage rest his weight bodily against him and hold him as tightly as he dared for Sage’s injuries.

With some paltry space between them, Emet-Selch thought, however foolishly, however desperately, that he might regain some of his good sense. But then Sage took longer than him to open his eyes, and oh, but that dreamy, dazed expression and the slow blink at him was almost enough to inspire further foolishness and kiss him again. He was fearful that he would never stop, and they would never get anywhere.

The expression on Sage’s face made it plain that there was something he wanted to say, but a worrying pop from somewhere around his hanging ribs sent him flinching as far away as the circle of Emet-Selch’s arms allowed him with a gasp of pain. It was enough to remind Emet-Selch that he was in desperate need of care. Care that he had run from when it was offered— the sweet fool. Such a pitiful state didn’t suit him.

When Emet-Selch tutted in gentle admonishment, Sage stilled, and again, those eyes captivated him, even wide and gawking as they were. Even the facade of irritability couldn’t withstand such an earnest expression, and he gentled, the hand that had held Sage’s face close once more bridging the distance between them, molding to his cheek. Even as he couldn’t feel much through his glove, he smoothed his thumb back and forth across Sage’s cheekbone.

“Mark me, hero,” Emet-Selch said softly, in the most authoritative tone he could muster, even knowing that he couldn’t muster much in the wake of the tumultuous tides of his heart. “This maudlin pall ill suits you. This is not the end— not of your struggles, and thus, not of our truce.” 

Sage’s expression twisted into one of pain again— emotional and physical both— and a part of Emet-Selch hated that he had to put such a weighty mantle on his shoulders again. Even on opposing sides of the conflict, it was undeniable that the both of them were the Scions of their people. The last bastion of hope and love and grief, meant to stem the tide of the other. 

Despite the inevitability of their fate, Sage was brilliant enough to make Emet-Selch dare to hope, even through the tempering and his own resignation at their destined clash.

And the Warrior of Light needed that hope to be rekindled in him, to spur him to go on, Emet-Selch realized, and made a point to look down his nose at Sage as he gripped his chin to force his gaze to stay on him.

“If you’re so desperate to beg your enemy for a kiss, then let me promise you another, when you can show me the night sky in Kholusia.”

Sage’s eyes widened impossibly further. His mouth opened to try and speak, but even through feeling the muscle of his jaw as he tried to work out what words to say, Emet-Selch didn’t let go of his chin.

“Sage!” Another voice called out breathlessly, shattering whatever spell they had cast on one another.

It was enough to get Sage to wrench his head free of Emet-Selch’s grasp. He snapped his focus to his approaching comrade— the astrologian one, for the life of him, Emet-Selch couldn’t find it in him to care enough to remember his name.

“Urianger—” Sage gasped.

Ahh, that had been his name, then. Or perhaps a choked back sneeze. Emet-Selch didn’t particularly care one way or the other in that moment.

Though a part of Emet-Selch was relieved to have the trance they had fallen into broken, it still startled him how much of himself was so reluctant to extricate himself from Sage; he had thought that the moment he remembered himself, it would be repulsed by his own behavior, his own fondness— weakness— for Sage, but even in that moment as he saw the elezen approach, he could only mourn the end of this moment for what it was.

Still, it wouldn’t do to let that weakness be visible— as the Ascian Architect, Emet-Selch had a reputation to uphold, after all. Though he, too, had turned his head in the direction of the approaching Scion, he glanced back at Sage, still loosely in his grip, from the corner of his eye. Half out of habit, and half out of fondness, the corner of his lips curled into a grin on its own.

“Best get to it, then, hero.” He said. “I’m an impatient paramour. Tick tock.”

Sage couldn’t stop himself from tightening his hold on the front of Emet-Selch’s coat in a desperate bid to keep him there, even as he knew better than to hope that the Architect wouldn’t fade into the shadows, out of his reach.

Again.

All the same, he clung to that comforting, somehow familiar presence until it literally slipped through his fingers, wisps of smoke and shadow and not of this world. A grim reminder of their differences— and of what fate will have in store for them, should Sage fail to hold up his end of their agreement.

He opened his hand, staring down at his empty palm, and tried not to contemplate such grim thoughts. 

When Sage tried to stand on his own, he was reminded of the other wounds he bore that forced him to his knees in the first place. For a blessing, rather than having to brace for crashing back to earth after barely managing more than a crouch, it was Urianger’s arm looped through his arms, around his back, that kept him from that jarring impact.

“Be at ease— I have thee.” Urianger reassured, the arm not holding him upright as he straightened glimmering with starlight and gently laid over Sage’s chest. “Thou mayest seek the comfort of the Architect, as is thy prerogative, I wouldst only beg thee to not do so to escape relying on thy friends.”

“Uri—” Sage winced, tempted to avert his eyes.

“I beseech thee, hark to mine words: we art here for thou, as comrades and family alike. We always have been, even as we hath failed to support thee as we should have.”

Maybe it was Urianger’s healing magic, but even his words acted as a balm on Sage’s battered soul. Reluctant as he might be to believe it, he could only look at the evidence— and when he forced his head up at the sound of more approaching footsteps to see Y’Shtola, Alphinaud, and Thancred in tow, he couldn’t help but believe that they truly wanted to bridge that gap that had always been there, between them.

“Forgive our delay— we only waited so long as we did for the Crystarium healers to arrive.” Y’Shtola spoke, her voice much gentler than it had been when Sage left them at the triage tents. “Alisaie is preparing a bed for you with Chessamile as we speak. Come, let us help you.”

“No need for the fuss—” Sage tried to insist, when Thancred, swift as the wind itself, swooped in— quite literally— to lift Sage’s legs so he was suspended between himself and Urianger’s efforts.

“Sage, you might not open up to us as much as we might hope, but we’re not stupid. There is absolutely a need for the fuss. Now let us fuss.”

Alphinaud nodded in agreement, but his efforts were focused on joining his healing magic to Urianger’s. Even just the immediate relief of not feeling any of the pain from his wounds was enough to flood Sage’s every sense with contentment, though that feeling was immediately chased with the sheer exhaustion he hadn’t been able to feel through the pain and the stubbornness and his own aching heart, twisted and conflicted and longing as it was for a living shadow now beyond his reach.

“All will be well, Sage. Thou needs but have faith.” Urianger promised him, as he had done for Ryne before him.

As he faded off, rocked to sleep by the gentle swaying of Urianger’s and Thancred’s coordinated footfalls, Sage made a desperate wish: let me one day believe that, even as he had just enough faith to fall asleep in their company and know that he was safe and taken care of. Between the healing magic and the calm that swept through him, it was easy to drift away to slumber, even as he could feel the little pinpricks of raindrops tapping at his skin and scales.

He paid it no mind. What was a little fall of rain, after all?

[andromedarune]

Bede x Hop Request:“Just Desserts” (p2)

REQUEST ~ “I have one, it’s a hop x bede where bede feels bad for being mean to hop, but is too scared of apologizing to him in fear of rejection. Due to his past at the orphanage and his overall fear of being left alone again. So he decides to send homemade desserts to hop with secret messages ,anonymously . Hop Figures it out when the desserts stop coming after bede gets sick badly ( maybe a bad fever from exhaustion, anything that stops him from baking will do). You can include opal or the other gym leaders teasing hop on who could be sending the treats. I hope this is okay.”

A/N: Alright, here’s the conclusion to my mini-fic requested to me earlier in the week! I definitely got carried away with the prompt, but I really wanted to nail the emotions being presented here (because there are A LOT). Not sure if I accomplished that, or much else, tbh... Oh well! Give it a read anyway and hopefully it’s decent? Thank you!

It’s hard to really say that his work could possibly follow a routine. There were the basic things that always remained the same, of course; he’d wake up a seven in the morning every day, feed Dubwool before he started eating his bedsheets, do whatever morning chores his mother had waiting for him, head to the lab, basically become free slave labor for Sonia for the next eight or so hours, come home to a few more chores, then pass out on the couch while working on some papers before magically waking up the next morning in his bedroom. That was probably the closest thing to a routine he’s ever had, all things considered. But Hop never really minded the idea of a routine or the lack thereof; so long as he got to have some fun at some point, he didn’t mind. And it was safe to say that being the new professor’s assistant was far from what he would consider a boring life.

But he wasn’t sure how he felt about getting comfortable with someone constantly leaving lovely gifts for him every single week.

The first one came in, leaving the assistant incredibly puzzled. It wasn’t anybody’s birthday, here, so that idea was dashed. Maybe Leon brought it for Sonia? Hop shook his head; he wasn’t so quick to assume something like that, especially since Leon had never mentioned anything about giving Sonia presents beforehand. Nevertheless, the youth brought his findings to his boss, who was equally as perplexed as him. So the two opened up the box as well as the letter. A beautiful cake, and an eloquent letter apparently dedicated to Hop. Now that was a plot-twist.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer~,” Sonia nudged his shoulder, still giggling at the way he was completely frozen in a state of perpetual embarrassment. Maybe he should have investigated on his own before bringing it to Sonia.

“D-definitely not!” Hop finally found his words, wincing at his voice crack. He thought he had enough of that when his voice started changing. Apparently it wasn’t done with him.

“Oh yeah? What did that letter say? Something about the ‘brilliant radiance of determination reflecting like the sun in your eyes’?”

“Sonia, please,” Hop slapped his hands over his face.

She laughed some more, giving him a good pat on the back.

“Relax - there’s nothing wrong with having a secret admirer. It’s actually really sweet and adorable.” She picked up the letter, flipping it around a few times in her hands. “Though, they didn’t seem to leave a name. Any ideas on who it might be?”

“No clue. I honestly didn’t think that anybody’d actually think of me like that…”

“What? Of course they do! You’re a total catch, Hop - not for me though, ‘cause that’s gross.”

“Yeah, gross,” Hop finally laughed, lowering his hands to inspect the cake a bit. It really did look good. Chocolate cake was always delicious. “So, should we eat this now or…?”

“Who, me? No way - this is your secret admirer. You eat it.”

Before Hop could argue, Sonia sashayed out of the room, snatching up some of the documents she had brought into the room. Once she was gone, the boy simply sighed, glancing back down at the cake. Well, best not let it go to waste. He sat himself down, skimming over the letter a few more times. Who in the world could it be?

A week went by, and he had forgotten about the letter and cake. But they, apparently, did now forget about him.

“Another?” he blushed down at the box on the ground. He didn’t even need to look inside to know what it was. Hop looked around, hoping to find a sign of somebody around the entrance to the lab. Nothing but Rookidees. He sighed, kneeling down to pick up the gift. I don’t even know if Lee gets stuff like this, he thought to himself, pulling the simple envelope up to investigate. Maybe they left a clue this time…

But, just like before, there was no discernable way to figure out the identity of the mysterious benefactor. He opted to hide from Sonia’s teasing, hiding himself up in one of the numerous study rooms that the main laboratory had to offer. The letter was similar to before; beautifully crafted words of admiration, noting the many qualities of the assistant that he hardly noticed himself. He could note, though, a strange familiarity in the writing. ‘I had never known shame until I saw myself in your teary eyes.’ So obviously they knew each other - unless this was all metaphorical. Hop was never good at metaphorical writing. But Hop didn’t exactly interact with a lot of people, these days. He’d occasionally get to hang out with Gloria if she had time off; maybe it was her? He shook his head at that. The girl wouldn’t know bashful if it hit her in the face. A shy confession like this definitely wasn’t her style. Maybe Marnie. He hoped not. They never really spoke to each other, even during the gym challenge, but that was mainly because Hop wasn’t sure if he was more scared of her or her brother. But fancy homemade cakes didn’t really fit her style, either, so that was out. Who else did he know?

Not really anybody else. He sighed, skimming through the letter a few times more before resigning to just eat the cake and return to work. It was, unfortunately, amazingly delicious. Better than even the fancy cakes up in Wyndon. Whoever this person was, they really knew how to bake; Hop just wished he could finally figure it out so he could thank them or something. Do you even thank secret admirers? How does all this stuff work out? Definitely too much for him to figure out.

Four weeks later, and it became an unfortunate addition to his routine. Friday would roll around, and Hop would eagerly rush through his work without even noticing. Sometimes Sonia would comment, other times, she’d just wink and saunter off. Hop tried not to think about it too much - anticipation really did get annoying, even for him - so he sought to busy his mind with work until the time came upon him.

The clock ticked on, and so did the day. Before he knew it, the sun was setting, the whistle of the tea kettle from the kitchen signalling the end of his shift. Sonia called him over to join her for some tea, usually her way of saying thanks for all his hard work. He had barely walked into the room when Sonia leaned onto the kitchen table, curious eyes searching for some juicy gossip from his own golden irises.

“So, I noticed that we didn’t get any… special deliveries today.”

Hop blinked.

“Huh, so that’s what felt off today,” he tried to say, hoping that he could save face just a little bit.

“So? Does that mean that you’ve figured out who they are?”

The teenage boy grimaced, running a hand across the nape of his neck. It was a little sore today; maybe he slept wrong?

“Uh, well, uh… not really.”

“Huh?” Sonia slapped the table. Oh no, it’s happening - she’s getting worked up over something that doesn’t involve her again. “You’re serious?! Your secret lover didn’t send you a gift today and you don’t know why?!”

“W-well, th-they’re, uh, not really, um - we’re not -”

“Hop this is serious!” she lunged for him, grabbing his shoulders. “This person has faithfully been leaving you sweet gifts every Friday for over a month, now, and just magically stops doing it out of nowhere?!”

“Maybe… they forgot?”

“TRUE LOVE DOESN’T FORGET, HOP!”

This lady really needs to lay off the chick-flicks. But Hop had learned the hard way never to point out stuff like that when Sonia was in one of her manic moods.

“S-sure it doesn’t…” he tried not to sound creeped out.

Sonia sighed, putting her hands on her hips as she sent him a sassy pout.

“I’ve seen this in a show once - the person with unrequited feelings reaches out in their own way to their crush, but then something bad happens to them, so the crush has to be the one to help them.”

“I don’t think that’s what happens in real life -” Sonia shot him another look and he promptly shut up.

“Yes, of course!” she smiled, ignoring Hop’s previous comment entirely. “You have to find out who your secret admirer is quickly or else something terrible might happen to them - if it already hasn’t! Maybe they’ve been hit by a car! Or were kidnapped! Or are terminally ill and only your love can save them!”

“How are you a nationally-acclaimed pokemon professor?” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s settled then - here’s your mission, Assistant Hop! Figure out who can bake a cake like that, and you’ll find your true love! Easy, right?”

Hop nodded, not really understanding what she was saying, but was desperate enough to just lie to escape her nonsense. She was probably just overexaggerating like always, but he also didn’t want this mysterious person to be hurt. Maybe something did happen to interrupt the once steady flow of kind words and delicious foods? And thus began his search.

As terrible as it felt, the first person Hop went to was Leon. His big brother no doubt had handled situations like this before, so Hop swallowed his pride and approached his brother on the subject. Once he finally got Leon to stop laughing, he explained the whole situation from start to finish.

“Well,” Leon stroked his chin, at least pretending to seem semi-serious, “I don’t think I personally know any high-caliber bakers. But if I’m remembering things correctly, I think Opal is said to have legendary baking skills that practically nobody can compare to.”

Hop grimaced, but Leon quickly waved his hands before his brother full-on threw up everywhere at the thought of Opal being his secret admirer.

“No, no, no! I’m not saying she’s the one sending them - I’m just wondering if she taught the person who’s sending them.”

Hop leaned back a bit, trying to think. He didn’t really know too much about Ms. Opal (other than that she was an eccentric rich lady at an unknown age who seems to enjoy dressing people in bright shades of pink). But if there was a chance that she knew the identity of his mysterious benefactor, then he was willing to investigate a bit further. He opened his mouth to thank his brother, but a dark scowl suddenly flashed over his features. Leon blinked.

“Uh… everything alright there?”

“I just remembered,” Hop growled, “that if I want to even get close to Opal, then I’ll have to see that jerk again.”

“Who, Bede? Like I’ve said a thousand times, don’t worry too much about him. I hear he’s really mellowed out these days. Maybe all that pink finally seeped into his brain.”

Hop scoffed, but otherwise kept all his venomous comments at bay. He thanked his brother for the help and hurried out the door, making his way towards Ballonlea.

Ballonlea was always a difficult place to get to. A big contributor to that issue was due to Glimtangle Forest, which was basically a mystical maze that had posed as a major threat to countless gym challengers as well as general travellers for years. This is why most people opt for a flying taxi whenever they need to get to the city, but even then, some mystical fairy nonsense occasionally will cause a detour for whatever poor soul happened to be flying over the forest. Thankfully for Hop, this wasn’t the case, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervously twiddling his thumbs at the apprehension of having to navigate that nonsensical forest when in such a hurry.

He jumped out of the taxi, offering a berry to the Corviknight before making his normal dash for one of the most ornate buildings in the quaint town. It wasn’t hard to find Ms. Opal’s house when it was so amazingly decorated - it was borderline gaudy with the amount of pinks and purples passionately strewn about the house’s complex design. He wasted no time, bounding up the fancy front steps, grabbing the old-fashioned door knocker, and knocked. A few breaths passed him by as he shoved his sweaty hands into his pockets. What was he even nervous for?

After a couple of moments, the door opened, revealing the ever intimidating Ms. Opal, the now retired fairy-type gym leader of Ballonlea.

“Well, if this isn’t a… pleasant surprise,” she smirked, seeming almost deviously pleased in the teen’s awkwardness. “Running errands for the professor today, hm?”

“A-actually, I, um….” Hop took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. “I’m actually here to ask you something.”

She nodded, tapping the ground a couple times with her cane.

“Of course you are. Come inside, then.”

Before the assistant could protest, the elderly woman was already shuffling away deeper into the depths of the house. Hop could only sigh as he followed behind her. It was painfully frustrating; she took tiny steps and dragged her feet along the somehow pristine wooden floors, so Hop had to take the world’s slowest pace at the constant protest of his long legs. But over the course of a year, he’d managed to attain some semblance of calm, deciding that it would be best if he didn’t complain too much around the person he was seeking assistance from. Once he got the information he wanted, he could run around to his little heart’s content.

Eventually, Ms. Opal halted just before a beautiful white staircase, spiraling all the way up into the rather tall ceiling above.

“So, tell me,” she mused through sharp, invasive eyes, “what was it you were hoping to ask of me?”

“I… was curious to know if, um… Well, uh… if you happened to have any knowledge in baking. L-like, y’know, a cake, or something…”

Opal’s eyebrows twitched upwards just a centimeter. She brought a hand to her chin in dramatic thought.

“In my earlier days, I was quite proficient at it. But I don’t bake nearly as much as I used to.”

“Then… is there, um, a chance that you might have taught someone how to bake like you?”

She paused, staring intently at the boy with an amused expression. Hop was beginning to wonder if he really wanted the answer to this question. Before he could make up his mind to flee, she let out a small chuckle.

“Ah, but of course. My protege has been trained in everything I know how to teach. Head up these stairs and you’ll find your secret admirer.”

A stone of dread sank into the depths of his gut. Maybe Ms. Opal had more apprentices? It definitely couldn’t be the person he was thinking it was, right? No, that would be silly - impossible, even. But there seemed to be no turning back now. Hop swallowed his fears and slowly began his way up the stairs, trying to ignore the apprehensions racing through his fingertips.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Bede rolled onto his other side, desperate to find a position that made existence a little less agonizing. A dreadful fever had overtaken his body, unrelenting in its rage for the past four days, leaving the normally active youth bedridden the entire time. Hatterene was on nursing duty, constantly checking her trainer’s temperature and switching out his face towel in an attempt to ease the fever. Sylveon was stubbornly nestled under the covers, desperate to get as close to his body as physically possible. Not like Bede could really scold it even if he wanted to; he didn’t want to waste his energy on pointless yelling. So, he reluctantly stayed in bed, allowing his devoted pokemon to care for him while he waited for his body to recover. But a knock on the door earned a frustrated grown from him.

“What?” he hissed, trying to speak through a throat chalked full of phlegm. Hatterene nudged his shoulder, reminding him to watch his emotions. She was a sensitive thing, that Hatterene. Bede sat up, watching the door open and fully expecting to get an earful from that old woman again. So it’s safe to say that his heart entirely stopped when he saw Hop sheepishly shuffle in, wringing his hands nervously before his chest.

This… this couldn’t really be happening, right? No - he must be dreaming. Yes, that’s it. This was just a fever-induced nightmare. Bede would wake up in a moment’s notice and be in his bed once more, alone with only the company of his pokemon to rely on, just like always. Just like always. Just like always.

“Um…” Hop kept his eyes on the ground, brows knitted tightly together. Bede wasn’t sure if the boy was frustrated, sad, or confused. It all just looked like a blur of emotions constantly shifting across the assistant’s tan face. “... It’s… been a while.”

Bede opened his mouth with full intent to say words, but none dared to come to fruition. So he closed his mouth, pushing his aching body up to his elbows. How pathetic he felt right now, sick in bed with this person who confused him so annoying bad being unable to look at him. Maybe it would be best if Hop just left. At least then Bede would be familiar with the feelings in his chest. He didn’t know what he was feeling right now.

“So…” Hop cleared his throat, attempting to meet Bede’s eyes, but quickly looked off to the side. “I… I just wanted to ask if… if you’re… um…”

The light-haired boy felt a bead of sweat tumble down his brow. Surely it was from the heat of the fever, right? No way was he this nervous. No, no, Bede always kept his cool. Especially when beign confronted by the person he sort of kinda maybe almost possibly liked. Not that he did, anyway. Because that would be stupid. And Bede definitely wasn’t stupid. Right?

Hop sucked in a sharp breath of air, balling his hands into fists as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Are you the person who’s been sending me those gifts?” he threw the words out, trying to ignore his own flurry of conflicting emotions going through him at the moment. He didn’t know how to feel about either possible answer. Could he be happy with either one?

The intensity in the air rose a few degrees, making every breath laborious. Bede glanced towards Hatterene for some sort of support - he didn’t really know why he did. She smiled back at him, cooing a few unintelligible sounds.

Well, by the gym leader’s logic, if Hop was destined to abandon him like everybody else, then it really didn’t matter if he knew the truth, then, right? It didn’t matter of Hop found out this terribly dreadful secret Bede’s been carrying with him for over a year. According to the assistant, Bede was still Bede. Cold. Egotistical. Conniving. After everything that had happened, it was ridiculous to hope that Hop could ever forgive Bede, and nobody could blame him. And even if he could, it wouldn’t last. No, Bede would surely find some way to screw things up, or wouldn’t be enough to make Hop happy in any condition. Hop would leave, and eventually Ms. Opal will leave, just like the chairman and his foster parents and his parents that never came back and

“So what if I am?” the words hissed past his lips, far more venomous than he meant. Oh well. It didn’t matter. The outcome would be the same, anyways.

Hop flinched back a bit at the sharpness of the other boy’s words, but his conflicted expression remained stable. Once he collected himself, he took another deep breath. Slower, this time, as if to savor the taste of oxygen flowing through his lungs.

“Why?”

A painfully simple question. Remarkably, it was also one Bede hadn’t really expected. He really should have thought this through.

Why did he bake those cakes? Why did he write those letters? Why did he send them to Hop? Why did he feel this way? Why, why, why?

It eventually became obvious that Hop wasn’t going to hear a response. Bede had opted to glaring holes into his duvet, fingers tangling themselves within the fluffy pink fabric. Ah, pink, the color of so many things: sweetness, innocent attraction, adoration, and - evidently - embarrassment. There was no way to hide such a shade from the plush of his cheeks. How bothersome.

“... Did you really mean what you said in those letters?”

Bede looked back over at Hop for the briefest of moments, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. Much confliction remained, but there was something else there, now, amid the tempest of clashing feelings depicted on the teen’s face. Perhaps Bede really was having a fever dream. No way there was actually a bit of hopefulness in Hop’s eyes.

Maybe that’s what pulled out a strange sentence from Bede’s mouth.

“Every word.”

Hop shied his gaze away, seeming a bit more bashful as he rubbed the nape of his neck. Now Bede was really confident that he was the color of embarrassment. Maybe a bit too red though. The assistant stuttered an awkward laugh, trying to ease the thickness of the air while Bede shifted a bit more upright. Sylveon didn’t appreciate that motion, evidently, and crawled onto it’s trainer’s lap. Instinctively, Bede ran his fingers through the creature’s fur, desperate to distract himself from his non-fever related warmth. He looked back over to Hop, who seemed to still be processing the gravity of those words, and another sentence slipped out without Bede’s permission.

“Are you going to leave?”

Hop met his gaze, surprised.

“What?”

Bede took a small breath, losing just the smallest smidge of confidence in his words as he took the initiative to repeat them.

“... I said, are you going to leave?”

“Do you want me to?”

Here it was. The moment he had been unknowingly dreading. If he says yes, then Hop will no doubt walk away forever, and Bede would be back in his element of loneliness. Or, he says no, and takes a risk he never expected to take willingly. He would be clueless, a Magicarp out of water, left with nothing to keep himself steady but the hope that Hop would guide him through the confusion. Could he really take that chance?

“... No.”

Bede couldn’t keep his eyes on Hop. This was it, the deepest layer of his person; everything he was had been revealed in only a handful of words, leaving nothing but a fearful child afraid of being left behind by the people he loved. And now Hop could see the truth behind Bede’s every action and every word. This was blind faith in its simplest form, the gym leader unsure of what exactly he was hoping for.

“Okay.”

His eyes shot back up, genuine surprise (and a tinge of fear) written all over his flustered face. Hop stared back at him, hands shoved deep in his pockets with a curious expression on his face. What could that guy be thinking when he stared at Bede so intently?

“O-okay? Okay… what?” Bede’s voice died down syllable by syllable, reduced to nothing but a faint whisper by the end of it. Hop gave a timid smile. Perhaps a bit afraid, but a little hopeful, still. Such a strange expression on such a tender face.

“I’ll stay.”