#but also how it gets harder and harder to justify as you get and farther from the situation

[thefictionshelf]

fascinated by the reoccurring motif in conan's music of "your new lover looks just like me" . cause they all occur in songs about emotional rot. stagnation. the inability to move on despite distance in time or space or intimacy. it's one of the overarching themes of his whole discography and yknow it's just like. it's over but clearly it's not. are we gonna talk about it? and it's not like completely irreverent but it's not like pleading either. it's "you're like sooooo obsessed with me" and "if you want me take me" at the same time but it's also neither. It's always a question. what do you want me to think? what do you want me to do? I can't ignore it but it can't go back to the way it was. he's stuck. he's always standing at the exit UGhghhghghg

Lookalike - Sunset Season/Fight or Flight - Kid Krow/The Exit - Superache

[redux-iterum]

Sometimes I just have to reread and reread and take in how you’ve written Fireheart because it’s just so…

He’s just so good. So genuinely and unceasingly good. He cares so much and more than that he’s wise. Sometimes a character will say something and I go ‘there’s no way to comfort someone about this’ and then five minutes after that Fireheart says something wise that makes me rethink some shit that I, a real life human, am doing. Which is hard! This is harder to write convincingly than a strong character, because a character like Fireheart whose greatest strength is his heart HAS to follow through. And he has to be genuinely emotionally intelligent in a way that can’t just be, like, told. It has to be shown. And you manage to show that to us flawlessly, constantly, and consistently.

Like, man. No wonder everyone loves this guy. I love this guy. Absolute favorite version of Fireheart that I have EVER read.

Also, follow-up, Cloudpaw’s situation. You managed to make it not kind of infuriating, you found a reason for what he was doing that honestly broke my heart, and you did it all so naturally I’m still reeling over it. And then you managed to have Fireheart make an argument so convincing without contradicting the beliefs that he already has (ie: he’s not a xenophobe) and it just. Man. I hadn’t even thought of come of that stuff. I’ll be honest, I remember reading the original series and thinking it was morally neutral for Cloudpaw to go eat kittypet food, and now I’m rethinking it!

It IS rude to steal food. It IS rude to feed yourself in a way you can’t share with the people you love who are in constant threat of starvation. I always thought of it as a practical way to feed himself that didn’t take from his clanmates but…it isn’t fair, is it? It’s not fair at all for him to do that. Most of the argument in the original series felt like ‘OTHER CULTURE BAD AND WRONG AND YOU WRONG FOR PART IN IT’ and it made me kind of side with Cloudpaw out of sheer spite. But this is so much better! Actual arguments! And REASONS! That make sense for why these kitty people are doing what they do and thinking how they think!

We always say the Erins were two steps to the left of greatness with these battlecats. I think they were actually two miles away, because they have never provided the characterization they need. I think they were two miles away because the premise is great, sure, and they can handle plot but they are incapable of making these cats feel like the people they are. The Warriors Clans in the original never felt like a community because every individual never felt like a living person and I think that’s a problem much farther than two steps away from greatness.

Anyways, all of this is to say: You’re doing great work and thank you for this latest update! I’ve been trying to comment more lately :D Share thoughts and stuff.

I absolutely adore these long, analytical asks. Thank you for this, and for so many compliments!

Fireheart is such a fun little guy to write specifically for his goodness, and how everyone around him interacts with that. It's not often that I get to handle a character as dedicated to compassion and love as him. His entire being is based around "I care" - that's something even his mother doesn't have, and she's the matriarch. There are a couple unique challenges to this that'll come along in the future, so I won't say anything here, but I am very interested to see how you feel about one of the last chapters in this book.

As for Cloudpaw, thank GOD I avoided the annoying aspect of it. His behavior and subplot in the books aggravated me to no end for a variety of reasons that I won't get into here, so I put a lot of work into justifying why he would do that in this version. With Fireheart's explanation of why stealing kittypet food is wrong, as well, I remember sitting down for a long moment with myself and slowly knitting together exactly why Fireheart would not approve of humoring kittypet stuff like that, when he's got the most understanding of that life out of anyone in the Clans. The fairness struck me, and that was his reason. The Clans definitely refuse wet food out of pride and discrimination first and foremost, and don't bother explaining it to kits beyond that, but if someone overheard Fireheart talking to Cloudpaw, they'd snap their fingers, point at him and go, "Exactly! Yes! That!" He managed to put into words a concept that the Clans subconsciously understand but don't really analyze to themselves.

For the Erins: honestly, yes, I agree. I could go on for YEARS about the characterizations and lack thereof in the books (someone remind me to rant about that at some point), and how much of the story could be so much greater and more natural if everyone had a consistent, present personality. And, honestly, that's what was the most wrong about the original Redux - no personalities for anyone. I spend a LOT of time stewing over the characters of everyone written in Iterum to make up for that. It brings me great joy to hear that my work has paid off!

[prince-liest]

*vibrating in eager but non-pressuring excitement* bad end AU you say 👀 ngl the thought of everybody sticking their noses in in different circumstances is both funny and touching considering those circumstances are alastor being pressured into something he's not actually enjoying! would there be some parallels to his arc in your fic with mimsy? what makes the difference with vox? is it that mimsy has no interest whatsoever having sex with somebody who's not into it, but vox has no such hangups?

(Ask is re: the fact that my original and now deleted outline for the rut fic installment of 666 was a bad end option where Vox's pressure and Alastor's self-gaslighting led them down a path I probably would have had to tag as 'non-con' of some flavor.)

The difference isn't just between Vox and Mimzy, it's also in how I was choosing to write Vox for the rest of 666, too, haha. Which is: As someone who gives more of a shit!

The bad end option would have been an interpretation of his character as more leaning toward "genuinely wanting to get one over Alastor", rather than "wanting to get one over Alastor because he felt rejected, and thus suddenly being un-rejected prompting him to roll back some of the aggro." I think both are valid, but I knew what I preferred.

And there definitely would have been parallels on Alastor's end! It was take that was leaning into an angle of considering Alastor as someone who takes into consideration how he thinks things should be, both in terms of some of his more traditional perspectives, but also as his primary point of reference for relationships. So: Yes, he's uncomfortable. No, he doesn't say 'no' at any point, because he thinks this is appropriate. Yes, it gets much farther along than it would have with Mimzy, because the version of Vox that let this shit happen in the first place is either too busy exalting in what he's getting to do, or outright doesn't much care about (or perhaps simply doesn't understand, in comparison to their previous two encounters) Alastor's genuine discomfort, or both, and is fine being a wheedling asshole about it; and Alastor himself is less inclined to argue his discomfort with someone like Vox than he is with Mimzy.

The main reasons I ended up not going with this was because 1) it was honestly a depressing outline, HAH, and also 2) I had an inkling that I was going to want to continue writing these fics, and it would have been a harder sell to develop both Vox and the relationship the way I wanted to, not to mention justify why the fuck Alastor would want to continue (unless I went with "to prove something to himself," which, uh, wasn't the dead dove angle I wanted to take).

In the end, though, thinking through this route helped a lot with characterizing how I did end up writing the rut fic, which was with a similar function but opposite purpose: Alastor was still uncomfortable and it still propelled him into understanding more about his own discomfort (things that are not a coincidence: that he hasn't gotten his dick involved in any of their shenanigans since then). However, with Vox bending over backwards to try to please Alastor and lure him in with honey instead of vinegar, they ended up with Alastor realizing that Vox is capable of coming through for him, and Vox realizing that Alastor is, like, an actual person, and not just The Object Of His Obsession And Hate And Adoration.

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

That Troll Accusing P/T fics and Trek Fic Writers Blogs (Including me) of Racism could be a Right-Wing Bot.

Edit (4/16): I would like to emphasize that i really hope this theory is not true. It stemmed from having had multiple friends and acquaintances in the voyager fandom (white and not) be suicide baited and otherwise harassed with vague accusations of racism over the past year, (for P/T primarily, but other ships and characters on occasion too) yah we did cycle through a lot of explanations. Ultimately our anon(s) being someone with either a malicious motive or an extremely ill thought out and unproductive approach, were the explanations that wound up making the most sense. the content of the anon asks and comments i am refering too has been both vague and painful, and further, never came from a real ao3 or tumblr account. these also came with no evidence based points for the fic writers to work on.

I do not believe this theory below to be anywhere near the most plausible. but it is the only conclusion we could make sense of for a slew of similar anon messages that, at the end of the day, did a lot of hurt without making any concrete points that writers could take action on. By making this analysis, my hope is not to convince you all that a right wing troll is out to get voyager fic writers. Instead, i hope it comforts writers who have gotten similar attacks and helps them to dismiss messages that come with harassment and suicide baiting, rather than evidence based points. And i hope if there are real people behind those anons that seeing this analysis helps them to reconsider the effect their approach is having.

Original Post from 3/2

At first I thought I was paranoid post-2016 and 2020, but now I've been hit a couple times and seen comments on more of the affected fics. And I'm seeing concerning themes.

I make a couple of assumptions here: 1. My anon (whom I will refer to throughout as "The Anon") is the same each time. 2. The Anon is the same actor or belongs to the same group as The Anon troll commenting on P/T and some J/C fics.

The Anon as a Bot Evidence:

1. The Anon accusations are sweeping, but generic. They do not use in-fic textual evidence to justify their comments. You write P/T: You're a Tom apologist. You think Belanna is his exotic wife. You justify your blatant anti-latina racism by casting her anger as an inherent a Klingon trait. You write J/C: You think Chakotay is a noble savage and fetishize him. You write Harry Kim: You're infantilizing him.

These tropes and stereotypes are legitimate concerns that fic writers should care about and should be mindful of. These accusations on the other hand are not legitimate. They are left as guest comments or anonymous asks on fics heedless of the fic content or writer's background or track record. The AO3 comments do not reference fic content. They are repeated across all impacted writers. They target new and veteran writers alike. They target fics regardless of rating.

2. Comments that appear to reference fic specifics go no farther fic tags.

This was harder to catch. But a P/T fic tipped me off last month. It was tagged "Tom & Belanna & Miral". The Anon's first comment on that fic dove in accusing the fic of incest. This showed both that the anon had not read the fic content - they also didn't understand the difference between a / tag and an & tag. (Which also means the programmer of the tag-reading bot or human actor creating tag-based comments is not literate in how fandom ship tags are structured - they may not be a fan at all!)

3. The Anon never replies. Not on AO3 or on Tumblr. (All AO3 comments from "The Anon" seem to stick to the automatically assigned Anon name or use a generic, short first name like "Sam").

Exceptions to this - the rare ocasions where someone sympathetic to the anon replies break from the distinctive patterns of The Anon. Replies come from either burner accounts or guests with more unique names. And these replies are both A - fewer and far between - suggesting they are a different actor - and B - by and large quite serious and thoughtful. I take them to be real people, legitimate fans concerned about racism, caught up in the crossfire.

4. The Anon uses language intended to engender right-wing sympathies and white-moderate anger.

The Anon sent this in their message to me the other day. I will bold the relevant passages.

"You’re the perfect example of the kind of white person who ruins fandom for everyone else, a nasty racist bitch who cares more about their shitty fanfiction than the feelings of actual people of color. Keep using your precious freedom of speech to fetishize brown men I guess

"The kind of white person": This anon has no proof of my race and proof doesn't matter to them. (They have targeted writers of color and white writers alike) They are indiscriminant because they are hoping some of their targets are white women. They are also attempting to out-group white women from the rest of fandom - trying to engender in me feelings of being alienated from my community.

"Nasty racist bitch" "Nasty woman" incidentally is what Trump famously called Hilary Clinton during a 2016 debate. Calling me a racist is there to put me on the defensive (and to alienate me from my coalition) Im meant to feel shocked and disheartened by this accusation. And in a way, keeping this generic serves a purpose. A lack of specificity makes it harder for me to defend myself. "Bitch" is there to trigger my fear/anger response. It is also assuming my gender - again. The anon doesnt care if they accidentally sent this hate to a man or nonbinary person or a person of color. they are betting that at least a plurality of targets will be their key white woman demographic.

"people of color" - while it is correct terminology - is also terminology of the US left/democratic wing. By using this term the Anon is in-grouping themselves with the left - trying again to make me feel like an outsider.

Finally, the kicker is the Freedom of Speech part of this ask.

The Anon is using the concept of free speech here in the same way that the MAGA crowd does, to mean that I ought to be able to say whatever I want regardless of how it hurts others, rather than the legal term's actual definition - the right to critique one's government without being jailed or killed.

By accusing me of caring about Freedom of Speech this way they're not trying to make me feel guilt - theyre trying to hurt me, make me angry, and guide me to sympathize with Republicans. They are using the term this way to push me to think of my fanfic in terms of free speech and thus to agree with Republican freedom of speech talking points. Or if I reject the accusation - to feel torn between Left and Right.

The Anon is trying to sow discord. Theyre employing the same tactics that broke the Womens March movement in 2021, and that pervaded so many Facebook groups and twitter in the last two US election cycles. They are using tactics honed to cleave apart progressives and moderates.

My only question after all those realizations was: why the fuck are they doing this to such a niche group as star trek fanfiction writers.

And then it hit me.

The Anon's Motive: Trek Fic Writers are a Target Election Demographic.

By and large, US fan writers of ships from 90s star trek are women, often millenial and gen x women, many likely to be suburban. And yes - more likely to be white. In short we are part of the same demographic Trump lost in 2020 and needs to either win back this year, or try keep from going to the polls.

You can tell me I sound ridiculous - I think this whole stinking situation is ridiculous. I'm not unaware of how fringe a theory this is. I've been taught to always assume incompetence before malice. And for a while I considered that maybe The Anon was genuine. Maybe they had good intentions and poor execution. I'm sure I could write characters of color better (I am not afraid to admit that I'm still learning. Being wrong isnt something to be afraid of). I wanted this to be the case actually, but I have too much evidence and motive in favor of malicious bot tactics to ignore.

I have tried so hard to think of a reason I'm wrong. Except that all the pieces make sense. No fic / writer specific grievances have been aired by The Anon. They hit the same points every time, again, without textual evidence. They never reply. They chose words that wound and inflame but that never say anything specific about the fic or writer.

And wouldn't it be damn convenient for the Trump camp if a bunch of progressive and moderate US star trek fans decided not to vote because they were disheartened by being accused of racism and felt alienated from the democratic coalition.

This is a niche community. But we likely arent the only targets. And as a friend reminded me tonight, it doesnt take much to move the needle.

[thousandyearphantombunker]

this is also a problem with the x men, it gets even worse if you consider that in a lot of stories with the oppressed mage/supers trope the characters with powers sometimes can't control their powers and are dangerous to other people therefore it ends up justifying the discrimination- which is the last thing you want to do. If the oppression is justifiable then it's no longer oppression- and before anyone comes at me with bullshit about this there's a difference between the shitty justifications for ableism vs the actual justifications for getting for 'oppressing' mages! How the hell do you even oppress people who can make your head explode with a thought? How the hell do you oppress people who can control a fundamental force like magnetism or can use telekinesis to reconstruct matter on the molecular level? I as a disabled person can tell you it's not your ability that takes away opportunities, it's a lack of ability. Its insane how many opportunities and doors would open up for mages, because of the advantages they'd have. if magic actually existed no religion would condemn it they'd embrace it and center around it. If the witches during the witch trials had magic they'd all have escaped because you wouldn't actually be able to kill them. It's like ridiculing someone for being too pretty or too athletic- people ridicule people with actual disadvantages like physical weakness/arthritis or a learning disability those are objectively disadvantages and difficulties, 'bad' things that ableist people have an easy time coming up 'justifications' for blatant discrimination. It's not a power if it was autism or Crohn's provided an advantage then people with these disorders wouldn't be getting bullied or facing discrimination. It provides people with disorders like these disadvantages and people use those as justification but its still oppression- it isn't justified because those justifications are used to make the lives of people with these problems harder and doesn't take into account the systemic shit that makes being disabled harder outside of the limitations your disabilities already give you. Having a contingency plan against someone who can level city blocks with a tiny sneeze is not the same as a college rejecting a student with special needs because 'if they have these problems then they're too *dumb, weak, lazy etc' to come here' and ignoring any accommodations they could give a student with disabilities because its too hard. One person is a threat and whether they like it or not people deserve protection and they aren't oppressed. The other is someone who can definitely be accommodated for and has traits that put THEM in danger but again can be accomodated for and needing help to feal with those disadvantages isnt an actual justification like a lot of people think it is. It's Darwinism and it's never justified ever because compassion and helping others is a strength and disadvantages can be worked around. So no it's not the same as firing someone with a disability because they 'can't do x' because one is actually dangerous and the pther person can usually get some sort of help.

Being gay doesn't provide any advantages either though unlike disability it also doesn't provide a handicap so people have to make shit up to justify their homophobia- shit like- 'all gay men are pedos and lesbians are confused traumatized misandrists and they're all mentally unsound' etc. it' fear mongering. You can apply this to racial inequality and discrimination as well. People will make shit up about how 'black men have smaller brains and are all rapists' etc. being black doesn't provide people with any physical or mental disadvantages but also no special abilities like the ability to jump farther and shoot lasers out their noses. Just like witches didn't have any actual magic- it isn't even just about the fact that when you give them powers and make these groups actually dangerous you justify the 'oppression' (it doesn't even count as oppression anymore because these characters are actually threats even if they are nice). No it's that your somehow oppressing someone who can turn into a dragon and eat you- how the hell dou make up and enforce laws against those people? Why would you turn down a worker with super strength that can do so much? I don't hate these stories like x men or whatever but any point they make about discrimination is moot. I'm autistic (provides me with a fuck ton of problems that while they can be worked around people instead like to use to cause me grief because helping people is too much effort) I'm gay (and while that does not effect my abilities in anyway I don't get anything special out of it meaning that I still don't get the power to avoid getting shit about it) and I'm Latina (same as they gay thing). I'd like to state im not some angry traumatized girl who is actively being oppressed and abused because I'm not. But I know how oppression against people like me works and because I understand that I understand why this trope makes no fucking sense. It's not a story ruiner but it is a message ruiner. Zootopia's anti racist message doesn't work because predators are actual threats to herbivores. The x men's anti homophobia or racial inequality etc message doesn't work because I honestly just wonder how the fuck you oppress people like jean grey- its like putting superman in handcuffs or poisoning him with arsenic- it doesn't work. Newsflash if the people accused of witchcraft during the witch trials had actual supernatural powers like being able to summon fireballs or shapeshift not only would they have escaped being burnt at the stake or crushed to death or drowned via using their powers to escape these mundane punishements, the witch trials would have never started in the first place! Again I like zootopia and x men and as much a I rant about TOH I don't hate it but they all kind of...accidentally justified the discrimination in their stories which is bad

This article explains it all pretty well and probably better than I did:https://mythcreants.com/blog/the-problem-with-oppressed-mages/

oh btw the existence of real witches with magical powers destroys any commentary toh was trying to make about the witch trials.

because guess what? the witch trials were just a glorified form of misogyny. it wasn't directed towards people with actual magical powers (obviously) or even people with any power or autonomy at all. the witch trials was a way to make sure that women stayed powerless and any attempt to be an individual, outside of social expectations, would get them killed.

so applying all of that to a setting where witches are real and can defend themselves defeats the whole point. yes, these witches are still nice people (mostly) but the commentary about puritan dogma and the witch trials doesn't really hold up because they're mixing it with fantasy. witches aren't an oppressed group, they are not helpless and tortured in the way women were in the era of witch trials.

i think real world social commentary could definitely be applied to a fantasy setting and carried out efficiently, but not in this instance. toh trashes the direct connection between witch trials and misogyny, and makes it seem like people who publicly burned women at the stake or hanged them.. kind of had a point because witches exist and are naturally stronger than human beings. it doesn't matter if the witches are good or not because this is no longer an act of discrimination and oppression, as it was in the real world.

[clacing]

if you don’t mind, can I hear your thoughts on the possibility of Homura having internalized homophobia? I’ve seen a post about it or two, (mostly with the scene where there’s a statue of Madoka (?) ) and I have no idea what the census is on it

First of all I am so sorry you sent me this ask more than a month ago but I had exams at the time and then was too burned out to write anything that made sense so this might be a bit incoherent 😭

I don't know what the consensus is either but I can tell you what I personally think: she doesn’t literally have internalized homophobia, but she's definitely coded that way.

What I mean by that is I don’t think the idea that “my feelings for Madoka are wrong because I’m a girl and she’s a girl” has ever crossed Homura’s mind, because I don’t think Homura considers the feelings themselves to be wrong at all. But that has less to do with Homura valuing herself or the nature of her feelings and everything to do with the object of those feelings being Madoka. 

Homura holds on to her love for Madoka like a lifeline. She embraces it as the reason for her existence, even going on a downward spiral in the Wraith Arc when she realizes her feelings for Madoka are starting to fade along with her memories because it makes her feel purposeless. That love is essential to her survival, and her survival is essential to saving Madoka and preserving her world - so Homura can't hate it, repress it, or resent it, not even if she wanted to. What she can do is refuse to act on it.

Homura hates herself, but she doesn't hate herself because of her feelings for Madoka. She probably would hate herself more if she didn’t adore Madoka. I think it’s more of the opposite, that her feelings are only a problem because she hates herself and thinks she deserves nothing good. Even before meeting Madoka, Homura felt useless and like a burden on those around her, and I can't imagine that feeling has gotten any better after 100+ timelines of trying to save your best friend and only succeeding in making her fate worse.

So in later timelines especially, Homura starts keeping her distance from Madoka to be able to focus on protecting her. She stops touching her, stops trying to build a connection with her, stops interacting with her unless absolutely necessary (though she doesn’t exactly succeed), which is a far cry from how affectionate they used to be with each other. 

Homura won’t allow herself to be happy, won’t think she deserves to be until Madoka is safe, but that goalpost gets farther and farther away ‘cause Madoka only gathers more and more karmic potential - so all that does is make sure she never gets to be happy, because her fight will never really be over.

And I might just be reaching here, but that kind of emotional repression, coupled with the feeling of never doing enough to deserve happiness, because no matter how hard you work or how much you sacrifice, you’re still just a flawed human standing against a system that’s designed to crush you - that just screams Catholic guilt to me. And while we don’t know if Homura is or ever was Catholic herself, we know she did go to Catholic school, which clearly still colors a lot of her language and worldview.

It’s not uncommon for Catholics to “accept” LGBT+ people, but only so long as they’re aware it’s a sin and seek penance for it and keep it to themselves - so plenty of LGBT people who grow up Catholic can acknowledge their feelings and even entertain them to a certain extent, but still struggle to outright act on them. And Homura’s feelings have the added burden of being astronomically strong (I’ll get back to that) which would put off anyone who didn’t know any better - so as they grow over time, she can show less and less of them, but having to repress them also gets harder.

Her literally and figuratively making Madoka her god is an extension of all of that. It’s just much, much easier to justify your feelings for someone if you convince yourself that they are perfect, unreachable and untouchable, because a) They stop being human. They’re a god, and you’re supposed to worship gods, right? b) You can’t do anything to a god. You can’t hurt them or ruin them or make them uncomfortable no matter how much you love them c) A god can’t love you back, so there’s no risk of your feelings being encouraged.

Which brings me to the scene with Madoka’s statue. This scene happens when Homura’s trying to figure out who could’ve trapped all of them in a labyrinth, therefore disrespecting Madoka’s last wish and sacrifice. She makes a big show of caring about Madoka first, about Madoka only - she can’t even spare one second to feel glad that she got to see Madoka again before jumping to Whoever did this is wrong and evil and must be stopped because this is what Madoka gave her life for. 

And while all of this is going on, her familiars are mocking her because they know damn well the person who did this is Homura herself, which is proof that as much as she claims to worship Madoka, to only want what she wants, to be serious about respecting Madoka’s wishes, there is also a part of her that wants her there, that lured her into her labyrinth because she missed her.

We flash back to this scene again when Homura realizes she is the witch, except now Homura sees herself touching Madoka’s statue and staining it. That’s usually the scene people point to when talking about Homura having internalized homophobia, because it can be read as Homura feeling like wanting to be with Madoka again (and inadvertently acting on that desire as a witch) is tainting Madoka’s sacrifice, or as Homura feeling like her love is tainting Madoka herself.

And I think those interpretations are inextricably linked, because the queer coding in Homura’s whole arc is very much intentional. Even when it’s not outwardly about her being a lesbian, everything she goes through resonates so much with every part of the queer experience that it still winds back around to her being a lesbian. Homura has tried so hard to repress the part of herself that doesn’t just want Madoka, but wants her with her; she’s tried to put Madoka’s wishes before her own, and convinced herself that she’s fine with it - but well, witches don’t have that kind of restraints. So Homura is forced to recognize that she’s not happy just standing at the feet of Madoka’s statue and worshipping stone, and that makes the illusion shatter.

And once she stops being able to ignore that she doesn’t see Madoka as a god, not really; and that Madoka maybe didn’t want to be a god in the first place; that’s when she decides to take matters into her own hands.

Remember what I said about Homura’s feelings for Madoka being astronomically strong? What I mean is that they literally aren’t bound to the laws of the universe, because they exist outside of the cycle of hope and despair. Rebellion and Wraith Arc especially imply that her magic is self-sustaining because her magic and her love for Madoka are the same thing - meaning that as long as Homura keeps loving her, there is nothing she can’t do (they actually explain the mechanics of it in Wraith Arc, but it would make this meta even longer and more convoluted than it already is). She is an anomaly, on par with Madoka (maybe even because of Madoka, in much the same way Madoka only became as powerful as she is because of Homura) - so when she says that no one could possibly understand her, that this feeling is hers and hers alone, I believe her! But that’s also just the queer experience again - thinking you’re the only one who’s ever felt like this, that no one could possibly understand you, that somehow what you feel is different and more powerful and potentially more dangerous than all other kinds of love.

But it’s also the only thing that can save Madoka, and we know Homura would damn herself for her. She was willing to die in her labyrinth, away from the Law of Cycles, in despair for all of eternity, to keep Kyubey from getting to Madoka - why not take it one step further to give Madoka a chance at being truly happy? Her love made Madoka a god in the first place, so it stands to reason that if Homura puts her mind to it, it can tear her down and make her human again.

So Homura finally sets that love free. She reaches out and takes Madoka’s hands and declares her love for her to everyone who’s listening. She takes the disruptive potential her love has and takes advantage of it, because Madoka used her infinite power to make the magical girl system a little bit kinder to everyone but Homura looks at the system that's causing the girl she loves so much pain and says the system is wrong - and then demonizes herself for it. But she sets it free nonetheless.

It’s not too different from magical girls releasing their despair and turning into witches, although Homura is obviously affecting the world on a much larger scale. I’m saying this not to claim that Homura had no control over her actions and therefore did nothing wrong, but to point out that magical girls needing to make peace with the uglier parts of themselves is an important part of the show. That’s why Sayaka being able to summon her own witch at will was so powerful - because we’ve seen her struggle through the series and fall into despair, and we see her now having full control over her emotions and using the darkness she knows is inside her to her advantage, to be stronger, instead of suppressing it. And I definitely think Homura needed to release those feelings too instead of keeping them locked up and beating herself up over them, because there’s so much power in them - as much potential for good and positive change as they’ve got for destruction - and releasing them is the first step towards embracing them.

Obviously everyone will have different interpretations of this scene, but to me, this is the closest Homura has ever come to asking Madoka if she reciprocates her feelings. Or at the very least, if she can accept them. And Madoka (who has no context for this whatsoever) says No.

But for Homura to be able to ask Madoka if she’s allowed to be selfish, if she’s allowed to act on her desires at all, even if the only reason she’s asking is that at this point she’s got nothing left to lose - well, it’s huge.

I’m not going to say the way Homura went about things was right or even good for her, considering she is very clearly riddled with guilt and Rebellion is overflowing with suicidal imagery - but also there’s something to be said about how sometimes, accepting you’re the devil and going to hell anyway can give you the freedom to explore and potentially embrace parts of yourself you’ve always been too afraid to act on. So, mixed bag?

[shadamyheadcanons]

I love silver as the son of shadamy (he reminds me of trunks) let's be honest, if silver was 20 years old and not 200, we would all know that he is the son of shadamy, silver is a sweetheart like amy, they make you want to take care of them

Yeah. It’s been straight-up stated by the developers that he’s modeled after Trunks.

To be honest, though, I’m glad we have the 200-year gap. I think it’d be harder to make the case for him being an immediate descendant of the two of them. Silver just doesn’t have any of Amy’s physical attributes. Shadow lines up, but Silver doesn’t have Amy’s pink fur, green eyes, etc. I did make a case for them potentially having the same “hairline” because of how their quills fall in this headcanon, but that alone is a stretch. Rouge has literally nothing in common with Silver imo, but people would probably push her as being Silver’s mother far more often if he were Shadow’s direct son just based on her fur color alone.

With a few generations of breathing room, though? It’s much easier to make an argument for Shadamy. Things like Silver’s fur and eye color are much easier to explain if genes from other sources were added along the way. It’s believable that Amy’s visible traits would disappear; she’s the only character I know of with pink fur, so I’m willing to bet it’s a recessive trait. It also makes more sense that he wouldn’t immediately know Shadow and Amy are his ancestors if they’re farther up the line. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from focusing so much on two characters who barely interact, it’s that there’s actually more to work with when there’s an absence of information. A story like Shellshock is far more convincing when we know nothing about Silver and Amy’s parentage. There’s a ton of wiggle room to work with.

In terms of personality, I think you’re exactly right. It’s especially fun because despite their cute, sweet demeanors, they’re always the first to charge into battle. They can’t help it. He has her strong sense of justice AND steadfast idealism. It’s easy to imagine Shadow stepping in to protect Amy when she gets out of her depth, and it’s just as easy to picture Blaze doing the same for Silver. 

^ Like this. [Source]

The more I think about it, the more I see parallels between Shadamy and Silvaze. Of course Amy’s great-great-grandson would go for a serious, intense introvert with a soft spot. It runs in the family, lol.

Also...I recently found out Shadow can do this:

[Source]

Look familiar? It should.

[Source]

Before anyone gets too excited, Shadow has only done this ONCE in canon as far as I know, and it was in Sonic Riders, no less. Silver was created early in Sonic 06’s development, which began in 2005. Riders came out after that point in early 2006, meaning they likely gave Shadow psychokinesis after it was already established as Silver’s signature move.

Does this mean anything...? :O

Lol, no. Definitely not. I’ll shamelessly cherry-pick all day in the name of shadamy, but even I can’t really justify doing anything with this. It’s too blatantly obvious yet specific to make a headcanon about it. I just like to imagine one Dadow-believer made this one singular animation just to be a troll. Just thought I’d share, lol.

[unohanadaydreams]

Watched the new episode and ❤️ We are angsting.

Probably one of my favorite Byakuya moments tbh. Love when he has angst inflicted upon him. Rukia turning into a corpse has always been one of my favorite horror panels from Kubo. Although I think they could’ve gone even farther with the anime platform and had idealized Rukia say brother or something before and after as well (from normal Rukia to haunting and pained dead Rukia you feel me) To really take advantage of having voice acting instead of just manga panels.

They actually made the pink work really well with the flies too whereas the flashbacks and name cards just look super out of place. Those in charge of the lighting in this anime needs a huge fucking raise because they are CARRYING. Genuinely awash with awe at how they’ve kept the atmosphere going.

10/10 for As Nodt’s voice. Made Byakuya feel even more animated and desperate by contrast. Thought my dude was gonna start up a Gregorian Chant, he was so monotone.

Also, whoever decided to blend pink into Chojiro’s bankai did well too! Whenever they work pink into the setting, it works. Whenever they just shellac it over a scene, it looks eh.

I completely forgot that Jidanbo beats the shit out of R&D. I feel like once you finish TYBW, at least a third of it flees from your memory until you read it again. Sad we lost scenes of my R&D babes but I get it, Ichigo angst is more important. But still very sad I lost out on seeing poor little Rin shaking with fear at his own actions ):

ALSO everyone going Ichigo!!! And Mayuri going :/Akon, huh…..is so funny. He understands it should have been done but he’s still mad it was done without him knowing.

Wow, Mayuri….Didn’t you JUST justify not reporting YOUR actions to someone 🧐 But of course it’s different bc Mayuri deserves more respect and freedom, so Akon is obviously in the wrong here.

Also FINALLY KENPACHI ZARAKI. I like that they animated the Quincy dude turning into Kenpachi. I bet he really regrets killing that guy after the war, when he’s bored as fuck all the time. The thought of Kenpachi learning an ounce of restraint after the war only because he realizes that war time can be fleeting and the battles that are worth while become harder to reach as he grows stronger…..effervescent.

But most importantly: FINALLY KENPACHI ZARAKI!!! Him showing up with a dude slung over his shoulders! Him just ripping out a dudes throat! Him getting choked out by Yhwach 😮‍💨

Tbh something about his face looked a bit off though and I realized they gave him much more defined lips which Kubo just doesn’t do bc Kenpachi is constantly unhinging his jaw like a snake to yell or laugh or smiling so wide it cuts across most of his face so he doesn’t really Need lips. Like, they made his mouth look really similar to Yhwach.

Also remember how everyone thought Grimmjow was coming back immediately after Quilge got killed? Kubo really teased the fuck out of people with that one. Like how many chapters does it take him to really come on panel?? Like at least 50 or more?? I wasn’t super online back then but was there ever doubt that I wasn’t Grimmjow? Like was there debate if it was Ulquiorra?

I always took for granted it was Grimmjow tbh.

[dontjudgemeimawriter]

I never post excepts nowadays because I've hardly been writing but today i sat down and got the boys to kiss. Sooooo since otherwise no one will be excited with me, I'll give you guys a present. Of course, it's not as delicious without all the buildup... but some of you have been following along and know about half of that buildup. Soooo... here is the little bit of them kissing. Unedited, I literally just wrote this today and was excited.

I stroked his back. “I am glad you didn’t listen to me all those times. You are so committed to being a better person. You show me how it might be possible. I watch you try so hard to do things better and it makes me want to do things better. I am a better person because I lo— care about you.”

[Raymond is very upset and Terran is trying to comfort him. Terran has actually realized he likes Raymond here but hasn't done anything about it]

Raymond lifted his head to look at me. I felt my stomach turn, he’d heard what I’d almost said, I should have been thinking about what I was saying more, it has just— almost— slipped out—

“What?” he asked, and I heard something lighter in it, something that hadn’t been there yet this morning.

“I—“ I didn’t know what to say from here. I didn’t know how to correct, how to cover.

And then suddenly I didn’t have to, because he’d leaned in close to me, and he was closer to me than he ever had before, and then his lips pressed against mine— soft and salty, his face pressing into me— and my heart was racing and I got so excited I forgot to respond for a second, and did I even know how to do this? I didn’t have practice. I didn’t even fully know I wanted it until it was happening— Raymond, against me, kissing me— my body stirred in ways I wasn’t used to dealing with, pulled me in closer to him , pressing my lips harder on his—

And then suddenly I remembered why I hadn’t done this, what had held me back yesterday, and I hesitated, pulling back just enough that he noticed and pulled back very suddenly and completely, his eyes wide and scared again.

“I’m sorry— you said— you didn’t mean it like— I’ll go,” he scrambled to stand up, then looked around for a moment, realizing it was his room.

I sat up quickly, half-standing to reach for him, to catch his arm. “No,” I said, not even sure what I was going to say, just that I wanted him to stay, but also I didn’t know how to get him to stay without telling him the truth, which I couldn’t say, which we couldn’t do any of this without, because I was still going against him and who he wanted me to be.

He didn’t look at me. “That— I’m sorry—“

I ignored his apology. “I need to ask you something.” I said.

He paused, looking at me, raising an eyebrow.

I still wanted to pull him back. I swallowed. “Just, pause on what just happened for a second. And I’m sorry to bring this up, now, when you’re upset, but Is need to ask.” I’d actually been intending on not asking permission. But now… I needed to.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to say it, to ask. I stared at the sheets below me. “I need to ask you… If I found a way, if it didn’t just put us in more danger… You don’t want me to kill anyone, I know that, and thanks to you I don’t want to either— but…would you not want me to kill Alexander?”

Because if he said no, I wouldn’t do it. I’d find another way.

In the pause, he relented, sitting back down on the bed, much farther away than we’d been before.

It had come out so fumbled that I was almost afraid it had come out wrong. Raymond swallowed, looking away for a moment. “Do you… have a way?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not a good one. But I might be close to finding one.”

He slowly shook his head. “No. I mean, I really hate him right now. I think maybe I would be up to killing him right now, but I know I can’t, and that I’d feel horrible about it. But… if you were doing it to, like, take over his job, or even just out of revenge… that wouldn’t be great. But… there are some reasons, I think, that justify it. And I wish there was a way out of it where you didn’t have to. But it might be the only way… and if anyone deserves to die, it’s him.”

Still without looking at me, Raymond thought for a moment, then spoke. “I wish, for you, that you wouldn’t to kill anyone. But… if anyone deserves to die, it’s him. And I… I’m fine with it. If you did.”

It hadn’t been the answer I’d expected. “Are you just… mad at him right now? Because of [spoilers]?” Had I purposefully chosen this moment, the moment he was most likely to give me permission?

I nodded. I really hadn’t expected him to give me permission. But, underneath his hesitations, his convincing himself— I heard what he was scared to admit. He wasn’t just giving me permission. He wanted me to do it.

I would have to figure out what that meant. But now that I was no longer keeping that from him, all I wanted was to pull him back. I took a deep breath. “Okay. So since we’ve taken care of that… we can unpause.”

“Right.” Raymond glanced at me, trying to figure out what I was going to say.

All I wanted was him closer to me, so I reached to him, pulled myself close. His eyes flew wide open in surprise. “I’m sorry I stopped it. I’ve been—" my instinct to hid my feelings almost made me stop talking, but I pushed it out. “— wanting to do that for the past three days. Please continue.”

Raymond laughed at that. “To be honest? I’ve been wanting to do that for the past three years.”

I laughed, too. I didn’t take the time to process that, to think about what it meant. I didn’t let myself think, or I’d stop. I leaned into him and kissed him as hard as I could.

@sleepy-night-child

@enbydragon02

@drippingmoon

@thegreatobsesso

@athenswrites

@charlesjosephwrites

@wildswrites

@cljordan-imperium

@islanded-in-a-stream-of-stars

@andromeda-grace

@Iris-words

@unclevladscorner

Very important announcement!

The boys have kissed!

[theseerasures]

a yearning nation’s blueeyed pride

honestly there is just like. no point as of Witch (if not earlier) in thinking about Marrow and Winter as following along the same defection path, and downright facile to compare the two in terms of who is “closer” to defecting and therefore “less problematic” (even setting aside that making value judgments along those lines in fiction is...never that straightforward), when the narrative has emphasized REPEATEDLY how they are on entirely separate tracks in terms of character and role in the Atlas military.

seriously, it’s like saying “this orange is bad because you can’t eat the peel like you can eat an apple skin”

so like, yes, Marrow is the one who has verbally expressed his misgivings, and has clearly articulated scruples (as opposed to just the dial-up noise) and will blurt them out any second now as soon as he gets a word in edgewise. but also: Marrow HASN’T gotten a word in edgewise (except with Winter, fancy that), and has done approximately fuck all to actually subvert the system that he is growing to hate. both his theory and lack of praxis are tied into Marrow’s relatively low, overlooked position in the Atlas system, and feed into the fact that for Marrow the project of Atlas is not personal.

Marrow joined the military on ideological grounds. he clearly does want personal connection, but that has been denied him at every turn, largely by his teammates, largely by his partner, all of whom use him to enforce their own struggles with the clash between political duty and personal grief. he has been alienated by the system he upholds, which started even before we meet him. this makes it much harder for him to rebel in deed, because he doesn’t have a lot of power to begin with and he knows the system will not protect him if he does; at the same time, that relative powerlessness and isolation keeps his investment in Atlas abstract, uncomplicated, and much easier to dispel. Marrow is still with Atlas because he has a job to do, because it’s his duty, because he is still clinging to the Atlas military’s illusory altruism. he wants Penny to come with them so she can save Atlas. his protestations at seeing Team FNKI, that they are “just kids,” comes from the belief that it is categorically wrong to send children into battle. what is keeping Marrow from defecting is belief, and once the belief is shattered--like, say, when his boss’ new ingenious plan is to Nuke the Poors--there is nothing keeping him around.

and once his path is set he will not waver, because Atlas, by design, has no hold on him materially or personally (outside of his own life, which he was already happy to dedicate to a cause). Marrow then, is the limit case of Atlas being hoist with its own petard: an exemplar for how it gives its people nothing while demanding everything, but also an exemplar for how quickly the entire system folds in on itself when the veil is lifted. when Marrow defects (and it IS when) it will represent Atlas as a whole defecting from itself, even if we don’t see it visually--from the civilians, to the enlisted soldiers, to perhaps even members of Marrow’s own team.

NONE of the things i just mentioned really apply to Winter, because there is nothing about Atlas that is not personal for Winter.

i have no doubt that Winter is in some ways invested in same abstract principles that swayed Marrow, but that is constantly overridden by the fact that Winter has family at all sides of this, even before everything fell to shit, and the narrative will not stop reminding her.

“what about your sister?” “would you say the same thing if it was your sister inside?” her father was gunning for a seat on the Council. the man who took her in is essentially Head of State. Penny has made herself Public Enemy Number One, and Weiss is actively abetting her. even Whitley has now thrown himself into the fray, unbeknownst to her. and another person might be better at compartmentalizing all this the way Winter clearly wants to, and stick to the party line, but Winter cannot, because the more i watch her the more i’m convinced that the current crisis in Atlas is just a microcosm of the real issue, which is to say: everything is personal in Atlas for Winter, because everything is personal for Winter.

at a moment-to-moment level, and especially when backed into a corner, Winter defaults not to ideology but her tightly coiled lattice of personal relationships. and this makes perfect sense, because Winter grew up in a household where she had to perpetually crisis respond, and then she never stopped. Marrow does what he does because he believes in the dream, in making the world a better place, and therefore it is more difficult in some respects for him to defect, because it involves taking a long hard look at and then rejecting the structures he bought into and made himself complicit in. once lines are crossed and he DOES do that, though, he’s home free. for Winter, there are no lines to cross, because all Winter wants in the end is to throw her arms around everyone she cares about and drag them to safety. to keep them there, closely held, where she can see them and make sure that they stay safe.

but what’s tricky about Winter--what’s fascinating to me, what Jacques tried to beat out of her, what James alternately capitalizes on and tries to quash, what she resents about herself--is that in times of crisis (which for Winter is again ALL THE TIME), “everyone she cares about” becomes everyone, so that suddenly she takes a shine to the General’s war machine, so that she’s risking her life to give Penny and Fria a few more seconds of time, so that she’s stepping in front of Elm’s incoming fist, so that she’s letting JYR go rescue Oscar. Marrow has ideals he values, but at her core Winter has nothing but the people, who are real the moment she sees and feels them--real enough to defend, or defend against.

Winter jealously protects her web of people, but that web will also spiral out to infinity if she lets it--so she doesn’t. she has adamantly refused to move out of the mode where she lives present-by-present, only reacting to what is right in front of her, what she has been told, weighing her own life against the people who are closest, and no more. this is unquestionably a trauma response, but it’s also reinforced by 1) her choice to become a career soldier, and 2) the fact that Winter actually HAS quite a bit of power, and she knows that. but she has never trusted herself with any of it, largely because her hypervigilant response to situations has only ever been chastised instead of rehabilitated. Winter knows the weight of her name and her position, but she constantly tries to ignore it, or run away from it, so that she is only ever the heiress, the second-in-command, and never the Queen. she cannot be a leader until she is Good (that is to say, perfect and rational), so she tries to obliterate her power the same time she obliterates that pesky personhood: remaining still for as long as possible, avoiding situations that she knows will prompt action and choice, and when absolutely pushed to think through her power, moving the pieces around with extreme caution, hoping that the world won’t be burnt black by it.

Marrow and Winter are fundamentally at opposing ends of the personal-political bleed, and the story could NOT telegraph it any more clearly than their conversation in Witch, where Marrow makes a personal plea to Winter so that she can make a call far beyond just that, and she refutes him, by reminding him of his obligation to Atlas in the form of impersonal duty.

i’ll conclude by pointing out that there is something very interesting happening with Winter right now, that exceeds her power in-universe. because even as a Schnee, as Ironwood’s protege, what Winter can do is limited (partly because she limits herself), except for how the story has resolutely centered her actions and MADE them significant. in the course of this war Winter has let herself make exactly two choices--both of them noninterventionist, easily justifiable, and not meant to take any ideological stand--and they ended up altering the entire fabric of the war with Salem. all because she loved her sisters more than her duty. all because she was shown a slim chance to save the kingdom and a fourteen-year-old boy, and she thought just for an instant, what’s the harm

(and James Ironwood will never know. that even with his plan, his bomb, all his ships, all his soldiers...he was no match for her. his loyal lieutenant. the only child he will ever have, who has only ever called him “sir.”)

it is not about what Winter COULD have chosen in those moments, if she had the ability to stop Penny and Weiss from leaving, if JYR were even Oscar’s rescuers, in the conventional sense. it is about the fact that she DID make those choices, and the story has made them reverberate, in spite of the fact that she did not mean for them to. Marrow’s story is about being neglected and overlooked by the system, the moment of recognition that it needs you more than you need it, that there are so many more of you, and together you can stop chasing the dream and make your own. Winter’s story cleaves to the heart of not just Atlas, but the RWBY monomyth, which goes something like: stars are like us. the world was created because two brothers could not get along, and sundered because a woman could not cope with her grief. just because you move closer to the elite, to the center, to the top, to the sublime, it does not mean that you move farther from the fallible. we are all, at our deepest layer, people.

but the world does not tremble any less for it.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[bookwyrminspiration]

this is for @i-love-all-books and anyone who is going to/is learning how to drive! The classes will give you a lot of the big tips, but there are some of the little things they gloss over that can still give you anxiety, so I'll share a few of the things I've learned from experience driving in a city with a reputation for bad drivers, so I've seen some shit /srs.

if there's anything I don't cover that you want to know about you're more than welcome to send me an ask or a message about it /g

note: i am not a driving instructor, nor do I claim to be. I have a provisional license and can legally drive without an adult present, something I do on a daily basis. I've been driving consistently for over a year. Those are my qualifications so you can decide whether or not to trust what i say. I can still remember a lot of the things that made me anxious when i first started, so if this helps anyone at all i consider it a success

start driving in an empty parking lot if you can. lots of open space and no cars to hit. you can go as slow as you need to, and don't be embarrassed about going slow. use the space to figure out how to move the car and how it turns, to look in the mirrors and starts leaning how to understand what you see

speaking of mirrors: adjust them a little farther out than you think you need to. you don't need to see the side of your own car in the reflection, you already know where your car is. This helps make your blind spot smaller too, but fiddle around with it (over several drives) until you find a position that you're most comfortable with

always signal when you're going to turn, even if it seems silly. it's better to give those around you more information than they need than not enough. Signal in parking lots, signal when there's no one around, signal even if you're in a turn-only lane.

break sooner and harder than you think you need to. I know i personally was very gentle on the breaks at first, which would lead to a last minute sudden slamming when I would realize i was going a lot faster and a lot closer than i should've been. It's also more comfortable to have gradual stops

you may feel pressured by other people close behind you to go faster. You don't need to speed for anyone else. If they're so impatient they can pass you. Only speed up if you legitimately think they're way too close to be safe.

speaking of space: i like to leave space between me and everyone else on road. I give extra space between me and the person in front of me, about four seconds worth of space (measure this by picking a landmark, start counting when the car in front of you passes it, stop when you pass it. use one-mississippi two-mississippi style or something similar).

more space: you don't need as much space as you think you do when changing lanes. signal before you want to merge over. you should be good without about a car or two's worth of space between you and the cars in the lanes beside you. Also, if you signal before you want to move, they may slow down or speed up to give you space to do so.

it's better to stay in your lane and just keep going than trying to pass others for speed. it just makes it more stressful, especially when you're new to the road.

the single thing that gave me the most control over the vehicle was driving down really long slightly winding roads, the ones usually on the outskirts of a city or in the mountains if you happen to live in the foothills like I do. this teaches you how to make really small adjustments to make the car turn--you won't need to turn the wheel as much as you'd expect.

how do you decide whether to go through the light if it turns yellow while you're approaching? it's less about what you decide and more that you stick to whatever impulse decision you make. if you decide to go through, go through. Don't change your mind, even if you think you should've stopped. if you decide to stop, hit the breaks, don't wait. (also, if i'm nervous the light in front of me will turn yellow, i keep track mentally what decision I would make where i am. For example, as I'm approaching i'll tell myself, "i'd stop here, I'd stop here," until i got close enough to say "if it changes I'd go through." That way, the decision is already made for me and i just have to follow through.)

figure out what makes you comfortable. i personally only like to turn on the turn lane closest to the curbs. For example, if there are two left turn lanes, i like to take the leftmost which is next to the median. this way, i can see where i'm heading on the other side of the intersection: the lane next to that median.

if you're at the front of the intersection, wait 2 seconds after a light turns green before you go. use this time to look to either side and make sure it's really safe for you to move forward. it's during those few seconds that someone would run a red light if they were going to

assume no one else on the road can see you and that no one is going to signal anything they're going to do. i don't drive with any part of my car beside any part of a car next to me if I can help it. I don't assume they're going to check their blind spots and see me, so i like to leave space for people to just move around me. be prepared for anyone to move anywhere and do anything. Watch the cars themselves, not just the blinkers. At least where I live, people will cross three lanes of traffick at once without signalling, so stay aware.

in regards to four way intersections, I don't think anyone knows who has the legal right of way. look at people's faces in the cars, they'll usually wave you forward if they're waiting for you to go, or you can wave others forward. Everyone just wants to get through there.

if you're going to be taking a specific route frequently, say driving yourself to school like I do, look for landmarks around when you need to make changes. for example, i have to take the interstate to get to school, and I need to merge two lanes over when i take my exit, and there are two bridges before that. so when i see a bridge, I merge. you can use this for turns, lane changes, whatever you need. just something to remind yourself what to do.

this one's not exactly a tip, but if you do more extreme driving more frequently, the simple things will become easier. Driving on the freeway consistently makes city driving seem tame and easier for me, so instead of being daunting its now a relief because it's not as intense

this has been most important for my anxiety: people assume everyone on the road is an experienced driver. It takes five years to be considered experienced. if you get honked at, if you make a mistake and are worried people are judging you, they're honking with the assumption that you have years of experience that you don't. it helps me to know they don't have all the information about me, so while I may have fucked up, their anger or annoyance is misplaced because they think i have experience I dont

fucking up is inevitable. you're going to make a mistake, and the best thing you can do is figure out what you did wrong and how to fix it so it doesn't happen again. driving is a learned skill, it's impossible to never mess it up and to always know what to do. i had to take a new route just last week and nearly missed my exit on the freeway, which made me panic and merge lanes when I didn't have enough space to really do it safely, so the person I merged in front of honked at me. they were completely justified. everything turned out fine, but there were things I could've done to prevent that that I remembered going forward. they're not going to remember it. you were just a brief inconvenience during their drive. they'll forget about you and go on with their lives.

these are some of the main things that help me with those little anxieties, but if there's something you're specifically nervous about that I didn't mention, you are entirely welcome to ask me about it and I'll do my best to answer you!!. I know driving instructors can seem intimidating and that they mostly cover the big things, so if I seem more approachable, i do have some experience driving and would love to answer the questions you're nervous to ask or that you think are stupid /g

[fontasticcrablettes]

I remember coming across a fic where Flynn travels to a dark future in which the Empire is a dictatorship and Yuri became evil and one of its enforcers (long story). Can you a imagine a scenario where post-game Yuri travels to a bad future where everything Brave Vesperia worked for ended up making things worse, his friends died or became shadows of themselves, and Flynn became like Alexei because Yuri "died" or that Yuri ended up doing something that pushed Flynn in that direction.

Oh, I know what fic you're talking about! I didn't finish because I got distracted, but it's a very entertaining premise.

I've also written something loosely similar to your idea in For Want of a Nail, which shows a bad-end version of the game in which Yuri died as a kid, Flynn was raised by Alexei and everything is terrible.

But I love the premise of time-travelling to a bad future! What if when Yuri takes out the Adephagos, something goes wrong. He's wielding a huge mass of energy all swirling around and changing the world, and somehow, it vaporizes him and sends him into the future. To everyone else, though, it appears that he's died. So they return home from Tarqaron having defeated the Adephagos but losing Yuri, making it very bittersweet.

And after that, it all sort of crumbles. Keeping Brave Vesperia going without Yuri is too sad, Karol and Judith drift apart. Rita throws herself into her work, blaming herself for the conversion going wrong and maybe if she'd planned better, Yuri would still be here. Flynn becomes even more of a workaholic than usual as a way to distract himself.

Maybe things get really rough after losing blastia. Suddenly, monster attacks on settlements skyrocket. Injuries and illnesses that were traditionally cured with healing artes have no cure. Farms that were protected by barriers are now hard to keep monsters out of, and way more expensive to hire guards for the farmers, leading to food prices shooting up. No more aque blastia means sources of clean water become less readily available, especially in poorer areas, and waterborne illnesses run rampant.

And the thing is, all of them knew this was what they were in for, at least partially, but after Yuri died it all just felt more overwhelming than they were ready for. The farther they get from the Adephagos, the harder it is to remember how dire the situation was when they're currently staring plague and famine in the face. The rest of the populace forgets too, especially those who didn't even understand the situation to begin with, and come to resent Brave Vesperia for bringing this upon them.

Flynn is, of course, determined to steer the Empire through the crisis. He feels extra responsible, because he agreed to the plan to destroy the Adephagos so it's his responsibility to fix it. He starts down the same path Alexei did - of wanting to save the Empire while growing increasingly disillusioned with the Council and every other civilian he has to work with. Yuri isn't there to pull him back, and every step toward authoritarianism he takes justifies the next so that it will all be worth it in the end.

Tensions are high all over the world, and war breaks out between the Union and the Empire for control of scarce resources. The party members are split even further apart, with Estelle, Rita, and Flynn living in the Empire while Karol, Judith, and Raven live in Dahngrest. Flynn declares martial law and assumes absolute control of the Empire, stating that he only intends to wield this power for the duration of the crisis, but crises keep piling up and it's been a few years now.

And this is the future Yuri shows up in. He wakes up in the ruins of Tarqaron, thinking he's been missing for a couple of hours - when it's actually been ten years. So he goes strolling to the nearest town and gets hit by this reality. His goal is get the hell out of here and go home, where he hopes that he can warn people like Flynn, Ioder, and Harry what to expect and avoid this future, but there's no readily apparent means of going home and in the meantime he wants to at least find and help his friends.

[devildomdoofus]

Winter Storm

Part 1

Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

WARNINGS:

‼️contains spoilers from chp. 16‼️

[[ angst, cursing, anxiety, fear/terror, depression, survival, near death experiences, mentions of blood/bleeding, hypothermia, dehydration, fainting, severe pain, cliffhangers ]]

Authors Note (sorry it’s long):

My sincerest apologies for how long you all had to wait!! I’m hoping what I’ve created was worth it. Because each brothers’ pieces were rather extensive especially being on mobile, I’ve decided to divide them into two parts where part one includes the four eldest brothers and part two includes the remaining. This is also to test the waters a bit and see if my writing style is decent enough to continue or if there are changes that need to be made before posting part two. Also, I purposefully wrote “cliffhangers” because I felt that, as reader, you should be able to decide MC’s fate for yourself according to your personal tastes/moods/etc. I hope it doesn’t come off as lazy.. it was intentional so that you may enjoy the content to the fullest and take it in the direction that you choose and not the author.CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!! Good, bad, or indifferent, your feedback will help me write better for you in the future so you can enjoy my content to the upmost extent!! ALSO: If the spacing is weird with the paragraphs and such, I’m very sorry but for the time being, I have no idea how to fix that considering I’m on mobile and there’s only so much the app allows me to do. Anyway, I hope you all dig what I dish out! Thanks again for your patience, support, and understanding!! -DevildomDoofus

UPDATE (2-19-2021): Part 2 is out!! Unfortunately I don’t have enough content to make a master list quite yet but until then, forgive me, but you’ll have to search my blog using the hastag “devildomdoofus” or “my posts.” Don’t worry, I’ll get my blog in order eventually, I’m just a little slow with these kinds of things 😅 thank you for your patience and understanding!!

- DevildomDoofus

Prologue:

One word, a pair of twinkling eyes, and a pouty lip was all it took for you to convince him to vacation with you up in the human world. Maybe a few more ‘fluffy’ words and a bigger pout had to be used on Lucifer, as his paranoia was, more often times than not, justified by his brothers’ antics so... he needed further convincing.

When you two arrive at the cabin that you were to stay in for the week, you eyed the place over and it was rather beautifully decorated and cozy enough to never set foot outside for eternity, but with the wonderland that was just right outside your door, how could you not? By the celestial realm, it was like a dream. The ground was carpeted with fresh sheets or large comforters, rather of glistening white snow that reached just above your ankles, so soft to the touch that it could almost be compared to the cushy feel of Belphegor’s favorite pillow. The mighty mountains reach up to graze their fingers through the few clouds that wisp across the bluest skies... have they always been this blue? The nearby forest that towered over all, beckoned you to join them in their dance with the gentle wind. In other words, you HAD to explore! You set out on a solo trip to get aquatinted with your surroundings and take pictures to reminisce about later, while the one you came with unpacked your belongings to get rightfully settled in. You promised you wouldn’t wander far, just enough to really take in the scenery before venturing further out together. As a precaution, you dug markings on nearby trees as you tread and left stones in consistent, peculiar piles so that in the event of an emergency, any who might have to come looking for you would notice these things and easily be able to follow in your footsteps. Well, more or less, considering the clouds had secretly huddled up above you for another gentle snow shower and are now covering up your footprints. No worries though, right? You left plenty of stone piles and tree markings and you’re not even that far from the cabin. Someone could surely find you if you needed them to. You pushed onward, too entranced by the world around you to turn back now.

As time passed, storm clouds gathered faster than a pack of hungry wolves over a freshly fallen corpse and this became your cue to hurry home. To your dismay, you couldn’t find ANY of the markings you left on the trees or ANY of the stone piles you made. Ok, that’s not great but everything’s fine. The trick is to not panic. Maybe you just wandered a little farther of the beaten path than you realized. You’ll surely find your way back. As you searched high and low for your markings, the wind began to pick up, howling furiously in your ear and the once gently drifting little snowflakes became hardened, frosted hornets, stinging your face until they bit through your exposed skin and caused you to bleed. So much snow and ice, you could barely see 2 feet in front of you and could hardly lift your legs high enough to move forward as the levels of snow quickly rose to just above your knee. You had packed and dressed for whatever these snowy mountains could throw at you, but nothing could protect you from the fury of a raging blizzard for long. Pain from the dropping temperatures began at the tips of your toes and fingers and the longer you tried to find your way back, the more the pain spread and the harder it was to move anything at all. Everything inside of you, every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stop, for the pain was becoming too great but you just HAD to make your way back or you would surely die out here. These thoughts were starting to make you panic. Just as you were thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the wind grew even stronger and was starting to knock you to your knees. At this rate, you were causing more harm than good to yourself, perilously trying to toughen it out. Instead, you decided to find a makeshift shelter, just strong and big enough to keep the snow and wind off of you as you would attempt to warm up.

As if by divine intervention, you could make out a large rock formation with an opening big enough for you to huddle up under, just ahead of you. You ducked low and crawled in, hunkering down in your saving grace. As you shivered in the shadows, heaving and trying to collect yourself before deciding what to do next, you realized that numbness had settled into your limbs and you could no longer feel them, much less move them. You tried, desperately, over and over to inch them in any way but damn it, nothing would. Tears began to puddle at the corners of your eyes as your mind began to race. You should have never left the cabin alone. You knew better, you just couldn’t help yourself. The tears started to fall more and more as the thoughts started spiraling. How could you be so stupid? Now no one is going to find you and you’re going to die here, alone and deathly afraid. You could no longer contain your cries and in one last fleeting attempt to be rescued, you screamed for help with as much force as your withering lungs would allow. Nothing but the wind answered your cries. Before you knew it, your body was shutting down and your eyes fluttered shut right as you fainted against the rocky wall behind you. The panic, the wet and the cold, dehydration, the pain that once gripped your entire body that then turned to numbness, the overexertion, the hypothermia that was setting in; it was all too much for your body to handle anymore. Limp against the stone, you were quickly turning into a human icicle. This is how he finds you.

Lucifer:

Lucifer had been prepping for dinner for later that evening, as some meals tend to take an eternity to prepare, when the hair on the back of his neck pricked up and an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. He could sense something was wrong even before the storm clouds rolled in. There was no way to explain it other than something is or was going to be terribly, terribly wrong. It’s the same feeling he gets when his brothers are up to no good or are in some form of trouble. It comes with the responsibility of being the eldest brother. He, indeed, trusted you enough for you to go alone for the simple fact that you were the most responsible out of his brothers, but that did not mean he didn’t still feel a bit uncomfortable with you out of his immediate supervision considering you’re human and humans tend to make many, many mistakes. You’re a child by no means and can handle yourself incredibly well, as evident by your time in the devildom and at R.A.D. He knows this and believes you could conquer the world if you so chose to do so. But even YOU know that he only acts and does these certain things that can come off as overbearing to some because he cares so deeply for you that he tries his damndest to prevent any harm that may come to you. Physcial or emotional, accidental or self-inflicted, whatever the case may be. He would give his life and soul up for you, just as he had done for Lilith. That is why this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach upset him so. He had to find you. He set out to look for you and quickly noticed a pattern. The markings and piles of stones, he assumed, were yours and, for a fleeting moment, it filled him with pride to know that you went about your adventure with a proper head upon your shoulders. Still, he had to see you and be able to hold you in his arms so that his worrisome mind could be put to rest. He followed the trail until it ended with you nowhere in sight. “MC, darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” Though calm in his demeaner, he was still fidgeting beneath the surface. Through the wind and hail that was picking up, he heard your cries from miles off and like a bat out of devildom, races to you. From pounding out of his chest to dropping through the crust of the Earth, Lucifer’s heart collapsed when he found you. “MC...” He rushed to your side in the blink of an eye and shouted your name over and over, but you didn’t respond. He rips a glove off and places two fingers to the side of your neck. Your pulse was so low, he had to press his ear to your chest, but even your heart was far too faint to be heard by human ear. Thank Diavolo he was a demon or he would have assumed the worst. You rarely see this man lose his composure, even behind closed doors. But now, when he looks at you and your state of comatose for the second time in his life, he becomes frantic. So many emotions racing through him, he doesn’t notice the tears welling in his eyes or his demon form breaking the surface. His fist clenches and he slams it into the ground next you, creating a cavity in the stone. He almost lost you once, he won’t let it happen again.

Before his emotions get the better of him, he swiftly yet ever so gently scoops you into his arms and immediately transports you both back to the cabin where he could try and warm you up and bring you back to your old self. Back to him. Bursting through the door, he rushes to place you gingerly onto the couch in front of the fireplace and carefully strips you of all the wet clothing, replacing them with warm, dry pairs. He wraps your neck with a thick scarf, slips fuzzy mittens on your hands, covers your head in a knitted hat, and drapes multiple blankets over your body. He then tosses wood into the fireplace, setting them ablaze before circling the couch and pushing it, and inherently you, closer to the warmth of the fire. All of this within the blink of an eye. He finally sits next to you on the cushions and takes you back into his arms, fearing that if he ever lets go, he will truly lose you once and for all. He’ll occasionally reach a hand up to the side of your neck or to your wrist, checking your pulse. Still too damn low. How in the devildom could he let this happen? For hours, he stays like this with you, keeping you so close to his chest that from the outside looking in, it would seem he was smothering you. The entire time he cradles you, he is mentally abusing himself for not being with you. For letting you go out alone. For not protecting you. For going against his better judgement and agreeing to come out here with you in the first place- no... that’s not it.. He’s frustrated with himself for you going against your better judgement and choosing him to be the one to come with you. Him of all people. He couldn’t protect Lilith in the Great War, he couldn’t protect you when Belphegor tried to kill you, and now here you are, lifeless in his embrace and fighting to stay alive once again because he couldn’t protect you from the storm. The tears began to fall from his eyes once more and they dropped onto your cheek. He looks down at you, cupping your face in his hand and tenderly wipes his tears from your skin. “Please,” he begs through the lips that threaten to quiver. “Please MC. Come back to me, darling.” He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to yours over the knitted hat. Hoping, if only he could pray, for you to come back.

Mammon:

Before the storm even rolled in, Mammon went looking for you. It was unnatural for you two to be separated for this long and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Damn it, MC! We’re supposed to be doing this stupid vacation thing together,” he grumbles, as he stomps out of the house in a little Mammon tantrum. He saw your markings on the trees and piles of stones and began to think you set up the whole ‘going on a solo adventure’ thing as a prank. He chuckles to himself and beams a bit in pride. “My clever little human, turning into me.” A seemingly great idea at first, but the more he thought on it, SERIOUSLY thought on it, the more that two Mammons seemed like a bad idea. But he’d like to go over the so called ‘bad idea’ with you if he could just find you. He followed your markings until they stopped and that’s when the storm clouds rolled in. He was starting to get nervous. Yes, you hid and jumped out at him in an attempt to scare him on numerous occasions (which hardly worked, considering he was a demon and quite frankly, a powerful demon at that) back in the devildom but... this situation seemed different. Having been around you and your person the longest, he gained a sixth sense specifically for you. Your warm presence, your delectable soul essence, your precious voice, your thoughts and feelings, your wonderful heartbeat; he could feel them all, even when you returned to the human world for a bit. He could feel them all until now and it felt like he had gone numb. His nervousness turned to anxiousness. The only other time this numbing sensation has happened to him before is when Belphegor tried to off you right in front of him. He so very often wishes he could just wipe those memories from his mind forever...

For a moment, he thinks he can hear your voice, as faint as it is. “MC!!” He follows the direction he thinks your voice is coming from and calls your name again but with no reply. Then he hears it. One ever so minute thump of your heartbeat. He follows the sound like a wolf after a lamb until he comes across the little miniature cave his lamb had taken shelter under. He crawls in and he‘s instantly frozen in place. “MC?” You’re.. ? No you couldn’t be, you just couldn’t be. “C’mon MC, qu-quit foolin’ around. We have to go home. It’s s-storming like crazy out there, ya know?” Only the little echo of the cracks in his voice are his reply. He takes one of your hands in his and- shit! They’re so cold! Colder than when held you that time you were almost kill-NO! He lets go of your hand and grabs you by the shoulders instead, shaking you frantically. “MC, please, ya gotta wake up! This isn’t funny anymore!” The longer he shook you with no sign of you waking up, the more his eyes glazed over with tears. “MC!! WAKE UP!!” He growls, frustration and demon form taking over. Your body slides like a rag doll into his arms and that’s when he finally realizes that this is no prank and you’re in serious, serious danger. His heart disintegrates in his chest and nothing could stop the tears from cascading down his face like rain. For just a few moments, he sits there in that cave, holding your frozen body in his arms and rocking you as he cries heavily into your hair. He’s so hurt, so fucking hurt that this is the second time that he couldn’t protect you when he said he would. But by Diavolo, he had to keep trying until the absolute very last millisecond.

He gets a grip on himself, cradles you tightly into his embrace and skyrockets back to the cabin. Once there, he’s doing anything and everything in his power to get you warm. Heated blankets, warm and dry clothes, thick gloves, fuzzy hats, warmed pillows and cushions, a fire in the fireplace, the thermostat cranked up by 5 degrees, EVERYTHING. He even went to the extent of placing his bare hands into the fire, pulling them out to cool them down to an appropriate temperature, and then placing them over your ears, under the hat and across your forehead, or he would cradle your face in his hands to gingerly brush his warmed thumbs over your cheeks and nose. He simply could not sit still. There had to be something more he could do to help you, something more he could do to make up for his mistakes. He couldn’t stop no matter what. He loved you too much to give up so easily.

Leviathan:

Leviathan had originally intended to get both of your belongings unpacked as quickly as possible so that later that evening, you two could have a video game binge with the new game the TSL franchise came out with, honestly he did, but... as soon as he turned on the tv to test the reception in the area, one of the human shows you often mentioned to him popped up on the screen and he was instantly glued to the couch. The characters were as entertaining as you had described them in that cute way where your eyes sparkled and lips curled into a smile. He loved the way you beamed with joy He loved y- He couldn’t pry his eyes away from the screen, not even for a second. That is, until 20 minutes later and the show turned to static. “Oh for crying out loud,” he grumbles as he clicks the tv off and tosses the remote to the side. It was just like this normie of a human world to have terrible reception, especially during an intense episode. Surely he had it recorded somewhere back in his room in the Devildom. With newfound boredom, he stepped to the window and looked outside. Sheesh, it had gotten dark rather quick. It would be an awful shame for someone to be stuck out in this impending weather, just as the food in TSL had been stuck in terrible weather that The Lord of Fools sent The Lord of Flies. Such a kind gesture from the Lord of Fools, considering his former lover, Geldie, was found frozen in- “OH SHIT! MC!!”

He kicked open the door and stumbled around in the snow and gusting winds before getting his snow legs, then frantically circled the cabin, looking for any sign of you. He finds the markings in the trees and little stone piles and figured that they must belong to you. As he tread, he couldn’t help but beat himself up for letting you go alone, especially considering neither of you knew the area well enough. He understood, more than anyone in all the realms, that time alone is sacred and shouldn’t be interrupted without a legitimate reason. But even still, he wished that you would have teased him to go with you, like you often times did, until he would inevitably cave and follow behind you as he would then talk about the situation being “like that one scene from that one anime we watched together where the male protagonist somehow turns into a puppy, lost and confused, until the female protagonist comes along and takes him in and loves him for who he is and he turns back into a human and follows her around like he did when he was a puppy and-...” The rest of the walk would be filled with talks of which anime or show or video game resembled each moment you two shared.. and you loved every second of it. His eyes lit up like the sun shone right behind them and his precious little grin when he would recall humorous scenes. He would blush when he caught you staring and stumble over the next few sentences before eventually shutting up and just holding your hand (for safety of course) as you giggled at him for being so damn cute. His memories of those times kept him warm as they could as he continued onward in search of you, hoping that you weren’t in too much danger. But with how little mercy the storm was showing him, the possibility of you being safe and sound was rapidly decreasing.

Your marked trail came to an end but you weren’t there. Instead, there was only the howling winds and cascading ice to mock him. Oh no, this is bad. This is very, very bad. He shouted your name in an attempt for you to hear his voice and be able to find your way to him but he received no answer. He shouted louder and louder but you simply wouldn’t answer. “Shit, MC, where the hell are you?!” Anxiety began to make its way through him and he had to lean against a nearby tree to try and collect himself. That’s when he could faintly hear your voice crying for help. He darted towards your direction, coming upon the shelter you hid away in and as he moved closer to you, he froze. You were deathly still and your skin was so incredibly pale compared to it’s usual hue. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he was just frozen in place with nothing but your limp body and emotionless face in front of him. He had no clue what to do but try and wake you up as he swallows the lump in his throat to call your name. “M-MC?” No answer. He takes your hand in his. Shit, you’re colder than ice. “MC, pl-please... please wake up, MC.” The wind outside seem to laugh at him and his feeble attempt to wake you up. Tears welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat thickened, almost to a point where he felt he couldn’t breathe, much less cry. As his demon form creeps to the surface, he grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you. “MC, please!! I can’t do this without you!!” Your body droops into his embrace and his heart feels like it’s been dropped into a blender and turned to mush. For a moment, all he can do is stare at your solidified face and wonder why oh why was this happening to him. To his precious ‘Henry’... “That’s it!! Henry!!” He shouted to himself. What would Henry do for his loved ones? He wouldn’t sit here and feel sorry for himself, he would do everything in his power to help the ones he cared about most! Leviathan shakes away his tears, holds you tightly in his arms, and bolts to the cabin to attempt to save you. He wasn’t going to let himself get in his own way, he was going to try his damndest to save you and bring you back. To bring back his Henry.

Satan:

In the midst of folding and putting away yours and his clothes, Satan paused. Similar as much as he hated to be so to Lucifer, he had developed a sort of instinct to tell when something or anything was off and this sense was only heightened by his incredibly refined observation and detective skills. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it just yet but something was clearly off. That’s when he went looking for you. Knicks in the trees and your piles of stones made him feel a bit more at ease about going after you, as he felt you were at least intelligent about your endeavors and not as callow as most of his brothers seemed to be. That is, until the trail of markings came to a stopping point. It was difficult to admit, but this situation was throwing him for a loop. You wouldn’t have just randomly stopped placing markers for yourself unless something bad had happened and even then, you would have called for him using the pact if you were in danger, right? There had to be an explanation for all of this. He leaned against a nearby tree, neck deep in furrowed brow concentration until the sky darkened with thick, furious looking clouds stampeding in, breaking his many trains of thought. With a new indication of urgency, he continued onward in search of you. As the storm picked up, so did that ominous feeling and inherently his blood pressure. If this was your idea of a joke, it was highly inappropriate and if he’s blatantly honest, irritating, to say the least. Very. irritating. Although he was a demon and basically immortal, that didn’t negate the fact that he felt his time was precious and any amount of time with you was that much more precious. He had not come up to the human world, with the presumption that you two could finally spend some time alone together, just for the whole trip to be some pathetic excuse of a prank. You could do so much better; that he was certain of and for you to do something as lowly as this was an insult to his intelligence, his affection towards you, and an insult to him in general. He wouldn’t let his wrath, his sin, get the better of him nor would he ever use either against you but when he finds you, you will know very soon of his immense displeasure.

“Ugh...” He could hear how much he sounded like Lucifer as he is in punishment mode and it made him want to vomit.

Before the wind could really drown out any other sound, he thinks he hears your voice crying out through the storm. All of the anger that was building up instantly vanished and he hurries after you. Years and years (we’re talking thousands) of constant meditation, reading self-improvement novels, and studying a multitude of ways to strengthen one’s emotional fortitude, absolutely NOTHING could have prepared him for the way he felt when he found you. Frozen, limp, and lifeless against the stone; He didn’t have to touch you or call your name to know you weren’t going to answer. All of this was because he simply didn’t accompany you on your scouting trip.

It was too much. His wrath instantly took hold and his demon form bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t angry with you in the least, no. He was absolutely furious with himself because he didn’t protect you and he wasn’t there for you when you needed him most and he had no one else to be angry with but himself. Overcome with and blinded by the pure, white hot rage, he screams his broken heart out of his chest and into the sky above, and the earth trembled around you. The steadfast shelter that once braced against the harsh storm crumbled into trillions of pieces as the sheer force of his voice crushed them to bits. The trees no longer bent to the will of the blizzard, but to him and him alone. His anger practically created ‘an eye in the middle of the storm’ and all but Satan had stilled within it. As the last bits of his wrath dispelled and he could finally get a better grip of himself, he looked down at you before taking you in his arms as the storm closed back in around you. Using the last of his energy, he bolted to the cabin with you clutched to his chest and settled you onto the couch to start the warming process. More than anything, he wanted to reach inside of you, grab the coldness by its throat, rip it out of you, and proceed to pummel it into a fist-dug grave. He wanted to take your pain, your fear, your sadness and tears, everything that caused you harm and reign devildom upon them all. To make your suffering know the name of wrath, to know his name personally and properly. Yet all he could do is kneel at your side and wait patiently for your possible recovery.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (5/10)

Summary:  

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4

The golf course was big, big enough that his Levi’s first instinct was to contemplate the size.

He had attempted quick calculations that got nowhere, only detailed enough for him to realize, golf courses were a total waste of space. They were large green spaces that could have held happy pedestrians, happy families and maybe a few more houses. Yet, they were areas which only housed a few players at a time.

And how many times had he repeated variations of that soft tirade to himself since they arrived there that morning?

Maybe he was being a little too harsh, he thought to himself a few times.

Then he realized, maybe he would have been nicer, if he had managed to shake off the last bouts of sleepiness having woken up at five in the morning. Maybe he would have been nicer if the grass didn’t crunch under him in such an unflattering manner. Maybe he would have been nicer if the only pair of shoes he had brought with him to the country club weren’t a clean shade of white.

And maybe he would have been nicer if golf wasn’t such a deceptively easy sport.

He would have definitely been nice if he had been in a better mood that morning. And maybe he would have been in a better mood if Zeke hadn’t been just a little too amused at his apparent discomforts.

He was sure the only thing he had to do was hit the ball with a golf club and hit it a few more times until he reached the hole. To hell with strokes and strategy, there was no winning against Zeke.

He wasn’t at all dispirited. He wasn’t an idiot either. It was a valid conclusion to stumble upon after realizing that hitting the small white ball balanced on a tee wasn’t as straightforward as they made it look on Youtube.

“Is this your first time playing Ackerman?” Zeke asked. He was definitely more cordial than yesterday. The past two minutes of accidentally hitting air instead of the ball though had Levi a little more perceptive of the minute movements on Zeke’s face, the sliver of a smile and the slight raise of eyebrows.

Next to him was Hange. He had a snuck a glance at her a few times and unfortunately, her expression was unreadable.

“I haven’t played in years,” Levi said. In fact, he had never played at all, let alone set foot on a golf course. After rambling on about tea time for the past few minutes, expressing genuine excitement at the prospect of ‘tea time,’ Levi realized he had two embarrassments to pick from. He could admit to having never played golf in his life and potentially lose brownie points with Hange or he could just subtly imply that maybe he hadn’t played for so long that he had gotten a little rusty.

Very rusty. Levi feigned a look of surprise and a nod of his head as he accidentally hit the air instead of the golf ball for the third time that morning.

The golf club was just a little too thin and the ball was just a little too round, Levi justified. And you never played golf in your life. His conscience reminded him.

“Maybe you should do some practice shots before you move on to the actual course,” Erwin suggested.

Levi had made two lucky yet still very sloppy shots. “It’s fine, I can keep playing,” he said. I just have to get my swing back. He would have added if guilt and shame hadn’t been such a looming emotion.

“Or you could try to do some practice swings before you hit the ball. It can help fix your aim,” Hange added, her tone was evidence enough of her good intentions.

Zeke shrugged. “Or you could just keep trying to hit. If you wanna waste your strokes on that, I see no problem with you swinging.”

“Waste… my strokes?” Levi asked. He had read on strokes that night. To win a golf tournament, the player had to hit the ball into all eighteen holes in the golf course.

It was a very simple sport which turned out to have more nuances than Levi had bothered to check the night before.

“Well, if you try to swing and miss the ball, that counts as one stroke,” Hange explained matter-of-factly.

“Wait… so that means I have other strokes… Aside from those I counted?”

“Ideally yes,” Zeke said. “By that confused look on your face, I’m assuming though that you haven’t been counting them.”

Levi’s eyes had been too wide and maybe he had been blinking just a little too fast. He looked down, pretending to focus on the small white ball in front of him. From his peripherals, he was watching Zeke. When he realized he had no control of his expression, he decided he wasn’t going to look up until Zeke looked away from him. “Should I be counting them?” Levi mustered.

“Ideally yes.” Zeke repeated, in the exact same tone as a second ago. “But you know Levi… if you haven’t played in a long time, then maybe we could allow you to make as many air shots as you want. It makes for some great practice. Think of it as training wheels on a bike or those floaties in a pool.”

“I don’t need a handicap.” I’m not a beginner. Levi would have added if the subtle weight of that white lie wasn’t hampering him at that moment.

“Well, I don’t wanna win against someone who is averaging scores way over par either,” Zeke said. “It’s not fun.”

“Over par?” Levi pulled his scoresheet out of his pocket. Until a moment ago, he had been proud of the fact that he had managed to hit the ball into the hole. The clack of the ball against the walls of the hole before it sank into the bottom had lightened his mood a bit. The woosh of the club, the sound of the bottom hitting the tea had been oddly satisfying.

At first glance, ‘over par’ had sounded like a compliment or something neutral at the least. The wry smile Hange had given him though had him nitpicking his scorecard.

“Well, the last five holes were par-three holes,” Hange said. She wasn’t lying, just below the table on Levi’s score card were a row of numbers next to the word ‘par.’

“Meaning any golfer worth their salt would finish them in three strokes,” Zeke added.

The numbers just above the three were all above tens and Levi had been proud of the eight, strangely proud. His mind had been petty enough to bring with it flashbacks of Erwin and Zeke hitting more than three strokes in some holes. The more logical side of his mind though was arguing two much more reasonable points. Firstly, Zeke and Erwin had never gone above ten strokes, he was sure of that. Secondly, they never completely missed the ball mid swing.

“Well, there’s still progress,” Hange came up from behind him and pointed at the scorecard. “You have a seventeen for the first hole… but the second ones are nearer to ten and look, you have an eight here,” Hange said pointing at the fourth column. She looked at Zeke and Erwin standing just a few feet away. “He’s just getting used to it. He’ll be fine.”

“Well, we still have thirteen more holes,” Erwin said. “You have a lot of time to get your swing back.”

Thirteen holes? Right, a full golf course had eighteen holes. He remembered reading about that. He didn’t expect to be completely exhausted after the first five though.

***

It didn’t get easier. In fact, it only got harder and the scorecard was a good guide. The numbers next to the word ‘par’ only got bigger and bigger the farther they walked and Levi was also starting to fear losing the ball among shrubs or having it just plop aimlessly into one of the bodies of water that were scattered across the greens.

If it falls, does someone have to swim in and get it? It was a ridiculous question to occupy himself with then. The country club was occupied by the richest of the rich, no one would bother to even get a golf ball that falls into a pond. Still, the past few holes had been nothing but surprises. Levi had admitted to himself early on that he was utterly lost. He was even starting to lose trust in his quick ability to deduce and answer such ridiculous questions. He was aware enough to know it was dumb enough to ask anyway.

“You’re making par-fives look easy. It’s definitely your years in the driving range paying off now.” Zeke was definitely not talking to him. His voice was too gentle, too reverent that for a good few moments, Levi almost believed it had been Erwin talking.

“Zeke mentioned that you had a good range,” Erwin said, making the contrast of Zeke and Erwin’s voice all the more distinct.

“It’s the closest thing we can get to golf back in the city,” Hange said. “Besides, it’s a good way to let off some…” She chose that moment to hit the ball with one fell swoosh, one flick of the wrist. “Steam!” For a few seconds after, she was breathing a little harder.

Although Levi tried, he could barely make out the white ball among the greens a good few yards away.

“You always had a lot of steam to let out,” Zeke quipped.

“And that’s why the driving range is my favorite part,” Hange said, a smile playing at her lips, her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled. And the object of such a cute and playful expression had been Zeke Jaeger. Still, it was a cute expression Levi had managed to enjoy from a distance.

Hange was smiling more. Her eyes were brighter and she was walking with longer, more confident strides than a while ago. As if she was in her natural habitat.

It had taken a little longer than a few minutes to catch up to the ball she had just thrown yards away. Levi was counting and everything happened a little too quickly. Hange got the hole in three solid strokes.

“An eagle! That’s your fourth bird today." Surprisingly, Zeke had the ability to be a bundle of pride, particularly when it was Hange next to him, and his arm was around her again.

"What can I say? I've been practicing," Hange responded.

Levi turned to the sky above him, searching the blue for some familiar shadow. No birds. Of course it would be a metaphor.

A metaphor which a half hour binge of golf videos did not prepare him for.

Levi was tempted to do a quick Google search then. His phone was safely tucked in his golf bag though and Hange had been too good of a view to miss.

The strides remained confident. Even crouched down dropping the ball on the tee, Hange had been domineering, confident. She continued to hit ball after ball in pounces and swishes.

Like an eagle. A condor. An albatross. All prowling, ready to swoop down at their prey.

The bird metaphors never ended. When Levi listened closely, he started to realize, Erwin and Zeke never actually stopped mentioning terms like eagles, birdies and boogies. When it was Hange’s turn to hit, Zeke was always mentioning a bird.

Birdies. Eagles. Albatrosses. “You think you can manage an ostrich?” Zeke asked. That was the first time Levi heard the word ostrich in the past few hours and such an ungraceful animal mentioned among all other graceful predators had him letting out a cough in surprise.

“You know, no one’s ever managed it. I’ve never done a condor in my life either,” Hange said.

“This is your last chance to get one for this course,” Zeke said.

“I’m not aiming for one,” Hange said.

Levi only had to look at the scorecard to realize that was their last hole for the day. He stared down a little lower to see a six under the empty box.

A par-six hole. So any golfer worth their salt would get the ball to the hole in six strokes. All the numbers next to the par were the numbers he should have been aiming for. Looking up at his own score, he was reminded that his numbers were usually twice or even thrice the numbers in the par row.

He thought back to Erwin, Zeke and Hange who had waited right behind him while he missed swings, missed holes when his balls were only inches away and concluded for himself that the numbers were a very reasonable estimate. He was still very much over par.

A below par golfer. It was a shitty joke. But.when the only thing keeping him following the three seasoned golfers was his self esteem that his been whittled at for hours, his mind was seeking comfort in the smallest yet most ridiculous things.

“Levi, you go first since you’re probably going to take more strokes anyway,” Zeke said.

Levi felt his hairs bristled at that. Zeke’s voice had been too near, too abrupt and Levi had been too busy surveying his surroundings for the flag.

Where is the hole? Levi opened his mouth to ask. The question died into a fake cough though when the red flickered for a second, just beyond the tall greens in front of him. “So, we get it to the other side of that?” He pointed one slightly shaky finger at the overgrowth in front of him.

Zeke shrugged. “Or you can go around it.”

“Going around might be a better idea,” Erwin said. “ He drew a half circle with his hand, tracing the trajectory of whatever ball he would probably be hitting. “Grass and trees might affect your swing.”

“You can hit a curveball.” The tone and the content of the suggestion framed it as almost good-intentioned advice. Zeke had narrowed his eyes at Levi as he said it.

Levi could barely even hit a decent ball. And you think I can do a curveball? He looked away from Zeke and at the more friendly landscape next to the mini forest. He wasn’t aiming for anything under par anyway.

Ending that damn course with remaining dignity would be nice and all he had to do was play it safe.

“You face your club a little to the left and swing to the right. It makes the ball spin.” Hange spoke up in the few second long silence.

Levi jumped at the abrupt yet mellow voice. A sound of the clack of metal and Levi instinctively looked down to find the ball had fallen off the tee. He bent down, ready to pick it up.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Hange asked. Her movements weren’t helping to calm Levi down either. Whether she had even noticed it or not, when she had crouched down next to Levi. And her presence had come out of nowhere, a phantom in his peripherals, just like the her voice of a while ago that Levi found himself having to keel over, placing one hand on the floor just to avoid tripping over.

The ball started to roll further away. Hange was quick to catch it. “Yeah, you seem pretty jumpy today. It really has been a while since you played huh?” She placed the ball on the tee. “A curveball will save you the hazard of going into the forest or going too far right instead of forward,” she explained.

“Maybe you should teach him how to swing the club first before teaching him to curve the ball,” Zeke chided.

“He had enough holes to practice. Who knows, he might just make it under par for the last one,” Hange said.

“On a par-three hole maybe, not for a par-six one.” Erwin shook his head, a ghost of a playful smile on his face.

“Either way, we’re used to waiting for him to finish anyway,” Zeke said. “We had seventeen holes to get used to it.”

I can at least try. In response, whatever was left of Levi’s dignity echoed Hange’s last few pieces of advice. Club facing left, swing to the right. Words weren’t the best guide though. Levi only realized it for himself when his mind went on overdrive.

Which left? Whose left? Which right? Whose right? He could have sworn Hange had been in front of him for a second. And what is the point of coordinating all these movements? He concluded, there were things he would only ever learn through doing.

And his body hadn’t still even gotten used to the flick of his wrist, the unnatural weight of the golf club and the need to make sure the club actually hit the ball. He had been thinking everything at once in that split second it had taken to hit the ball. At the same time, he had managed to face his club left, swing a little to the right.

Or he could have sworn he did. In that split second, Levi lost sight of the ball. He stared at the sky for a few seconds before deciding, it probably wasn’t there. He turned to the flat land to his right, no white specks either.

He heard the beginnings of a laugh just behind him.

Zeke’s laugh. “You really hit your ball there huh?”

“Is it out of bounds?” Levi asked, stifling whatever emotion was creeping out of him. It turned out much easier to just keep his voice monotone.

“Well, technically it’s not. It’s still playable,” Erwin said. “But if you look at the terrain…”

When Levi squinted he saw it, beyond the greens was a little dirty brown then just beyond it the speck of red.

“You’re years too early for an exhibition, Levi,” Zeke said.

“I think it’s playable.” Hange’s voice probably wasn’t the voice of reason but it was a source of comfort though.

She pulled a club from her golf bag and positioned herself to hit her own ball. She did a few practice swings, biting her lower lip in concentration.

Her motions were coming out, disjointed, so stark of a contrast from a while ago that Levi clearly recalled her own seamless movements until that moment. Her own hit had ended with her swinging position just a little too loose, the ball flying aimlessly a good few feet above him then the soft rustle of trees.

Hange looked back at them, a light shrug of defeat. Or acceptance. Her shrug had been too much of a big ham though to have been anything worth pitying. “I guess I’ll be playing through the forest too,” she said.

***

“You know there’s a time limit to finding your ball,” Hange said.

It was definitely an attempt to make conversation. Since they entered the forest, Hange had been seemingly restless, she was hummed, she tutted. Only when Levi grunted in return did that little exchange even become somewhat more coherent.

“Well, then I lose,” Levi said.

“No, you don’t get disqualified if you don’t find it. You just get a stroke penalty and you can start---”

“Well, I think I’m done for the day anyway.” That admission was enough to pull some of the weight off of his shoulders. When it was just Hange there, somehow it had been easier to hint, he wasn’t at all enjoying his morning.

For a few seconds longer, they were silent, save for the rustle of the crunch of the leaves below, the rustle of branches. Hange could have been making a sound. If the raising of eyebrows, the pursing of lips and the shifting of features into a wide smile could have counted as one.

He didn’t have the leeway to think too much into it though. Before he could stare and contemplate for a while longer, Hange broke the silence. “I’m guessing you actually never played golf.” She was saying it too gleefully like she had just caught him stealing a cookie from a cookie jar.

He had feared Hange seeing right through him until that moment. Such an exchange had come out almost anticlimactic. “You’re right. I never did. I grew up in the city and we don’t get a lot of golf courses in the city and country club memberships are expensive.”

“Why did you say you did? And you seemed so excited…” Hange trailed off. There was a disappointment in her tone, apparent enough to send a dull stab of guilt through him.

Levi sighed. “I thought of tea time not tee time,” he admitted.

“Tea time?” Hange asked.

Levi put his finger to his mouth, putting one pinky up in emphasis. “Tea time.”

Hange put the a cup made of air to her mouth in response. The raised pinky must have done the trick. “Like cups and kettles and shortbread tea time?” She asked.

Levi let out a deep sigh. “That would have been nice.”

“You should have told me! We could have organized one.”

“Really? Under Zeke’s sponsorship?”

“Well we have one more night here so what about after we go to the beach this afternoon. I can call the house have them prepare something---”

“Zeke is paying. I’d rather not…”

“Believe me, he’ll be in a good mood after this.”

Levi raised one eyebrow. “Really? After this?”

“He’s beating Erwin,” Hange said. “And Zeke likes winning if you haven’t noticed.” She stopped on her tracks and leaned back on the tree.

Levi only had to look back at the chess matches and the mahjong matches to see the truth in Hange’s explanation. “How’s your score?”

Hange pulled out her scorecard and handed it to him. His first instinct was to stare once again at the par numbers below before looking up again at the numbers on top. The view was definitely new to him. His own had been filled with two digit numbers at the top, double or even triple the par. Hange’s scorecard was clean, all one digit numbers, rarely above five. “He’s beating Erwin but he’s not beating me,” she admitted.

Levi only realized a second later that his jaw dropped. He moved to close his mouth. Zeke had been loud, his presence glaring. Erwin had been silent but he had given too much unsolicited advice that Levi had watched more closely begrudgingly counting the number of strokes.

Hange though had been silent, she had been focused on hitting the ball and although she had given advice, she had been subtle, she had been soft spoken about it.

Then he remembered the terms. Boogey. Birdy. Eagle. “Zeke told me you got an ‘eagle’”

“Eagle. Two strokes under par. I got one over here,” Hange said, pointing at a three.”And I got some ‘birdies.’” Levi didn’t do his research but the quick deduction that came with staring at the par numbers and Hange’s own numbers just one below par were enough for him to figure it for himself. “So you’ve been playing for a while.”

“I played this course a lot. I’d go alone when Zeke’s busy,” Hange said. “Sometimes when we’re back in the city, I’d go to the driving range to---”

“To let off some steam.”

Hange nodded. “Well Zeke spends a lot of time working, thinking about investments, stocks…. And Married life gets stressful. Sometimes, it gets surprisingly lonely.”

“You have your own thing going on though right? You have research, investments…”

“Definitely, but I can’t even count the number of times Zeke takes me here, only to ditch for a meeting or another emergency,” Hange said. “So it’s nice to be here with other people. Thanks for coming,” she added, her voice much softer than a while ago.

“Thanks for being patient with a newbie.”

Hange put her hands up in surprise. “No, I’m happy to be playing here,” she said. “You know, the many times Zeke and I played this course together, he never went this route for the final hole.”

“Have you?” Levi asked.

By the way Hange was navigating just a little too confidently, Levi realized he didn’t need a verbal answer.

Hange was still kind enough to supply one. “I told you right? I played this course too many times to count…” She walked ahead. “Our balls went to the same area, past the forest and you’ll see at the end of this why Zeke refuses to play here.”

Levi continued to follow, pushing leaves, branches and undergrowth back when necessary. The way the branches had given way to a glistening blue had been an almost breathtaking site.

“If your ball gets stuck in the forest, then you can’t usually go full swing to get it out. But if you swing too weakly, the ball will fall into the lake,” Hange explained. “And you waste a stroke. And a really good ball.”

“If it falls in?”

“We use a provisional ball and we get a stroke penalty. And of course, we lose the ball.” Hange answered. “I’ve lost enough balls here.”

“And Zeke never tried this path?”

“Zeke likes winning,” Hange said, her tone as deadpan as it was the first time she said it. “But the way he goes about winning is like...He’s always been smart about it, always playing safe. And it’s not just in games. He has always approached life like that. His investments are always blue chip, commodities, healthcare. Things which would never fail. And if you’ve seen how he plays, he’ll never go for something risky, like this.” Hange held her hands wide in front of her in emphasis. “He’ll skirt around the forest, even if it takes him an extra two strokes.”

“A conservative husband. At least you know you’ll never go hungry.” That response had been automatic. He had been a little too playful then, trying to elicit a reaction from the already frustrated looking Hange.

Hange let out a grand sigh, something that could have been a scream if she put more voice into it. “Yeah and you’re just as conservative as he is.”

“Am I?” Levi raised one eyebrow, a challenge at that one comment. On the inside though, maybe he was slightly insulted.

Hange didn’t notice it. She probably hadn’t even heard him. She dropped the golf bag and walked ahead towards the edge of the lake. “I found one of our golf balls!” She waved one hand back at him, too giddily that Levi was tempted to walk on ahead, just stopping where the sand started to soak up the water.

“We’re still in the game, Levi.” Hange said, a toothy grin clambered up her cheeks.

No. Levi thought to himself. Those words never made it to his lips. Or maybe it did, just as something else.“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hange had bent down and started unlacing her shoes. “Why?”

“Why are you gonna get yourself dirty? You can just use a provisional ball and you can just go around the lake.”

Hange took a break from unlacing her shoes, and put a hand up in front of him as if to say ‘case in point.’ “Conservative.”

“Why, what’s wrong with conservative?”

In a begrudgingly effective response, Hange wildly kicked off one shoe and it flew just a good few inches from the banks. “I told you yesterday, games teach things right?”

And sometimes they expose parts of ourselves. Levi completed that last part in his head.

If he had ended up muttering it out loud, Hange probably didn’t hear it. “ Games are problems that need to be solved,” she started. “And life is the same way, stocked with problems, or maybe it’s a constant problem that needs to be navigated and solved right?”

Levi didn’t respond. Hange didn’t seem to be looking for a response either and she continued to speak. “People will always master their commonly used thinking processes and problem solving processes and they rely too easily on them. Zeke and his stocks. Zeke and his business ventures. And Levi Ackerman and his programming,” She cocked her head back and looked at him, her expression a big ham. She kicked her other shoe to the other side.

“What about my programming?” Levi asked.

“Oh a user interface problem? It’s a front end issue. Oh it’s a problem with the server data? It’s a back end issue.” For that moment, Hange had changed her tone, her verbal tics, and Levi could only come up with one conclusion: she was mocking him.

He was sure he didn’t sound like that though. “I didn’t know you understood coding.”

“I don’t,” Hange said. “But I did my research because we’re gonna be working together right? Anyway, the point is, sure, you’re an efficient thinker that way. Everyone is an efficient thinker when they’re thinking in shortcuts and clearcut processes. Don't you think people lose a lot of opportunities to learn something a little more life changing, to achieve something more when they stick to all these strict processes?” Hange grabbed one of the more rounded clubs from her bag. “By the way, this is a driver,” she said.

A driver, a golf club used for long distance hits. Levi at least remembered that much from researching. “I knew that.”

“Well, I thought I might as well give you a few lessons. We’re gonna be working together so I thought I’d tell you how I like to work, Levi.” Hange cocked her head back and smiled. “When we look into this application, you might find a bug. But I asked you… what if it’s working as expected? What if it’s a matter of flawed data?”

“That’s what we’ll be investigating right?”

“But I don’t wanna start this investigation with assumptions. We’re creating an extension of your application, we’re gonna be breaking down the application to data, sensations and feelings. I feel like we’ll be able to do a better job at finding the ‘bug’ if we keep an open mind about it. So I want us to ask and answer questions we were scared to even probe,” Hange said. She stepped into the water, driver in hand.

Levi could only watch, starting from the bottom, watching as her pants turned a darker shade of blue, as the water creeped up her hastily and shoddily folded cuffs.

“Questions like?” Levi already had the question, tucked in his mind. He wasn’t the one married. He wasn’t the one with the billionaire husband. That wasn’t his question to ask.

Fortunately, Hange had been eager to probe. “What if we’re just attracted to each other? As simple as that. What if… the love alarm is just telling us, we really could get along?”

It was the easiest answer and somehow, such an admission had Levi admiring everything at once. The sun after the rain was brightest, it reflected the water in various ways, emitting too many colors at once.

And Hange was in the middle of it all. The sun, the gleaming water had done their job to make her just a little too iridescent, a feast for even his eyes.

His eyes still had a conscience though. “Don’t you wanna figure out why it didn’t ring with Zeke?”

Hange shrugged. “I am curious… but really, love is a complex thing. Why would I let an application tell me who I love or don’t love? No matter how the application rings, it wouldn’t change how I feel about Zeke.”

Hange turned her back on him then and Levi was at least grateful he had that one second to let out a hitched breath. “Then I guess, you really know how to love, Hange,” he whispered, mostly for himself and maybe, in the infinitesimally small chance Hange was listening.

She had gone deeper into the water, the water starting to tickle at her shins. She stopped, positioning her club just a little into the water. Wish me luck. She mouthed.

And everything went quickly after that. One flick of the wrist, a splash of water, a lot of mud. Levi didn’t even have time to watch the ball fly. Maybe because he had been watching the bluish drops, the brown drops hovering in the air and Hange in the middle of it all for a few split seconds longer.

Everything suddenly slowed down when he was looking at the minute details, when he was watching how the drops of water flew high enough to smack lightly at her face, how the grime practically slapped at her neck and the way the drops of water and mud hung heavy on her shirt, down to her bottoms.

She wasn’t looking back yet. She put a hand to her forehead as if they were a pair of binoculars only she knew how to use. She let out a cheer, a howl in amazement as if she was the one who didn’t just send a ball flying from the water. “ I think the ball made it to the green,” she said

She turned back at him so excitedly that the water continued to splash.

Levi instinctively stepped back. “You’re a fucking mess. It’s disgusting.” He was sure he had sounded a little abrasive.

Hange’s smile wasn’t falling though. “Then why are you smiling?”

“Am I?” Levi asked. The smile tugged at his lips and he wasn’t compelled at all to resist.

He declared it Hange’s win. Besides, maybe she was right. Maybe they could really get along.

***

There was an albatross pecking by the sand, only a few feet from Levi. It was an ugly bird, the beak too long, too crooked and when it stared at him with its deep black eyes, Levi could have sworn it was peering into his soul.

It was mildly terrifying but still, Levi continued to stare just to make sure the few seconds of googling an albatross, and his own natural instinct were correct. That it was an albatross.

“Why are you staring at the bird?” It was a cold yet seemingly innocent question. It was just like his direct superior though to have him so self conscious over one simple action with just one question.

“It’s an albatross,” Levi answered, only realizing a second later he hadn’t answered the question.

Or maybe that was the answer to the question. “So a small game of golf was enough to have you interested in birds.”

“I just did some research on albatrosses after the game."

"Is this about Hange?"

"Zeke was screaming about an albatross during the game,” Levi said.

“Albatross, three strokes below par. Hange got that par-six hole in three strokes,” Erwin explained.

“Yeah, she did.”

“So it is about Hange.”

Levi didn’t say anything, instead, focusing on the conglomeration of unpleasant sensations bombarding him. He shifted his knees, and his bottom, letting the beach blanket bristle from underneath him. Just a little hyper aware then, he picked out the grains of sand rising as little bumps, digging into him.

When he held his chin high, instead of focusing on the ground underneath, he still couldn’t shift himself into something perfectly agreeable. The sticky air, the sour, flaky scent that lingered there were unshakeable discomforts. Levi could have sworn that although he hadn’t even gone near enough to the ocean to get wet, the humid ocean air would still find a way to leave him wet and sticky.

“What do you think of her?” Erwin asked.

“Think of who?”

“Hange.”

Erwin’s question had been enough to pull Levi from his quick trance of running through all the downsides of the beach trip. Those downsides were quickly replaced by another discomfort. Suddenly, Levi was uncomfortable inside and out. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, you’re gonna be working close to her so I just wanted to make sure you two were compatible.”

Compatible. That word had Levi coughing out the ocean air. “Well our love alarms rang so maybe that means we could get along, work efficiently together.”

“Just don’t get Zeke angry,” Erwin said.

“Why would I do that?”

“Keep him in a good mood.”

But were Zeke's good moods even predictable? “Well, Hange is his partner and he seems particularly happy when she's around,” Levi said.

“He was in a good mood today, particularly after a match, spent a good few minutes talking about how you lost your ball.”

Levi never did find the ball that flew into the forest. Although he had a provisional and he could have played on, somehow following Hange’s own play had been much more entertaining. “Hange told me he likes winning,” Levi said.

“Particularly against you,” Erwin noted, one eyebrow raised.“You know, when Hange followed you into the woods, he seemed like he was in a bad mood for a while there.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Zeke is an important customer, an important opportunity for this application and I want to make sure he’s happy with his investment.”

“Yes, Hange and I will work on a good product.”

“It’s not just that,” Erwin said. “With the amount of money Zeke is putting into this product, try to keep this in mind, if he wants something, he gets it. Don’t make him want to pull out the money.”

Erwin was dancing around definitions for sure. He was emphasizing words, dropping hints and he was staring at Levi like there was something else he had wanted to say but was stopping himself.

If Zeke wants something, he gets it. Erwin had mentioned.

He was a reasonable man though so it didn’t seem too radical of a decision for Levi to amend the statement on his end. If Zeke wants something within reason, he gets it.

All he had to do was keep Zeke happy. A hauntingly difficult task especially when the blonde had proved to be incredibly disagreeable the few times he had known him.

Don't you think people lose a lot of opportunities to learn something a little more life changing, to achieve something more when they stick to all these strict processes?

Then he was reminded, pleasing Zeke didn’t have to be a strict process of sucking up to him. Levi was starting to see it for himself when the conversation deadened into nothing, save for the squawk of the ocean birds and the splash of the waves on the shore.

When there was nothing more to discuss, Erwin fell back on his beach blanket. Within a few minutes, he was silent. Levi wasn’t as tired. He probably would have fallen asleep though if the two figures at the distance hadn’t caught his eye.

One blonde, one brunette. He only needed the height difference, the familiar colored bathing suits from a while ago to figure out for himself who they were.

Hange was much easier to pick out. The enthusiasm, the inquisitiveness he had gotten used to overtime was apparent in the way she managed to scurry across the shores before falling thigh deep into the water. She was pointing at something under.

From next to her, Zeke dove to get it, pulling out a large shell. Then they were talking. Hange held the shell in her hand, raised it up to the sky.

It could have been gleaming, glittering. Levi was too far to tell. By the way, Hange waves her hands up before holding it in front of Zeke, Levi was sure it was beautiful.

A few minutes may have passed of just watching the couple trudge through hip deep water.

The peaceful moment was abruptly interrupted by a man in a beach polo and board shorts, running towards the shore, one hand held high. “Mr. Jaeger! Someone from the board of directors of…” He continued to talk, to shout. He was running as he spoke and Levi never picked up the last few parts of that conversation.

That wasn’t his business anyway. There were more important things though, more fitting of the name “his business.”

Like the way Hange’s mouth dropped, perceptible despite the distance between them. The way she had slowed down to a stop, shell still in hand.

They made it back to the shallower part of the beach together only separating after one kiss to Hange’s forehead. Zeke went ahead in land, seeming particularly restless.

And Hange? She sat down at the edge of the shore, where the water was still deep enough to cover her feet. She pulled her legs to her chest, held them close. The shell lay forgotten on her side.

By the time Levi was close enough to see it, the shell had disappeared, most likely taken back by the ocean. “Hey, was there something you wanted to see?”

Pleasing Zeke didn’t have to be a strict process. It didn’t have to be the strict daunting process of sucking up to a disagreeable man. He concluded that for himself when he allowed the burst of energy to wash through him then, when Hange looked up at him, a wide grin decorating her lips.

Someone was precious to Zeke. It was very much apparent back in the pool, back in the golf course and then and there, on the shores.

And if I make her happy, by extension, I make Zeke happy right?

“Zeke and I were planning on checking out the albatross colony, just over there past that rock,” Hange said. “There are usually seagulls at this time of year too.”

“I can come with you.”

Hange’s eyes widened. “Really? You didn’t seem excited when I mentioned the ocean yesterday.”

Levi had been polite. “Did I seem not excited?”

“Well, you wrinkled your nose like this.” Hange made a ridiculous face, crossing her eyes, raising her nose a little too high, Levi could have sworn he had never made that expression that in his life. Hange continued. "And when we arrived, you stayed as far away as you could and you had that same face.

Levi didn’t have much control of his expressions and maybe he was a little too unsure. The water was deep enough to eat at his feet but still shallow enough that Levi had full control of his movements.

The ocean was dirty, disgusting. It was a confluence of biological waste. But the ocean had Hange. The ocean made Hange happy.

Suddenly, Levi was self conscious of his own expression then. Just in case, he pulled his mouth up to a subtle smile, making a conscious effort to soften his expression. In the end, it hadn’t been too much of a feat.

Hange’s own smile, her wide eyes had made everything all the easier. “You wanna see the albatross colonies?” she asked.

“Sure, We don’t come here often anyway.”

“You’ll definitely not get this back in the city. The magic about this island is… there’s not a lot of beachgoers so we’re able to preserve a lot of nature.” Hange walked ahead, looking back only long enough to grip his hand.

She walked further into the ocean and the wind could have gotten stronger. It whipped at her damp hair, blowing it in all directions at once. The fishy smell of the ocean rode with the wind and Levi found himself blinking hard a few times while willing himself to move forward.

Hange was moving faster than Levi ever had been. She was more than a few feet away already and the distance between them was only getting wider and wider.

He could have been distracted or maybe he had just been convinced that if he walked on, he would eventually catch up to her. He didn’t pay heed to the water that smacked at his chest, until he had to taste it. Not until he had to flail his hands just to keep moving forward, against the current.

“Hange!” By the time, he had thought it necessary to call out, Hange was too far. For sure, she didn’t hear him. Levi was starting to question himself though. How could she hear him when there was a wall of water between them? How could she hear him when water was finding its way into his mouth every single time he had attempted to call out?

He was starting to find it difficult to even open his mouth. He was finding it difficult to kick, to flail his arms. HIs chest was screaming. The few moments he tried to open his eyes, to take stock of the situation, he was met with a stinging pain.

A few times, he tried to kick up ahead to the surface. Once or twice, he had opened his eyes despite the stinging pain, long enough to see the sky above him.

Was he drowning? He was drowning in the world’s bathroom, a conglomeration of shit and piss. It was a horrible way to go out and as much as possible, he would have wanted to go out in other less disgusting ways. So Levi continued to flail towards the top, kicking from underneath. He continued to scream, or at least attempt to scream past the bombardment of seawater that made it past his mouth and to his lungs.

The ocean smelled fear. Maybe it smelled disgust. It continued to advance towards him. Any reprieve Levi managed to find, any attempt to stay a float, back first on the surface was met with waves lapping at him, riptides dragging him from all directions at once.

Levi!

Was it Hange? Or was it the ocean? When everything came accompanied by whooshes, gurgles and bubbling, Levi never could be too sure.

Still, he continued to kick. He continued to wave his arms, until his lungs let out their last cry. Until all sensations whittled to unknowns.

And all he could see was darkness.

***

Hey, can you hear me?

The ocean had been warm, so warm that Levi didn’t even know his insides were cold until air filled his mouth, whizzing down his throat. Awareness came like a flicker then two many lights at once.

And in the middle of it all, it could have been Hange. He liked to think it was Hange. Her damp hair were tendrils that caressed at his neck, her voice drumming yet faint.

Hey, hey, can you see me? Blink twice if you can.

Levi wasn’t in control of his body. He didn’t think too much of it though, he had a good view right in front of him, albeit a little blurry.

Stop moving. Although he couldn’t say it out loud, he was sure he said it loud enough in his mind. Still, something was shaking him, his vision was topsy turvy, the lights continued to move left and right, then up and down in some pattern he couldn’t even comprehend.

The lights were bright, dizzying. Instinctively Levi shut his eyes. In the darkness that followed, maybe he lost track of time, of some sort of rhythm without the lights to guide him. The familiar sensation came as something abrupt. He noticed the contours first, the lines that brushed against his own lips, settling on his upper lip, then just a little bit above his jaw.

Then he tasted them. They were salty and they brought with it more surprises. More air that brushed past the walls of his mouth, to the back of his throat then they washed down to his lungs. More air. And they did their job to aggravate whatever other unwelcome concoctions had settled in his airway

Awareness had come like a flicker. Consciousness came as a slap in his face, then everything at once. There was a pain in his chest, from the shaking.

His view was a dark yet glistening blue. The ocean? But how long had he been staring at the ocean. He could have sworn that he was watching Hange just a while ago.

“Just let it out Levi.” Her voice was grating. And Levi wondered why he was even looked at her. Everything hurt at once, and when Levi stared at the water, the notable puddle just next to him, comprehension washed over him, first as a flicker, a slap in the face then a large wall of water, a monster in the sea.

He could have been drowning again.

What the fuck. It would have been nice to be able let out a taut swear. After all, when he was barely moving, the aches and pains bunched up inside him. Everything came out as a gurgle, then more salt water.

“You almost drowned out there,” Hange said, an attempt at comforting for sure. Levi wasn’t at all comforted though.

Not by her voice at least. Something was caressing at his neck, pushing his hair behind his ear. It took him a few seconds longer, and a soft motion guiding his head back up, back to looking straight up at the sky, for Levi to put two and two together.

The sky was the background. Hange was the centerpiece. A centerpiece of relief and exhaustion, framed by hair much damper. Those were enough hints.

You saved me? He had tried to mouth it.

Whether Hange had heard it or not, he couldn’t do much to assume but he focused on the way she licked her lips, the way she bit them before settling for a weak smile. He focused on the way the lines on her lips stuck out a little more when dry.

And it just had been a little easier to recall them right on top of his.

So you did save me. He couldn’t spare much words but he did manage to spare a smile.

Hange didn’t return it. By the time Levi was confident enough to have sworn he was smiling, Hange had already looked away. “He’s responsive,” she said, her voice more distant than a second ago.

“Hange, let a professional take over.” Zeke’s voice penetrated into that tiny world that had been just the both of them.

“You have to be careful, I might have bruised a few ribs.” Suddenly, Hange’s voice was getting softer and softer.

As if Zeke had intruded just to pull her out. He sought solace in the fact that she was Zeke’s after all. That was only the expected outcome.

For a while all he saw was blue sky. Then unfamiliar faces. Then others were asking questions. Way too many questions. It was just a little too overwhelming that Levi could only force his eyelids shut.

He let the darkness take over, then his other four senses. Then soon, he could have been dreaming again. The contours, the dry scabby lines at his upper lip, at his lower lip, brushing just a little lower. He was certain, in those split second long moments, her lips were on his.

Soft but chapped. Salty but sweet. Maybe he spared a few seconds, a few glimmers of scarce energy to lick at his lips just to taste it again.

Reason bared its fangs. She did it to save your life. She’s married. He scolded himself.

Soon, he was barely aware of anything but blackness. And the salty and sweet, the soft and dry danced for a little longer in his dreams.

Still, a part of him continued to whisper. Not in your wildest dreams.

“Not in your wildest dreams, Levi.” A soft mutter only he could have heard. It was only for him anyway since he needed to hear it himself to believe it.

[a-monsters-love]

Distance - Soulmate AU

Gif found [here]

[Master List]

Aizawa Shouta x Reader

Summary: When we turn 8 our dreams don’t just become our own. We don’t know when it started but we start to share our dream scape with our soulmates. The closer we are to them the better we can hear them in our dreams, the farther we are the less we can hear them. When the other wakes you get a small, very brief, glimpse of the world around them. If soulmates have different sleeping schedules then the dreams you have without them you typically won’t remember.

Genre: oh it’s fluffy y’all

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: mild swearing, implied abuse, quotes from the MHA Vigilantes series, native language I’m using for y/n is English

A/N: I’ve always wanted to write a Soulmate AU ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡. And y/n’s quirk is based off of Jinx from the Teen Titans lmao

With love to my favorite bby who helped me form the ideas for this @eraser-baby​

(Y/N) = Your Name (H/C) = Hair Color (E/C) = Eye Color (H/L) = Home Land i.e country of origin (N/L) = Native Language

————————————

If you’ve learned anything in your life it’s that girls love talking about soulmates. Sure, it’s romantic and very fairytale-esk but isn’t there anything better to talk about? You sighed as your classmate gawks about her soulmate and what they did together in her dreams. “Come on (Y/N)! Tell us about your soulmate! You never participate in these conversations!” Your friend says. The other girls in the locker room agree and you let you head drop back dramatically.

You roll you neck and look at each of them, “I don’t have one.” You shrugged, “I don’t have anything to offer.” Their faces grow visibly shocked at your statement but you weren’t one to lie, “Don’t look at me like that. Come on, we have to get to training.” The last thing you want is for them to pity you. Pity for not having a soulmate was the last thing you should ever receive pity for, not with how your life was. You couldn’t help but huff at the idea as you pulled your gym shirt over the scars that were riddled all over your skin.

——

“You’re lying!” Oboro accused his friend, “No one just doesn’t have a soulmate!” His nagging on the topic has only gotten worse as his friendship with Aizawa Shouta went on.

Hizashi chuckled, “He’s telling the truth, I don’t believe he doesn’t have one either though. They’ve just never met.”

Shouta groaned at the conversation, “If I have one I’ve never met them, not having one makes more sense.” He shrugged, “I mean, it’s been 7 years and I’ve had zero contact.” Oboro groaned into the pillows on Shouta’s bed in frustration. “We have like 30 more minutes to study before we should get to sleep.” He tapped the textbook in his hand.

Not having a soulmate was unheard of, both of you knew this. Both of you were certain that the other died or you were an anomaly in the universe. Of course you both would enjoy it but neither of you cared enough to worry about something you didn’t have.

———

“Come on, (Y/N)! You can do better than that!” Your gym instructor yelled, you hissed at how sore you were but knew it would be worth it. You weren’t in the heroics course for nothing, you were here to prove your quirk wasn’t villainous.

“Fuck.” You huffed to yourself, you propelled yourself up and bent low towards you opponent. You pressed your hands to the ground letting magenta hues blast from your hands to destroy the field directly in front of you. Having the quirk ‘Jinx’ also referred to as ‘Probability Manipulation’ will make you malleable for hero work but took twice as much training.

The earth cracked towards your opponent causing them to fall, only to kick a decent sized chunk of stone towards you. The impact knocked you unconscious.

You hit the ground hard, “FUCK.” You yelled, “Why didn’t I go for the knee caps? Should I just strike them with Bad Luck?” You start rambling before realizing you don’t recognize where you were. You look around and see blue skies and tall grass surrounding you, you see a boy with messy ebony and dark eyes staring at you in surprise. You look at yourself, still in your gym uniform, and then back at him. “What?” You hiss at him.

Shouta looks over you, the way your (H/C) hair framed your face. He visibly gulps at the way your (E/C) eyes bore into him, he knew who you were immediately. He opens his mouth to speak but you started to fade.

When he doesn’t respond you squint at him before waking up. Shouta catches a brief glimpse of your fight, it’s day light where you’re at. You’re face was stoic as blood ran down it when you shove yourself off the ground and sling two magenta crescents at your attacker from your hands before the vision stops.

Shouta jumps out of his bed in a panic, he looks around and see’s Oboro and Hizashi asleep on his bedroom floor. Hizashi stirs and rubs his eyes, “What’s wrong listener?” He mutters, still half asleep.

“I think I just found out why I hadn’t met my soulmate before.” He huffs out, catching his breath. Hizashi’s eyes widen in surprise and elbows Oboro awake to listen to him explain his dream.

“I fucking knew it.” Oboro whisper yells as he sits up from under his blanket.

“It was so weird though, I could see them talking but I couldn’t hear them.” Shouta pushes his hair back with one hand.

“Well you said it was day time for them so they must not live in Japan.” Hizashi suggests, the three agree and drop the subject to go back to sleep. Shouta wouldn’t admit it but he was excited, and relieved. He’s glad you’re alive.

You’re sent to nurses office after you finish your match to bandage up your wound. You can’t get the image of the strange dark haired boy from your mind but decide not to worry about it. “Weird dream.” You mumble to yourself, rationalizing it as dreaming of someone you’ve met before or some nonsense dream. The fact of meeting your soulmate was the farthest thing from your mind.

———

Shouta tries his best to catch you at random hours in the day for him, he justifies it as looking for confirmation but isn’t able to catch you. “When does she sleep?” He groans to his friend, he’s tried his best but there’s only so much sleeping he can squeeze into his school schedule before getting into trouble.

“I’ve never seen you so devoted to something.” Oboro teases giving him a wide toothy smile.

Shouta rolls his eyes, “I’m getting the feeling I just hallucinated the whole thing.” He presses his face into his hands with a groan. “I just want to know if it was real..”

His two friends chuckle and pat his back, “Give it time man.” They reassured him.

———

You on the other hand hadn’t thought much of the incident again for months, you didn’t have time to. You went to school, did homework in the library, trained and only went home to sleep. You tried to avoid your foster parents as best as you could, knowing the consequences of disturbing them. Your focus was on your heroics work and aging out of the system.

Over a year had passed and you had completely forgotten about the incident. Shouta had given up trying to track you down, your soulmates, you’re meant to run into each other at some point, right?

“The three of us should open up our own agency!” Oboro said over lunch one day. Shouta hummed in curiosity, “I think we work well together.” He took another bite of his lunch, “Take you for example, Shouta. You’re not the type to get action started on your own, but you’re always sweating the small stuff. You’ll add a layer of polish to everything!” Oboro smiles wide and slings his arm around Hizashi’s neck and pulling him closer. “Cause we suck at it!” The two laughed loudly.

“Yeah… I guess so.” Shouta frowned at the idea. “You two share the same two brains cells.” His friends laughed harder and the conversation continued.

“We could recruit your soulmate!” Oboro adds.

“You said they looked like they were in hero training.” Hizashi adds.

A light blush heats Shouta’s cheeks and his brows knit. “That feels like a cop out.” Shouta mumbles, “I should be able to stand on my own before asking for someone else’s help.” He scowled at his bento.

———

You were taking a break from your morning jog by laying in the grass on your schools campus. “(Y/N)?” You hear, you stretch your neck and look in the direction of the voice. “You’re here early.” Your teacher says, look at their watch. “Very early.” They hum the last part and sit next to you.

“Yeah, I just prefer jogging on a track.” You make an excuse, you didn’t want to talk about your home life with a teacher. Knowing it would make things messy, you continued. “I’m just an early bird, I like to stay busy, ya’ know?” You smiled at them and chuckled a bit.

They hummed in understanding, “Your performance has gone up a lot. Are you still planning on being - as you say - a freelance hero?” They question, nudging you with their knee.

You smile wide and look at the clouds above you. “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to travel.” You hum and talk about all the places you’ve read about, not sure where you’ll end up.

Your teacher hums at the idea, they’re a retired hero. “I wish I had that mindset when I was your age.” You both chuckle and you hop upright, offering a hand for them to get up. “Is your soulmate a hero or a hero in training?”

You freeze at the question, dusting yourself off as an excuse for your silence. “I dunno, I’ve never met them.” You shrug at their confused look. “I’m gonna run a few more laps and I’ll be out of your hair.” You smile politely and run off.

“Don’t over do it, (Y/N)!” They yell out to you. “You’ll get sick!”

You wave at them in acknowledgement, you think about their words for the rest of the morning. You remember one of your friends mentioning how most soulmates quirks are typically balanced matches for each other. You have a mutation quirk so you doubted the validity. “What could balance with Bad Luck?” You question aloud.

“Something to get rid of the bad luck I imagine.” One of your classmates chirped, you jumped at the sudden appearance. “I wonder if your Jinx quirk is the reason you haven’t met yet.” They further suggest.

You hum at the idea, that would make sense. Not that you had any clue as to what would but you didn’t let it bother you too much, having an answer satiated your curiosity.

It wasn’t until you got knocked out again that your curiosity was piqued again. You sat in a field of tall grass and flowers, you looked over yourself and realized your in your gym uniform. You snap your fingers and imagined your favorite outfit. When it appeared on your body you figured it was a dream.

You stood and looked around and saw the same ebony haired boy staring at you. He sat against a tree in the shade, a breeze blew in and brushed the hair out of his face. You gave him a once over, noting it’s the same boy from a year prior and waved at him. A blush dusted his cheeks and he shyly waved back. You walked towards him, squatting in front of his figure and tilted your head. “You stare too much.” You said, his brows knitted. “What?” You questioned, he was quite cute now that you had a better look at him. He looked at you the way a wet kitten looked at a passerby in the rain, confused and nervous but full of hope.

Shouta watched you appear in his dream, you appeared out of nowhere. You faced away from him, he couldn’t see anything but your (H/C) hair at first. When you stood he was able to take in your figure, you were beautiful. He could see the confidence radiating off of you in the way you carried yourself. When you squatted in front of him he felt like the dream was almost real. When he watched you speak he noted that he couldn’t hear anything again. “I can’t hear you.” He pointed from his mouth to his ear and shook his head. He watched you make a small frown and plop down to sit. You stared at each other for a moment, taking in each others existences. His eyes scanned the visible scars littering your skin, you watched the way his cheeks heated as he shamelessly checked you out. It wasn’t until you visibly looked like a lightbulb popped with an idea that his attention was pulled back to reality. You smirked and closed your eyes, two whiteboards appeared in front of you with markers.

You handed him one and started to write, ‘Hello, where are you?’ You wrote, flipping the board around and waved at him. He squinted at the letters on the board, understanding what you wrote by your body language. English is a required language to learn in Japan but he wasn’t the greatest at it. When he wrote a greeting on the board you frowned again, not recognizing the language, this time you imagined a globe and two pins, a purple one for him and a yellow one for you. You scanned the globe and put a pin in your general location and pointed from the pin to yourself with a soft smile, he felt his heart flutter at your smile. You handed him the globe and the black pin, he looked at where you were and frowned himself as he put his own in. Shouta handed you the globe and you frowned again as you looked at the two locations, he was in Japan. It makes sense that you’ve never met, the difference in your time zones was vastly different.

You grabbed the whiteboard again, ‘Well Fuck.’ You wrote down your name and pointed at yourself. Shouta did the same and you two briefly practiced writing each other’s name before you disappeared. He watched the glimpse of you again, you were in a nurses office and he watched you shoot up and frown at your friend. Your (E/C) eyes light up and the machinery around you spark and popped. He watched your friends phone explode and you just shrugged when the vision stopped. He practiced writing all the things your wrote in his dream before he woke himself.

When he did wake up he wrote everything he practiced in his notebook and brought it to school. He showed Hizashi and Oboro what you said and told them what country you were in. The two laughed louder than necessary at your words “She wrote ‘Well fuck’ at the fact that you’re so far.” Oboro snorted, “I like her already.” Shouta rolled his eyes, but held a small smile as if to say ‘me too.’

Moving forward he works on his English better than he had before, and you made it your mission to learn Japanese. In the random and few dreams you shared you practiced each other’s language, using the near magic of the dreamscape to correct each other. Even though you couldn’t hear each other you each made the other practice writing short notes you could remember when waking up to make the process easier. Things to the degree of ‘work on pronouncing hard letters like L’s and R’s first’.

You hadn’t seen Shouta in your dreams again for sometime, the next time you saw him was at night your time when you went to bed. You were surprised when he appeared in your dream, however you were more worried about the way he seemed to be followed by a small storm cloud. Something must’ve happened, you thought. You sat beside him, wishing you could say something comforting but you knew he couldn’t hear you. You imagined an umbrella and held it over the two of you and rubbed his back. Shouta glanced over at you, you had a solemn expression on your face. Your mouth quirked in a half frown as if to ask if he was okay. He shook his head ‘no’ and you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He showed you a memory of the fight he had during his work study a few days prior. He watched you gape at the scene, at the loss of his friend. You cried and dropped the umbrella, you turned and pulled him into a tight hug causing tears he didn’t know he had left fall from his eyes as he returned the embrace. You pet his hair as the dream went dark in his anguish. When he sat back up he wiped his face and nodded at you in thanks.

You decided to share a few of your own memories with him, your hero training at school, a bit of your school life. He chuckled at how much you study, you flash him a memory of the past week of you learning Japanese and stick your tongue out at him. He blushes lightly and rolls his eyes, leaning into you lightly before he started to disappear.

You watch the scene unfold of him waking up from his nap in class, you chuckle as he crawls out of a bright yellow sleeping bag in his school uniform. His blonde friend says something that causes Shouta to cover his ears. The glimpse fades and you drift off to deeper sleep.

Over the next several years you only ever met him briefly, your exchanges were demure and always quiet due to the circumstances. You found out you both became underground hero’s after graduating, you exchanged emails after forgetting to for so long. You found typing in Japanese was harder than writing it and speaking it combined, he didn’t mind though. He wrote to you in English at times but your interactions were limited due to hero work.

Due to being underground hero’s both of you had sporadic sleeping schedules, you received an email from him at one point telling you to go to sleep. You chuckled and looked at your phone, I could go for a nap, you thought and emailed him in response. You returned to the place you were staying and laid on the couch, quickly drifting off to dreamland.

When you appeared in you shared dream Shouta pulled you into him, rolling you over so he could lay into your stomach with his arms wrapped around you. You giggled at the action but made no effort to rouse him, running your finger through his soft hair. He felt you giggled as you felt him talk, he wished for subtitles as he talked but it was too annoying to focus on them and talk at the same time. Shouta talked about some vigilante brats he’s started to run in to, about what he was dealing with. “(Y/N), I don’t know what to do.” His arms barely squeezed you but you felt it, you tightened your grip around him instinctively. He buried his face in your abdomen, you smiled sadly, you were barely sure but you knew you felt the same.

After a few years you had completely traveled around your entire country while working as a hero. You told him about your completed travels and how you became something of an urban legend, almost a boogie man for villains.

“Don’t you want to meet her?” Hizashi asked over the phone.

Shouta hummed at the question, thinking about an email you sent a few weeks ago. “I mean sure, but I don’t have anything to show for.” He sighed, “I can’t just ask her to move out here and expect her to be okay living the way I do.”

Hizashi went to argue but he understood the point, he had made a comment once about how private you were over email. Suggesting you might be more open in person like you are in your shared dreams, but your schedules were too different to have a proper conversation. With instant villains popping up all over the country the last thing he has time to think about is keeping up appearances.

“What about that gig at UA Kayama suggested? It’d be a stable gig.” He could hear his friend smile over the phone. The last thing Shouta thought was a good idea was him being a teacher.

“I don’t have time for this I’m on patrol, I’ll talk to you later.” He quickly hung up on Hizashi and stuffed his phone in his pocket, looking up at the moon that shown brightly even in the dark alley he stood in.

———

You stared at an email Midnight sent you, regretting the suggestion you made to Shouta to exchange emails of your most trusted associates/friends ‘in case of an emergency’. You sighed and leaned back into the sofa you sat on. “You know my office isn’t your office right?” Your friend said, you looked over at them and pouted. “Seriously, I have an agency to run.” They snorted.

You rolled your eyes and picked up your laptop, “Take a look at this for me.” You placed the device on the paperwork they were looking it, forcing them to read it over. “I don’t think it’s a good time but I’m not sure how to respond.” You scratched your head thinking about it.

They read through the job offer and hummed in cognizance. “I think it’s a good idea but you are right it might not be a good time, with-“ They waved their hand around. “Everything going on. Maybe just say that?” They advised.

You both tossed ideas back and forth, as much as traveling to Japan enticed you, you knew how long it would take to wrap up all your current cases. You sent Midnight a response, apologizing and declining the teaching position, informing her that you’d love to but you are currently in no position to just pack up and leave. You pulled out your Nokia Brick phone for the time and started packing your bag. “I have to go, thanks for letting me mooch your internet.” You winked at your friend who groaned.

“When are you going to get a smart phone?” They teased.

“When they make one I can’t break, this thing is a beast!” You pointed the device at them and were on your way. Upon entering a back alley past your friends hero agency you received a call. “Detective!” You answered, “Oh. You found the- uh huh.” Your eyes narrowed, “I’m on my way.” You ended the call and ran to their office, maybe it wouldn’t take as long to wrap up all your loose ends as your originally thought.

———

5 years have passed as you and Shouta have grown closer via dreams and emails. He shows you memories of things that happened with his class during the day, most of it you find hilarious and he scowls at you in response. You write an apology and provide suggestions, he finds that he quite likes laying his head in your lap or on your stomach as you comb your fingers through the messy mop of hair he has. You find it almost natural, both of you rant about your day. Fully aware that the other can’t hear you, you’ve found writing and showing memories became second nature. You nearly cried laughing when he showed you the memory of him expelling an entire class as an example to say ‘I wasn’t joking’.

You and Midnight chose not to tell Shouta about your potential teaching position at UA, you didn’t want to say anything because you didn’t want to get his hopes up. Midnight suggested keeping it quiet in case you decide to come, saying it would be a ‘pleasant surprise’ for him. You rolled you eyes reading that, knowing how she can be.

You received another email halfway through the school year from Principal Nezu, inviting you personally. You didn’t reply to the email for sometime while going over your case work, when you did respond you informed him that it would take you about a month to finish up the cases you’re involved in and that you would be late in regards to when summer break ends and the new semester begins. He tells you that’s fine, and you request that he doesn’t mention who the ‘new teacher’ would be.

That night you have a pleasant dream, when Shouta enters your dream he found you reminiscing. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling them tightly under your bust as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You lean your head against his and squeeze his arms, a smile crept up your face and you start speaking about you coming to surprise him at UA. He can’t hear you which makes you chuckle, you turn you head and kiss you cheek. It’s been years since you’ve met but you’ve never kissed before, part of you wanted to save it for when you met him in person but you were so excited.

Shouta watches you talk, wondering what you’re talking about that has you laughing. He’d give anything to hear you laugh in person, anything to be with you. He watches your memories, chuckling when you show him the fight that caused the two of you to meet. When he feels your lips press against his cheek he blushes deeply, almost jumping away with his hands still wrapped around you. He watches your fingers curl and hover in front of your mouth as you giggle. He pulls you into his chest and leans in to kiss you.

You reach up for him but give a sad smile as he starts to fade, indicating that he’s waking up. You cup his face in your hands and then he was gone, you can’t keep this up. You know you need to meet him, you know you will soon but it feels so far. You see a glimpse of him waking up, the scowl on his face and his students freezing made you chuckle. You were so excited.

If looks could kill, the classroom would have been massacred with the deep scowl on Aizawa’s face. The room felt like ice when he sat up from his in class nap to prepare the class for gym, the sensation of your hands on his cheeks is still present. He cups him own face in frustration, unable to think of something that could allow you two to meet.

After a few week Shouta meets up with you in your sleep again, your face held a deep blush and you sent him the goofiest smile he’s seen on you yet. You clap your hands together in front of your mouth as you tilt your head, he rolled his eyes and chuckled as he realizes you’re drunk. You show him memories of your going away party, you and a handful of hero’s all suited up in their uniforms were drinking at someone’s large house. Even in your drunken stupor you manage to keep anything that says ‘going away party’ out of the memory. You did accidentally slip a memory of you drinking 2 hero’s, that were 3 times your size, under the table. He sees you sitting behind the table with a mischievous grin on your face as the other two were either throwing up or passed out. When he glanced over at you there was an air of pride on you, he starts to play with your hair affectionately. He smiles when you lean into him, blushing slightly when you lay across his lap. Somehow you had snaked your arms around his waist, he chuckled in any attempt to admonish his growing feelings that made his stomach flip and his chest quake with desire.

———

You slept off your hangover on the flight to Japan, you saw Shouta a few times while you flew towards Japan. The closer you got the more nervous you became, you knew Midnight would be picking you up so you weren’t too worried. You wondered what he would sound like, what he’d smell like even.

When the plane entered Japanese waters you knew immediately, even in your sleep. You could hear him talking, you blushed as soon as the audio became clear. His voice was so smooth and deep you couldn’t help but blush. He looked at you questioningly and you moved your mouth like you were talking but didn’t let your voice escape. This was a lot more difficult to do that you imagined, you silently chuckled. He kissed your forehead, “God I wish I could see you in person, I can’t stand this.” Sadness and pain laced his voice like barbed wires, you cupped his face and gave him a sad smile. You gently pressed your lips to his, the action seemed to surprise him as he quickly poofed out of his nap. You catch a glimpse of him shooting up out of his chair and off his desk in the teachers lounge, a deep blush coating his pale skin. You woke up soon after and started getting your carry on bag together to get off.

You and Midnight had exchanged pictures via email before your flight so that the two of you would have an easy time finding each other. When you got off the plane you carried a small backpack and a briefcase with your hero uniform. “(Y/N)!” She yelled, waving her hand fast. “I’m so excited you’re here!” She hugged you tightly as soon as you were close enough.

“Midnight, I’m excited to be here.” You said, “I haven’t told Shouta yet so we need to make a plan to surprise him.” You wink at her, noticing the devilish grin growing on her lips.

“Call me Nemuri.” She says and loops her arm with yours, you nod as the two of you walk to baggage claim. She told you all about the dorm system and that there’s a room prepared for you, telling you that it’s pre-furnished and about all the finite details.

——

He took another nap, hoping to apologize for being surprised awake. When he did manage to sleep it was only for a short time and you weren’t there. Aizawa would admit he was confused, he looked at his phone to check the time when he woke. Knowing you should be asleep, he worried that something happened. Gym class had started and a few of the student looked at him in concern, noting his grumpier than usual attitude.

“What do you think happened?” Uraraka said, “Aizawa-Sensei isn’t usually this grumpy after his naps..”

Asui and Midoriya nodded in agreement, sneaking glances at their teacher. “Maybe he just didn’t sleep well?” Midoriya suggested with shrugged shoulders.

“He does keep looking at the time, kero.” Ausi notes.

Shouta glares at them and they separate for their training. When gym is over he takes another nap, hoping to see you again.

You and Midnight made quick work of getting your bags into your new room, you had swiftly changed into your Hero costume and headed towards the school. Nermuri used her quirk to help you calm down as you approached class 1-A, “Do you think he’ll be mad?” You whisper to her.

She chuckled softly, “I don’t think he could be mad at you.” She patted your shoulder as you slowly opened the door to the classroom. Class was almost over so you knew he’d be napping.

You saw him asleep against the wall and the students looked at you confused. You and Midnight both pressed a finger to your lips to indicate they should be quiet and ignore you. You snuck into the classroom as quietly as possible and squatted in front of Shouta. You watched the way he slept so peacefully, his ebony hair messy in front of his face. You resisted the urge to move it and waited for what seemed like ages for him to wake.

When Shouta woke he rubbed his eyes before opening them, yawning and noticed someone in front of him. His eyes saw your feet first, quickly traveling upwards to see you sitting in front of him. Your (H/C) perfectly framed your face, your (E/C) eyes bore holes in him as you made eye contact with him. This has to be a dream, he thought. “Surprise.” You said shyly, you voice was soft. It was so delicate that it made his face burn, eliciting a few ‘ooo’s and ‘awes’ from his students. He stared at you in awe, frozen where he sat in utter disbelief. You giggled softly, you stood and introduced yourself to the class. Informing them and Shouta that you were a new teacher at the school. They had a million questions for you but you dismissed them stating they’ll find out later, the bell rang dismissing the class.

With school over the students made their way out of the classroom, leaving you and their homeroom teacher alone. You went to close the door and turned back to face him after waving the kids out. He unzipped himself from his sleeping bag and instantly pulled you into his chest. You blushed loudly and completed the embrace, wrapping your arms around him. One of his arms was wrapped around your waist while the other cupped the back of your head. “(Y/N). Why didn’t you tell me?” He said softly, you giggled into his chest and squeezed him a bit. The sound of your name on his lips made you happier than you imagined.

Lifting your head to him, you never realized the difference in your height while you dreamt. You hummed at his question, “I wanted to surprise you.” You offered a small smile. “And I didn’t want to give you false hope if something came up and I couldn’t come.” Your admission seemed to quell his confusion.

Shouta smiled and lifted you up, “I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise.” He leaned his face into yours, pressing his lips against your own. His lips were soft in comparison to his calloused hands that held you against him. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck. Desperate to not let go. He tasted like coffee and smelled like spices, he was warm and felt like home. When you pulled away to take a breath you pressed your forehead to his. “I couldn’t begin to imagine my life without you now that I have you here.” He said with a soft smile.

You giggled as he set your feet back on the ground, “I was thinking the same thing.” You both to a moment to look over each other. He was taller and more muscular that you had anticipated, you were shorter and softer than he imagined. He loved every ounce of you, “We should go home.” You offered your hand to his, god he could melt at the sound of the word ‘home’ falling from your lips.

You would be introduced to the rest of the faculty and students tomorrow, soon you would meet the teachers responsible for class 1-A at the faculty dorm you’d be staying in. Tonight you’d be spending all your time with Shouta, familiarizing yourself with each other. He had never slept so well as he did with you wrapped in his arms and pulled into his chest, he was never going to let you go.