#i feel like ill reread this in an hour and realize i answered nothing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

By Hook or by Crook (6)

Hey kid. I’d like to have a chat with you, if you’re up to it. Would you be free this afternoon?

Izuku idly reread the text and the brief exchange that followed as he whiled away the few minutes left before the agreed time for the meeting.

Just a little over twenty-four hours before, Izuku had had a minor stroke at the mere thought of All Might texting him about a trip to the police station. Just a little over twenty-four hours before, he would have soared straight to cloud nine at the thought of All Might texting him ‘to have a chat’. It was a pity that the only emotion he could muster at the moment was a vague sense of stunned apathy.

“I’ll get that.” He informed no one in particular when the bell rang. The man installing what probably were legalized viruses on his laptop gave him an odd look, and his mother replied something indistinguishable from the bathroom. Izuku shuffled out of his room and unlocked the front door.

“Young Midoriya. Good afternoon.” All Might had reverted to his laid-back cargo pants and t-shirt attire. He seemed more tired and subdued as well, more like on the day Izuku had met him.

“Good afternoon.” Izuku gestured at him to come inside, which he did with a quiet thanks. He did not remove his shoes though, and he stopped only few steps in upon spotting the second man fiddling with the landline in the living room.

“Ah. Busy day, is it?” All Might acknowledged the technician with a knowing nod. He then turned towards Izuku and tilted his head towards the front door. “Say, how about we take a walk? I bet your house feels crowded enough without me imposing as well.”

His mother’s head peeked into the hallway. All Might greeted her with a little wave and a weirdly embarrassed grin.

“I’m going for a walk.” Izuku announced as he slipped his shoes on.

“Uhm, are you sure?” Her eyes shifted between All Might and him with ill-concealed unease.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Izuku cut short. He wasn’t in the mood for another discussion. “See you later.”

He strode out of the building without hesitation. He made his way down the stairs, through the parking lot, all the way to the sidewalk before stopping. All Might caught up with him a minute later, after lingering on the threshold to exchange a few words with his mother that Izuku decided he did not care about. He also decided to ignore the pointed stare the hero aimed at him when he finally reached him.

“Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?” All Might asked after a beat, gazing up and down the small road.

“Not really. You?”

“Any place is fine by me. I need to get reacquainted with this city, its layout is quite different from how I remember it.”

Right, All Might had just moved in. And Musutafu had likely changed a lot since his U.A. days… That would have been a tremendously interesting topic for a chat, Izuku could feel the questions popping up in his head in droves, despite everything. Unfortunately, he was under no illusion that what All Might wanted from him could be that kind of casual conversation.

They picked a random direction and started walking. For almost five minutes, they strolled without breathing a word. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it would have been under any normal circumstances.

“Had another rough night?” All Might said eventually.

“Mh.” Easy guess. The bags under Izuku’s eyes would soon rival the fixed shadows circling the hero’s if he didn’t manage to rein in his sleeping schedule soon. The nightmares had ceased, thankfully, but his head had been so full of disjointed and clashing thoughts and memories that he hadn’t managed to catch some shut eye until so late that it had become early.

Nothing made sense. Everything made too much sense. In hindsight, it felt strange that Izuku had never contemplated the possibility himself. It also felt absurd that it could be true though, instead of some sort of huge misunderstanding. That his father could be-

“Oh, before I forget. The villain is faring much better.”

“Uh? What?” Izuku blinked.

“The sludge villain whose quirk you returned.” All Might graced him with a gentle smile. “I heard he was already mostly coherent by last night, and as of few hours ago he was firmly denying ever bearing any ‘serious’ ill intent towards you and your friend, demanding to see his lawyer and complaining about the quality of the lunch he was served.”

Guilt needled Izuku’s stomach upon realizing that the villain’s plight had completely escaped his mind since his return home from the police station. How poorly committed his sympathy was. “Oh. That’s… good, I guess?”

“We guess.” All Might chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve dealt with another incident that badly in years, but I’m glad that no one suffered any permanent damage, at least. And thank you again for bringing the matter to a close in my stead.”

“It’s hardly your fault if things went the way they did. But… yeah, I’m glad he’s okay and that it’s over.” Now if only that hadn’t sparked a much worse and much more scarring mishap, at least for Izuku… “Are you all right, by the way?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Have you managed to see a doctor yet? About, uh…” Izuku pointed at his own mouth, unsure how to describe the attack the man had suffered the day before, the likes of which Izuku had only seen in movies and cartoons, usually from people sporting deadly and gory upper body wounds.

All Might laughed with inexplicable, genuine mirth. “Oh, don’t worry! I wasn’t playing it cool when I said I was fine. It’s just a thing that happens. Usually it isn’t quite as, uh, dramatic, but it really is nothing concerning.”

“But… you hadn’t even used your quirk…” Izuku could not fathom how spraying blood like a fountain on a presumably regular basis couldn’t warrant seeking any kind of medical attention, but the hero waved off his objection with finality.

“Trust me, it’s fine. More importantly...“ All Might wasn’t looking at him. He seemed deeply focused in memorizing as much as he could of his surroundings, peering here and there at street nameplates, buildings, alleys… manholes too, amusingly. But the low and soft quality of his tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking just out of politeness. “What about you, kid? How are you?”

Izuku dropped his gaze to his feet and shrugged. It was an accurate answer, actually. He’d spent so many hours torturing himself with doubts and grief and confusion that at some point his brain had sort of… ran out of energy to spare for emotions. He supposed it wasn’t the worst response he could have had. Stolid empty-headedness was largely preferable to the scorching waves of betrayal, impending doom and overbearing dismay he’d sampled the day before.

“I imagine how difficult all this must be for you.“ All Might went on, just as tactfully. “Have you talked with your mother?”

Oh, scratch that. He was still capable of feeling something. His mother was enough of a sore topic to make him clench his fists. “...Yeah. I have.”

“...I don’t think-”

“She knew.” Yeah, he was still angry. It bubbled in his chest like boiling tar, thick and sticky and suffocating.

“She told you that?”

“I heard you three talking about it last night. I was listening from outside the living room.”

“What?!” All Might seemed genuinely shocked. It hadn’t been Izuku’s proudest moment, admittedly, but let’s be honest, what else was he supposed to do? Pretend that they weren’t discussing life-changing revelations just few meters away from his bed? He was only human. All Might slapped a large hand on his face and dragged it down alongside his pointy features with a groan. “Oh, come on…”

“She knew, and she never told me.” His nails were digging painfully in his palms and- oh great, now he was getting teary again. He’d held it together for the whole day and now he was going to lose it five minutes after All Might had showed up. For the third or fourth time in as many days. Sure, why not? It wasn’t like he’d managed to retain any sort of dignity since the very moment he’d met his idol. Why bother now? “S-She’s known since- since before marrying him- however that happened… I j-just...”

All Might regarded him silently for a moment. “...Things like these look very different from an outside perspective. Especially to someone as young as you are. It’s very easy to judge, and even easier to misjudge.”

“But she knew he was a criminal - one who would not even consider changing his ways for his family - and she… wanted him around anyway? Why would she do that?! It’s- I wouldn’t want an unrepentant villain still involved in illegal business around my son! He’d be... a bad influence, at the very least!”

“Before yesterday, have you ever thought that he could be having a bad influence on you?”

“Uh? No, I… I didn’t know that he was… I never… questioned...”

All Might sighed deeply. “Your father is a notoriously charismatic man. He’s always been particularly adept at coaxing people to his side without open coercion, but with simple, well-aimed words. You never suspected that he may have been acting in his own best interest while offering or withholding certain information from you, although it may seem obvious in hindsight. I bet he managed to instil the same trust in your mother, despite what she knew about him.”

“I…” Izuku rubbed away the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t understand. He just couldn’t. And it tore at him. “W-Was it because of the money? She never... I-I thought we were good, she n-never said anything… I-If I’d known, I would have… I wouldn’t have asked for… s-so many things, I-”

“I highly doubt that a few toys and games could have had that big of an impact on the family budget. There’s no reason for you to beat yourself up over anything.” All Might slipped his hands in his pockets, sympathy plain in his sunken eyes. “Your mother found herself in a very tricky situation, through no real fault of her own. She navigated it as best as she could, and I’m sure your well-being was her top priority. Seeing the healthy and upright young man you’ve grown into, I’d say she handled it admirably.”

“...I know.” Izuku knew it, really, he understood that. But… he’d always seen his mother as just about the most transparent, honest, sensible and sensitive person on Earth. And it turned out she didn't… exactly… meet that standard, however idealistic. It had been a blow, on top of everything else, one that had left him without a real, fully trustworthy figure when he most needed it. “I know that, but… she should have told me. At some point. There’s no excuse for not doing that.”

“Perhaps. It’s hard to predict the negative impact that such a confession may have on a younger child, but perhaps she should have.” The hero conceded. “I’d refrain from handing down verdicts though. You kept some secrets of your own from her. You hid your quirk-”

“But that’s not the same thing! Not even close! A quirk isn’t as big an omission as your father being a criminal!” Izuku snapped, then immediately hunched his back in regret, his tone losing some volume but not its bitterness. “And, you know, maybe, maybe I wouldn’t have listened to him so readily if someone had warned me that he isn’t exactly an upstanding citizen!”

“Look, it isn’t my place to comment on how things stand or should stand between you and your mother, or how you should behave, but… if there’s one thing you need to keep in mind - and please do keep it in mind, at all times - is that the one person who bears absolute and doubtless blame is your father. That’s the source of all the lies that have been fed to you. Lies and deception are… what he does, really. What he’s always done. You and your mother are both victims in all this.”

Izuku sniffed and wiped some tears and snot on his sleeve. It was gross, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a logic to All Might’s words, but no logic justified the staggering duplicity that had just turned his life upside down. The unfairness of it all was simply too much to accept.

The boy looked up when All Might poked him on the shoulder to catch his attention.

“Speaking of which…” All Might swerved to the left, entering a smaller and more secluded lane leading away from the more trafficked routes. He had resumed his perusal of the area, and his expression had regained a firm, almost steely edge. Izuku followed him. “What I wanted to talk to you about concerns what transpired about your father, and how it will affect your life going forwards.”

No surprise there. The two plain-clothes agents that had shown up that morning, no doubt mourning the loss of their well-deserved Sunday rest, had been clear enough of a warning of some upheaval to the Midoriyas’ routine. All Might’s vague text had only cemented Izuku’s expectations of further disruptions.

“I hate being the bearer of bad news, but it is imperative for you to understand the gravity of your father’s position… especially to prevent him from enacting any sort of manipulation or control on you in the future.” The hero began. “The man you know as ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ goes under many aliases, so much so that we are still unaware of his real name. He has committed an astounding variety of serious crimes, over the course of decades. Even if your mother claims to be aware of his background, I assure you she doesn’t know the half of it.”

Izuku physically curled up under the weight of those words. It was… even worse than they thought? His father sounded more and more like some obscenely powerful yakuza boss or something, which was just… just...

“The police will be gathering and analyzing as much evidence as possible to find clues leading to his current location and activities. All possible forms of communications between you and him will be monitored. Your phones will be bugged, and any electronic devices you own will be fitted with tracking software. Your mail will be examined before delivery.” All Might paused, assessing Izuku’s lack of a reaction to his speech. “Did they tell you about this already?”

“S-Some of it, yeah.” Izuku’s gaze dropped to the asphalt again. The dried tears made the skin on his cheeks and around his eyes itch. “Will there be cameras too? Inside the house?”

“I haven’t heard about cameras. I don’t think so. Seeing as your father never set foot in your house, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to surveil it that closely from the inside. The outside will be watched, so we’d notice anyway if he tried to approach it.”

“...Okay.”

“...I know it’s an oppressive situation. No one likes having their privacy invaded. But know that the professionals in charge of monitoring you are utterly uninterested in you specifically, or in whatever you do with your free time, as long as it isn’t anything outrageously illegal.” All Might’s voice softened again, although not enough for Izuku to dare raise his eyes from the ground. “I hear they are especially unconcerned about peculiar web searches and piracy perpetrated by bored adolescents, and some such things. Anything that isn’t strictly related to the case at hand won’t ever make it into any reports.”

“Mh.” A couple of small mercies were better than none, Izuku guessed. He really couldn’t muster neither enthusiasm nor gratitude for them at the moment though.

“Ah, about this… Those monthly phone calls your mother mentioned are particularly relevant for the police. They are likely their best bet in pinpointing your father’s position.” All Might paused. “For that reason, we would appreciate your cooperation on that front.”

Izuku’s brain suddenly jolted into activity, a myriad of spy movies and comics coming to his mind and offering plenty of distressing scenarios he could be potentially thrusted into. “You mean like… you want me to help you find him? Get him to drop hints about where he is, or- or asking him to go somewhere where you can set up a trap, or-” Izuku looked back up at the man, without bothering to conceal the pure terror that such prospects filled him with.

“What? No, of course not!” All Might exclaimed, surprised. “I mean, it isn’t out of discussion that we may try to actively lure him out at some point, but that would take extensive preparations and precautions on our part. We’d need to gather more intel and agents, recruit other heroes first… We definitely aren’t considering taking any such steps yet.”

“O-Oh… okay…” He let out the tiniest sigh of relief. No wild capers… for now...

“Besides, even if we were, we wouldn’t use a child as bait! Your mother would be much more suited to assist us. Any request from her would have more sway on your father, and she would handle the pressure much better.”

“So… what do you want me to do then?”

All Might shrugged. “Just keep up appearances. Continue having your monthly calls with him as if nothing happened, so as not to alert him that something might be wrong.”

That wasn’t that big of a demand, objectively speaking, but... it didn’t seem feasible either. Izuku’s grasp on his own emotions was tenuous at best at the moment, and his father had always been exceptionally perceptive to his state. He really didn’t think he could endure up to two hours of small talk about heroes, quirks, school and assorted pleasantries without having some sort of breakdown halfway through. Izuku gulped, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding of his cowardice.

“...I-I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I can do that.”

Surprisingly, All Might wasn’t put off in the slightest. “In that case, you could ask your mother to pretend you got hurt in some way that prevents you from speaking. Bad tooth, removed tonsils, broken jaw, you name it. That would earn you at least another month of silence and… hopefully the investigation will make some progress in that time, or you’ll grow used enough to the situation to face him with a cool head.”

That was a reasonable approach to the issue. It was a relief to know that someone else was putting some thinking into all this in Izuku’s place, now that his already flimsy decisional autonomy had stumbled into the metaphorical equivalent of a bear trap. “...I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” All Might nodded, strangely unperturbed by Izuku's less than proactive attitude. “Other than what I’ve mentioned, you will also be followed wherever you go whenever you aren’t at home or at school-”

“W-What?” Izuku instinctively glanced around, envisioning slow-moving cars or shady individuals with sunglasses and holed newspapers observing him from bushes.

The corners of All Might’s mouth twitched upwards. “You will not be aware of it, nor will anyone else, of course. It will have no actual impact on your daily life, like all the other measures we’ve already covered.”

“But why?” Izuku griped, his heart sinking so deep that it would soon pierce through the Earth’s mantle. “My father isn’t going to suddenly drop by to say hello, you just said so yourself!”

“It’s for your own protection too.” All traces of humor vanished instantly from the hero’s demeanor. “Your father is no stranger to violence. In the past, he has resorted to brutal and immoral means to dispose of his enemies, and... I’m sorry to say that he would not hesitate to employ such methods against his own family, if he deemed it a danger to his own safety.”

Izuku couldn’t hold back a little hysterical chuckle that sounded pitiful to his own ears. “That… sounds a bit exaggerated, doesn’t it? I-I get that he’s a bad guy, but… I really don’t think he’d do something like that to us. H-He’s never even raised his voice with me, never...”

“Midoriya. I beg you to believe me when I say that you can’t trust anything of what you think you know about your father.” All Might stopped to glare intently at a narrow, dingy alley littered with trash bags. “He is dangerous. Extraordinarily so. Tsukauchi is pushing for having further safety measures enforced for your family, and until those have been granted, please be very aware of your surroundings at all times. Refrain from taking unfamiliar routes, and stick to crowded areas whenever you can. I don’t want to scare you, but even having eyes on you at all times is no guarantee of a timely intervention, under unfavorable circumstances.”

“Is it… really that bad?” Izuku breathed, gutted by the unexpected harshness of the picture painted by All Might’s words. It was… inconceivable, still. His father, deliberately hurting him? His father, whose cutting sarcasm was just about the only vaguely hurtful trait Izuku had ever witnessed? His father, a hardened, soulless criminal averse to puns and All Might trivia, and yet always so willing to let Izuku torture him with both? His father, ambushing him from dark corners? “Is he really that bad?”

“Yes.”

“What did he…” Izuku started asking, only to trail off. It was a pointless question, with a clear answer. It had been buzzing in his head for the whole night, blindingly obvious by now. “...He steals quirks, doesn't he? That’s what he does. He... maims people for…”

“I’m afraid he isn’t nearly as conscientious as you in regards to-” All Might cut himself off with a visible flinch. “Wait, he told you about his quirk? You know it’s the same as yours?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You didn’t mention that to us.” Bright pinpricks of blue were suddenly trained on Izuku with piercing intensity. It kept catching him off guard, how both of the Symbol of Peace’s towering forms could switch from amicable to intimidating at the drop of a dime.

“I-I thought… He said it was a secret- one of his confidential matters. I’ve always thought he was some sort of… prison guard or undercover agent…” God, how unbelievably stupid it all sounded now. Izuku had never felt more childish.

“...That goes to show…” All Might mumbled, barely audibly. It unsettled Izuku. It went to show what? His father’s cunning? Izuku’s naivety? Or… surely not that he could be hiding something on purpose...

“I-I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I had no idea how- how serious- I’d never-”

“Mh?” The hero blinked at him, as if emerging from a private musing. “Ah, I mean… There could be some merit to the other thing I wanted to ask of you.”

Izuku just waited, barely able to withstand the acuity of the hero’s gaze without shrinking. After a few tense moments, All Might let out a sigh and resumed walking, his eyes wandering back to the street ahead.

“To be frank… Personally, I don’t think we’re going to achieve much from all these investigations.” He grimaced, as if regretting those words as soon as they left his mouth. “Not for lack of trying, mind you. Tsukauchi is an immensely capable and dedicated officer, he’ll pursue each lead as thoroughly as humanly possible, but… Your father knows how to cover his tracks. Phone calls, payments, mail, blatant cues like those have never brought us close to him in the past, not once. To his associates, yes, to his… ‘aftermaths’, yes. But never to him personally. His circumstances were always shrouded in impenetrable security. I doubt this case will be any different.”

Buildings gave way to the open horizon. They had reached the end of the street, which merged into a largest road running along the coast. They crossed it, and kept going on the opposite sidewalk, looking down on a thin stretch of sand separating them from the sea.

“That said… he did leave one huge trail for us to find this time. A whole family, out in the open.” All Might’s eyes returned to the boy pensively. “A breakthrough like this, if you’ll pass me the term, is unprecedented. The most obvious leads could turn out to be dead ends, but maybe there is something to be found in the smaller things.”

“The smaller things?”

The man gestured vaguely. “He’s been talking to you, has he not? To you and your mother both, for over a decade. Not that often, but… hell, he even told you about his quirk, and one would expect him to be very tight-lipped about that. There might be more to dig up. Details he may have deemed unimportant, or accidentally let slip. Hints. Small things.”

Izuku was finally catching the drift. “I’m really sorry, but… I know you probably can’t take my word for it, but I really don’t know anything about what he does, or ever did. He never let anything slip about his… his ‘job’...”

“Of course not, that’s not what I’m referring to. The thing is…” The hero clucked his tongue in frustration. “We know so little about the man himself as well. His identity, his background, his history… We know next to nothing about him, and what little we do know, we were only able to discover through very unconventional means. If there’s a chance to glean one more shred of information hidden among the fabrications, I think it’s worth pursuing it.”

“So the police are going to question us about… fourteen years’ worth of chit-chats?” That seemed like a disproportionate endeavor for something as volatile as the possibility of parsing an ounce of truth. Exactly how desperate were they to catch this increasingly perplexing father of his?

“That’s the gist of it, yes. And ideally, we would like to interview you separately, to avoid that either of you could, ehr… inadvertently censor yourselves about information not known by the other-”

“Like my quirk. Or dad’s ‘activities’.“ Izuku muttered.

“...Yes. Things like those.” All Might paused, then cleared his throat. “Well… given the delicate nature of the case, we are trying to keep the workforce to a minimum, and involve as few people as possible. This ought to speed up coordination and briefing, as well reduce the risk of information leaks. Tsukauchi will be personally questioning your mother… as well as direct the entire operation. He’s quite the multitasker. And, well… since technically I’m already involved and up to speed and I won’t be contributing to the proper detective work in any capacity… we thought I might take care of hearing your side of the story.”

A little Oh was the whole extent of Izuku’s reaction as the hero’s words washed over him. All Might seemed a little discouraged by that.

“We figured it might put you a little more at ease… Talking with someone you’re already familiar with, instead of a brand new face. And, ehr… well, you mentioned being a fan, so…” He elaborated, his hands drawing half-formed shapes in the air to underline his words. He looked… almost nervous? “It’s just a possibility, of course. If you’d rather be entrusted to a proper member of the force, it’s well within your rights to request that.”

Izuku did not miss the underlying meaning of that winding speech. It was within his rights to request who he wanted to be interviewed by, not if.

“Do I even have a choice?” All Might’s guilty grimace was all the reply Izuku needed. “...No, sorry, I… That’s a stupid question. I’ve no reason to refuse either.” Surely not the faint sense of betrayal knocking on his conscience at that very moment. Could he even feel bad about betraying someone who’d never been honest with him in the first place?

“...I know it’s far from an enticing perspective.” All Might rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “It’s going to eat up a lot of your time, and people are never exactly eager to ‘snitch’ on relatives, even when they’re criminals. But I really think it could be of great help to us.”

So that was the role Izuku was going to have in this whole mess, that of a very oddly-shaped piece in a very complicated puzzle. It could be worse, he supposed. Being stuck in a room talking with the number one hero for hours could hardly be considered a real punishment. Were the topic of the conversation literally anything else, it’d be a dream coming true, even. He should push that angle on himself, Izuku pondered. Maybe he could talk himself into enjoying the whole thing, in some way.

“Since I’m no policeman, I’m amenable to reward you for the time and effort you’ll generously dedicate to the task with suitable bribing. I was thinking snacks, if that doesn’t come off as too cheap.” All Might continued with a tentative grin, although his attempt at levity didn’t stick the landing. “No? How about, ehr… All Might merch?” For some reason, his face scrunched up as if the suggestion physically pained him.

Izuku sighed. There was no point in fighting the inevitable, was there? “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“...Thank you, that is very good to hear.” All Might smiled with evident relief. He patted Izuku’s shoulder encouragingly. “I’ll say, you’re taking all this a lot better than I was expecting. For all the crying, you have quite the resilient attitude. Heroic, even!”

Izuku let out a half-choked sob. Oh. Oh, wow, that realization hurt. He hadn’t thought about that since… had it really only been a couple of days since making it into U.A. had been his biggest concern in life? And now…

“Ehr… Sorry, did I say something wrong?” All Might asked when faced with the new bout of tears streaming down the boy’s cheeks. Izuku shook his head.

“S-Sorry, it’s just… I-I guess that’s the closest I’ll ever get to becoming a hero now, uh?”

“What?”

“There’s no way they’ll let me anywhere near a hero course now, is there? My father told me it was basically impossible before, and now...”

“Your father told you that you couldn’t be a hero? Your father who is a villain?” All Might gave him a pointed look. “You may want to start reevaluating some of the nuggets of wisdom he’s been imparting on you in light of the new revelations, kid.”

“But he’s right, isn’t he?” Izuku griped. “It’s even worse now that he turned out to be a villain! A bad one too! Abusing the same overpowered quirk I have, it’s just… too great a bias, isn’t it?”

All Might seemed caught off guard, then he frowned and looked away without replying. There it was, the naked truth. Not even an attempt at a rebuttal. Out of discussion. Izuku’s dreams scattered to the wind, without hope of salvation.

“Y-You know, I actually thought… I could work my way around it.” Izuku continued among the sniffles, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I thought I could just pretend to be quirkless. F-For a while. Pass the test like that, make some friends, get… get trusted as a hero because of my work. A-and then, then one day, just… after everyone trusted me, I thought I could come out clean. And start using my quirk for good. I thought it could work. Get others to know me before my quirk. B-But it’s never going to happen now. The police know, the school will know.”

“...I must say that building your budding hero career on a lie isn’t the most solid plan I’ve ever heard.” There was no accusation in All Might’s tone, but his words still cut deep.

“I know…” Izuku bit his lip. He’d known, but what alternatives did he have?

“But I guess we can’t all carelessly parade our true selves before public scrutiny, can we?” The man sighed, scratching his own head. “You are right about one thing though. Actions do speak louder than words. You might not be able to talk your way out of your… delicate circumstances, but factual demonstrations of good intentions can go a long way.”

“That’s… That’s all I’m asking for!” Izuku’s head snapped up, desperately latching onto that single lifeline. “I would do whatever it takes to be allowed to try!”

“Well, I’d say you’re already on the right path then. Cooperating with the police is definitely a good step to establish good faith.” All Might flashed him a sheepish smile. ”...I’m not saying that just to grind my own axe, I swear.”

“Do you think it would be enough for U.A. to let me attempt the test?”

“You want to apply to U.A?” The hero seemed strangely surprised.

“Yeah. Is it… not a good idea?”

All Might took a few moments to reply. “...It might work in your favor, actually. U.A. is famous for the degree of self-determination afforded to its management by the government. If you’re worried about external interference, U.A. is your best bet to avoid it.”

A tiny, shy flicker of hope ignited in Izuku’s chest.

“...I’ve known the principal of U.A High School for a long time. He’s a bit of an eccentric, but one with an impeccable work ethic.” All Might resumed after a moment. “He’s not the kind of person to let unfair judgement undermine his institute. Especially if it prevented an aspiring hero he deems worthy from being appointed his student.”

“You mean that…?”

“I mean that if you do plan to apply to U.A. you could have a chance of making it in, regardless of your unfavorable background. If you pass the admission test, that is.” All Might suddenly stopped walking. “...What is this?”

Izuku blinked, ripped out of his thoughts, and took in the portion of the seafront they had reached. Wow, he really hadn’t been paying any attention to where they were going, had he? “...Oh. It’s, ehr… an illegal dumping site, I guess.”

“Really?” All Might commented, eyeing the sad, disregarded No Dumping sign welcoming its disobedient visitors.

“Yeah. The currents always bring flotsam to this area, so it was never clean in the first place. And then people started taking advantage of it…”

“And no one ever comes here to pick up any of this?” Strangely, the sight and the slight stench of mounds of rusting metal and assorted junk didn’t bother All Might, who climbed down the few steps separating the sidewalk from the beach.

“No, the city administration never took an interest. Everyone else just avoids this spot altogether. It’s been getting worse over the years.” Izuku had no idea why All Might was studying the piles of dismissed appliances as if they might hold some hidden treasures within, but he felt rather dumb for accidentally introducing this to the hero, of all places in Musutafu, as his first sightseeing landmark. “Sorry, I should have brought us somewhere else.”

“It’s fine.” Undaunted, All Might wandered deeply into the maze of refuse, with Izuku ruefully tagging along. “A safe, handy spot where a passing criminal in a hurry could stash some loot, don’t you think? Good to know.”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” Right. That was what it meant for a hero to know his turf, right? It went beyond street names and layouts. It meant to be aware of how each location could lend itself to certain criminal activities, what places could make for good improvised hideouts, where civilians were more or less likely to be gathered...

“How were you planning on passing the admission test?” All Might asked when they reached the water’s edge, eyes fixed on the waves crashing on the sand.

“Uhm. Well, I’ve already started reviewing the subjects listed in the syllabus…”

“I was referring to the practical session, actually.”

“Oh, uhm… Well, I tried looking for information about it online, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Apparently it’s U.A.’s policy to bind all participants to non-disclosure. They say that observing how potential candidates react to unexpected situations is part of the evaluation process, so…”

All Might looked at Izuku, his expression blank. “Yes. So?”

“Ehr.” Suddenly Izuku felt extremely on the spot. “W-Well, without knowing what I’m getting into, I don’t really have any specific strategies in mind.”

All Might cocked his head with a slight frown. “What about generic strategies? What skills were you going to capitalize on?”

“I… Well… I thought I’d just… try my best. Improvise and use my head.”

All Might blinked. “...That is what everyone else is going to do too. Except everyone else will also have a quirk to rely on, while you weren’t going to use yours. That’s a massive disadvantage right there.”

“Yes, I know.” Izuku clasped his hand behind his back in shame. That was an excellent point, one that somehow no one had ever raised with him. Everyone, including his father, instantly shot down his idea as soon it left his mouth. No one had ever asked him to elaborate on the practical details. Which he had sort of… failed to sort out so far.

“And you have no notion as to how to bridge that gap.”

“Not… not yet.”

All Might crossed his arms, sporting possibly the harshest expression Izuku had seen on him yet. It made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. “...Are you serious about this hero thing? Are you sure it isn’t just a passing fancy?”

“It isn’t! It absolutely isn’t!” Izuku answered immediately. “I just… I don’t even know if I’m allowed to bring any tools, or-”

“Tools?” All Might scoffed as he walked back to him and gave him a critical once-over. “Looks to me you already have all the tools you need, if you deigned to consider them.”

“Uh?”

“You have arms, don’t you? Hands. Legs. Arguably a head.” All Might poked at each listed limb with a bony finger as he started circling him like a starved shark. “All in working order, yes?”

“Y-Yes- I mean, I’m not ill or anything, but-”

“Then why aren’t you trying to capitalize on those? A quirk is an important part of a person, but it’s not the only one! You have a body, use it!”

“Ah, yes, I…” Izuku gulped. “It would make sense to, uh, try to get a little stronger, I guess…”

“You guess? ” All Might was reaching yet unexplored levels of visible exasperation, which was saying something considering the whole secret-villainous-father debacle. Izuku didn’t know if getting the number one hero so worked up about his little pipe dream should be considered flattering or shameful. “Being a hero isn’t a desk job! Running fast, lifting heavy weights, enduring fatigue are not optional skills! No matter what quirk they have, no hero worth their salt can neglect to keep in excellent shape!”

“R-Right. Of course. It’s just that, uh…” Izuku fidgeted. “I’m not really good at that sort of… physical stuff. I’ve always been a bit on the scrawny side, and I get tired easily, and I’m no good at brawling-”

“Despite training?”

“...I’ve never followed a proper training regimen, but…”

All Might rubbed his hands on his face. “Kid, unless they have a physical-enhancing quirk, people aren’t just born strong. They get strong by training - do I really have this state this out loud?”

Izuku was fairly sure his face was about to spontaneously combust. Of all the things he’d expected to happen in his near future, being scolded by All Might in person for his lack of commitment to physical activity was not one of them. “Y-You are right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… to disrespect you or your profession…”

“You didn’t, I was just… You seemed passionate about this two days ago...” All Might trailed off. “My point is that all the equity in the world won’t net you a place in U.A. if you don’t pass that test. And if you really are serious about raising your chances of becoming a hero, you have to give this some serious thought, and soon. You can cram months of study into weeks if you have the brains for it, but you cannot do the same with workouts.”

Izuku willed himself to hold his head up straighter. “I-I will. Thank you for your advice, it makes a lot of sense.”

The silence that descended between them was more than a little awkward.

“I’ve pestered you enough for today, haven’t I?” All Might eventually said as he took off towards the sidewalk. “Let’s go back.”

Izuku trailed behind the hero as they made their way among the waste, and almost bumped on him when he slowed to a stop to stare at a particularly high pile of contorted, rusty scraps.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I was just thinking that… What I need is a quiet, lonely place to have some private chats with you, and what you need is a way to work up some muscle and rack up some good karma, right?” All Might scratched his chin as he scanned the heaps of trash hiding the rest of the city from view. “...Say, how do you feel about community service?”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #deku #izuku midoriya

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klarolinelibrary · 4 years ago

Photo

This week, for our first 'loyal reader,' we had a chance to chat with Ennie, a very enthusiastic and passionate reader. Keep reading to find out what she has to say about her start in the fandom to her favorite story.

KCL: For our first question we would like you to introduce yourself! What's your name or alias? And could you mention your username?

Ennie: Hi! My name is Ennie and my tumblr username is @enniec123.

KCL: Thank you for allowing us to interview you. We are really excited about this. So let’s jump in with this question: how and when did you join the Klaroline fandom?

Ennie: Yeah, of course! I joined the Klaroline fandom because my friend is really into the show and had been telling me to watch it for a long time, so I binged all 3 shows in spring 2020.

Before watching the show, I knew the bare minimum, which was that he's a bad guy and she's a good guy, very black and white. I also knew that Klaroline was a thing and was kinda confused as to how they could be together because they were on opposite sides. Keep in mind, I knew basically nothing, and I had only really read friends to lovers ships before watching the show. Next, I watched the iconic 3x11 scene, then immediately saw why they were so loved and jumped on board so fast.

KCL: Would you say after watching the memorable 3x11 scene, that it was what drew you to Klaus and Caroline ship? Could you explain what exactly drew you in?

Ennie: 3x11 is definitely what drew me into them. In my opinion, there was nothing really platonic about that whole scene. First of all, the words he used and the way he said them were really soft and different compared to what we had seen before. Until this point, we knew him as the ruthless killer, then he becomes softer and is telling her that there is a huge world out there, waiting to be explored. The other part was that he leaned in really close while talking, and he could have put his blood in a glass and give it to her, but instead, he offered his arm, brought her close, and stroked her hair.

KCL: You answered that beautifully! Their first scene together is definitely one of the most popular ones here in the fandom! After falling in love with the Klaus and Caroline ship, do you remember the first story you've read?

Ennie: I was kind of shocked that I remembered which fic brought me into reading more Klaroline, it feels like it was forever ago, not 9-ish months. Before TVD, I was reading Gendrya fics from the GOT universe, and I knew that as soon as I started reading Klaroline fics I would not be reading other fics anymore. So, I waited a few months after finishing the show, and I think around August/September-ish I saw that one of my fav Gendrya writers also wrote 3 Klaroline fics. Then I was like "ok, maybe ill read them and see what happens."

My first fic was either Right Place, Wrong Time or When Life Changes by @psychvamp25. Then I binged all of @honestgrins one-shot/drabbles. Everything snowballed from there, and here we are today.

Right Place, Wrong Time is the fic that made me start to love time travel fics and the viking era fics. When Life Changes made me love the period fics and the ones that they were together for a long time. Then I read @bellemorte180's Original Caroline fic and I was a goner. Original Caroline is definitely one of my favorite tropes.

KCL: It's impressive that you still remember your first story! And it seems like you have spent a lot of time reading. On average, what would you say is the number of hours you have spent reading stories?

Ennie: It honestly depends on how busy I am. I like to binge stories, and read till like 2 am. I know it's a very bad habit, and I am working on it. If I am busy then maybe 1 hour-ish during the day and 2 at night so 1-3 hours. If I have a break in school, then I would read for an entire day. If I have more time while it's a school week, then maybe 3-8 hours a day, sometimes more depending on how late I stay up… I realize now that I have a problem. Yikes. A lot basically.

KCL: That's nothing to feel bad about! We’re sure that there are many others who are on the same boat as you, we certainly are! Since you do a lot of reading, do have any favourite authors? Could you share a couple of them?

Ennie: I have so many favorite authors. Here are a few: @galvanizedfriend (Yokan), coveredincolors, @honestgrins (honestgrins), @helpless-in-sleep (perfectpro), @helpfulfairy (helpfulfairy92), @lalainajanes (LalainaJ), @misssophiachase (misssophiachase), @klarolineagainnaturally (klarolineagainnaturally), @bellemorte180 (bellemorte180) and @lynyrdwrites (LynyrdLionheart).

This was really hard to choose.

KCL: We are so lucky to have so many talented authors in this community, where we can always enjoy reading new or rereading stories from them. Before we dive into your favorite story, what are you currently reading so we can add it to our reading list?

Ennie: I am currently rereading Endlessly by @slstmaraudersjple. Another one of my favies.

KCL: Thank you for sharing! We will definitely be checking it out. So far, you have mentioned your first stories and your favorite authors, but what would you say is your favorite KC story?

Ennie: Only Human by @peacefulvillagefairone is one of my favorite fics. Besides The Wolf 2, I will say this is definitely my favorite story.

KCL: We love that story too! It’s one of our favorites! In your own words, could you give us a brief summary of the story?

Ennie: I suck at summaries because I end up spoiling it, but I will try my best.

Caroline is human and wants to know more about Klaus because he doesn't open up a lot to her. She gets sent back in time to when the originals were human. From that point on, she goes on an adventure to try to get back to her time but not before trying to dodge trouble that comes her way.

KCL: That was such a great summary! And what was it that you loved about the author’s writing style?

Ennie: In my opinion, the story is very light. There is a lot of fluff but there is also a lot of plot. It's centered around time traveling and I really love that. It's about the adventures that they go on and how Caroline gets to see different versions of Klaus.

I think that the fic is a fun ride. It's a non-thinking story which I really enjoy. Don’t get me wrong, I love really analytical fics that make me think a lot, but when your brain needs a break from real life and you don't want to think a lot then this fic is perfect. There are some mysteries in the fic that make you think but it gets revealed soon and there are a lot of hints so it's a fun mystery to solve without deep diving into it.

KCL: Our next question is what made you fall in love with the story? Was it the chemistry between Klaus and Caroline? The conflict in the story or maybe the character arcs?

Ennie: I thought that it was a different story because it starts with Klaus and Caroline getting together when she was human and then time traveling. I loveeeee domestic and established kc and the fic shows them being physically together but not mentally together if that makes sense.

The fic shows the progression of their trust and how deeply they fall in love with each other. While I do love fics that start with them not together, sometimes I want a long fic with a lot of fluff. This story has a balance of plot and fluff. It's a beautiful story. It's on the longer side but it makes me really happy. If I'm feeling down, then I skip around the fic to reread my favorite parts.

KCL: We agree! We enjoy a good story of Klaus and Caroline in a domestic setting too. And for our last question, what would you want to say to readers who haven't read your favorite story yet?

Ennie: I hope you read it and it brings you joy and satisfaction like it did to me.

Letter To The Author

To @peacefulvillagefairone,

Thank you for creating such amazing stories. Only Human has a special place in my heart. It was one of the first fics I have ever read and I am in love with the plotline. Time travel fics are so fun and you wrote it beautifully. I can't spoil anything for the fic but I really love a certain someone. I think that he is such a good character and the matchmaking cracked me up. The convos between present and past were so amazing. The characterizations were on point. The story is so fluffy and full of plot and it makes me so happy when I read it. When Klaus, Caroline, and the OC are together, it's so sweet. I loooovvveeeee their moments, esp the ending. The story has so many of my favorite tropes all wrapped up in 120k words *chefs kiss* Thank you once again for creating this masterpiece and sharing it with the world. 💖

From your loyal reader,

@enniec123 🍊

#klaroline library #KCL loyal reader #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline #enniec123

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slut-for-mothman · 4 years ago

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Hell is For Children

Requested: Yes|No

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

A/N: Special thanks to @oliverbrnch for editing this chapter and making it into what is is !!! I hope you all enjoy my first CM fanfiction !!!

Summary: After 13 years of trying to forget the man he was supposed to call his father, Spencer finds his phone riddled with messages from his father trying to catch up on "old times". He's met with criticism and shame when he reveals he has no want to talk to him. Everyone seems to think his father deserves a second chance. Everyone except for him. Aaron Hotchner. Logically it made no sense, Aaron had a kid of his own, would he not sympathize with his father for wanting to have a relationship with his son? Spencer finds comfort in the older man. Everytime his phone buzzes with a notification from William Reid, Aaron is always there to comfort him and distract him from the burning hole in his back pocket.

Chapter warnings: Angst, allusions to physical abuse. descriptions of violence and gore, swearing, and I think that's it.

Chapter One

December 16th, 5:15pm

"Hey son, I haven't seen or heard from you in a while. I hope you're doing okay."

Seeing that message was enough to twist the young doctors stomach in such intricate and painful knots he thought he might become violently ill.

"A while?" Spencer muttered to himself as he reread the message over and over. "it's been thirteen years, that's more than a while-"

A second message interrupted his train of thought.

December 16th, 5:27pm

"Why don't you come over sometime? My wife would love to see you, just something to think about..."

This message made something inside him break, the world shattering as his knees failed him. He swore he felt time stop as he reread those nauseating characters.

Wife? Since when was he remarried?

'Does she even know what he did to my mom, to me?' Spencer wondered, unable to tear his eyes away from his phone.

Does she even know she left a ten-year-old alone with his mentally-ill mother? Did she know what a selfish bastard he was?

Did they have kids?

Were they really that easily replaced?

Spencers mind was spinning, his apartment floor unsteady underfoot as his vision blurred. Tears stung his eyes, threatening to slip down his cheeks if he dared to blink.

His misery was interrupted as his phone buzzed once more in his palm.

Thankfully, it wasn't from the dreaded unsaved number, just Hotch.

December 16th, 7:14pm

"We have a case."

Spencer gathered his things, wiping the tears from his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. He'd never been more grateful to hear those four words in his entire life.

His ride on the metro felt infinitely slower than normal, much to the young doctors dismay. The extra free time gave his mind permission to run away from his as much as it pleased.

His phone vibrated again and again with more messages from the unsaved number, each one more hostile and manipulative than the next when Spencer glanced at the device.

December 16th, 7:23pm

"Will you at least give me an answer? I know I screwed up, but that was a long time ago! I have a right to get to know my son."

December 16th, 7:25pm

"Imagine how I feel, not knowing my son has 3 PhD's and having to find out from my ex-wifes nurse. You're not the only one suffering here kid, remember that."

Spencer snapped his battered phone shut in frustration.

How did he even manage to make himself out to be the victim in this?

He's the one who left me.

'I don't owe him shit, not after what he did to me', Spencer thought furiously to himself, his knuckles white where they gripped his messenger bag.

'Maybe I should give him some kind of answer, let him know where he can stick-'

By the time the sentence popped into his head, his chest aching, he had reached his stop. Although cases weren't particularly a positive thing, anything was better than thinking about the man who had abandoned him and, subsequently, essentially ruined his entire life.

As soon as he stepped off the elevator and into the bullpen, he could feel his co-workers' eyes pierce right through him. It was almost like they could sense something was off with him the moment he entered Quantico.

Of course, while they were profilers, it's not like they were mind-readers.

He fled to the break room and poured himself a generous cup of coffee. He wanted to focus on what was important, which was certainly not the unread messages from a fetid man on his cellphone.

While pouring practically the entire container of sugar into his travel mug, he felt someone's hand touch his shoulder. He flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, and he turned to see Morgan, his eyebrows scrunched together in a confused and worried look.

"Slow down, kid. Have some coffee with your sugar." He said, his voice half-joking as he, presumably, tried to ease the tension practically emitting off of Spencer.

His phone vibrated once more from somewhere in his pockets, and Spencer's face twisted in fervent discomfort.

"Earth to Pretty Boy. You good?"

Spencer realized he was getting absorbed into his thoughts again and tried to brush it off with a quick sip of the sickly-sweet caffeinated concoction in his hand and a quick nod.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking." as if Spencer ever stopped thinking in the first place.

"Well, I'm here if you need anything, kid. But for right now, let's go find out about this case." Derek clapped Spencer on the shoulder again, which earned an instinctual flinch.

Instead of dwelling on that, Derek and Spencer strode towards the conference room, where everyone else had already begun piling in ad Garcia and Prentiss introduced them to their present case.

"Three men were found dead on the streets of a Nevada strip mall last night," Garcia began, pulling up the crime scene photos onto the screen.

Spencer flipped through the folder that was handed to him, scanning over the photos while distantly listening to the rather gruesome but ultimately unhelpful details Prentiss and Garcia were describing.

All three men had one of their fingers removed, yet their wedding bands were later found in their stab wounds upon closer investigation. They were all three found in close proximity to different hotels and known "lover's lanes".

The incessant vibrations and noise emitting from the dreaded device in his pocket was enough to make Spencer have a brain aneurysm.

He retrieved the phone from his pocket only to switch it off and shove it into the deep depths of his messenger bag. It wasn't necessary for a plane ride anyway.

His sudden movements earned him a few more concerned glances, but their attention was quickly diverted as Prentiss announced, "Wheels up in 30." effectively dismissing the team to get their things.

Spencer was restless the entire plane ride. It was only thirty minutes into the trip, with an hour and ten minutes left.

Normally, he'd be playing chess or even reading, but neither of those things seemed to tempt him, as all he could think of were the numerous messages probably flooding his discarded phone banished to the bottom of his messenger bag.

The last message he'd read replayed repeatedly in his mind like some awful alarm.

'Imagine how I feel...'

It made fiery anger swirl in his chest.

He could imagine how he felt. Because the pain William Reid inflicted before he finally left was enough to make Spencer understand what it was like to be sent to Hell and back, if such a place existed.

The memory of watching his own father leave his house at age 10 was enough to make him feel nauseous. His father leaving was the final stake through the young man's heart.

The physical pain, he could probably forgive him for. He would never forget, but maybe he could understand.

But leaving your young on to care for his mentally-ill mother? After all the pain he put him through, that kick while Spencer was already down was a new low.

For all Spencer cared, the man could rot. It was almost funny, thirteen years of healing down the drain with just a few text messages.

Once again, Spencer was ripped from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, It was Hotch, with a guarded but concerned look on his face.

"You've been way too quiet; is everything alright?"

'No', Spencer thought to himself. But he couldn't admit he wasn't okay, especially not before a case. More important things needed to be tended for than his own "daddy issues".

"I'll be okay," Spencer settled for. "Just some weird stuff has been happening lately. It's nothing I can't take care of, though."

It didn't dissuade Hotch's concerned look. If anything, it intensified the worry Spencer found there.

"Is it your mother? Is she alright?" He asked, leaning forward with furrowed eyebrows.

"She's okay! I actually just called her the other night," Spencer assured him. He bit his lip and gripped his messenger bag. "It's actually, uh, my dad. He's been messaging me, and I haven't spoken to him in thirteen years."

"Are you okay? Have you messaged him back any?" Hotch asked, releasing the worried lines on his forehead.

"I haven't, yet. I figured I'd wait until the case was over. That way, there's nothing in the way." Spencer explained, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes darted around the jet cabin.

Hotch must have picked up the signal to wrap up the conversation, because he gently reminded the young man that he could talk to him whenever he needs to, or just whenever he wants to.

Spencer smiled and inclined his head slightly. "Thanks, Hotch."

"It's not a problem, Reid. Now, let's get back to work."

Spencer flicked through the gruesome photos once more, the swirling anger in his chest dwindling for the first time since his phone at first pinged with that dreaded message.

For once, Spencer was able to completely forget about the slightly outdated phone burning a hole in the bottom of his messenger bag.

#spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #hotchreid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid

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honeypirate · 4 years ago

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Pancakes For Dinner part one

Part two

Aizawa x f!yn

Reader is a teacher and pro hero, works with and is the best friend of Aizawa. Goes away for two years to teach at an American hero school.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Aizawa was your coworker and your best friend. You came to work at UA together the same year and you trained together almost every day. You couldn’t believe how you were a higher pro hero than him, he was absolutely amazing and smart. You respected and cared for him with your entire being.

When you got the opportunity to go to America for a couple years to teach at an American hero school, he was the first one you told, and, god, the look of pride and adoration in his eyes almost made you cry.

“Of course you are going!” He’d say when you’d get anxious and unsure if you should accept. He would talk you out of all your anxiety and fears every day until he would take you to the airport, then he would text you a paragraph about how amazing you are and how much he believes in you, one that you would go back and reread every day that you were gone.

The first two months of teaching were great, you fit in well with the other teachers and roomed with one while you were here, you had amazing students who were so talented and sounded a lot like Aizawas class this semester.

You talked to him every single night, for the first whole year, relaying your entire days to each other. You’d FaceTime every Sunday. You fell in love with him without noticing.

On your one year anniversary of teaching there he told you about a girl he went on a date with and you were confused about the drop you felt in your heart. The way you felt actually jealous. You were going to be gone for another year PLUS you were just friends!

So then the next week you went out with the teacher who taught in the room across from yours, he was tall and strong with blonde hair and blue eyes, kind of reminded you of All Might... he was the exact opposite of your best friend. You asked him out after lunch one day, he was always flirting with you and talking to you and you honestly didn’t know why you didn’t ask him just sooner.

Your phone calls with Aizawa got less frequent when you both got into relationships. You talk every other Sunday now and you usually hung up when you heard her voice on the other side. Your favorite calls were ones where you didn’t talk about your love lives and the ones where you can hear how much he respects and cares for his kids through the phone “they’re all idiots” his gruff voice made you smile because you can picture his facial expression with that sentence and how his eyes would betray him. “That’s why you’re teaching them.” You say and he scoffs but you know him well enough, knew that he’d rather say nothing than lie.

Your relationship with blue eyes didn’t last long, when you found out he was cheating you dumped him. You were confused at how you didn’t really care, you got over it in a week and didn’t feel the need to tell Aizawa about it. You didn’t want to take up time he should be giving to his girl. You were more sad about Aizawa being in a relationship than the ending of yours.

A few more months go by and you only have four more months to go. They offered you a full position here but you can’t decide to take it or go back. You called Aizawa to get his opinion, even though you figured out what you’re going to do, you didn’t even bring it up with him.

After catching up on everything else you ask “So how’s what’s her face?” Trying to be polite about his relationship when you obviously didn’t like her. “I don’t know” he says and you sit up straighter on the couch, “why wouldn’t you know? You’re dating her” after a few seconds he sighs “I broke up with her a few weeks ago” you can’t help the way your heart explodes in happiness and the way your palms get sweaty “why?” Your voice was quiet. “I realized that she wasn’t the one for me and I didn’t want to string her along” you can’t say anything other than “huh”

After a little bit of a comfortable pause you quietly whisper “Hey Aizawa?” “Hmmm?” “I broke up with him a couple months ago. He was cheating on me” he sighs and says “oh. . . Y/n why didn’t you tell me?” You hug your knees to your chest and switch ears with your phone. “I didn’t want to worry you or take any time from your girlfriend” he laughs “you know that you’re more important to me than anyone. Y/n! Come on” his voice is so quiet when he says the next words that you almost miss it “That’s why I broke up with her”

“can I ask you something?” Your voice was quiet still, you didn’t know why you were asking you just felt like you needed to know. “Sure...” “how come you never asked me out in the beginning? That week after I met you I almost thought you liked me for a second” you laugh. Trying to sound nonchalant and just curious. “Don’t you see me as a brother?” His voice was gruff again and he sounded sad. You feel bad but you can’t help it as a laugh busts out of your lips. You stand up from your seat on your couch and throw your free arm in the air “what?! No!. What made you think that?.” There was a pause before he sighed and said “I heard you on the phone once with your sister. You were laughing and you said in a horrified voice how you only see him as a brother and anything more grossed you out” this time your laugh was out of pure shock “Shouta Aizawa! No! That conversation was about Zashi!”, your phoneless hand still in the air and you dramatically flung it about, you felt exasperated.

His laugh on the other end of the phone was nervous and embarrassed as he whispered “oh” you laugh again “Aizawa, I ..” “y/n, I ...” you start at the same time but your laugh is cut off by your roommate busting open the apartment door “Y/N! We have to go. The dorms are being attacked!” You stand up and start to throw your shoes on “I have to go. We will finish this conversation after we’re done and everyone’s safe.” “Y/n! Be careful. I know you’re strong. I believe in you!” His voice is so sincere it makes your skin tingle “Thank you. Talk to you soon” you end the call as you and your roommate run down the hill towards the dorms and the sound of screams.

“Y/h/n! A few of your kids call out when they see you, there are two of them being cornered by a villain. “Get these kids out of here!” you say to the teacher beside you “I’ll handle this one!” You took him down easily but he still got one good hit in splitting your left eyebrow and clouding your vision with blood. Damn eyebrows were always the worst to get cut because then never stopped bleeding it seemed. The fight was over quickly, petty villains just searching for five minutes of fame.

On the way to get stitches you buy a plane ticket and as you got stitched up you called him. when he answered you didn’t let him have any time in case you lost your nerve “Shouta! The kids are fine! I’ll be fine as well once the stitches are done” you awkward laugh, filled with the emotion you’re finally letting yourself feel and the adrenaline from your fight. “I’m coming home! I got a plane ticket. I have the next couple weeks off because of this attack and I need to see you. It’s been too long. And.. I .. I think that I should probably tell you this now, in case there is an accident and I never see you again. I think it’s time to be brave!” He laughs, sounds a little worried, “youre coming home? What’s going on?” Youre a little wild right now, you can’t stop but let it all out “I don't wanna say something wrong or be weird so if this comes out wrong let’s just forget about it. And if you're still in love with her then we will just pretend that I didn’t say anything. Two years away from you has felt like forever. I tried to find the right time to tell you but it never happened. I chickened out. Like the time I asked how was fall semester? I wanted to tell you how much I loved talking to you every single night. And that conversation we had about your favorite band? Spur of the moment because what I really wanted was to tell you how much I missed hugging you.” You take a breath and the guy stitching you up is finished so you hop off the table “thank you” you say to him with a quick smile, catching his chuckle at your craziness.

“Y/n take a breath and tell me what you’re trying so hard to tell me” he says calmly and you laugh before you take a deep breath as you quickly run out of the campus nurses office “okay. Here it goes. Ill tell you. Shouta. I’m gonna say it” He laughs “stop stalling” he says calmly causing you to laugh again as you get back to your apartment on the campus.

“I’m coming home for a couple weeks, if the plane happens to crash tonight and I never get to see you again I’d want you to know that I am in ..”

*beep beep beep* your phone signals that it died and you curse under your breath and plug it in as you hastily pack some stuff up in a backpack. You told your roommate that you’d be back in a few weeks and if anyone needed her to give them your number. You grab your phone to realize it wasn’t even plugged into the wall. You curse again and shove it into your pocket.

Your roommate sped you to the airport so you could be on first flight back home. You had your phone plugged into the car to charge and it turned on before you got there. When you were running through the airport the first person you called was Aizawa, you end up getting his voicemail and you couldn’t help but laugh. After the beep you say “I’m sorry. My phone died and I don’t have much time before I get on the plane” your heart was racing and you were breathless from running to the gate but excited and ready to tell him everything you felt about him “my phone is going to die again so I’ll be quick. I’ve been in love you with for as long as I can remember. I didn’t realize until I left you. My plane gets there in 13 hours if you feel the same pick me up. If you don’t then I’ll go back right away and we can pretend this never happened” you heard quiet beeps as your phone dies for a second time. “Shit” you say quietly to yourself and shove it into your pocket as you make it to your gate and show the attendant your ticket and boarding the plane. In a few short hours you’d be home and you would see if the man you loved was in love with you back.

On the plane you took a melatonin knowing your nerves would never allow you to sleep on your own, you plugged your phone in to the usb and after about two hours you passed out. You had a straight flight and would end up sleeping the whole way.

You wake up when the person next to you whips open the window to let the light hit you in the face. You thought that was ridiculously rude but you also decided to use the last few minutes of the flight to freshen up your makeup and use one of those tooth brush mint things.

When you land your hands start to sweat, your heart is racing, you’re kind of panicking but holding it together. Your phone bings with messages but you don’t check them. You’re afraid to check them in case you have a text that confirms your fears. You shove everything in your backpack and sit in your seat, waiting for the rest of the people in the front rows to exit the plane so you could get up and walk out.

Your hands are shaking and cold as you walked from the plane through the bridge to the airport on the other side. Your breathing is uneven and you can’t hear anything other than your heartbeat as your feet carry you forward, led by your heart in your hands. In less than ten steps you’ll know the truth.

#mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha shouta aizawa #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa fanfiction #shouta aizawa x you #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader #mr aizawa

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keichanz · 4 years ago

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Koi no Yokan | 10

please note: in this particular au, the age when one is considered an adult is 20, not 18.

another note: after rereading this and making some minor edits, i realize some people might think that kagome opening up so soon after meeting him is frowned upon, but considering this particular notion a bit further, i have decided that i don’t give a fuck and i’m too lazy to change it a;dfjaijfhuliffc

AO3

She flashed him a quick, grateful smile before she scurried away, leaving the room to retrieve the necessary supplies and Inuyasha was stuck with that image in his head until she returned.

He had to concede that the wench was even prettier when she smiled, which brought about the question of just how the hell she’d managed to remain pure when living in a place like this. His guess was she couldn’t have been here for very long. He remembered Sen and how she seemed panicked when Miroku had been dragging her away, how she’d silently apologized while looking absolutely wretched and it didn’t take long to put two and two together. The other woman had been clearly protecting her from the lust of men, and he had to wonder why since it was inevitable.

Unless… Fuck, unless it wasn’t by choice—

The door opened and Inuyasha looked up to watch the woman close the door then pad back over to him, a basin of water in one hand and a basket of what looked like medical supplies in the other. She paused before him, bit her lip, and blushed.

“Could…could you move to the bed, please?” Her flush deepened. “S-so I can sit beside you and—um—”

Inuyasha tried not to grin at how easily flustered she got and wordlessly stood up before doing as she bade. Two strides and he sank down onto the mattress. It was hard and lumpy and he grimaced. God, she had to sleep on this every night? How the fuck did she get up every morning without doubling over in pain? Better yet, how the hell does she even get any sleep?

She saw his expression and smiled a little wryly.

“It helps if I fold a blanket beneath me,” she supplied, answering his silent questions as she sat beside him. “Though most of the time I still wake up feeling like a cripple.”

He snorted and her smile became a bit more genuine as she set down her supplies and dunked a cloth into the water she set beside her. The mattress was stiff enough that she wasn’t worried it would spill as she gently tugged his arm into her lap and began carefully cleaning it of blood, old and new.

They lapsed into silence, Kagome feeling strangely comfortable around this man she’d just met, and Inuyasha lost in thought as he quietly watched her work. Her touch was so gentle he barely felt any pain at all. By the time she’d finished cleaning and was ready to apply some kind of smelly concoction he could only assume was some kind of antiseptic, he couldn’t contain it any longer.

He had to know.

“Why are you here?” he asked lowly, staring at the top of her head with a slight frown.

She froze, her hands pausing and he saw her tense, her shoulders hunching. Her fingers twitched against his arm and he heard her suck in a sharp breath, but otherwise remained still.

He inwardly cursed. Shit, he’d made her uncomfortable again. The hanyou prince’s ears pinned and he sighed.

“Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—”

“M-my parents,” she whispered and Inuyasha went very, very still. “…They died. About two years ago.”

She finished with the medicine and washed her hands with the water before grabbing a white square of cloth. She carefully pressed it over the cut, muttering an apology when he winced.

“They had both developed an illness of the lungs,” she continued and grabbed a roll of bandage. “And their decline in health was…it was terrifyingly rapid. My grandfather had died the year before of the same ailment, though he passed much quicker because of his age and preexisting conditions.”

Slowly she began wrapping his arm, aware of his gaze on her head, but she kept her own focused on his arm. Her hands were deft as she passed the bandage over and under again and again.

“Anyway.” She sighed and started securing the bandage with a knot. “My parents knew they were going to die. Before they passed, they asked my mother’s sister, my aunt, if she and her husband could take my younger brother and I into their home and care for us since I was eighteen and my brother only twelve. My aunt and uncle are bitter people with no children of their own and they never bothered to hide their disgust whenever Souta and I were in the room. Knowing that, I never understood why they’d agreed to take us in, at least until the day after my parents died and they came to collect us. They didn’t even give us any time to grieve before putting us to work on their farm.”

“They sound like uncaring assholes,” Inuyasha put in, unable to stay silent any longer as she told her story. “Not even giving you time to mourn your own goddamn parents? Callous and selfish.”

Satisfied with her handiwork, Kagome smiled dryly and started organizing the supplies to keep her hands busy. This next part was never easy to recall and she had to fight to keep from crying.

“I didn’t mind the work,” she went on, eyes on her hands as she fiddled with the damp cloth. “It distracted me and kept me from thinking too much about…things. Souta, on the other hand, wasn’t used to such arduous work and he messed up often. He was only twelve and wasn’t as strong as me, and he cried a lot. He missed our parents. H-he…ah…”

“You can stop,” Inuyasha reminded her. It was obvious this was difficult and he didn’t want her thinking she had to explain.

Kagome sucked in a breath and shook her head. “N-no, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Inuyasha frowned, but didn’t object.

“A week passed before my aunt and uncle got tired of his constant slip ups and his crying, so they sold one of their cows and sent him off to some boys home in another town far away. I didn’t even get to say good bye. The people just showed up one day, bundled him into this fancy carriage, and took off. I tried to run after him, but my uncle held me back. I could hear him screaming for me, crying my name…”

She pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to collect herself, feeling her eyes grow hot with unshed tears. She hadn’t forgiven her relatives for that and she knew she never would.

“Jesus,” the man next to her muttered and she glanced up to find him shaking his head in disgust. “That’s…fuck, I’m sorry.”

Kagome sniffled and tried to smile in thanks, but gave up.

“I have no idea where he is,” she confessed, her voice raspy. “They wouldn’t tell me what town, or what the home was called. I tried finding it myself, but…”

She sighed and shrugged, then lifted a hand to rub her eyes, wiping away any evidence of tears.

“I stayed with them for the next two years, working every day with hardly any rest. Then, on my twentieth birthday one week ago, before the sun had even risen, they came into my room and told me we were going on a trip. I’d learned by then not to question them so I said nothing and followed them out to the carriage. We traveled to the next town over, about a five-hour ride, and with no explanation whatsoever, they dumped me in front of this place and left without a backwards glance. Madam Kirina was the one that explained they’d sold me to the brothel, to her, and that’s…”

Kagome sighed, opened her eyes, and locked gazes with intense amber.

“That’s why I’m here,” she finished in a murmur and Inuyasha’s chest ached.

<<Prev || Next>>

Chapter Index

#koi no yokan #10 #inukag #inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #keizfanfiction

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wiltedeyesandtwistedlies · 5 years ago

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What are the inattentive symptoms of ADHD?

Before I answer, it’s important to acknowledge that not everyone experiences ADHD the same way. I came up with this list through hours of extensive research, but I still explained each one based on how I experience them personally, because I wanted it to be an honest and accurate resource.

Now, I experience every inattentive symptom of ADHD severely. As well as most hyperactive type symptoms, but not nearly as severely. Hence why my explanations are on the severe side. So if you don’t experience every one of these, or you don’t experience them exactly like this, that doesn’t mean you don’t have ADHD.

Most Commonly Known Symptoms:

Inattentive ADHD is pretty much the same thing as hyperactive ADHD but with less hyperactive tendencies. So technically these symptoms apply to both, but ADHD has a few more that won’t be listed here.

• Inability to focus on disinteresting or unengaging tasks even if you need or even want to – As if your brain physically won’t let you. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. There is no, “Just do it because you have to.”

For real. Imagine a video came where you’ve reached the end of the map and there’s that invisible barrier to keep you from going any farther. But all the other players are passing it just fine. They look at you like you’re crazy and can’t believe that you can’t get through. But it’s literally IMPOSSIBLE.

Now apply that to easy individual movements or tasks like plugging in your charger right next to you or washing a few bowls.

• Focusing WAY too much on this single thing whether you like it or not. It’s called “hyperfixating” and it’s both the most exhilarating experience in the world and the most soul crushing. You can watch/do nothing else, consume nothing else, think of nothing else. It’s exciting and invigorating. But as soon as there is no more material/info about it to devour, existence is gray and meaningless. The adrenaline rush and laser focus are like nothing else, but the crash is just as intense.

• Inability to divert attention to something different when you're already focused on something else. (More of a product of the two above, really)

• Inability to organize or maintain a neat system. It’s not that we don’t have a system (because we do, and if it’s altered in the most miniscule way we will know and we will be furious) but that our systems tend to be more about ease of access. It looks messy, but everything is just easily reachable instead of tucked away in drawers or hidden in organizer bins.

“Out of sight, out of mind.” As soon as we can’t see it, or we get used to it and it becomes a background visual (like background noise but for your eyes), it no longer exists. Until we see it again we have never seen it before either.

• Emotions are forceful and kinda scary. Lacking the ability to regulate emotions means violently strong feelings. They can sweep you away and leave you stranded in an uncomfortable predicament. Major highs and lows as well as strong grudges and emotionally based actions.

• Distractability: There’s this stereotype that all people with ADHD are hyper airheads who cut off mid sentence to shout random shit like “SQUIRREL!” whenever they see something remotely interesting. They’re super excited about it and HAVE to let everyone know, no matter what they were doing before. It’s kind of the “cutesie” version that the media portrays a lot. Most ADHDers don’t actually fit this stereotype.

However, stereotypes are often based on true characteristics, even if they have been twisted into a sick joke or a cruel portrayal.

NOTE: There is nothing wrong with this form of ADHD. It just sucks that if you don’t match this stereotype, no one really believes you have ADHD. Also that so many people use it to insult and bully people with ADHD, even if that isn’t how they display their symptoms.

Lesser Known Symptoms:

Basically if these are #relateable, you probably have ADHD.

• Unable to conceptualize time in any way. Will this take two minutes? Three hours? No one knows! You thought this would take a half hour at most and it’s taken three! How?? This was a five-minute task and you’ve just realized you zoned out. It felt like two seconds but it was two hours!

• There is only Now and Not Now. Again, it’s a time thing. The future always seems so far away that it's almost like it doesn't exist. "Time is a construct" is something I often say because I have no sense of time passing, having past, or will pass. People describe me as "living in the present.” But that’s only because I forget that there is a future or that time is moving. I just don't think about it at all and when I try to it's impossible to understand and it feels made up.

• Sensitive to any form of rejection, actual or perceived. A friend texts you back, but they don’t sound nearly as enthusiastic as usual. You immediately tear your message apart to try to find what upset them and how you can make it up to them. Because surely that’s what that nontypical period means? You want to curl up in a hole and never come out, never face the horrible thing you’ve done to a treasured friend. Intense fear and sorrow mingle into all consuming guilt. The kind that makes you wish you’d never met them, just so they wouldn’t have to be hurt by you now. All because they added a period.

Everyone with some form of an anxiety disorder will recognize this. But it’s also a very common ADHD experience. This is in part because anxiety is SUPER likely to be comorbid with ADHD. But we also have Rejection Sensative Dysphoria. Which basically means we’re ridiculously sensitive to the slightest possibility of the barest chance that we maybe might receive a sliver of perceived ambiguous rejection. To the point where we cut off good relationships for seemingly no reason because we’re too afraid to even speak to them again, much less explain our emotions that we know are irrational but can’t help. The guilt and regret are too agonizing, the fear to face them too much.

• Reading is AWFUL. We’ve already established that attention is not your friend. Unfortunately, that makes it difficult to read blocks of boring text. The information could be good, it could be fun even. But if the format is too uniform and plain, it’s impossible to get past the first few sentences. You just keep rereading the same line over and over, realizing every time that you zoned out halfway across. It’s infuriating and very sad. It also makes studying an absolute nightmare.

Many people actually don’t have this experience. They hyperfocus on their reading or their schoolwork so it isn’t a problem. I was the same way until college and now I can’t even read a little recipe card without zoning out. But it’s a very common experience nevertheless so I listed it anyway.

• Ringing ears, hearing electricity. This is one I just heard about. I haven’t been able to actually research this one, but it’s interesting and every ADHDer I know has confirmed it so I’m adding it. ‘Cause I’ve had constant ringing since I was old enough to talk. And I’ve always been able to hear power lines, household appliances, wires inside the walls, all those varying vibrating hums and crackling pops. It’s one of the weird quirks that “run in the family.” Just like Tinnitus and all ADHD symptoms. Apparently, MANY people with ADHD have similar experiences.

• Negative stimming. Things that negatively stimulate your senses. After encountering a certain stim, you feel it physically. It causes a sensation that hurts, in a way. It shouldn’t, logically. But your body’s reaction is to pain. This includes foods you can’t eat because the texture is wrong. Clothing you can’t wear because you can easily breath but no you really can’t because the collar sits wrong against your throat. Sounds that make your spine stiffen or skin crawl. Bright lights or colors that don’t affect anyone else but make your head ache.

Stims and sensitivity can affect any and all senses. A certain smell, agitating fabrics, an unbelievably smooth stone, specific tastes and food textures, certain color combinations, particular sounds/pitches/volumes, et cetera.

• Positive stimming. The other side of the sensory coin. Things that are exceptionally pleasant to your senses/stimulate you positively. For example, the way light shines through a transparent bright blue gem. Watching the light catch and twist so fluidly when you move it takes your breath away. There’s a euphoric feeling to it, and you can’t look away. It’s too pleasing. It’s like a deep satisfaction you can physically feel throughout your whole body, emanating from deep within your chest. You never want to stop that feeling.

Personally, it feels like my chest is somehow much deeper than it actually is. And at the farthest, deepest part is where that satisfaction settles. Nothing else can ever reach that hidden, impossibly deep cavity. It’s so amazing, I never want it to stop. It can feel like that endless pit is starved, and the stim is the first sustenance it’s ever had so it never what’s to let it go.

• Forgetting supposedly unforgettable things. Like where the fuck I parked my car. Also what my car looks like. It’s blue right? It has a hatch. I accidently memorized the license plate (complicated story) but I can’t tell you what model it is?? Is it even in this parking lot? I’ve never parked anywhere else but my memory is obviously garbage so now I need to check every parking lot just in case.

End Note:

It’s important to know that ADHD has many symptoms that overlap with other nuerodivergencies such as autism or ASD. Executive dysfunction can be caused by a number of mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety. Emotional regulation problems can look just like Bipolar disorder and vice versus.

My point is, every symptom could actually be something else. It’s really easy to be misdiagnosed because they all have such similar symptoms. I know someone who thought they had ADHD for years, but it was actually a mix of severe depression and anxiety that fucked with their working memory (as both depression and anxiety do). Someone else I know was diagnosed with manic depression and thought they might be bipolar, but it was undiagnosed ADD the whole time.

#cassidy talks once in a while #info about everything adhd #add #add symptoms #adhd symptoms #add info #adhd info #add information #adhd information

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callmeasyouwantidk · 4 years ago

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3, 6, 12, and 21 for the Writer Asks, please! 🤗 💜

Thank you for the ask Hiro!

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3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing?

My favorite is the feeling you get when you have finished writing so you reread it to make sure everything is correct.

My least favorite is writers block. AHHHGHHHHGHGGGGGGGG

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6. Favorite character you've written?

I never wrote originals yet (even tho I'm thinking on it) so my fav is Butsuma with completely different attitude in my mid-century AU. I made him like, as strong, as serious, but now he takes everything close to heart and just had to go with it because a good king can't allow himself to be a crybaby in the war. He was suffering and I loved to reread about it. Usual writer stuff, nothing new)

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12. Which story of yours do you like best? Why?

Honestly I'm not sure here. There are like three stories that r good enough to be my favs. I can't decide... Ugh. Whatever. Basic review of them 😅: First story is basically about Tobirama getting kidnapped when he is a child (like, 6 months or so) by Tajima. That happened while Butsuma was at his mission and Tobi's mom was about to give birth to Itama so Hashirama and Tobi were with their nany. But what can a regular human nany do when at the window she sees the head of the Uchiha clan? Only try to get the children to safety or get help. Unfortunately, Tajima got his hands on one of the boys before nany could. Now Tobirama grows up among the Uchiha as one of them, with only one goal - to kill his father, brothers, mother, and his own clansman. He succeeded at killing two of his brothers at young age, and killing his mother while a teen. Tajima gets physical pleasure when he sees Butsuma clutch his teeth in anger and dispare every fight Tobi includes. Not gonna go farther, too long, but you got the spirit.

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Second story is about Hashirama getting caught prisoner while Tajima is still ruling the clan. He learns that he was caught when he used himself as a shield to save Tobirama from a wicked two way attack that would have killed him. He also learns that even tho he did save him, the poisoned blade did a little cut, so Tobi will die from it in few days. Gotta get out. While trying to find his way out, Hashi stumbles upon his father and father's good friend who went missing four years ago, who's also held prisoners. Same story - too long to tell, but you got the spirit.

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3rd story has two versions. This is Ver 1. It's the AU I'm currently working on. Mid-century AU, where people have wings (type and colour of wing depends on personality, hair colour, and mobility of the person. Also it might depend on the wings your ancestors had.) and magic. Butsuma is the king, Tajima is the king. Senju kingdom grew weaker lately, because many of their blacksmiths have been slaughtered in one of the attacks on kingdom, and the army needs weapons. Because now the knights gotta run around the field looking for a weapon in case they don't have their anymore, they grow more and more tired after every fight. The Knights of the Round Table (which includes Butsuma and his knights) decided that the kingdom is growing too weak, and judging from Uchihas actions, they realize it too and don't hesitate to use the opportunity. They have decided that if the Uchiha kingdom does one strong enough strike with all their power, it might even be the end of it. To prevent this happening Butsuma calls Tajima for negotiation. He says that both armies are tired and that it might be good to take a break and form temporary peace, let the armies rest for a while, heal up, and continue. Tajima, of course knew where it was coming from, and it was far from the deal he was willing to make, so he asked for a payment. He said that he will consider such deal, if Butsuma gives him one certain payment to stay away. The payment is Butsuma himself. Tajima asked Butsuma to give himself in as a prisoner. A slave. Only in such case will Tajima agree. Having no other choice Butsuma agrees, signs the contract, and gives himself in, leaving a wife and his four children. While being an Uchiha slave he is treated even worse then a homeless alcoholic. Leaving in a cell in dungeons. In summer/autumn and spring working on the fields, and in winter helping as a servant. For every little mistake he was punished with a certain amount of whip blows that would leave him a bloody mess, and a lot of deep bruises. He was given only the things that he need not to die to quickly. In cold winters he had to swallow his pride and beg for something warm. The only way to get a little food for him was to pleasure Tajima in a naughty way (if you know what I mean ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). His status here was lower then a dog's, so anyone and everyone could do whatever they wanted with him. He had to do every request regardless of anything. Because of constant physical and emotional stress of more or less regular punishments and the inability to say "no" to all the perverted guards around the castle he aged greatly in a not so long amount of time, even tho he also did a lot of work to adapt. Madara was helping him tho, as much and as well as he could. He would call him in for said "naughty time" but would let him just sit and rest for an hour after which let him go. He would bring him a little of bread if Butsuma didn't eat for more then 3 days. He would help him get treatment if Butsuma got ill. Ten years later, when Madara grew to be 24 he made an assassination on his father because didn't agree with his perverted way of spreading tyranny not only on Butsuma, but through the kingdom itself. He became the king, and let Butsuma back to his family, shortly after which they made a permanent peace treaty.

Ver2. All the same but instead of asking for Butsuma to turn himself in, Tajima asked for one of his children. Through days of thinking of a way to get out of the situation, and Tobirama saying his word, Butsuma sends Tobi to Tajima as a prisoner. For Tobi it's all the same story but only that people get their wings only when they turn 18, and in the Uchiha castle it is forbidden for anyone to use wings except the royal family. Tobi had to learn to control his wings while always being at risk of them opening randomly and getting him in a lot of trouble. Bit again, Madara helped him with that.

Very 2 has a different ending tho. At some point when Tobi is around 22 the Uchiha kingdom suffers an attack from a big enemy coming for Tajima. During that attack, Tajima dies, but so does Tobirama. Tobi goes to the other world, but instead of resting in peace he spends a his time looking over his family and kingdom. With years passing, he becomes the Guardian of the Senju kingdom, and he looks over it and all the people living in until the end of times.

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21. What aspect of your writing are you most proud of?

Um... I guess that I make kinda very dramatic content, and a lot of people actually like drama but usually are ashamed (for whatever reason) to say about it so there are not much actual dramatic fanfics.

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Hope you had good time reading my 3 page essay answering these. I really couldn't decide on the story could I?😅

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afoolforatook · 5 years ago

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Thank you, Wellies

So. I’ve been trying to do both class work and working on wips and just nothing is clicking. So, I thought I should go ahead and do this post, that I’ve been putting off, because.....it’s next week y’all.... So here goes.

Here’s my original post, that explains what this comic meant to me four years ago.

And here’s what it means to me now. (this is really long, sorry)

Man, I don’t really even know where to start this. How to start to say thank you. To Ngozi, to all of you.... It’s not possible to fully express what all of you have been for me the past four years. What this story has been for me.

So many things have changed since I made this post almost four years ago.

So many things haven’t.

I’ve been way less active in the fandom since starting at SCAD, and I really was never that incredibly active to begin with, outside of my small group of friends on a discord server.

And at times I feel bad about that.

But it’s not because I don’t care about or need this community anymore.

Rather it’s because this community, this story, gave me the strength to keep moving, and now I want to keep doing so, and make something that might one day even barely begin to show my gratitude.

So until then, all I can do is say thank you over and over. I can never possibly say it enough.

But still I wanted to thank you now, and try to explain to you what this comic about hockey and pies has meant to me, one last time before it ends. So that’s what I’ll try to do.

It was surreal rereading this old post earlier this week. Reading

“I think I could write a book just of our history and everything leading up to now and the details of this whole event”

When I wrote this post four years ago, I honestly couldn’t imagine a future where I’d be anything other than incomplete.Or even a future at all. Everyday was just getting up and making myself keep breathing, keep trying to push towards something, even though I had no idea what that could ever be.

For the first year I wrote daily journal entries, telling Emma about what happened that day, screaming at the universe for doing this, trying to help my future self remember little things, because everything was so hard to hold on to.

Update days were always something nearly sacred to me. And really not even from a fan point of view. I don’t read them around other people. I sit somewhere quiet, by myself, and read slowly. Because they are little moments I try to share with her still. The only person I want with me when I read them that first time is her, in whatever capacity I can bring myself to imagine.

A few months after the crash, I found one of Emma’s Spotify playlists. She made playlists for everything; birthday and Christmas presents, mood playlists, friend playlists, monthly playlists.

This was her May 2016 playlist. Last updated May 16th. Two days before the crash.

That playlist was literally the only thing I listened to for months on end. 38 songs.Over and over.

And as I listened I started to think that, just maybe, some of these songs she put there for me.

West Coast; the song me and Emma would send to each other after high school whenever we wanted to let the other know how much we missed them.

All I Want is to Be Your Girl. I mean??

Slowly I found lyrics in every song that even if just in my own fantasy, were little messages from Emma, telling me to keep going, how to stay strong.

I was always looking for stories, books, movies, songs, anything about someone grieving the kind of loss I was. Nothing I found felt like it really represented me. If it was about someone young, it was due to suicide or violence or illness. If it was a car crash, it was about a parent or child. If it somehow fit my other demographics, it was never queer.

I felt totally alone in the exact manifestation of my grief. Like no one else could understand all the tiny details that seemed, to me, to make this all more and more cartoonishly cruel.

(though one of the most touching moments of my life will always be when Emma’s step mom, the only person in her family who knows about us, sent me a book about grieving a spouse. I cried for hours when I opened that.)

I didn’t have outside representation, support. But I had journals. I had Emma’s songs. I had poems and a handful of inktober drawings. I had my little update moments of connection. And I had so much to say.

Months, years, of isolation gives you a lot of time to examine your feelings, to question the meaning of things, to think about what exactly grief looked like to you and about how you wanted to live the rest of your life, as someone grieving a love.

And slowly I began to connect those thoughts to individual lyrics from Emma’s playlist and that helped me actually write all those thoughts out, organize them.

And that’s how The Mixtape Project started (I still hate using the word memoir. I had to find something else to call it). A book about us. About Emma. About all those thoughts I’d had so long to sit with. Structured around the songs from her playlist.

I remember the exact moment that I realized that Check Please was going to actively change my life. I was talking to my dad about it, about why I loved the storytelling, the characters, the art, so much.

I’d told him many times before. But it was always tied to Emma in a way, or to the reasons that I identified with Jack. It was always a little sad in some way.

But this time. This time it was just excitement. It was just a kid who has always loved words, gushing about a story that fascinated them.

And I realized. It was the first time I had been just happy, excited, in the months since losing Emma. I remembered all those ideas Emma helped me with in high school, how we gushed over stories like that. I remembered what it was like to just love something and want to create, just because it made you happy.

I knew I couldn’t go back to UNCA, and none of the other creative writing programs I had looked at seemed like they would fit the new person I was.

So, for the hell of it, looking for some idea at how to start my life over, I looked at Ngozi’s personal story. And there was SCAD. There was sequential art.

Now. I’d never ever considered myself an artist. I went to an art high school, I knew art kids. I was never one of them. But that sequential part? That. THAT was what I wanted. That was what I could still be excited about.

That was how I could pull the Mixtape Project together. The writing, the poems, the art, the music. Comics. Sequential art. A graphic memoir that played with the format. That was the project that kept me going. That was what I was working for. That was the first future I was able to see now that Emma was gone.

So, for the first time since literally elementary school, I took an art class (also took a mythology class at the same time, which really helped keep my art and storytelling tied).

I loved it. I was actually happy with my work, surprised by my work and how quickly I felt like I improved (I wouldn’t learn about aphantasia until I got to SCAD, and understand that that drawing 1 class had been so fun, and in a way, easy, because it was all direct observation, and that drawing from memory and imagination would be a much steeper learning curve for me.)

So, when the class ended I thought ‘you know, maybe some kind of art school could be a good idea.’

And then one of my life long best friends, a SCAD animation student, encouraged me to apply, to just go for it.

And I did. It was a long shot, I was sure. We couldn’t afford it. Why would I get that in that kind of commitment, debt, after 1 art class? It wasn’t logical. But it felt good. So I did.

And then I got accepted, and the initial excitement soon fell away, to me and my parents knowing that it really wasn’t doable.

But we went to admitted students day, just to see. And when we got home, both of my parents cried for a long time. The first happy cry in our house for over two years.

Because they had decided that they had to figure out a way to make it work.

Because standing in Haymans hall was the first time they had seen me excited about the future since Emma died. It was the first time they’d seen me feel like there was somewhere I was meant to be, that there was somewhere I could fit again.

So we made it happen. I’ll still be in debt for years, and it’s not necessarily something I’d wholeheartedly recommend to kids getting out of high school, that debt isn’t worth it for many people.

For me it wasn’t really even worth it exactly for SCAD itself, and you’ll have plenty of professors tell you here that really what you pay for isn’t the education but the networking.

But for me. For me it was worth it.

Because I wasn’t wasting away in my basement.

And I really wasn’t where I’d have liked to have been, ideally, before starting. I was a BRAND new artist. My portfolio for my application was solely my writing work. I hadn’t ever done anything more than scribbled fan comics in my sketchbook. I was coming in wayyyyy behind where most other people were. But I couldn’t wait to feel like I was good enough to be there. There was a strong chance that it was quite literally, a matter of survival. I was reaching a breaking point after nearly three years of isolation and grief with no outlet. The future debt was less of a concern than making sure I didn’t have a complete mental breakdown or worse.

Now, of course, it hasn’t all been easy or fun or happy once I got here. I’ve doubted myself, I’ve had awful weeks, months, been stressed, unmotivated, in pain, near burnout.

The first quarter I was absolutely miserable because I had literally no social life.

Because I was an agoraphobic 23 yr old, living with 17/18 yr olds fresh out of high school. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d dissociate so easily. I’d let myself believe that I was still a teenager fresh from high school. That the past three years of agony hadn’t happened. That I could call Emma and it would ring again. She would answer again. And that illusion was a dangerous pit to fall into.

And it wasn’t until this fall that my social life really started to improve, beyond one or two close friends. And even still, while it’s much better, it’s nothing like UNCA, like the tight knit family I had that made me identify with SMH and the Haus atmosphere so much.

But I was moving forward. Agonizingly slowly sometimes. But still forward.

And then last Spring quarter, just about a year ago, I was in Survey for SEQA. Basically comic book history class. And our final was a 4 page research comic on a comic artist we admired. So of course, I was going to do mine on Ngozi.

The comic was due at the end of the quarter, the end of May.

Now, that quarter was the first time I was actually in SEQA classes; Survey, and Intro.

And those four pages would be the first fully colored, refined comic pages I had EVER done. It was intimidating. I didn’t want to mess it up. Especially because this wasn’t some big name of some far off artist you would never have any connection to. This was someone who all my professors knew.

I ended up getting extremely lucky and had the chance to email Ngozi and ask if she’d be able to give for a quote for the project, advice for current SCAD students.

She replied to my email the weekend of the 3rd anniversary. (I then spent hours on a thank you email - because that’s who I am, I can’t not over analyze anything I’m sending to someone important - and then I managed to save it to drafts instead of actually sending it...something I would not notice until literally months later and be absolutely mortified about my apparent rudeness of never thanking her.)

I still am not really happy with how that project came out. I still had (and have) a lot to learn, and it shows. I have, in no way, become an amazing comic artist overnight. I wasn’t expecting to.

But that short email exchange, falling on that weekend; it felt special. It felt like some speck of proof that I was doing the right thing. That things could actually go well in my life again. That if I kept going, I might actually get somewhere that I wanted to be. That maybe I really could make The Mixtape Project happen, if I just kept at it here.

And then I found out that in the fall, Ngozi would be the SEQA mentor.

Unfortunately by the time I had all the details about how to apply, the quarter had started and there were only a couple of weeks before it was due, and the only pages I had even anywhere close to being portfolio ready were either my research comic or a few older Check Please fan comics, none of which I would even have considered putting in that portfolio (I’m not 100% certain it would actually have come across as sucking up but it sure felt like it would have). And despite my best efforts, it just wasn’t possible, with how slow I work and having to keep up with classwork, for me to get a portfolio ready in time.

That hurt for a while. I felt like I had this clear sign of perfect timing. How could I pass up that chance? How could I forgive myself for not doing everything I could to earn that experience? How was I not letting Emma down if I ruined this opportunity?

It took a while to get out of that negative thought spiral. But I did, and it’s still a bummer, but it’s okay.

And something that really helped?

In October, Ngozi still came to campus to give a lecture. And that would have been good enough; just sitting in on that helped me feel excited, encouraged again. But then, after the lecture (with my amazing roommate waiting patiently behind with me, to make sure I didn’t actually have a panic attack on the way home) I got to talk to her.

We all hope to one day get to talk to the people who inspired us, whose work we love, to tell them how much they mean to us. And yes, I was a little version of starstruck.

But that wasn’t why I was shaking. That wasn’t why I told her I was going to do my best to get this out without crying (and I did, I’m proud to say).

It was because I had the opportunity, while at the school that had given me a chance to start my life again, to thank the woman who was in all likelihood, one of the main reasons I was even still alive. If it had not been for Check Please I wouldn’t have had that good thing to keep sharing with Emma. I wouldn’t have found sequential art, at least not for a while longer probably. I wouldn’t have been able to finally picture a future I wanted to get to.

And I’ll be honest, I don’t remember 90% of what I actually said that night to Ngozi.

But I told her my story. I told her about Emma. About how Check Please was the last thing we got to share. I thanked her. And she was wonderful and kind and emotional and hugged me a couple of times, and even though I don’t remember a lot of what I actually said; it was something that will be one of the most important, affirming moments of my life.

I didn’t have a panic attack on the way home. I somehow managed to not cry until we were back to our dorm. But I was stunned.

Not even because of the amazing moment I had been able to have with Ngozi.

But because it hit me.

I was doing it. I was there. I had actually made it this far.

Somewhere that just over a year ago I never would have believed was possible.

A time when, two years before, I hadn’t even been sure I could make it to alive.

That weekend was my 24th birthday. And it was the first birthday since I left UNCA at 19, that I didn’t just hate the fact that I was getting older. That I was moving away from the happiest parts of my life so far.

Yes it still hurt getting further from Emma, putting another tick on the years that I got that she didn’t.

But I was actually finally excited at the idea of even having a future, let alone having an idea of what it could be.

February was a difficult month for me. I have another (entirely way too long) post about why everything that happened with RWBY and Fairgame was so difficult for me, but to put it simply; my hope for the future was shaken.

I was back in the toxic negative thought spirals I had fought for years to train myself out of.

I was seeing Emma, or her brother, or her mom, in crowds; something I hadn’t experienced since the first few months after the crash. I was in one of the biggest crisis moments I’d had since Emma’s death.

But I was more experienced than when I was 20.

It wasn’t fun, a lot of it probably wasn’t the ideal way to cope, but I did it. And I kept up with my work. I isolated more, but not completely. I made myself vent on snapchat or tumblr, and not worry about oversharing or annoying people, because it was either get it out or let it fester in my head. And I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

In mid March, I made a pitch packet for my comic scripting final.

It was for The Mixtape Project. It was hard, and nerve-wracking, and there’s still mountains of work to be done.

But after my initial synopsis (first of like seven versions, cause trying to put this thing in a good synopsis format is a nightmare) my professor told me that he thought my story had potential.

That he could see it being published. He suggested, knowing that I was planning on taking his advanced scripting course this quarter (hey remember how mid march was only a few weeks ago?? Huh?? wild), that I keep working on it, and see about taking it to Editor’s day (SEQA students’ opportunity to basically pitch themselves and their ideas to publishers).

Now, my professor is by no means an overly harsh critic, and is plenty supportive in general.

But I also knew that that was not just something he said to students all the time. That he meant it.

Editor’s Day (now online) is in mid May. The week of the 4th anniversary of Emma’s death, to be exact.

Everything is a mess right now, and I’m stressed and tired and scared and heartbroken (this will be the first time since I was 9 that I have not had Merlefest; the highlight of my year, and since Emma’s death; the last big happy thing before I plunge into the nightmare that is May).

Tuesday will come. Check Please will end. I will continue to support Ngozi and her work after Bitty’s story ends.

But it will be sad. It won’t be easy.

This thing that has been my tether to the most important person in my life, will still be there, but it will be over.

It will have a concrete end. It will no longer be part of the future I am pushing towards.

But I am a different person than the shattered kid who wrote this post four years ago.

I’m not who I was before Emma died. I never will be. I’d never try to be. I want Emma back more than anything. But that won’t happen. And as long as this is all real, I never want to pretend this didn’t happen.

That I didn’t shatter in a way that will never heal like people expect.

I’m still all those shattered pieces that wrote this post. Maybe a few have had the edges dulled, maybe I’ve lost a few, glued a few together perfectly, maybe picked up a few stray pieces that didn’t come from the me from before.

But I will be those shattered pieces for the rest of my life.

They won’t magically fuse back together. I work every day to hold them, to keep myself in some shape that resembles a functioning person.

Some days I fail. Some days, I am too tired to even try. Some days, I am so angry, I’d rather hurl the pieces at whatever power or fate or god or chaos decided that I got to live and she didn’t.

But those days pass.

And I learn how to hold the pieces better, how to avoid the sharpest edges, how to take care of the wounds when I inevitably cut myself on one, how to allow other people to help me hold them, how to accept that some pieces may feel safe and smooth and comforting but they are traps, illusions that are the easy way to do things, but not the healthy way, not the way that will help me achieve my goals.

That person, made of all those unholdable pieces, four years ago, was staying alive for everyone else but themself.

And some days I still am.

For my parents. For Emma. For all the other queer, mentally ill, grieving kids and young adults and just people, who are looking for the same representation I was, who feel as alone as I still do so often.

But some days.

On those really good days.

I’m alive, carrying all those pieces, just because I want to be. For me.

I want to spin around in the morning, singing along to my bluegrass spotify. I want to get excited over finally figuring out how to write that line that was giving me so much trouble, or finish that sketch that I never thought I could manage. I want to hope that despite how awful everything seems, there’s still a good future out there. It’s still possible to be happy some days.

I want to cry because I get to see Jack and Bitty get the happy ending that me and Emma didn’t.

And now, unlike that version of me from four years ago, when it ends, I will have things still.

Things that I have worked everyday to reach, to deserve, to hold out to people and say

“Hey, sometimes everything hurts and you know that things will never be what they were, and parts of you will always miss that. But there are still things you can find that hurt less, that ease the hurt, that teach you how to better hold the hurt, to stop trying to say it doesn’t exist or trying to get rid of it completely and hating yourself when you can’t. You can still be hurt, be irreparably broken in so many places, and still find the happy things. You are still worthy of love, no matter how broken you are. Your worth is not tied to how much you are able to heal. You are worthy of so much love, just because you are still here, no matter how many tiny pieces you are in.”

The thing is, I will still always have a future that includes Emma. Because I couldn’t tell you exactly which of my pieces are from her, but so many of them are.

There is no version of me, from here on to the day I die, that does not have her influence embedded in every piece.

These days I try to be a little kinder to myself. It doesn’t always work, but I try.

Because, to Emma, I was Bitty. I radiated that “thing”.

Whether or not I saw it in myself, doesn’t matter, because she did.

But to me she was the one who radiated.

And she is a part of me. She can’t radiate that “thing” herself anymore.

But I can, at least I can try.

Because If this person I loved and trusted so immensely, saw something worth loving in me? There must be something there worth loving, right?

And if she is a part of me for the rest of my life, how can I hate myself? How can I do anything but keep going so that, even if just in my head, a part of her gets to keep going too.

My family and friends joke that every friend group I’ve ever had calls me something different. And really it’s not a joke. In middle school I was CB #4 (that’s a long, terribly embarrassing, story). In high school I was Pond (and many variations there of: Pondala, Pondy, Raindrop, Puddle, you get the picture). At UNCA, when I came out as nonbinary, I started going by Auden. When I went home it was back to Meagan; Meagan always felt right with my parents.

With Emma I was always Meagan. We were Meagan and Emma. Megma. Meagan and Emma have online adventures!

After she was gone, Meagan didn’t really feel like me anymore. I loved Meagan, I missed Meagan, I wished I could still really fully be Meagan, and I’m okay still being Meagan sometimes.

But that real Meagan. The Meagan that was Emma’s Meagan. Doesn’t exist anymore. I lost that Meagan somewhere in that first night of screaming and trying to break my hand against the wall, so I could just feel something other than the agony of Emma being gone.

When I joined a Check Please chat group, a few months after the crash, we gave each other hockey nicknames. I was Farley.

My second quarter at SCAD, I started going by Farley. It stuck.

That’s who this version of me is. This new artist, still figuring things out, but still going.

I may not always stay Farley (other than ya’know artist ‘branding’. We’ll see) but that’s okay. Farley is who I need to be right now.

Farley is who will finish The Mixtape Project.

(because of two people mishearing both my nickname and last name I will, at least once in my career, use the pseudonym Fartley McFarmland and no one will stop me).

I can’t imagine what, who, will come after Farley, if anything.

But Check Please will always be a part of making Farley, and every future version of me, exist.

I could go on and on about how beautiful this story and these characters are, how inspiring Ngozi is, how genius her storytelling is, how powerful and important her work is. I could go on for days about all of that. But this is already so long, and I know that so many of you can go on about that probably way better than I could currently.

But, as many of my professors tell us over and over, only I can tell this story. My story. Emma’s story. Our story. And it’s one I plan on telling for the rest of my life.

And Check Please, Ngozi, will forever be the thing that made that possible.

So thank you. Those two words that are way too small to say it all.

Thank you.

Every fic writer

Every artist

Every rper

Every chat friend

Every shitposter

Every theorist or meta poster

Every fan

Thank you.

B. “Shitty” Knight.

Larissa “Lardo” Duan

Adam “Holster” Birkholtz

Justin “Ransom” Oluransi

John Johnson

Ollie O'Meara

Pacer Wicks

Jenny and Mandy

Nicholas and Jean-Claude

Coach Hall

Coach Murray

Suzanne Bittle

Richard “Coach” Bittle

William “Dex” Poindexter

Derek “Nursey” Nurse

Chris “Chowder” Chow

Kent Parson

Alicia Zimmermann

“Bad” Bob Zimmermann

Tony “Tango” Tangredi

Connor “Whiskey” Whisk

Denice “Foxtrot” Ford

Fry Guy

Georgia “Georgie” Martin

Alexei “Tater” Mashkov

Sebastian “Marty” St. Martin

Dustin “Snowy” Snow

Poots

Randall “Thirdy” Robinson

Jonathan “Hops” Hopper

River “Bully” Bullard

Lukas “Louis” Landmann

(I’m almost certain I had to have missed someone)

Thank you.

Jack “Zimmboni” Laurent Zimmermann

Thank you.

Eric “Bitty” Richard Bittle

Thank you.

Ngozi Ukazu

Thank you. For everything.

For having my back. I’ll always have yours.

Always yours,

Farley M.

#Check Please #omgcp #my person #my writing #meagan and emma have online adventures #-slaps me- you can fit so many confused emotions in this thing

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junionigiri · 5 years ago

Text

Just Another Secretary Story! Chapter 4 - It’s Always Her

Chapter summary: Director Todoroki hires a new secretary.

Rating: T

It’s rare to see Midoriya as ill-tempered as he is now, yet Shouto is proud to say that when it happens it’s almost always because of him.

The green-haired executive moves to slam a handful of filled-out forms over his desk, but changes his mind at the last minute and places it gently in front of him instead. “Here’s what you asked for, Todoroki-kun. Don’t you ever make me do that again. I said so many lies I almost stress-barfed in your office! Twice!”

“Never again,” Shouto lies. “Brilliant execution as always, Midoriya. No-one suspected a thing. I could not ask for a better accomplice.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” he says with a hearty harrumph and a pleased little flush on his freckled cheeks that betrays what he just said. “Anyways I know how important this is to you so I’m glad I could help.”

The result of Midoriya’s hard work is the fake survey form that Shouto designed to help him woo Secretary Uraraka. To avoid Uraraka’s suspicions, he told the marketing chief give out other forms to anyone willing to answer them. By the end of the day he gets five neatly filled-out forms with a wealth of valuable information hidden within. Now...

“Which one is Secretary Uraraka’s?”

Midoriya looks at him incredulously. “Come on, Director. You don’t know how your own secretary’s handwriting looks like?”

“How would I know what it looks like? We don’t write each other letters.”

(But if Uraraka is inclined towards romantic handwritten letters, it won’t be difficult for him to deliver. Shouto is proud to say that his calligraphy skills are superb.)

“Oh man. Okay, I’ll help.” The chief starts sifting through the papers with intense concentration. “Okay, so this one is Ashido-san’s, I’m sure I saw her use a sparkly purple gel pen to sign all her documents and also it’s full of hand-drawn emojis. This one’s Iida-kun’s, since the writing’s so pressured and accurate and his ideal date is reading encyclopedias at the library with a scholarly individual who knows how to use the Dewey Decimal System. This one--”

Shouto cuts him off. “I thought this was a survey for women.”

Midoriya shrugs. “The guys felt left out, so I gave them some too.”

“Hm.”

“Anyhow… this one is Monoma-kun ‘cause it’s written entirely in French. And this one I think is by Kirishima-kun ‘cause he drew himself doing pull-ups at the gym...”

Shouto rubs the space between his eyes as he wonders how in the world this group of people manage to become the most productive set of people in the company.

“... oh! And here’s Uraraka-san’s.”

Midoriya hands him the form in question. The handwriting is small and messy, but legible. The few erasures were crossed out with a single line and countersigned. All in all a civilized entry, but only at about 85%.

Shouto wrinkles his nose in suspicion. “How are you sure that this is hers?”

“Process of elimination,” the freckled chief answers with confidence. “That, and… she wrote her name on it.”

True enough the characters for Uraraka Ochako are scrawled on top of the page. All right then.

Shouto reads through the answers within the span of a minute, absorbing every detail, and rereading them again. With each review, he feels the smile on his face grow larger.

Is this really the ordinary relationship with an ordinary person that Secretary Uraraka wants? While it’s nothing that he expected at all from his capable secretary…

“Todoroki-kun, you’re smiling a little too evilly there,” Midoriya mumbles nervously. “What are you planning?”

Isn’t this going to be too easy? “Nothing special, Midoriya. Just something ordinary.”

With a new plan forming in his head, he’s sure that Uraraka isn’t going anywhere.

The top of that day’s agenda is the interview for Secretary Uraraka’s replacement.

About a dozen men and women with all sorts of impressive accomplishments patiently wait for their turn outside the Office of the Executive Director. The first candidate sits politely on the plush sofa in front of Ochako and the Director himself.

Utsushimi Camie, 30 years old, a proud graduate of Shiketsu’s communications department. Not surprising. All of them tended to be from Shiketsu or UA or Ketsubutsu or some fancy university overseas. Ochako, who only finished a certificate course in secretarial work, has only dreamed of having that kind of education. It’s still baffling nine years later how an underqualified twenty-year old temp like her ever managed to get hired by Chairman Todoroki’s son.

Now that she’s at the other side of the table, maybe she’ll gain some insight on it. Ochako opens Utsushimi’s file and gives her a bright smile. “Utsushimi-san, thank you for coming. How are you feeling today?”

The first thing anyone will notice about Utsushimi is how gorgeous she is--long light-brown hair, full lips, a good figure, an elegant fashion sense. The confident way she carries herself makes her look like she belongs in this office. Ochako automatically thinks she’s perfect for the job.

And then she speaks. “Yeah, I’m totes… I mean, totally feeling super great today, thanks for asking! I’m so stoked to be here. Cool office, cool space… and you two are looking super hot today too, by the way.”

Ochako’s smile freezes on her face, while Director Todoroki’s face remains stoic. Okay then...

Clearing her throat, Ochako moves on to the first question. “So, Utsushimi-san--”

“You can call me Camie, I totally don’t mind.”

“... Utsushimi… Camie-san.” Keeping a careful side-eye on Director Todoroki, Ochako continues. “It says here that you worked at Orca Law Office before. What were your responsibilities there?”

“The low down in Law Town? Okay, I gotcha.” Confidently, she gives a breakdown of all the things she had to do and all the things she’s capable of doing. Ochako asks her a few more questions about what she knows of the company, current events, and hypothetical situations. Camie is able to answer them properly, although her language is too… casual for the setting.

Okay, so she isn’t bad. Ochako’s sure that the Director would reject her immediately, though. He had rejected applicants in the past just by the way they said their names. But the minutes pass by with Camie talking, and he has not said a single scathing word yet.

Ochako looks at him, and suddenly it’s apparent why he’s so silent--his odd eyes are staring at a spot in the ninth dimension. Looks like he hasn’t been listening at the very start. Ochako is rightfully irritated. Damn him if he thinks that he’ll make her do all the work here!

“Director, do you have anything you want to ask Utsushimi-san?”

Todoroki’s eyeballs moves to her in utter disinterest. “Must I?”

The smile on Ochako’s mouth strains. “Of course. She might be your future secretary, after all.”

He turns to Camie, who is looking too relaxed for the menacing gaze being directed at her. The Director taps his fingers on his armrest for a few tense moments, stretching the suffocating silence in between.

Just as Ochako considers breaking the silence with another question, Director Todoroki finally speaks up. “I have an important question for you, Utsushimi-san.”

A feeling of foreboding instantly fills Ochako’s chest. Utsushimi seems oblivious to the chill in the air as she asks, “Ya, fire away.”

He gives a meaningful side-glance to his present secretary as he asks, “If I hire you, how many years will it take before you quit?”

Ochako’s face stiffens.

Camie hums thoughtfully. “If I get this job, I’m defo not gonna think about quitting, y’know? Like, I came here to work, so, yeah. That’s just weird.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Now he shows interest, and Ochako does not appreciate it at all. “But let’s say that you’re going to quit. That you have to quit because of something as trivial and vague as personal reasons. How many years will be acceptable before you get to that point? Say… three years? Five? Nine?”

Oh that’s just foul. Ochako barely keeps her jaw dropping at that blatant jab.

To the strange question, Camie merely chuckles. “A hundred? I’m kidding, I seriously dunno. I can tell you though that I’m too legit to quit, ya feel me? And if I have to quit, it’ll be legit. Vague is totally not my style.”

Ochako sees Todoroki’s mouth move again, but this time she beats him to it. “But Camie-san, the demands of this job are massive and unforgiving. What’ll you do if you and Director Todoroki’s definition of ‘legit’ don’t overlap?”

Camie shrugs. “Then I guess I won’t quit?”

“Great answer.” Todoroki smirks at Ochako. “Do you think these standards are worth attaining given the benefits you’ll be receiving? Health, security, experience--”

“Ya. They’re pretty lit~”

“So Camie-san, are you saying that you’ll be prepared to sacrifice everything for this job just for the benefits? It’s not just going to work early and going home late and not having days off. It’s literal blood, sweat, tears, heartache--”

“If I have to, sure. N-B-D.”

“But surely all the hours and blood and sweat and tears and heartache are necessary sacrifices for the good of the company. Didn’t you come here expecting to give your all for Endeavor Inc?”

“Sacrifices are okay, but Camie-san, sure you ain’t—I mean, you aren’t expecting to lose your sense of self just for the good of the company, are you?”

“Uh…”

Before either of them realize it, Director and Secretary have abandoned the interview completely in favor of glaring at each other from opposite ends of the couch. By the end of it Director Todoroki’s eyes are flaring, while Ochako’s knuckles are sore from gripping Camie’s file too hard.

“Utsushimi,” Todoroki calls, but he isn’t looking at her at all; he doesn’t even seem to be aware that she’s there anymore. No, all that cold, raw emotion behind is eyes is for Ochako and Ochako alone. “Do you think that nine years of working with me is... will be a waste of your life?”

A chill runs through her as if she’s struck by ice. There isn’t much that Ochako can do to stop her hands from shaking and her lower lip from quivering except to stare at him in shock.

Camie stares at them one after the other with an interested smile on her face. “Um. If you hire me, I’ll do my best,” is what she decides on saying after an awkward silence.

His glaring heterochromatic eyes not leaving Ochako’s, Director Todoroki raises his right hand and slams it on the table. “Great. You’re hired.”

“What?!” Ochako cries before she can stop herself.

“Whoa, for real?”

“Indeed. Welcome to the team.” Director Todoroki stands up from the couch, too self-satisfied for Ochako to feel comfortable. “Well then, Secretary Uraraka, I’ll leave the transfer of duties to you. I’m confident that you won’t leave until Secretary Utsushimi is able to do your job adequately.”

Trying to keep herself from clenching her jaw, Ochako smiles stiffly. “Of course, Director. You can count on me.”

She wonders if Camie’s actively choosing to ignore the drama or if she’s just that dense, but she is entirely unaffected by the showdown that took place. “You guys, you totes had me going there, I thought I was cancelled the moment I walked in! C’mere, c’mere, employment selfie yeahhhhhh!!!”

Before either of them can react, Camie already has her phone out and has expertly squooshed them together on the couch. Todoroki falls back on the cushions, Ochako half-stumbles over him, and Camie sits next to her brandishing a finger heart. “Let’s do this fam! Say Colorado~”

Say what you will about Utsushimi Camie, but her employment selfie with the famous icyhot Director and his stressed secretary earns her eight hundred likes and a hundred more followers within the next hour.

Disastrous interview aside, Ochako thinks she can get along well with the new secretary. She may look too laid-back and casual on the surface, but it’s surprisingly easy to get a good conversation going with her. When she starts telling her about all the intimidating things she has to learn, the other girl accepts them with an easygoing smile.

“Like, so I get that Directoroki’s extra when it comes to work so I gotta be extra too… but dang, I gotta take care of the cat too?”

“Try not to call him that,” Ochako says successfully without laughing her ass off. “Victoria’s got her own file right here--” she pats one of the thickest clearbooks in the pile of things Camie has to memorize by the end of the week, “--but it’ll be a while before you get cat duties, so don’t worry about her for now. For the first week, you’ll focus on the work in the office.”

“Gotcha, senpai. ”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Ochako stammers, even though she feels her ears clapping happily at the feeling. “I mean--I’m a year younger than you, plus I’m quitting real soon, so I won’t be your senpai for long. Just Ochako is fine!”

“Hm… gotcha, Ocha-babes,” Camie says with a wink.

Ocha-babes?

“‘Cause you have such a baby face. I mean, you’re a real cutie pie. A Sanrio character. I bet your boyfriend pinches your cheeks all day. Oh my god.”

Ochako blushes all the way to the roots of her hair. “Thanks I think? But I don’t have a boyfriend...”

“Nah?” Camie asks with a pucker of her lips. “A girlfriend then? A nonbinary pal?”

“Nope! I’m single… since birth, ” she says, slurring over the last part.

“Oh, worm.” For the first time since she got here, Camie looks terribly puzzled. “Like, tell me if I’m wrong, ‘kay? I thought people can get it on here as long as it doesn’t get in the way of work?”

“Yeah, relationships aren’t a problem. Even married people can work in the same office,” Ochako confirms.

“Oh sis that’s great news. I thought it was gonna be like Orca’s again. People got fired all the time just ‘cause they made eye contact in the office. Big yikes, right?” The taller secretary looks visibly relieved at this. “Tho I’m real surprised when you said you didn’t have anyone? ‘Cause I totally thought you were having a lover’s quarrel with Directoroki back there.”

Ochako chokes on air. “Wh--me and Directoroki--I mean, Director Todoroki?! No, we’re nothing like that!”

Camie raises her eyebrows. “So, like. The nine years wasting your life thing? He wasn’t salty AF at you for dumping him or whatever?”

“No?!” Wait, she did dump him just a couple days ago, but-- “I mean, no, that doesn’t count! We aren’t… we never-- ”

“Chiiiill.” Camie seems too amused watching the different flustered expressions she’s making. “Sorry, okay? I thought I saw some serious chemistry, but I guess I was wrong.” Going back to the next file, she says, “How ‘bout this one? No kettles allowed near the Director. Seriously?”

Ochako nods. “That’s right. I know it’s weird, but you can’t forget it, okay? It��s really important...”

The other girl makes a face. “Uh-huh. Is it, like, a rich person thing? Is he too bourgeois for kettles or somethin’?”

She shakes her head. “... no. It’s because he doesn’t feel comfortable around them…”

She learned this the hard way during their first year of working together. She wanted to show him how earnest she was by making him tea without being asked. The kettle hadn’t even been on, it wasn’t going to hurt anyone, but he started shielding his face like it was going to burn him. He curled into himself and wouldn’t speak for what felt like hours, even after she threw the kettle out and apologized profusely and tried to comfort him.

When he finally found his voice and managed to curb the shaking, he asked her quietly to never let him near another kettle again. It was the first time he had asked her of something that wasn’t a command, but a plea--the first time he seemed so…

Human…

Even though she can’t keep her eyes off the scar, she never knew the story behind it. She never asked and he never said anything. She convinced herself that she can exist beside him without digging up that part of his past--she was afraid that she’d hurt him again if she did.

Forcing herself back to the present, she gives Camie a pleading smile. “I’m the same with fire, you know? If I see even a little flame from a lighter, I’d start shaking and crying like a baby even though I should know better... the Director doesn’t put me anywhere near them because he knows how I’m not comfortable around fire, so I try my best to keep him away from kettles. We should just respect that, okay?”

Camie looks at her carefully. “... aight. Any and all kettles shall be yeeted off the face of this earth. Gotcha.”

Ochako giggles. “The yeeting isn’t necessary, but thanks for understanding!”

Thankfully Camie doesn’t ask further about her or the Director. She wonders if she’s too protective of the Director, but she truly can’t stand to see him like that again.

Later on she decides to introduce Camie to the rest of the office. They react about the same as she expected--Monoma sizes her up, Mina dances with her, Kirishima shakes her arm so hard it almost pops off its socket, and Iida gives her a stern lecture about formal workplace Japanese that lasts all of fifteen minutes.

“--and furthermore, unless you are speaking about lanterns, LEDs, hazardous fires, the sun, or other luminous things, kindly refrain from using the term lit to describe anything--”

What she doesn’t expect though, is Camie nudging Ochako in the middle of Iida’s impassioned, action-packed speech to whisper, “Yo, this one’s mine, ‘kay?” with a wink.

Ochako gives her a “go ahead then” nod.

By the time Iida is done, the work-day is pretty much done too. After shaking himself out of Iida-induced slumber, Kirishima gathers everyone ‘round. “Hey, I got an idea! We should throw Utsushimi the manliest welcome party ever!”

Everyone but Iida cheers. “A party?! Preposterous! It’s a weekday!” he protests. “We should concentrate on preserving our energies for attending to the Director’s needs tomorrow!”

“Iida, don’t be such an Iida ! You already bored her to death with your lecture, now we gotta prove to Camie-chan that we aren’t workbots like you!” Mina whines.

“Agreed.” Monoma directs an ominous smile at Camie. “It’ll be good for Utsushimi-san to have one last peaceful meal as a free person, right?”

“Ya, totes,” Camie answers, unfazed. It’s pretty satisfying how Monoma’s face sours at that, and how it sours more when Camie ignores his antics in favor of Iida. Turning to the glasses man with a flair that makes her hair swirl, she smiles and says, “Fam, we’re all going to be working together like real fam, right? Bonding is part of work too~”

Iida sputters like a malfunctioning engine. “Perhaps that is so, however, I do not see the need for high-cholesterol food and alcohol to--”

“ Mou! Ochako-chan, just tell us we’re allowed to party already!” Mina says, going into a full blown tantrum. “I want barbecue, barbecue!!! Oh, but don’t worry, the place I’m thinking of has electric grills, so no worries about fire or anything...”

She loves this office. She’s really going to miss them when she leaves. “Sure, why not? I’m starving!”

Again, everyone but Iida cheers. The glasses man just sputters more. “B-but the Director…!!”

“It’s fine, he let us go early so we can focus on Camie. Besides, if he needs you, Iida-kun, he’ll just pick you up at the party!”

Iida scowls through the jeers of the others in the office. “That is not funny, Uraraka-kun, nor is it accurate. You’re his priority, not me.”

“Yeah. He’d sooner join us at this plebe’s party than to let Uraraka out of his sight for one night,” Monoma comments idly as they trail out of the office one by one.

On top of being the resident rat bastard (self-proclaimed), Monoma just might be the office prophet as well.

So there they were in the hole-in-the-wall barbecue place. The grill’s electric as Mina promised so they’re able to cook the beef belly slices without Ochako getting a panic attack. Monoma’s goading Camie into a fight, Mina’s goading Monoma, Camie’s flirting with Iida, Iida’s trying to decode her words as if they were the Hammurabi code, and Kirishima’s dumping overcooked meat onto everyone’s plates. There’s food and beer and everyone’s getting redder and redder in the face. It’s fun.

It happens at around the fifth batch of meat that Kirishima burns to a crisp. “I daresay, Kirishima! This beef is not beef anymore, but a piece of coal!” Iida complains.

“Bro, crispy meat’s manly! Come on, eat up!”

“Blegh. I prefer my meat to not be as dark and shrunken as Director Todoroki’s soul, thanks,” Monoma hiccups. “I can’t see anything ‘cause of all the smoke. Someone confiscate the tongs from Kirishima before I shove them right up--”

A cold, bitter wind from the dead of winter floods the air around them and stops all conversation in their tracks. Kirishima drops the meat tongs with a loud noise.

It’s impossible that the entire restaurant would fall so deathly silent, yet Ochako can hear nothing but the familiar footfalls of genuine Italian leather over the grimy concrete floor. Closer, and closer, and closer. Around the table, everyone but the confused Camie exchanges mildly horrified looks and then stare right at Ochako.

Don’t tell me…

“Secretary Uraraka.”

Out of the smoke of burnt spicy beef comes the silhouette of none other than Todoroki Shouto.

“Director?” Ochako is the first to stand to bow, followed by the rest of the table who is only half a millisecond slower to shift from completely drunk to painfully sober. “What are you doing here?”

The stoic executive has an ungodly strong presence that makes everyone in a hundred meter radius stop and stare. But the overall effect is different in this grimy barbecue place versus the lofty offices of Endeavor Towers--he sticks out less as a divine presence and more like a sore thumb. He’s entirely aware of this too, judging by the way his nose wrinkles in distaste.

“This is an activity of the Office of the Executive Director.” He points to himself. “I’m the Executive Director. I should be here.”

Ochako can almost hear the same panicked internal thoughts of every member of the team: shiiiiiiit. Who snitched?!

It’s probably too late to salvage this very awkward situation, but to Iida’s credit he is the first to gallantly try. He jumps off his spot and bows at perfect ninety-degree angles. “O-o-of course, the Director should be at the very forefront of this activity! How shameful we are to forget! Why, I am astonished! Ashamed! Utterly mortified that he is not involved at the very beginning!”

“As you should.” Todoroki breezes past him, uncaring of the way Iida flinches like he just got stabbed by an icicle through the gut and the way everyone else is suddenly paper white and shaking in their shoes. “Uraraka, I’ll forgive this oversight today. Just today. This will not stand in the future.”

“Of course not sir,” Ochako replies, scrambling for her polite and efficient and not-drunk secretary voice deep within her brain, “But you made it! In this, um, event without anyone telling you how to get here! So thank you for coming to Secretary Utsushimi’s welcome party!”

“You’re welcome.” And then with his version of a winning smile (which is just both corners of his mouth moving 2 picometers upward), he tells his hapless office, “Let’s continue then.”

Since taking up his position as the Executive Director of Endeavor Inc three years ago and gradually picking out members of his team, he has never joined them for social gatherings like this. It’s not that he’s opposed to eating at ordinary (cheap) restaurants and eating ordinary (cheap) meat and drinking ordinary (cheap, and likely terrible) liquor like they do, just that he’s never considered it. If they had drinks at the upscale restaurants he liked maybe he’d join them, but then again socializing for work is exhausting enough as it is and he’d rather drink the aged whisky he kept at home.

That was then. Now he has something to prove: that he can be the ordinary man that Uraraka wants to marry. He’s going to ingest cheap meat and cheap liquor and he’s going to enjoy it so hard that Uraraka can’t say no to him.

He’s seated on an uncomfortable bench between Uraraka and Monoma, with Utsushimi on the other end; across from him are Iida, Ashido, and Kirishima. He would have seated himself at the head of the table as Iida has offered, but he didn’t like how Monoma could easily touch or grope or breathe in the general direction of his secretary. Not that he knew Monoma to do those unseemly things, but he had heard what cheap alcohol could do to any salaryman and he’s not risking his personal assistant going through any sort of harassment that will get her productivity down.

He doesn’t have any cause to worry right now though, because somehow they’re all enjoying the party in utter silence. They’ve abandoned their beers in favor of tea and ice-cold water. Ashido is the first to move since he sat down, and it is to sip at her drink with a shaking hand.

So this is how ordinary people have fun. Shouto isn’t that impressed, but far be it for him to judge anyone on how they spend their free time after work.

“S-so, Director. Would you like anything to drink?” Iida cautiously asks, face paler than usual. “Or perhaps, some beef?”

He carefully considers the dark matter on his plate. His nutritionist will take a month to correct the imbalance in his system if he ate this. “... a drink first,” he decides. Signalling one of the part-timers passing by, he says, “I’ll have a Boulevardier if it’s available.”

The part-timer stares at him blankly. “A what?”

So it’s not. He should have expected that from a place like this. “Never mind. I’ll have an amaretto sour instead.”

“ Oji-san, all we got here is beer or Pepsi, ‘kay. If ya want something fancy an’ sour I’ll boil the nicest pickles in the kitchen for ya.”

Oji-san? Since when did he become this kid’s uncle? Did any of his siblings sire a secret love child without him knowing?

Before he can ask, Secretary Uraraka covers for him. “He’ll have the tea too, thanks!”

He doesn’t know what he did to earn that flat-out glare he gets from the kitchen staff, but he isn’t going to let that deter him from his plan. “So. This is… enjoyable. You all seem to know how to have a good time.”

The strained silence over the table breaks into simultaneous laughter from all sides. “Y-yeah, we sure know how to party! Wh… Whoo-hoo!” Ashido cheers, her entire body trembling in what must be pure excitement.

“Yeah! This is fun and not awkward at all!” Monoma adds with a manic laugh bordering on insane. “So, so, so, soooo fun. My heart’s racing from 100% fun and 0% crippling fear!”

“Good.” If he can put a percentage to things, it must be accurate. Everyone else seems to agree so it looks like the evening (slash fool-proof plan) is going well. “Out of curiosity, how long does a standard party like this take?”

It is already eleven PM and late for a weeknight. It’s not a problem for him to stay out for longer--he has stayed up past midnight many times with Uraraka for work, after all, but he figured he should ask for posterity’s sake.

Uraraka clears her throat beside him. “Funny you should ask, Director! We’re actually almost done. This is our last round of drinks!”

Across from him, Ashido, Iida, and Monoma suddenly share wide-eyed looks that suspiciously look enlightened. “Th… that’s right! Because we’re responsible working adults and we must head home early on a weeknight! Now that we have thoroughly celebrated the employment of Utsushimi-kun we can happily head home to rest!”

They can go home now? It was that easy? Shouto keeps his smirk to himself. See how easy it is to do ordinary things, Uraraka? He truly isn’t a man to be underestimated.

Kirishima, however, looks puzzled over this. “Eh? But I went through all that trouble reserving the karaoke place, you guys! Did you all forget abou--ow, ow, ow, ow, Ashido!”

Oh, so they’re not yet done? How could they forget what’s on their agenda? Is that why Ashido is so angry at Kirishima? They must have been looking forward to this. Luckily for them, Shouto isn’t going to let such an ordinary mistake get in the way of their good time. “Karaoke after drinks sounds enjoyable. Let’s head out.”

And so Shouto loads them all in his car, with Uraraka on the passenger seat and the rest of them piled up at the back. The drive to the thoroughly unimpressive place Kirishima has picked out takes about ten gruelling crowded minutes. By the time they make it there, the rest of his team seem relieved to be able to finally breathe, but then make it to a just-as-suffocating small box with nauseating disco lights, an old machine, and an awful audio set-up.

And tambourines. God. He’s trying hard for Uraraka, but even she doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself in a sticky place like this. Shouto has to draw the line somewhere.

“Everyone get back in the car,” he commands darkly, and they’re all running out of the room after a beat.

It takes exactly one text message to the right person for his office to go to a better place they deserve. Shouto takes them to a small music theater in Kiyashi where the last run of Les Miserables was performed privately by his acquaintances from London’s West End. It’s unused at this time of night, so it was easy getting them to set-up for a karaoke party for seven people.

“Directoroki, you rock!” Utsushimi cheers as she rapidly takes photos of all angles of the stage.

He should probably mind the way she just stumbled over his name, but he doesn’t, because for once Uraraka seems impressed. “Let the party commence.”

His office crew’s aura is vastly different than in the barbecue place. They start drinking as soon as the cocktails are served and immediately start fighting over the microphone. Ashido wins first and slurs over a Nicki Minaj song. Kirishima tries to get Iida to sing “Be A Man” with him but ends up aggressively singing all the parts by himself. Etcetera, etcetera. With each song they sing, they progressively get drunker, bolder, and out of tune.

Surprisingly, Shouto doesn’t mind. Maybe because he’s finally drinking something that he’s sure doesn’t taste like piss. Or maybe because Uraraka’s sitting right next to him, clapping along happily as Utsushimi and Monoma sing a Carly Rae Jepsen song while threatening to judo-throw each other for the mic.

A warm feeling spreads over his chest when he looks at her. He knows it’s not just the highball he nurses over the span of an hour. He knows it’s not just the satisfaction of his plan going well. He knows it’s not indigestion from the burnt meat he didn’t eat back in the restaurant.

Uraraka’s smiling brown eyes turn to his. Suddenly his chest feels something akin to heartburn.

She says something that’s drowned out by Monoma and Utsushimi competitively screaming “I really really really really really really like you!!!” Shouto has to lean in closer to hear her. “What was that, Secretary Uraraka?”

She brings her mouth closer to his ear. Her warm breath smells like the strawberry syrup from whatever sweet drink is in her hand. It’s unnervingly pleasant. Shouto has to concentrate to understand what she’s saying. “I said, thanks Director! I really--”

--Really really really really really like you!.. And I want you! Do you want me?--

“--how about you?”

Shouto meets her expectant gaze, for once not knowing what to say. “... yes,” he answers, after a beat.

She smiles. Her cheeks are glowing light and pink, like sakura petals in the spring. “That’s awesome!” She says, for once letting go of the usual formal Japanese she uses with him. “You should join the team for drinks even after I quit, okay?”

“... ah.”

Suddenly irritated, he takes a good healthy swig of his drink and swallows with a grimace. Well… this is fine. This is only phase one of his plan. Knowing how decisive Uraraka is, she isn’t going to change her mind about him that easily. It’s actually better this way. That’s the secretary he hired, after all. That’s the person he wants to keep at his side.

Kirishima’s spiky head pushes between their conversation. “Heyyyy!! Uraraka! Are you thanking Directoroki over here?!! No fair, I wanna thank him too!”

“Excuse me?” Shouto says stiffly. The redhead ignores him though and traps him in a bone-crushing hug.

“I appreciate you! You… are the bestest, manliest boss ever, Directoroki!” Kirishima hiccups rather dramatically and rubs his cheek against Shouto’s. “And you deserve the world! And you should… you should--”

Shouto gives Uraraka a horrified look, which she throws right back at him. She visibly gains some sobriety as she attempts to pry off Kirishima’s muscular arm off of him with little success. “Kirishima-kun, you should drink some water and--”

“Heyyyyy Kiri move over! I wanna thank the Director too! Hic~” Suddenly, Shouto’s other side is being hugged by another unwelcome warm body reeking of alcohol. He freezes like a block of cement as Ashido straight-up cuddles him. “Like, you’re an awesome… awesome, handsome man, like oh my god I can’t believe how handsome you are up close, what the hell! Have you ever seen a man so beautiful you want to cry? Wait, what am I saying?…”

As Ashido starts weeping and getting lost in his face, Shouto decides he has had enough. He’s ready to shove the two assistants aside when another one decides he wants attention too.

Monoma has abandoned the stage and decides to join them. “How dare you smother the Director without me!” Fueled by alcohol, he reaches new heights of extraneousness and places himself across the increasingly uncomfortable Shouto’s lap. “Director, pick me! I’m your favorite, aren’t I?”

“Secretary Uraraka--” Shouto barks like an SOS.

Monoma pouts with a noise. “Her again? It’s always her! Are you in-love with her or something?”

It’s Uraraka’s turn to make an exasperated noise. “Honestly, you three! You are gonna get fired by tomorrow if you keep harassing the Director!”

It’s amazing how she’s still able to read Shouto’s mind so perfectly even in an absurd situation like this. But for all her warnings, all he gets for it is more unwanted bodily contact. “Harassment?! Not on my watch!”

Iida’s bellow is steadfast, but his gait is definitely not. It’s almost impressive how he keeps his body straight while also walking in an unsteady zigzag towards whatever it is that’s going on around Shouto and ends up dropping at his feet. Haplessly groping the director’s pants leg, he demands, “Cease this needless groping of the Director at once!”

“I’m getting major FOMO, y’all! Move over!” To top off this mess, Utsushimi sits near Shouto’s other foot next to Iida’s fallen body and takes her hundredth selfie with everyone. “Best party ever faaaam!!! Peace!”

That’s it, everyone is fired. Shouto is about ready to throw all of them to the floor and all their employment forms in the shredder, until a strange sound floats to his ear amidst all the drunken noises.

“Pffffttt--”

Uraraka is covering her mouth and holding onto her stomach in desperation. At first he’s worried that she’s in pain from a ruptured appendix, but further inspection reveals stuttered breathing, reddening cheeks, a smile so big that her trademark round cheeks are struggling to support it. It’s obvious that she worked so hard not to make the strange sound, but one snort and all anyone can do is watch the dam break.

Secretary Uraraka is laughing at him earnestly for the first time in nine years.

Now this shouldn’t be strange as Shouto is not a humorous man and has never given her any reason to laugh before. But now that he thinks about it, isn’t it strange to spend nine years with someone and never see them laugh or smile like this? Why hasn’t he noticed until now?

If--no, when he marries her (because he definitely will, there’s no way his plan is going to fail), is she going to allow herself to laugh like this?

“I’m s-sorry, Director,” she wheezes after another minute of desperate laughter. He’s never seen someone laugh so much that they’re in tears. He didn’t know it was a thing that happened. “I’m--we’re all going to write letters of apology tomorrow, I promise! Please don’t fire anyone!”

He takes a steadying breath. “All right. I’ll be expecting them at seven in the morning. Sharp.”

His team finally lets him go with a stunned air about them, staring at his face in interest.

“Uh… the Director’s smiling. I must be dreaming,” Ashido mumbles in a daze.

“Or wasted. I’m never drinking again.” Monoma says, holding back a gag.

The rest of the office agrees and follows the sober Shouto to his car.

With Uraraka’s guidance, they’re able to drop off all the members of his office at their designated homes without much problems. Because her home is the farthest one, Shouto takes his time getting to the correct exits (he still had to make a couple of u-turns here and there) and driving his car slowly through the narrow streets to avoid any wayward pots. He is proud to say that he is able to make it without any further incidents. Uraraka gets down from his car safely.

He escorts her as far as the unimpressive entrance to her apartment. “So… this is me, Director,” she says quietly, feet shuffling against the welcome mat. “Um. Thanks for dropping me off, but you didn’t need to walk me all the way here.”

“It’s nothing.”

She has a difficult time keeping eye contact with him tonight, which is rare. Maybe it’s from her impulsive actions earlier, or maybe because she’s noticed the way he’s plotting the exact color and diameters of her wide brown eyes, her cheeks. The more he stares, the pinker her cheeks get. It’s an interesting scientific phenomenon.

Objectively speaking, Uraraka has an... acceptable face. People with acceptable faces tend to be subjected to prolonged looks. From experience he knows how uncomfortable this can get and hates that he’s subjecting her to the same treatment, but he can’t stop staring. She’s just so… round. And soft-looking. He’s tempted to touch her cheeks even if there’s no real purpose behind them than to see if they’re as soft as they appear.

He doesn’t usually get senseless impulses like this. Maybe he isn’t that sober after all.

Uraraka clears her throat and finally looks up at him. “Out of curiosity, Director. You never joined us for drinks before, but tonight you really… um…”

He hums. “Everyone needs an ordinary night out to unwind, once in a while.”

Upon the word ordinary, her face falters, and then contorts into laughter again--truly an interesting sound. “There’s nothing ordinary about the night you gave us, Director Todoroki! But it’s good. It’s fun. You really surprised us, in a good way.”

What, so his attempts at ordinary failed after all? He’s a little nonplussed about this, but the giggle from her tells him that it isn’t all for nothing.

“But please, no more surprises in the future, okay? I’m not sure if my heart can take it.”

“I make no such promises,” he says flatly, “but if your heart is not okay, please get a comprehensive cardiovascular workup done as soon as possible.”

Uraraka’s eyes crease in a way he’s never seen before. “Goodnight, Director Todoroki.”

He steps away from her with a feeling suspiciously similar to reluctance. She doesn’t go in immediately and instead sees him off at the entrance. Just before he gets back to the driver’s seat, he calls out, “Uraraka,”

“Yes, Director?” she calls out in mild surprise.

“I warned you not to underestimate me.” He gives her a little upturn of the lips and climbs aboard. “Goodnight.”

The last thing he sees of her is her stunned figure through the rearview mirror. Satisfied, he speeds off into the night without a second glance.

#bnha fic #todoroki shouto/uraraka ochako #todochako #todoroki shouto #uraraka ochako #midoriya izuku #iida tenya #utsushimi camie #kirishima eijirou #ashido mina #monoma neito #my writings #ahhh whats this why am i updating so regularly

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avidfanficwriter · 6 years ago

Text

Failed Repetition (Chapter 3)

Characters: Chris Evans X OFC!

Summary: For as long as Chris can remember, he’s wanted to get married. He has wanted the white picket fence, beautiful wife on his arm and a house full of kids unlike his counterpart who isn’t thrilled with the prospect of marriage.

Rating: T

Warnings: Cursing.Mention of sexual acts/Situations.

Tags: wolflhards. @tacohead13

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4.

Take care, Reagan.

The note was ended as if they hadn't spent the last six years together, like they hadn't lived together for four years or the 'I love yous' shouted during nights of passion were meaningless.

The note closes as if they were strangers, two random people who accidently bumped into one another on the sidewalk. Distant, Cold and longing to get away from one another. This wasn't how two people in love parted.

Was this what he deserved? A note as a goodbye--In place of a conversation? No explanation. No speech. Just a discarded piece of paper left on the counter and an insensitive 'Take care.'

Twenty minutes after reading the note, it finally starts to sink in, Chris calls Reagan and leaves her a long rambling voicemail that says nothing more than, "I love you, please come back." in fifteen different ways. He promises he'll stop bring marriage up, that it's not even that important to him if it costs him her. They should talk in person, he says the first thing that comes to his mind in the voicemail and it mimics someone whose entirely lost, which he is. She's gone and he's to blame.

The pain hasn't set in yet, right now it's just pure panic.

He wanders around the house, searching for anything to keep his mind occupied while he waits for her to call back. Two hours pass and he sends her a text message:

"Reagan I love you Im sorry just come home so we can talk about this."

No response.

The house feels like it's haunted with memories of Reagan, every space inside the home reminds him of her. The counter where she accidently spilled her tea onto one of his scripts, they spent three hours blowing drying the pages so they were legible. The couch in the living room that looked amazing in the store but they soon discovered looked terrible after being brought into their home. The hole in the wall from when they put the paintings up, Chris slipped and in order to avoid hitting Reagan with the hammer he slammed it into the wall creating a huge hole; it became a great conversation starter. If it's not the memories torturing him, it's his mind tricking him into believing she's home.

Chris starts to beat himself up, if he would have just told her he was awake when she came home this wouldn't have happened. If he wasn't stubborn for just one moment of his life, he wouldn't have lost the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if he would have joined her in the guest room or carried her into their bedroom, this could have played out differently. They could have spoken, he could have prevented her from leaving. He would be exiled to the couch but at least she would've been home.

By noon, Chris had resorted to drinking in order to prevent himself from calling Reagan, at first it seemed like a good idea, he'd get drunk enough to pass out and by tomorrow she would be home. His plan was flawed, instead of passing out, he wound up calling Reagan again.

"I miss you." He whispers into the phone, his body slack and head spinning. "I do. I miss all of you, your tiny smirk when I'd say something smart, the curl in your hair you always fought to get out of your eyes; the way you bit your lip when you read." He exhales deeply, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. "I miss how you sound when I'm buried inside of you, those fucking pretty little sounds you make. I miss feeling your thighs shake around my head while you pull my hair as you beg for more."

Sober Chris had boundaries. Drunk Chris didn't care. "The way you taste, how you linger on my tongue hours after we're done and all I want to do when I come home is bury my head between your thighs again. Fuck, Rea..." He groans, palming his erection through his sweatpants. "I love the way your lips feel against mine, how your heart rate increases when I kiss along your collarbone. How your chest rises as I kiss down your body like you're on full display for me. I love that... I love you, Reagan."

Phone call number two, is less sexual but not at all any better.

"Do you remember when we first started dating?" He asks, glancing at the photos of them along the wall. "You told me you only dated guys that took relationships series, I told you I was one of them and you made this big schedule of things for us to do for me to prove my worth? And one of them was cooking? You made this fucking amazing meal, that stuffed bell peppers stuff and a homemade cheesecake and when it came my turn It was so bad."

Chris lets out a small chuckle over the memory. "I tried to make some chicken recipe I found online but I burned it. The smoke detectors were going off, the house smelled like smoke and then you showed up and I thought you were going to run. I could see it, this look of fear on your face." Chris shakes his head, rubbing at his eyebrow. "I ended up making eggs and we had to eat them outside because of the smell. Then you made that pie for thanksgiving to take over to my mom's and I burned that too. All I had to do was take it out of the oven while you were in the shower but I forgot. We should do that again, Rea."

Chris closes his eyes. "My mother would kill me but I always loved your pies more. Blueberry was my favorite." He clears his throat. "Do you remember that blueberry one we made for my nieces fundraiser and somehow we ended up eating it on the floor in the kitchen? My sister was so mad at us."

Phone called number three is mess. Chris doesn't know what he's saying anymore or what he's even trying to get at. Words are just coming out.

"Reagan" He starts off, holding back a sob. "I walked into the bathroom earlier and your soap was gone. I started crying... over soap. Soap!" He sniffles and lets out a small laugh. "I spent twenty minutes just sobbing in the restroom. I was fine when I saw you took some clothes but that soap. That stupid grapefruit soap you took and it broke me." Chris starts chuckling as tears pile in his eyes. "I didn't cry over the note you left, I was shocked but that goddamn empty shelf in the shower broke me." He voices slowly trails off into a whisper.

Chris wipes a tear that falls from his eye, "You're not coming back tomorrow are you?" He questions with a deep sigh. "I just...I just wanna hear your voice, just pick up the phone, baby. God, Reagan." He pleads. "if you just give me a second to explain...."

"If you’re satisfied with your message, press 1. If you’re not and want to re-record, press 2. If you want to delete and start over, press 3." The voicemail recording interrupts him.

Chris growls, "Fuck!" he shouts throwing the phone across the room.

There's pain ripping through his chest as the hours pass, all he wants is for her to call him back or magically walk through the front door. He wants her to yell at him, call him an idiot, kick him out of the house that would hurt far less than what she's doing now. If they were arguing or fighting and she slammed the bedroom door on him it wouldn't hurt like this was. This, Reagan leaving with her things, refusing to answer his calls was torture. It felt like his heart was being pulled out of his body as if the arteries were being stretched until they tore.

He's done drinking, it's not helping, it's only worsening his heartache. The liquid seems to only intensify his emotions, everything makes him cry. The sight of a book she left, feels like a stab to the chest. Her coffee cup in the cabinet, makes him hold his chest and collapse to the ground. The smell of her perfume on the sheets in the guest bedroom makes him ill.

The second day isn't any easier, there's still no phone call from Reagan, or text message; or even an email. He drinks a cup of coffee and stares at the harrowing note that he hasn't been able to move from the counter. It's been reread multiple times as if he's searching for something else, a hidden meaning behind one of the words; or the possibility he's misunderstood it. There's nothing new, no matter how many times he reads it, it's just more heartache.

With his head on straight and no alcohol in his system, he calls her one more time.

The phone goes to voicemail and his stomach drops. There was a tiny part of him that expected her to answer this time. It's been twenty-four hours since he's seen her and even longer since he's spoken to her.

"Reagan," He starts out, calmly. "Baby," he tries to focus on his breathing, slow and deep breathes so he doesn't lose sight of what he's doing here. He wants Reagan to come home. That's his goal, to get his girl to come back home. "I... fuck." With a loud groan, he drops the phone from his ear and rubs his face. He doesn't know what to say or how to began. He's left her countless messages that got him nowhere, if any of them counted this was the one.. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. Just please come home, we can talk about this." He's bargaining, hoping she hears the sincerity in his voice before realizing his statement could be taken the wrong way. "No, I mean, we don't have anything to talk about. Okay? I fucked up, you're right. I shouldn't be forcing you to do what I want, I should've just shut up. I want to get married but if I have to choose between you or that, I choose you. I want you. I want you as my girl, my girlfriend, my friend, lover. Whatever we want to call it, I'm for. I can't lose you." He's rambling. "I love you, please just come home."

Three hours pass and the realization she may never come back home finally gets to him, he panics in the middle of making something to eat. It's a simple task but he caught sight of the Captain America: The First Avengers script Reagan had framed for him and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

His heart beat like a jackhammer, his mind is racing and he's struggling to breathe.

His fingers are tingling and the room is getting dangerously hot.

His body hurts and he's on the verge of passing out.

He can hear his heartbeat and feel it in his eardrums.

A panic attack.

Chris digs his cell phone out of his pocket and calls Reagan.

"Answer... Answer, Reagan. Please."

"This is Reagan, leave a message." Voicemail again.

He groans, hanging up the phone and grabs at his chest. The tips of his fingers are on fire, burning his skin, adding to the pain. Then he calls her again and again. Listening to her voice on her voicemail starts to calm him, his heart rate gets under control, the pressure on his lungs starts to dissipate. He can focus.

On the last phone call, he leaves one simple message. "Reagan, I'm so fucking sorry."

The next phone call he makes is wrong, it's not his place but if anyone knows how to get ahold of Reagan it would be her mother. She may have neglected to tell him where she was going but she would always tell her mother.

"Chris, she told me not to talk to you." Her mother says quickly after answering the phone.

He exhales deeply. "I just need to talk to her. She left in the middle of the night and she wont answer her phone."

"She's upset, Chris."

"I know!" He grabs his hair and groans. "I took it to far, I fucked up but I woke up and she was gone. Her stuff is gone and I'm suppose to just be okay with that?" He questions. "I don't get a chance to apologize or an opportunity to talk? I don't get to fight for her? She decides one night that we're done and that's it? I don't get told she doesn't want to be with me or that she doesnt love me to my face?"

Reagan's mother sighs. "Chris, honey..."

"We been together for six years, Margaret... six years. I love her. She's the last thing I think about before going to bed and the first thing I think about when I wake up. I can't... This can't end this way."

Chris knocks on the door, quietly at first before building up the courage to knock harder. The lock clicks causing his heart to race then the door slowly opens and there she is. Their eyes meet and she looks away, glancing at the ground with a sigh. "My mother?" She asks.

"Your mother." Chris says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

#Chris Evans #Chris Evans fanfic #Chris Evans Fanfiction #Chris Evans Imagine #Chris Evans fic #Evans #Human Dorito #Steve rogers #Captain America #Captain America: The First Avenger #Captain Steve Rogers #Before we go

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writingwithadinosaur · 6 years ago

Text

“Breaking the Cycle” - Oneshot

My Main Masterlist - Here

My Marvel Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Scott Lang x Reader

Word Count: 2,430

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Mental Health Issues (Depression, Anxiety, Bad Thoughts, Self-Loathing)

Summary: Some days, you can handle your normal day-to-day tasks. You can function normally and get things done. But then there are some days (or even weeks) where you need a little help doing even getting out of bed.

Author’s Note: Happy Monday! Hopefully this helps some of us get through another week!

This is a selfish piece. My mental health is not good. A lot of things in my life have kind of come crashing down and I’m attempting to figure out what the hell to do with my life. Because of everything kind of overwhelming me, its been difficult to do simple things like shower or even get out of bed. So here’s what I wish my life could be when I’m in those situations.

This is also my first Scott Lang piece, so please be gentle!

If you or a loved one are dealing with mental illness, please reach out. If not to a professional, then to a friend or family member. And if you feel you don’t have those, my message box is always open.

Song lyrics are from “Heat of the Moment” by Asia. A current favorite of mine.

Shoutout to @witchymarvelspacecase for being her amazing self and helping me out with this story and so many of my other stories!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

Today was going to be one of those days. You hadn’t even been awake for more than 15 minutes before your brain started “The Cycle”, as you called it.

Phase 1 - Depression and Self-Hatred.

You were still trying to figure out what you wanted to really do with your life. For now, you were working two part time jobs and living with your boyfriend, Scott, and his buddy, Luis. You worked at a cafe a few blocks away as well as at the X-Con Security Consultants business that the boys were running. You weren’t an ex-con, but you knew more about business than the boys, so you helped run the logistical side of things. As great as it was to live with Scott and have a job in the first place, you knew that working these two jobs was not what you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

Because of this, your depression labeled that a failure.

You still don’t know what you’re doing? Everyone else you know is either getting a degree or already in the field they want to be in. What are you doing? When are you gonna get your pathetic self up and get your shit together? Why the fuck even try at this point.

That last thought paralyzed you. Your internal demons dug their claws into your limbs and pinned you to your mattress, leaving you staring at the wall. You didn’t even check what time it was or if anyone had tried to text you.

Scott was already up and about for the day. His 3 years of house arrest was over, so he was taking advantage of his newly regained freedom. He had made plans with Cassie to go to some trampoline gym, and then lunch at their favorite diner. So you didn’t really have to worry about him for a few hours at least. You loved your boyfriend. But you really didn’t want to have to pretend to be okay around him or anyone else when you had no motivation or energy like this.

You could hear Luis rushing to get his things together and heading to the office.

Shit. You didn’t set your alarm last night, idiot. That means it's at least 9AM. There’s no way you can get your dumbass up and ready in the next 10 minutes. Thank god you don’t have to work at the cafe today. Again, why the hell do you even try?

You were supposed to go with him and get some work done with him, Kurt, and Dave. But you couldn’t even find the energy to get out of bed and tell him. So you shot him a quick text.

(Y/N): Hey. I gotta work from home today. Really not feeling good rn. Sorry.

Luis knocked on your door a minute later but didn’t open it. He spoke through the closed door.

“No worries, (Y/N/N)! I gotchu! I’ll let you know if anything happens at the office. Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks.” You managed to be loud enough since you heard his footsteps and the front door close. You took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to go about today.

Wow. You can’t even manage to get up and tell Luis yourself? Pathetic.

You tried to not let your brain speak too much more. Instead, you picked up your phone to check social media and respond to some texts. On days like this, Youtube and Netflix were your best friends.

Phase 2 - Overthinking.

You hadn’t paid any attention to the time. The last time you’d looked at the clock on your phone, it was 9:45AM. After your video was over, you got a text from Scott.

Scott: Hey there, honey! Cassie and I are finishing up lunch. I’m gonna drop her off and then be on my way back.

You read the message but had to go back and reread the word “lunch.” It couldn’t be lunchtime! But when you checked the time on your phone. 12:45PM.

Did you really just lay in bed and watch YouTube videos for three fucking hours?! Now you’re not going to have time to do much of anything. So much of your day is gone. You didn’t even have breakfast. You were supposed to be getting better at eating. And now you’re slipping and forgetting to eat again. Fuck. Just tell Scott what you told Luis and then figure out what to do later.

(Y/N): Okay. I didn’t go into the office today. So I’ll be at home when you get here.”

Scott: Luis told me. You okay?

You couldn’t help but pause. You weren’t okay, but you didn’t want to tell Scott that.

If you tell him, he’ll worry about you, and he just had a great day with Cassie. You don’t want to ruin his day, do you? What if you tell him and he gets upset? He already has so many other things to worry about. Do not add to that list. But if you don’t tell someone what’s going on, how are things going to go better? Maybe things are just meant to be bad for you. But Scott isn’t bad. Scott’s good. He makes you happy. He knows you have issues. Why not just tell him that you’re not okay?

Your mind just kept repeating this and adding new worst case scenarios in your mind. It apparently had taken more than a few minutes because it took your phone vibrating in your hand to break you out of that loop. Looking down, you had three messages from Scott.

Scott: Babe?

Scott: Are you okay?

Scott: I’m going to drive Cassie home now. I’ll call when I drop her off. Love you.

You hit your hand on your forehead and took a few deep breaths.

Well fuck. Now you have Scott worried. This is what we were trying to avoid! Add that to the list of fuck ups.

Phase 3 - Struggle.

You somehow managed to sit up on the edge of your bed and text Scott back.

(Y/N): Sorry! I kind of zoned out for a bit. I’m fine. Wasn’t feeling good this morning. Drive safe!”

After that sent, you got up for the first time today and went to the bathroom. You decided that you needed to eat something, so after relieving yourself and then tying your hair up, you trudged into the kitchen and pulled various fruit from the fridge. As soon as you had the various containers out, you really didn’t want to spend time cutting everything. So you just threw a handful of each into a bowl and went back to your room.

You got back in bed and picked at the fruit while watching more YouTube. You knew you had a list of things that you were supposed to do today: Shower, laundry, clean the kitchen, work on the write up for the Koham family’s security system that they wanted. But you didn’t have the energy to do any of that.

Back to Phase 1 - Depression.

More time went by than you thought. What only seemed like 15 minutes or so really turned out to be 45. You only realized this when you heard the front door open and a familiar voice go throughout the apartment.

“(Y/N/N)?”

“In here.” You tried your hardest to be loud enough. It was just enough. Scott’s footsteps got closer until the bedroom door opened and he popped his head in. He smiled when he first saw you, but then he saw that you were still curled in bed at almost 2PM. Something was off and he knew it.

“Hey there, lovebug.” He walked in and sat on the edge of the bed right next to you. You sat up against the headboard and gave him the best smile you could manage right now. “What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head to the side and gave a face before looking at your hands.

“It’s nothing. Just not really feelin’ good today.” Your answer didn’t ease his worry any. He took one of your hands in his and ran his thumb across the back.

“It doesn’t sound like ‘nothing.’” He took his free hand and put it across your forehead for a moment. “You don’t feel like you have a fever.” You shook your head “no.” “So tell me what’s going on.”

Taking a deep breath in, you ignored everything going on in your head that said to not tell him. You couldn’t meet his eyes as you talked.

“It’s my head. It's not a very fun or kind place to be. And it's honestly hard to do anything today.” Scott took a beat to understand what you meant by that. He knew you’d had problems with your mental health in the past, but he had never really seen you like this.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You just shook your head “no.” “Okay. What can I do to help you right now?”

“Just lay here with me for a bit. I just want to lay here and watch YouTube videos and not think.”

Your voice started to break after the first sentence. You felt so weak and stupid asking for this. You felt like you should be stronger than this. A stray tear raced down your cheek. Scott quickly wiped it away and held your face in his hands.

“Hey! Its okay!” He kissed the top of your head and pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him and sat there for a minute. He gently rocked you side to side and ran his fingers up and down your spine. Once you calmed down, he pulled away so he could look at your face. He wiped the tear tracks off your cheeks and gave you a smile before standing up and holding his hands out.

“C’mon. We can lay around and watch all of YouTube or movies you want. But you need a change of scenery.” You closed your eyes and sighed. You knew he was right, but you were really comfy in bed. You slapped your hands into his as he hoisted you up out of bed and onto his shoulder and proceed to walk to the kitchen.

“SCOTT LANG! WHAT THE HELL?!” You couldn’t help but scream and laugh at the sudden change of angle. He fake groaned as he plopped you on your feet and leaned towards you.

“Figured that would be quicker! And more fun!” He gave you one of his trademark goofy smiles before kissing your cheek and walking to the fridge. You sat down at one of the chairs nearby. “By the lack of dishes in the sink, I’m assuming you haven’t eaten much of anything today?” You looked down and started to play with your hands. “Alright. What are you in the mood for?”

Scott then proceeded to make you some mac and cheese while you played some music from your phone. You had started to help Scott at one point, just to make sure he wouldn’t burn anything. While you waited for the pasta to cook, Scott started to dance to the song that was blasting through your small speaker. Causing you to laugh at his ridiculous moves. He pulled you close to him and sang along to the song while you tried to control your laughter.

“And now you find yourself in eighty two

The disco hot spots hold no charm for you

You can't concern yourself with bigger things

You catch the pearl and ride the dragon's wings

'Cause it's the heat of the moment

Heat of the moment, the heat of the moment

Shone in your eyes”

During the guitar solo, Scott leaned down and kissed your cheek. You could feel him smile against your cheek as he kissed you. You turned and caught his lips with yours for a quick smooch. When you pulled away, you looked at his dorky face and smiled.

“Thank you, Scotty.” Scott tilted his head in confusion like a puppy.

“There’s nothin’ to thank me for, lovebug.”

“Yes there is. You got me up and smiling. That’s no easy task when I’m stuck in a cycle of self hatred.” Scott just nodded and smiled.

“Well, I’m glad I could help break that cycle. Even if its temporary.” You were taken aback by that. For once, you weren’t thinking about the future or how this was all bound to come up again. Scott saw your expression change as you looked down a bit. He tilted your chin back up to look at him before you could go too far though. “And if/when you get stuck in this cycle again, you can tell me and I’ll do what I can to try to help. Alright?”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you nodded “yes.” Scott gave you another one of his big smiles and kissed you again, his hands finding their way to your back and yours to the back of his neck. Before things could go any further, Luis walked in with Dave and Kurt, all three of them hooting and hollering at the sight of you two kissing. You leaned your forehead on Scott’s shoulder as he scolded the trio.

“Oh yeah, so mature! Just cause you guys can’t get a girl as good as (Y/N/N) doesn’t mean you can come in and ruin our moment.” Scott paused, thinking about his phrasing. “That may have come out wrong. You know what I mean!”

Scott then leaned down to whisper in your ear. “When the three amigos over there go out to the bar later tonight, we can get pretty sudzy here too.” You looked at him quizzically. “You. Me. Shower later.” It clicked in your head and you let out an “Oh! Gotcha!”

You laughed at Scott’s attempt at being smooth and kissed his cheek before checking on your pasta. Scott went to go give his boys shit for being immature. While you stirred the pot of water and noodles and looked over your shoulder at the four men joking around, you realized that you were smiling. Something you didn’t think you were going to be doing much of when today started as rough as it did.

Yeah, these types of days where you were so stuck in your own head sucked. But you were beyond thankful to have someone like Scott in your life to help you slowly figure out how to break that awful cycle.

Tags: @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @goodnightwife @witchymarvelspacecase @theeactress @sebby-staan @feelmyroarrrr @tomorraw @marvelous-imagining @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @badassbaker @httpmcrvel @reading-in-moonlight

#antman fic #antman fanfiction #antman x reader #scott x reader #scott lang x reader #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #avengers fandom #avengers imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel fanfictions #scott lang imagine #scott lang oneshot #oneshot #imagine #fanfiction #fanfictions

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azure-v3 · 6 years ago

Note

Hey, I really want to hear you talk about Kind Lie because I'm always so impressed at the amount of thought you put into your writing. I wanted to ask what was the most difficult scene to write so far and why ? Can you do a commentary of that scene ? I'm also curious about the chapter titles. How do you chose them ?

Thanks for leaving an ask, and thank you for showing interest in KL as always, even when it’s been almost a year since the last update.

There’s a scene in chapter 3 that popped into my head immediately thanks to a huge mistake I almost made, and looking back at that scene, there were some other tricky parts just before it, so I’ll just commentate that whole part of the story ;D

The context is, Kaito has woken up after (essentially) passing out the previous day because of exhaustion and a minor head injury—and suddenly remembers that he missed his arranged meeting with usotsuki.

(under the cut)

Alright so not much to talk about really, but I do remember having no idea how to describe the frantic spamming of mouse clicks that a person does when impatient.

Again nothing special, but Kokichi’s lack of worry here is notable for two reasons:

First, despite Kokichi always making a lot of assumptions whenever he can, it’s still always based off of some sort of evidence. If there’s no reason for him to assume something, he won’t. He has no reason to think something went wrong, so he has no reason to assume so. Similarly, he has no reason yet to even consider the possibility that he’s talking to Kaito, something a lot of readers don’t seem to realize. Kokichi is just smart, not omnipotent.

Second, it’s just reminding the reader that Kokichi doesn’t know about space_hero’s condition and thus has no reason at this time to worry. That changes quite quickly, however.

Alright, and here we get to one of the two really difficult parts of this scene, and the most difficult part about writing a character who thrives off of denial.

Kaito would never let himself finish the thought of, “what if I had died,” which makes it really hard for me to express what specifically he’s not-thinking about in this scene.

There are plenty of moments in KL where Kaito is an unreliable narrator/POV, and there are so many times where I’m not able to actually talk about what is going on through Kaito’s head because he’s actively avoiding/burying it. Since KL strictly follows his POV, I can’t suddenly jump out with a detached description saying something like, “Kaito refused to even think about dying from his illness” because Kaito is refusing to think about it.

Personally I think this makes for an interesting read, because I have to depend on the reader to fill in the blanks themselves. But that can also make it more confusing. Let’s take a look at what follows:

If the reader can’t understand what Kaito was stopping himself from thinking, they can’t understand why he reacts so dramatically. Kaito is so unwilling to even think about the possibility of his illness being terminal that he has to physically jerk himself out of his thoughts.

I think I played around with this scene a lot, because I was really worried about it being very hard to guess how Kaito was going to finish his sentence. I’m sure there’s some way I could have made it more obvious, but it’s just moments like these that make it really hard being stuck in Kaito’s POV.

Another difficult thing is describing the physical symptoms of his anxiety towards his situation. This is most notable in chapter 4, but it’s something I was concerned about as I reread KL for this ask. For Kaito to start suddenly coughing, hyperventilating, or for him to tense up at a moment’s notice—obviously all of that seems very questionable. However, that’s not what’s happening.

What’s going on is, Kaito is subconsciously and sometimes willingly ignoring himself beginning to tense up, or forgetting to breathe and relax. That leads to the physical stress building up without him noticing, and he only becomes aware of it when something very stressful or shocking happens, which causes that stress to overload and cause a huge physical reaction.

But again, if a reader can’t consider that, then it seems like I’m just dialing Kaito’s physical state to whatever the moment needs it to be.

All of this is mostly just classic Kaito distracting himself from his thoughts. I’m also trying to set up the fact that he and Rantaro actually are friends, that Rantaro travels and skips school a lot, and also that not a lot of people stick around Hope’s Peak Academy during the weekends. It was mentioned earlier in this chapter that Maki, Shuichi, and even Kirumi had somewhere else to be during the weekend. In Chapter 2, Kokichi went on a small rant that everyone, “even Ryouma,” hadn’t stayed at the school that night.

All of that, as well as Kaito knowing who would be around at school during the weekend, as well as “why can’t anyone normal ever sticking around” implying that this is a complaint he’s had before, implies that Kaito, unlike a lot of his peers, doesn’t usually leave HPA, and that that isn’t normal for an Ultimate student. Which might lead the reader to think that maybe Kaito has nowhere/no one else to visit.

Of course, there’s also enough clues to realize Kokichi also doesn’t leave HPA. If the reader knows about Kokichi’s and Kaito’s event where they’re the only two students around during the holidays, than perhaps it’ll be easier for them to go, “oh yeah.”

Alright, here’s the part that made my instantly think of this as the hardest scene in the fic:

It’s just that one line, but it was a pretty big deal to me.

Because originally, that line happened, and then Kaito kind of just wasted the rest of the day doing nothing, and it would be that way until he got a response from usotsuki.

I came back a few hours later to continue writing, reread that part, and it suddenly struck me how completely out of character that was.

Normally I’m pretty confident in my interpretation of Kaito’s character, but in that moment, I had completely lost a part of Kaito—the one that never stops trying.

Because that’s the reason behind Kaito’s entire denial. It’s not that he doesn’t believe he can get sick, or doesn’t acknowledge death as a part of life—Suddenly Kaito is being told that he has no choice but to abandon all of his dreams, and that he should accept the fact that he’s likely going to die, with no control over any of it.

No one is telling him that if he takes really good care of himself he can push through, or that it’s still possible he can recover and go to space. If that were the case, then we’d probably see a very different story, one where Kaito aims to do absolutely everything to ensure his survival and fitness. Instead, it’s a firm, 100% statement of “it’s impossible, there’s nothing you can do, and you need to give up.”

There is no space for him to try. There is no solution to the problem. Kaito is someone who needs to believe that he has control over the situation, believe that he can choose his own fate. Acknowledging the reality of his situation would break him, and thus denial is the only thing keeping him together. If Kaito loses hope, then he can’t go back.

Small little tangent aside, I felt like in that moment, I forgot what the root of this entire story was. And thus, this scene became a moment where I was pulling from my own feelings more than Kaito’s.

Now I’m a lot more careful about it and I’m often checking that Kaito is true to his beliefs, so hopefully there are no other moments like this in the future.

“That’s stupid” is a call out aimed directly at myself, haha. I do want to say that I left one line of Kaito’s inclination to do nothing just as a sort of tease of sorts. Right now Kaito isn’t giving up, but will that always be true?

Another bit of what could be foreshadowing, or maybe an innocent spark of foreboding for the readers.

Space is Kaito’s motivation, the embodiment of his dreams. In the past, looking at the sky gave him hope, but now there’s a sense of fear(—fear that he might not ever get to reach them). Once again, with Kaito hiding his negative thoughts, I really hope readers can put the pieces together and understand what the “sense of dread” is about.

But hey, this time I quite directly imply what it was. I’m quite lucky Kaito is at least vocal about his “positive” thoughts.

And with that, we end the scene with even more of Kaito distracting himself from all his problems!

I hope that this was somewhat interesting!! This might not be an important scene in the overall plot, but I guess it’s a good representation of Kaito’s denial, as well as a good representation of how I sometimes like to hide extra information in unassuming paragraphs.

TLDR, this scene was the hardest to write because my point of view character is preventing me from actually describing what’s going on, and also it’s sometimes hard to separate his attitude from my own.

(I’ll answer your second question in a separate post, just because of how long this got.)

#muzothecat #ask #kaito momota #kind lie #danganronpa v3

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arctic-urpo · 6 years ago

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Hiya hiya, it’s time for me to properly talk abt LRTN - because I’ve talked about it here and there but nothing clear and concise abt my situation and my plans to continue etc, and in general it’s been on my mind. This will be 99% just explanation of my past, uh, over half a year though because this has also affected my friendships with people outside of this too and just, idk, I don’t like saying I feel like I owe an explanation bc I rly don’t, people have been kind and understanding and I appreciate it.

But I want to explain so if you wanna know why I haven’t been writing or answering messages, you should probs find the answer under the cut!!! Warnings though that I’m gonna be talking abt rly personal stuff and some kinda heavy things too, so no need to feel pressured to read! This is meant for those who want answers and not as a plea for attention or anything ^^;

Anyways....

I feel like I should start with the fact that most people following me and LRTN probs know already, but I have struggled with mental illness for.... a long time, half my life in fact. It isn’t something I came here to talk about, but it is related to tons of abuse from multiple sources etc. So please keep an open mind reading!

Anyways so over half a year ago, in November 2017, first of all NaNo happened. I could balance that out with LRTN, at first, but then in the mid of the month I started this uh, work practice experience thing. My vocabulary in English fails me here but, basically, it was this government funded project to help young people get into working life/back to “”””normal life”””” so basically rehab work. It was in a flower shop, owned by my grandma’s friend.

The work experience itself was incredibly pleasant, I loved the job and I loved my boss and she was rly nice to me all the time. But it was time and energy-consuming. And another problem with the work was that - as most of u probs know, I’m a trans guy. But I’m not out to my grandma yet bc she’s very religious and my mom has been so worried for my safety so... Anyways, so I couldn’t obviously be out in the workplace either. And my grandma would visit daily and it was mentally really rough for me.

To also explain, I have bad agoraphobia to begin with. I’m deathly scared of public spaces, wide places, strange people, talking to people and 99% of the time I can’t even go outside alone. Which was what this work was trying to give me rehab for. And it helped, it really did! But my grandma.... made it so much more difficult to manage my mental health bc it was an extra stress factor constantly. She has a way of words to make me feel useless too so, I kept feeling inadequate constantly when she was there and like I was doing things wrong.

Anyways!! That’s for the work part! But also, in the beginning of me starting work there, my friend’s dog who I had taken care of a lot and who was a huge part of my life, passed away sadly. I started seeing nightmares every night and losing sleep rapidly. I used to sleep 8-10 hours each night, but back then I started sleeping 4-6 and that’s continued up to this day and it’s been.... completely exhausting me. I’ll probs talk abt that more in detail but. To continue to this situation:

So, all in all, there was way too many things going on at once that November-December. Add onto that the holiday season which had a lot of relatives - a lot of my grandma too - and it has always been a bad time of the year for me. I managed to hang on by spending time with friends - a friend came to visit me for almost two weeks and that helped me keep myself together.

But also, I was supposed to look for another place to work at through this whole time, because my grandma’s friend had promised to take me only for the Christmas season bc after that she just wouldn’t have work for me due to a quiet season. I did apply for a few places but.... I couldn’t bring myself to put myself completely to it bc of all the phone calls which scare me just as much as going outside.

Anyways, Christmas comes and goes, I’m still somehow hanging on, and then we go on a trip with my friends. It was an amazing trip, I had fun with them, most of them live in other cities so I don’t see them often so I loved seeing them....!!

And then I went back home. Back home into my messy apartment, where I realized I’m almost always alone. And I had a huge breakdown. I stopped eating properly for a while - I can’t exactly give proper dates after this bc it’s been kind of ongoing with various intensity after that..... I go through periods of not eating, I haven’t been able to start sleeping bc I find it so hard to go to sleep, I keep waking up from nightmares - nightmares of various subjects, not rly abt by friend’s dog even but just... all sorts of bad things.

And I haven’t had the energy to talk to anyone, keep up any relationships. There’s only one group chat where I talk daily, the group of friends I went on a trip with who I’ve known for years now. And even to them, I don’t talk privately! It’s only the group chat! Other group chat I talk semi-actively in is the group of friends in my city, who I go to shop with etc but... Again it’s only semi-actively that I manage to talk there either.

As you may guess, I couldn’t find a new place to work in the beginning of the year. After the trip, I went through weeks without answering any phone calls - my therapist helped me call off the rehab work bc clearly it wasn’t the best option anymore. But that sparked all sorts of money problems that have plagued me since then, and let’s just say things haven’t been great on that front.

Middle of all of this, I did figure out I had a huge fear of silence, so I need to constantly have videos, games, music, something running so that there is noise. I also need to have something to do to distract my thoughts even further or I’ll start to spiral into negativity.......

I do go through periods of creativity, but it only sparks on the drawing front. So to get on the topic of LRTN! I haven’t written anything proper since November. I’ve started a few background stories for DnD OCs and I can’t even finish those! I write maybe a page and I have to drop it bc I can’t stand the silence, having only me and music and no video or game or anything. (As for why I don’t watch vids while writing, I can’t concentrate on writing if I hear like, speech or smth similar. I can’t listen to rap either when writing bc it’s too distracting.)

But kind of with writing and esp with LRTN has been the problem that, the longer time goes on, the more daunting it feels to return to it!!! I’m already in the spot that I would need to reread LRTN to continue writing it (to remember all the plot things planned and the characterization etc) and!!! I do plan on doing that!!! But I can’t, I just can’t take the silence while I’m reading so I’ve kind of been putting it off and off. For way too long. I’m trying to figure out a way around this, but I DO MEAN TO RETURN TO LRTN!!! That is certain!! I do intend to finish it, I need to get the story out after planning it for so long!!!

But that’s kind of the status quo on the LRTN’s part, I want to continue and with each kind comment my heart just keeps breaking bc I just want to write it so bad!!!! I want to continue!!!! But I’m just so stressed out from the loneliness and silence that I can’t bring myself to write!!!

But yeah I’m not saying this seeking answers, this is my personal problem and no one needs to feel bad abt any of this or feeling like you’re pressuring me. All the comments are rather just so kind and inspiring that I feel like the luckiest guy from time to time. So thank you to everyone, the commenters and ALSO ESPECIALLY FRIENDS who have been so understanding and nice and been by my side even when I’ve locked myself up from everyone just to cry and weep over how much I suck....

Anyways to kind of give a status update on what this breakdown has even been abt and why it’s been making me distance myself, it’s bc I’ve been dealing with feelings of worthlessness, fearing abandonment and also just not having plain energy to answer and then feeling like it’s scary to answer after so long has passed without me saying anything. I feel like I’m constantly late.

Also, to current situation, my mental health has been on the rise, which is why I’m talking about this in the first place bc I have the energy to explain properly! On the... life front though, my life has been kind of a void of me waking up, playing mobile games, not eating much, not sleeping much, and kind of being just a messy waste of space. My apartment is a mess, my financial situation is even more of a mess still bc the depression is making me waste any extra money on stupid stuff and then me sacrificing food and such to save money for rent etc. I was also declared “unfit to work” by the government on another paper but “fit to work” on another so now I’m kind of in the space where I’m not actually capable of working fulltime by my health but also being forced to work bc I don’t have the ~right diagnosis’~ to not work.....

SO!! It’s been kind of a whirlpool of stress!!! Anyways idk how to end this huge rant, thank you if you read all of this and I hope this shed some light on the situation????

If u ever wanna reach out to me, I still don’t answer private messages well but you’re free to try and I’ll try to answer to my best abilities, but I feel like asks are the easiest way to reach out to me right now bc those I do get to eventually bc they don’t feel as personal and so scary for my socially anxious mind, idk!!! But thank u for reading, for understanding and for caring abt dumb old me!!!!

#urpo talks #long post #under the cut at least #idk if mobile tumblr still works well with read more's #ANYWAYS there u go a way too long of an explanation #i've been sweating and crying a bit too much so i'll have to idk get water and chill #but feel free to reply or send asks or smth if u have anything to say #and i'll read them and hopefully answer them too!!

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choicesfanatic86 · 7 years ago

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TTS: Part 18 (Liam x MC)

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story. Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS: Riley (MC) x OC, Riley (MC) x Liam, Liam x Riley (MC) x OC, Olivia x Drake, Bertrand x Savannah, Maxwell x OC

SUMMARY: Late night texts with the word urgent never bode well, of that Riley was quite certain.

If you are new to the series and would like to catch up by reading previous parts, please check out my master fan fiction listing. CATCH UP HERE

TAGS: @herladyshipxx @theroyalweisme @blackcatkita @devineinterventions2 @hopefulmoonobject @captainkingliam @pbchoicesobsessed @cocomaxley @queencatherynerhys @mfackenthal @boneandfur @spetstoof @bobasheebaby @grapefrults @pessimystic-fangirl @dralenamax @mspaigemoore @drakelover78 @kaitycole @jayjay879 @hhiggs @umccall71 @penguininapinktuxedo @topsyturvy-dream @decisso @pnhanga @ladynonsense @mrs-simmy

4/28/18 - I’ve updated the tag list, if I missed you, just let me know and I will happily add you to the list above.

Hi guys! I'm so sorry for the delay in releasing the next parts. My son unexpectedly came down with a terrible stomach bug, and I was on high alert with mommy duty. I promise I will get these parts popping out this weekend. Once again, I reworked the series a bit, so you may notice a few chapter title changes as opposed to what I had originally had planned.

Thank you all for your kind words and support. My son is doing much better (thank goodness!) <3 You guys are incredible, as always. :)

I hope you enjoy this part. Part 19 - Ulterior Motives will be released at 4:00 pm Hawaii Standard Time (about 7 hours from now). It’s something you don’t want to miss. ;)

PART 18 - Secret Lovers

Riley wiped the still falling tears from her eyes, her hands shaking as she attempted to open the message on her cell phone. She was worried. She hadn’t expected to hear from Liam until the next morning. She tried to calm herself with some rational thoughts. He knew she was going to talk to Paul tonight; perhaps he was concerned about how he had taken things and how she was fairing after such a difficult phone call. She glanced down at the short message, her heart dropping to her stomach. A small gasp escaped her lips as she read and reread the message over to herself.

“What does it say,” Andy asked as she tried to peek over Riley’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the message. “What’s wrong?” Andy asked, worry now clouding her eyes.

Riley silently held her phone up for Andy to see.

“URGENT – call me as soon as you can. – L”

“Urgent?” Andy looked at Riley with apprehension.

Riley looked back at her with the same fear. She felt as if fresh tears were about to spill over. “What could possibly go wrong next?” She said sullenly.

“You should call him – right now,” Andy instructed.

Riley nodded, pulling herself up off of the floor. “I’m going to go back to my room . . . I should really do this in private, in case he’s wondering about things with Paul.”

Andy nodded, understanding completely. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m sure things are fine,” she tried to sound encouraging, but Riley could see the fret weighing heavily on Andy’s mind. She knew something was wrong. Urgent text messages late at night never did bode well.

She wandered down the hallway toward her bedroom, starting to dial his number as she walked. Her hands trembled as she pressed each button. She waited breathlessly for him to answer. It took a single ring before she heard his deep voice on the other end of the line. He’d been waiting for her call.

“Riley . . .” she could hear him exhale. He almost sounded relieved.

“Is everything alright? I got your text message,” she trailed off. Her voice still sounded weak from all of the crying she had done.

‘I’m sorry to bother you at such a late hour,” his voice sounded strained. “Especially when I know you had a great deal on your mind tonight.” He sounded as if he had gone through hell; he sounded worn, defeated even. She had expected to hear his ever-strong, stoic voice - the voice that had always helped to subside her worries. Instead, she heard the tiredness in his tone, and it caused her to feel even more uneasy than she before.

“It’s okay,” she said shakily. “I was still up . . . still dealing with things, and then your text message came through. I got a bit scared because you mentioned that this was urgent. Are you alright?”

“Well . . . I am better than I was about a half an hour ago,” he sighed. “I wanted to prepare you. I didn’t want you to have to find out in the morning through one of the papers or on the morning news,” he started to explain.

“Prepare me for what?” She asked hesitantly.

“The CBC . . . they obtained some photographs from our evening together,” he said carefully. “Nothing inappropriate . . . just the two of us sitting at the restaurant talking, but the story they plan to release suggests that we’ve been seeing one another in secret for the last two years.”

“Oh,” she closed her eyes. She remembered the night of the coronation ball, how ill she had felt when the photo of her compromising position with Tariq had been leaked. That same ill-feeling started to come over her. She suddenly thought of Paul. What if he somehow found out about the news story? After everything she had just put him through, the last thing she would want is some fictitious story making its way to the American media. She had crushed his heart already, she couldn’t have a news story making an already painful situation worse. As she thought back to Liam’s words . . . an unexpected thought passed through her mind. “Wait . . . are they trying to say you cheated on Madeline?” she asked.

“That’s the story they’re trying to sell,” he said with certainty.

“But that’s a lie!” she exclaimed, enraged that she once again found herself in the middle of a royal scandal. “I haven’t been in this country for two years. I haven’t even left New York in two years,” she rambled. She had never felt so frustrated. How could someone make decision after decision attempting to get away from their past yet come face to face with the exact thing they had spent so long running from in the first place? A scandal had torn apart her relationship with Liam years ago, and here she was again. “For God’s sake, have you even set foot in America in the last two years? You haven’t even been to New York since before you got married! They’re being absolutely ridiculous,” she grumbled.

Liam grew quiet on the phone, listening to Riley rant and rave. He cleared his throat, hoping to interrupt her before she had gotten any more worked up about things. “That’s not entirely true,” he said quietly. “They have some information about a trip I made, shortly after you left Cordonia. They’re trying to use it as more evidence of an affair,” he explained.

“What are you talking about?” Riley asked in irritation, not so much directed at Liam, but at the situation they once again found themselves.

“I went to New York . . . a few months after you left.” he admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to find out this way . . . I didn’t want you to find out ever.”

“You what?” she asked again, thinking she must have misheard him.

“I went to New York,” he said a little louder. “I don’t know why. I just . . . felt compelled to try and find you. I was in a sham of a marriage, in over my head, missing you something awful. I had hoped I’d find you and convince you to come back with me. Much like the other night, I didn’t really have a plan on how it would all work out in the end, but I had hoped, that with you by my side, we would figure it out together.”

Riley didn’t know what to think. She was in information-overload mode, and she could feel herself wanting to curl up into a tiny ball and just forget that any of this was happening. Still, she forced herself to listen to him speak.

“I went to the old bar you worked at, but they said they didn’t have any information about where you used to live, and they didn’t have any calls for reference checks, so they couldn’t tell me if you had a new job. I was about to give up when your friend . . . I believe his name was Daniel . . . recognized me from some of the photos you sent when you had first arrived in Cordonia. He told me he had heard through some mutual friends that you were going to school in the city . . . NYU. He suggested I try looking you up there,” he explained further.

“So, I left Brooklyn and hoped that the lead on NYU would pan out. It did not. There was no record that you were a registered student. I was grasping for a lead, any bit of information that would help me find you. Bastien . . . he told me that the odds of finding you in the timeframe we had left were not good. He didn’t want me to risk being away from Cordonia for much longer. He said there were already whispers about my living arrangements with Madeline, and that any sign of weakness in the monarchy could lead to political upheaval. He was right, of course. For all I knew, you could have moved out of the state. I needed to go home and accept that I had squandered my privilege of loving you,” he said sadly at the memory. “I hadn’t realized that my impulsivity . . . my desperation in finding you . . . would come back to haunt me years later,” another tired sigh echoed from is end of the phone.

“I didn’t move,” she said quietly into the phone. “I stayed in my old apartment for months, hell maybe longer. Andy and I didn’t get our place until I graduated. Daniel was partly right . . . I got into NYU but couldn’t swing the tuition, so I ended up back at Brooklyn College. I was in Brooklyn the whole time,” she whispered, stunned by his unexpected revelation. “Had I known you were there . . .”

“Maybe things might have been different?” he rasped out, finishing her thought.

“Mmhm,” she murmured into the phone. “Maybe,” she whispered. “Maybe is a big thing with us, isn’t it?” she asked, a touch of disappointment in her voice. Maybe. Maybe all they would ever be was a maybe, she thought sadly.

“We’re victims of horrendous timing, you and I,” he muttered. She couldn’t have agreed more.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” She asked. “That first night you came to see me?”

“I was ashamed . . . for waiting so long to find you. Then it didn’t seem worth bringing up to you. Yes, I’d travelled to New York to find you, but I came back empty-handed. I’d given up, when I shouldn’t have stopped until I found you. I once again let my duty to Cordonia cloud my feelings for you,” he explained. Riley could hear the regret resonate in his words. “I still have no idea how they even figured out I had went to New York. I thought we had been exceptionally careful,” he trailed off. “Apparently, not careful enough,” he mused angrily.

“Why is this happening again, Liam?” Riley asked, her frustration peaking once more.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “But I promise you, Riley, I’m not going to let something like this jeopardize our friendship . . . our second chance at something more,” he said with resolve.

“Thank you, Liam. For giving me a heads up about the photo . . . and for your honesty about New York,” she said, feeling the weight of all the stress taking a toll on her body. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. “I should go,” she said drowsily. “I think I’ve had enough of an emotional rollercoaster ride for the day.”

“Before you go . . . my invitation still stands, if you wish to join me at the palace tomorrow” he asked hopefully. “I know how much you enjoyed the palace grounds, and it would be nice to spend some time with you without having to worry about prying eyes or getting photographed again.”

Riley thought about his offer. After everything that happened, she wasn’t sure if they should be spending time together at all, even if it was within the security of the palace walls. The last thing they needed was to add more fuel to the already large fire that the media had burning. She’d hate to make things any worse, but she also wanted to see him again. Her time in Cordonia was running short. The wedding was getting closer, and then she’d be leaving back to New York. If she wanted to figure out where their pseudo-relationship was headed, she’d need to do so fast.

“Okay,” she conceded. “It might give us a chance to talk about . . . us,” she trailed off awkwardly.

“Perfect. I’ll send Bastien to pick you up in the morning,” he said, his tone picking up from the earlier part of their conversation. “Try to get some rest. We’ll handle the news story tomorrow,” he murmured, sleepiness seemingly taking him over as well.

“Okay,” she said gently. “Thank you again. I know this is just as hard on you as it is for me.”

“Think nothing of it. I’ll see you tomorrow . . . I’ll have Bastien come around the mid-morning, okay?”

“That sounds great,” she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, before ending the call. Riley was exhausted; she needed at least a week’s worth of sleep to help her cope with everything that she’d been going through lately. Between breaking Paul’s heart and this new scandal, she wished she could sleep and sleep and sleep until all her problems were solved. If only she were that lucky, she mused as she fell into a comfortable slumber.

The next morning, Riley dreaded the idea of waking up. Waking up meant that everything Liam had told her last night was real. It meant that she was one step closer to another scandal taking over her life and jeopardizing her reputation. Waking up meant that her world was going to change once more, and it was absolutely out of her control. She was thankful for the warning, because she couldn’t imagine getting blindsided by something like this again. She dragged herself out of bed and forced herself to get ready for the day. As much as she had wanted to hideaway in her bedroom and pretend nothing had happened, she knew she’d have to face things eventually.

She wondered if the others had learned about the scandal. She knew that Bertrand would be furious. She reluctantly walked downstairs to the dining room, preparing to enter the line of fire. Bertrand and Savannah were already seated at the dining table, talking in hushed whispers. The couple exchanged a look between them when they noticed her entering the room. She knew then that the article had been released. The pity on their faces told her everything she needed to know.

“Got any coffee?” Riley asked gruffly. Coffee was a must at this point.

Savannah looked to Bertrand, “Darling, would you mind getting the pot of coffee from the kitchen? It should be done by now.”

“Of course,” he nodded at Savannah, barely looking at Riley in the process as he stood up to excuse himself from the table.

“Bad night?” Savannah asked, seeing the dark circles under Riley’s eyes.

“That would be an understatement,” Riley griped. “Andy around?” she asked, noticing that there were only three place settings at the table.

Savannah shook her head in reply. “She and Maxwell decided to go out for brunch,” she explained. “They’ve formed an interesting friendship,” she smiled lightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen Maxwell quite this happy.”

Riley nodded in agreement, not really wanting to make small talk when she had so much on her mind. Her eyes drifted to the paper that lay folded next to Savannah’s setting. “Is that today’s newspaper?”

Savannah looked at her hesitantly, her hand moved to cover the paper protectively. She was debating whether or not to let Riley see it. “Well . . .” she began, nervously biting her lip.

“It’s okay, I already know,” she sighed, folding her arms on the table, she gently laid her head down on top of them in frustration. “I knew it was coming, and yet I still had hoped that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t publish it,” she sighed. Where was Bertrand with the coffee? She’d definitely need a couple of cups of coffee if she wanted to get through the day. “How bad is it?” she asked without looking at Savannah, clearly concerned about how the media had portrayed her in the news story.

“At least you’re clothed this time,” Bertrand snipped as he returned to the table with the pot of coffee. “Have you learned nothing? Propriety is and should always be your biggest concern. You never know when a photographer will capture an intimate moment. I thought you’d know this by now,” he admonished. “We’ve been down this road before,” he scolded more, shaking his head.

Riley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She grabbed the pot of coffee away from him, and poured herself a cup. “I don’t need you making me feel worse than I already feel, Bertrand. Anyway, I did nothing wrong,” she said firmly. “Need I remind you, it was you who encouraged me to spend time with him in the first place,” she countered. “Besides, we were just talking,” she said plainly.

“The paper says otherwise,” he narrowed his eyes at her.

She narrowed her eyes in return. “Let me see it,” she demanded, reaching her hand out for it.

Savannah slid the paper across the table to her. She closed her eyes a bit embarrassed. “The picture is actually quite lovely . . . it’s the story that’s atrocious,” Savannah said grimly.

She opened the folded newspaper, half expecting her face to be spread across the front page. To her surprise, the story wasn’t there. Nor was it on the second or third pages either. The story sat on page six, next to one of those cheesy advice columns. It could have been much worse. Although it did take up at least a quarter of the page, Riley was slightly optimistic. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she and Liam had expected.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m not on the front page,” she said, still a bit surprised. “That’s a relief,” she exhaled.

“Did you read the article?” Bertrand asked.

She hadn’t. She had been so happy that the story wasn’t on the front page, she hadn’t taken the time to read it. The first thing that caught her attention was the headline. In big, black bold lettering read the words “SECRET LOVERS.” She couldn’t help but snort as she read it. They couldn’t come up with something more interesting than that? The photograph had been the perfect shot of Liam laughing with her as they sat in the booth at the restaurant. Savannah was right. It was a relatively lovely photograph, had it not been attached to such an awful headline. She perused the story – picking up on the major tidbits. She skimmed over the description of Liam’s trip to New York. He had been correct in his assumption that they would use the trip as supporting evidence that they had supposedly been carrying on an affair for years. As she read further down, the article discussed how Riley had been a lover scorned who seduced Liam in an attempt at revenge against Madeline. They blamed her for the divorce and speculated that Madeline was paid off handsomely to prevent her from gossiping about their sordid love affair. They even suggested that she had returned to Cordonia because the appropriate amount of time had passed since the King’s divorce and they were now pursuing a courtship with one another. All of it . . . every part of it . . . was batshit crazy.

“You know that’s a load of crap, don’t you?” she exclaimed, tossing the paper back onto the table. “Same like last time,” she fumed.

“It doesn’t matter what I know, Lady Riley. It matters what the Cordonian people believe,” he replied philosophically.

“What if I don’t care what the Cordonian people think?” she asked.

Bertrand stared blankly at her, displeased with the fact that she was challenging him. “Lady Riley, need I remind you,” he mimicked her earlier dig at him, “that you are still a guest of House Beaumont, and as such, your actions reflect on all of us, not just yourself,” he explained.

She rolled her eyes, prompting Bertrand to jump into yet another lecture on the importance of modesty and respectability. They continued to bicker, sending jab after jab at one another. Savannah watched on, slightly amused, slightly dismayed, all at the same time. She knew neither one of them was one hundred percent right. Still, she watched on, amusement on her face. The doorbell rang faintly in the background. A reprieve, Riley thought contently. “That would be for me,” she motioned to the front door. “Glad we had this chat, Dad,” she said sarcastically as she headed toward the front door. “Let Andy know I’ll be back tonight,” she winked at Savannah, “And good luck with him” she said as she pointed toward Bertrand.

Bertrand’s fists clenched. “Well then . . . that sounds about right since I feel like I’m raising an insolent teenager,” he yelled after her. He turned to Savannah, his forehead furrowed in irritation and frustration. “Now she’s running off to do God knows what with God knows who” he yelled, hoping that Riley had heard him. He heard the door pull open and slam shut. “Really, am I the only one thinking of this House’s reputation?” he grumbled.

Savannah placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to see him,” she said frankly, as if it would explain away everything that happened this morning.

“The King?” Bertrand asked surprised.

Savannah nodded.

“I thought she said they were only talking . . . Are they . . .” he trailed off trying to find the right way to phrase his question, “seeing one another again?”

Savannah could only shrug. “She didn’t mention anything to me, I just pieced the puzzle together. Looks like your little plan worked,” she nudged him flirtatiously. “She’s right you know . . . you put this ball into motion. Can’t fault her for getting wrapped up in the result of your sneakiness,” she teased.

Bertrand smiled faintly, the realization dawning on him that the push he had given her in Liam’s direction had firmly launched her back into his arms.

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