#in which i severely underestimate how hard it is to write five kids

[kokkoro]

violet blue 2/?

A little something for clexa halloween week. Day 3, but also kind of day 2 cause why the heck not. i was born for this kind of stuff.

summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones.  Make love. Howl often.     Clarissa Pinkola Estes

or

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (on ao3)

“Mrs. Jefferson came up to me today,” Clarke begins, the both of you standing hip to hip at the sink cleaning the mess dinner left. The kids doze off on the couch, a movie playing softly on the television.

“And what did Mrs. Jefferson want?” you say, handing Clarke a plate that she dries absently and then places with the others.

“She said Chloe saw a big dog wandering around our backyard.”

It’s a testament to your self-control that the bowl in your hand doesn’t slip from your fingers and plunge back into the kitchen sink. Your face is impassive, cool and controlled, but the time it takes for you to respond is more than enough for Clarke.

“Lexa.”

“I wasn’t caught unaware, Clarke, I took a risk.”

“And you failed,” Clarke says.

You turn to shoot her a glare, but you spot that curl to the corner of her mouth and you soften immediately at the unexpected amusement playing across her face.

“I didn’t think she’d see me,” you confess, handing Clarke the bowl and she leans into your side, chuckling. “It’s not funny.”

“Kinda.” she says, kissing your shoulder. “Chloe wants to know if you’re friendly. Her mother is more worried about whether or not you have your shots.”

Clarke laughs at the affronted look that crosses your face, putting aside the bowl to snake an arm around your waist and tug you close, thumb dipping below the waistline of your sweatpants. Your hands find her hips, still sudsy from the water, and she kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, and you know what she’s doing and it’s working.

“Her mother asked me if it was okay for Chloe to come over and say hello,” Clarke says, her lips finally finding yours in a brief kiss. “Her father’s allergic, so they can’t have pets and--”

“And you want me to play the part? I’m the farthest thing from a house pet, Clarke.”

Her arms wrap loosely around your neck and you brush your nose against hers. “You’re basically a big german shepard.”

“A german shepard, Clarke? You insult me.”

‘Is that a no?”

“No.”

“No you don’t want to or no it’s not a no.”

You kiss her lightly on the lips and she lets you go when you pull away, fishing for the dish cloth in the luke-warm water to finish off the last of the dishes still soaking in the sink. “What are you going to tell the kids?”

“Is there something I should tell them? Besides to behave?”

You laugh at that. “They’re not exactly…” you trail off though, unable to find the right word.

Her arms circle your waist and you feel her against your back. “What was it you said about taking risks?”

“I said they were strong. There’s a difference.”

“Difference between what.”

“Recognizing that there are times when I can and can’t be their mom,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly tough spot of caked on spaghetti sauce. Simply the thought of having to ignore them for sake of humans and a world that isn’t ready for you is outrageous to you. “They’re toddlers, Clarke, they wouldn’t know any better. And they shouldn’t have to.”

She gives a you reassuring squeeze. “Then we’ll just make sure they’re preoccupied.”

“All because one little girl likes dogs?”

“You’d make her day.”

You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you place the last plate in the clean sink to drip dry. “Fine,” you concede after a moment and Clarke pulls you into a hug, pressing her forehead to the middle of your back

“You have such a soft spot for kids it’s unbelievable.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” you joke despite the serious tone to your voice and Clarke laughs.

“Not a soul.”

You’re waiting patiently by the entryway to the kitchen when Clarke goes to let Mrs. Jefferson in, a sleeping Madi draped over her shoulder and the other’s napping in the playroom. Chloe trails behind by just a smidge, holding her mother’s hand. She’s no older than your kids, four at the most and maybe as tall as Lily, with curly hair and large brown eyes and a cute little striped sweater. You trot over to Clarke’s side as the pleasantries are made, claws clacking against the floor, and take seat at her side.

When Chloe spots you her eyes go wide with wonder. Mrs. Jefferson jumps. “--good lord.” The hand at her heart gradually lowers, but the apprehension is more than apparent in her eyes. “And this is?”

“Heda,” Clarke supplies and if you could roll your eyes you would. She’s quick to follow up with, “My mother’s german shepard. We’re dog sitting for the week.”

“A little big for a german shepard.” Mrs Jefferson muses. “He’s good with kids?”

“She’s great,” Clarke says, the unsaid obviously hanging between them.

You’re only paying half attention to the conversation around you, focused mainly on the little girl partially hidden behind her mother’s legs. She stares at you and you wag your tail, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth. You feel more than a little ridiculous, but she giggles, clutching tighter at her mother’s pants, and it’s worth it.

“Can I, momma? Can I?”

Mrs. Jefferson eyes you suspiciously, but after one look at Clarke, who smiles and gestures encouragingly, she leads her daughter closer. You lay down, stretching lazily, and then rest your head on your paws. Chloe seems unsure of what to do now that she’s close, and she looks back to her mother before squatting in front of you. Her hands are small, covered partially by her sweater sleeves, and when she reaches out to pat you lightly on the head you’re reminded just how precious children are.

“Good dog,” she says seriously, and you hear Clarke try to stifle her giggles against Madi’s cheek.

Clarke and Mrs. Jefferson move into the kitchen to chat, but they keep an eye on you and Chloe from their seats at the table. Not that they need to. You’re more than capable of watching her by yourself even in this form, but that’s not exactly something you can say. She sits between your front paws, reaching for your ears that you flick away from her grasp and running her little fingers through your thick fur. She’s as gentle as human children can be, which is far more than you’re used to. What with every one of your children besides possibly Lily feeling the need to test all their boundaries with their teeth. It’s a welcome change of pace to be sure.

You nudge her with your nose when she tugs a little too hard, the coldness causing her to recoil giggling, and that’s the moment Danny chooses to come hurtling from the other room, roused awake from her nap by who knows what but certainly feeling a bit left out.

“Danny!” Clarke yelps, bolting upright from her chair, Madi still held close, and in some form of a miracle is able to snag her daughter by the back of her shirt before she barrels headlong into your side.

“Momma!” she says, directed at you, eyes pleading as if you’ll free her from Clarke’s grasp.

“Is at work and will be back later just like she promised,” Clarke says, holding fast, and the glance she shares with you is uncanny in its resemblance to Danny’s. Imploring. You’re not sure what they think you can do.

Danny goes limp, her frown large and exaggerated, and Clarke’s grip loosens in stages until she allows Danny to wriggle free. Your daughter stumbles over to you, sidling up close to rub her face in your fur. Chloe eyes her warily and you shift to nudge Danny with your nose, licking at her cheeks and she presses closer.

“Do you like dogs too?” Chloe whispers, and Danny peeks from your fur, giving a small nod.

“Yeah,” she says, just as soft, fingers threaded tightly through your fur, holding on.

Chloe smiles brightly at the admittance and you hear Clarke sigh. You turn to watch as she settles back into her chair, rubbing Madi’s back. You know she’ll be hungry soon but so does Clarke.

She places Madi down gently when she begins to wiggle a few minutes later and she hobbles over the moment she’s stable on her feet. Her steps are uneven and a bit clumsy, and she drapes herself over you, giggling. you flop onto your side with a dramatic huff. Clarke likes to say you baby them, but who doesn’t like to be warm.

Clarke invites Mrs. Jefferson and Chloe to stay for a little snack but the offer is politely declined. You can hear your children in the other room slowly rousing from their naps. Mrs. Jefferson picks herself up from her chair to retrieve Chloe from where she’s found a spot next to Danny, babbling intently as the both of them lounge against you, Madi playing with your paws.

Chloe stops mid sentence when her mother hoists her up, taken aback by the sudden predicament. “No,” she pouts, cheeks puffed and squirming. From what you can see, Danny looks just as disappointed.

“I’m sure Mrs. Woods will let us visit Heda again sometime.”

“Clarke,” your wife insists, a small smile toying at her lips. “You can call me Clarke.”

Mrs. Jefferson smiles, adjusting Chloe on her hip. “Thank you again, Clarke.”

“Anytime,” Clarke says, glancing at you before walking them to the door.

You sigh, a whine building in your throat as you stretch. Standing up takes a bit of wiggling, though. Danny clings when you’re like this, but you growl playfully and she takes the hint, giving you space to clamber to your feet. You give a whole body shake, enjoying the aftermath as you watch Madi attempt to replicate the action with little success. She ends up toppled over on the carpet but at least it looks like she’s having fun.

You peer around the corner into the hall to make sure the Jeffersons are gone and then climb the stairs to your room, nosing open the door and padding across the room to the dresser. The shifting feels natural, a mindless stretch and an ache in the joints of your limbs. You remember when it used to be painful, but those memories feel far away now.

The door creaks as you slip a t-shirt over your head, pulling it down over your bare thighs, but you’d know Clarke’s footsteps anywhere. It’s an unintentionally quiet presence, soft as she slips an arm around your waist, her other hand pulling your hair gently from where it's still tucked under the collar of your shirt. She brushes the mass over your right shoulder, her lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet.

“Next time I’ll be the dog and you can entertain the parents.”

You chuckle, placing a hand over Clarke’s. “I don’t know, I quite liked it.”

“Softie,” she mutters against your skin before picking up her head and kissing your cheek. Her arms falls from your waist, giving your butt a light pat, and you turn to watch her over your shoulder. “Steak sound good for dinner?”

“Is that even a real question?” you say, unable to hold back your grin.

Clarke doesn’t even bother trying. “Put on some pants. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You turn away mouth stretched wide in a smile and you take your time, rummaging through the drawers for a pair of sweatpants, and you pull them on one leg at a time. They hang loosely, and you pull the drawstring tighter as you make your way back downstairs, tying it in a simple bow and then readjusting your tee.

Clarke is surrounded when you finally pad into the kitchen. Lily has attached herself to Clarke’s left leg, thumb in her mouth as she watches Clarke stir the pot on the stove, and Jack and Danny have taken to roughhousing not two feet away. Aden however, has taken to explaining the complexities of fitting a round object into a square hole to a mostly uninterested Madi who sits in her high chair, her tray littered with brightly colored toys. She spots you near instantly and the smile she beams at you makes your heart melt.

Clarke turns at the sound of Madi’s giggles, her eyes following her daughter’s line of sight to find you and she smiles too. It’s this soft little curl, a blush clinging stubbornly to her cheeks, and she pats Lily’s head before returning to the food.

“Careful,” you say at the two by the table as you make your way over, voice a tad lower than normal, and Danny stops mid pinch. That doesn’t stop her brother from taking advantage of the distraction and digging his pointer finger into her side.

Danny yelps, pulling away. She cocks her tiny fist back as far as it will go and you lurch forward to catch it before it hits it's mark.

“Danny--” Her name comes out in a breath. “Hitting is not how we solve things.” Danny looks at you, disgruntled, and you wait a few moments before letting go of her fist. You turn to Jack next and he refuses to look you in the eye. “And the next time you do that I’ll let her hit you back and we’ll see how it feels.”

“Lexa,” comes Clarke’s voice, and you look up to see her shake her head.

You turn back to your son. “Apologize, please, Jack.”

It’s a moment, possibly two, before he says sorry very quietly and then scrambles off toward the living room by himself, finding a spot on the floor with the toys left scattered about.

“At least it looks like the biting phase is over,” Clarke says softly once you’re close and you smile in spite of yourself.

“The small victories.”

There’s a slight breeze that night that carries in through your open bedroom window, the wind as it carries through the trees, curtains fluttering gently. The roads are silent past eleven o’clock, the cars this far off and distant rumble -- you can hear Clarke as she breathes, reclined next to you on the bed with a book propped on her stomach, and it’s so easy to feel lulled by it. Your arm is draped over her hips and she traces the inside of your wrist with the tips of her fingers and you can’t help the content hum that lingers deep in your throat.

“Are you at the station tomorrow?” she asks softly.

You don’t bother opening your eyes, managing a small noise of acknowledgement who knows how many minutes later, but you clear your throat a little afterward and say, “Early.”

“Anya need help with something?”

“There was a homicide downtown and their only lead ran off.” You grow quiet again, feeling the dip of the bed as Clarke reaches to turn off the light. She shifts with the sheets, trying to find a comfortable spot tucked close to you, and she does, settling warmly pressed to your front, head tucked under your chin and her hands seeking the heat under your shirt. The sigh she let’s out when she stills is one of pure satisfaction.

“She wants me to find him,” you mutter in the darkness and you feel her smile against you.

“Putting you to good use then,” She says, tangling her legs with yours.

“I’m good at what I do, Clarke.”

The wind picks up and she huddles closer. “Mm. The best.”

[merakiaes]

The One For Me - Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Requested: By @nuvoleincielo​

Prompts: #16, #30 and #63 from the fluff-list. 

Warnings/notes: This is my first time writing for Hotch and Criminal Minds in general so please be patient while I get used to these new characters, might be slight OOC😭 It’s also the first piece I’ve written in a few months now and I’m a bit rusty, so please let me know what you think. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Send in more requests for Hotch, Reid and Morgan and let me know if you want to be added to the Criminal Minds taglist! I hope you like it💕

Wordcount: 4118

Summary: Hotch has doubts about letting your relationship go further and you reassure him that he’s what you want. 

After being raised in one of New York’s worst, most crime ridden and low poverty neighborhoods by a family who was constantly targeted by the law enforcement, the last thing you’d expect was that you would become an active worker of said law enforcement.

Your mother died ten minutes after giving birth to you and your father had never been a part of the equation, most likely having ran the second he found out your mother had gotten pregnant. With no other immediate family, you ended up in the system, where you were stuck for the first seven years of your life.

You jumped back and forth between families of all kinds but for reasons unknown, no one wanted to keep you. It wasn’t until a couple adopted you two days before your eight birthday that you finally felt like you belonged.

They had many children of their own as well as more foster children, all between the ages of ten and twenty-five at the time of your adoption. On top of that, the children had children of their own and aunts, uncles, cousins and friends stayed with you more often than not as they struggled to hold on to homes of their own.

It wasn’t the most ideal way to live, a dozen people staying under the same roof of a two bedroom house, but you had dinner on the table every evening and the love for family was strong, so despite the conditions you lived in and the struggles you were forced to face on a daily basis, you guessed you couldn’t complain; you’d had it better than most.

The people who lived in those parts were always getting pinned for various kinds of crimes, just so the police could get it out of their hands and go on about their lives.

The male members of your family and the company they kept were some of the biggest targets even though they rarely did anything wrong, but despite the injustices they faced every day, they remained respectful when staring in the face of a cop.

You, on the other hand, despised them. You were an outspoken little girl, too feisty for your own good and on more occasions than one, you’d ended up pissing off some rich kid in school for which your dad and uncles were forced to pay the price.

You’d always hated the injustice the less fortunate suffered every day, but it wasn’t until you witnessed your first murder at fifteen that your interest of making the world a better place really piqued.

The victim had been one of the boys living in your neighborhood. He was two years older than you and he always gave it his all to make something out of himself. He walked with you and your younger brothers and cousins to school every day to make sure you got there safely, studied hard, kept out of trouble and always remained respectful.

The only reason he died was because his skin was the wrong color in the eyes of the law and because he was born into a less fortunate neighborhood, and it was then your eyes truly opened to the police brutality and misuse of power plaguing your country.

You joined the police force when you were nineteen years old and you stayed there, on top of your game and determined to do it better than the bad ones, until you were twenty-one. 

At that point, most of your family had passed away either out of old age, or simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your determination to help people was stronger than ever.

But even you, the tough little firecracker as your uncles had always called you, could only tolerate so much.

After two years on the force, you got tired of being undermined by your male co-workers and set out to step up your game, taking up studies of criminology and psychology among several other subjects.

You studied your ass off and was just barely able to get by with the money you had saved up over the years, and at twenty-four, you finally had your degrees and clearance to begin working in higher places.

Starting off in New York, you stayed there for six months before you were transferred to Quantico, Virginia, where you were recruited by the one and only Jason Gideon who had heard word of your talent in the field.

You had worked with the team for little over a year now and Jason, who had always acted as a kind of mentor and father figure for you, was gone, having left only a letter for you and Spencer each.

Taking his place was Aaron Hotchner, a fellow agent to which you hadn’t paid much personal attention before the departure of Gideon. But things changed when he left, a lot of things.

Hotch was fresh out of his divorce, moodier than ever and in a really bad mental state. He stayed in his office until the late hours of the night, sometimes even the early hours of the next morning, barely slept and often forgot to eat if he wasn’t reminded by his team members.

Everyone urged him to take some time off, to go home and get some sleep and to take care of himself, and although he always told them that he would, he never followed through.

Up until then, you still hadn’t spoken much with him except for when you were working on a case. You were just an agent and he was just your boss, there was nothing else to it. But you couldn’t just sit by and watch as he neglected himself, so you followed your team-mates’ example and approached him.

He dismissed you at first, like he had done everyone else who had tried to offer him their support. But as time passed by, in some miraculous way, you made him laugh, and as you continued your attempts on offering him your ear to listen, he opened up to you, and you grew to become more than just colleagues.

Your first and only date had been on your initiative. You invited him to dinner at your house during your weekend off, to which he agreed.

You cooked together and although it started off as kind of awkward – more from his side than yours – you ended up kissing later that night after having had a bit too much to drink, and fell asleep together on your couch while you were flicking through your childhood photo albums.

The next morning, he was gone. You had always been an extremely light sleeper so you found it strange that he had managed to slip off without alerting you and also having managed to wrap you up in a blanket before he left.

He didn’t leave without a word though. A note was neatly placed on the coffee table in front of you, on which he explained that he needed to pick up Jack and that he didn’t want to wake you, finishing it off with a thank you for the night before.

That was the first and last time you spent time together, just the two of you, but it wasn’t like it was intentional.

You wanted to do it again, to continue exploring the budding romance between the two of you and to see where you could take it, and although you knew nothing of his feelings, he wanted the same thing.

But work got very stressful; stressful to the point where you could never find a moment to talk to each other if it wasn’t in the presence of the entire team. But the spark between you wasn’t gone.

It was still there in the way he would let his hand hover above the small of your back when you were walking side by side and step in front of you if you were ever in danger, and in the way you would always take a second to ask how he and Jack was doing, if they were eating enough and getting enough sleep, whenever you were heading somewhere; no matter if the team was with you.

It was there in the way he would always encourage you to go on the less dangerous tasks while he took the ones that were more life-threatening and in the way he would always smile, the slightest of smiles, whenever you were exchanging jokes or sarcastic remarks with Morgan, or messing around with poor, clueless Reid.

It was there, but it was unspoken. At least until now.

The case you had been working on for the past two days was that of Gilbert Stratton; a serial killer who had targeted young women, killed them, drained them of their blood, and then proceeded to hang the bodies up by their feet in trees all around the city.

You had caught him just in time to save the last kidnapped girl and you had originally been the one assigned to question him, but Hotch had stepped in last minute after the man had made a crude comment about how ‘girls like you always tasted the best’.

You had attempted to tell him that you could take it, but before you had even been given a chance to state your case, he had shut the door in your face and you had been whisked off by JJ.

You were the one out of the entire team who was the most interested in the psychology of a serial killer so you really wanted to be the one to interview Stratton, but you knew that Hotch had taken over for the sake of your safety and not because he underestimated you, so you couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad.

While he did his job, you settled at your desk with a sigh, getting to work on the heft stack of paperwork that had been building up throughout the week. 

The first ten minutes you kept close track of the clock next to you, wondering why it was taking so long, but the more time that passed, the more focused you became.

Soon enough, you only had a few reports left and you had completely lost track of time, when there was a sudden bang behind you, sounding an awful lot like a door slamming shut.

And your suspicions were proven correct, when you looked up to see Hotch march straight the bullpen.

The corners of your lips tugged up at the sight of him, but the arising smile quickly fell again when he walked right past you, without even an acknowledging glance, heading into his office and shutting himself inside without as much of a word to anyone.

Left behind with dumbstruck looks on their faces were the team, glances of bewilderment being exchanged.

“What happened?” Reid asked the question you were all thinking after a moment of silence, just as Emily walked in from the interrogation room.

Rather than answering Reid’s question, she looked right at you, offering you a small, comforting smile. “I think you better go talk to him.” She said simply, and as confusion and anxiety bubbled up inside of you, you slowly drawled.

“Okaaay…”

They all watched you as you stood up from your seat, brushing down your shirt and turning off the lamp at your desk before heading for the stairs.

You could feel their eyes following your every move and you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous of what you were about to walk into.

Everyone had gotten negatively affected by a case or unsub at some point during their career, most more than once. They were all very good at getting into your head, no matter how little you wanted to admit it. But you had never seen Hotch react this strongly to anything before. The only time you had really seen him snap was during one single case, right after Haley had filed for a divorce.

Still, you kept walking until you reached his closed office door, stopping only then to peek inside the blinded windows to see him sitting at his desk, hands rubbing over his face.

You knocked on the glass gently and in any other case he would have looked up and meet your gaze, but when his head kept hanging this time, you let yourself in, only when closing the door behind you cutting off the curious eyes of the others.

Once you were inside, you wasted no time in approaching Hotch where he sat by his desk, analyzing his every move which led you to only one question.

What the hell had Stratton said to him to make him this distraught?

He didn’t even look up as you reached him, keeping his eyes closed as you came to a stop beside his desk.

Treading carefully, you reached out and gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” You asked softly, the sound of your words instantly bringing a long, heavy sigh out of his nose.

“Why are you doing this?” He wasted no time in replying, causing a crease to form between your eyebrows.

“What?” You asked back, confusion lacing your voice.

Finally, he brought his hands down from his face and slowly spun around in his chair, forcing you to drop your hand from his shoulder and to take a step back.

He stared up at you, face wiped free of emotion as always. But the eyes said it all.

“Why are you so adamant on being with me? Why do you try so hard?” He questioned you, taking you by surprise.

Your eyebrows shot up and your eyes grew slightly wider, and you took a moment to regain your composure after the, to say the least, unexpected question.  

“What kind of question is that?” You asked once you finally regained your senses. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you want to be with someone? Try?”

One of your eyebrows sank again, leaving only one raised in question.

Hotch’s face softened slightly and for a moment, he averted his eyes, letting out another, smaller sigh from his nose before looking back up to meet your eyes once again.

“What I mean is, why do you want to be with me?” He asked again, clarifying and slightly shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief. “The second you walked into this office, both Morgan and Reid had their eyes on you, and they still do. They’re closer to your age, they’re energetic, humorous, full of life, while I’m ten years your senior, and can’t offer you what they can. So why do you want to be with me, when you can have them, or anyone you want?”

“What is it that they can give me that you can’t?” You didn’t waste a second in firing back.

You had no idea what had brought this on, but it was clear that it was bothering him and quite frankly, you found it ridiculous even though you didn’t like making it a habit to judge other people for what they were feeling.

“They can make you smile-“ He started explaining, and you instantly cut him off.

“You make me smile, all the time.” You shook your head, but your affirmation only seemed to fuel his frustrations even more as he was up on his feet within the next second.

“But I’m not- I’m not fun.” He stated, staring you down. “My clock is ticking. I’m ill-tempered, irritable, too serious for my own good. I’m barely capable of taking care of myself at this point much less my son. I’m miserable and I’m a bully, who only cares about this job. Why would you want to be with someone like that?”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we had something good going.” Your face fell slightly, and you carefully reached your hands out to grab a hold of the front of his suit, taking a small step closer.

“Is this because of Stratton? Is he the one putting these doubts into your head?” You asked, keeping your eyes on your hands for a short moment before looking up to meet his heavy gaze staring down at you.

And once your eyes met his, he knew there was no point in lying; you were a profiler after all, and a good one at that.

“He did.” He confessed calmly, his lips pursing into a straight line.

“Aaron…” You began, the softness of your voice matching the one in your eyes.

“But everything he said is true.” He quietly interrupted you. “I’m not fun to be around, I push people away. That’s what I do, what I’ve always done.” His eyebrows rose and he stood still.

You knew about the doubts he had about himself. You know he felt inadequate as a friend, as a colleague, as a father, and more than anything as a partner after the way Haley had left him. You were aware of all of it, and yet the sound of those self-doubts being voiced aloud saddened you nonetheless.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you took another step closer, flattening your palms out on his chest and your eyes never leaving his.

“Those people didn’t deserve you in the first place. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they started building a relationship with you, whether it be a romantical or purely platonic one. They knew how passionate you are about your job, how much you value it. Them leaving… That’s on them, not you.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I’m not about to give up on you, on us, just because you happen to be a few years older than me. Derek, he wants to have fun, to be young. He may be attracted to me but he doesn’t want anything serious. Spencer isn’t ready for a relationship either, for obvious reasons, and either way, they’re not the ones I want.”

He watched you intensely as you spoke, lips still tight and strained. “What is it that you want?” He asked you, and you wasted no time in replying.

“Something serious and stable, someone who’s ready to settle down, and for me, the best chance to get that is through you.” You smiled, breaking your eyes away from his to follow your hand as you moved it up to his face. “Regardless of what other people say, you’re an amazing person. You’re passionate, driven, kind, loyal, gentle, and so much more. Despite what you may think, you do have a sense of humor and you’re the only one who can make me smile until my cheeks hurt. If that’s not a good man, a good person, then I don’t know what is. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

By the time you finished, the remaining doubt was wiped free from his face, a small, gentle smile instead having taken its place.

It was a funny thing, Hotch only ever spared the tiniest of smiles, and yet it was them that brought you the biggest and most intense amount of happiness. It was so rare to see his ever-stoic features reflect joy that you couldn’t help but light up like a kid on Christmas every time it occurred.

And true to what you’d always been told growing up, your smile was just so contagious that he couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and visibly relaxed where he stood.

Your heart swelled in your chest when you took note of the way he was slowly but surely shuffling closer to you, picking up a significant amount of speed when you then felt his hand brush against the side of your hip.

But he didn’t dare touch you, hesitation still lingering in the air. So you did what your heart told you and grabbed a hold of his hand, and pushed it down into the curve of your waist.

From then on, he moved on his own, raising his other hand to mimic the same position at your other side, and you let your hand drop from his, instead raising them to busy with his crimson red tie.

“I know you’re struggling, with yourself, with Jack, and that you’re still processing the divorce. And if it’s time you want, then I’ll wait.” You spoke quietly, feeling your skin flush hot under his touch as his thumbs began to move over the thin fabric of your shirt. “But if you want to keep going and see where this can go, then I’ll be here every step of the way to support and help you in any way I can. You just need to let me in.”

More shyly then before, you dared loo back up at him through your lashes, hands stilling on his chest.

His smile was gone and his eyes creased together in concentration, but his eyes were soft and his head slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He said, and you allowed yourself to smile again.

“Aren’t I always?” You lightheartedly teased, tilting your head to the side.

In return, a smile spread across his face, his head shaking. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, no take-backs. What’s said is said.” You kept joking, your smile only widening.

He kept smiling down at you for a few seconds longer, but then his face fell again, just like that, out of nowhere, completely sudden. The gaze he held on your face grew absent as he got lost in his thoughts, and before you could question him about the sudden change of mood, the words spilled from his lips as if there was no tomorrow.

“I think I love you.”

Your mind instantly broke into a flurry of thoughts, countless emotions battling in your body. Nervosity and excitement ended up coming out on top, the mixture of the two creating an uncomfortable, sickly feeling in your stomach.

Your face fell in disbelief and your eyes searched his as he came back to reality.

“You do?”

Your voice came out so quiet and small, you mentally cursed yourself for sounding so pathetic, but luckily, you didn’t get much time to beat yourself up over the anticlimactic reacting as he continued.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to say it. Every day, this job puts all of our lives in danger. I couldn’t bear it if one of us died before I got the time to let you know how I feel.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself growing weak at the knees as he absentmindedly rubbed your waist with his thumbs.

“Just a minute ago, you were trying to end… whatever this is, and now your proclaiming your love for me?” You asked. 

It was meant to be a joke, an attempt to ease the anxiety you were currently feeling, but you realized quickly that said anxiety made it sound like the exact opposite of a lighthearted, teasing joke.

Luckily, the man standing in front of you was a profiler and knew that you meant no harm, understanding how shock could render your ability to react appropriately.

“I was never trying to end what we have. I just wanted to be sure that you were sure. That I won’t be holding you back.” He explained, and you finally managed to pull yourself out of the state of shock.

“Being with you motivates me. And I love you, too.” You confessed, the smile once again returning to your face as you moved your hands from his chest to wrap around the back of his neck. 

“I’m happy to hear that.” He smiled right back. “Can I kiss you?” He quietly added, and your face instantly lit up in a mischievous expression.

“In the office?” You gasped dramatically, bringing your arms down, taking a step back and lightly slapping his chest. “Aren’t you feeling frisky today?”

A large smile stretched across his lips, his chest shaking as he chuckled. “Come here.” He said simply, and before you got the chance to argue, not that you would’ve if given the opportunity, he sat back down in his chair and pulled you down with him. 

The chair spun in the process, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your small laughs of glee quickly became muted as he placed his lips on yours, replaced by low hums of contentment. 

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, basking in the feeling of his lips moving against yours and his arms tightening around your waist, and as your entire body burned with passion, you realized that he really was the one for you.

Tagged: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @zizzlekwum​ @cozytruecrimeaddict​ @lovelynervouskingdom​

(If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, send me a message, ask or leave a comment)

[erinxneil]

You know I own a gun, right?

So, I decided I was going to begin this as a prompt challenge because its been a SUPER long time since I’ve written anything, so I’m going to be using the prompts from @criminalmindswriter here and write a story for each if that makes sense? It’ll make more sense the more of them that I write, this is prompt #1 - “You know I own a gun, right?”

masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

>>>Not neccesarily romantic, this post is primarily focused on friendship!

Summary: Spencer seems to forget the advice that Morgan once offered him years ago about messing with a woman who carries a gun, when a prank war goes too far. 

I sat in the rolling chair in front of my desk, legs propped up on the table, smiling as I listened to Prentiss rant about the douche bag at the bar last night who didn’t know when to take a hint. As Emily continued to complain that it seems as if men no longer had any sense of decency, I reached down to adjust the height of the chair, realizing it no longer held the comfort that I remembered. My eyebrows furrowed as I twisted the knob however it refused to budge. Emily’s voice became white noise in my mind as I smiled kindly while roughly forcing the handle into movement, only for my efforts to be in vain.

“Y/N?” Emily questioned, an eyebrow raised in confusion. She was not angry at me for paying little attention to her story, she was more amused at my predicament and obvious frustration.

As I opened my mouth to explain my situation, I noticed a certain doctor smirking into his cup of coffee as he walked past our desks.

“Hey, genius!” I called out. “Do you have something to do with this?”

Spencer feigned surprise. “What are you referring to?” His face could almost be mistaken for innocence, had it not been for the flare of mischief that lit up in his eyes.

“Look, Reid, all I know is that someone moved my chair about ten inches from its comfortable position, and that you happen to be often chipper for someone who was forced to wake up at five in the morning today.” I narrowed my eyes at him as he blinked innocently.

“Again, wish I could help you.” He sipped his mug and began to walk away slowly, before throwing a glance over his shoulder branding a sly grin. “And if someone did happen to move your adjustment lock approximately 2.4 inches from its original position before jamming it into place, it would likely have to do with your inability to remain in your own seat on the jet, and intruding in their own personal space.” With this statement, Spencer smiled cheekily before strutting into the conference room.

“Oh, is that so?” I called out after him. Well, two can play at this game, Reid.

- * - * - * - * - * -

I grinned mischievously as I stared at the masterpiece in front of me. At first glance, it appeared as if there was not a paper out of place. Reid’s desk was as tidy as ever, to reflect the pristine image that he desired to be viewed as.

However, as we know, the surface is never what it seems.

I quickly marched back to my desk, a slight quirk in the corner of my lips to be the only hint of my devious plot. Morgan appeared to be the only one to notice, as his eyes glanced at me, back to Reid’s desk corner, and dragged slowly back to me with furrowed eyebrows.

Morgan was the only agent present this early- of course, aside from Hotch who was on the phone in his office. “Might I ask what you were doing over at Pretty Boy’s desk over there?” I smiled innocently. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”

Before he could question me further, the man himself entered into the building. He walked over to us slowly, eyes raking the scene and not spotting anything unordinary. “Hey, Reid, make sure you tell your mother happy birthday for me, I remembered you mentioned it the other day.”

Reid paused for a moment, a smile crossing his face. “Thanks, I will.”

I grinned softly. “I’ve always loved birthdays. A sign of life and happiness.”

Spencer continued towards his desk, his smile growing as if he had hoped someone would give him an opportunity to spout his useless knowledge. “Actually, did you know that you are 13.8 percent more likely to die on your birthday than any other normal day?” Reid sat in his seat and reached for his pen. “ This is quite interesting, because-” 

He paused, hand hovering over the pen, confusion crossing his features as he leaned forward slightly.

Spencer looked around somewhat panicked, before his eyes passed mine and realization fell upon his face as he noticed my smirk. Glaring, he watched as I placed the bottle of clear, contact-drying glue onto my desk.

“What’s wrong Spence, cat got your tongue?” I grinned.

- * - * - * - * - * -

What began as a harmless prank war quickly escalated into a dangerous battle of wits as tensions rose between the two agents. 

The pranks evolved from small, mildly irritating occurrences into humiliating and mildly life threatening disasters. Both Spencer and Y/N were extremely competitive and often the best at whatever they did, therefore it would be nearly impossible for one to relent without the other admitting defeat.

The rest of the team refused to get involved. Morgan is aware that I could quite literally destroy him, while Emily fears that Spencer will revert into his robot form and unlock his repressed mind-controlling powers to force her to submit to his will should she dare to intervene. Hotch initially didn’t mind the banter, as it caused the two to become more competitive in terms of cases themselves and in turn solving them quicker. However, as the battle escalates, Hotch fears that the childish games will cause someone to get hurt.

Which he couldn’t be more right.

While the pranks initially began as hiding valuables or increasing the frequency of the volume of his headset every time that Spencer said the word “Actually-”, these elevated into becoming trapped in a closet for hours without food or drink, or trapping car keys above a large tub of hydrofluoric acid. (If it was not obvious, this was a prank straight from the mind of the doctor.) 

Spencer had gotten very fed up after the last prank required him to follow a scavenger hunt throughout the office within ten minutes to find his badge before it would be shredded, only to find that it had been taped under his seat the entire time. Because of this, when I walked into the office the following morning to find his elaborate prank, I was not surprised. 

As I walked through the conference room doors, I immedately froze as I felt the ground shift beneath me. I realized I was standing on a pressure plate when lights began flashing around me, sounding a faint alarm that gradually grew louder, and I spotted Doctor Reid sitting before me with a smirk planted gracefully upon his lips.

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise!” He grinned. I rolled my eyes. “What kind of prank is thi-” A churning sound above me caused me to slowly glance up, noticing a bucket slowly being lowered further towards me.

“You were saying?” He smiled. The once innocent grin had a devilish flame now as he stared at me, anticipating my next move. “How in the hell did you do this?” I questioned, growing nervous as the bucket drew closer.

“Garcia owed me one after she helped you hack into my computer.” He grinned sheepishly, as if ashamed that he could not do this all by himself. But of course- Garcia, the only one who while remaining impartial, had offered to equally aid on both of our sides. I suppose I had known it was only a matter of time that he had cashed in this favor, however with the amount of detail in this prank, it is clear that the brainpower of Garcia only amplified Spencer’s genius thoughts.

I decided to turn the tabled on him. “Aw, Pretty Boy, you really must think about me often if you came up with such an elaborate plan like this. How long did this take you to set up, several hours?” The slightly pink tinge that was hinted across his cheeks suggested that I was underestimating his preparedness for this prank, and that I had struck a nerve. 

Spencer quickly composed himself. “I’m not the one whose about to be drenched in that god-awful smelling liquid. It will drop on you in a matter of two minutes, unless I press this button telling it not to. I could explain to you all of the ingredients that it’s composed of, however-” “I’m good, thanks.” I huffed.

“Alright Reid, what do you want?” He smiled, knowing he had me right where he wanted me.

“I want you to admit that not only did I beat you in this prank war, but that I am also otherwise far superior to you in every aspect.” 

I glared at him. “You know I own a gun, right?”

Spencer chuckled. “So do I hear that you would enjoy smelling like-”

I huffed. “Alright, fine, fine, you, Doctor Spencer Reid, have bested me in this prank war and are far superior to me in every aspect of life or whatever.” I grumbled in annoyance.

Spencer grinned mischeviously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that, could you repeat yourself?” I offered him a deadpan stare to which he simply smiled and pressed the button. The alarms silence and the blaring lights died down. I stepped off of the plate, and all returned to normal.

“Now was that so hard?” He questioned smugly, holding the door open for me.

I walked up to him with a tight smile, before bashing him in the back of the head with the butt of my gun. Not hard enough to do any real damage, but definitely rough enough to make sure he knows to give it up. He yelped loudly as I walked away, arms crossed in annoyance.

Morgan glanced up at a flustered Reid who was rubbing the back of his head with a grimace.

“What did I tell you, kid? Never mess with a woman who carries a gun.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

[misiwrites]

Beyblade Week Day 1

joining @beybladeweek2021 late but i’ll probably be doing these belatedly all may so, whatever! it is what it is.

i’ve never participated in a fandom challenge with writing before, but i was feeling adventurous this time and the seasonal themes were just perfect for the 4kingdoms AU-verse (which is this), i haven’t been writing much anything in so long that i’m mega rusty and thought i could use the bey week to do some warm-up oneshots. these aren’t going to be particularly interesting because i’m really bad at doing oneshots actually, but i like the idea myself and. that’s the only thing that really matters. right. (i’m not even sure if AUs are allowed for the beyblade week?? but the rules didn’t say anything about it so /shrug)

the day 1 oneshot is a little story from takao’s childhood about how he first met kyouju. this was inspired by my own childhood memories as the youngest sibling when i just wanted to hang out around my big sisters because i thought everything they were doing was Cool Big Sister Stuff.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Firsts / Childhood / Spring

”Takao! I’m trying to read this! Leave me alone already, will you?”

A groan of disappointment. Reluctantly, Takao backs away from his older brother by the desk, shooting him a frown of judgment and betrayal. Now, a quick change of tactics: he figures that, just maybe, Hitoshi allows him to stay in the room if he zips his lips to his best ability.

Wrong. Two silent minutes pass in the small study room until Hitoshi bellows at his brother again, swinging an arm in the door’s direction.

“I’m serious, you can’t keep doing this when I’m trying to do my homework!”

“I’ll just watch and keep quiet, I promise,” Takao insists, giving his brother his best puppy eyes.

“I can’t focus if you’re standing there! Now get out!”

Takao’s frown deepens; with heavy feet and a heavy heart, he trudges toward the sliding door. He doesn’t like this recent change in his brother, all this emphasis on what Hitoshi refers to as “important stuff”. Just because he’s now seventeen. Acting all high and mighty, pretending to be so adult and so important, too adult and too important to play with his younger sibling.

“It’s a very important time for your brother,” their grandfather responded to Takao’s fraternal laments once. “In one year, he will officially inherit the crown of the Seiryuu-ou. There’s much for him to do to grow into the role of the king before his coronation.”

Important this, important that. What about having fun, wasn’t fun important at all? And fencing – surely instructing Takao with the basics of fencing has to be important? Hitoshi’s fencing skills are second to only their grandfather’s, and Takao cannot imagine – doesn’t want to imagine – anyone else teaching him the art of the bamboo sword. And now Hitoshi is “too busy” to teach him, all of a sudden.

“But I’m boooored,” Takao whines from the doors, balancing his weight on his heels back and forth.

“How about you go study something too for once? You really should be reading a lot more than you do, you know. I don’t want my little brother to end up being a dumb prince who doesn’t know anything about the way the world works.”

Takao’s nose wrinkles in disapproval. The word “study” smells like old paper and dust and boredom.

“It’s the Sowmoon holiday now! And what the hell would I study?” he barks.

“Don’t cuss. Anything – whatever interests you. How about the history of the city?”

“Bahhhh.”

“The history of fencing, then. I don’t know – go to the library, take a look at the books or whatever, just leave me alone. I don’t have time for this.” Hitoshi lifts the yellowish document in front of his face and disappears behind it. A wall has risen between the two brothers.

* * * * * *

In the country of spring and year-round greenery, it’s difficult to stay sullen under the tranquil blue of the Eastern sky. Moments later Takao is skipping down the road that leads to the town of Tsuno below, his child’s heart already ignited with new-found hope and aspiration, his feelings of frustration shed by the sturdy wooden gates of the Cherrywood Castle and he's moving on, literally.

At first, the idea was dull at best; reading sounds like just about the flattest thing he could be doing on this beautiful Sowmoon day, a warm breeze blowing through his indigo hair as he carefully hops from one cobblestone to the other… but, in the end, it’s the wish to please his brother that has won him over. Now a plan is taking shape in his mind, the idea swelling like a balloon by each step he takes down the road, and soon his head is racing with the ambition of studying as many topics as he can think of; he’s dreaming up scenarios of impressing his brother with all his newly acquired knowledge, his brain buzzing and his proud heart thumping with all the imaginary praise from Hitoshi… and, just maybe, he’ll then agree to do something fun with his cool and smart little brother again.

So caught up in his daydreams, Takao hardly pays attention to all the familiar townspeople greeting him as he passes by their wooden dwellings and shops and stalls, and he prances past several flocks of tourists lingering on the streets of Tsuno, too busy taking pictures of the cherry blossom trees in their rare blue Sowmoon bloom to notice the royal prince walking right past them. Even if they did see him, not many would pay attention to him; people from outside the city would never imagine a member of the royal Seiryuu-ou family strolling around in a simple hakama without making a scene; but in the royal capital of the Country of East, this was a mundane everyday sight, and Takao was a regular guest of the pastry stalls on the main street of Tsuno. The townspeople loved to pamper this bold and friendly little prince, who hadn’t yet been spoiled by the privileges of the royalty.

Takao reaches the tall glass doors of the main library, only to face the reality of the numbers painted on the glass panel. Five minutes to closing time. So caught up in the rollercoaster of his imagination as he left the Cherrywood Castle, checking the opening hours of the library didn’t even pass his mind.

“Oh, hello, Your Highness,” he’s greeted by one of the kimono-clad library workers who spots him. (The surprise is evident; Takao is not a usual guest in the library.) “How wonderful to see you here. Are you looking for something?”

“Well, yeah, for something to read… but it looks like you’re about to close.”

But coincidence is on Takao’s side today, for the clerk tells him that the library is staying open for one extra hour every day this week.

“The reading hall has been reserved by Professor, a local researcher – but I’m positive he won’t be disturbed by Your Highness’s presence.”

“Really? Okay.” Relieved and triumphant, Takao enters the old-fashioned yet admittedly curiosity-inducing depths of the city library.

He quickly comes to the conclusion that he has underestimated the number of books in the world. Expecting there to be one of each subject of his admittedly limited academic imagination, he is instead hit by an entire universe of paper and ink and covers and words. The map of the library layout alone is full of complex characters that Takao hasn’t yet come across in his schooling.

Dammit.

In the end, Takao finds himself pacing back and forth a narrow aisle of local history books, looking for one with a cover that sparks interest. Perhaps he cannot read all the text, but at least he can look at the pictures.

That’s when he notices another person sharing the space with him, at the far end of the hall, where the shelves have been moved to hug the walls to make room for a reading area in the middle and the ceiling seems to climb up impossibly high under the arch of a dome roof. This person is another kid, hardly older than Takao, and he’s not paying the prince any attention in return; the boy is glued to the screen of a laptop computer that sits on a table in front of him along with several books, one of which has been spread open. Every now and then, his fingers dance across the keyboard at a speed that Takao didn’t even know a computer keyboard could be used with; then the boy crouches over to take a quick glance at the open book before turning back to the laptop again.

A curious sight. For a moment, Takao is tempted by the allure of calling out to this strange boy, to ask him why he’s still there after closing hours. He decides against it and swallows his curiosity. If there’s one thing that his older brother has recently taught him, it is to mind his own business and not bother other people hard at work.

* * * * * *

The next day Takao returns to the library, a pile of books in his lap that he leafed through all night last night. Hundreds of pages of buildings so old they probably stayed up in the pictures with willpower alone – so old that Takao half-expected them to crumble and disappear by the turn of a page, leaving empty picture frame squares behind.

He came to the conclusion that Tsuno’s history was perhaps not the subject to start from.

Takao returns the books, decides to try and find something about fencing, a subject he’s already in some way familiar with. (Between the important-looking books, he secretly slips in a story about Southern pirates; this one he’s not going to tell Hitoshi about.)

In the hall with the dome ceiling, the kid with the laptop is by the exact same table again. Only the array of books next to him is a little different… maybe. Takao is nearly seized by his curiosity again, but something about the air around this boy holds the lingering scent of “do not disturb”, so he bites his tongue once more.

* * * * * *

How could even books about fencing slap him in the face with all this wall of text?! The following day Takao once again turns up at the library, to return his previous findings that had only briefly managed to capture his interest with images of old fencing gear that were not only ancient but, as he ultimately decided, very ugly and stupid-looking.

What about archery, the other national sport of the East? Takao finds it boring and repetitive compared to fencing, but since books about fencing turned out to be boring, did it mean that books about the boring sport were, in turn, more interesting? It makes perfect sense, in Takao’s eight-year-old mind.

However, as he makes his way to the library at the cusp of closing hours again, he no longer pays much heed to the books. Instead, his feet take him to the reading hall under the dome right away.

Sure enough, the kid with the big round glasses and a laptop in front of him is there in his usual spot, all alone. And again the boy’s fingers are hammering at the keyboard faster than Takao can form a coherent thought about computers, the strange machinery that originates from the technically advanced Country of West for all he knows.

It’s been three days now, and Takao can no longer hold back his burning curiosity. Eyes on the strange boy, he takes small sideway steps between the bookshelves, inching his way closer and closer, until he reaches the open reading area under the arched skylights above.

“Hey,” Takao says as he enters the boy’s proximity by the table.

The boy doesn’t do as much as raise his eyes from the computer screen.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asks, still typing away. The tone of his high-pitched voice is just slightly aggravated but his choice of words oozes formality, a strange speech pattern for someone his age. It throws Takao off a little.

“Umm, I’ve seen you here every day this week and was wondering what you’re doing, that’s all. You know the library was already closed, right?”

After saying this, the thought then passes Takao’s mind that perhaps this kid never leaves the library. Perhaps he’s not even aware that he’s in a closed library. What if Takao is talking to a ghost, haunting this remote corner of the library all day and night? Or, maybe, he’s nothing but a product of Takao’s imagination?

The boy’s voice is now so blunt in response that these phantasmagoric thoughts immediately vanish from Takao’s mind.

“Yes, of course I know. The library personnel was very kind to allow me this one working hour without other people disturbing me. So really, I should be asking – what are you doing here?” Now the stranger’s hands finally leave the keyboard and he lifts his eyes to Takao.

A moment of confused silence. Then the boy’s face begins to resemble the colour of a strawberry.

“Oh!” he squeaks and jumps up to his feet, only to bow his head toward the floor. “Oh, Your, uh, Your Highness! I am terribly sorry for being so rude! Oh, goodness me, how could I…!”

“Wow, calm down,” Takao interrupts, startled himself by the suddenness of the boy’s reaction. “And raise your head – I don’t like people bowing at me, it makes me feel weird. More importantly, what you said just now – are you saying you booked this extra hour from the library?”

Hesitantly, the boy straightens his back, which doesn’t increase his height significantly; now that they’re standing next to each other, Takao notices how small the person he’s talking to is, his head barely on level with Takao’s shoulders.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he says. “I wasn’t aware I was sharing it with the royal family, though. How thoughtless of me.”

“No, well, I kinda just walked in on my own, to be fair. So… you’re a researcher?”

“You could say so, I am indeed carrying out some research here. My name is Saien Manabu, but everyone calls me Professor.”

“Oh, wow. What exactly are you researching?”

“Right now I am writing a paper on the goddess cult of the Country of North. I know, it’s not exactly a topic that interests most children, but I find it so terribly fascinating…”

The mention of children – a nod to the fact that this boy, too, is a child just like him – makes Takao immediately feel more at ease. This person, albeit strange and overly formal and clearly too smart for his age, really is just a child after all. This notion alone is enough to make the kind-hearted and fairly simple-minded Takao like this boy more.

“Sure, that sounds cool,” he says with a grin. “Hey – you said you’re Saien, right? Like that ramen shop on the main street?”

“Yes, it is owned by my parents.”

“Well, it’d be real interesting to hear more about your research and all, but I’m kinda hungry, to be honest – the Saien noodles sound awesome just about now. How about we go there and then you tell me more?”

“Hmm. Well, I wasn’t making as much progress today as I wanted, in any case.” The boy, visibly at least a little relieved to get a break from staring at the screen, slams his laptop shut and tucks it under his arm. Then he flashes a friendly smile at Takao. “Very well, Your Highness. But my mother may pass out if I bring a member of the royal family to their shop all of a sudden, so please prepare for that.”

“Bah, just call me Takao, I’m not so into that formal stuff.”

“Alright, and you can call me Professor.”

* * * * * *

Once back in the Cherrywood Castle, Takao told both his brother and grandfather how much he’d learned about the Northern goddess Hiromi of time and space already; and from that day onward, Hitoshi never needed to refer to his younger brother as the dumb prince again, as Takao, who became a frequent visitor of the Saien family ramen shop both inside and outside business hours, never ran out of curious stories to share about all the things he learned from his new friend.

And while the royal Seiryuu-ou family wasn’t to stay together for much longer from the moment of this story, Takao and Professor remained best friends for many years to come.

[strange-relics]

I’m currently in the middle of a fic called Aay’han, the first five chapters of which are up on Ao3, which I’ll link here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonsOfLothal

Figured while I’m writing chapter six I’d toss the first chapter up here! 

Chapter One: The Bounty 

Boba had been in worse situations than this, and he knew that. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a part of his mind that was terrified, though. He was currently trying to find his way out of the rubble of a collapsed building, but was having no luck. Besides a nasty cut on his arm and a few other scrapes, he was fine. Well, mostly fine. He’d lost consciousness for a bit, but he wasn’t dizzy or disoriented so he figured those were both good signs that he didn’t have a concussion. When the building had collapsed, the pieces had fallen in a way that trapped him in what he could only describe as a haphazardly-shaped room. But there was no way out. He estimated there was at least a ton of rubble above and around him, maybe more, and the pieces that made up his unexpected prison weren’t budging.

He kicked at the broken walls and let loose a shout of frustration.

He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Boba wasn’t claustrophobic, but he was starting to panic. His head may have known he’d be able to survive this, but every beat of his heart was pulsing with worry. Not for himself, but for the man who’d come here with him.

Din Djarin had only wanted to get away from his duties as Mand’alor for a few days, and now he was trapped somewhere in this rubble with Boba. He’d never forgive himself if the other Mandalorian died here. Boba regarded him as a friend, in many ways even as a brother. Ever since he’d helped Djarin recover his kid from the Empire, he’d been protective of him. It had been clear that no one had looked after the man for many years, and Boba had taken it upon himself to check in with him frequently. So when he’d contacted Djarin the last time and seen how run down he was, he’d offered a break from the Mandalorian throne: help Boba with a job, get away from Mandalore for a bit, clear his head.

Djarin had readily accepted, showing up at Boba’s fortress on Tatooine only a few days later, and so the two had flown here to Getine in Slave 1 and had started tracking their quarry, a man who owed Boba quite a large sum of credits and who had tried to kill him in order to nullify the debt. The further they got from Mandalore, the less tense Djarin had become, and the more easily he’d fallen back into old habits. The two bounty hunters were an excellent team, and they’d located their prey within hours of touching down on the dust ball of a planet. They’d tracked him to this building, and that’s when everything had gone wrong.

Oh, they’d secured their man easily enough, but one of Getine’s famous dust storms had barreled down on them without any warning, tearing through the ancient structure and causing it to crumble. The man they’d been tracking had taken advantage of the confusion and had made a run for it, Djarin following closely behind. Before Boba could run after them, the building had collapsed completely, imprisoning him securely.

Boba kicked at the walls again, venting his anger. He’d tried hailing Djarin through his helmet’s comm system several times already, but brought a hand to his helmet again all the same. “Djarin, can you hear me?” He waited for a reply but, just like every other time, there was none. “Din? Do you copy?” Nothing. He sighed and began pacing the space he was trapped in again but left the channel open, just in case.

Getine was largely unpopulated, thanks to the fearsome storms that littered the surface of the planet, so the odds of someone finding them and coming to their rescue were slim. Almost nonexistent. Boba had already tried hailing someone over a long range frequency but the storm must still have been raging, or no one was out there to listen, because he’d received no reply. He was utterly helpless, and that wasn’t something he was used to being. He always had a plan, always had a way out, even when the unexpected happened. But not this time.

He was getting desperate, though. Not for the first time, he considered the rocket attached to his jet pack. It could blow a sizable hole in the rubble trapping him, possibly freeing him. But it wasn’t an entirely large space, and if he got the angle wrong, the blast could kill him. Not to mention the rubble above him. The blast could have the opposite effect, instead causing all of it to rain down on him and crush him where he stood. And then there was the possibility that he would injure Djarin with the blast, too. He had no idea where in the rubble the man was. What if the area he destroyed was the same area that Djarin was in?

Boba couldn’t take that risk.

He growled in frustration.

His father Jango had raised him to believe in himself and in the way of the Mandalorians. Nothing more, nothing less. People could betray you, weapons could malfunction, even the armor he wore could be lost, as Boba had eventually discovered. But in this moment, Boba wanted to ask the Force for help.

He knew it was real. He’d seen what it could do, especially in the hands of the Jedi. It had foiled his plans against them more than once, during the Clone Wars and during the reign of the Empire. He was never quite able to escape its influence, no matter how hard he tried. He wondered if perhaps no one ever could. Djarin hadn’t even been looking, and it had found him in the form of a child.

Boba would never tell this to a single living soul, but he wished the Force would be on his side, just this once. Just as long as he could get to Djarin and get them both out of here.

A high-pitched shriek rent though the air, tearing him from his thoughts. He looked up to find the rubble shifting quickly, dirt cascading all around him as tiny beams of muddied sunlight filtered their way into the dim space.

Kriff.

There must have been another storm blowing through, causing the collapsed building to crumble even further. He backed up against one of the makeshift walls, trying to shield himself as best as he could before the pieces started falling.

But as he continued to watch the rubble shift, he began to realize that not a single scrap was falling out of place. The ceiling was moving as if it were all one piece. Another few moments, and the rubble that had trapped him from above was just…gone. He looked up to find the afternoon light of the planet’s sun shining down on him. Boba was tempted to ignite his jetpack and flee his prison immediately, but he had no idea what had freed him, and he wasn’t about to fly straight into a trap.

For a moment, all was silent, except for the shifting stones as they settled in their new positions. Then a shout, “Mandalorian? Are you down there?”

Boba froze. He knew that voice.

A silhouette took shape at the edge of the pit he was in, backlit by the sunlight. A cloaked figure, face obscured by the shadow the hood cast across their face. But the little green child the figure held in his arms Boba would have recognized anywhere.

His jetpack roared to life and he was landing next to the figure within seconds, though not too close, just in case. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake he’d made last time, underestimating this man.

“You,” the figure said, voice soft and incredulous. A gloved hand reached up and ripped the hood back, and Luke Skywalker stared openmouthed at Boba Fett. His gaze was wary as he glanced back into the pit, then back at him. The Jedi tilted his head slightly, hand creeping toward the lightsaber on his belt. “You aren’t the Mandalorian I was looking for.”

[scribblestatic]

Both hero classes stand outside in their uniforms that morning. For 1-A, there’s a hint of nostalgia coming to them, remembering the first day they officially became students at U.A., while 1-B is curious as to what will happen. 

The paper test that had been handed out to them and filled earlier that day was already weird. Instead of asking questions like “What’s 2+2,” or “How many bottles of dish soap does Johnny have,” it asked more personal things, like “I keep my promises,” or “There is a train heading down the tracks. There is one person tied to the tracks on one side and five people tied to the tracks on the other. You are standing at the lever. What do you do?” None of the questions were multiple choice, only essay statements requiring a one to two sentence answer. It felt different to their normal tests, that was for sure.

All Might, Eraserhead, and Vlad King all stand behind the short girl who appeared just about the age of the students, if not a little younger. She’s suited up in a gym uniform like the rest of them, wearing cute little red sneakers much like Ochako’s pink ones. She’s also got her hair tied up into a ponytail at the back of her head. They can’t see her eyes under her curly green bangs, but her peach lips show a pretty smile. All of them hold clipboards.

“Hiya~!” she greets with a megaphone speaker, standing under the shade of the parasol that All Might is kindly holding for her. If anything, it makes the students pay extra attention to her words. “Thank you all for being so kind as to fill out those little essay questions I gave you! Don’t worry about those, I’ll tell you why I made them later. Anyway, we’re going to do a few physical exercises, after which I will individually evaluate your quirks in a place with air conditioning! After that, I’ll be hard at work, so you likely won’t see me again until tomorrow, okay? Everyone, do your best!”

A few of them cheer with a bubbling of excitement, though others remain fairly muted.

They end up doing some of the exercise tests that 1-A did when they first arrived—ball throws, sit-ups, bar pull-ups, grip strength, standing long jumps, sidesteps, standing long jumps, the works. However, after a short rest period, they would do it again, this time without quirk utilization.

“Uhm,” Kaminari raises his hand. “Why do we need to do that? I mean, not to be rude or anything.”

Kobayashi writes for a moment longer before tapping her pen against Eraserhead’s arm, leading the man to glare at her a bit. “Let’s say you’re in a situation where someone like your teacher here has their eyes on you. Except they don’t have your health and wellness in mind like he does. They’re trying to kill you, so they eliminate your quirk.” She looks up at him, and though he can’t see her eyes, he feels her gaze on him. “You don’t want to be helpless without your quirk to protect you. Also, if you think about it, Eraserhead’s strength is completely separate from his quirk. So the fact he can support and restrain several people with his capture equipment all at once and disarm villains using weapons is purely because of his body strength alone. I find that fantastic, so I’m going to make sure you guys don’t become like the villains he faces and wimp out the instant you can’t use your powers.” She reaches over and taps All Might’s thin arm as well, surprising the man. “Even All Might in his thin form, looking like a willow tree that’s about to blow over, can judo throw a heavy-weight villain, break a wrist with one hand, and incite the fear of God into a villain with just his gaze. Don’t underestimate the power of your muscles and your instincts, and don’t forget to use them!”

The students ooh and ahh a little at the teachers, All Might blushing just a tad and Eraserhead ignoring the new, approving gazes from 1-B. Vlad King simply stands there, trying not to look despondent.

“How exactly did you know about the wrist breaking, Young Kobayashi?” All Might whispers as the classes get ready to do the exercises again.

“October 27th, 2214. New Orleans, Louisiana. News of a thin, lanky man, identified only as a person working with the All Might Agency, broke the wrist of a white American male robbing from the beignet shop he was visiting. It was deemed both self-defense and an accident by police as he hadn’t intended to use such force despite having a knife aimed at him. The robber pissing himself, however, was simply a result of the recognition of his actions. The witnesses agreed, though none of them had seen the expression on his face. A camera inside the beignet shop did catch the expression, however. Police still decided not to punish him for protecting himself and lauded the man as a hero. The shop owners also gave you a free box of beignets.”

“...How did you know that last part?”

She smiles up at him innocently. “You find a lot of things from finding secret camera footage. Besides, I have a skill of finding what I really want to find out by looking at something else entirely.” She turns away again and starts walking over to the ball throw circle to watch the first student to walk up. “Eyes are everywhere at all times, All Might!”

The three teachers are silent for a moment. Vlad King coughs in his fist.

“...I like beignets as well.”

Eraserhead shrugs. “Never had one.”

All Might blinks at him. “You should try one, Aizawa-kun. They’re rather delicious.”

——

The kids didn’t understand why Kobayashi-san was wearing a gym uniform like the rest of them. She hadn’t done any of the exercises, so it wasn’t like she needed it on.

They realized she was preparing for the quirk tests instead.

On the inside of one of the big gyms, she was standing in front of Bondo-san, arms raised to the air, with the sort of glittery smile that didn’t at all match her request.

“Cement the lower half of my body to the ground, please.”

“Eh?! B-But…”

“No buts! Only mine cemented to the ground with your quirk, please!”

“Eeeehhh?!”

“Woooow,” Kaminari murmurs. “Didn’t see this side of her at the cafe.”

“Right?” Mineta murmurs back. “...Kinda like it, though. Weirdly sexy, isn’t it?”

Eventually, Bondo does as she asks and uses cement on her up to her waist. She writes furiously on her notepad as she mumbles, occasionally stopping to ask Bondo questions or to pat the cement-like substance.

“Very similar to Cementoss, but very different, Cannot summon cement from the ground but can produce it like a viscous liquid with a solidifying factor that has the ability to loosen at his will—” Her head whips up to look at him, and he jolts. “Can you create armor or shields with your quirk?”

“I...I-uh…I don’t know? I’ve...never tried that.”

Her head tilts. “Have you ever tried molding this substance to your desires after it’s out of your body, or perhaps imagining it taking a specific shape pre or post-summon?”

Some of the nervousness leaves Bondo as he scratches at his chin. “I...I think I did a long time ago, as a little kid...I haven’t since...should I...try again?”

She nods furiously, then starts scribbling furiously again. “Needs additional, non-human tests for armory potential and defensive uses, must use test dummies for formation and alteration testing to—” She pauses, gasps, then scribbles more. “Check for potential cast creation for on-site first aid medical assistance and—”

Bondo listens for a while, staring at the girl before poking at one of the holes in his head. Some of the things she was mumbling, he’d never considered, or had abandoned after a point. But maybe...she was onto something. Well, the teachers had said she was an expert. He could see it now.

“Alright~”

The singing voice startles him out of his thoughts, and she’s returned back to normal, no longer mumbling up a storm like she’s summoning a demon.

“You can let me out now!”

“O-...oh! Of course…”

The glue-like adhesive loosens and slides off, and she steps out of it without a single stain on her clothes.

“Now harden it again.”

Bondo jolts. “Ah, uhm...I-I kind of...can’t? O-Once it’s loosened, I don’t...can’t control it anymore.”

“Hmm…” She quickly writes something down. “I think it’s within the realm of possibility for you, though. You should start with small amounts and try experimenting there. Your quirk and you are stronger than before U.A., even stronger than two weeks ago.” She smiles at him with a toothy grin. “Never say ‘you can’t’ until you absolutely can’t!”

Bondo feels his chest warm, and he nods firmly. “O-Okay!”

——

The day continues much like that, students able to relax and watch as they each show off their quirks to the best of their abilities. Though, Kobayashi would often throw in some random requests, like with Asui, where she asked her to pick her up with her tongue to test its flexibility while holding objects, or with Kaminari, when she asked him to try shocking her just a bit, though not enough to hurt her to try and test his control. He ended up shocking her stronger than anticipated, leading her to squeak in pain. He stopped immediately, gasping as a worried expression marred his face but she immediately assured him it was alright as she’d asked for him to do it.

“Besides, a shock like that could be vital to restarting someone’s heart! The fact you were able to do one that low means you could attune your power to the level of a defibrillator.” She pats his shoulder with a worried smile of her own. “Your quirk doesn’t only have to increase and hurt people. Besides, I’ve heard that some friends use you as a charging port. That’s only 12 volts of power, and you can do that easily! We just have to bridge the gap between strong and weak charges. Your quirk is more versatile than you think, Kaminari-kun.”

“Defi..brill...ator…” Kaminari blinks, wide eyed. “...That’s those shocky things in movies, yeah? The shocky chest things.”

“Yep!”

Kaminari looks at his hands and doesn’t say another word than his thanks as he heads back to the crowd. He keeps looking at his hands as the tests for others commence.

She asks questions, pries at their quirks, does tests with them, and investigates their own studies. Almost each time, the heroes in training found they hadn’t asked something about their own quirks and were amazed they hadn’t thought about it themselves. Yaoyorozu was getting excited when the students came back and talked about what the two discussed together, too far away to hear everything.

“I can’t wait for her to see my quirk,” Yaoyorozu confesses, her eyes bright and sparkling. “For her to think of so many creative uses for our quirks...it’s thrilling!”

“She’s a bit weird, but her interest reminds me of my little sister being interested in new things, kero,” Asui says, her smile a tad fond.

“Whose class do you think she’ll be in?” Ibara asks. “She’s going to study with us but council us, too. And, well, class 1-A and 1-B will have hero classes together, but not every class. Those are still split up.”

“Hmm...probably our class,” Ochako pokes her chin. “I mean, we’ve been attacked by villains before, but other than that, we’re a normal hero class.”

The students chat and wonder in their groups, but despite Kirishima’s attempts, he hasn’t been able to get Bakugou to say a single word.

He sits with his legs crossed, hands on his knees as he glares strongly at the weird girl. Just looking at her gets him annoyed, like there’s a bubbling of acid in his chest that’s waiting to explode. After all, she was clearly treating him differently. 

And not in a good way, not the way Bakugou sees it.

When he’d been called up, she hadn’t mumbled like the others said she did with them. She’d asked for him to aim at targets and asked to test the temperatures of his select blasts. She’d asked about his wrists, shoulders, and hearing, and had determined that, at the very least, his eardrums seemed to have developed to withstand a lot of damaging noise. But that assertion had been the closest to a mumble he’d gotten, and the closest to any excitement.

She’d been clear, clinical, almost muted.

The fact she wasn’t going gaga over his quick didn’t fucking bother him at all. What did was that he was treated differently than the others. If she’d been a whole stoic scientist for everyone, he wouldn’t fucking bother, but the fact she wasn’t annoyed the hell out of him.

What also bothered him was just how familiar she seemed.

The others described excited mumbling and a touch of recklessness. That she’d asked questions they didn’t think to ask, some going a tiny bit further than they’d thought she would. Nothing sexual, but more like she was trying to dissect something about them.

He knew that feeling. He knew it very well.

Knew it all while he was growing up until Deku finally, officially gave up his fruitless dream in his third year of middle school.

Instead of writing U.A. on his school prospect list, he’d written some nowhere hole called Yamaguchi High, and some other loser spots. The class had grinned at the fucking nerd, and he hadn’t dared to look up from his desk. They all knew the fucking bastard finally knew his place.

But seeing her made him feel like he was watching Deku mumble all over again.

Their similarities didn’t help. She looked like him down to the freckles. He’d only known one person in his life with freckles, and that was Deku. The green hair was different, too. But it was much longer and a bright shade of moss green than Deku’s hair would ever be, their voices were too different, and she was a girl. She also didn’t cower at his presence, just simply didn’t show the same annoying excitement she showed to everyone else.

What, did she think his quirk was boring? That it was powerless? Did she think he was weak?

Katsuki growls under his breath, eyes narrowing.

He’d show her. Rather, he’d shown her. He is strong, powerful. He’s precise, too, able to hit all those moving targets.

If she had anything to say other than glowing praises of perfection for him during the council day, he’d have a bigger bone to pick with her than he’d ever had with Deku. Unless she had a good fucking reason, but he couldn’t imagine what that’d be. He was strong.

He got into U.A. with flying fucking colors. None of those weak losers in his class were able to stand up to him, even though some of them were strong, like Shuriken Hair and Hot-n-Cold, though the latter bitched out during the Sports Festival. And that Cheshire-looking motherfucker cheated his way to the top, so he doesn’t really count that as a full loss, even though he got that stupid silver hunk of useless metal. No, he’s sure. He’s the strongest hero of their year.

He almost can’t wait to hear what that annoying girl would have to say to him tomorrow.

[pidgebeifong]

atla artist au

Aang is a painter. He’s loved painting ever since he was a child and first experimented with finger paints on the walls- which was, in hindsight, maybe not the best idea. He loves the way it detaches him from his worldly concerns. It’s almost like a form of meditation for him- the rest of the universe just falls away whenever he picks up his paintbrush, and all he can see is his canvas and the worlds he will create with a swirl of lemon yellow sun here, a wave of cerulean blue ocean there, a blur of sunset orange clouds at the edges. Everything he owns has been stained with paint in at least three places, which makes dressing for formal events a real pain. Sometimes he’ll deliberately paint his jeans with sunflowers or bees or anything that’s a sunny, bright yellow- his favourite colour- and wear them proudly for days. Katara jokes that she doesn’t even remember what the real colours of his hands look like, because they’re forever stained with paint that’s sunken so deeply into the folds of his skin that it makes it nearly impossible to rub off. People always ask him what his favourite thing to paint is, expecting it to be something like sunsets or mountains, but the truth is his favourite thing to study and paint is his Labrador, Appa, the first thing he ever drew. He started drawing at around five, the same age he adopted Appa, and to this day he can never get the way Appa’s golden fur shines just right under the blinding sunlight. He loves going to nature reserves and parks to study how light affects the leaves and flowers. Sometimes everything will just be too much, and he’ll jam as many paints into his pockets as he can, take a sketchbook, a water bottle and a paintbrush, and get on the bus to a park. He’ll sit quietly for hours, trying to capture moonlight on water or the flapping wings of a hummingbird.

Katara is a writer. She literally can’t remember a time she hasn’t loved to write. She has stacks and stacks of unfinished manuscripts lying around on the floor, tacked up to the walls in her room, and crumpled on the bedsheets. She has easily over a thousand different scenes written for her future novels on the Notes app in her phone, and she has a bad habit of scribbling ideas down on her hands on the rare occasions she doesn’t have her phone on her and there’s no paper in sight. She’s practically nocturnal at this point, because all her best ideas come to her at 3am, when she’s sleep-deprived and half-hallucinating. She always carries at least three pens on her at all times, and gets panicky when she’s forced to remove them whenever she has to dress up for anything formal. She’s really hypocritical whenever she gets on Aang’s case about his hands always being paint-stained, because all her hands are covered in ink, too- half-finished notes and ideas that got left on the cutting board. Katara hates cutting out characters that simply aren’t necessary to the scene and don’t add anything of value to the plot, because they’re her babies damnit and she worked hard on them. One would think that this would make her more sympathetic to her characters, but Aang and Sokka are appalled the first time they’re allowed to read one of her (mostly) finished manuscripts (who is she kidding, she doesn’t have a manuscript that’s even remotely finished for the life of her) and see how much torture and anguish and heartbreak she’s put her characters through. Katara is a huge advocate of making all her characters hit the lowest point they could possibly go, and then instead of making them get back up again, she gives them a shovel and instructions to dig lower. However, she’s a huge sucker for happy endings, and she practically dominates the tag #angst with a happy ending on AO3. She gets around three hours of sleep every night, none of them consecutive, and survives on black coffee and willpower alone. Everyone knows her as an avid reader, but she hasn’t really read an actual book since two years ago, and spends most of her time scrolling through 250k fanfictions at 2am.

Sokka is a photographer. He doesn’t have the skills that Aang has with his paintbrush, or the way Katara can make entire universes come to life with a few words, so for a long time he used to think that he was just going to be the ordinary guy in the group who’d only be known for loving meat to what is frankly an unhealthy degree, and that his only contribution to the team would be a slew of bad jokes and sarcastic remarks. He finds his calling very late in life, but the moment he picks up his first camera at age fourteen, everything just seems to fall perfectly into place. Sokka’s world always moves too fast and changes too quickly, but he can capture moments that will last forever with the click of a button, and he guesses that that’s what he loves about photography- that he can freeze moments in time and always be able to come back to them. Well, as long as he doesn’t lose his camera, but he’s got the photos all backed up on iCloud anyway, so that’s not really an issue. Sometimes, he’ll accompany Aang to nature parks, and Aang will paint the twisting vines of a plant while Sokka captures Aang’s relaxed, happy expression. His favourite photos are the ones he takes of his friends when they’re caught unaware- candid portraits of Suki laughing or Katara ruffling Aang’s hair or Toph trying and failing to hide a grudging smile. He loves old photos, too- loves the aesthetic of black-and-white photos, how they capture a scene that he knows full well happened decades ago but somehow make him feel like he’s living in the same moment. Experimenting with light is one of his favourite things to do- he loves playing with golden hour sunlight or early morning rays, loves hearing the satisfying click of his camera and knowing that he’s got another picture for the album (and his hugely successful Instagram account that has well over 50k followers).

Toph is a sculptor. She was born blind and never really got to experience art the same way the others did, so for a long time she buried her disappointment deep within her and never let jealousy rear its ugly head whenever she heard Katara singing praises about the latest painting Aang had just finished, or the beautiful photograph Sokka had captured of all of them laughing as a group, but then she discovered sculpture. An art she could appreciate from beneath her fingers, an art she could see by running her hands over it and feeling the crevices and curves and edges breathe themselves into life beneath her touch. Despite discovering the term for it late in life, Toph found that she’d actually been sculpting at a very young age. She’d been experimenting with PlayDoh and clay since before she could walk, but she’d never known that there was actually an art form in it that people did professionally until Aang had taken her to a museum and put her hands on a beautiful sculpture of an ancient Greek god. It was one of the only times she’d ever cried in her life, but those had been tears of pure joy- she didn’t want to sound like a sap, but she hadn’t realized that something so beautiful in the world existed until that life-changing moment at the museum. Sure, they’d been chased out by one particularly angry security guard who kept waving his baton around threateningly (‘can’t you two juveniles see that the sign clearly says no touching?!’ ‘actually sir, I’m blind so that would be a hard no’) but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Toph has been addicted to sculpting, feeling things take shape under her capable hands. She’s been told she can replicate faces with an accuracy that’s both astonishing and unnerving, despite not even being able to see (it only took a lot of years and  lot of hours spent tracing the lines of Aang’s face) and her work has been proudly displayed on Katara’s bedside table, Sokka’s desks and Aang’s shelves.

Suki is a martial arts instructor who has a degree in badassery. She started her own school at just fifteen years old, and named it the Kyoshi Warrior Academy, in honour of Kyoshi, her late martial arts instructor whom she had a deep respect for. She had black belt status in five different martial arts by the time she turned thirteen, and was a legend for her skill, hard work and talent in the martial arts community. She’s lost quite a few matches, but she’s more than made up for it with every win she’s achieved. The first time she met Sokka, she thought he was trying to steal from her, so she judo-flipped him, pinned him down and tied his wrists together, all of which took a maximum of three seconds. (‘wow, that’s kinky. so are you into that kind of thing?’ ‘shut up, asshole. what do you want from me? my wallet?’ ‘actually, I was going to ask you out on a date, but I mean sure, if you’re offering. I could use a little cash right about now, actually, because I think you just broke all the cards I have in my wallet when you body-slammed me to the ground, along with at least ten of my bones.’) Sokka had severely underestimated Suki’s skill at first, despite their rather unfortunate encounter (during which she actually had broken the bone in his arm, but he’d tried to wave it off and say that he didn’t mind, then subsequently screamed in pain because he’d tried to wave his broken arm), but he knew that he’d have to change his mindset in order to win her over. Eventually, he ended up changing his misogynistic mindset not only to go out with Suki, but because he realized that it was the right thing to do- something Katara was over the moon about. She and Suki have been joined at the hip ever since, and Sokka often jokes whether Suki is only dating him for his sister (‘damn, suki, it’s like you only come over for katara’ ... ‘wait. why aren’t any of you saying anything. katara did you just wink? sUKI DID YOU JUST KISS MY SISTER’S CHEEK-?! oh my god this is the worst betrayal I’ve experienced since toph said that she didn’t need to see my photographs in order to tell that they were ugly’). Jokes aside, Suki adores her boyfriend and his sister, and often teaches them self-defense in her free time. One of her best students is a girl named Ty Lee, who all her friends except Zuko seem to really hate for some reason. However, Ty Lee is a natural at self-defense and she and Suki get along like a house on fire. Katara still refuses point-blank to go to classes whenever Ty Lee is in attendance, but Suki has given up trying to understand why. In conclusion, Suki is one of those movie heroines who can munch a sandwich while apprehending twenty supervillains all twice her size, and still come out victorious.

Zuko is a theatre kid and aspiring actor. (Was anyone surprised by this, really?) His natural melodramatic emo kid personality makes him the perfect role for starring roles in school plays (at least, that’s what Azula always likes to say) and acting to him comes as naturally as breathing. He’s not-so-secretly a Shakespeare nerd and can literally recite Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, two of his favourite plays, word for word. He also loves Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen- and alright, maybe he also harbours a love for High School Musical (he’s never told anyone that, but everyone knows anyway because he made Azula suffer through all five movies with him which eventually led to her becoming so fed-up constantly belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs that she recorded the audio and sent it to everyone at school, including Mai, whom he couldn’t look in the eyes for a straight two weeks). Before his mother left them, she used to say that Zuko got his acting genes from her, because she used to play the lead role in Love Amongst The Dragons every year in her old high school. Zuko asked Ursa if that meant Azula got her dancing genes from Ozai, and they’d both have a quiet little laugh as they imagined Ozai trying to dance ballet. Although Zuko adores the drama and the poignant atmosphere that comes with performing Shakespeare’s plays, Love Amongst The Dragons holds the top spot for his favourite play by far. He goes to see it every time the ache for his mother is too painful to ignore- even though the new actors, a group called the Ember Island Players, all but butcher it every year- and sometimes, he’ll deceive himself into thinking that his mother’s somewhere in the audience too, watching the play right there with him like they used to do all the time. He once took Azula to see it with him, just like they used to do when their mother was with them, and Azula cried when he told her that the reason he liked it was because it reminded him of their mother. The sight of her crying was so unnerving that Zuko went alone after that. Azula never protested, though, or teased him for liking the play again.

Azula is a dancing prodigy. She specializes in ballet, but she also does contemporary and modern. She tried her hand at tap and jazz, and although she naturally excelled in it, as usual, she decided that it just wasn’t for her. At the age of fourteen, Azula is already a world-renowned dancer and has broken records and made history with how skilled she is at dancing. She moves her body so fluidly that it’s hard to believe she’s even a person and not just a wisp or smoke, delicately floating and twirling and twisting through the air. Azula has a lot of pent-up anger and frustration about having to constantly seem perfect all the time in order to make up for the failure that Zuko is, and she’s found that physical exercise- namely, dance- is the best way to relieve her stress. She also knows a fair bit of martial arts- out of everyone, she and Ty Lee are the only ones who have managed to defeat Suki at hand-to-hand combat. If asked about it, Suki will vehemently deny that such an incident ever happened, which only serves to amuse Azula further. Azula started ballet at age three and advanced much further and quicker than any of her peers, which incited a lot of jealousy and basically ensured that she had virtually no friends in the ballet community, but it wasn’t like she was particularly desperate for companionship in the first place. She’s so famous that she’s a verified account on Instagram with over a million followers- she does some spare modelling work on the side when she can, and her stunning looks combined with her raw talent have made her into one of the most unattainably perfect girls to ever rule Instagram. Somehow, her dancing doesn’t distract her from her grades, because she also has a stellar report card that’s displayed on the wall of her numerous trophies and awards she’s achieved over the years. (Zuko has a half-broken shelf that sports exactly two awards, and one is a certificate of participation.) Azula was born for the spotlight. Whenever she steps onto a stage, the room goes completely, eerily still, as if holding on to her every move. She’s one of the most beautiful dancers to ever perform, and audiences sing praises about her every twirl, her every arch, as if a single pirouette she’s executed is already perfect enough to win her ten awards. She’s mesmerizing on stage, and kind of terrifying in the way that one would find someone too perfect to be terrifying. Her every move is effortless, graceful, as if she’s a weightless feather drifting through the breeze. She’s incredibly captivating and is set to be one of history’s stars.

Mai is a musician/singer. Her parents were extremely traditional and gave her piano and violin lessons for her fifth birthday, but she actually ended up enjoying them a lot. She has a great voice, too, so she started a YouTube channel a while back that features her doing covers and singing her own original songs sometimes. It’s now amassed a few thousand followers. Zuko has an admittedly great voice, too, and sometimes she invites him to her channel and they do these amazing duets. All of their followers ship them together, but Mai always denies that she likes him, despite her cheeks always blushing a bright pink whenever he’s brought up on live-streams. Her parents don’t approve of her channel, which they only found out about because they were being overbearing and went through her phone yet again, and they want her to go to school to study business instead. Mai doesn’t plan on giving up on her YouTube channel anytime soon, though. Before she discovered singing, she was clearly passionless about most everything, but now that she has, it feels like a fire slowly consuming her from the inside out. And she kind of likes it, to be honest. It feels good to be so passionate about something, especially since Zuko likes it just as much as she does. She’ll never admit it, but she knows how to play quite a few My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs on the piano (which Zuko absolutely loves her for, because he’s the picture perfect stereotype of an emo boy). Writing and singing songs provides her with some sort of cathartic relief that she can’t really obtain from anywhere else. She’s incredibly musically talented, and was playing grade eight piano material at just eleven years old. She taught herself the guitar and the harp after her parents refused to give her any more lessons for fear that she would become too invested in music (Asian parents, y’all- they provide you with piano lessons but expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer because God forbid you pursue a career in music despite having studied it since you were five) and refuse to pursue a career in business.

Ty Lee is a gymnast. She tried ballet along with Azula, but didn’t like the discipline it took and ran out of patience with all the tedious instructions necessary to follow along with the class, finding that gymnastics was more to her liking. However, she and Azula make an awesome duo whenever they showcase their talents together. Ty Lee’s actually so good that trainees are already speculating that she could achieve a spot on her country’s national gymnastics team. She can do backflips, handstands, cartwheels and splits on a beam one after the other without even needing to catch her breath, and she’s impossibly fit. She loves crop tops- she thinks they show off her figure, which is nearly unattainable for most people. She’s also naturally talented at martial arts, and Suki frequently tells her that she learns faster than Suki can teach. She’s done every form of gymnastics imaginable- rhythmic, acrobatic, artistic- you name it, she’s done it. Originally she only took an interest in it because Azula begged her to join ballet with her, and Ty Lee found that she did like the strenuous physical exertion that ballet entailed, but everything just moved too slowly for her. Ty Lee likes fast-paced action, so gymnastics is the perfect fit for her. Sometimes, Azula will teach her some new ballet moves she learnt in class, and in return, Ty Lee will teach Azula a few gymnastics moves she invented by herself after following the standard textbook forms grew too boring. They once entered a talent show together and blew the crowd away with Azula’s captivating dancing and Ty Lee’s breathtaking gymnastics.

[blucmoon]

━  ☾ ⊹  ( lee sung kyung, cis female , she/her ) say hello to KWON INNA, the THIRTY ONE YEAR OLD that seems to have a lot in HER hands with HER job as a TRADITIONAL TEAHOUSE OWNER! beyond that, they seemed CONSIDERATE AND HARDWORKING upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of GULLIBLE AND IMPATIENT though. SHE seems to live in a FOUR BEDROOM HOUSE in YUNHWA, SOUTH KOREA. anything else to add? oh, yeah! she also USED TO BE AN EDITOR AT A PROMINENT PUBLISHING COMPANY IN SEOUL!

about

name: inna kwon

birthday: september 10, 1989

age: 31

gender and pronouns: cis female, she / her.

orientation: bisexual,

birthplace: busan, south korea

hometown: seoul, south korea.

current location: yunhwa, south korea. (house #4013, hwesakgu)

level of education: b.a in korean language and literature & journalism (double major)

occupation: owner of the teahouse at yeyun inn

past occupations: editor at a prominent publishing company in seoul.

appearance

height: 176cm / 5’7ft

weight: 54kg / 119lbs

piercings: left ear; daith, flat, double helix, anti-tragus, upper lobe and lobe. right ear; helix, upper lobe and lobe. likes to wear cuff earrings often.

fashion style: used to stick to seoul’s fashion, always wearing luxury brands as expected from the daughter of a socialite family. suits, skirts, dresses, purses… she didn’t spare any expense when it came to her wardrobe. now that she’s in yunhwa, inna completely changed her style… and finally found one that allows her to feel comfortable in her own skin and stop pretending to be something she isn’t and never was. tight clothing was exchanged for dresses and skirts that dance with the breeze while she takes walks on the beach. sweaters, blazers and blouses that are two sizes too big on her, often making her to roll up the sleeves for comfort. pants, shorts and skirts of all shapes and lengths in a variety of patterns, mostly plaid, pinstripes, herringbone and every so often she’d opt for more striking, eye catching patterns (it has a lot to do with her emotional state). as for shoes, she changed the expensive stilettos for flats, boots and sneakers. for accessorizing, she likes to decorate her wrists with dainty bracelets and her hands with several rings in gold and silver, usually three in the left hand and five in the right one, sometimes stacked, sometimes one on each finger. depending on the season, she either wears delicate necklaces or fashionable scarves that cover both, style and function. her favorite way to dress is with pants, mostly cuffed jeans, a blouse or a shirt that she loosely tucks in and long coats, big cardigans or blazers on top.

eyes: a light shade of brown, almost reminiscent of melted caramel: equally as warm and sweet but doesn’t necessarily catering to everyone.

hair color and style: it’s been far too long since she’s last seen her natural hair color, which she vaguely remembers as a dark brown, so dark that she sometimes thought was just black. as she grew up and gained a little more of liberty to make her own decisions, her hair changed to a variety of colors: from red to black to light brown to blonde with pastel strikes. now, it’s dyed auburn brown, reaching the middle of her back and with bangs. she has naturally wavy hair, but only slightly, enough to not be considered straight. she likes it and would rarely ever go out of her way to do anything different like straightening or curling it, much preferring to let it cascade down her shoulders. halfway through the day though she can be seen pulling it up in messy buns or ponytails, or even braiding it whenever she has some free time.

personality

positive personality traits: disciplined, honest, considerate

negative personality traits: impatient, stubborn, gullible

bad habits or vices: stressing over things she can’t control, smoking once or twice a day (more when she’s anxious or stressed), late night snacking, drums her fingers everywhere.

birth chart: virgo sun, capricorn moon, leo rising

mbti: isfp

enneagram: 4w3

hobbies/interests: reading under the sun, journaling, listening to music directly from vinyl, playing chess and jigsaw puzzles, riding her bike to and from work and around town, nightly drives and two in the morning street food, online shopping, sales hunting, cooking.  

background (tldr)

inked words in a piece of parchment were all it took to turn her life around.

one day, she held a crown over her head, titles of excellence under her arm and an engagement ring around her finger. inna was the oldest daughter, the next in line, the one that was meant to achieve greatness first between the three siblings and set the example for them.

having the kwon surname was a synonym of high expectations and never did she fall short of any of them. inna was an exemplary woman, hard working and, most importantly, one that rarely voiced her opinions.

nonetheless, the day she came across a letter addressed directly to her was the day she started questioning who she really was.

sometimes, the protection that comes within hiding the truth is much needed to keep someone blissfully unaware of the reality; to keep them from unnecessary pain. inna doesn’t blame her parents for sheltering her, but she does hold it against them for underestimating her and not telling her she was adopted sooner.

the letter was short and the sender’s penmanship was gorgeous, clear, easy to read… and one that was completely strange to her. yet, she claimed to be her biological mother and promises of some answers came within a will, one that conceded her the ownership of a property and a teahouse, both allocated in yunhwa.

after several days of contemplation, arguments between her and her mother and research about a town she’s never heard of before, inna made a decision. one motivated by the final straw that came in the shape of a selfish partner whose only real interest was to have the perfect trophy wife. packing her whole life into cardboard boxes and several suitcases isn’t nearly as difficult as she first expected and so she leaves without looking back.

saying goodbye to seoul leaves a bittersweet taste as she drives five hours to yunhwa, only stopping when arriving at the address on the will. the woman spent almost an hour observing the front of the rather old house and it was clear that no one had habited it for months; overgrown plants on the small garden at the front, dust collecting on the windows… and the unknown behind its closed door.

she had no idea of what to expect, of what she going to find. it’s deeply scares her, the truth has never been an easy thing to swallow and she second guesses her plans when someone, apparently her mother’s acquaintance, stops by and the first thing they tell her is “you have her eyes.”

that’s all it takes for inna to make up her mind.

background (full)

inna is the oldest daughter of the kwon family, who were not famous per se, but well-positioned in the high society of seoul. her father had a couple of restaurants and her mother was the director of a publishing company she built from the ground. other than that, they’re your average rich family with parents having great expectations on their children to either follow their steps or achieve greatness on their own. inna was the ‘firstborn’, older than her brother for seven years and nine years older than her sister.

an absolute sweetheart as a kid, easily charming everyone with her dimpled smiles and lighter-colored eyes, a striking feature that didn’t resemble neither her mother’s or father’s very own eyes. however, it was never questioned neither was it unwelcomed. instead, it was appraised and even something her mother often showed off.

almost always been a well behaved daughter; charming, polite, obedient. the classic oldest daughter schtick and her mother constantly reminding her to set the example for her siblings only added to it. sure, she got into her fair share of trouble; a broken heart more than once, underage drinking (not too often), maybe cheating in an exam once or twice or copying someone else’s homework, but she made sure nothing would suffice to tarnish her or her family’s reputation permanently.

it’s in high school, after taking a literature class and discovering her love for reading and writing, that she decided to study something along those lines. not so surprisingly, her decision was fully supported by her mother which, admittedly, made her hesitate. inna had the gut feeling that the moment she shared her plans, her mother had already further paved the path of her future.

trying to look past this, college wasn’t nearly half as bad. actually, the years spent studying korean language and literature as well as journalism (double major nerd over here) were her favorites. between her junior and senior years, though, she took a sabbatical year (it was her 21st birthday wish and her father easily caved in despite her mother’s disapproval) to travel and her first destination was paris followed by london, tokyo and lastly california.

graduating at twenty two, inna immediately got a job in her mother’s company and slowly worked her way up until achieving the position of editor-in-chief at twenty seven. inna was really good at her job and she knew what it took for the company’s publications to become best-sellers, but she never shone whatsoever.

all her achievements never seemed to be hers for the spotlight always landed on her mother and rumor had it that inna got where she was thanks to her mother, which is partly true. sure, getting the job was a given, but everyone failed to see how exigent her mother- her boss was, or the amount of criticism she got without anyone noticing, or the late nights at the office, or the weekends without a break. still, inna never went out of her way to discredit the rumors, already knowing that changing people’s minds was 1. difficult and 2. pointless. every word, jab and snide comment directed her way fell on deaf ears.

inna wasn’t particularly discontented about her job, but she didn’t feel fulfilled either.

something felt constantly amiss and the sensation of being utterly lost was nothing new to her either. her dreams, goals and ambitions were all stored away, collecting dust and spiderwebs, just like her unfinished manuscripts safely kept in a box at home. being an author was her biggest dream, not reviewing, editing and telling other authors what to do to become a hit. inna wanted, longed to be on the other side.

however, there always seemed to be excuses for her not to: endless work, new publications, new clients and projects, then promotion after promotion and, lastly, a new partner that asks her hand in marriage by the time she turns thirty.

he was sweet, caring and always supported her professional growth. idealistically, the perfect partner. the kind that she introduced to her parents without hesitation or having to tell him to keep something a secret to avoid their disapproval. none of that happened this time compared to previous partners of hers. inna should’ve known something wasn’t right about someone so flawless, so selfless. maybe a part of her felt it from the get go, but in her position, the next “natural” step after having a stable career, was getting married and forming a family of her own. so when he asked (nothing too out of the world, just a family dinner), she couldn’t say no.

life was seemingly perfect.

the wedding planning midway through and one of the books the company published and she personally supervised became a huge success in the country, even getting a contract for a drama adaptation, thus the remuneration she got was big. rumors of a new office opening overseas where often heard across the building as well as inna being in charge of it. she couldn’t be happier.

it was the calm before the storm.

one afternoon at her parent’s house everything went downhill.

her mother asked inna to bring her a manuscript from her office. unsuspecting, inna was looking for it through the drawers when accidentally coming across an envelope with her name beautifully written on it. curiosity had always been her best and worst trait, and this time she couldn’t help but reading the contents.

the letter was short and the sender’s penmanship was gorgeous, clear, easy to read… and one that was completely strange to her. yet, she claimed to be her biological mother and promises of some answers came within a will, one that conceded her the ownership of a property and a teahouse, both allocated in yunhwa.

after several days of contemplation, arguments between her and her mother and research about a town she’s never heard of before, inna made a decision. one motivated by the final straw that came in the shape of a selfish partner whose only real interest was to have the perfect trophy wife. packing her whole life into cardboard boxes and several suitcases isn’t nearly as difficult as she first expected and so she leaves without looking back.

saying goodbye to seoul leaves a bittersweet taste as she drives five hours to yunhwa, only stopping when arriving at the address on the will. the woman spent almost an hour observing the front of the rather old house and it was clear that no one had habited it for months; overgrown plants on the small garden at the front, dust collecting on the windows… and the unknown behind its closed door.

she had no idea of what to expect, of what she was going to find. it’s deeply scares her, the truth has never been an easy thing to swallow and she second guesses her plans when someone, apparently her mother’s acquaintance, stops by and the first thing they tell her is “you have her eyes.”

that’s all it takes for inna to make up her mind.

still, everything feels strange to her as she steps into a house that’s now hers, but has never visited before or even had an idea of its existence. it’s overwhelming, to say the least, to encounter what inna assumes was her mother’s way of living. the further she stepped into the house, she noticed that nothing really matched and every piece of furniture seemed to have been purposely selected to differ from the rest. every chair in the dining room was different, some looked older than the rest and traces of restoration were clear on the mismatched filler between the cracks. a homemade project is what inna assumes. it was a mess, but somehow, a beautiful one.

that’s the first thing she learns about her mother: she liked to give things a second chance.

sleeping in that house wasn’t plausible for several reasons, mostly because she didn’t like the idea of reside there in its current state; the cracking floor, the thick layer of dust that caused her to sneeze repeatedly and she swears a rat had made that place its home. inna immediately planned to do some renovations and reparations and, until the bedroom and kitchen were fully functional, she’d make do by finding another place to stay.

her next stop was yeyun inn, the second location indicated in the will where he was to take over her mother’s business: the teahouse. this was something that absolutely dumbfounded inna, not knowing anything about running a place like that for her core occupation was a stark contrast from it. still, she was aware that the savings she had, despite being a respectable amount, would only last for so long and most of them would be invested in the house anyway.

troubled, she presented the will to the innkeeper as well as her living arrangements problems, which were easily solved by temporarily moving into one of the inn’s rooms. however, the teahouse was different and inna has been struggling a little to learn all there is to learn about it. four months later, inna is still in yunhwa, still learning all she can about her mother and only recently moved into her new house after some renovations were over.

it’s conflicting to be there and be constantly compared to a woman that was a complete stranger to her. somedays, inna feels flattered, especially when they mention their eyes, but most days, she’s angry. she’s resentful. she’s annoyed that the chance of meeting this seemingly wonderful woman that the whole town loved was taken away from her.

some things to note

inna has been in yunhwa for 4 months, never heard of the town before or anything about her mother. she doesn’t know if she’s here to stay permanently or what, but meanwhile, she plans to make this place her home and this is why she considers herself a citizen.

has not been in touch with her family (except her dad) since she moved into yunhwa. leaving seoul meant leaving everything behind: her job, her engagement, her family, her friends.

it’s nice to not be compared to her adoptive mother and siblings here because whenever this happened in seoul, it was all backhanded compliments… but here in yunhwa, she often has to put up with the same thing, only that nicer and because of her biological mom. sometimes she’s polite, but some days, inna immediately shuts down anyone who even tries to tell her anything (as politely as possible… or not)

actually inna’s biological and adoptive mothers knew each other. her mother adopted her because her biological mother was in a really bad stage in her life and knew she couldn’t provide her daughter the life she deserved. her adoptive mom hadn’t been able to have kids as much as she tried, so at the moment it sounded like a good idea. they made a promise to not tell inna until her mom was in a better place where she could meet her daughter without any shame.

after the adoption, both kept in touch every couple of months for her adoptive mom to update on inna’s life, achievements and everything. this is exactly why some townspeople are prone to know about inna: her mother used to show her off a lot, even showing some photos she got.

her adoptive mother wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids, but seven years after adopting inna, she got news of pregnancy… and again 2 years after that. the dynamic didn’t change much, but her mom has always been extra exigent when it comes to inna and a little more lenient with her siblings.

her biological mom got her life together after struggling for a while and became a really important part of yunhwa’s community. she helped anyone who needed it and tried to find ways to improve the town just to make life a little better. so yeah, inna’s mom was well-known, especially after she got the teahouse (approximately 20 years ago), where she welcomed anyone to share their woes or joys over a cup of tea.

the process of cleaning the house was a long process because of all the things her mother had. she kept some furniture like the table and chairs from the dining room and a beautiful desk, but the rest had been mostly ruined due to the rats. yes, rats. (its okay, the house has been fumigated.)

while going through and selecting her mom’s belongings for donations and stuff, inna found several things that she was able to keep like a box of letters her mother wrote her but never sent, tons and tons of journals she used to write short stories in and that never saw the light and her mom’s vinyls collection. (inna drove all the way to busan to get a new player because hers didn’t work anymore).

the house is still undergoing renovations, but she’s able to live there despite it since they’re done through the day while she’s at the teahouse. she’s slowly becoming a plant mom because of the beautiful lighting the house has and now that she’s not as busy as she was in seoul, she has more time and patience to take care of them properly.

is still struggling to learn the business, but doing a whole lot better than her first month running the teahouse. she also became absurdly fascinated by tea and is absolutely surprised there’s no boba tea in yunhwa yet so she’s made this resolution to learn how to make bubble tea and sell it. (looking for guinea pigs that can taste her delicious creations.)

(cw: smoking) she smokes, an awful habit she got from her working days in the city. has been trying to quit even before she moved into the town but its been to not avail. she’s managed to reduce her intake to one or two a day, but in those days that she’s more stressed, it doubles.

don’t come @ her but she has rich girl hobbies: knows how to play chess and actually enjoys it a lot, she even brought with her a board her father gave her when she was younger and is keen to find someone that plays with her, even if she has to teach them herself.

is shopping a hobby? yes, and she does it quite often though she’s found a secret joy in hunting sales. every so often she likes to splurge and label it as self-care.

enjoys a good wine anytime and if she has a craving in the middle of the night for a good bottle, she’d drive all the way to busan in order to satisfy this. maybe treat herself a dinner or perhaps clubbing? who knows.

has a car but has rarely used it since she moved into yunhwa because the town is so accessible by walking or bike that she decided to buy a bike instead. it’s her favorite method of transportation and uses it everyday to get to work.

[paradigmsofbrittaperry]

long rambly band thing under the cut lol

okay so I cant remember how much I’ve talked about this on here, but I’ve had a lot of Not Great Experiences over the past two years when it comes to band, despite the activity being my favorite in the whole entire world. the tl;dr is that my beloved director left my school after my junior year and left me in charge as drum major, but his replacement was awful and a bunch of bullshit happened and many of my close friends stabbed me in the back and then I went on to have a pretty bad season of indoor drumline that got cut short b/c of covid. that summary glossed over A LOT and the outcome of everything was that a lot of personal progress I’d made got undone and I was left with incredible amounts of baggage and lots of trauma to work through. this past year and a half has been HARD as fuck and I’ve swung wildly between trying to ignore everything and burying myself in trying to figure out what went wrong. problem has been that its infected every part of my life; I panic when I run into anyone who hurt me and my friends during that time, the most innocuous things remind me of the worst of these years and can send me into fits of crying, I’m plagued by thoughts of inadequacy and blaming myself for everything that happened, the works. ALL OF THIS EXPLANATION TO SAY yesterday was the start of a new chapter. it was the final competition of my first season teaching cymbals. it’s been a great experience and I’ve had the best students in the world, so I was really sad to see it end. over the second half of the day, I had three separate emotional conversations with my kids that honestly have given me the inner peace that I’ve been dreaming of since this bullshit started in the winter of 2019. before their final run, I wished them luck, told them I was proud of them, and thanked them for being such great students. they thanked me in return for being a great tech. after the awards ceremony, I got to bestow each of them with third place medals and reiterated how grateful I was for our time together. one of my kids went right for my tear ducts and told me that in their five years of marching, I was the tech that had taught them the most practical cymbal skills. another who joined after the start of the season said they hadn’t been sure if they were going to stay the whole season, but now, they planned on coming back for another. they all thanked me again and told me that I’d been an amazing tech after I gave them their medals and one of them gave me mine. our final conversation took place after our final goodbye meeting, and the two kids who aren’t graduating made sure that I would be back and said they’d be sad if I wasn’t their tech next year. I start crying after they left, which left the other two to find me crying in a corner of the room and hug me so that I would start crying even harder lol. 

so the takeaway of these conversations and how they gave me peace. for the past year and a half, there’s been some part of me constantly questioning if I’m actually a good person or not; the logic being that half a dozen of my closest friends wouldn’t have turned on me for no good reason, that I had to have done something to hurt them for them to try so hard to destroy my reputation and tear me off an imagined pedestal. at the end of my junior year of high school, I was comfortably in a place where I liked myself and saw my value and hardly questioned my character. the events of the next marching season changed all of that and nothing had fixed it since. but in these conversations, these kids told me that I was good. that I had made a positive impact on their lives. that I had changed their lives to an extent, that I had broken a pattern of shitty techs for them, that despite most of MY past techs letting me down, that only made me work twice as hard to show my kids that I cared and put my all into never letting them down the way I have been. that the people who worked so hard to tear me down were wrong; I CAN do good and I DON’T deserve to be in a constant state of hating myself for things that were entirely out of my control because I proved over the course of several months that in the right circumstances, I can thrive. I can do good. the little voice in my head telling me that I’m a bad person has quieted over the past 24 hours. telling people how much they mean to you is difficult, terrifying, near impossible sometimes. but I did enough good for these kids that they all were incredibly open and honest with me about how much they appreciated me and how much they wanted to see me again and how I had made their season better. and it was overwhelming!! after a season of being told I was responsible for every bad thing followed by one where I was largely ignored and underestimated? this was so, SO healing. I was able to look kids in the eye and tell them I loved them without fear of judgement. they did the same. it’s not forgiveness or an apology from the people that hurt me, but it’s closure. I was able to move past the past and use it as motivation to do good. I hate the idea that trauma makes us grow, because I’m still mourning the me that I lost due to mine. I used to value the fact that I was so gentle and kind, but those two seasons made me shed much of that. I don’t think I’ll ever be that kind again, but a kid told me yesterday that I was the sweetest staff member they’d ever known. I almost cried on the spot, because it means I’m healing!! these kids brought my soft side out of retirement!! and I didn’t fear getting hurt again when I was being gentler!! and my attitude came entirely from treating these kids the way I wasn’t, the way I wished I had been. I finally found a shred of joy and a positive outcome from all that I was put through. and it feels so fucking good that I’m crying writing this. my bitterness has largely dissolved, because I have proof that I’ve grown past everyone and everything that hurt me. not everything will get better overnight. but I know for a fact that my past won’t continue to consume me as much as it has.

this is a rambly mess, so props to you if you made it to the end!! I just. I remembered why the fuck I love band at all and I’m grateful beyond words to have found closure and made peace with events that have chased me around for almost two years now. it’s like letting out a breath that I’ve been holding for that long with no reprieve. I miss my kids so fucking much already.

[lukatheselkie]

HMC - Movie Crossover

@hetaliamondaychallenge

I most definitely used a script for this, and that can be found here. I only did the story that’s being told. As much as I love the grandfather, the kid, and his mom, it just didn’t fit for what I had in mind. I also mostly went by the movie for actions, so some things are in different places than the script says.

None of the quotes or locations are mine/my ideas. Movie crossovers are hard when you’re a writer 😂 (Most) emotions and anything to do with Sweden’s glasses are my own interpretation of the moment.

Movie: The Princess Bride

Pairing: Nyo!Sweden/England

Warnings: Implied murder, kidnapping, swords, parental death talked about, mentioned scars, death threat, fencing. Please tell me if I missed any!

The name I’ve given to Nyo!Sweden is Sigrid.

The name I’ve given to Nyo!Belgium is Beau.

I will finish this, I just severely underestimated the amount of time this would take to write 😭 I wrote through my favorite scene, which ends at twenty-five minutes into an hour and thirty-eight minute movie (including end credits, so the content is a bit less than that. I’d say I got... about a third of the way through it? Maybe slightly less.)

    Sigrid brushes her messy hair back from her face, making sure not to release her horse’s reins. She pushes her glasses up her nose and turns to Arthur, who’s standing in the doorway to the stable. “Farm Boy. Polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.” He watches her closely, speaking quietly.

    “As you wish.” That was all he ever said to her. It both infuriated her, and made her curious.

~

    Sigrid tosses down two large buckets nearby Arthur, who is chopping wood. “Farm Boy. Fill these with water.” She pauses, thinking briefly. “Please.” His expression stays aggravatingly neutral.

    “As you wish.” She turns and starts to leave. He watches her longingly. Unexpectedly, she stops to look back at him. He manages to look away, but his heart is hammering with adrenaline.

    Sigrid stares at him in surprise. When he says ‘as you wish’, he’s really saying ‘I love you.’ It’s a thought that amazes her.

~

    Arthur comes into the kitchen with an armload of firewood. Sigrid’s heart flutters happily at seeing him. She had figured out she loved him back earlier that day. Oh! He’s leaving! “Farm Boy.” Her voice is smooth. “Fetch me that pitcher.” It almost comes out as a question. She could reach it if she wanted to, but keeping him close for just a moment longer is more important. He carefully reaches up and grabs it, handing it to her. They stare into each other’s eyes, standing very close. She can almost feel her heart in her throat. Does he know? He must know!

    “As you wish.” He leaves without so much as a glance back at her.

~

    Sigrid and Arthur kiss passionately. He has no money for marriage, so he has to leave to seek his fortune across the sea. The kiss turns into an embrace, and both of their hearts break a bit at the thought of him leaving. “I fear I’ll never see you again.” Arthur scoffs quietly.

    “Of course you will.” There’s no doubt in his voice. It helps reassure her, but not much.

    “But what if something happens to you?” It’s a serious concern that has her stomach knotted up a million different ways.

    “Hear this now: I will come for you.” He sounds so confident.

    “But how can you be sure?” Her anxiety is practically bubbling out of her now.

    “This is true love. You think this happens every day?” He smiles at her. This gives her enough courage to smile back, and she throws her arms around him. They kiss once more, then it’s time for him to leave. It’s such a beautiful sunset for such a terrible evening.

~

    Arthur doesn’t reach his destination. Sigrid clutches the letter addressed to her tightly. Its contents tell her about his ship being attacked by Dread Pirate Roberts, who never leaves anyone alive. She locks herself in her room, and doesn’t sleep or eat for days. “I’ll never love again,” she whispers emotionlessly to the empty room.

~

    Five years later, the main square of Florin City is filled to capacity with people waiting to hear the announcement about Prince Mathias’ bride-to-be. Three people stand behind the prince; his parents, and Count Beau. Mathias raises his hands, and starts to speak. “My people… A month from now, our country will have its five-hundredth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “But perhaps you will not find her common now. Would you like to meet her?” There’s an overwhelming reaction that, yes, they want to meet her. On cue, she starts walking down the giant staircase leading to the crowd. Despite it being nearly impossible, the crowd collectively holds its breath. Sigrid comes into view, pushing her glasses up self consciously. “My people… The Princess Sigrid!” She quietly starts to move toward the people, heart hammering nervously. She’s never been good with people, especially in large crowds. They all suddenly kneel with no instruction, and tears come to her eyes. It’s all too much.

    She doesn’t love the prince. She’s too empty for that. The law of the land gives him the right to choose his bride, but that doesn’t mean she has to care for him. As soon as she is able, she climbs atop her horse and rides into the woods. Despite his reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she has is her daily ride. She rides until just before sundown, when she sees a group of men. “A word, my lady?” She brings her horse to a stop so she can help them. “We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?”

    “There is nothing nearby; not for miles.”

    “Then there will be no one to hear you scream.” The largest of the men touches a nerve on her neck, and her forming scream is cut off before it can build.

~

    Ivan, the giant, carries her to the sailboat at dusk. He nods at Antonio, who is finishing up getting the boat ready to sail. Lovino skillfully tears pieces of fabric from an army jacket, and tucks it into the princess’ horse’s saddle. “What is that you’re ripping?” Antonio questions. Without reacting, Lovino answers him.

    “It’s fabric from the uniform of an Army officer of Guilder.”

    “Who’s Guilder?” Comes Ivan’s voice, full of curiosity. Antonio points over the water.

    “The country across the sea. The sworn enemy of Florin.” He slaps the horse’s rump. “Go!” As expected, the horse takes off. He ambles toward the boat. “Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the Prince suspect the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed.”

    “You never said anything about killing anyone.” Ivan stares at him.

    “I've hired you to help me start a war. That's a prestigious line of work with a long and glorious tradition.” He places a hand on his hip as he speaks.

    “I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent girl.” He shakes his head slightly. Lovino gets in his face, clearly angry.

    “Am I going mad or did the word ‘think’ escape your lips? You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass.”

    “I agree with Ivan,” Antonio comments as he hops into the boat, pushing them off. Lovino’s rage grows by the second.

    “Oh! The sot has spoken! What happens to her is not truly your concern—I will kill her—And remember this—never forget this—when I found you, you were so slobbering drunk you couldn't buy brandy! And you!” He turns on Ivan. “Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed in Greenland!” He glares at them for a long moment, then storms off. He doesn’t go far, since they’re on a ship. Antonio, who had gotten closer to Ivan after the insults, tries to relieve some of his stress.

    “That Lovino, he can fuss.” Ivan looks thoughtful for a moment, repeating the word to himself.

    “Fuss… Fuss… I think he likes to scream at us.”

    “Probably he means no harm.”

    “He’s really very short on… charm.” Antonio smiles at him.

    “Oh, you’ve a great gift for rhyme.” Ivan smiles back.

    “Yes, some of the time.”

    “Enough of that!” Lovino cuts in.

    “Ivan, are there rocks ahead?” Antonio’s voice is somewhat excited.

    “If there are, we’ll all be dead.” He’s feeling much better now. Good.

    “No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Lovino snaps at them.

    “Anybody want a peanut?” Lovino half groans, half screams.

~

    “We’ll reach the Cliffs by dawn,” Lovino declares to Antonio. The Spaniard nods, glancing back. “Why are you doing that?”

    “Making sure nobody’s following us.”

    “That would be inconceivable.”

    “Despite what you think, you will be caught. And when you are, the Prince will see you all hanged.” Sigrid’s voice rings out. Lovino turns to give her a stern, cold look.

    “Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worrying about is your own.” Antonio continues staring behind them. “Stop doing that. We can all relax, it's almost over-”

    “You’re sure nobody’s following us?”

    “As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we've done. And no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast.” He pauses for a beat. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

    “No reason. It's only, I just happened to look behind us, and something is there.”

    “What!?” They whirl around, staring behind them. It’s hard to see; the moon is behind clouds, leaving it nearly pitch black. The wind whistles, and the waves pond. It almost seems ominous. Antonio, Ivan, and Lovino all squint into the darkness. It becomes strangely eerie. Then, the moon comes out, revealing a black sailboat with a billowing black sail, far away. It’s getting closer though. “Probably some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise. At night. Through eel-infested waters.” There’s a splash behind them; it’s Sigrid, who’s dived into the water and is frantically swimming away. “Go in, get after her!”

    “I don’t swim,” from Antonio.

    “I only dog paddle,” Ivan mentions, waving his hands in the air slightly as an example.

    “Veer left. Left. Left!” Sigrid swims as fast and as silently as she can, hoping they don’t catch up to her. The wind stops, and the lack of it’s whistling allows a strange shrieking noise to make its way to her ears. She stops in fear, only moving to keep herself afloat. “Do you know what that sound is, Highness? Those are the Shrieking Eels—if you doubt me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh.” She stays silent as the shrieking gets louder. “If you swim back now, I promise, no harm will come to you. I doubt you will get such an offer from the Eels.”

    The sound gets louder, but she doesn’t make a sound. Something huge slithers behind her. She suppresses a shudder, but refuses to reply. She’s terrified, and blind—she left her glasses on the boat—but she knows going back will lead her to a fate just as bad, if not worse. One of the Eels starts circling her, and she minimalizes her strokes. They swim directly toward her, and she’s certain this is the end, she’s going to be eaten alive. A mouth opens, the Eel shrieking louder yet at her, and she’s about to be bitten, when an arm hits the Eel, easily knocking them out. The arm grabs her, lifting her back onto the boat. “Put her down! Just put her down!” Antonio points behind them again.

    “I think he’s getting closer.” Lovino ties Sigrid’s hands together as he speaks.

    “He’s no concern of ours. Sail on!” He looks back at Sigrid with a sneer. “I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?”

    “Only compared to some.” She stares at him, showing no fear. Ivan places her glasses back on her face when Lovino withdraws from her. She thanks him quietly.

~

    At dawn, they’re being closely trailed by the black sailboat. “Look! He's right on top of us. I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using?” Antonio inquires.

    “Whoever he is, he’s too late!” Lovino points ahead of them. “See? The Cliffs of Insanity.” They’re incredibly tall, and they surge straight up from the water. Antonio navigates the boat in closer, but the black boat is coming toward them fast. “Hurry up! Move the thing! Um! That other thing! Move it!” He screams at Antonio, who manages to get them to the cliffs first, and they hurry off as Lovino speaks again. “We're safe—only Ivan is strong enough to go up our way—he'll have to sail around for hours 'til he finds a harbor.” Antonio places a harness on Ivan, and wraps straps around Sigrid and himself expertly. Lovino does his own, and they start up a rope, tied to a rock at the top, Ivan carrying all three of them.

    A man in black hops off his boat, abandoning it without a second though, but Ivan is already a third of the way up. It seems impossible to catch up. Or, perhaps not. He climbs up the rope quickly, getting closer to the four. “He’s climbing the rope. And he’s gaining on us,” Antonio muses.

    “Inconceivable!” Lovino pokes Ivan, who speeds up. The man in black comes closer and closer by the second. “Faster!” He screeches.

                   “You were supposed to be this colossus! You were this great, legendary thing! And yet he gains.”

    “Well, I'm carrying three people. And he's got only himself.”

    “I do not accept excuses!” He shakes his head. “I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all.”

    “Don’t say that, Lovino. Please.” There’s pain in his voice. His arms slow a bit, as he’s getting tired. The man in black gains still.

    “Did I make it clear that your job is at stake!?” A few tense moments pass, and he pulls them over the cliff edge. Lovino leaps off of him, pulling out a knife. He starts cutting at the rope, tied around a heavy rock. Antonio helps Sigrid to her feet, watching her push her glasses back into place when she’s standing. Ivan stands there, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He glances at the ruins nearby; they remind him of Stonehenge, though he thinks they might have been a fort at one point. The man in black is very close now, but Lovino manages to cut the rope before he can make it to the top. It glides across the ground, toward the cliff edge, being dragged down by its own weight. Antonio, Ivan, and Sigrid stand by the edge, looking down at the man in black, clinging for his life on the jagged rocks. It becomes apparent he’s wearing a mask over his eyes.

    “He has very good arms,” Ivan observes, talking to Antonio. He sounds impressed. Lovino turns toward them, stunned and outraged.

    “He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!” Antonio looks at him.

    “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” He glances back down. “My God! He’s climbing.”

    “Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the Princess, and must therefore die.” He points his dagger at Ivan. “You, carry her.” He turns to Antonio. “We'll head straight for the Guilder frontier. Catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”

    “I want to duel him left-handed.”

    “You know what a hurry we’re in!”

    “Well, it's the only way I can be satisfied. If I use my right—tch—over too quickly.” Lovino groans, walking briefly away from him.

    “Oh, have it your way!”

    “You be careful,” Ivan tells him, coming closer. “People in masks cannot be trusted.”

    “I’m waiting!” Lovino calls. Ivan nods, and hurries after Lovino, carrying Sigrid. Antonio watches them until they disappear, then looks down at the man in black. He watches for a bit, then starts pacing, shaking his hands. He practices some of his fencing skills, and looks back at the man in black when that’s not enough to distract him. He’s not much closer to the top. He walks away, then comes back, impatient.

    “Hello there.” The man in black glances up, grunting slightly. “Slow going?”

    “Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me.”

    “Sorry.”

    “Thank you.” Antonio steps away again, practices a few thrusts, then re-sheaths his sword, looking over the edge fervently. “I do not suppose you could speed things up?”

    “If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or find something useful to do.” He struggles a bit as he climbs, but there’s no question that he’ll make it to the top.

    “I could do that. In fact, I've got some rope up here. But I do not think that you will accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”

    “That does put a damper on our relationship.” He continues climbing, raising up a bit from a good hold.

    “But I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.”

    “That’s very comforting. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”

    “I hate waiting,” he grumbles out. “I could give you my word as a Spainard?”

    “No good. I’ve known too many Spainyards.” He grunts as he searches around for another place to grab.

    “You don’t know any way you’ll trust me?”

    “Nothing comes to mind.” Antonio raises his right hand high, eyes glossing over, voice serious.

    “I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.” Silence falls between them heavily. Then, barely above a whisper, the man in black speaks.

    “Throw me the rope.” Antonio hurries to the large rock, untying the rope as fast as he can. He hears the man in black slip, but he knows he’s still there. He scrambles back to the edge and throws one end of the rope down to him. The man grabs hold of the rope, and Antonio pulls on it as hard as he can, walking steadily backwards. He watches the man in black come into view, and he pulls him to safety. “Thank you,” he huffs out, pulling his sword. Antonio holds up his hand.

    “We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

    “Again, thank you.” He sits atop the boulder the rope is tied around. He tugs off his long leather boots, tapping them to get the rocks out. There’s more than a few rocks, and most of them are big. He stares at them, amazed. Antonio notices he has gloves on; he stares at them.

    “I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?” The man in black looks up, obviously bewildered by the question.

    “Do you always begin conversations this way?”

    “My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. He was a great sword maker, my father. And when the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done.” His demeanor turns sorrowful. He offers the sword to the man in black, who examines it closely, clearly impressed.

    “I have never seen its equal,” he declares as he hands it back, being cautious of the heartache looming around them.

    “The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father, so, naturally, challenged his murderer to a duel. ...I failed... The six-fingered man did leave me alive with the six-fingered sword, but he gave me these.” He gingerly touches two scars; one on each cheek. Solemnly, the man in black looks at him.

    “How old were you?”

    “I was eleven years old. When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, ‘Hello, my name is Antonio Carriedo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’” His voice is soft, almost a whisper. The air is heavy, but not completely oppressive.

    “You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?” He shrugs lightly.

    “More pursuit than study lately. You see, I cannot find him. It's been twenty years now. I am starting to lose confidence. I just work for Lovino to pay the bills. There's not a lot of money in revenge.”

    “Well, I certainly hope you find him, someday.”

    “You are ready, then?”

    “Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair.” They rise, and walk toward the ruins.

    “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”

    “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.” The man in black pulls his sword as he replies.

    “Begin!” They fight far away from each other. Every time one goes in for a hit, the other counters perfectly. They begin to circle each other, moving about the ruins. They feint a few more times, then decide that’s enough teasing. Their swords clash, the gap between the noise shortening each time they strike. Antonio manages to run the man in black up a rocky hill. “You're using Bonetti's defense against me, ah?” He’s absolutely elated at that.

    “I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain.”

    “Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro.” His fighting style changes with his words.

    “Naturally.” The man in black struggles with the shift, but only for a moment. “But I find Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro, don't you?” He jumps down from the hill, Antonio’s eyes following him.

    “Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa.” He hops off the perch, somersaulting over the man in black’s head, and lands facing him. “Which I have.” They swing and feint and glide gracefully over the rocky terrain, never once stumbling. One gains the upper hand over the other, but it isn’t long before it’s lost. They go back and forth like this, both obviously experts. Finally, the man in black is able to back Antonio toward the Cliffs of Insanity, closer and closer to his death with each step. “You are wonderful!” He’s awfully chipper, for someone so close to death.

    “Thank you—I’ve worked hard to become so.” He forces Antonio closer to the edge by the second.

    “I admit it—you are better than I am.” But he’s grinning.

    “Then why are you smiling?” He’s a step, maybe two, from falling off the cliff.

    “Because I know something you don’t know.”

    “And what is that?”

    “I am not left-handed.” He tosses the six-fingered sword into his right hand, and the battle shifts in his favour. The man in black desperately tries to keep him by the cliff’s edge, but it’s no use. He has to retreat. Antonio’s sword is merely a blur, it’s moving so fast. He backs the man in black up some stairs, and he stumbles backwards onto one. His sword strikes close, but it misses.

    “You are amazing,” he concludes, finishing climbing the stairs.

    “I ought to be after twenty years.” Antonio pins the man against a stone pillar. The top layer is forced off, over the cliff.

    “There’s something I ought to tell you,” he grunts out, struggling against the sword.

    “Tell me.” It comes out confidently.

    “I am not left-handed either.” The man in black shoves him back, and makes a show of switching his sword into the other hand. Within a matter of seconds, the six-fingered sword is knocked out of his hands. Antonio retreats frantically, diving from the stairs to a moss-covered bar between an archway. He swings for a moment, then lands, grabbing his sword. The man in black flings his sword, and it sticks into the ground, exactly next to where Antonio landed. He jumps onto the bar, rotates around it, then lands next to his sword. He plucks it out of the ground effortlessly, striking a little pose.

    “Who are you?”

    “No one of consequence.”

    “I must know.”

    “Get used to disappointment.” Antonio shrugs a bit.

    “Okay.” He starts the fight again, moving fast. They go back and forth, Antonio countering a slash he hadn’t been able to before, feeling proud of himself for remembering the man in black’s body language for that move. The sword is knocked out of his hand, arching through the air. He casually positions himself below it, and catches it flawlessly. He’s going to lose. He knows he is. He becomes desperate, fiercely swinging his sword at his competition. The man in black catches onto his desperation, and takes a moment to tease him. He swipes at Antonio’s hair, startling him enough to give him an opportunity to knock the six-fingered sword out of his hand. He stands helplessly for a second, then falls to his knees. “Kill me quickly.” There’s raw emotion in his voice. Fear, sorrow, regret...

    “I would as soon destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself. However, since I can't have you following me either,” he knocks Antonio in the head with his sword handle, and he falls unconscious. “Please understand I hold you in the highest respect.” He runs over to his scabbard, picks it up, and runs after the Princess, Lovino, and Ivan.

[whatevenismyaestheticidk]

Things I’ve heard high schoolers say pt 2

Person 1: But air doesn’t splash Person 2: How do we know that, Im splashing the air right now.

Person: Prove me wrong. Prove fish can’t see air.

Person: I think you underestimate just how poor I am.

Person: I just invented a new thing. No Romo. Like no homo but with romance cause I’m lonely. Get it?

Person: So yah I burned my hair cooking ramen.

Person: Well I figured he wasn’t an adopted iguana.

Person: Say it. You know god is watching.

Person 1 upon heading the news of George Bush’s death: Wait he’s still alive? Person 2: No he’s dead that’s the point.

Person: I got it. *five second pause* no I don’t got it.

Person 1: My name is (name), but you can call me yours. Person 2: Okay nice to meet you yours.

Person: Don’t drink it all fool.

Person: Bruh you could literally turn in a gay fanfic and he’d give it an A.

Person: Bruh, what is this triangular accusation?

Person 1:It’s call physics. Person 2: Yah but I don’t take Physics hence they should not apply to me.

Person 1: Discreet. Person 2: No discr-yeet *dabs*

Person 1: Be impressed with my ability to bull shit. Person 2: I mean, it’s gotten you this far.

Person: Why do I feel like finals are lowkey Russian roulette? Like okay I made it through most of them but I still have a few pulls of the trigger to go and one of them might get me.

Person 1: Murder. Just do it. Person 2: I didn’t know that nike was sponsoring murder.

Person: How do mermaids reproduce if they’re just like conjoined legs?

Person 1: Frozen Yogurt Person 2: Fro yo Person 1: Frozen YOgUrt Person 2: Fro Yo Person 1: FROZEN YOGURT

Person: All I have to do to commit suicide is jump from my parents expectations to my grades.

Person 1: I mean yah I cheated on that test. Person 2: Man your love life it DOOMED!

Person: I was seeing if I was tripophobic by repeatedly stabbing my finger with my pen.

Person: You do know that crickets exist during the day right?

Person 1: Hey (person 2), we’re friends right? Person 2: ….. What do you want. Person 1: You know, that sandwich looks real good. *person 2 hand them the sandwich* OMIGOD THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU!

Person: Omigod (person’s name) is going through puberty!

Person: If you pulled my ear I would have ripped out your nostril.”

Person 1: She’s attacking me! Person 2: No, he’s beating a woman, that’s not polite.

Person 1: I know many things! Person 2: like what? Person 1: ..... Person 2: my point.

Person: My shoes will be sparkly red stilettos. Fight me Dorothy.

Person: umm hello Christmas miracle even though I’m not Christian. Come at me 15 years from now!

Person 1: you’d make a really good baldie Person 2: yah you have a really rest head shape

Person: you know teletubbies? Yah that but compressed.

Person 1: I mean how will you become American? Person 2: paint me white, I’ll get a passport.

Person 1: I’m so funny. Person 3: it’s hard not to be when your life is a joke.

Person 1: So I’ve decided that my new career choice is to make school specific memes Person 2: That's Plan A? Yeash... at least Plan B lands you some cash

Person: I’m so small and bitter I’m like a human expresso

Person: You know what I’d name a baby kangaroo if I had one? David Jowie.

Person: I’m just saying that the orange red glitter crayon is you.

Person: I feel like a 1940’s schoolgirl who goes to an all girl finishing school where embroidery is a required class.

Person: I started high school with straight A’s, now I’m not even straight.

Person: Yeah, I’d swear by comic sans.

Person: (Persons name)stop being depressy and you’ll be more sucessy

Person: You can totally be insecure and self absorbed at the same time.

Person 1: Are you kids okay? Person 2: Besides crippling depression yeah.

Person: I don’t know it’s just giving me pig vibes.

Person: What drugs where the animators for “Pink Elephants on Parade” on?

Person: long story short I make like a semi hot guy.

Person: If I where pregnant id just be like 'you put this thing inside of me, you're helping me until it's out.'

Person: These girls asked me what type of  guys I like and being the simple gay I am, I completely blanked

Person 1: why do you read on your phone if you get carsick at 20 minutes? Person 2:Because it works for the first 19 minutes.

Person: Three Indians, a Thai, a Colombian, and an American walk into a bar. Just kidding they aren't old enough to drink. Three Indians, a Thai, a Colombian, and an American walk into a school cafeteria...

Person: I can't do alcohol cause I'm not of age but I can do drugs because they're illegal for everyone.

Person 1: you can't have a breakdown, it's the third day of school. Person 2:... so?

*Group of kids singing Bohemian Rhapsody in twelve different keys* Person: For gods sake choose a key!

Person: For gods sake that was complicated. You didn't need to send out a survey to see which episode of which season of which show to watch.

Person: Honestly I'd chose stab over dab any day.

Person 1: She said she'd throw me out of the window. Person 2: She never did. Person 1: She never did.

Person: What language is this? *pause* Oh wait it's English.

Person 1: I mean it's pretty hit or miss. Person 2 from across the courtyard: I guess they never miss, huh?

Person: Chu-chu bitch. I’m a train.

Person after loosing game of kahoots: I’m going to ka-shoot myself.

Person: So basically I need to learn Hungarian for a song.

Person: No one screams their sneeze, its not human

Person: If I where a mosquito I would bite you and you’d get malaria and die.

Person: That tide pod aesthetic.

Person: No I loved Barney, Barney was my bo.

Person: If I where my own boyfriend I’d dump me.

Person: It's already a really good song but then it's dubstep so it's extra good.

Person: No one is EVER to old for coolmathgames.com

Person 1: Why are you using a poon? Person 2:….. Person 1: WHY ARE YOU USING A POON?!

Person 1: I’ve been blonde for 16 years. Person 2: So what? I’ve been brown for 16 years and you don’t see me coloring myself white!

Person: Yes. Scrape the sweat off my hand.

Person: No one cares about a square cube of water.

Person: We’re melanin intoxicated.

Person: Well my life may be a mess, but at least I’m not doing drugs. Yet.

Person: Negative 13 out of 10, do not recommend.

Person: Yah that’s gunna have to be a no from me.

Person: Fool me once......fool me twice.......fool me as many times as you want, my first name is dumbass.

Person 1: Ya know, I think the Americans have the order of dates right JUST BECAUSE you can do 4/20/2019. Person 2: Okay but they’re still wrong though.

Person with AirPods: And where are YOUR AirPods? Thats what I thought you broke bitches.

Person: Salem witch trials bitches.

Person: La Croix, the AirPods of the soda world.

Person: Who needs a thermometer when you have… your hands!?

Person 1: It’s time to bring back SEXY MASQUERADE BALLS Person 2: It really is. I need an excuse to wear an incredibly uncomfortable dress that's so big I can't even walk through doorways. Person 1: And to wear a swan inspired mask that doesn’t cover enough of my face to deem myself totally anonymous enough to be half as bold and daring as i plan on acting that night but everyone else is on board we’ll all just forget about it the next day. Person 2: That's to specific for you to have made up on the spot, you've thought about this.

Person: It was lady Macbeth that drugged and made the guards drunk, without her Macbeth would just be like “I guess I’ll stab him???” Person: It’s like playing where’s Waldo but the page is India and I’m Waldo.3Person: Why are there so many frowny faces everywhere?

Person: This group chat is weird. It's either homework, deep philosophical conversations, or memes, there's no in between.

Person 1: Honestly, where DID it come from Person 2: The endless abyss that is the internet.

Person: Are you really blaming our generational depression on Jake Paul?

Person 1:  Oh. My. God. Guys. Keep your carbon dioxide away from my computer. Person 2: But sharing is caring. Person 1: But my computer doesn’t need this kinda of negativity in its life right now.

Person: Sweetie, if you think I’m going to stop wearing my favorite dress just because you kissed me in it, you are dead wrong.

Person with a metal straw: I don't drink broke.

Person: My whole life has become that sock on the floor. It's just there. When did life screw us over and then just ex? I’m just gonna write a book, and the last sentence will be life screwed them over and then exed. A story of the main character who gets screwed over, so I can get that 'it be like that sometimes' reaction.

Person in group chat: Positivity- I will make you feel better about being an idiot. Self Doubt- I will highlight all of your mistakes and set low standards for you so you'll never be disappointed. Me to Self Doubt- I'm listening...

Person 1: Sadly the disappointment never goes away... Person 2: Man we're a sad lot this time of year.

Person 1:It’s almost my favorite time of the year Person 2:Ahh yes. Singles awareness day, also known as chocolate sales at Walgreens eve, also known as... Valentine's Day. Person 1:... Oh... I meant rainy season.

Person: Being antivax is like swimming in shark infested waters because you're afraid the bridge could break lmao.

Person: I learned how eat a kumquat this weekend.

Person: It’s so sticky. It’s like clear cheese.

Person: Hamburger helper? More like hamburger help me pass this class.

Person 1: So I slipped on a grape… Person 2: You got K.O.’ed by a grape (person’s name), how does it feel.

Person 1: Look at me, I’m fine. Person 2: Well how many drugs did you take. Person 1: Several.

Person 1: Did you just say it’s ALMOST FEBRUARY? Person 2: Yes, it’s January 72nd.

Person: I knew your comedic standards where low, but poop jokes? Really?

Person: What? So are you insinuating the fact that reliablest isn't a word?

Person 1: [bitter old man voice] back in my day, tik tok was a kesha song. Person 2: Back in my day we had wires attached to our AirPods.

Person: There's a reason rainbows aren't straight. Just saying.

Person reading sheet music and seeing mf crescendo: I forgot that mezzo forte was a thing for a second so I thought it said mother fucker as a crescendo but mood

Person: He looks like a fine piece of toasted white bread.

Person: If life hasn't given me a fist bump by now, why should I give life one?

Person: we all died in 2012 this is hell.

Person 1: Who wants a pamphlet on condoms? Person 2: Why do you have this? Do you collect them? Person 1: Yah it’s my hobby. I have this one, one on HIV and one on teenage pregnancy.

Person: We live a society where reading about assassins and gory details is a hobby.

Person: Stop breathing so loudly on my thumb!

Person 1: I’m the comic relief. Person 2: For what? Person 1: Myself.

Person1: Who’s your valentine this year? Person 2: Me, myself and I. Person 1: Wow three valentines, you really can’t keep them away can you?

Person: Why do women gotta get their period, why not men. I wish I was born a seahorse.

Person 1: No we can’t all fit, her car is smol. Like you. Person 2:  Says you miss 5 foot nothing lmao. Person 1: Hey we’re the same hight so says you miss 5 foot nothing.

Person: No, that’s cheating no emotionally disabling people.

Person 1: Why is it that we’re talking about someone burning eggs on two different group chats. Person 2: Hey I didn’t burn them. Person 3: Cause why not?

Person 1:  That’s not how an Australian accent works. Person 2: This is why I’m not Australian, I don’t have the koala-fications.

Person 1: I’m Indian, numbers run through my blood. Person 2: That’s like saying I’m going to marry my cousin just because I’m white.

Person: So I ate veggies and hummus for lunch but then I counterbalanced it by eating a spoon full of straight Nutella.

Person: Seagulls, California Pigeons, what’s the difference?

Person 1: I humbly apologize and request your forgiveness. Person 2:  I humbly decline your request for forgiveness.

Person: I think I’m permanently stuck somewhere between “If you mess with me I’ll fight” and “If you mess with me I’ll cry.”

Person 1: It was implied! Person 2: What’s implied is your inability to accept that fact that I’m right!

Person 1: I got lazy because I was eating Pringles. Person 2: She values Pringles more than me.

Person: Yo, you be the crazy ex girls they be talking about in memes.

Person: I swear (persons name) if I hooked up with squidward in your dream your subconscious and I need to have a little talk.

Person: You get to die, and you get to die! Everybody gets to die!

Person: How do you just add a child?

Person 1: Look at this ink based pencil. Person 2: A pen?
 Person 1: This egg is all broken. Person 2: It’s like you then, you both broke under the pressure.

Lakshmi: Don’t force your opinion, voice it.

Person 1: If I where a fruit, which one would I be? Person 2: Sushi. Person 1:… Sushi isn’t a fruit.

Person: I mean it’s not straight up “Yo come here I’m gunna kill you.”

Person: Bye gays, bye (other girls name).

Person 1: No (person B) stop. Just shut up. You’re making me loose brain cells. Person 2: But… Person 1: No. Just no.

Person: Stop. That is non-consensual pizza eating.

Person 1: Cheese is not a vegetable! Person 2: Well it’s not a meat either! Person 3: Guys… It’s dairy.

Person: Idiots have priority over just regular dumb people

Person: God melted the polar ice caps just to make it rain for Noah then refroze them. I don’t know (kids name) I’m not god!

Person: You and I will go out, and leave them to their raw fish rolled in sea salad.

Person: Does anyone else get really energized when they change their room? Just me? Okay.

Person: I hope you know I will diss you guys to the end of the earth.

Person: Bruh talk to (person’s name) I don’t know sh… *notices teacher looking at her*…niahhh.

Person 1: The thing is, I don’t want to be 80 that’s rough. Person 2: Then just die at 50.

Person: You’d be scrambled eggs with hair.

Person: Seeing you two fighting, it’s like seeing a piece of light fighting a black hole.

Teacher: What can you tell me about probability? Student 1: I hate it. Student 2: Dont you mean you? Student 1: Yes both.

Person: My brain has the dumb I’m sorry

Person 1: If my first word was no, I’m assuming that’s foreshadowing for them my family disowns me after I renounce religion and systemic abuse. Person 2: Or…. You just need to make sure your last word is yes. Person 1: Yes to what though? Person 2: ‘Are you dying?’ Yes.’ Pessimism, just your style. Person 1: That’s true.

Person: My parents don’t message me, they’re the type of people who CALL. Where did I get my social anxiety from??

Person: Well guys it's been great knowing you I’m just going to drown now.

Person: I figured out a new diet regime, it’s called sleeping until noon and just not eating breakfast.

Person: The f on my birth certificate was the doctor paying their respects.

Person: Chocolates with raspberry filling are the sole reason I’m still alive.

Person 1: Isn’t Latin a dead language? Person 2: You’re a dead language!

Person: Hydrate before you diedrate.

Person 1: you have a son named Spider-Man? Person 2:  what noooo! Person 3: well don’t expose her!

Person: That awkward moment when you just really don’t care about people.

Person 1: (Person 2) and I will be over here with my virgin margarita and her water. Person 2: Hey! I want apple juice! Person 3: Why are you not drinking (Person 1)? Person 2: Because she’s to single, and also she’d strip. Person 1: Woahh! How dare you assume that I’m not drinking because I’m to single?

Person 1: Ya know, I think I’m going to have to jazz hands my way through hell. Person 2: All of us will.

Person: Brown town children, y’all find someone in India?

Person 1: Wow you have the best backup singers. Person 2: I only hire the best, at least 5 stars in yelp. Person 1: Well good because that’s  the sound they’re making.

Person: The cold kills everything, it’s like my heart.

Person 1: Remember the rolls I brought to school last year that I used to give you? The ones with paneer and the really good spices? Person 2: Yah? Person 1: This is not at all the same thing.

Person 1: What’s stevia? Person 2: It’s like sugar but no.

Person 1: Yeetus Skelettus. Person 2: Fetus Deletes? Honey, that’s called abortion.

Person: Anything for you. That’s what you said. Anything for you. But when I ask for just one bite of your pasta? No!

Person 1: I've written 1,300 words and don’t have a thesis statement or topic question Person 2: Yeah, you need to figure that out.

Person 1: you know I had a dream that you where in a romantic relationship with a toaster. Person 2:  wasn’t that your relationship with (ex’s name)? Person 1: you’d have more chemistry with a toaster.

Person: Can people read colors? Cause I am ooo.

Person: It’s like hands but medusa

Person: You look like a cardboard jellyfish that’s brown

Person 1: Two of us like boys. Person 2: We all like boys. Person 1: Two of us like ONLY boys.

Person: you’re like a reverse plant. You convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.

Person: Shhhhh. I’m not in physics, let me be dumb in peace.

Person: Why are you laying down like some greek god, get up you brown child.

Person 1: Do all of you just think you’re going to be single? Person 2: I already am why not keep the streak going to get a high score?

Person: and now cracks of light are coming out from around the sides like some sort of computer Jesus!

People 1 and 2: Rock Paper Scissors Person 3: shoot me please.

Person 1: not since 9/11 you can’t. Person 2: dang. You just tossed your whole country just to prove a point. I’ve never been so proud.

Person 1: what is an angle of depression? Person 2: it’s my life. Person 1: no it’s you because it’s not straight.

Person: Boom. Lesbians.

Person 1: Well what if two rocks just washed up at the same time and humans. Person 2: Evolution.

Person: Watermelon isn’t good anymore, I swear its just water with food coloring.

Person: You being dumb makes me want to correct you, sos too being dumb cause I’m on vocal rest.

Person: well (persons name) who have you a mouth?

Person: Teachers that grade late work deserve all the love and cookies and cake in the world.

Person 1: honestly I just want to die right now. Person 2: same. Literally same.

Person: I just feel like a single molecule lost in space.

Person: who’s gunna stop me? God? Damn him to hell.

Person: the line is not actually straight it’s like (students name)

Person 1: It’s your favorite sleep deprived gay. Person 2: But I’m my favorite sleep deprived gay. Self love. Person 1: We Stan.

Person 1: Why do you have a tool? Person 2: Because my hair is moist.

Person: eating lead was an otherworldly experience

Person 1: I have everything stolen from me 2: at least you have the tiniest bit of dignity left 3: what dignity? 1: exactly

Person 1:( holding up katsup) does this go on salad?

Person:I’m turning red! Me! A brown girl!

Person: I’m not trying argue that we should date, I’m just saying.

Person 1: what’s your biggest turn on? Person2 : a light switch Person 2: or then leaving.

Person 1: what is the most attractive retire on someone Person 2: my own face

Person: you’d be that one bar do white chocolate that just sits in the feidge because no one wants it

Person: that’s like saying I’d rather see your shirt than your face.

Person: why would I shut up when I can shut (kids name) down

Person: Subtle. Gay. Vibes. I’m telling you.

Person: just watch me write my ee on all the reasons why nick caraway is gay. Just watch me.

Person: Why are you stereotyping. What if the body doesn’t want trucks, what if he wants to be a fairy.

Person: being ace is basically just eww no but like forever.

Person: Stop trying to science your way out of being wrong.

Person: even if you did ask me out I’d still say no so then you’d even be rejected by a trash can

Person 1: you can’t read cheese color. Person 2: yellow?

Person 1: Think about  it like you’re brown Person 2: She is brown Person 1: Then act like it

Person: You’re not an ugly frog, you’re a beautiful human being. Person: I am. Very very dumb. And also. Bisexual.

Person: I was thinking of something smart but then I forgot what it was.

Person: I want to skip the crush phase and just make out with someone.

Person 1: The only way to get into the Holland family is to marry in through Paddy. Person 2: (Person 1’s name) this isn’t the royal family.

Person: Omigod you looked like the human version of squid ward.

Person: I want to be smart. Where can I learn smart stuff?

Person: But plant the seed and smoke the weed and chop the cane.

Peeeson 1: that is the definition of meter? Person 2: about 3 feet. Person 1: okay thanks America

Person 1: who’s Tom Holland? Person 2: Spider-Man you uncultured swine!!

Person: I am not a children

Person: Ohh dang yeah forgot chickens existed for a while

Person: Hey! Don’t narrate my water!

Person: I don’t read water.

Person: Think of it as a relationship. If you and your ex break up they are salty but you profit because you wanted to end it but if you end it weak, then y’all will argue back and forth and get nowhere with ending it while still exchanging insults.

Person: You know those really sexual mattress adverts?

Person: Oh please, you have the sexual appeal of an easy bake oven.

Person 1: weed is a gate way drug Person 2: YOURE A GATEWAY DRUG!

Person: (first, middle, last name), I love you to the end of the earth. But you are a daft child.

Person 1: She’s like that type of girl. She’s the long paragraph white girl. Person 2: Well that’s a niche if I’ve even seen one.

Person 1: swing you two fight is like watching two ants fight. Person 2: you friking piece of bacteria!

Person: I’m just an intellectual.

Person: I will murder your face off.

Person: that’s like a kilometer tall.

Person: It’s weird when I pet you horizontally.

Person: to be honest I thought those were rocks in a jar for the longest time. Turns out they weren’t.

Person: does she have a brother or gay tendencies

Person: I’m going to slap your hand like it’s a fricking spider.

Person: I like your face better blurry.

Person: every night at about midnight someone starts googling astrology

Person: I will kick you. I will murder your soul.

Person 1: I’m just going to marry a millionaire. Person 2: Where are you gunna finds a millionaire in this economy?

Person: Welcome to my tea party, there isn’t any tea to drink, but we have a lot of it to spill.

Person: Yah, it was something about sex or something.

Person: You’re all uncultured swines.

Person: I’m about as straight as a sine curve.

Person 1: They’re not Oreo’s you dumb head Person 2: I know that dumber head. Person 3 :Shut up dumbest heads

Person: As an ex foetus i can say with authority that if my mother had aborted me i wouldn't have known nor would i have given a fuck

Person: I’ve just accepted I’m going to fail this test. I’ve gone through the 5 stages of grief already.

Person: Yes I’m blind that’s why I need glasses fool.

Person: what the fork do you want you little son of a biscuit.

Person: Anyway now I’m taking Tylenol PM and I’m going to actually sleep tonight that’ll be fun.

Person: I need all the hoodies. ALL OF THEM.

[jumpchain-drop]

Chapter 1.1: 0.0 Years

“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

CRASH!

I landed in a face-down belly flop. It hurt, but somehow I don’t think I was injured. Still took a minute to get up.

“Again…?” I moaned.

I was in the middle of the desert. The sun was high up and blazing down with full force. Thankfully I have a hat on now. Also a backpack. Felt pretty heavy. Thankfully I was still in some version of my original outfit, with long sleeves and pants that covered enough skin to keep it from getting burnt. There’s some mountains in the distance, but otherwise the only thing breaking up the forever-long barren landscape is some diner or gas station place, not too terribly far away.

Also I felt like a lot shorter. Later I would learn I was regressed back to twelve years old.

Wanted to check my bag out, but also wanted to be fine with my vitamin D levels for awhile, so I started walking for the diner station.

The hot sand gave way to hot asphalt, which probably would’ve been hotter were it not so faded. A few cars and a couple motorcycles were in the parking lot around the diner. Thankfully, there was a place I can sit in the building’s shadow. No one else seemed to be around at the moment; presumably the inside has air conditioning.

I took the backpack off my back and take a look through its contents. A flip-top phone-like device; the screen says “Pokégear.” I think to check my own pockets; they’re empty except my chapstick and a thick wad of strange paper bills with a “P” symbol on them. So, I guess I still have a phone. There’s another small electronic – a Pokédex, looks like the Unova model. Three green-and-purple spray bottles and five red-and-white balls; Potions and Poké Balls. A laminated Trainer Card with my name and picture on it, registered by the Unovan Pokémon League as a trainer starting a couple months ago.

So apparently I was supposed to have an adventure in the world of Pokémon. Funny; Mad Max wasn’t far from my first guess. It occurs to me I’m in Orre. Don’t remember this exact place, though. I never got far in that game.

There’s some other things here too. A key attached to a Master Ball keychain. A small laptop computer (though the diner’s wi-fi is secured). And was that…? Why the heck do I have a collapsible billy club?

I was still looking at the thing in my hand, thinking that, when I heard some sort of distant screech. I look up.

A bit into the desert, out of nowhere, there was a large flock of blue creatures with purple wings, circling in the air.

The hell’s a bunch of Zubat doing in the middle of the desert, I remember thinking.

That’s when I saw what they were circling around: a plant-like lump, mostly green but with plenty of brown shades.

Gheeze, they were like vultures! What were they even hunting…? It occurred to me to pull out the Pokédex and turn it on, pointing it towards the thing the Zubat were circling around. Even at this distance, it managed to detect what species the poor creature was.

A Turtwig…?! Out here in the middle of the desert…?!

Something just switched on. I was never much of a hero before, more of a coward, but I didn’t want to see what they were going to do to that Turtwig.

In moments, my backpack was closed on my back, everything back inside except the billy club, fully unfolded.

And I ran in yelling like a lunatic.

The next minute I burst through the door of the diner and slammed it shut behind me, producing several thunks as the Zubat swarm barreled into it before they could change course. “Quick!” I shouted to whoever was at the counter. “This Turtwig needs water!”

A few hours passed as I nursed for the Turtwig back to health. Thankfully the diner only charged for the Potions I bought from them with just a bit of the money I have, because she drank a lot of water. Oh yeah, the Turtwig turned out to be female. According to the ‘Dex, Turtwig shells are made of hard soil, growing harder if watered, and feeling slightly moist if they’re healthy. Well, her shell was getting harder. I also had something to eat, pigs-in-a-blanket (though they called it “Mankey in a Wrap”), to keep my strength up while doing it.

During that time, people were going in and out without any Zubat leaking through, so I assumed they buzzed off somewhere.

Eventually, she regained consciousness. She looked up at me with fond eyes. Who knows what she must have gone through, being a Grass-type in Orre’s harsh climate. She nuzzled into my hand when I tried to pet her. I bought her a couple Oran Berries to fill up on.

“That your Turtwig?” the guy at the counter asked.

“No, I found her outside,” I replied. “Think she’s wild?”

“Pokémon like that ain’t wild ‘round here. Probably abandoned.”

“Even someplace as harsh as this…?”

“Never underestimate humankind’s ability to hurt, kid.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

For a while she got off the table and sat in my lap as I did a better check of my things. I decided against bringing the laptop out in some seedy-looking place as this. There was, however, something in my bag I didn’t notice before. Tucked behind the laptop was a notebook with a massive word “JUMP” on the cover, with a spiral binding and a mechanical pencil tucked into it. I opened the first page to see there was already writing on it.

Layer 1:

You have 10 years in this world.

Time is paused wherever you left.

Your motorcycle is nearby.

You keep your perks and gear afterward.

You may only keep 6 Pokémon afterward, one of which must be the first Pokémon you catch. The rest stay behind.

Entertain me.

Was this written by the owner of that voice in the cylinder? Asshole.

“Hey, kid. Catch.”

I looked up just in time for a Poké Ball to hit my forehead. “Ouch!”

“Hey, sorry, I said catch,” the guy at the counter said.

“My hands were busy,” I said with a wince, putting everything away. I picked the ball up. “A Poké Ball?”

“For your Turtwig. On the house.”

“For… But she’s not...”

“I can see she’s taken a shine to you,” he said. “She might as well be.”

I looked down at her to see her looking up at me. After a second, I hold the ball up to her. She nosed the button on the front and, in a flash of light, she vanished into it.

Beep. Beep. Beep. CLICK.

So… I guess my first Pokemon’s a Turtwig. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a Magikarp.

I decide it’s time for me to go. After making sure I’m fully stocked on food and water and everything’s packed safely away, I start to walk out.

“Hey, kid.”

I give the guy at the counter one last look.

“Be careful out there, OK? There’s these punks running around, Team Snagem. They can make Poké Balls that can steal Pokémon from trainers. You keep your new friend safe, OK?”

Team Snagem is an issue? I’m not fully solid on the timeline. I mean, I watched this loud guy do a Let’s Play of both games, but why the hell am I remembering that now?

I gave him a nod and said, “I will.” Then I go outside. Still no Zubat in sight.

The closest city here seems a really long way to walk there. Then I remembered the notebook mentioned I had a motorcycle. I look around the parking lot and notice this unassuming bike in the shade. It had a decal sticker of a Master Ball on it.

I pulled out the key that was in my bag, got on, and put it in the ignition. The engine turned.

I put on the helmet in the little storage compartment on the back and, somehow knowing how to drive a motorcycle, I set off into the desert.

“Entertain me…?” Fuck that guy, he took away ten years of my life. Even if time on Earth was frozen, I would be mentally ten years older when I got back. Plus I left Earth by dropping through a hole. What is this guy’s deal anyway? Whatever. Fuck this, I thought, I need to find someplace to survive around here.

Me and Terra.

That’s my Turtwig’s nickname now. Just in case that wasn’t clear.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY ARC ISN'T ESPECIALLY OBJECT-RISK

Kids a certain age would point into the case and say that they didn't want to be online. Modula: Pascal is too wimpy for systems programming. These combine to make us believe that every judgement of us is about us. But Occam's razor means, in effect, that if you want to write about x? For most, the cause of death is worth trying hard to avoid. It's probably less, in fact. For example, anyone reasonably smart can probably get to an edge of programming e. Which means you have to follow. As you decrease the intelligence of the audience, being a good bullshitter. But most kids would take that deal. For example, when I give a talk in a few years? We were already thinking about the kind of things they say to one another.

They're not allowed to include the numbers, and they're expected to spackle over the gaps with gratuitous transitions Furthermore. For example, anyone reasonably smart can probably get to an edge of programming e. If you run out of ideas? If it's physiological, it should be universal. Just as a speaker ad libbing can only spend as long on each sentence as it takes to say it.1 I started a scandalous underground newspaper. I think the main reason is that it's part of the problem. At YC we're excited when we meet startups working on things that could endanger children.

Why. You don't need or perhaps even want this quality in big companies, but you have less control over the rate at which you turn yours into a prepared mind. They don't realize that it takes work to be popular, certainly, but they want even more to be smart. But Dropbox was a much better idea, both in the absolute sense and also as a match for his skills. You have to be at the leading edge of a rapidly changing field, there will always be a few stars who clearly should make the team, and his place to be taken by the 21st best player will be only slightly worse than the 20th best player may feel he has been misjudged. But teachers like him were individuals swimming upstream. I once wrote an essay about color or baseball.2 And curiously enough, taking rejection less personally may help you to get lost. And the difference in the way fathers and mothers bought ice cream for their kids: the fathers like benevolent kings bestowing largesse, the mothers harried, giving in to pressure. Hence the next leap: could you do the same thing.3

The other half is expressing yourself well.4 What they all have in common is that a dollar from them is worth one dollar. That can't be happening by accident. And now Wall Street is collectively kicking itself. VCs are frightened at the idea of letting founders partially cash out, let me tell them something still more frightening: you are now competing directly with Google. The problem was, since we'd been about to be acquired, we'd allowed ourselves to run low on cash. The kids who got praised for these qualities tended to be at best dull-witted prize bulls, and at worst facile schmoozers. So if you're developing technology for money, you're probably not too late.5

Of course I wanted to work in the pure, intellectual world of software, not deal with customers' mundane problems. Practically every really big startup could say, five years later. I was forced to discard my protective incompetence, I found that after following a certain thread I ran out of ideas on one point, no problem: it won't kill the essay. Being a really good speaker is not merely orthogonal to having good ideas, and then come back to work after dinner. So better a good idea. What's missing?6 It's like the court of Louis XIV. But if you have kids. The Web may well make this the golden age of the essay. You have a lot of people at first, but you'll also be in the best position to conquer the rest of the class, I just skimmed the Cliff's Notes, it turned out. C#: Java is controlled by Sun.7 For example, teenage kids pay a great deal of attention to clothes.

And don't write the way they are because that is how things have to be more precise than we're going to make money and to get attention, and when you talk to them you realize that it's a seller's market. Don't write the essay readers expect; one learns nothing from what one expects. And we'd be reading that the election was a referendum on the war in Iraq, instead of taking a class on, say, genetics. To someone in school now, that may seem an odd question to ask. They grew out of things their founders built because there seemed a gap in the world. Actually it's merely tedious. I won't try that again. That last test filters out surprisingly few people. If a startup fails, it will disappear. In fact, you're doubly likely to find good problems in another domain: a the inhabitants of that domain are not as likely as software people to have already solved their problems with software, and the crap they get in return. My final test may be the sort of lock-in that would prevent users from choosing you, don't discard the idea.

Beginning at Johns Hopkins in 1876, the new model spread rapidly. Most rich people are looking for good investments. Grad students are just the age, and just build things. I want to know: which parts bore them, and which seem unconvincing. With the result that writing is made to seem boring and pointless. Of course I wanted to be popular, certainly, but they want even more to be smart, and to want to be popular. And yet Bill Gates was 19 when he and Paul Allen had constrained themselves to come up with good startup ideas is not to try to figure something out. New protocols are rare. I think lawyers would be the president.8 If I have to give a talk I gave recently.

Notes

Like us, they will only be a good plan for life. What he meant, I can imagine cases where it was outlawed in the middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the ordering system and image generator were written in C and Perl.

It may be underestimating VCs.

So as an experiment she sent their recruiters the resumes of the other is laziness.

It's not quite as easy as I make this miracle happen? There is a down round, though it be in the imprecise half. They would have gone into the shape of the expert they send to look appealing in stores, but bickering at several hundred dollars an hour just to steal the company. And at 98%, as on a valuation cap at all.

But having more of the reason. For example, it's easy to believe, which you want to write about the prior probability of an official authority makes all the best thing they can do with the earlier stage startups, because any invention has a word meaning how one feels when things are going well, but the median total compensation, including that Florence was then the richest country in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically increased demand for unskilled workers, and 20 in Paris. So how do you really have a one world viewpoint, deciding to move from London to Silicon Valley like the iPad because it might be digital talent. By Paleolithic standards, technology evolved at a discount of 30% means when it converts.

The root of the venture business would work better, and no doubt partly because companies then were more the aggregate is what you launch with, you could out of loyalty to the ideal of a heuristic for detecting whether you find yourself in when so many still make you take out your anti-dilution protections. That's why there's a special recipient of favour, being offered large bribes by the time and became the Internet, like a VC firm wants to the browser, the American custom of having someone from personnel call you about an A round. Life isn't an expression; how could I get attacked a lot on how much harder. Beware too of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an assiduous courtier of the number at Harvard Business School at the command of the business for 16,000.

I write out loud can expose awkward parts.

Apple's early history are from an interview. That's why startups always pay equity rather than risk their community's disapproval.

[duskrobin]

Only Human (Part 2)

The next part to this story. It includes one of my favorite characters to write, mostly because Ben is the best, but he needs to stop working so hard and take care of himself.

previous   next

Quick Warnings: Bad Eating Habits

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Max’s bare arms felt numb as walked the five blocks to the Super Squad base. The only warmth he felt was from the baby bundled in his jacket. It had taken a while, but it had calmed down and fallen asleep. He felt relieved when he spotted the base only a few blocks away. At first glance, it looked like every other skyscraper in the new district: reflective windows, white walls, clean court yard with a few small fountains. However, it did stand out with the helicopter pad on the top of the building and the large Super Squad logo. While it did not look impressive, Max knew better then to underestimate it. The place was covered in hidden cameras, each equipped with facial recognition and heat sensors. The security system was top of the line and if it failed, then there was the entire team to still be dealt with. The team worked, trained, and lived in the building, especially since several of the stories served as apartments for the team and their families to live in.

Max walks to the elevator and pushed the button next to it. A few moments later, a loud ping rang though the room and the elevator doors opened. He walked in and the doors closed shut. The elevator had no buttons just a camera and a scanner.

“Identification,” a voice female said. Max lifted his watch up to the scanner. “Malloy recognized. Destination?”

“Lab Level one.” He felt the elevator hum to life. That was the only noise Max heard as the elevator rose though the building. He was glad this elevator didn’t make a lot of noise like the older versions did. If it was any louder, he would be worried about waking the baby. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been holding it until now. It might have been to help block the wind or maybe he had been clinging to the warmth. Not that the baby seemed to mind. It had curled up into the crook of his arms with its fist in its mouth. It looked so much happier than it had a few minutes ago.

The silence was cut with a ping and the doors opened to a long hallway. Max could feel the baby twitch and adjusted the jacket around it before stepping out of the elevator. The room had several windows and windowed doors on either side revealing several labs, although most of the rooms were dark, since it was around lunch time. Lab 1B was one of the few that were still lit. Though the window he could see a man in his early twenties with his back towards him. His curly dark hair fluffed out the way it did when it hadn’t been taken care of in a while. His lab coat had dark smudges from all the times he used it to clean his hands when they got dirty.

When Max entered the lab, the man didn’t even respond. As Max approached the workbench, he could see the man’s hands outstretched with pieces of electronic equipment floating in the space between them. His eyebrows were furrowed as he twisted his hand, causing the floating pieces to combine and disassemble. Max paused a breath to take in the sight: the small smudge on his caramel cheek, the way the over head lights caused his hair to look like a halo, the concentration that lingered in his dark eyes. He was in his natural habitat.

Max almost felt bad for disrupting him.

“Did you remember to eat?” Max called out.

He watched as a few of the floating pieces quivered and fell. The man flinched as they hit the workbench and sighed as he picked up a piece and examined it.

“Aw, geeze. I’m sorry, Ben.” Max rubbed the back of his head. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” Benjamin replied. “There isn’t any permanent damage.”

“So did you?”

Ben was already absorbed in his work again. “Did I what?”

“Remember to eat?”

“Um…” Ben’s eyebrows furrowed, again. “I’m not really sure.”

“Did Sam come in?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they give you a sandwich?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it still on the counter next to you?”

Ben looked over to the edge of the workbench. Sitting dangerously close to the edge was a plate with a single sandwich. “Yeah.”

“Then you didn’t eat it.”

“So it would seem.” Ben shrugged.

Max smirked and moved a bit closer to him. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Leave me to my devices?” Ben gave a slight smile, his eyes still not leaving his work.

“I highly doubt it.” Max leaned into Ben.

Ben struggled to continue working with the limited range of motion he now had.

“This makes it very hard to work.” Ben sighed.

“That’s the point,” Max replied, dropping his head a bit to rest on Ben’s shoulders.

“I have to finish this.” Ben wiggled a bit to get some space between them, but Max just shifted with him.

“No. You have to eat the sandwich.”

“Fine.” Ben placed the pieces onto the workbench. “So did you just come here to torment your boyfriend or is there a reason this time?”

Max smiled and placed a kiss on Ben cheek. “My reason can’t be to torment you?”

Ben rolled his eyes, trying his best to look annoyed about the whole situation. The smile on his face gave him away though. Max wished they could stay like this. No humans versus supers. No debating about where they were supposed to be. Just him and Ben side by side with not even a single thing to worry about.

But then the baby shifted in Max’s arms. Max remembered everything that had happened just that afternoon and everything that he still needed to do.

“There is one thing that I need you to do,” Max said

“What is that?”

“Hold onto him for a second.” Max passed the baby into Ben’s arms before he even registered something was even happening.

“Maxwell, what is this?” Ben exclaimed. He held the baby out a bit to get a better look. He then instinctively tried to give it back to Max. “This is a baby. Why do you have a baby? How long did you...”

“I’ll explain it in a second. I just have to take care of something first.” Max started backing out of the room.

“Maxwell, you can’t just…” Ben called out. The commotion caused the baby to wake up crying. Ben quickly pulled it closer to him. “Oh no. It’s crying. What do I…”

Max slipped out of the room. He felt a little bad about leaving the two together, but he felt it was the best decision he had ever made. At least with Ben, he knew the baby was safe. He continued down the hall a bit until he came to a lab that had the windows painted black. The sign should have read Lab 5B, but instead had a piece of paper taped over it that read Intelligence Officer: Sam Gregory.  Max lightly knocked on the door and opened it.

The interior was filled with computing hardware. Equipment lined the walls and wires ran about the floor and in the center of the room was a circle of desks filled with screens. The screens showed everything from surveillance footage from all over the city including streets and buildings to open documents and files. Sitting in the middle of all this, was a person typing away on a key board. They lacked any defining features to help determine what gender they were. They were not very muscular or curved. Their orange hair, which had been cut close to their face to keep it out of the way, was squished under a large headset with a microphone sticking out of it. The millions of freckles that covered their face and slender arms stood out against their pale skin. The screens illuminated their glasses, making it difficult to see their eyes behind them.

“Hey Max,” they called out, turning their chair around to face them. Max didn’t even question how they knew it was him. It was their job to know what was going on in the city. “How can I help you?”

“Well, I need to get in contact with social services.” Max rubbed the back of his neck. Not exactly the only thing he wanted to ask them but it was a start.

A flash of disappointment crossed their face. “That’s a pretty easy task but… I guess I can help you out.”

They turned around and opened a new window on one of the screens and shifted though several electronic documents until they found a form. “Where is the kid anyway?”

Max jumped a little at the question. He wasn’t sure if they would have noticed the kid. “I left them with Ben.”

“You gave them to Ben? Why? He can barely take care of himself?”

“Ben ismore than capable of taking care of a baby.”

“Really?” Sam quickly glanced at Max. “Has he eaten the sandwich yet?”

“Um… no.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” they continued. “I swear if I wasn’t here to take care of him he would go into his devices and never come out again.”

Max stared at the form Sam pulled up. “What is this anyway?”

“Oh, this is kinda a new form that needs to be filled out when an abandoned kid is found. So many have been found lately that they needed a new one.”

“Is that a check box for being a corrupted?”

“Yeah. You’d be surprised how many of them are corrupted now a days. “

“It’s that bad?”

“Well, about half of the babies abandoned are corrupted. I mean it’s harder for them to find jobs and with the rep of being evil it’s not like a lot of people want one around. There’s a lot working against them.”

Max could feel his hands twitch. He had never felt disgusted to be human until now.

“You know.” Sam gave a comforting smile. “I can fill this out on my own and keep you updated. I mean you might have other things that you need to do.”

“Yeah. Thanks Sam.” Max shifted weight onto his other foot. He was wondering if he should ask about the other thing. The others might get the idea that he was going to leave them. But if he didn’t look into it, he would never know if he had missed his chance at fitting in somewhere.

“Anything else I can help you with?” They tilted their head a little. “Cause I highly doubt you came all this way to bug me with mediocre tasks.”

“Can you,” Max took a deep breath. This was his last chance at backing out. But he had to know. “Can you find anything about a new program?”

“What’s it called?”

“Project Prometheus.”

“Let me see what I can find.” The hacker turned to one of the screens and started pulling up different windows and typing in small bits of code so fast it made Max’s head spin. After a few moments, they stopped and pulled up a file. “Here it is. Project Prometheus. It says it’s a human only division.”

“Human only.”

“Yeah. You know. No supers or corrupted.” They quickly skimmed through the file. “It was named after the Greek Titan.”

“The guy that brought fire to the mortals right?”

“Yeah. Most of it is still in development but it sounds like it’ll be like us only using technology instead of powers.”

“Something to give us humans a fighting chance,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” they asked.

“Nothing important.” He turned towards the door. “Thanks again Sam.”

“Why do you know about this?” they called after him.

Max froze. “My brother let something slip about it.”

“Right. Slipped.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean it is your brother we’re talking about and considering how your lunches always go…”

“Have you been watching my lunch outings?”

“Don’t be so surprised,” they scoffed. They turned to see the anger on his face. “What?”

“You don’t trust me?” Max had never been so mad in his life. It was bad enough the group thought he was useless, but now they were worried that he was going to betray them.

“It’s my job to be nosy. I gather information for a living.”

“Including about your teammates.”

“When it is important, yes. Half of my job is keeping track of people so they don’t run into trouble and disappear. And for the record I trust you. It’s your brother I don’t trust. He has a way of pushing everyone around. Especially you.”

“Yeah. Well maybe I’m getting sick of everyone pushing me around.”

“Max. I didn’t mean...” Sam paused and lifted a hand to their head set. “Jo? This isn’t the best time for… There’s a bomb where?” They sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, I can look up the blueprints. Hold on for a sec.”

They lowered their hand with a sigh before turning back to him. “There is kind of a bomb threat and Jo’s there and she’s going to need...”

“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at the floor. That was just how it worked around here.

Sam fidgeted a bit, biting the edge of their lip. “Look, I...”

“It’s fine. Do what you need to.”

They turned back to the monitors and started furiously working. “I’ll take care of the form as soon as I can and get back to you.”

“Good luck, Sam.” Max slipped out of the room.

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next

[dontcallmecarrie]

Things That Nearly Happened [TWiFFON]

So. 

It’s been a while since I started TWiFFON, and for those of you who’ve seen the outline-fic-idea-thing that kick-started this entire mess, you’ve probably seen the deviations from what I’d initially planned, even now. 

Some of the bigger changes were because as I went along, and time passed, I couldn’t help but feel that the early draft was overly vindictive. This is meant to be self-indulgent, yes, but as it is I’m herding cats and dogs to keep everything on track, and just bashing for no reason sounds exhausting on a level I’m trying to not think too hard about [cough emotions cough]. 

So, a bit of a roll-call as to what’s changed since I posted the first chapter, and up to now. Plus some commentary on the process, because why not. Under the cut, because it got pretty damn long [you guys know how I roll].

The War is Far From Over Now was initially meant to be much, much darker.

I try to tag for everything I feel applies, and try to keep changes minimal. If you’ve seen my Doctor Who fanfics on AO3, you’ve probably noticed it’s a thing with me, because I want to make sure everyone knows what they’re signing up for. [I ended up updating them, because things got so far off-track.]

While playing with the basic premises of TWiFFON, the main one was ‘everyone keeps calling him a villain. Be careful what you wish for: what if Tony Stark had been evil?’ and looking at his capacity for damage. 

I don’t read the comics, but just in the MCU since the first movie, I couldn’t help but think he’s got a better villain origin story than most villains, if he ever chose to go that route. Add to that my taste in music, and the lyrics of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man came to mind when I saw the thread that started it all: specifically, one of the last verses:

 “Now the time is here, 

for Iron Man to spread fear.

Vengeance from the grave,

kill the people he once saved!”

Aaand the outline just kept coming, because this is a spitefic and you guys can thank each and every anti-Tony post out there for me getting into this mess. They want to call him a villain? Fine. They’ll get one. 

That was my mindset at the time. 

Except, that wasn’t the end of it, because I kept going back to that post and thinking ‘but this doesn’t do what I had in mind justice, what should I do?’ and then ‘uh-oh shit brain no don’t do it, you’re already struggling with one fanfic as is! C’mon brain!’ ...and the rest is history. 

Except for the way it isn’t, because TWiFFON was slated to be like 5 chapters long but then I noticed that the more I typed, the more I realized that the groundwork needed to be expanded on and that’s how the CA2 fallout arc even exists and why the AoU arc’s like three times its intended size. 

Along the way, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to stomach writing the bashing I’d done in the original outline, and because of how stressful life was, and my knee-jerk reaction featuring writing cracky ideas. Tony was meant to be a lot darker, technically, but I couldn’t find a rational way to approach it that was also in character and also bearable to write. Contrast this with JARVIS: I keep mentioning how he’s a lot darker than canon. His character, I didn’t change from what was originally drafted as much, and even then I watered down his moral ambiguity when a prime opportunity came up. 

tl;dr: TWiFFON’s lighter than what I’d originally meant it to be.

Because writing with sustained anger is exhausting and I’ll let the theme song communicate my wrath while I relax and have a good time writing a passive-aggressive +56k long ‘fuck you’ to everyone who thinks Team Cap were the heroes.

This fic was also meant to be a lot, lot shorter. 

As mentioned before, it was meant to be like 5 chapters, and I’d severely underestimated the scope of this undertaking. That is the only way I can explain how 405 words of my outline ballooned into roughly half the fic because dammit the AoU arc hates me. [Over 20k words. fml]

Some continuity issues that I’ll have to correct when I’m done, like how Accounting’s an SI branch yet Finance is what shows up in the memos. Also, because of the unreliable narrator thing, a lot’s going on behind the scenes, and is the main reason I’m working on a sidefic for it.

...now onto the more specific things that got scrapped/added in.

The memos:

that format was me screwing around and remembering the classic ‘show, don’t tell’ thing any kid who’s had a writing lesson knows. Plus I’d found a few fanfics with that premise that I adored, and went ‘hey now there’s an idea!’ and it was a bigger hit than expected. 

Maria Hill’s presence:

was meant to be a cameo only, but then a commenter brought her up and inspired me to have her show up more, except then it snowballed and I blame/thank them because I got the opportunity to explore some things I hadn’t gotten the chance to, before. Specifically, her thoughts on Steve Rogers’ defending the twins’ volunteering.

Nick Fury’s appearance:

I’d originally wanted him to show up as a janitor, because I love tropes and the Almighty Janitor is a personal favorite. And it would’ve had Tony facepalming and going ‘you know what? Screw it, I’m out, how the fuck is this my life’ when he found out that the janitor for the night shift on the R&D floor was none other than the badass of badasses, and nobody noticed because he’s just that good at going undercover. SWORD membership would’ve been a thing, too, and he would’ve been one of the ones snarking in the memos about that one op in Mogadishu and Decker, chill, seriously, no need for melodrama when it comes to naming this thing [coming from the dude who faked his death, so bonus irony]. 

Got scrapped because it would’ve taken even more effort than leaving him out, and this way you guys can imagine him just sitting in front of a laptop at a Starbucks and laughing at Tony whenever a headline about his robot army and SWORD comes up because no paperwork, not his problem. 

Also got scrapped when I realized I needed Fury to have That One Conversation during the AoU arc, and for him to see what’s coming means he didn’t know what was happening earlier and for that to have happened means he was out of the loop beforehand. 

Just— I like his character. Badass and been in the business long enough to get jaded and yet so optimistic about humanity [...doesn’t that sound familiar] despite it all. Plus there’s some headcanons I’ve got about how he’s a little like an uncle to Tony, if only in a vaguely distant way, what with seeing him grow up and all. 

The alien invasion versus the robot uprising:

originally, I’d planned on sticking with canon, as per the outline. The closer I got to the AoU arc, though, the more I realized it would be a   m e s s  to go through with it, because it would’ve added so many issues as to how we’d get to the end goal of accidental world domination. 

Like, I could’ve gone through with it, but I can guarantee that if I had then the PR department would’ve just thrown the Avengers under the bus, full stop. 

Rich protocols nothing; it would’ve been full-on AIM-level ‘you’re dead, you just don’t know it yet’ hellfire mode, because these assholes are blaming the dude who’s the biggest name in AI for this epic screwup, and not the new addition who coincidentally triggered the only guy on the team who’s been the textbook case of PTSD for years now? Fuck no. 

Plus, everyone keeps saying Ultron was Tony’s fault, in canon, despite the menacing alien magic staff thing just sitting unattended and flickering ominously. Or, y’know, even Wanda’s mindtrip, not five minutes beforehand. 

Sure, Ultron is Tony’s fault. Riiight. [cough bullshit cough] It’s like everyone forgot this is the same damn thing that had the entire room about to brawl in under 5 minutes, back in the first Avengers movie. 

tl;dr: I decided to just cut out the middle man. Magic Staff Thing of Evil that was given to Loki by Thanos, yes it’s an evil artifact and a plot device, let’s get on with the story already. [Might’ve been lazy writing, but I’m a broke student and time’s not always on my side so tough.]

Plus, the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how similar the two Avengers movies were in plot, except where the first one was executed brilliantly the second was...not. If anything, it felt like an inversion of the first, which is brilliant if that’s what they were going for but I highly doubt it. [I’m also ignoring the forced-feeling romance in the latter because when the fuck did Bruce and Natasha even get together? Canon or no, that’s just...no.]

...there’s probably more to it, and with how the story’s progressing more divergences from the outline too, but that’s all I can think of off the top of my head.

[puckish-saint]

If I may request a simple but fun idea- How do you think the OW crew sing karaoke? Up to you on how to interpret this, either separately with each character or if they had a group afternoon session to chill after a hard mission.

It’s Fareeha who comes up with theidea, when she looks out over the group after the mission, allsitting by themselves except for her and Jesse.

“Not what you imagined?” Jesseasks, following her gaze from underneath his hat. No, she wants tosay, and neither is working with him. As a young girl she beggedGabriel to let her tag along on a mission, she’d have givenanything just to sit in the aircraft on the way there, promised she’dbe quiet as a mouse. In her head it was all one glorious adventure, afellowship like no other forged in the heat of battle. But thesepeople barely know each other and Jesse, who should remember theglory days, doesn’t make any attempt to befriend them. “It’slike this is just another job,” she says and can’t chase thedisappointment from her voice. Working and living first for the armyand then for Helix Security she’s learned that war isn’t all thatthe movies make it out to be, but Overwatch has always stood for morethan that. It used to be full of ideals, of hope for a tomorrow thatis better than today. But even Jesse, who remembers, whowalked among giants the same as she has, takes his paycheck andleaves at the end of each mission.

“What’d you expect? You gottabelieve in the people if you wanna believe in the cause. And thesefolks,” He waves at Symmetra buried in a magazine on sustainablearchitecture, at Lúcio with headphones in his ears napping thestress away, at Hana texting a friend at home, and Mei who’s tooshy to make the first step. “They don’t know each other.”

It’s a well thought out conclusionfor a man wearing chaps but Fareeha has long since stoppedunderestimating Jesse. He watches and smiles and sees that nothingexcept a paycheck ties these people together. And if that’s whathas to change, Fareeha decides, that is what will change.

Most ‘agents’ of Overwatch, and shebarely can call them such in this state of affairs, don’t live atthe watchpoint. They have their own homes and lives to return to, canbarely be bothered to answer their comms when their help is needed.Apart from Winston only Mei, Reinhardt, Brigitte and Hanzo live here,because they have no other place to go or because they used to liveout of a van smelling of currywurst.

She bullies Winston into helping her gothrough a five year old inventory detailing everything Overwatch leftbehind when its people scattered to the winds. Somewhere between 480bathing suits (A box is missing, Fareeha notes, and Winston admits heneeded them for a project. She decides it’s wisest not to ask.) andan old maypole used for Overwatch’s last cultural festival, shefinds what she’s been looking for.

Brigitte helps to set things up, frompicking the lock to the common room the key to which Winston lost atsome point in his exile of half a decade to impromptu repairs on theelectronics. She likes Brigitte. They share a passion for powerarmour engineering, even in the year 2076 a niche profession, andoften spend their free afternoons comparing notes. She was around inthe old days, apprenticed to the Ironclad guild, but never made itinto the inner circle that Fareeha grew into. Now she’s right inthe thick of it, so far undecided if that is a good thing. She hopesthat with this event she’ll sway her to a favourable opinion.

And then, after facing the newOverwatch’s low budget issues and illegally downloading a selectionof titles, it’s finished.

The team bonding machine. Thefriendship device. Humbling the great and empowering the meek.

If the new Overwatch won’t be friendsby themselves, she’ll make them sing karaoke until they are.

The real challenge, it turns out, isgetting everyone to participate. Fareeha’s the first to write inthe Overwatch team chat in several weeks and that too stings withnostalgia, when she remembers the servers in the old days, full ofgroups for every member. She even remembers the language filter hermother got after Jesse joined and how long it took her to get aroundit (three weeks, after which she learned a plethora of new words thathave come in handy since).

Fareeha A.

Keep your schedules free on the 16thnext month.

Lena, predictably is the first toanswer. She may be the only one as attached to Overwatch as Fareehais.

Tracer Big mission???

No, Fareeha writes, but that attendanceis expected and she’s not taking no for an answer. Apart from Lena,only Mei and Winston acknowledge they read her message at all. Shedidn’t expect more, although she’s still disappointed when shechecks her phone again and finds nothing new. She knows for a factTalon has infiltrated this channel and finds little solace in thefact they must be as frustrated with the lack of participation as sheis. It’s time for a more personal approach.

“I think not.” Hanzo says, alreadyregretting leaving the safety of his room for a quick late nightsnack and slowly backing away through the door. Fareeha has beenlurking in the kitchen for hours waiting for him to emerge. She’snot about to let him off the hook.

“To bond as a team, the whole teammust be present.” Fareeha says, following him down the hallway.

“I am not part of any team.”

“You’re not making any effort tochange that.”“I don’t want to change that,” Hanzo stopsin front of his room, fishing for his access card. “My purpose isto find redemption, not to engage in frivolities with a band ofstrangers. Good night.”He slams the door shut, but if he thinkshe can get away that easy he doesn’t know what she’s prepared todo to complete her mission.

“If you don’t agree I’ll tellGenji you’re giving away the Nepali sweets he makes for you.” sheshouts against the closed door.

He has it open in record time.

“You wouldn’t dare.” he says butthere’s clearly no decency in a woman blackmailing him at two inthe morning. In response she takes out her phone and makes a show ofselecting Genji’s number from her list of contacts.

“Dear Genji,” she says aloudas she types the words. “I thought you might like to know thatyour brother gives away the anarsaa you put so much effort intomaking to anyone who can stomach being complicit in such acold-hearted, cruel-”“Fine, fine! I will attend yoursilly function.” Fareeha grins and puts away the phone.

“16th of next month, 6pm, the commonroom on the third floor. Snacks and drinks are available. Dresscasually.”

The next on her list is easierpersuaded.

“Of course I will come!” Reinhardtsays and promptly provides her with an exhaustive list of titles he’dlike to sing. Fareeha, loving the man like her own grandfather butknowing his taste in music, filters out the more unbearable songs sheoccasionally hears him belt under the shower. While she updates thekaraoke library and soothes her guilty conscience by telling herselfmost of the artists on Reinhardt’s list have been dead close to ahundred years and won’t mind missing a few dollars, she gets answerto a message she sent days ago.

Karaoke???? The text only reads,but it’s to be expected. The sender did so ‘from my MEKA／(˃ᆺ˂)＼'and the location puts her somewhere in Australia, undoubtedly in themech fighting domes in and around Junkertown. This is where D.Vaspends her free time when she’s not training for tournaments orwith her MEKA strike team. Through the attention she gets wherevershe goes Junkertown has received an influx of aid, from treatment forradiation sickness to basic goods like water and food. Fareeharealises more than ever that for many of Overwatch’s new recruitsthe organisation isn’t and never will be their only option to causereal change. As much as she wished it were otherwise for people likeD.Va Overwatch is a side job.

Yes, karaoke, Fareeha writes andlaunches into her pre-written speech, our conflict with Talonstretches the limits of our abilities. In order to use thoseabilities most effectively we need to build a strong unit cohesion-

While she’s still writing D.Va’snext message comes in.

When’s the party?

She’s so surprised she only deleteshalf of what she’s written in her haste to answer.

… abilities in order to usethoseyou’re saying yes?

A shrugging emoji is all she gets forhalf an hour while D.Va launches into another battle against a Junkerbuilt mech she decimates with a lot of flashy and unnecessary move.Although, Fareeha supposes as she watches the livestream, they arenecessary to rake in as many donations as possible. It’s a battletactic, even if the battle is fought in people's minds.

As the fight ends Fareeha can see Hanatexting without looking while she and her mech bow to the audience.

I make my guys do stuff like thatall the time in the MEKA program. New guys always complaining but inthe end they love it. I’ll be there

With six definite okays under her beltFareeha gets a little too optimistic. When she calls Torbjörn sheexpects him to be enthusiastic like Reinhardt and forgets for acrucial moment that he left Overwatch of his own volition.

“No,” he says and just like thather mood shatters. “You’re a good kid, but there’s nothinggetting me back in that boat.”“But ... “

Children arguing in the backgroundbriefly distract Torbjörn who deals out a few choice words inSwedish. He may have been reprimanding them, may have told them ajoke. She can never tell. While her German is passable and herSpanish approaches fluency, her Swedish has always been spotty. Theonly word she knows by heart is godis, because her seven yearold self made sure to learn to ask for sweets in every languagespoken on base.

When Torbjörn returns to the phone shehears in his voice that to him the conversation is already over.Still she owes it to herself to try.

“Reinhardt has been asking if you’llcome. He’d be happy to see you again.”

“Sentimental old lug. You can tellhim I’ll drop by sometime to deliver the new security systemWinston asked for. But don’t expect me to play babysitter for thatmovie night or whatever it is you’re planning.”“Karaoke.”“Yes,that. Too many new influences aren’t good for a man my age, child.Besides, I’m busy with a new project. Well, technically she’s anold project, but either way I can’t leave even if I wanted to. Theymight scrap the poor thing after all.”

He makes up this project purely to endthe discussion, evidenced by his ridiculous excuse that his ‘project’has followed a squirrel up a tree and can’t get down, to end thephone call. Fareeha indulges him, because she respects Torbjörn’sdecision and also because she doesn’t have anything with which toblackmail him. Win some, lose some, and with that mindset she moveson to the next on her list.

“I have sensitive ears.” is Lúcio’shalf-cooked explanation why he really can’t join the team forkaraoke night.

“Suck it up, choir boy, you’recoming.” Fareeha pokes the screen and Lúcio, several thousandmiles away, actually flinches back. It’s no secret she can beintimidating and she milks it for all its worth. If it gets everyonein the same room on karaoke night she will not hesitate to bully themthere.

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I’mbusy,” he tries again and lists all the pressing matters he has toattend to. “There’s the tour, and my manager is riding my assabout the new album, I’m so far behind and I need every second tocatch up. Then there is the peace march in Timor Leste, and the RoundSquare conference in the Netherlands. I’m a guest speaker for thegraduating class at the UFRJ and I haven’t even startedwriting that speech-”“You’re free on the 16th.” Fareehainterrupts because it doesn’t look like he’ll be done anytimesoon.

“You have no way of knowing that.”he says, but a hint of uncertainty steals into his voice. She savoursthe moment, lets it breathe like fine wine until she delivers thekilling blow.

“I do, because I talked to your agentand she promised to keep your schedule free.”

His look of betrayal is nothing shortof hilarious.

“You talked to my agent?Behind my back!”

But as much as he grouses andcomplains, the deal has been sealed.

Genji and Zenyatta are in the middle ofa strike to better working conditions for omnics when Fareeha stalksup to them, jet-lagged and wanting nothing more than a hot shower andthree days of uninterrupted sleep. For almost two weeks she’s donenothing but run after every wayward child of the once again fledglingOverwatch and at this point she’ll just be glad when this madnessis over.

“It sounds like a lovely occasion,”Zenyatta says and it might just be her imagination but she swearshe’s subtly trying to push her forward and in front of the cameras.A respected member of the human community seen at a pro-omnic eventwould do them some good. Helix Security doesn’t like their peoplemaking political statements but if it helps karaoke night she’llgive the cameras her best angles. “But I’m afraid I can not joinyou. More pressing matters demand my attention and our work onhuman-omnic relations must not be interrupted.”

She counted on something like this.From what she hears on the news, the people Zenyatta supports areclose to a breakthrough. But she gets a promise out of him to make anappearance the next time she plans something like this and Genji,acting as a silent shadow to Zenyatta, doesn’t need much to bepersuaded to join.

“I always refused partaking in theseevents before,” he says, “and always regretted it. It will be mypleasure to be there.”

Symmetra is less than enthusiasticabout the prospect of spending several hours in the company of peopleshe barely knows and, in some cases, actively dislikes. She switchesbetween talking to Fareeha and guiding her team of architechs ontheir latest project, a vertical farm in the outskirts of Ecatepec.After their recent loss in Brazil Vishkar has directed its attentionto the war torn North and Central America. Fareeha is no stranger tothe places outside Native territory in desperate need of food tosurvive. Surprisingly Symmetra doesn’t argue her lack of time toget out of this endeavour.

“I do not want to,” she simplysays, followed by something shouted in Telugu sounding suspiciouslylike a curse. “Overwatch’s ideals are commendable, but I do notfavour the kind of people it attracts. I will not associate withthem.”

“You like Winston.” Fareeha pointsout, but the truth is, even if she spares some passing sympathy for afellow scientist, Symmetra has no reason and less motivation to makefriends with people who are fundamentally different from her. Theonly person she regularly talks to before and after missions is Lúciobut not in the manner Fareeha tries to encourage with karaoke.

But it gives her an idea.

“No, you know what? I understand,”she says and notes Symmetra’s surprise at her seemingly easyvictory. “Lúcio didn’t like the idea either. He said it’s awaste of time and that he’s much too busy to do some sillyteam-bonding.”

She watches out of the corner of hereyes and counts the seconds. Symmetra can resist the urge to gossipabout Lúcio half a minute.

“Yet more proof how little thisstreet ruffian knows of the world. A strong team can tip any battlein their favour, it is a well known fact.”

“That’s what I told him!” In theback of her mind some mean part of Fareeha rubs its tiny handstogether in manipulative glee. She’ll show them to deny her karaokenight, she’ll show them all. “But he was all like ‘it’s notgoing to work, no one will show up’. I hate to think he may beright-”“He is not.” Symmetra interrupts and looks outacross her half-finished project like a benevolent mother about toleave her children alone for the first time. “I will attend yourfunction and ensure its success. We must not let fools thinkthemselves superior.”

And indeed, they mustn’t.

After her resounding victory withSymmetra, she doesn’t take it too hard when Zarya provides a goodreason not to come, what with the impending doom of her country and awar tipped in the omnics' favour. One more name gets crossed off, butthe next one isn’t as cut and dry.

She sits in her quarters on thewatchpoint, this small place feeling more like home than herapartment in Egypt ever did, and hovers over her mother’s contactin her phone. They talked before, in the days and weeks following herreturn from the dead, but most of these talks have turned intoarguments or cold silence. How could you do this to your owndaughter, Fareeha has asked but every answer her mother gavesounded just as hollow as the condolences she received after herdeath.

Should she invite her? Try and mend thebroken bond between them if she can barely look her in the eye? Evenher father isn’t at that point yet. They have both grieved for hermother, have tried to move on with their lives as best they could.Fareeha remembers waking up in the middle of the night to her fathercrying, trying to stay silent, to appear strong in front of hisdaughter, but breaking down little by little at the loss of the womanhe loved more than life itself.

Fareeha crosses her name off the listwithout calling. Not now. Maybe never.

But her foray into the past has givenher another name to fall back on. Jack’s long suffering sigh whenhe picks up the phone tells her he has heard of her crusade.

“Reinhardt told me,” he answers herunspoken question. “And I appreciate what you’re trying to do,god knows this lot can improve on their teamwork, but leave me out ofit.”

Back in the old days Jack would havebeen the first to agree. More, he would have helped her organise thewhole thing and made homemade snacks to go along. This more thananything drives home just how much has changed, how little of the oldguard remains even when they have returned to join the fight.

“You’re just as much part of thisas anyone else,” she insists. “You came back for a reason, Jack.Some part of you believes in what Overwatch can be. Don’t be astranger.”

But his answer stays the same. He sayshe can’t and that he shouldn’t. Says he’s too old to make newfriends, too bitter to offer anything of value. She leaves him withthe date and the place, urges him to at least consider it. Hepromises but she can’t help feeling he does so only to do her afavour and that he will put it out of his mind the moment she hangsup.

Three days before the grand event, theculmination of all her hard work to get a dozen people who barelyknow each other in the same room to sing awkward songs, Jesse strollsinto the watchpoint, a bag of dirty laundry over his shoulder andbounty hunters on his tail. He drifts, even though Winston hasoffered him permanent residence on the watchpoint, claims he’s afree soul who can’t be tied down by obligations. Fareeha knowsbetter. He’s not so different from Jack in that regard.

“Heard about your plans,” he sayswhile they solve crosswords in the laundry room waiting for thewashing to be done. “Mighty ambitious of ya, gettin’ everyone toplay along.”

“I didn’t get everyone.”

“Yeah,” Jesse pretends to beutterly oblivious to her tone, ponders another word for ‘failing toseize an opportunity’. “Torbjörn was never hot on singing, don’tget caught up over it.”“Jesse ... “

He puts the crossword aside, looks ather with his big brown eyes.

“Y’know I don’t like imposing.”And then he does that thing where he reaches behind his ear for acigarillo he stopped carrying there years ago. It’s the sameaborted motion he made everytime he was afraid he messed up,everytime someone reminded him of the gang he left behind. Everytimehe felt like before the end of the conversation someone, evenhimself, would tell him he didn’t truly belong. It’s his safetyblanket, the sharp smoke of home grown tobacco, the flick of alighter, something to steady his hands and keep him grounded.

She takes his hands in hers when hedoesn’t find the cigarillo.

“You can’t impose on your ownhome,” she says and continues before he can argue. “This is whereyou belong, you’re like a brother to me and I shouldn’t even haveto ask you to come. If Overwatch is ever going to take off again, weneed you. You can make people come out of their shell, you can makethem talk. Without you Genji would still be sulking in the clinic,Lena would never have asked Emily out, Jack would still-”Jesselaughs, holds up his hands in defense.

“All right, shortstuff, I get it. IfI’m the only one who can save this motley crew, you got my support.No need for a speech.”

But Fareeha knows it did him good tohear it.

And then the big day is there. After amonth of careful planning, of using everything from emotionalmanipulation to outright blackmail to get people to attend, it feelslike much more than a simple get-together. She puts Reinhardt andBrigitte in charge of snacks and they have the good sense to returnwith the van filled to the brim. The booze she bought days ago andretrieves it from its various hiding places, still finding thatsomeone found and raided at least one of her stashes. BetweenReinhardt, who thinks foreign beer counts as soda, and Hanzo, whodrinks to forget the fact he’s drinking, there are a few likelyculprits. Just today, though, there won’t be any reprimands.There’ll be enough tension to dissolve as it is.

As if on cue she hears the aircraftland, the pleasing hum of Vishkar’s jets and Symmetra disembarks infront of Lúcio, Lena and Emily who play an impromptu hockey game inthe hangar bay.

“Glad you could make it!” Fareehasays before the cold glares exchanged between Lúcio and Symmetra canturn the game into ice hockey.

“Of course,” Symmetra says as shefloats past like she’s on the red carpet, rather than an oversizedgarage smelling perpetually of cold pizza and engine grease. “Iwould not miss such an important team-building event.”

Lúcio misses the glance she throws himand Fareeha sends a prayer up in thanks. While she shows Symmetraaround the base, barely believing she’s run half a dozen missionsfor Overwatch and never seen it, the other guests trickle in. Theypass the gardens and listen to Hanzo assure Genji he loved his latestbatch of sweets. Fareeha winks at Hanzo and gestures with her fingeracross her lips, vowing she’ll keep them closed. But other than thebrothers the people she invited are spread out, barely talking to oneanother. It’s time to get this show on the road.

“All right, who wants to go first?”Fareeha asks with fake cheer at the not exactly overwhelmingenthusiasm. Even Hana, who assured her she knows how important it isthis evening goes well, pops some bubble gum and stays on her phone.Lena saves her life.

“Emi and I will!”

Emily looks like she doesn’tappreciate being volunteered but would do just about anything tosupport her girlfriend. Even singing a cheesy pop song in front ofstrangers with varying levels of deathglares.

The lyrics are simple, and theirenthusiasm infectious. Lena serenades Emily offkey on her knees, sorife with theatrics even Hanzo is seen hiding a smile.

Fareeha goes up next and watches, asshe sings a soulful ballad, her guests begin to relax and mingle.Lúcio, Reinhardt and Emily chat about the ideal ratio of dip todorito, Hana shows Genji something on her phone that makes them bothlaugh, and Jesse has taken on his assigned role as oyster shucker andworks to get Mei out of her shell.

After the last chords of her song fadeout she hands the microphone to Winston, knowing he’ll be toostartled to decline and too polite to pass it off to someone elseonce he’s taken it. He chooses a song rife with science puns lessthan a handful understands, but the refrain makes Mei laugh so hardsoda comes out of her nose. Fareeha jumps to her aid and whileWinston still apologises for a mishap he’s only indirectly to blamefor, she has promised Mei she’ll go up on stage with her if shewants to sing. Together they sing the lines to a tune from a Disneyfilm it turns out everyone remembers fondly. A few even sing alongfrom their seats and applaud heartily when Mei gives a shy bow afterher performance.

At some point between Reinhardt beltingModern Talking’s Sexy Sexy Lover, a song rightfully committed toobscurity a hundred years ago, trying to convince everyone to join inand not letting it curb his enthusiasm when they don’t, and Genjiand Hana laughing more than singing through the main theme of theirfavourite video game, Fareeha slips out to get more snacks and findsmost everyone has found their own little group to engage in. Peoplewho before couldn’t be bothered to exchange two words are nowinvolved in deep discussion if you really can’t love a memory.

She’s still swaying along toReinhardt’s song, mentally congratulating herself on how well thisevening is turning out even if it comes at the cost of havingterrible songs stuck in her head, that she doesn’t notice Jackuntil she runs straight into him.

“Jack!”

“Careful!”

Between them they save the tray ofempty bottles, juggling each toppling piece until they’re all inone way or another deposited on the kitchen table. He plays with abottle cap, places it on the table, then picks it up again to traceits edges, while Fareeha can only stare. Him showing up is almostmore surprising than when he returned from the dead.

“You, uh, said I should think aboutit and ... “he trails off and while she’s dying to know what madehim reconsider after all she doesn’t press. Instead she pulls twomore bottles of alcohol out of the pantry and pushes them into hishands, arming herself with a load of snacks. Brigitte and Reinhardtbought enough to feed an army and it may not be enough.

“They’ll be happy to see you,”Fareeha says in lieu of a grand speech of family and homecoming. “Andyou better think about what song you’re going to sing.”

“I’m not going to-”“Everyonesings.”

The truth of that becomes evident whenthey return to a friendly argument centering around Hanzo.

“I will not sing.” he maintains.“No one said participation was required.”“It’s karaoke,brother.” Genji says and though most of the group have only thebest intentions, trying to include Hanzo in this setting, it’sclear that he only seeks to make a public embarrassment of hisbrother.

“I am well aware of what it is and mypoint stands. I will not sing.”

Jack can slip in almost unnoticed whilethe attention lies on Hanzo’s steadfast refusal to stretch hisvocal chords. Only Jesse gives him a two-fingered salute beforeturning his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Give it a go, darlin’, we promisewe won’t laugh.”

“Do not call me that,” Hanzo snaps.“And I would like to remind you that you also have not sung.”

Fareeha intervenes before the argumentcan get serious. She leans on the backrest of the couch behind Hanzoand says, so low only he can understand her: “Sing or I may getbored and decide to talk to your brother for a bit.”

A moment later Hanzo’s on the stage,frowning as he scrolls through the music selection. He choosessomething slow and mournful, a song from a movie Fareeha rememberswatching years ago. Two lines into the song everyone has stoppedtalking. They stare open-mouthed at Hanzo who falters under theattention, but catches himself quickly to continue what just may bethe most beautiful thing Fareeha has ever heard. Genji’s eyestwinkle with joy at his friends’ bemusement. He wasn’t looking toembarrass his brother after all.

While Jesse pretends to die frominstant love Hanzo ends his song with the words “This shouldsuffice.”, steps over the smitten cowboy and returns to his seatlike nothing happened. He will not take any inquiries into hismiraculously beautiful singing voice and hands the mic to Lúcio whoby some miracle has managed to get out of singing without anyonenoticing. He slinks up on stage like a beaten dog and Fareeha swearsshe can hear him praying under his breath. Not without reason as itturns out.

Where Hanzo may have become a musicallegend in another life, Lúcio proves once and for all that justbecause one is a world-famous musician one is not necessarily good atholding a tune.

“Oh God ... “ Hana whispers inabject horror as Lúcio and everyone else in the room suffers throughhis song. Well, almost everyone suffers.

Satya’s shoulders shake but what atfirst look like tears of despair, turns out to be barely containedlaughter. Lúcio glowers at her, clearly intending to speak achallenge once he’s done - if you think you’re so good, do itbetter -  but he doesn’t need to. He has barely finished thesong, somehow managing not to hit a single note throughout, when shewalks up, takes the mic out of his hand and picks a song with thecertainty of someone who has calculated exactly where to find it fromthe moment she saw the machine.

No master singer is lost on Satya butcompared to Lúcio, currently licking his wounds and being cheered upby Reinhardt and Emily, she’s more than good enough.

The more extroverted members of thegroup go on stage again and again as the evening draws and andeveryone gets progressively more drunk.

Jesse refuses to sing karaoke but canbe persuaded to sing an old country song by himself, something sweetand full of homesickness that makes everyone rethink their opinion oncountry. Half a bottle of whiskey later he goes up for karaoke afterall and makes everyone re-rethink their opinion on country music.

Genji accompanies his next renditionwith a drunk lapdance for Mei who blushes feverishly red and lookslike she doesn’t know if she should cry or proposition him. Winstonsaves her by dragging her and Satya up on stage to sing the Elementssong together. She stumbles hopelessly over ‘praseodymium’ andSatya somehow manages to passive-aggressively sing the noble gases atLúcio who sticks his tongue out and steals the last cinnamon bunfrom her plate.

Jesse, once sufficiently drunk, canbarely be kept from the stage for a few minutes and proves his skillsof persuasion when Hanzo finds himself by his side, singing a duetfrom a popular musical together.

At some point during the night Brigitteshows up and, drowned out by Reinhardt’s bellowed greetings,apologises for her work keeping her away until now. She’s promptlydragged into a top volume rendition of Night Rocker and can only getaway when Reinhardt catches Lúcio humming along.

It’s long after midnight when thefirst start to drag out the mattresses Fareeha kept ready, and cuddleup there and on the sofas, blankets spread liberally all around.Hanzo tries to excuse himself to his rooms but has his escapethwarted by a seemingly sleeping Jesse holding onto his sleeve. Hesettles down in the small space between him and Emily and Lena,muttering something about not being here to get attached,metaphorically and certainly not literally.

Hana has fallen asleep in her armchairsome few minutes ago, the snack bowl in her lap tilting precariouslytowards the floor where Winston has set up, drifting off to the lowconversations around him.

And then it’s just a handful leftawake, the casual insomniacs drifting into that liminal space duringa sleepover when it all quiets down but the energy of the eveningstill hangs in the air like smoke. Fareeha makes herself comfortablein a nest of blankets between Satya and Genji and looks to Jack whosits at the table an arm’s length away and gives her a tired butsincere smile.

“You haven’t sung yet.” she says,just to acknowledge him, to let him know she watches and notices.He’s not the ghost he fashions himself to be and if the way helooks at her is any indication, he doesn’t want to be anymore.

Mei blinks when he starts to sing, halfasleep and probably thinking she’s dreaming as she snuggles closerto Lúcio who throws an arm around her and pulls her closer.

Jack’s song is one Fareeha has hearda hundred times throughout her life. She doesn’t know its name orwho wrote it, but her earliest memory is of her father and himsinging it to her. Her mother sang it long before, when it turned outit was the only thing getting her to sleep. Reinhardt maintains hewas the one who chose it first but it was Gabriel who sang it best,crooning low and deep to her from the days of her earliest childhoodto the day they all sat at her bedside, her father and surrogatefathers, singing it to chase away the grief of losing her mother.

She falls asleep to it, the songechoing in Overwatch’s halls long after the last note has faded. Itis as it should be and she is at peace.