#let’s count how many different versions of their uniforms i can draw

[kasieli]

Teen Titans portraits ft. my favorite birb babes!!!

[mochikeiji]

Looking Like U Got Me

Request: "Prompt no. 56 and 55 for Gojo ＼(^o^)／"

55. "You look like my husband/wife"

56. "Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster"

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x Reader

↠ Warning: none! Simply fluff

↬ Word Count: 1.7k

↠ a/n: i accidentally mixed up prompts 55 and 57 ;-; but still hoping this turns out good!!

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event!

All he wanted was to wake up in bed, next to you— who would cuddle deeper in his arms even in slumber so he'd smother you with his kisses and tighten his hold around you and drift back to sleep longer, finally free of responsibilities for once and enjoy quality time with his only favorite person. But instead he wakes up with a groan passing through his lips, supporting his back side with his hand while shuffling to his side in a different position as the light sun rays shun through the window blinds, softly fanning his eye and forehead.

Gojo chuckles a bit before wincing. His lower back so tensed that he feels himself get older by the day. Pouting at the empty space next to him, he palms the cold sheet in wonder of where you are. Up so early in the morning when you could've just stayed in for him. How annoying. His eyes shut for moment when the scent coming from outside the room intruded his senses. Ah, you must be cooking breakfast. How sweet of you.

Thank goodness it wasn't another batch of dried crackers or cup of noodles that'll enter his mouth. He was never one to cook meals when he was on solo or when you weren't around. The very thought of not only the meal was awaiting for him outside, but also you excites him that it made him feel tingly inside. Call it dramatic, yeah, but it's not every day someone gets to wake up and immediately feel this full of love in the morning. You were the only and last love he's ever wanted to have in this world. It was so surreal even to him.

Sighing before pushing himself up, Gojo yawns out the remains of drowsiness in his system and stands. He didn't bother wearing a shirt since last night, claiming that he misses how his body rubs off yours in both comforting and suggestive ways. Plus it was just you and him home, he'd rather walk naked than wear the usual long sleeved uniform on a warm day.

The scent of coffee got stronger as he closes in his journey towards the kitchen. There was faint sizzling coming from the pan as you stood there in attendance. Stuck in your own little world, swaying to the sound of the radio playing, U got Me by Yung Heazy. It was one of the few songs that reminded you of Gojo back when you were both high schoolers. The exact song you remembered playing when you both hung out on a small cafe in Tokyo. Where he was so flustered, attempted to hide his blushes with his round glasses. The little things that reminded you of that memory never fails to make your heart race.

Of course Gojo knows this one as well. Because it was on that date as well he had call you, "his" after masking his embarrassment and from obviously checking you out every minute. How could he contain himself? He was a young man who was having trouble in the arts of love. Nevertheless he was glad to have grown up from those years. If his younger self could see him now, he'd be gagging at the sight of a softer version of his older self.

Snaking his arms around your torso carefully to avoid surprising you, he places his chin above your shoulder. Salivating at the sight of thick bacon in deep frying, shamelessly letting you know he was hungry from the sound of his stomach growling. "This is a nice way to greet me." you smile at the man behind you, who had his eyes closed in delight while rubbing his cheek against yours like a cat in need of attention. "Good morning to you as well, sweet cheeks." he says after  pressing a kiss on your skin.

"You got up early." whining softly, his hair and nose tickling the side of your neck and shoulder, "I was hoping to stay longer y'know?" trailing his hands underneath the his shirt you were wearing, mapping out on all the skin he could squish and hold with his large palms. Noticeably pressing himself closer to your body, the much needed space gone but you weren't complaining. After all, this was Gojo, a man who knows no boundaries.

"I wanted to make breakfast for you. We haven't had one together since we're both busy." you say as you grabbed the nearby plate, turning off the stove as the now cooked meal sizzles softly from the pan before sliding down to the porcelain surface. In attempt to lick his lips at the now prepared food, his tongue grazes upon your skin, sending you to jolt a bit, hearing the joyous laughter from him as he places a kiss on the spot as an apology.

"W-why don't you go sit down, there's rice bowls and cooked eggs prepared already." stammering, you quickly excused yourself away from his embrace to clean out the mess from the counter. Gojo sighs out the adoration but obliges to your command. Not long after you had finally settled down in front of him. Seeing him in all smiles as he scarfs down on his food made you smile as well. Thank goodness his blindfold was off, they looked adorable twinkling in happiness.

This felt nice. To have an opportunity to be a normal couple once again. So many times you could only daydream of scenarios like this. He could say the same as now that you were present on the usual spot he'd come home to empty. Often dozing off during meetings thinking of where you were or how you were, the multiple times Megumi has fed up with his whining about how he never gets to see or have more time with you. Nobara even pointed out a fact saying, "You act as if you're both married." and Yuuji, being the happy child of the three had said something that always ponder in his mind, "Why don't you marry each other yet, sensei?"

It was a statement he's been considering for a long time. Marriage. Of course Gojo wanted to marry you after years of torment love. To have his precious students say that you both already looked as if you were married got him all heart racing, and very very happy. He's had vivid images of a life with you. Not far from what it is today, but imagine. Unlimited happiness after so long of fearing it. Perhaps maybe even tiny legs running around, giving him such big love as his grows for the family he's craved, watching you smile beside the doorway and calling them in for a meal.

If marrying you means he can have that every day, then the hell with it.

"You look like my wife."

The spoon drop echoes. Slowly his face erupted into a faint blush while staring back at your widened eyes and opened mouth. "What?" gulping down the stuck food in your throat, Gojo bites his lips watching you maintain your composure. So cute. "Y-you know you say funny stuff when you're out of it. Maybe some daifuku would help? Yeah! Wait a sec." quickly getting up from your seat and rummaging in your fridge, you breathed out the heavy puff of air from your lungs.

He did not just say that so directly towards you. Maybe you were dreaming? You wouldn't be if your heart wasn't practically being forced out. Gojo is always fun and games, right? He doesn't mean that.

Sad to think of it that way.

"Ow!" thumping your head above the fridge as you grabbed some of the take outs of Daifuku you got yesterday, closing the fridge back before returning shortly to Gojo, who seemed as out of it as you were. "You did say your brain functions best when you eat sweets. Luckily for you I bought these yesterday. That's why I cooked earlier now because I wanted to try it out with you!"

Gojo can't tell if he wants to be offended at the fact that you think he was joking or just now, cover his half of his face to hide his laughter and igniting squeals. God he wished he had his phone right now, the moment was just so priceless and precious as you were.

"...ter"

Muffles from behind his hand was heard. Tilting your head to the side, trying to process what he said but no avail. "What was that?" you moved a little closer next to him, tapping his hand away almost eagerly. When he does, you spot that knowing smile present on his lips and the uncharacteristic blush still painted on his cheeks.

"Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster, honey."

You've gotten more shy when his hand held yours in the most loving way while drawing patterns. Searching through his eyes if he was playing around, but you were met with ones you know of when they were full of sincerity. "I-i. You know, they were so cheap anyways and I figured you'd want them." he snorts before leaning his head on your arm and laughs hysterically. It was painfully obvious that you were in state of shock that you couldn't even process his words.

Up until now the effect he has on you was still there like before.

"Sweetie." he turns his body away from the table to face you, pulling you so that you were standing in between his legs looking down shyly on the floor. "I'm serious." his fingers reached for your chin to pull your head up to meet his features. His other hand still holding your smaller one; index finger tracing your ring finger in circular motions as if he was creating a make believe ring.

He should thank himself for falling in love and be trusting once again.

Because now, staring back at your eyes filled with the same amount of emotions as his. Reciprocating the exact thing he was feeling. Waking up just to start the day already wanting him to be there. Knowing all the littlest things he's shared. Hearing the erratic sound of both of your heart beats.

He knew he's made the right choice.

"You really do look like my wife. My future."

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[sugar-petals]

SuperM Fluff & NSFW Notes

↳ 🌹aka some of their romantic antics plus random 18+ imagines 👋

warnings ⚠️ rated (super) m, boyfriends hc, porn mentions, partial fem!reader, sex toys

FLUFF

since baekhyun knows how to make scented candles, he creates one for you as a birthday present with your favorite fragrances.

every entry in mark’s diary involves fond thoughts about you.

taemin kisses you more than his cat kkoongie on a daily basis so let that sink in. his smooch obsession is getting out of hand.

lucas, having giant fingers after all, learns how to knit in order to make you a warm scarf. he’s still a bit clumsy with it and had to call kun for advice, but the result is surprisingly proper and quickly becomes your favorite item. it’s a little huge but well, he thinks in his dimensions. lucas’ next project is a beanie.

ten overwhelms you with pet names. in fact, he seemingly seems to come up with a new one each day.

kai is a candlelight dinner, rose petals and music kinda guy. he does every old-school thing in the book.

taeyong can cuddle endlessly in bed. he just doesn’t wanna leave.

lucas gladly shares his sweaters. they’re ginormous so, perfect cuddle material.

baekhyun is already a fool. so — when he falls in love, he becomes an even bigger fool. or, the contrary happens: he becomes dead silent around his partner because he’s so enthralled. he can take this more seriously than you think.

mark likes to write little cards and many many texts to express his love.

lucas is the type who can help you put on your jeans when they were shrinking a bit too much in the dryer. he’s pretty sexy like that and things can get really touchy.

cheesy fucking kai, and there’s only one guy who would do this, has actually lowered himself over a puddle once so you would have a bridge. brushed it off like a daily workout rep.

not one shower missed without baekhyun joining you. yes, it’s not always sexy time, he likes it when you shampoo his hair and whisper sweet nothings. and obviously: it’ll all devolve to a laughing fit.

taeyong is the type who wants to be proposed to.

taemin will get a motorcycle license and take you for a frequent ride. he loves getting those kind of back hugs.

both ten and lucas are great at making bracelets. wayv’s dorm is fully equipped with charms, strings, and pearls, so expect matching ones for you.

we’ve seen it, that one’s his favorite move. kai wraps his hand around your shoulder when you walk together.

mark will ALWAYS share his melon.

making you swoon on a DVD evening is lucas’ favorite hobby. he will buy you the most sugary-sweet romance movies. he will often browse streaming sites to select the latest sentimental plots. all these dramas seem to have a male lead who is suspiciously tall and lanky.

if you allow him, taeyong customizes your white tees with his cute drawings.

since taemin swims in money thanks to his profession as the god of kpop (yes, this is a registered job name because i say so), he can fulfill you any wish. he’s stingy and pouty when the shinee hyungs can pay, and the motherfucker baekhyun is even richer since his albums have been taking off so he opens his mochi wallet when superm is gathered, but you... are a different case. taemin will humbly empty his entire pockets when he overhears you gushing over something. there’s a voice in his mind going: must splurge!!

mark loves christmas, you establish an annual tradition to stage a whole couple evening.

baekhyun likes to play charades and especially do karaoke with you. he’s always cutely wiggling his butt and dances like a drunk uncle. he hits the high notes anyway and makes sure you score 100 points.

taeyong can make out with you while at the same time making sure that the milk doesn’t get burned on the stove. kiss’n’stirr multitask tyong alert. gotta make sure the cocoa is served in time, you know.

all the members enjoy playing board games. yep, imagine the fun and sheer chaos.

lucas has the funniest laugh ever indeed. he’ll react to all your jokes, no matter how lame they might be. intensely reassuring.

taemin’s hand is basically glued to yours.

taeyong and mark are the kinds of boyfriends that spoil their partner with skincare. fancy a nice face massage with a nice fragrant oil?

baekhyun has been baking heart-shaped pizzas ever since you started dating. he just can’t make them round anymore.

mark will join you on anything you’re currently bingewatching. 

kai sometimes — only half-jokingly — goes down on both knees bowing forward with his hands on the ground just to show how much he wants to thank you. in case you didn’t notice: this guy treats you like a deity.

ten usually gets confused glances from the other members whenever he gets the current date wrong: he simply loses track of time with you.

lucas makes a habit of buying you flowers every other week. but on unpredictable occasions, and he arranges them in places you’d never expect.

taemin will build you a weird-looking snowman to make you laugh, and give it an even stranger name. ten will build one that looks like you. kai doesn’t build snowmen, he just stands there challenging you to throw snow balls at him.

mark will hang out with you at the beach constantly bringing his guitar. he’ll serenade you all the time.

returning from three months of touring, baekhyun has once climbed your balcony when your parents were in the other room. yep, he was that desperate to see you. somebody give this man a rope and helmet.

taeyong writes down heartfelt confessions on 365 folded slips of paper so you can open one every day. your reactions will range from ‘awwh!’ to straight-up tears.

ten does regular couple yoga with you. a mildly challenging form, not the circus acrobat version. he’ll do the difficult parts anyway. you can pretzel this guy up, he’ll do anything to make you laugh.

when it rains you hook your arm around his, and lucas always holds the umbrella. even the wildest gush of wind can’t make it turn inside out. you arrive home entirely dry. xuxi is so cute, he’s also a great source of cooling shadow in the summer without even trying.

taemin’s skinship overdrive doesn’t stop with endless hand-holding, back hugs and kisses. he wants to lay down in your lap whenever he can. he looks damn pretty with his hair splaying there. if you work on your laptop, you can pretty much count to ten and he’s already nestled there.

kai does pushups with you on his back. it’s a staple. each time he does one, he says ‘i love you’. he increases his count every day.

NSFW

it’s no secret that taeyong is great at acting or pulling off any outfit and costume. expect roleplay of the finest kind — literally. he looks good in a firefighter uniform. you’ll be burning up pretty much automatically.

taemin can’t keep his tongue in. it’s terrible. he’s always in the mood for head. his sloppy noises are the absolute worst, it turns you on way too fast.

lucas had some major problems finding condoms that fit him.

ten and taemin are so switchy, they have an unresolved power struggle going on. begs for a dominant third party to help them out.

kai owns expensive latex gear.

baekhyun may be the king of vocals and breath technique, but if you push him far enough he does get hoarse.

taemin often jokes how kai will one day break his dick from fucking too hard.

meanwhile, mark’s dick is already falling off – from fucking too often. this guy has some major hormones going for him. no surprise, a guy who can promote in four kpop groups at the same time is a stamina king.

taeyong likes eating pussy with another party involved. three’s a crowd my friend. sometimes it’s taemin who unleashes his spit waterfall power, sometimes it’s baekhyun who preoccupies himself with nibbling at the inner thigh while taeyong digs in.

taemin owns the most underwear.

mark takes valerian drops because he is so nervous in bed. it never really goes away, it’s his nature.

taeyong keeps a lube collection. a different flavor for all occasions. he likes associating certain scents with specific body parts.

kai has a heels kink. he literally goes wild over it.

taemin likes to have sex with favorite glasses on.

taeyong and kai are the most likely to cry during sex. baekhyun as well if you rough him up enough. 

mark gets rock hard the fastest, followed by kai. he’s a grower.

taeyong gets the best inspiration for a song when he gets a casual dick riding.

taemin watches extremely x-rated erotic thrillers and bdsm flicks that are heavy on the plot. he gets more invested in the characters and actors than you think. since his japanese is amazing? of course he also owns a giant 90s hentai collection. 

when he’s jerking off, baekhyun chokes himself. a) because he’d make too much noise otherwise and b) because asphyxiation is his favorite thing.

kai feels pleasure in his every cell. he cums the hardest. and, as you can expect, his body expresses it the most extremely, accurately, passionately. if you’ve seen it even once, you’ll never look at him the same again.

taemin has less experience than his discography claims, but more than you’d think. he researches sexual techniques as well. you can brace yourself.

mark has not just a tiger inside, but a freak inside, waiting to be unleashed.

sex while gaming is a go-to activity for baekhyun.

lucas has the best stamina when it comes to getting head.

taemin throws his head back during sex. and no, he doesn’t T-pose. i’m kidding — of course he does. but only when he’s on his back.

taeyong tends to grip a pillow when he cums.

or he humps one when he’s by himself.

ten has the best taste in sexy time playlists.

baekhyun has the best taste in singing his own playlist along.

oh, the things kai has bought at a gas station at 3AM.

baekhyun sucks strap the best. he can open his mouth the widest, drools a lot, and makes the best noises unsurprisingly.

how to turn on lee taemin? he likes getting slapped.

since he’s the most avid and most diverse eater, lucas’ sperm tastes the best. he’s shove 50 fruits into his system just to give you a sweet experience.

mark is absolutely a starfish. 

kai wears fishnet tops if you fancy it.

curiously, baekhyun out of all people doesn’t announce when he’s cumming. you’ll hear it, though.

taeyong’s dildo collection is one for the books.

taemin has visited a pro dominatrix a couple times. needless to say, he was the #1 favorite client at the dungeon. having fully submerged into a fantasy world, taemin was one whip crack away from falling in love with the mistress. but then covid happened and the venue closed.

mark’s dick looks really pretty.

taemin can grind on the strap at every humanly possible angle. he’s almost always ready to take it. he carries a prep kit.

kai — that fucker — knows how to make you wet the most with his bare hands. prepare for the thigh ride of your life, too.

taeyong, baekhyun, and taemin have the best arches. kai is coming for the top three as well. ten’s arch is so good, it can’t be considered one anymore.

baekhyun knows every adult movie out there. theoretically, nothing can shock him. in reality, he melts in your hands.

taeyong is so sexually active with you, he has quit eating garlic.

kai will exploit your muscle kink in any way he can.

taemin, being a devil, has that one button on his phone that he can press when you go out for dinner. he’s OBSESSED with getting you off. once you head home, it’s basically running down your thighs.

ten has once opened a condom with scissors to scare away a date that grew weird on him by the time it got to the do.

lucas is too tall for doing missionary normally.

this will surprise nobody: mark is great at constantly keeping up the dirty talk.

baekhyun’s car is sort of like a brothel on wheels. he can’t count how many times he got down and dirty in there. he cleans it all up by himself.

kai can technically grip you the hardest but he’s the gentlest and great at caressing the whole body.

taemin has the easiest time saying what precisely he wants. he is also the best people reader — most your wishes he can pretty intuit. taemin observes your interests well.

ten likes his hair pulled and makes angelic noises when you do so.

baekhyun likes camgirls and erotic chats with strangers online. he spends a lot of money for nsfw internet encounters.

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.���Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[orangepanic]

I saw this “100 OTP questions” by @the-moon-dust-writings and figured I'd procrastinate:

1. Who loves flower crowns more?

Neither of them really, but Asami might make Iroh wear one just to laugh at him.

2. Who is the one who likes to cuddle?

Iroh. Asami likes it, too, but he usually initiates.

3. Who has awful taste in music?

Honestly, both of them. Asami likes terrible dance music and Iroh likes obscure combinations of horns and bells and stuff from different cultures.

4. Who is the meme lover?

Asami thinks they’re funny. Iroh doesn’t quite understand.

5. How did their second date go?

Iroh tried to take Asami somewhere very fancy, but the wait was too long. They ended up making out in a shadowy doorway down the street and missing their reservation entirely. Iroh was mortified, but Asami dragged him around the corner to a low-key noodle shop that has since become their favorite restaurant.

6. How many children do they want/have?

Asami thinks about three. Iroh, as many as Asami will agree to.

7. Who hides the weapons?

Iroh hides weapons for Asami around the house so she’ll always have something on hand. In a drawer in the kitchen, on her nightstand, etc. He knows she can take care of herself… and he stashes weapons for her anyway. Asami rolls her eyes but secretly thinks it’s sweet.

8. Who is the better dancer?

Asami. She likes dancing, and learned formal dancing in school. Iroh can’t dance at all, having skipped out on all his lessons as a child after bribing his instructor. He thought dancing is boring, but likes dancing with Asami and lets her lead.

9. Do/Did they have a theme wedding?

No. They quite deliberately have a very normal wedding, including cutting out a lot of the more stuffy Fire Nation customs because Iroh doesn’t want Asami to feel out of place not having any family present.

10. What do their parents think of them dating?

Hiroshi Sato is livid, and actually tried to have Iroh assassinated from prison. His little girl, marry a firebender? A prince of the firebenders? Iroh’s parents are more accepting. Izumi initially thinks Asami is too young and gives Iroh a hard time about how quickly he got serious, but quickly comes around when it’s clear Asami is very mature for her age. Within a year Iroh’s parents are both hounding him on when he’ll make it official.

11. Are they a super sappy couple?

They are that couple everybody hates.

12. How did they get together?

They meet during the Equalist revolution, but don’t get together until long after. Iroh has a crush on Asami almost immediately, but spends forever sitting on it thinking it wasn’t the right time and trying to be friends until one day he just kind of slips up and kisses her. She kisses him back. It turns out Asami liked him, too, but she isn’t great at reading people and had no idea he was interested.

13. Who asked the other to get married?

Iroh just kind of blurts it out one day.

14. Who stays up too late and makes stupid jokes?

Asami is the night owl. Iroh makes the bad jokes.

15. Who is the nerd?

Oh my god, both of them. Asami is more of the classic nerd. Iroh is more of a dork.

16. Who knows the most obscure facts?

Iroh.

17. Who makes the other a flower crown?

Two questions about flower crowns out of 100?? Changing this to who is more dominant in bed. Asami.

18. Who likes to read?

Iroh. They both do, but he’s much more into it.

19. Who bothers the other person while the other person reads?

Asami. She has the shorter attention span.

20. Who tutors the other?

They both would in different subjects. Asami is better at math, physics, etc. Iroh is better at philosophy and languages.

21. Do they have similar taste in movies?

No. Asami likes gory slasher films and lots of action. Iroh scoffs and thinks they’re dumb. Asami, in turn, thinks his period dramas can be kind of boring, and refuses to count documentaries as movies. But there’s a healthy overlap in things like Vikings and Game of Thrones.

22. How do their personalities complement each other?

Asami helps Iroh lighten up a bit, drawing him out of his shell, and gives him an anchor and a sense of home. She’s more social than he is, and a lot of her friends eventually become his. But she’s also quiet enough and serious enough that she doesn’t tire him out and can feed his need for downtime. Iroh, in turn, loves seldom but deeply, and gives Asami the kind of fierce, unconditional love and stability she needs. He’s also genuinely interested in her projects, is smart enough to follow most of it, and is one of the only people who can occasionally beat her in Pai Sho. They have a lot of fun together just being nerds.

23. How do they tell everyone that they are going to be having a kid/adopting a child soon?

They don’t have to tell anybody. It’s all over Iroh’s face like a big neon sign.

24. Who has better fashion sense?

Asami, but not by much. She’s more up to date with trends, while Iroh’s style is clean and classic.

25. Who will punch someone out if they are rude to their partner?

Hoo boy, both of them. Do not go there.

26. What songs do they sing together in the vehicle?

Neither of them sing in the satomobile. Iroh has a decent voice, but he’s a bit private about it. Asami mostly hums.

27. What other couple would your otp get along with?

Iroh quickly becomes BFFs with Bolin. Asami and Opal aren’t quite as close, but they like each other’s company and have fun as a foursome. They also get along quite well with Pema and Tenzin.

28. Who likes to prank the other?

Iroh tries more often. Asami’s pranks are more successful.

29. Who is the one who loves to take pictures?

Iroh, though generally Korra is the picture taker in the group.

30. How would they react if they found out they were soul mates?

Iroh raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.” Asami only shrugs. They both already knew that.

31. Where would they live?

They like Republic City and decide to stay downtown, first in an apartment and eventually a larger townhouse.

32. What type of dragon would they own, if they could have one?

Whichever one Iroh made friends with. Asami is a bit wary of animals and would need him to convince her it was safe.

33. If they were both vampires, what type of vampires would they be?

The kind that live in a beautiful house with perfect collections that took hundreds of years to make. Iroh has first editions of everything in a giant library, arranged in a complex system only he understands. He’s working on his 14th language. Asami has invented artificial blood and doesn’t miss sunburns. Occasionally she’ll throw one of those big fancy vampire balls just so they can both get dressed up. They’re pretty happy.

34. What would they dress up as, for Halloween?

They once went as Lady Tienhai and the last king of Mo Ce because picking something obscure and historical was the only way to get Iroh into a costume.

35. Can they name each other’s favourite food?

Kind of. They are both really into food, so picking a favorite is hard. But if the question is can they order for one another, absolutely.

36. Do they have pet names for one another?

Asami sometimes calls Iroh “General Hotstuff” when she’s teasing. Iroh sometimes calls Asami “sex pretzel” when he’s 1000% sure they are alone.

37. How do they cheer each other up?

Asami is more of a gift giver. She’ll show up with Iroh’s favorite take-out or make him something in her workshop—anything to make him feel special and valued. Iroh is all about quality time, and will swing by Asami’s office to haul her out on surprise dates. He also gives great hugs.

38. Do they show a lot of PDA?

No. Iroh is very uncomfortable with PDA, especially when he’s in uniform. Asami follows his lead.

39. How old were they when they got together?

Asami was 19-20, Iroh 24-25.

40. Who is the one that would bring the puppy home?

Iroh, 100%. He’s such a sucker.

41. Can they do yoga couple’s poses?

Yes, though Asami is the only one who really tries.

42. What is their song?

They don’t really have one.

43. What does their room look like?

Asami moved in with Iroh, so it’s very basic. White walls, perfectly made bed, a neatly organized desk in the far corner by the window. He’s a total minimalist, having spent most of his adult life on a ship. Asami added a very fluffy comforter in *gasp* a color and lots of pillows.

44. Who would be the one to kill zombies while the other keeps them grounded?

They’d take turns, and at some point Asami would turn it into a contest.

45. Who makes the other breakfast in bed?

Iroh. Asami is a terrible cook.

46. Who loves kids more?

Iroh.

47. Do either of them have a crazy ex?

Not crazy, but Iroh and his ex are not on good terms. He doesn’t like to talk about it.

48. What are their favourite colours?

Asami, purple. Iroh, black. He gets annoyed when people get him so much red stuff.

49. Who likes to cook?

Iroh. He fired Asami from the kitchen, something they are both grateful for.

50. Who is the forgetful one?

Asami.

51. Does either of them know how to fight?

Have you met these people?

52. What do they do for Valentines Day?

Iroh would probably plan something elaborate for them to go out. Asami would plan something sexy for when they got home.

53. Who swears more?

Asami, at least out loud. Iroh mostly swears under his breath.

54. Who has the better comebacks?

Asami. It’s not even close.

55. Who would start a fight with another parent at a bake sale?

Probably Asami, unless it was about the kids. If anyone comes for Iroh’s kids, they’d better hide.

56. Who reads buzzfeed?

Asami.

57. Who is the hopeless romantic?

Iroh, hands down.

58. Do either of them know how to do a handstand?

Asami can manage it.

59. Who can rap better?

Asami, though Iroh is the only one who actually listens to rap.

60. Do either of them want to go sky diving?

Asami would love to. Iroh laughs. “Been there.”

61. What do they usually text about?

Some version of “I miss you” or random pictures of stuff. They generally only text when Iroh is away as they’re both busy during the day.

62. Who is the dramatic one?

Asami has a shorter fuse. Iroh is more ridiculous when he loses his shit.

63. Is either one confrontational?

Not really.

64. What is their favourite cuddle position?

Asami will lay on top of Iroh on the couch like a sandwich. It’s the only position she seems to be able to nap in.

65. Who are their favourite musical artist(s)?”

See above about terrible taste in music.

66. What are their parenting styles?

Iroh covers a lot of the basics. He sets a schedule, makes lunches, tells bedtime stories, is more likely to help with the homework. Asami is the one who gets them around and does most of the interacting with teachers, other parents, etc. They share things fairly equally.

67. Who would be the more laid back one?

Iroh.

68. Who listens to more vulgar music?

Asami.

69. Do either of them have secrets even the other doesn’t know?

Yes. Asami can be secretive about some of her projects, both out of an abundance of caution but also because she likes a big reveal. Iroh keeps some past relationship stuff close, and will occasionally read a steamy romance novel for “tips.”

70. Who is their go to couple for a double date?

Bolin and Opal

71. Do they tip the waiter/waitress on their date?

Iroh tips very well.

72. How do they work out a fight?

Asami yells. Iroh yells back. One of them storms off. The other one waits about half an hour then goes to find them, usually with an offering of food. There are hugs. Somebody cries. Then they finally talk it out before falling asleep together.

73. Who brings home an illegal pet?

Asami. She is less likely to have a pet, but if she does, it’s going to be a weird one.

74. What side of the bed do each of them sleep on?

Iroh is on the side by the window because he likes to get up with the sun.

75. What is their favorite photo of them two together?

There’s a photo Korra took at the beach where Iroh has Asami thrown over his shoulder right before dunking her in the water. This is the picture he takes with him when he’s deployed.

76. Who takes longer in the bathroom?

Asami.

77. Who has more songs on their ipod?

Iroh. If you can call them songs.

78. What movie did they first see together?

Iroh took her to Last Days of the Sun Warriors. She fell asleep. He said the book was better.

79. What do they like to see each other in?

Asami thinks Iroh’s butt looks great in jeans. Iroh got Asami a red silk robe from the Fire Nation and likes to see it fall off.

80. Who makes jokes during inappropriate times?

Iroh.

81. At what age do they discuss the possibility of children?

Mid-20s, though they don’t have them until a little later.

82. What do they love about each other the most?

Iroh likes that Asami is tough and smart and a problem-solver. Asami likes that Iroh is kind and brave and has a strong moral compass.

83. Who is the one that sees the big picture, while the other focus’s on the small details?

They are both big picture people, which is sometimes a problem. Of the two, Asami is probably better at details, but she’s also forgetful.

84. What would they write on their partner’s social media’s for their anniversary?

Asami would probably put up a picture of them and say something brief but sweet. Iroh doesn’t really understand social media and would just paste a heart-eyes emoji.

85. Who is bad at math?

Iroh. He’s not bad, per se, but Asami is very, very good.

86. Who googles everything?

Asami.

87. Who does stuff on impulse?

Both of them in different ways. Asami is generally more flexible. Iroh usually has a plan but makes big decisions completely off the cuff.

88. How do they comfort each other when they are helpless to do anything about the situation?

Lots of physical touch. Iroh will kind of just wrap himself around her in one giant, whole body hug. Asami will spend some time cursing out whomever is causing the issue, then let him lay his head in her lap and give Iroh a good head scratch or massage.

89. What is an inside joke they have?

There was one time they had sex in Asami’s office at Future Industries, so occasionally she’ll drop things like, “feel like coming by the office?” with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Iroh is, predictably, very embarrassed. Also interested.

90. Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all?

Asami: *exists* Iroh: *smiles*

91. What is their favourite holiday?

New Years is a big deal in the Fire Nation. Iroh loves his family and likes going home, and Asami has grown to love it almost as much.

92. Who is the one that is calm and collected while the other is angry and destructive?

They take turns. Both of them can have quite a temper when pushed too hard.

93. What is their favourite board game to play?

They’re both big Pai Sho fans, but can get into any kind of strategy game. Nobody really likes to play them though, they're too good.

94. Who accidentally sets something on fire?

Asami. Iroh hasn’t had a fire accident since he was four.

95. Who has the car ready while the other is robbing the store?

Asami. She’d rob the store, too, but no way is she letting Iroh drive.

96. What artist/group did they go to for their first concert?

Iroh booked a private box at the Republic City Opera, thinking that was an impressive thing he should do on a date. It turns out neither of them like opera, and by the end they were both making fun of it.

97. Who sleep talks?

Asami. Iroh thinks it’s funny.

98. Who is the more social one?

Asami, by a long shot.

99. What are their karaoke songs?

Neither of them would really sing karaoke, but Iroh cannot hold his liquor like at all so if he ever got really plastered Asami might be able to drag him up there. By which point he’d be too far gone to have an opinion on the song and would sing just about anything.

100. Who would get up on stage and make a fool of themselves just to make the other laugh?

Asami.

[tenshindon]

despite the literal hours of research i did for this building, the accuracy of this structure is VERY debatable because of just how vague everything surprisingly was. not gonna lie in the full courtyard map below i took a LOT of liberties alongside the material i could work with. Also after a while I felt my sanity leave through my orfaces so not everything’s appropriately to scale.

as per usual I’m gonna put my thoughts below but I’m also going to put a map of the whole dojo grounds down below the cut. if you don’t care about all of the specifics or justifications and just want some kind of reference for a drawing, story, or just want an idea of Tien’s house, then please enjoy.

FULL MAP:

It’s surprisingly near impossible to find any pictures of existing courtyard dojos, Japanese or Chinese, so I had to get a Little creative and work with what I had. The thinking behind this was that Tien’s students potentially lived at the dojo with him. Admittedly I didn’t mark the buildings on the sides as being living spaces because I’m not even entirely sure, but I let it be a possibility. I also only put two buildings because Tien doesn’t seem to have all that many students (from what I was able to see, 12 students max, not yet counting Yurin), and if I were to divide the rooms appropriately and assuming two people slept in one room, then each student could be accounted for (About 6 students per building).

I knew that there was more to the building and the door in the back wasn’t just an exit because in a later shot the students are seen walking down a pathway to the left side of the building- it wouldn’t make much sense for them to leave the area then renter it. Additionally, when Tien dismisses his class for the day, they don’t make way for Tien’s doorway- they leave through the back, or at least walk to the side. As for where they’re going is an absolute mystery, especially considering the map. My justification was that they were just leaving the dojo for the time being to get some outside food or something- maybe just get out for a bit. Why were they still in their uniform? I couldn’t tell you and for that I apologize.

I put “private rooms” due to Roshi’s “private training” session with Yurin. They were placed at the bottom of the map because when Yurin is running across the walkway, she’s coming from the right- presumably the bottom. Not only that, Roshi is shown carrying Yurin towards the way she initially came. Additionally, when Goku pops in to find Master Roshi, you can faintly see trees in the background, and referencing all of the walkway shots there are a number of trees. It was also important to remember that when the students were walking away, there was no visible buildings behind them, so the final place I had to conclude to put the buildings was at the bottom.

By Tien’s house are simply just entry walkways; there’s nothing in nor special about either buildings. I’m not sure where I read this exactly- I forgot to save the page amidst my breakdown. But if I recall correctly and if this is correct, students are supposed to enter the area through the left while the teacher enters through the right. Either that, or the door on the left could be an entrance/exit and vice versa for the right side.

TIEN’S HOUSE:

The only room I was able to absolutely confirm existed was the room Tien and Goku sat in. Even then, this room itself is very vague on where it is. Judging the position of the camera, I assumed that the camera would be from the doorway’s perspective, seeing as no other wall visibly had any doors. Additionally, I knew they were in Tien’s house specifically because after their conversation ends, someone knocks on the door and the two look towards the left side of the screen, further fueling my theory the door was to the right side of the room. Also, the existence of two different types of windows gave me an idea that the room was absolutely in the top-left corner of the house. It couldn’t be the absolute left side of the house due to the lack of window- and I know there was no window in the room due to the shot that showed the wall directly behind Goku. Other than a brass frame, there was no window nor door- thus the door had to be on the right side of the room.

As for the rest of the house, I honestly just looked around traditional Chinese and Japanese homes as well as modern one-floor layouts and put rooms where I thought they were appropriate. Quick note about the bathroom, I promise there’s probably a curtain or screen of some kind so Tien and Chitaozu have privacy while they bathe. Since this is just a quick map, I didn’t put too much detail into the rooms and furniture.

I put a door in the back of Tien’s house because I figured he’d be pretty devoted not only to his school but just going to the courtyard to train.

Now for the screenshots I used and how I found my measurements as well as just providing visuals for what I’ve said before.

THE DOJO

I used Yurin’s height to measure the door (I used a different shot- the one where she’s ascending the stairs so I could get a better idea of her size compared to the door. I’ll also elaborate on how I found Yurin’s height in a later part of this post). I found that the door was about two Yurin’s high, which was about 10′6 feet high. An additional note is that all three doors appear to be sliding doors as they lack any visible handles. I extended the front doors being sliding doors to the rest of the doors inside of Tien’s house.

This shot was used to identify the ring pull doors in the back. Shots I didn’t include also exposed the fact that Tien’s doorway and the doors in the back were the only entrances in the courtyard.

This shot was used to measure the doorway. I expanded the size of the canvas I posted this on and drew the rest of Tien’s body, then sizing it so it was proportionate to be right next to the entrance. I deduced the doorway was about one Tien (6′0 ft) wide once I put him on his side. 

Using Tien’s height from the previous shot, I used the doorway size to measure the courtyard in total, coming to around 66 feet wide and presumably 66 feet long, as most courtyards are evenly square shaped..

I used this shot to not only acknowledge there was a gap in-between the courtyard and the walls of the dojo, but to also get Yurin’s height so I could use her as my main unit of measurement. Using the traditional heads-high method, I was able to get that Yurin was about 5′3 (5.25 specifically).

Shot used to identify the private room and the placement of the room in respect to the rest of the dojo. I knew this was a room in the dojo because there’s a sign that says “Tenshinhan Dojo” (or more literally, “Tianjin Dojo”)

Bringing back the first shot of the walkway from when Yurin first arrived to the dojo, I combined the two plus a flipped version of the first picture and came up with my walkway. Using Yurin from the shot where I got her height, I set her up lying down and proceeded to measure the walkway from the entrance of the courtyard to the entrance of Tien’s backdoor. I came to about 70 feet. 

Shot to show lack of buildings.

TIEN’S HOUSE

The inside of Tien’s tea room is pretty inconsistent; the identifiably octagonal window isn’t as close to the wall in the second shot as it is in the first shot. For symmetry sake, I technically shrunk the size of the room in the second shot. Since I wanted to establish this room as a tea room, I did a quick search to see how big tea rooms generally were and came to about 9x9. Not only so I could give the room some breathing room and so I wouldn’t have to do any more math because I’d done more than a studying psychologist should, I just took the size of the house’s front doors and used that as measurement for the room.

I included the storage room below so the left window would have an appropriate place to exist. That, and it allowed Tien’s house to be a bit bigger and I was able to make things more comfortable.

Shot to solidify the fact the left outside window couldn’t possibly exist in the tea room.

As for Tien’s radish farm, traditional Chinese farms are typically right on the ledge of mountains. Taking note of the mountains right behind Tien’s dojo, I assumed his farm would be there. Not only that, but the existing shots of Tien’s farm depict a mountain right in the back, so while his farm doesn’t follow the ledge format it at least exists by the mountains in the back. I didn’t see a dire need to illustrate this so I didn’t, but if you want me to then I’ll be happy to make an addition to this post.

Anyway, that’s the end of my work. If you have any opinions please feel free to tell me them. The way I formatted Tien’s dojo/house doesn’t seem right and feels uncomfortable personally, and I feel like it could look MUCH much better, so all input is welcomed!

[balloonstand]

Whetstone chapter 2*: Silver shaves Flint (5.2k, pwp)

It only took 4 years folks but we did it 

*this isn’t a sequel, just another version of the original

On a calm day, his thoughts would tread a neat path through his mind, proceeding like a lineage. First, in the present: capitulation, which is to surrender or yield on stipulated terms. Then, one generation older, one branch up the tree: capitulatus, the Medieval Latin, which is to draw up into chapters. Quite the leap, but his tidy mind could manage it on a different day. The next branch above that, the classical Latin: capitulum. Chapter or heading. Dangerously high in the tree, capitus, the diminutive. Little head. After that, the apex of the tree, but also the deepest root, the seed that became the whole lineage: caput. Head.

On a calm day, his mind would manage this regression through time and language to this seed of clarity quickly, tidily, to instruct him on his own thoughts.

Today, he has his head in his hands, mind awhirl with meaningless noise. Today he is pulling at his hair. Surrender. Chapter. Head. He doesn’t know what to make of them, these words buffeting him, storming around his mind. Refusing to show him their meaning or to teach him which direction his next step should be. He pulls at the roots of his hair. Surrender. Chapter. Head. 

He might tear his hair out of his head. He had been rather vain about his hair, in another life. He had taken the greatest pride in its length, lustre, and polish. As much as his uniform, he felt that his hair had been able to distinguish him, mark his rank and respectability. And Thomas Hamilton had only increased his vanity about his hair through the attentions he paid it. He would pull the ribbon from Flint’s- from McGraw’s- James’ hair and he would run his fingers through it over and again, and he would-

Flint pulls, pulls, and pulls at his roots.  Surrender, chapter, head . He can’t force it to make the sense that he needs it to make. 

There is a knock at his door. Flint almost doesn’t even hear it over the tumult in his mind. But he hears it, and if he thought that there was even the barest whisper of a chance that it was anyone other than Silver knocking, he would not have said, “Enter.”

It is Silver, of course it is Silver who steps into Flint’s room with all the comfort and familiarity of a person entering his own room. He closes the door behind him, then Flint can hear him pause as he takes in the sight of Flint, who has not bothered to unclench his fingers from his hair. Flint can sense Silver adapting to this. His footsteps, even, become softer, less boisterous than his knocking had been. He approaches more slowly and cautiously than he had entered. Flint wonders how Silver would react if Flint said, “Surrender, chapter, head” aloud. He wonders if Silver can hear it being said inside Flint’s mind.

“Quite the storm,” Silver says mildly. Neutrally. He might be making small talk about the weather. Every dialogue with Silver is like Silver holding a door open for Flint and seeing if he will walk through it. Asking where Flint would like to lead him. 

Flint wonders for the hundredth – for the thousandth – time who Silver was before Flint met him. All he knows of Silver is the way he takes his cues from Flint. There are only glimpses and guesses of what lies beyond. 

“Nothing we have not seen before,” Flint answers brusquely. He is embarrassed now that he let Silver see so much of him. He smooths his hair and looks Silver in the eye. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Difficult to say,” Silver says, sitting opposite Flint. He does not look away; he never breaks a gaze. He should have been a courtier, Flint thinks. He may be easy to provoke, but he is nearly impossible to ruffle. Flint wishes to ruffle him. If Silver truly wants to join Flint in this mood, he will have to enter it ruffled. 

Flint arranges himself in his seat as though he is comfortable and tries to bring his thoughts in hand. He pulls the drawstrings of strategy to close the bag around the mess of his thoughts. He tries to count the number of times that he has wormed his way under Silver’s skin- very few. He does not need to count the number of times Silver has welcomed him in- none at all. Silver will be in his mind soon enough, so Flint tries to tidy it for him. 

Silver, rarely companionably silent, has begun talking. Flint listens to his tone more than his words. It keeps rolling like the tide, changing, modulating. Probing. Like waves breaking against the stone of Flint’s mood, wearing it down in precise and purposeful patterns. Flint knows that Silver has his own mind and motives, his own plans for Flint. Maybe it should worry Flint. Maybe he should send Silver away. But Flint finds it perversely intriguing. He wonders what Silver would do with him, given his way. What a surrender to Silver would mean for Flint. 

Surrender. Chapter. Head.  

Flint clenches around his thoughts once more. He notices Silver notice it and either of them could say something, but neither one of them does. Silver’s tone changes slightly, then rolls back into a different one. He is going to let Flint retreat; he will follow him and neither of them will mention why. 

“It’s not lice, is it?” Silver asks.

Flint glares at him and Silver grins back at Flint. Then he adopts a more innocently concerned expression and mimes pulling at his hair. “Is it because you have lice, do you think? I hear it makes your head-”

“My hair is clean.”

“Yes?”

“Cleaner than yours has ever been.”

“That would make your head a nice home for the lice, wouldn’t it?”

“Would you call my head a nice home for anything?”

Silver’s expression freezes, his fluidity stilled. Pinned down. One foot in the door, but Flint does not want to enter as an intruder. It would be so much sweeter for Silver to come to him, inviting him in. The thought of Silver welcoming Flint pangs and Flint–

Flint runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it. Ask me, he thinks. Just ask me and I’ll tell you anything. Don’t try to trick it out of me, just ask.

“Is- have you always been so vain about your hair?” Silver is smiling. His shoulders are tensed, ready.

Flint feels the familiar, almost nauseating mix of fear, disgust, and hope at this vulnerability of Silver seeing something that grows from Flint’s very core. And the small twinge of pride in Silver for being to leap the etymological branches that cluster around Flint’s true meaning. 

“Yes,” Flint says. 

“And do you keep it long and well-kept,” Silver asks, “so that one day you’ll be able to go back?” 

“Back?”

“To England. To whatever was before all this.”

Flint cannot stop himself; he lurches out of his seat and stands, breathing quickly. 

Capitulation. Head, chapter, surrender. 

No, Flint wants to say- doesn’t want to say. No, I keep it because I need to love it, I need to cherish one thing about myself. I keep it because I want to be seen for what I am. So that, someday, someone might run his fingers through it lovingly and tell me that it is nice. 

And it’s not even as long as it used to be.

Not because he wants to go back to England. Not because he could imagine himself returning to his position in her Navy. Not because he could wash his hair and his face, put on clean clothes, and blend in with the society that had turned away from him. 

This is all primed at the tip of his tongue, but something in his mind says  are they not the same thing? James Flint cannot have those fingers in his hair, soft touches, caring caresses. They belong to James McGraw. This hair belongs to James McGraw. 

“Yes,” Flint says. The word is choked and pathetic. “Not England. But yes. Before.”

Silver has stood too and his expression has that same stillness as before. But it isn’t panic that is frozen on his features now. It is more an expression of pain. “You think you-” Silver stops himself. Flint recognizes the effort that it takes.

“Don’t you?” Flint asks. Doesn’t Silver ever want to turn his back on the sea and walk forward into a quiet life?

Silver looks at him with astonishment in every line of his face. “No,” he says slowly. “And neither do you. Not really.”

Flint opens his mouth, then closes it. He studies Silver’s face, trying to understand.

Silver says, “You say it, but that doesn’t mean that it is true.” 

You should know, Flint thinks bitterly. Then: You should know, Flint thinks achingly. “It’s the truth,” he says.

Silver fixes him with a look. “You’re pulling it out, Flint. Your hair, you’re pulling it out.”

Flint drops his hands. He hadn’t even noticed that they had crept back to his head.

Head-

“It- it used to be longer,” Flint says lamely after a moment. “I cut it before I boarded my first pirate ship.”

“How many inches?”

Get out, Flint almost says.  Out of my room, out of my mind . 

Don’t you like it like this, he doesn’t almost say, do you think it would be better longer? Shorter? What would tempt you?  

He imagines it: laying against Silver’s chest, with Silver’s hand in his hair. Silver alternates running his fingers through it hypnotically and playing with individual strands until Flint’s body floats away on a gentle current and the only thing that exists is Silver playing with his hair. But this fantasy feels flat, like a drawing. The room is too bright. His hand in Flint’s hair is too clean. It is slightly wrong in a dreamlike way. McGraw could have those things, but Flint-

And to Silver, he can only be Flint. The name McGraw would be a lie in Silver’s mouth. 

“Flint, you’re pulling it out.”

Silver does not mean at that moment; Flint’s hands are clasped behind his back. His military at-ease. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees straight, left hand covering the right behind his back like his wrists are shackled. Put him in his Navy uniform and he would be entirely unremarkable aboard the  HMS Scarborough . It makes his stomach turn. 

“It’s too long,” Flint says finally. It is as much as he can say. He can’t offer much, but he offers it all. He puts everything in Silver’s hands and wonders if Silver knows it. 

“If it’s too long,” Silver says, “you should cut it.”

He says it simply. He sits as he says it. It’s settled, his casual body language says, and easily so. 

He does not know, then, that he has uprooted the tree of surrender, chapter, head in Flint’s mind. Flint had not realized how accustomed he had become to its shade until Silver had drawn it back and given Flint the sun. 

Flint sits too. You should cut it. A weight off of his shoulders. “Will you do it?” Flint asks before he thinks about asking it. Maybe he should look away from the surprise on Silver’s face after he says it, but he drinks in every little change in his expression and saves it in his mind for later. “I don’t have a razor here, but you can use the knife.” Flint nods to the knife sitting unsheathed on his table.

There’s a moment’s pause. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Silver says softly, almost to himself.

“I can’t do all your thinking for you,” Flint snaps. He should not have asked. “Will you do it or not?” So, he asks a second time. He knows that one cannot right a mistake by repeating it, but he always seems to do so.

Silver’s expression hardens. He stands up, grabs the knife off the table, weighs it in his hand. He takes a step toward Flint’s chair and Flint doesn’t move. He doesn’t care why Silver is approaching him with the knife. What matters is that he is stepping closer. Another and another step. And he is right in front of Flint. His leg brushes against Flint’s bent knee. 

This close, Flint can hear when Silver’s breath quickens and becomes audible. Flint could close his eyes and just listen, except that he can’t tear his eyes away from Silver’s face. Silver hefts the knife up like it is heavy. With his free hand, he takes a lock of Flint’s hair between his fingers. 

Flint almost flinches away from the touch. Once, when Flint was serving his first week on a ship in the Caribbean, he had gotten terribly sunburned. One of his crew mates had soaked a cloth in cool water and applied it to the burn. Flint had flinched away from that in the same way, the reflexive protection of the injury even from its cure. 

“I’m not a barber,” Silver says. Both of his hands are still, one on the knife and one in Flint’s hair. “I’m going to cut it very short. I’m going to shave it.”

Flint nods twice, just to feel Silver’s hand moving through his hair, although it is really more that his hair is moving in Silver’s hand. What is it to take something from someone who is not giving it? He does not want to be a thief; being a pirate is enough. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” 

He wonders what Silver is really asking, because he knows that this is what Flint wants. “Go on,” Flint says. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

Silver goes on. One lock at a time falls from Flint’s head and lands at his feet. It happens quickly. Flint is looking at Silver and he practically misses it. 

Then Silver circles around the chair until he is standing behind Flint, and Flint has nothing to distract him from every sensation on his scalp. He had not expected it to feel like this, cutting his hair. He has been pulling his hair out at the root for long enough that he had forgotten to imagine that cutting his hair might feel different from that. He thinks:  this doesn’t feel like losing something . And it surprises him. 

It all surprises him. The softness of Silver’s hands on his head. Even the knife is gentle, an extension of Silver’s touch. He had been ready for the bite of its blade on his scalp, too sharp to be a harmless razor. Silver has tamed it down to a caress. This, all of this, Silver’s touch is almost, almost, almost, almost- 

 “That’s good,” Flint says. He says it without thinking, and he does not think about it after he says it. 

Immediately, Silver’s hand falters and Flint feels the knife’s sharpness for the first time. He feels the opening of his skin under it. Not very deep, but some blood. Head wounds bleed a lot.

“You spoke too soon,” Silver says. His voice has the same shake as his hand. He presses his fingertips against the injured patch of skin. 

Too soon, Silver says. Too soon. Flint thinks he should have said too late, it is more true. It is too late and Flint still has not said what he should. 

A week ago, he could have told Silver, you’re the only person I smile with anymore when the two of them had been laughing at something clever Silver had said. Two weeks ago, he could have said, I am less afraid of being understood when it is you who understands me when Flint had turned to Silver after several quiet minutes of watching the sea to find that Silver’s eyes already rooted on him, unconcerned at having been discovered looking at him. 

And it is not just the beautiful things that he has bitten back. It is also the shameful, burning things that scrape his throat like rough stone as he silences them. It is when he has to look away when Silver is holding the neck of a bottle or the post of a railing loosely in his hand, and Flint could say yes, just like that, that is how I would like it. Or the mornings where he could have looked Silver in the eye and said, I couldn’t sleep until I had brought myself off to the thought of you. I touched myself and pretended that it was your hand. Then I slept soundly for the night. 

It is a mistake to think about that. Heat grows in him, twisting and spreading vine-like through his body and pooling low in his belly. He tries to focus on the pain from the cut, but Silver’s fingers are pressing tenderly on it, too tenderly to hurt. Through the descending haze of heat, Flint thinks that if the cut was deeper or wider, maybe a pedantic academic could argue that Silver’s fingers were in him. Maybe in a future tome of their intertwined stories, a historian could say, and James Flint did feel John Silver inside of him, just once, through a hole in his head. Silver slipped in and out in one moment and that is the whole story. 

Neither one of them has spoken a word in some minutes. Flint has surely stopped bleeding by now. He could say that, and Silver would finish his task and it would just be one more favor between them as the world continues on outside of this room. 

Flint reopens his should’s, this time in the present. This is harder. His mind works in the past tense.

He should be more upset at giving up his hair. He should be thinking less of the feel of Silver’s hands on him and more of this loss. He should be less aware of the heat of Silver’s body close behind him. He should stop wishing that Silver would step closer. Stop imagining that two people might be able to live in one body if they press themselves closely enough together. His mind should be in the past and not this hypothetical future or hypothetically-slanted vision of the present that will only hurt him when it does not come.  

But this will be the past soon enough. He closes his eyes and memorizes the feel of this moment so that he can live in it again later. He writes this all over his mind:  He is standing behind me so I can’t see his face, or anything else. But I can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips on my head, and everywhere else I can feel him not touching me in that way that almost feels like a touch. He has a knife to me but he is using it to free me.  

Another chapter for the book of Silver that Flint keeps in his mind, always open.

And Silver still has not moved. For a wild moment, Flint is certain that he is paused like this to let Flint commit the moment to memory, but then Flint realizes that he is finished. Finished cutting off Flint’s hair. But he is still standing there. He is waiting for Flint to react so he can react to it.

Flint reaches a hand up to his scalp to feel how short his new hair is. He gets up out of the chair – Silver’s hand stays motionless as Flint moves himself politely out from under it – and walks to the mirror, rubbing his hand across the surprising velvet of his short hair. He looks at himself in the mirror, sees how he looks. He looks how he feels when he calls himself Flint. It is not just his hair that Silver has cut away with the knife, it is the chain that connects him to the anchor of his former life, his escape from who he truly is now. Now he is only one person.

His expression startles him more than the sight of his hair; his eyes are dark and hungry, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

The strange and familiar sight of himself is not enough to distract him from noticing as Silver follows him to the mirror. He resumes his place behind Flint, just as he was while cutting Flint’s hair. Flint’s eyes meet Silver’s in the mirror. Their eyes are equally dark and hungry. Silver’s have a wildness to them that Flint wants to study, to record, to savor. He wants to unravel it and understand its every nuance; he could just ask, he supposes. But it is so sharply painful to ask someone for something when you do not know if their answer will be yes.

He turns around so he and Silver are face to face. The table the mirror is sitting on presses against his back. Silver is so close to him that it feels useless to try to estimate the distance between them. Flint feels a heightened awareness of his environment, like the bright clarity of his senses during a battle. And he feels that same calmness that he feels in a fight for his life, the calmness of necessity and single-mindedness.

Silver’s eyes move frantically, darting all over Flint’s face. Begging for something, some hint.

“What is it?” Flint asks.

“You let me cut your hair.”

Flint wonders if Silver is still holding the knife. “No, I asked you to cut my hair.” Silver still looks lost, so Flint tries again: “What is it?”

“Can’t you just tell me where to go?” Silver looks away, but only for a breath, then his eyes turn back to Flint like a weathervane fixed in the wind. “I don’t know where I am, but I think you do. Can’t you tell me where I need to go?”

Flint wants to reach out and take Silver into his arms, lead him to the bed and show him his heart. He wants to say  I was there before, I know the way forward  and then lean in slowly enough that Silver will know what is coming before he feels Flint kiss him. He could do this and Silver would accept it all, as he has accepted the other things that Flint has asked him to.

But he does not want Silver to accept it, he wants Silver to ask for it, with his words and his eyes and his hands.

His voice is rough when he says, “You cut my hair because you knew that I needed to have it cut.”

Silver leans in slightly, like he wants to climb directly into Flint’s mind. His eyes are locked onto Flint’s, so he would see if Flint dropped his gaze to those lips that are tantalizingly close and coming closer. And Silver would take the cue, Flint knows he would. So he does not look. 

He looks instead into Silver’s blue eyes. He watches them slip out from under Flint’s gaze and  jump from point to point on Flint’s face. He sees when Silver looks at Flint’s lips. Can Flint make his lips look softer and more inviting just by wishing it?

“Sometimes I feel that you know everything,” Silver says quietly. “That if I want to understand something I don’t need to look at it, I just need to look to you.”

Flint shakes his head slowly, keeping his eyes steady on Silver’s.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You know what this place is called,” Silver says.

“I’m here now, with you.”

Relief washes over Silver’s face – Flint was ready for a hundred emotions to come over Silver’s features, but relief is not one that he had expected – and he kisses Flint. Their arms are already around each other, Flint realizes belatedly. He tightens his hold and parts his lips so he can taste Silver’s mouth on his tongue. 

Silver is not timid. His hands are strong and firm on Flint’s sides and he eagerly meets Flint’s tongue with his own. He is not following any lead but his own pleasure, Flint realizes. It makes him dizzy with desire. He wants to give Silver everything, even the things he doesn’t know yet how to want. 

Silver inhales sharply and Flint realizes that he has spoken some of this aloud. Or Silver can truly read his mind, just as he always half-suspected. 

And Flint says it again, just to make Silver’s breath come faster, to see his eyes get darker and to feel his erection grow harder against Flint’s leg. Flint spreads his legs apart so that one rests between Silver’s. Silver presses against it, sending waves of lust through Flint, shuttering his mind to any other thoughts other than want, need. He runs his hands across Silver’s back, drunk with the permission to touch as much as he wants to.

Silver’s hands are on the laces of Flint’s breeches and that flinching reflex tugs at him again, but now it is because he is already on the edge and he wants to love Silver slowly all night long. But he would never be able to pull away from Silver and he stands, dazed, as Silver pulls his cock out and begins to stroke him. He is not hesitant at all, not fearful. Even in his fantasies, as he brought himself off quietly in his bed alone, Flint had never been able to imagine that Silver would be this eager for him. 

Flint begins to talk as Silver strokes him. He says, “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of this, of you. Ever since I met you, every time I’ve given myself pleasure it was to the thought of you.”

Silver’s hand falters. “Fuck,” he says hoarsely, “fuck.”

Flint reaches for Silver’s laces, trying to remember how to use his fingers. He manages it finally, clumsily, and wraps his hand around Silver’s cock. It is hot in his hand, silky to touch. Silver’s hips jerk forward and he loses his rhythm again. 

Flint follows Silver’s lead, letting him choose the pace for them both. Silver’s lust-dark eyes meet Flint’s, and Flint can see the effect it has on Silver. Flint wraps his free hand around the back of Silver’s neck and pulls their foreheads together. 

Flint is so close now. His hand keeps stilling on Silver as the world beyond the sensation of Silver’s hand on his cock recedes. He can’t stop the little thrusts of his hips. He pulls his head back at the last moment so that he can see Silver’s face. He looks at Silver’s eyes, the color in his cheeks, his lips that are red and shiny from kissing Flint. And he comes. 

Silver says, “Oh.” His voice is so raw with lust that Flint would surely come again if he could. 

Flint wants to say something, but no words can replace the act of falling to his knees in front of Silver and taking him in his mouth. So he acts and does not speak. Silver’s body tightens and the sound he makes is as sweet as Flint's release had been. His hands fall onto Flint’s head, and he is caressing the hair he just cut. Flint swallows him down deeply, the smell of Silver’s sweat giving him a heady rush. 

Flint draws back after a moment so that he can catch his breath, and he looks up at Silver. He takes in the beauty of him with his shirt rumpled from Flint clenching at it, his breeches discarded beside him, and his whole body shiny with sweat. His gaze lingers on Silver’s cock, standing up for him. He remembers what he said about giving Silver everything and he says, “Here.”

He turns around and braces himself against the table, half-bent over it. He doesn’t have anything, any oil. But he wants this. Silver split his scalp with a knife and it was a caress. This will be just as sweet. 

He hears SIlver’s sharp intake of breath. He feels Silver’s hands on him. Two dry fingers touch him and Flint smiles. 

“Don’t you need- don’t you have any oil or-” Silver sounds more aroused than anything else. 

“It’s all right, I want it,” Flint says. He'll beg for it if that is what Silver wants. 

“Flint,” Silver says. Flint looks over his shoulder. Silver’s expression is such an intoxicating mix of lust and tenderness that Flint nearly averts his eyes, certain that he is trespassing somehow by seeing this. “Flint, this is not the only night for us. We’re going to do this again.” 

We’re going to do this again  . Flint wants to ask him to repeat it, just so he can be sure he heard him correctly.  We’re going to do this again  . It is the same thunderbolt as hearing  then cut it  had been. Flint grabs Silver’s hand and kisses his palm, unable to speak. 

Still holding SIlver’s hand, he tugs Silver against his back. He feels Silver’s cock between his legs, sliding against him. The head of it presses against Flint’s balls. Silver moans and rocks forward again. Their mingled sweat creates a slickness that allows Silver to slide comfortably. Every time he pumps his hips, Flint hitches back to meet him and so every thrust is something they are doing together. 

“Next time,” Flint says, loving the taste of that phrase in his mouth, “next time you’re going to fuck me properly. You’re going to feel me hot and tight around you and you’re going to hear me asking for it deeper. I’ll come just from your cock in me, you won’t even need to touch me, that’s how much I’ll want to feel you in me.”

Those nights of touching himself and thinking of this, Flint had neglected to imagine so much. He hadn’t thought to imagine how Silver’s chest would be hot and sweaty against his back, or the way that he could feel Silver’s hair draping over him. He hadn’t considered that Silver would stop to kiss the back of his neck. And even in his most self-indulgent fantasies, he had never imagined that when Silver came, he would call out Flint’s name.

Flint would be content to stand there forever, the edge of the table biting uncomfortably into his hips now that there is no distraction from it, and Silver almost suffocatingly heavy across his back. But Silver pulls him up and looks intently into his face for a moment before drawing him in for a deliberate, soft kiss. 

When Silver breaks the kiss, he slides his cheek next to Flint’s and says quietly in his ear, “I’ve thought about it too. I didn’t know why, but you were always there.”

They stand there in an embrace that neither wants to break. They’ll have to break it eventually, but that is fine. This is not the only time this will happen. They are going to do this again. Flint tucks his face into Silver’s neck and breaths in.

He opens the book of Silver in his mind and begins to write.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Not Her Too

You know what we need? The Joker fucking up. Enjoy!!

----

           People assume a lot about Dahlia when they see her. Mainly because she can’t see them. How sad, they sigh. How pitiful, they whisper. What bullshit, she thinks.

“Gracie, I don’t know if you’re smart or stupid,” Dahlia laughs into her phone, unlocking the front door. The groceries rustle in the paper bag,

“Whatever,” Her cousin snorts, “My Dads say I’m brilliant.”

Between clicks of her tongue, listening to the way they bounce around the tiny apartment, Dahlia teases, “Those are two different versions of a similar lie.”

“Fuck you, Todd.”

“No thanks.” She sets the bag on the counter. “Any word from Tio Tim?”

“Yeah, Dad said everything went great. They’re over at Uncle Dickie’s place being weirdos.”

“What does that say about us then?”

“Well, with my other Dad and Aunt Cassie, I stand something of a chance. You on the other hand—”

“Remain as the prettier of us.” Laughing with her cousin, Dahlia shakes her head. “Alright, I’ll call you later.”

“Sounds like a plan. Love you, Dahli.”

“Love you too, Gracie.”

Setting her phone in the charging dock, Dahlia starts putting the food away. Papa hasn’t changed the lay out since they moved in. Makes it easier for her. Sure fingers run over boxes, can, and jars, running down a list in her head of what to make. Wonders if she should try to call her father to see if he wants--

A creak from the front area makes her slow for a moment. A insane heartbeat that she’s never heard before. Pretending everything’s okay, shrugging it off, she continues walking around the kitchen. Before she can reach the emergency button in the knife drawer, every muscle in her body tightens painfully, electricity pulsing through it. She can’t even scream. Dahlia collapses on the ground.

“Well, well, well.” She knows that cackle. Heard it in recordings for years. A gloved hand grabs her face, “Look at what I found.”

--

“Fuck you, Drake!” Jason laughs at his younger brother.

“I’m just saying you could do worse than—”

           “I am just happy with how my life is.” Jason assures him. “I’ve got a home. I’ve got you dumbasses for family. I’ve got my Llama. I don’t need much else.”

           Before one of his brothers can say something back, Dick’s phone buzzes. He reads it with a frown. Tim chuckles into his coffee mug, “Uh-oh, in trouble with the Missus.”

           “Babs is saying we need to turn on the tv.” He reaches for the remote.

           “What channel?”

           “Any.”

           The screen flickers to life and their hearts stop at that fucking high pitched cackle from the screen. Joker’s ghostly white face and bloody lips take up the entire screen. Soft groans from the background sound so, so familiar.

           “Hello to all just joining us.” The psychotic clown “I’m not typically one to redo performances, but this one was just too tempting.”

           He moves back from the camera. Curled on the ground, hands bound behind her, a teenaged girl groans. The soft brown curls cover her face until Joker slams his foot into her stomach. Clouded gray eyes widen as she gasps and Jason’s on his feet.

           No.

           Not her.

           Not her too.

           “Now, now.” Joker tuts, “You really need to help me here, kid.”

           “Go to hell.” Dahlia spats. Joker yanks her up with a fist in her hair, not even blinking as she spits blood at him.

           “That’s just rude.” He smashes her face into the concrete. “You remind me of your dad. He was just like this. Wonder if he remembers this.”

           Joker disappears from the screen. Coughing, Dahlia manages to sit up. Bruises cover her face and neck, blood dripping from her nose. Metal scraping along the ground makes Jason’s heart stop. More so the words that Joker says, “You and I are going to settle a debate your dad and I couldn’t. Which feels better: A or B.”

           As Joker brings the crow bar down, Dick turns the TV off.

           “Turn it back on.” Jason growls.

           The first Robin crosses his arms, “No.”

           “I said, turn. It. Back. ON!”

           “No.”

           “THAT’S MY DAUGHTER—”

           “So, do you want to keep wasting our time arguing or do you want save her?” The question cuts through his anger instantly, along with his brothers’ clenched jaws. Jason blinks until he continues, “Babs has already traced the signal. We leave now, we can be there in less than ten minutes.”

           “…He’s hurting my little girl.”

           “We know, Jason.” Tim pulls their spare uniforms from the cupboard.

           “I’m going to—"

           “Todd.” Damian’s even tone does little to hide the anger in his jade eyes. “Do you think any of us aren’t thinking about the same thing?”

           His brothers each give him the same look.

They’ve got his back.

More than that, they’re on his side.

--

           Sour breath burns her nostrils. Every tiny movement makes her want to cry. Another sharp blow from the crowbar hits her shoulder. “Now, now. We aren’t done yet.”

           “Fuck. You.” Dahlia coughs, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Another blow to her unbound legs.

           “Now, I would have though you’d be nicer by now.” Joker tuts. She mumbles into the concrete. Yanking her up by her hair, the pyscho tuts, “What was that?”

           “My Papa is going to kill you, puta.” She lunges forward, sinking her teeth into his nose. His yell of pain makes her bite harder, until he hits her again. His retreating footsteps give her her chance.

           A door slams open in front of her. She barrels forward into one of the henchmen. Tio Dick wouldn’t be impressed with her landing, but she’s thinking more about not dying. As she stumbles away, Dahlia brings her hands up then down to break the zipties digging into her skin. She uses the echo along the walls to figure out where Joker and his henchmen are. Her head starts spinning the more she tries to breathe.

Don’t pass out. If you do, you die. Dahlia repeats that to herself, listening to the henchmens’ yells as they search for her. Hiding behind what feels like wooden crates in a corner, she covers her mouth. Every breath feels like a stab, forcing her to fight back tears.

She’s going to die here. She’s going to die here. Maybe she’ll get lucky and come back. Like Tio Damian and Li-Li. Like Papa. Papa… He’s going to

           “Get back!” A henchman yells in pain.

           “Where is she?!” Dahlia looks up. Tio Dami?

           “Dahlia! We’re here!” Tio Dickie shouts, voice bouncing off the metal walls.

           “Dahlia! ¡¿Dónde estás?! ¡Estoy aquí! ¡Estoy aquí!”

           “Papá?” Dahlia whispers.

           “LLAMA!”

           Whimpering and holding her side, Dahlia pulls herself up. She leans against the wall as she limps towards the noise. “Papa...Papa…”

           “Ooo, lookit what the bat dragged in!” Joker cackles. Her father roars and she hears the familiar sound of fists against flesh. Forcing herself to take the next step, she focuses on the sound of her father’s hits. The way his voice cracks with the next yell.

           “WHERE IS SHE?”

           “Who?” Joker cackles, “Oh! The sightless bird? Ya know, I think she was around here somewhere—"

           “Papa…” She mumbles, mouth painfully dry. “Papa…”

           A body slams against metal walls, Papa snarling, “If you don’t tell me where the hell she is—”

           “Hood!” Tio Dickie. They’re here. They’re here for her. “Hood!”

           “WHA—" She can hear his breath catch. Another step, Dahlia, almost there. There’s a loud thud and pained laugh from Joker. Heavy footsteps run towards her. “LLAMA!”

           “Papa…Papa…” She reaches out for him, stumbling over her feet.

--

           As Dahlia stumbles, he lunges forward. Her whimper of pain as he eases her to the ground makes his teeth grit. Dark bruises blossom up her collar bone. Every breath she takes cracks. The fucker.

           “Dahlia?” He murmurs, pushing her hair from her face. Dahlia’s head falls against his chest, eyes drooping shut, “Llama. I’m here. I’ve got you…”

           “Papa…” She whimpers, “Hi, Papa…”

           “Ohhhhh, seems the little bird isn’t feeling too good.” Joker cackles. Damian presses his katana into Joker’s throat, drawing blood.

           “Redhood, she needs to go to the hospital.” Nightwing says. Jason fixes his gaze on the pyscho clown. His older brother grips his shoulder, “He’s not getting away with this. Not this time.”

           “We’ve got him.” Tim’s Red Robin voice used to piss him off. Now, Jason can hear the fire in his little brother’s voice. Hears the promise in it. Nodding, he lifts her up, like when she was little bitty.

           “Hold on, Dahli. You’re going to be okay. I promise. I promise.”

--

           He’s not sure how long it’s been. Time doesn’t pass normally here. He knows the nurses have changed shifts 8 times. Knows his brothers have called for updates three times. Knows the doctor has come by twice, taken her for tests too many times to count. The only thing keeping him sane is each beep of her heart monitor.

“‘People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends,’” The Book Thief isn’t his favorite book, but it’s the last one she had been reading. “‘but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors--'”

Dahlia’s cloudy eyes fly open, hands reaching out in front of her, “Papa! Papa!”

The book drops from his grasp. He brings her hands to his face. Since he adopted her, touching someone’s face has always calmed her. Even with the scars and oddities of their family, their faces calm her. Frantic hands feel his face until she starts crying.  

“Estoy aquí, niña. Estoy aquí, te tengo,” Jason holds her close, kissing his daughter’s curls over and over, “Estás a salvo, Dahlia. Estás seguro.”

For a few minutes, Dahlia can’t speak as the cries wrack her body. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what she needs to hear. So, he holds her. Holds her and holds her and holds her tighter with each fresh cry—a terrible mix of pain and sorrow and fear.

“I-I’m s-s—”

“No. Dahli, no.” He lifts her hand back to his face, holding it there. “You don’t apologize for jack shit. Not for a damn thing.”

“I tr-tried-tried to st-stay bra-ave.” She hiccups, nails dig into his arm. “I-I tried.”

“I know. I know.” He hugs her tighter. “You’re alive. You’re alive, Dahli, that’s all I care about.”

The teenager cries in her father’s arms for hours.

And he doesn’t let go until she’s ready.

--

           It’s been two weeks. Dahlia had finally been released from the hospital with many follow up appointments with a new therapist. Her family had visited every day, Grace asking what the other guy looked like. Alfred sent her favorite desert. Her aunts made Papa go home for a day to shower and eat. Aside from that day, which Dahlia had to force him to agree to, Jason hadn’t left her side. All their visits remind her why she’s lucky to be apart of their family. Remind her why she wants to go home. Jason had offered to find them a new place, but Dahlia shot him down. She grew up in that apartment. Joker doesn’t get to take it from her.

She had just one stop she wanted to make first.

The electronic beeps and creak of the security door make her straighten up. Even his sour breath and cackle can’t phase her. He’s seen the bruises.

           Good.

           “Well, look what the bat dragged in.” Joker cackles.

           “Wow, thought the infamous Joker would be more original.” She raises an eyebrow. “Whole world of blind jokes and you go with ‘look.’”

           “See someone got their daddy’s bite.” The metal legs of his chair creak as he leans back. “Where’s he at? Thought all the Boy Blunders would have their kids under lock and key.”

           Leaning forward, Dahlia removes her sunglasses. Grace told her once that her cloudy, unfocused gray eyes unnerve people in the best way. More creaks in his chair as Joker adjusts himself.

           “I was nine when Papa told me what you did. Younger than that when I heard his nightmares, but nine was when I learned about the monster in my father’s head.” Dahlia keeps her voice even. “Growing up, I heard all the stories and rumors about you. Heard all the things you’ve done—to strangers, to your enemies, to my family. I heard all the horrible things you did--”

           “Nice story, but get to the point, sugar.”

           “My point is that every story about you makes you out to be a monster. Which is a fucking lie.”

           “That so?”

           “It is. You are a psychopath sure, but you rely on fear to keep your power. That’s how you keep your hold over people.” Dahlia smiles softly. “That ends now.”

           His laugh, the one that’s haunted her family for decades, deoesn’y even make her flinch. “And they say bats have no sense of humor! Oh, you’re killing me—"

           “No, but my papa will.”

           “Your family doesn’t kill—”

           “See, you’re right to a point. But you messed up when you hurt me—”

           “Always take the weakest—”

           “I’m not weak.” Her even voice breaks, years of her family building her up spilling through. “You messed up by thinking that. Signed your own death certificate.”

           “I’m so sc—”

           Dahlia cuts his sarcasm short with a wave of her hand, “You’re going to rot here. For years and years and years. You will rot and die here. If you ever step foot out of thise building, you will die. Papa will make sure of it.”

           Metal creaks as he leans forward. “Bold talk for a blind girl, sugar.”

           She leans forward, “I don’t need my eyes to see through your bullshit.”

           Clicking her tongue, she walks to the door. The Clown scoffs, “Really? That’s it?”

           Dahlia doesn’t answer.

           “Hey! I know you hear me! Hear me better than anyone else!”

           The door opens and a guard’s gentle hand wraps around her forearm.

           “I’ll see you on the other side, sugar! Just you wait!”

--

           His leg bounces as he waits for her. Jason still can’t understand why she needs to see him. Looking up as the door opens, Jason sees Dahlia thank the guard. The bruises along her arms, face and chest make his heart ache. But she wears them with pride.

           “Papa?” Dahlia clicks her tongue, walking towards him. Jason opens his arms for her. She walks into them without hesitation. The shuttering gasp she gives has him hold her tighter.

           “You get what you need, Nina?”

           She nods, gripping his jacket tighter, sniffling, “Thank you, Papa. Thank you for letting me do this.”

           “Dahlia Noelle Todd, no one lets you do anything. You do what you want and always have.” Jason chuckles, kissing her temple, “I’m proud of you. You know that? No one could have done what you just did. Estoy tan, tan orgulloso de ti, mija.”

           “Te amo, Papa.”

           “Te amo tambien.” Jason holds her face in his hands. Where did that scrappy two-year-old go? The one who babbled to a stranger about her missing toy, who ran to his arms when he’d get home, who’d sit on the counter while he’d make dinner. When did this young woman take her place? Jason just smiles, “You ready to go home, Llama?”

           “Depends.” Dahlia takes his arm as they walk down the hall, pulling her sunglasses down, “Is Grace going to be there?”

           “Pretty sure she and Asha have a whole party planned for you.”

           “Can’t wait to see this dumpster fire.”

           Jason chuckles, “That’s my girl.”

[gunnerpalace]

Can I ask your opinion on Fade to Black? I just rewatched it and my Ichiruki heart is just overflowing with feels! But anyways I love your analysis and opinions on all things Bleach.

I am that rare IR who does not actually like Fade to Black very much. I can see what it was trying to do, and I appreciate the idea in concept (and some little moments here and there) but I am not at all a fan of how it was actually put together and executed. I guess I’ll do this as a pros and cons list:

PROS:

I don’t like Mayuri but I sort of like how he was handled in this movie. Him keeping a physical backup of his brain is a cool sci-fi idea for dealing with advancing the plot later.

Dark Rukia’s design is fairly cool. Especially in the little promo book that came with the movie, which you sometimes see screenshots of floating around.

The degree of attachment Ichigo shows toward Rukia is endearing.

The scene where Kisuke asks what Rukia is to Ichigo is cute and pretty spot-on.

Kisuke showing up in his old captain’s uniform for seemingly no reason other than to tweak Yamamoto’s nose is pretty funny. Him and Yoruichi basically alluding to the Soul Society arc is also kind of cute.

Ichigo using some special technique that’s unique to him in order to find Rukia (because it ain’t reiraku) is great.

The fight scene between Ichigo and Dark Rukia, and how Ichigo solves it and saves her, is well done and engaging.

Their little hug scene that’s gif’d on here a lot is sweet.

The ending where they have this discussion about how maybe this isn’t the first time they’ve met feels a little underplayed (they’re real far apart and stoic for people discussing such mushy things) but it’s still nice.

CONS:

I’m really tired of arcs about rescuing Rukia and reducing her to a damsel in distress, because she’s better than that. The Soul Society arc was the first time, and it was set up well and worked just fine—it’s classic. Fade to Black’s reasons are contrived (more on that later) and derivative. Then Hell Verse did it again and it was just stupid by that point. There should’ve been a rescue Ichigo movie instead, and the Xcution arc doesn’t really count since that’s presented as a horror story mostly from his perspective.

Rukia’s has had a hard life as a character and has been dumped on consistently, so I view adding yet more misery and pain onto her as gratuitous and frankly kind of insulting in general.

While Dark Rukia’s design is cool, it’s not really Rukia at all. It is very clear she’s an unwilling participant. It kinda looks like her, but it’s all Homura and Shizuku, they’re just forcing her along into it. And you know what? That’s basically rape, even if it’s not sexual rape. It’s still a total loss of consent and bodily autonomy. I’m pretty not cool with a plot that boils down to Rukia being raped.

I just hate the visual design of the kids. I can’t explain why beyond saying they just look out of place in the setting. Homura in particular looks like she walked off the set of Yu-Gi-Oh.

The backstory with the two kids frankly doesn’t make much sense. She meets Renji when she’s seemingly somewhere around the age of Karin or Yuzu (like 8-12) and they and their friends are together for ten years. At the end of that, she enters the Academy. In the flashbacks with these kids, she looks indistinguishable from how she does in the present? When exactly was this supposed to be happening?

The entire plot of Soul Society not knowing who Rukia is is stupid. Soul Society is a bureaucracy. From what we are shown, the majority of what they do every single day is paperwork. Just like Japan still to this day loves forms in triplicate, Soul Society fucking loves paperwork. And they love records and archives. And all Byakuya can do is find one lone book that references Rukia? There would be literally hundreds and hundreds and thousands of documents referencing her, or signed by her. The most casual search would indicate she was real.

Kon is annoying as hell in this movie. Like, he’s usually annoying, but not as much as he is here. It’s distracting and grating.

Ichigo is a continual disappointment in this movie. There are so many things that I will give them their own entries denoted by letters below:

A. People say he remembers Rukia when everyone else forgets. He doesn’t. Only Kon remembers Rukia. Kon jogs Ichigo’s memory. Ichigo does admittedly remember fully and quickly, which puts him ahead of everyone else, but he still forgets to begin with. That’s stupid.

B. Ichigo is extremely wishy-washy in this movie. He requires a speech from Kon, can’t or won’t beat Shuhei of all people even with his mask on, and loses to Toushirou. It’s pathetic. I get it, he’s a sad puppy without Rukia. It’s still pathetic to watch. The only time in the manga canon where his confidence wavers when it comes to trying to get to Rukia is during the Soul Society arc, when he wants to stay and wait for Ganju so they can settle their quarrel, and you can read that as being unique because it turns out they’re cousins and Ichigo may know something is unique, even if he doesn’t know it. This shit of him becoming discouraged and sad when trying to get to her is out-of-character.

C. This is an extension of (B), but like. Okay, when Orikasa Fumiko is voicing Rukia, and she screams in agony or despair, it chills me to the bone. I cannot explain to you how much I don’t like hearing it. It makes me anxious and makes me angry. She did it on the Senzaikyu when Gin broke her resolve to face death, and she does it in this movie when the Hollow fusion starts. And all Ichigo can do… is stand there uselessly going “Rukia…” like it’s nothing unusual. If he had been on the Senzaikyu bridge when Gin had done what he’d done, and he’d heard Rukia scream like that, he’d have fucking murdered Gin right then and there in cold blood. And here he faces the equivalent and does nothing. That’s not my boy. That’s not Ichigo.

D. When Rukia is crying over the deaths of Homura and Shizuku, Ichigo just stands there uselessly beside Renji and Byakuya and does nothing to console her. Renji and Byakuya at least have an excuse because they still don’t remember her. What’s Ichigo’s? Again, not him. Go to her you moron. At least grasp her shoulder. Not the Ichigo I know.

The fight scene with the goo monster is dumb as hell. Yamamoto should be able to solo it. He activated Ryuujin Jakka and… completely disappears from the fight. He just straight up vanishes. Because you can tell they realized he should be able to solo it and that would deprive them of everyone else getting a fight too. So he just instant transmissions out of the entire movie. And we get contrived shit like the monster being faster than Yoruichi and Soi-Fon so that Kisuke can heroically save Yoruichi (because him doing it in the Yammy fight wasn’t enough already). It’s just contrived, gratuitous, and pointless.

While the IchiRuki moments are very cute (if a little overly restrained, in my opinion) I feel like the rest of the movie that is set up to make them happen is a hot mess. Things happen because they need to for the plot to work, not because it makes sense or is in character for them to happen. I can’t stand movies that are made that way for any franchise, and seeing characters I care about deeply behave in such ways really just kinda pisses me off. The story beats are derivative and generally inferior versions of things we’ve already seen.

Movie Ichigo is generally out-of-character as fuck (and not just in this movie!) in a way that reminds me of like, Jean-Luc Picard in the Star Trek: The Next Generation movies (wherein he acts basically nothing like he does on the TV show). And Movie Rukia seems generally reduced to a background character.

I said recently that Rukia and Doomguy would be friends, and you know what? I would watch that movie instead of Fade to Black or Hell Verse, to be honest. Let’s do an outline. 

Ichigo is kidnapped by some denizen of Hell (Kokutou and Shuren and company, I guess? they can still be anime pretty boys even if they’re damned souls, maybe they have terrible demonic forms or something) to be used as a reiatsu battery or some shit for evil purposes. (Breaking out of Hell to overrun the other worlds?) Ichigo’s energy running wild causes some kind of temporal and dimensional vortex which draws in the Doomguy. He finds himself in the upper levels of Bleach’s Hell and does what he does, methodically murdering his way about.

Rukia is sent to investigate Ichigo’s disappearance and eventually figures out Ichigo is in Hell, and so goes to save him (against orders, with the help of Kisuke and maybe the others). There she encounters Doomguy, and is at first horrified, but she notices the rabbit’s foot he keeps on him. She decides to help him, and they’re left alone for a minute, assessing each other.

Despite their initial lack of a shared language (maybe his helmet can translate Japanese?), she communicates to him (with Chappy drawings!) that she has to go deeper into Hell to save Ichigo. Given their shared love of bunnies, Doomguy is down with that. She rides on his back as she did with Ichigo, working some of his spare guns as they go. (Imagine Rukia cocking a shotgun meaningfully tho…) Along the way Rukia freezes some dudes and Doomguy punches their heads off. The usual stuff. She tells him about Ichigo as they go, like she did to Hanataro. Doomguy says nothing because he’s Doomguy, but he seems to listen.

They eventually get to Ichigo and liberate him through the judicious application of firepower. His raging reiatsu causes a lot of damage to the surrounding environment. Doomguy takes advantage of the chaos to commit more murder, giving Ichigo and Rukia time to have a tender reunion moment. The three then team up to take on Kokutou, Shuren, and the other baddies, possibly over the course of several different battles. (Probably like a third or so of the movie is this, and maybe the others show up to pair off and get some screen time. Doesn’t really matter.)

Eventually Shuren and the other chumps die and Kokutou becomes the big bad. Ichigo and Rukia do a big tag-team bankai attack to kill him after Doomguy provides them with an opening with a BFG9000 shot (as he is mostly doing add-clear).

Victorious, the three escape to the upper levels of Hell again, where they are met by reinforcements from Soul Society and explain that Doomguy is a friend. Eventually, Kisuke does some technobabble shizzlewizzle to send Doomguy back to the dimensions he more properly belongs to. Rukia gives him a parting gift of a drawing of him and Daisy in happier times. Ichigo gives him a fistbump and a CD player with some punk music, or a collection of edgy Shakespearean poetry or something.

Ichigo and Rukia share an epilogue to decompress and have some playful banter about how she’ll always be there for him just like he’s there for her.

Roll credits to At Doom’s Gate or BFG Division. Mid-credit sequence is Doomguy sitting on a massive demon corpse, making a detailed Chappy drawing of himself, Rukia, and Ichigo killing demons together as friends. End-credit sequence is Ichigo and Rukia playing an FPS game together on a console in pajamas or lounging clothes while laughing and bantering.

Like, yes, this idea is pretty stupid (although I am increasingly tempted to write it) and a frankly bizarre crossover. But you know what? It feels truer to the characters to me, and less contrived and dumb in setting up why what is happening is. It doesn’t really make the characters needlessly helpless or incompetent to generate those good moments of interaction.

And that is really my problem with Fade to Black: what it has to do to get the good moments outweighs them, for me. Maybe it’s because I just can’t turn my brain off and can’t stop doing critical analysis, but I always feel like the juice ain’t worth the squeeze. (And I kinda feel that way about all the animated movies. I was really surprised by how much I liked the Live Action: it nailed handling things perfectly.)

Other people like it, and that’s fine, but I don’t really intend to ever watch it again.

[intoanothermind]

Doppelgänger - Barry Allen

Word Count: 5.317 words

- Barry Allen x reader

Synopsis: What if you find yourself face to face with a man that resembles the one you love and your mission is to kill him?

Masterlist

Part One (but it can be read as a one shot)

It was not like I was a dangerous meta human, at least not apparently. I avoided using my powers and many times I went unnoticed by people and other metas. I tried my best not to attract attention to myself, especially when the speedster Zoom took the city of Central City and gave two options for all the metas: to join him or die. My efforts, however, were in vain when I was approached on the way home from Jitterbugs. It all happened so fast. In a moment I felt my jacket being gripped from behind; in the next second, I was pulled out of a portal in the middle of a paved area that I didn’t recognize.

“Where am I?” I asked, confused and annoyed, rising from the ground where he had thrown me.

“You have only one mission.” Zoom's figure overcame me in an intimidating way, with a monstrous voice that sent shivers down my spine. “Kill The Flash and you can go home.”

I opened my mouth to ask how I would do it, but in a matter of seconds he had opened a portal and disappeared through it again. I grunted in frustration as I looked around, seeing that there wasn’t much there. It wasn’t difficult to discover that I was in a parallel universe. There were rumors among the meta humans that Zoom was kidnapping the strongest of them and taking them to another Earth. I just didn’t think I would be one of them, especially since I rarely used my powers. Plus, just seeing the city lights not far off, it was clear that this wasn’t the Central City I knew.

There was a hangar a few yards from where I was, and when I came in to check it was empty except for a few wooden boxes. I sighed, sitting down in one of them and trying to think of something to attract that Flash. I couldn’t stay there. I had to go home. It wasn’t like I had someone waiting for me, but I had promised someone else to keep him safe.

It was time to do some research.

 I spent days hiding in that hangar on the outskirts of Central City. I didn’t know how that world worked, so I did my best not to attract unnecessary attention. I spent most of my time reading the city newspaper for any information about The Flash. Apparently he was a speedster - just like Zoom - in a scarlet costume that decided to use his ability to help the city. I couldn’t deny that such a gesture made me admire him a little bit, but I also couldn’t let my moral sense overlap my desire to return home. I needed to think of something that would draw him to me instead of having to go after him. Even more that I didn’t have as amazing skills as others. After analyzing my few options, I decided that my plan should be as simple as possible. The faster I finished, the faster I would return to my Earth.

Five days after I arrived, I put the plan into action. I smashed some of the boxes out of that hangar and rearranged the wood in the shape of a huge bolt of light into the cemented floor outside. With my ability to control the senses, I ensured that no one but The Flash could see the wood burning and the smoke rising within a mile. In a period of fifteen minutes, some people and even some policemen appeared, trying to find out what happened, but they turned around when they didn’t see anything. I began to doubt whether it had been a good plan when there was no sign of the masked man.

When I saw a red blur crossing the isolated field, I realized that it had indeed worked.

“Cisco, I can’t see anyone.” The man said.

“Think again, pretty boy.” I said, my voice altered by my power, coming out of the hangar and snapping my fingers when he turned to me.

He widened his eyes behind the mask, turning his face as if searching for me. I smirked even though he wasn’t able to see it.

“Cisco, I can’t see anything” He yelled. “Literally nothing!”

“What do you mean you can’t see anything?” A voice answered through the gadget in his hear and I only could listen to it due to my sharp hearing.

“Who are you?” The Flash asked and I knew it was for me.

“I’m the one who is going to kill you to be able to come home.”

I felt my eyes light as if they were white headlights and he fell to the ground because of the lack of sensitivity I caused on his skin and his nerves.

“Cisco, I can’t feel anything” He seemed desperate. “What have you done to me?”

“I took away your sight and your sensibility. I don’t think you’ll be able to run now.” I hummed as I took a knife out of my pocket.

I approached him, trying to quell my nervousness at the imminence of having to take a life. But I needed to go home. There were people waiting for me - or at least that's what I wanted to believe. I was ready to stick the knife into Flash's chest when something caught my attention in his opaque eyes, trying to see again. Greens. They were light green with what looked like chocolate drops on it.

And I'd only seen eyes like that in one person.

I gasped when I pulled the mask back from his face.

“Bartholomew?!” I murmured, feeling my eyes watering.

“Barry?!” I heard the voice from his gadget. “Barry, what's going on?!”

He dropped to his knees in front of me and I snapped my fingers again to cancel his momentary blindness and reconstitute his sensitivity. Barth looked around, sitting hurriedly, and his eyes widened when he saw my face.

“Y-Y/N? B-but...”

I laughed bitterly seeing his skin go pale.

“Of course you would know my doppelgänger.”

“And apparently you know mine.”

I threw the knife at his feet, defeated.

“You’re right, I know him.” I shook my head with a ghost of a sour grin in my lips. “And I would never kill the man who looks like him. No matter how much I want to go back.”

  No matter how much I prepared every single part of my plan, it didn’t matter how close I was to completing the mission that would take me back to my home. When I saw that Bartholomew was The Flash, I gave up on everything and surrendered, ending up in a cell with a reinforced glass door at the entrance of the S.T.A.R Labs particle accelerator of that Earth. I sat on the blue floor, just taking a deep breath and without saying a word as I saw Barth standing on the other side, still in his scarlet uniform, with four people around him - Harrison and Jesse Wells, who I knew came from my universe, and Caitlin Snow and Cisco Ramon, who were completely different from the versions of them I knew. Everyone seemed a little surprised - and suspicious, I might add - of my lack of attempt to free myself.

“I still don’t understand how you surrendered so easily.” Cisco broke the silence. “Yours powers are so incredible that you could end anyone.”

I couldn’t hold my chuckle as the others cast glares at him.

“I must say that this version of you is so much more pleasant”. I crossed my arms and realized that he shuddered at the mention of his doppelgänger. “Oh, I see that you’ve met Reverb.”

“Terrible experience, may I add.”

“Cisco is right, though.” Jesse spoke up and I looked at her. “Why did you give up so easy?”

I opened my mouth to speak, it’s not like it would make any difference after all, but I was interrupted by a familiar voice entering the tunnel.

“Barry, what is happening?” Iris West’ figure was present and all my prayers that her doppelgänger and of Barth’s didn’t know each other in this reality became in vain. “Y/N?” Her voice was surprised, but I didn’t want to see her face.

I lowered my gaze to my lap as I squeezed my arms in my hands. I felt a tear trickling down my cheek and I hoped that none of them would notice. Knowing that Iris and Barth were together on my Earth was one thing, but knowing that their doppelgängers were also together in other realities was even more excruciating.

“Nope.” His voice calmed my nerves once again as it also made me more alert. “It's her doppelgänger from Earth-2. Apparently a meta human that controls the senses.”

“You had to see, Iris,” Cisco said, sounding excited, "she left him blind and managed for him not to move, and okay, I'll shut my mouth now.”

There was a moment of excruciating silence. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, as if they were analyzing me in the smallest details. I was starting to get uncomfortable, but I avoided any eye contact. Gradually I heard murmurs between them and steps getting away one by one until I thought they would close the door and leave me there in the dark. When that didn’t happen, I created the courage to look up and saw Bartholomew sitting in front of me, watching me. We stared at what seemed like hours and I took advantage of this unique opportunity to decorate your features without fears. Just from the similarities with the Bartholomew I knew, I managed to list several differences, starting with the lack of degree glasses.

“Why did you let yourself be arrested?” he finally broke the silence. "Why did you react that way when Iris came in?"

I smiled crookedly. "I thought you would have found it by now, Bartholomew."

“Barry.”

“Barry?” I asked , frowning.

“That's what I'm called here.”

I nodded, remaining a little silent, purposely avoiding his question until he spoke again.

"We can make this deal: I tell you the story of how I met your doppelgänger and you tell me your story of how you met mine. What do you think?”

I looked into his green eyes that were still the same from the Bartholomew I knew. My heart skipped a few beats just from meeting those eyes, even though I was well aware that it was a completely different Bartholomew, and it confused me.

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath before starting to tell my story.

“I met Bartholomew when I was in my first year of high school. We became friends quickly, practically inseparable. He was all I had since I had never met my parents. I've always been in love with him and made the mistake of not saying anything before leaving town to go to college. When I returned , they were already married. I didn't want to ruin their happiness, but I needed to get that weight off my chest, so I ended up confessing. He told me he always knew that I loved him, but that he would always choose Iris, because she was the love of his life.” I let an sour laugh to saying those words out loud and tried to avoid the broken look that Barry threw me. “We had a fight and I kicked him out of my house. Not only did I lose the man I had fallen in love with, I lost my best friend that day too. I cried a lot and kinda without thinking I took medicine to cloud my senses. That was when the particle accelerator exploded. Bartholomew only came to see if I was okay, since so many people had died. I didn't give him much opportunity to say anything, I just promised I would keep him safe even if he wasn't on my side before running away. I began to live in hiding and doing my best not to attract attention with my powers, until Zoom ambushed me and dragged me here.” I took a deep breath again before adding. “And that's why I didn't have and never will have the courage to kill you. Not when you have the face of the only man I ever loved, even though I know you're not and never will be the Bartholomew I met.”

When I finally finished counting, we both remained silent. Barry fiddled with his uniform gloves, seeming to have trouble finding his own words.

“I met  Y/N  a few months ago, she worked as a clerk at CC Jitters, the correspondent of what you know as Jitterbugs, but it's just a coffee shop here.” He started and I payed attention to every word spoken. “We talked for a few minutes every day, and what I admired about her most was that even with a bit of heartache that she'd missed her job opportunity at Central City Picture News, she wouldn't be shaken. I was afraid to ask her out because I didn't want my Flash identity to put her in danger. It turned out that one day she had to be alone to close the cafeteria and a man came in armed. As I was worried about her, I was already around, so it didn't take long to arrive. She was blacked out after being hit in the head and I brought it here. When she woke up, she revealed that she already knew I was The Flash because of my carelessness a while ago. We were fine, happy, until...” He paused and I noticed his voice failing to continue. “She died almost three months ago. Car accident, not even the drunk driver who hit her survived.”

I swallowed my tears. I can now imagine his pain and the surprise of others seeing my face.

“I'm sorry.” I whispered, but I know he was able to hear. “After that, my story seems like just teen drama.”

He laughed, neither dry nor rude, just empty.

“Being rejected is also a pain that no one should go through. It is like losing a person, and even though you know that they are alive and healthy, you can never have them.” He said, looking straight into my eyes.

We stayed a long time like this. How much longer I don’t know. I just know I couldn't look away from those green orbs. It no longer interested me to know that he wasn’t Earth-2 Barth. This was Earth-1 Barry and he somehow appealed to me. We had more in common than we imagined before. I felt that with that exchange we had inexplicably connected us, and for just a few seconds I felt an irresistible urge to kiss him. Not Barth, but Barry. And it scared me a little.

“Barry?!”the Cisco urgent voice spread by a speaker and interrupted our silent exchange of looks. “We need you in the cortex, we have a problem.”

I got up with him and tried to get his attention before he disappeared. I don't know what was wrong with me, I just felt the need not to let it disappear from my sight.

“Barry!” I called and he turned to me. "I don't know what it is, but I want to help. I can help with whatever you need.” I did my best not to sound as desperate as I really was.

I saw your jaw locking.

“Better not.” His answer was short and the thought crossed my mind made my heart ache, which made me even more confused.

"You don't trust me, do you?" My voice was just a sad whisper.

Barry blinked a few times and looked at me with an unreadable expression.

“It's not about this. I lost a Pietra once and now that I have the opportunity, I won't afford to lose another.”

He sped out of the tunnel before I could answer. Not that I had any answers. His words took me by surprise and, I can’t deny that it brought a smile to my face. One that I didn't open in a long time.

 Hours have passed since I saw him. After getting tired of just sitting, I started walking and circling in the small space of the cell where I was. Every few seconds I stared at the door, hoping it would open and Barry would come out safe and sound. I couldn't help worrying, and after the words he had uttered before leaving, I didn't think it would happen anytime soon. I used my expanded sensations and senses to find a way out - I wasn't very lucky at that. I then analyzed the words spoken by Cisco through the speaker, looking for any hint of what might have led Barry out and building possibilities of what happened after that. But Cisco had been too shallow for me to get any useful information.

When I realized I was going to go crazy with worry, I started screaming and punching the walls, hoping that it would catch the eye of anyone watching the camera recordings in my cell. When I almost thought it was useless, the gate to the cells opened and a very angry Cisco appeared.

“What you want?” He mumbled. "We're busy enough to worry about you right now."

“Barry.” I answered quickly, almost squeezing me to the cell's glass door. “How is Barry?”

The expression that crossed his face answered my question even before the words came out of his mouth.

“Badly.” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation and frowned when he saw a tear trickling down my cheek. “The metahuman just touched him and he began to agonize, complaining of pain everywhere. We had to get him back to the lab and Caitlin still doesn't know how to help him. Neither does Harry know, even though he says he knew Stinger from Earth-2. Apparently they had discovered nothing to counteract.”

I did my best to swallow the lump in my throat as I tried to focus on the name he had said. Stinger. I met him on Earth-2 and there was really nothing discovered to counteract the physical pain that he caused just by touch. Because it was not to be discovered. Because I hid.

"Now, if you'll excuse me..." Cisco continued, oblivious to my epiphany. "My friend is about to die in agony and I'd like to go back to the lab and try to save him."

“Wait!” I exclaimed, louder than intended. “I know how to cure it. Please let me save Barry.”

Cisco analyzed my red features from crying, his own softening at the realization that I was affected by the news but still suspicious.

“Tell me how and I do.” He said.

“No, no, no.” I said quickly. “Stinger's pain is only neutralized if I momentarily take Barry's touch sensibilities, as I did in the hangar.” When he looked at me still skeptical, I begged. “Please. I swear I'll be back in the cell if I have to, just let me save him.”

Cisco touched the panel next to him and the glass doors opened. He looked a little afraid when I stepped outside, but when I stood still, if I tried to escape, he seemed to calm down and guided me to the cortex. When we got there, I saw Barry lying on a stretcher in a glass-walled room with everyone around him, including Joe West. Barry's screams were agonizing to the listener and I soon hurried over to him.

“What is she doing outside the cell?” Asked Joe, taking a weapon from its holster and pointing at me. “One more step or I'll shoot.”

"I took her off, Joe, lower it." Cisco said.

“Why would you do that?!” Asked Iris, frowning.

“She said she can save him.”

Joe lowered his gun at such words and I saw such a gesture as my cue to approach Barry. When I saw him there, yelling and shifting as if something wanted to come out of his gut, my urge to cry only increased, but I swallowed my tears. I didn't want anyone to see me so fragile, Cisco was enough. I looked at Caitlin from across the table and she flashed me a smile that said she trusted me. I held Barry's hand in mine and took a deep breath before I felt my eyes light up with white lights and he dropped to the stretcher, as he had on the paved floor beside the counter a few days ago. I waited a few suffocating seconds, just as a guarantee, and, still holding her hand, brought back his sensitivity. I bit my bottom lip waiting for some sign that it had worked. When those green eyes that I waited hours to see again flickered a few times before focusing on mine, I let out an involuntary sob as well as a huge smile.

It worked.

“Barry?” I called him, dropping one of my hands to run my fingers through his brown locks, not bothering with the sweat.

“Hey,  Y/N.” He whispered hoarsely, blinking slowly and lazily. “Thanks for saving me.”

That was enough for the others to react and crowd around us. Caitlin said she needed to do some testing just for the sake of it and I felt this was my time. I looked around for Cisco.

"Cisco, will you take me back to the cell?" I asked, causing everyone to shut up and to turn to me with wide eyes.

“No way.” Barry said, trying to sit up, but several pairs of hands came forward to lay him back on the stretcher. "You don't have to go back there anymore. I'll get her out of there myself if that happens.”

I didn't think my smile could have been bigger.

"Besides," said Harrison Wells, "I think Pietra will be of great help in capturing Stinger."

"But first," said Cisco, drawing everyone's attention, "she needs a name."

  Days later and a draft plan to get Stinger was ready. Cisco had been very excited by the name he had given me - Sensy - since I had none on Earth-2 because only a few people knew about my skills. I became friends with everyone at STAR, even Iris, but I had a special connection with Barry. I would like to think that because of his resemblance to the Barth I loved, but I knew I could no longer lie to myself. And the tension in the air was clear for all of Team Flash. By the time Cisco and Harry - I would still have to get used to calling him that - spotted Stinger, Barry was completely recovered from his last date.

I was ready to finally wear the costume Cisco had made for Sensy. Barry, however, seemed to have other plans.

“You stay.” He said in a firm voice to me, but I would not be standing there while he risked his life.

“No way!” I insisted immediately. “The idea is for me to go there and use my skills so he won't use his!"

“Barry, that was the best plan we could get.” warned Harry.

“You have to go soon, he's approaching the Central Bank.” Caitlin said, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her.

Barry took a deep breath and turned to me. I saw in the twinkle of his eyes that I would not win this discussion, no matter how certain I was.

“I refuse to lose you.” The voice was quiet to the point I was the only one who was able to hear it and hoarse as if he had just woken up. He exchanged his regular clothes for Flash's uniform in a matter of a second and approached me. One of his hands tangled in my hair and his forehead touched mine, allowing me to feel his breath on my lips. Perfect combination to weaken my knees and take any train of thought from my mind. “You can stay here monitoring, but I'm going out alone today. Please… ”he asked in a voice so broken that I couldn't deny it.

“Fine, I’ll stay.” He sighed, looking relieved. “But I have a plan.”

He looked at me confused as we parted a few inches and took his face in my hands.

“Don't look away from my eyes.” I warned .

It only took a few seconds, but it was enough for him to grimace in pain. When I let go of his face, he blinked a few times.

“What did you do? I don't feel anything, literally.”

“I took your touch sensitivity, just the response of the nerves.” I tried to explain as soon as possible. "It will be as if you are feeling your body numb, but not like the day we met. You'll be able to run normally, you just need a little more concentration. If Stinger touches you, you won't feel a thing.”

Barry grinned from ear to ear. “You are awesome.”

I ignored my flushed cheeks and tried to hurry him up.

“Go fast! Never tried it before, I don't know how long it will last.”

He leaned closer to me and before I could process what was happening, he sealed our lips quickly before leaving the lab like lightning. I stood in the same place like a statue, trying to figure out how it all happened and still feeling his lips touching mine. I got out of my trance when a long whistle sounded in the silence and I remembered that there were actually more people in the cortex. As I turned to the computers, I saw Cisco, Caitlin, Iris, Harry and Jesse staring at me wide-eyed until Jesse broke the uncomfortable silence.

“That was intense.”

  After my makeshift plan seemed to work, everyone dispersed. Through the GPS in Flash costume, Cisco told me Barry was already back in STAR Labs and Caitlin said his vitals were normal, I ran to the entrance of their makeshift jail. I needed to see Barry. I longed for that moment and took a deep breath before finally bending into the circular tunnel entrance. Barry was already closing the gate when I entered and he quickly turned to me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I gave him no time. I snapped my fingers to dispel the lack of sensitivity and wrapped my arms around his neck to kiss his lips.

He didn't hesitate for a second, wrapping my arms around my waist and pulling me even closer, pressing me against his chest. I laced my fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth against mine more tightly and needily, angling my head to deepen the kiss. It wasn't a calm kiss like I always dreamed it would be with the Barth I met on Earth-2. But I didn’t care. Barry Earth-1's ravenous, needy, passionate kiss made me realize that all my life I was after the wrong Bartholomew Allen. When Barry reached a hand up my cheek to caress it without breaking the kiss, everything about Barth from Earth-2 seemed to disappear from my mind and all I felt, saw, breathed, and experienced was Barry kissing me.

Barry drew back a few seconds to regain the lost air, but then collided our lips again, in an even deeper, more emotional kiss than the last one. I suddenly had an idea and decided to put it into practice. I had all my keenest senses since the day of the particle accelerator explosion, but I always tried to numb them back to their natural state. But not today, not now. I let them blossom again and concentrated on the taste of Barry's lips against mine, the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat of fighting a human goal, the feel of his hands on my body and I felt it all go out, multiplying to an indescribable level. I passed this on to Barry through my lips and my own hands and the kiss became something even more amazing and magical.

“Wow.” We said at the same time as we parted.

"Your ability is definitely much better than mine." He whispered against my lips.

I let out a laugh, kissing his lips quickly once more.

" Y/N , I..." He began and I decided to remain silent, anxious and fearful for the next words he would speak. “I know I'm not the Barth you lo-loved and you definitely are not the Pietra I loved, but... I-if you are willing, I want to try so-something between us. I can't deny that I'm attracted to you... And not only because you're identical to her, that's not it at all... You're just amazing, and not just because of the thrill of the sensations, but the whole set is perfect and...”

“Yes, Barry.” I interrupted him, looking at him affectionately, just as he looked at me. “I want this. I want it to be us.”

He grinned, but he weakened slightly. “But you have people on Earth-2 who...”

“I don’t have.” I interrupted him again. "I told you I'm an orphan, and it's not like I'm on the best of terms with my best friend or someday we will be. So yes, Barry, I'm willing to stay here.”

Barry flashed a smile that until the moment I hadn't seen on him, only on Barth when he looked at Iris and it caused my heartbeat to fail. Not with the thought of Barth, but knowing that Barry was looking at me that way and that he was sincere.

“That’s his loss.” Barry whispered against my lips before crossing space again and kissing me like I've never been kissed in my life.

I melted into his arms, not caring if Team Flash was watching everything on camera, not caring that Flash was needed right now somewhere in town, not caring that I wasn't the Pietra Montgomery he loved months ago and lost her in a car accident, not caring that he wasn't the Bartholomew Allen I had known for many years and married Iris.

I didn't care about any of that.

Because, after all, even though Iris West from Earth-2 had Barth Allen from Earth-2, I had Barry Allen from Earth-1.

And I couldn't ask for anything else.

[the-trickster-of-hearts]

Kasumi’s Design and How it Compares to Joker

In honor of Persona 5: The Royal coming out in 1 day, I decided to dedicate my first post to this topic since I’ve seen people talk about it. I also wanted to share my speculation about her design along with how and why her design is possibly connected with the protagonist/Joker by using given information about the game and the designs themselves. I’ve been working on this for a while and it might kind of messy since this is the first time I made a post of this nature (plus, I want to post it before the game’s Japanese official release).

Before I discuss about Kasumi’s design and its connection to the protagonist/Joker, it’s best to look at the reason why she was created in the first place. Weekly Famitsu magazine #1588 had an interview with producer Kazuhisa Wada, director Daiki Ito, and character designer Shigenori Soejima about P5R. When Ito talked about Kasumi, he mentioned the following:

“Kasumi Yoshizawa is a new student at Shujin Academy, who has been a high achiever in rhythmic gymnastics since middle school. Since she goes to the same school as the protagonist and his friends, there’ll naturally be many points of contact between them. Introducing a new character adds a new perspective and meaning to the story, while also letting [the team] dig deeper into the characters we already know and love. Kasumi was created after much discussion about what kind of character would allow us to realize that”.

Kasumi was always meant to represent another perspective towards the story and themes of the game. Also going by this, she was most likely never meant to be a FeMC in the way people were expecting when the second P5R teaser was dropped. With that out of the way, let’s talk about her design and how it possibly relates to the protagonist’s design (for the sake of this post, he’ll be referred to as the protagonist when talking about his civilian self and Joker as his Phantom Thief self). 

In the November 2019 issue of Game Informer magazine that was released digitally on the 1st, there was an interview with Soejima and he states the following about Kasumi’s design and how he came up with it:

“With Kasumi, [he] really wanted to create just a straight-forward heroine type of character. This might be a little bit different in the West, but in Japan, the manga [he] grew up reading, the main [female] characters always had a ponytail, and their club activity was gymnastics. [He] really wanted to just shoot for that female protagonist archetype. Maybe in the States or in the West, it’d be [comparable to] a cheerleader type of girl. With most of the characters in Persona 5, we really design them to have kind of a twist, kind of make them unique and different from what the standard character archetypes might be like, but with Kasumi, we wanted to just go straight for that heroine type of girl”.

Based on this, the reason why Kasumi wears the standard Shujin uniform is because she embodies the classic heroine. Soejima even points that while most of the main cast have a twist to their designs and how it relates to their archetypes (remember that the rest of Phantom Thieves, including Akechi, are meant to be deconstructions of their given archetype), he decided to be straightforward for Kasumi’s design and how she’s supposed to reflect her given archetype. The only other character to not have a twist on their design is the protagonist. Actually, that’s not completely true. The protagonist and Kasumi actually have a twist in their design (this isn’t counting the protagonist’s glasses or Kasumi’s ribbon as they don’t take away from the uniform). Compare the concept art for the protagonist to the concept art for the Shujin uniforms. 

It’s hard to tell here, but the protagonist doesn’t wear the standardized shoes. Instead, he switches them out for some dress boots. Now let’s compare the protagonist and Kasumi.

Like the protagonist, Kasumi switches out the standardized shoes (in her case, she trades them out for some red loafers). This may not seem like much, but it’s rather strange that the one thing they change to their uniforms is the shoes. If anything, it seems like an intentional design choice to make them more similar. 

Now that I talked about her winter uniform, I can move onto her Phantom Thief attire and its relation to Joker’s outfit. 

Back to Weekly Famitsu magazine #1588, Soejima says the following when discussing about her Phantom Thief design: 

“Kasumi doesn’t form a pair with the protagonist, but since [Soejima] was drawing her as an icon of P5R, [he] designed her phantom thief appearance to feel like it goes alongside the protagonist’s. The idea of ‘phantom thieves’ in itself has manga-like elements, right? Like with the protagonist, [he] wanted this new character to have that ‘coolness’ that everyone normally expects from a phantom thief. A female phantom thief that has a different stance from the protagonist… What kind of character is she? [He hopes] you’ll be excited to find out.”

When he mentions that she doesn’t form a pair with Joker, I’m assuming that he means that the two aren’t completely direct counterparts or mirror images like how P3MC and FeMC are. While their outfits do have differences (that are better seen in the new prologue), their outfits parallel each other and have the same color scheme (more on that later). Soejima confirms that Kasumi’s Phantom Thief design resembles Joker’s design is because he intentionally made her design to feel like it goes along with him. 

Despite the almost uncanny resemblance of their Phantom Thief outfits, I get the impression that the overall intention of the designs are different. I believe the reason why their designs are so similar but different is because they’re supposed to reflect two different versions of the hero and heroine archetype that reflects their ideologies. At this point, I might sound like I’m crazy, but let’s quickly go over their designs and compare them. 

Joker wears a black and white domino mask. Kasumi also wears a mask, but her mask is black and white/silver. Joker only has small gold buttons on his waistcoat, the rest of the buttons are silver as seen on his in-game model (they are sometimes depicted as black or gold depending on the artist). Kasumi, on the other hand, has large gold buttons on her coat and smaller gold buttons on her thigh-length hose. Kasumi also has a silver chain belt with roses on it (basically, Joker and Kasumi have their placement of the silver and gold reversed). He has a white handkerchief in the pocket of his jacket while she wears a black choker. Joker wears brown winklepickers, but Kasumi wears black stiletto-heels, which resemble ballet shoes. Lastly, he wields a knife as his melee weapon while she wields an estoc. Joker’s attire can be described as classy but able to blend in the shadows. His design the embodiment of the gentleman thief, a classical type of anti-hero. Meanwhile, Kasumi’s design is very graceful and more traditionally heroic compared to Joker’s gentleman thief-esque design. Soejima points out how the Phantom Thief concept has manga-like elements (which the characters also bring up in PQ2). Combine this with Kasumi’s transformation sequence in PV #02, Kasumi’s Phantom Thief design seems to have taken some inspiration from magical girls. Despite the numbers of differences, their designs still complement each other because of the shared color schemes, red gloves, and number of coattails. Basically, their designs are different yet still go along with each other (kind of like yin and yang in a sense).

In both their Shujin uniforms and their Phantom Thief attire, they share a black-red color scheme (which are also the main colors of Persona 5). An interesting thing to note is that the two have more of a certain color in their designs.The protagonist has a bigger emphasis on black as his hair, rim of the glasses, and dress boots are black. His eyes are technically gray, but they’re a much darker shade compared to P3MC or Yu Narukami. Meanwhile, Kasumi has a bigger emphasis on red as her hair, eyes, and shoes are red. It’s possible that the reason for the protagonist greater emphasis on black relates to how he’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, who steal the distorted desires of individuals by morally grey means and sneak around Palaces within the shadows. In this school life, the protagonist keeps his head down and doesn’t really stand out from the crowd. Meanwhile, Kasumi rejects the Phantom Thieves because she believes that their methods don’t actually help anyone and that people should solve their own problems (this seems to stem from her own issues based on translations of her character introduction, PV #02, and PV #03). Despite this, she later joins them for her own reasons. Her appearance also helps her stand out.

This last part before moving on is speculation, but I’m going with the idea that there’s an in-universe for why her Phantom Thief outfit is similar to Joker’s. I’m kind of going on a tangent here, but it will connect back to Kasumi’s design. It’s known that Kasumi dislikes the Phantom Thieves, yet she’s seen helping Joker fight off a group of shadows while at the Casino Palace (at this point, she doesn’t consider herself a Phantom Thief but has awakened to her Persona) in the updated prologue and telling him that she isn’t going to stop him when she brings up that he still has something to do as a Phantom Thief. In PV #01, there’s a new animated cutscene involving the protagonist, Morgana, and Kasumi (note that both the protagonist and Kasumi are wearing their regular winter uniforms, not the ones for the third semester). 

PV #02 elaborates on this by showing new shots of it, and reveals that the new Palace is feature in that cutscene. 

In Kasumi’s introduction trailer, we see Joker and Morgana watching Kasumi awakening to her Persona in what appears to be in the new Palace. There’s also a gameplay section where the trio are seen fighting together, just them. 

Based on all of this info, I can conclude that the protagonist, Morgana, and Kasumi first enter the palace some time in between Spaceport of Greed arc and Casino of Envy arc (possibly even during one of those arcs or even before). Not only that, but the animated cutscene leads to the trio exploring the new palace for the first time and Kasumi awakening her Persona. After this point, Joker and Kasumi would meet again at Sae’s Palace when she has already awakened to her Persona. Based on all of the evidence presented, her in-universe reason for her Phantom Thief design looking like Joker is because her view of rebellion is him. Again, this is only speculation. It can only be confirmed when the game released on the 31st of this month in Japan. 

Lastly, I want to talk about the designs of their Personas briefly and how they compare/contrast. 

Arsene of the Fool Arcana and Cendrillon of the Faith Arcana are the only P5 Personas to not have golden eyes in any shape or form (as of now anyway). Instead, Arsene has red eyes while Cendrillon has blue. Their legs have a similar shape and they’re both seen to use physical skills by using their heels. Arsene’s horns and Cendrillon’s bow both point forwards. Arsene has a mask-like face that has been described to be glass-like while Cendrillon’s legs and chest are composed from glass. Both of them feature feathers in their design (Arsene has wings while Cendrillon’s cape and bow have a feathery appearance). Both of them have hearts patterns somewhere on their designs (Arsene has heart patterns on his shoulders while golden decor holding up Cendrillon’s cape resembles hearts). Another thing they have in common is that Arsene and Cendrillon both have French origins (Arsene Lupin is the creation of French novelist Maurice Leblanc while Cendrillon is based off of French author Charles Perrault’s interpretation of the Cinderella story). As for how they’re different, the first thing to mention is the color schemes. While both have black, white, and gold, Arsene has red, but Cendrillon has blue instead. Arsene has black wings while Cendrillon has a white feathery cape. Arsene has black claws resembling talons of a bird while Cendrillon has blue nails. Arsene has an overall demonic appearance while Cendrillon has a somewhat angelic appearance. Lastly, Arsene uses Curse skills while Cendrillon uses Bless skills. 

In conclusion, Kasumi’s design is intentionally meant to resemble the protagonist’s design to go alongside him and highlight their difference stances. They represent the hero and heroine archetypes on different scales, with the protagonist representing the anti-hero and Kasumi representing the traditional heroine. The in-universe reason for their similar Phantom Thief designs possibly has to do with how Kasumi’s view of rebellion is Joker mixed with gymnastics. Or maybe I’m looking too much into Kasumi’s design and how that design compares to the protagonist/Joker. 

[kireiscorner]

I need help Do you have any tips on drawing female bodies?

1) Take half of what you've learned from anime and throw it out the window.

2) Take every male expectation of women and YEET that shit. Ask girls what makes them feel good, observe people around you, and start pulling from women in real life. I cannot tell you how excited my first animation teacher was that I drew women with muscle mass. Like, the dude outright thanked me in front of the entire class and then went on a tangent about how women have muscles too. Women have so many body types, research the look you want.

3) DO NOT SACRIFICE FEMININE FEATURES! I get it; some of you will be creating trans or agender characters, but keep in mind anatomy and how it works. And by that I mean the way their bone structure and such works. It's more realistic and easier to identify with when people can see their identity there than completely wiping out their journey. Looking more feminine but not identifying as a female does not change the fact that they identify differently. It's just how their body is and you dont need to wipe that evidence to make your point. I know trans ppl who still have feminine feature who identify as male or agender. Its normal??? That's real life, pull from real life.

4) Avoid giving stereotypical features where you can. THAT INCLUDES SLIM THICC AND BIG BOOBS. Not all latina and black women are thick. We dont all have thick lips and big noses or kinky hair. Fuck that. Yes there are common features between races but not always. My mom has a short upturned nose, I have a long bridge and bubble nose, and my Puerto rican cousin has a wide short nose. Pull from real life, but stay true to your character too. Have MULTIPLE refs, at least 7 or so to give you more variety. This includes for body types, lips, noses, eye shapes, etc. Cause I cant count how many times in hs I've seen ppl get mad when different Latinos or Asians got mad for being said another Latino or Asian was the same or that Africans and Blacks look the same or all white people look alike. Theres so much variety in the world, use it. God created it all for a reason. Feed that artistic brain yo.

5) Look to what in real life age groups wear. We dont wear uniforms, overly fashionable color scheme oriented outfits, or model wear. Think about what shapes look good on certain shapes. Think about where they're from, why they're dressed a certain way; again, avoid stereotypes. Not all black girls need to be dresses to be super ethnically-coded. I wear leather skirts, pajama pants, and yoga pants just like every other girl. We all like to be cute but we also like to be comfortable too! Sometimes we dont wanna dress up and sometimes we wanna give aphrodite a run for her money. We dont all wear makeup of have piercings. Anyone can inherit moles, freckles, etc. not just certain races.

6) Figure out personalities first if you can. A lot of times this can determine how a girl does their hair, makeup or no makeup, clothing style, etc. Their personality is very important and can also effect posture and gestures too.

7) PRACTICE. PRACTICE ANATOMY. PRACTICE WITH VARIOUS BODY TYPES. TAKE FIGURE DRAWING CLASSES IF POSSIBLE IT HELPED ME SO MUCH.

8) One thing I constantly see is ppl thinking theres one way certain types of women look or can act. Like, short hair and "boyish" tendencies means ur gay. Feminine traits mean you're weak and soft. Girls who dont have interest in love are bitchy or gay. That's bullshit. Maybe shes content not having a partner, maybe she doesnt need one. Shes no bitch she just dont want you. Characters dont have to date, esp female characters to be an important woman. WE EXIST. There are very feminine, super girly, cuddly cute gay women. THEY EXIST. There are short haired straight women. Draw them. THEY EXIST. Break barriers, your character is yours and if you want a buff, tall, bisexual long haired goddess who believes all clothing must be made of lace do you boo. If you want a character who is lanky as hell, bald, and killer spicy mama go for it. Draw her too, shoot. Draw all the girls.

9) Everyone has different versions of sexy. Boobs and ass hanging out isnt everyone's sexy. Sexy doesnt mean sloppy, sexy doesnt mean turning the character into a prop. Respect your characters plz! You dont know who will see it and who u can influence.

10) DONT LET PPL TELL YOU REAL LIFE WOMEN DONT LOOK LIKE WOMEN THATS DUMB

And those are kireis main rules for drawing women. The most helpful thing is pulling from real everyday life, I promise you. That, and knowing women know our bodies best so we're gonna give you experienced answers. Hope this helps even tho I'm high key ranting lol

[gooddadstan]

Fuzzy Walls and Tired Eyes chapter 3

At some point in time, Tim finds himself standing in a graveyard. Staring at the headstone in front of him, he recognizes it as the one with the bodies of Janet and Jack Drake, not from the unreadable words on the grave, or the scenery around him, but from the voice in the back of his mind that tells him it is, and he accepts it. All of his training along with every cynical bone in his body is saying he shouldn’t, that he should analyze and confirm the reality of the situation, but he doesn’t remember how he came to stand here anyway and every single point is telling him it’s a dream, so he’s just going to go along with it and see how it ends up. Nothing better than standing in front of your parent’s grave, right? Besides, he already tried waking himself up and it didn’t work, so he’s stuck here.

In front of the grave, his senses are accosted by the smell of wet grass and the feeling of humidity in the air, stuffy in the dressy suit he’d most certainly not been wearing seconds ago. The shadows are longer than he’d remembered, unwavering and intimidating in a way they hadn’t been in a long while. An all too familiar sense of failure and shame swells up in his chest, as off to the side a scene plays out of him standing over his father’s body, unable to do anything but stare at the corpse. He’d never really mourned the loss of his father, in the end, not other than what little he needed to do publicly. He’d only mourned the loss of the relationship they’d started to form. God, what kind of son is he? The hot, empty tears that sent rage to his core swelled in his eyes, and then he’s being lifted up with a batarang to his throat.

The fabric of the Robin uniform’s cape tangles between his feet as he struggles for a second before forcing himself into stillness, hands clutched around the arm holding him up. The arm of his brother. Not that this was his brother, but the likeness was enough to send shivers down his spine. Though the real version did attack him all the same, later on in their lives, this one was not him, and thus cannot be associated with the real being. Of course not. Then why do the memories flood over each other, fear undue for actions not Jason’s but Clayface’s. Why does he still have to fight down defensive movement when the Red Hood approaches him on patrol, in the way that he doesn’t have to do with any other Bat. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, it’s not happening anyway. With his newfound awareness of the situation and its faults, he could feel the ever so faint motion of clay as his captor pulled him close, shifting and yelling as the same as he had years ago. So as Batman formed in front of him, in that same stance with a vague panic hidden behind the cowl, he didn’t bother with the pleasantries of flailing around and trying to break free of the grip on his body. The words being spoken were inconsequential, and he only needed to wait it all out.

His stillness is interrupted by falling towards the grass in a practiced dodge, Batman sending a kick above his head. His uniform, Red Robin now, showed the diagnostics of Bruce’s disappearance even as Dick traded blows with him. The words spoken, full of venom, weren’t coming from him, instead floating into the air from nothing without changing the flow of the scene. To be called an equal then kicked aside and belittled, no trust in his words and pity in his eyes as he throws another punch. The sting of it hurt far more than the physical pain of his body. Unimportant, focus on the issue at hand, every nerve in him screeched, but his mind wandered elsewhere. And as his surroundings shift uneasily, from the red and white of a hightop as screams rang from ahead, to the empty halls of Drake manor sitting clean and proper under his small footsteps sounding rhythmically as he meanders, to the cold but home-like metals of Titans Tower with the sounds of laughter and chattering in distant rooms. He stands there a moment before sinking into his regular spot on the couch, warm and home in a way it hadn’t been since Bruce disappeared.

It only took a second after he’d let himself relish the calm for him to be punched to the ground. A fleeting glimpse of red, yellow, and green, conflicting with his own in the whirlwind his eyes are providing him. He huffs a sigh, falling back into the motions as he rises and gets hit again and again by the man he calls his brother. Jason, the real him now, angry and looming in an outfit meant to bring comfort and reassurance. Shouting about replacements, and asking questions the same voice from the graveyard answers as well as it can. A punch flies into his face before he can block it, and immediately he’s staring into the dark ceilings of the cave as he falls from the stuffed Tyrannosaurus. Damian’s smug expression stands unwavering above, watching as the green of his uniform and the dinosaur grows farther from Tim’s grasp.

Before he could hit the ground again, he found himself standing in a warehouse.

It wasn’t a particularly familiar warehouse, but it sparked enough recognition in his mind to not set off a panic. He doesn’t think he’d ever really been standing in this warehouse. Almost as if to adjust for that, his body snapped into pain, his Red Robin uniform scratched and battered like how he’d expect from coming out of an encounter with one of the A-list rogues, not a routine drug bust. But while he was about 90% certain he’d broken at least an arm before he was in this warehouse, there’s no marks on his skin, the new holes in his suit leading way to the normal pale skin contrary to the sting of pain in his limbs.

The floor sits as a dull metal, flecks of red across it from a few too many work accidents before the site was shut down. Normal. The walls, however, look like they’re made out of shag carpeting, appearing soft and inviting in a way that the walls of a warehouse really shouldn’t be. But no alarms go off in his mind, and he has to guess that this was commandeered by some weird villains in the past. Maybe they were dealt with on one of the gala nights he always hated attending. Would’ve thought he’d have come across it on his cataloguing of the Gotham villains, though. Reaching out to touch the carpeting, the softness of it goes through his gloves to his fingertips, and doesn’t fall away when he yanks at it. Instead, it draws him in with snaking tendrils of shag that envelops him easily.

What Tim saw next was best described as a Wonderland-esque clusterfuck.

People bustled around, occasionally popping from one part of the room to another and repeating tasks they’d already completed, talking and smiling and shifting their outfits and faces to be one person then another. They’d get into conversations with other versions of one person, cracking jokes about how ‘well one of us needs to change’ and then shifting simultaneously to a different person. The background kept changing, from warehouses to the Batcave to a bowling alley Tim had only been in once to do some undercover work. There were flowers sprouting in thin air, and writhing forms of matter twisting to try and be a solid object only to melt into an ocean of nonsense once more.

The rapid changing and confusion let growing around him, becoming louder and more crowded as glimpses of memories showed between people, right and wrong and both at the same time. It was starting to give him a headache. He could operate crowds, usually, his mother wouldn’t tolerate it if he couldn’t hold his own at a gala, but this was beyond any of the parties he’d been to. Too much chaos, too much indiscriminate noise, too much pushing and prodding and swirling existence. None of the rhythm he’d grown accustomed to with large groups of people. He wanted out, the pain in his body mixing with the pain in his mind until he woke up with a gasp.

Immediately, he recognized that he was in the cave. The dark ceilings high above his head were unmistakable. Irritation bit at his face and limbs, dull stings pulsing with his heartbeat. His left arm is immobile, along with his right leg, and he can feel the bandages tight where they’re adhered. He moves his unbound arm to his face, ignoring the objections of the IV sending some sort of fluid into his system, hand slapping directly onto an oxygen mask that shifts uncomfortably on his skin. Shifting his head first to the left, he sees the other beds in the medbay, empty and eternally prepped for quick transfer of patients. The medical cabinets sit off to the other side, lining the wall as orderly as ever. Turning his head to the right, where the chairs are when they haven’t been scattered from the movement of the assorted Bats, he sees four chairs, all empty.

He shouldn’t have been expecting someone to be there when he woke up. The Joker had been loose and the Bats needed to be prioritizing that. But it still stung, more than he’d ever care to admit, that nobody was even in the cave when he woke up. The increased beeps of the heart rate monitor was more than enough to act as an indicator for anyone outside the medbay, and the sounds of him hitting the oxygen mask and moving his head would do the trick even if a fluctuating heartbeat had been normal for his unconsciousness. It was normal for Bruce to sit and wait after patrol, or Dick to hover and mother-hen, or Alfred to sit with a cup of tea during what break time he gets. Now there was… nothing. It hurt, somehow, knowing that they wouldn’t deviate from their patrols to be there. It hurt more than any of the physical injuries he had. That was probably the worst thing, that for all the pain his body was in, he let some stupid guilt hurt him more. It was unprofessional.

Tim stayed awake for somewhere between a minute and a half hour, his mind too tired to keep count and no clock in sight. When he finally heard some shuffling out in the cave, his heart leaped at the thought of someone finally being there, and the damned machine betrayed him by saying it. Almost immediately, Alfred was in the medbay, and the guarded fearful expression melted into a kind half-smile covering a grimace. He felt guilty.

“Master Timothy, I’m terribly sorry I was not here when you regained consciousness.” Despite his mouth still open and taking in a breath to continue, Tim only raised a hand and waved it away. It’s not like it was Alfred’s fault, after all, he had a lot of responsibilities around the house. No use in making him feel bad for things he couldn’t change.

With a small pained expression, Alfred walks over and begins adjusting the IV stand just out of Tim’s sight. He could turn his head and look if he wanted to, but he was just so tired, and exhaustion was setting into his bones more every second. Maybe he should just… go back to sleep.

As his eyes droop downwards, more sluggish than normal, Alfred could only hope that this sleep would be a painless one. Tears never did make good background noise, in the end.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 39: Call Me Hero

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

Back in school after two days off, Isamu Haimawari was still riding a pretty good high.  While a part of him still refused to believe that he’d won the Sports Festival, hearing the congratulations of so many people, both those in his neighborhood and people who had just seen him on TV, along with all the discussion and replays being shown on the news, had helped to cement it in his mind.  He was going to take pride in what he’d done, while still acknowledging there were several times it could have gone either way.  If Midoriya hadn’t come up with the plan for them to cooperate or if some of his matches had been different people or gone just a little differently, he likely wouldn’t have done as well.  

Still: he actually felt like a winner.

“Newb.”

He looked up to see Kirishima-Bakugo standing in front of his desk, muscular arms crossed in front of her chest.  Her red eyes narrowed as she looked him over, everything about her body language reading as a challenge.  But there was something else there too, some subtle sign of acknowledgement that wasn’t there before, as though for the she was seeing him as worthy of her attention for the first time.  She did seem to respect strength and skill, after all.

“Yes?” Isamu asked.

She stared him down for a moment longer before speaking.  “You did good,” she said.  “Seems I underestimated you.”

He definitely wasn’t expecting that, but he quickly found his voice.  “Ah, thanks,” he said.  “You did good too.  Pretty impressive fight against Izumi.”

“Izzy kicked my ass is what she did,” Kirishima-Bakugo replied.  She moved to take her seat.  “But believe me.  I won’t be underestimating you again.”

Well.  That wasn’t worrisome at all.

At the desk next to his, Mineta turned so she could talk to Kirishima-Bakugo.  “What?  No congratulations for me?”

“I still can’t believe you came in second,” Kaminari told her, rolling her eyes.  

“What, like it’s hard?” Mineta replied.

At her desk, Kirishima-Bakugo fumed.  “I’m acknowledging your victory while refusing to acknowledge you, Horse-Girl.”

Mineta shrugged.  “You know what, I’m going to take that as a win here.  On top of my actual win.  Which I had. And you didn’t.”

Kirishima-Bakugo started rising out of her desk again, rage twisting up her features.  “I swear, I will I will blow those damn horns right off your head…”

“Can I get out of the way first?” Kaminari asked, Extension Cords up in the air.  “Or maybe just tase you both?

Kirishima-Bakuago growled, but sat back down.  A quick glance around showed that Izumi had turned around in the front row and was watching them.  Thank goodness for small favors.  “You’re still an idiot, Horse-Girl.  I’m not gonna underestimate you either.  So keep up or get out of the way.  And don’t think you can rely on provocation all the time.  It won’t save you from me…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mineta said, rolling her eyes.

“How did Uncle Minoru take how you won?” Kaminari asked.

Mineta shook her head. “He called it ‘great use of psychological tactics’.  My innocence is his eyes is safe.”

“Talk about blindspots…”

“On the other hand,” she went on, “he did threaten Shinji when Mom invited him and his dad out to dinner to celebrate my win after the festival…”

Isamu did remember a large teen in a Shiketsu school uniform embracing Mineta after the Festival, twirling her around.  He hadn’t gotten his name then, but that must have been Shinji.  Who’d have ever thought someone like Mineta would have a friend like that?  And apparently as a boyfriend?

He wasn’t sure if he should feel sorry for the guy or not.  At the very least, it didn’t look like it was restraining her personality any.  She was still Mineta, still hitting on everything that moved (which included him).

Of course, he had his own potential for a girlfriend on the horizon too.  He’d spent a decent amount of time over the break texting with Kana Tetsutetsu, even video chatting with her for a little while.  She’d turned out to be a pretty fun person to talk to and seemed a lot like a less scary version of Kirishima-Bakugo.  Intense and dedicated, but not ready to go off at a moment’s notice.  Plus, they’d turned out to both be fans of the cheesy martial arts flicks from the early days of Quirk-based films, which gave them a lot to talk about.

If all went well, they’d try and watch one together before the internships started next week.

The internships.  He’d tried hard not to think about that over the two days.  As the winner of the Sports Festival, he was likely to get a lot of offers.  How would he know who to choose?  And there was still the possibility of being overlooked. His win would give him a lot of cache, but considering how many kids of important Heroes were in his class and the others, he wondered if people wouldn’t be more likely to scout them instead, trying to network or curry favor…

Around him, everyone in the classroom was talking about their Sports Festival performance, some happier than others, some lamenting how early they’d been knocked out.  The noise was only broken when Aizawa’s sleeping bag clad form suddenly appeared from behind the lectern.

“So.  Let’s talk about the Sports Festival.   Pretty cute, the way you used teamwork to get past the First Stage.  A nice exploitation of a loophole, since it’s not against the rules.  And Heroes should be able to work together with anyone.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the classroom.  Aizawa as a teacher as perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.  He didn’t hand out praise easily, so where this was leading, no one seemed to know.

“Which means I’ll just have to make sure All Might and the others ride you harder to make sure your individual skills don’t atrophy.”

There it was.  That was the other shoe.  Heroics Classes already were pushing them right up to their limits and beyond… how much worse could it get?!

Aizawa continued. “With that being said, we can discuss the Internship offers that have come up.”

He tapped a button on the lectern and the results of the Internship offers appeared on the board.  “These numbers are not necessarily reflective of the total number of offers you received. All Might, Midnight, Principal Nezu, and I spent a considerable amount of time reviewing your offers and eliminating any offers that appeared to be made simply to take advantage of who your parents are.”

Toshinori Midoriya: 4007

Isamu Haimawari: 3546

Mika Mineta: 1451

Izumi Torodoki: 400

Kimiko Ojiro: 203

Asuka Tokoyami: 106

Katsumi: Kirishima-Bakugo: 73

Sora Iida: 40

Chihiro Kaminari: 8

Takuma Sero: 7

Tensei Iida: 6

Shota Shinso: 5

Takiyo Aoyama: 4

Daisuke Shoji: 3

Kenta Sato: 2

Akaya Koda: 2

“Hey!” Mineta cried out. “I did better than Midoriya! Why’s he got so many more offers than me?”

“Maybe because Toshi’s not a lunatic nymphomaniac?” Kirishima-Bakugo said.  “Who sexually harassed her opponents on live television?”

“…Besides that!”

Isamu was pretty sure his heart had just stopped.  How had that many people noticed him, thought he was worthy of their attention?  Maybe not as many as Midoriya, but way more than he would have ever expected.  He couldn’t help but feel bad for some of the others though, who hadn’t gotten nearly as much attention.

“Alas,” he heard Aoyama say. “My radiance did not draw the attention it deserved.”

“You shall have other chances,” Koda assured him.  “And if your internship goes well, it will already open doors to further notice.”

“I suppose so, Mademoiselle Koda, but still…”

“Congratulations, Sister!” Tensei Iida said.  “You do the Iida Family line proud by your successes!”

“Do not be so quick to dismiss your own, Little Brother,” Sora Iida replied.  “With two of us, the honor is twice as large!”

“Go Kimiko!” Sero said. “I’m totally tagging your videos with “Sports Festival Finalist” now.  Our hit count’s gonna be through the roof!”

“Sorry you two didn’t do better,” Ojiro said.

Sato waved it off. “Always next year.  And apparently somebody liked what they saw with me…”

“Oh, man, everybody was so awesome,” Shinso squealed. “You all did so great!  Toshi was all bouncing around and Izumi was throwing all that ice and Tokoyami did that super-cool armor trick and Haimawari was all ZOOOOOM and…”

“Breathe, Shota,” Tokoyami said.

“Still, an impressive accounting by all of you,” Izumi said.

“Guess stretching by Cords out wasn’t all for nothing,” Kaminari added.

“I suppose it’s an honor just to be noticed, even by three people,” Shoji said.  Isamu didn’t know him well, but he didn’t sound particularly depressed by it.  Little seemed to faze the six-armed young man.

“Thirty-five hundred people,” Isamu said quietly.  “Still don’t believe it.”

“If you’re all done?” Aizawa snapped, impatient working its way into his voice.  “I’ll be distributing the requests that go with those numbers shortly.  As I expected, there was significant coordination on the part of your parents. Technically, a logical exploitation of a loophole in the rules I issued them against scouting their own children. So not unexpected.  However, in the meantime, we need to discuss your Hero names.  I’m sure most of you have had these planned for a while, but Midnight would try to murder me if I didn’t indulge her little games.”

“Oh, don’t sound so judgmental about it, Eraser,” Vice-Principal Midnight said, standing in the now open classroom door.  “I love listening to what these fresh young minds have come up with…”

***

Koharu struggled to still the shaking of her hand as she pushed open the door to the door to the school’s office.  She’d been abruptly summoned from her Homeroom class to come to come to there and her mind raced with possibilities about what it might entail.  The two days since the Sports Festival had passed quickly, but with plenty of congratulations from family and friends and even total strangers.  Already, the rest of her Class was treating her like the second coming of Shinso.  

Inside, one of the school secretaries, a woman pale green skin and blonde hair, looked up.  “Can I help you?” she asked.

Koharu gathered her wits. “I’m…  I’m Koharu Kocho.  I got a message saying they wanted to see me down here?”

The woman nodded and pointed to a door marked with the name “Nezu” on its nameplate.  The Principal’s office.  “In there,” the secretary said.  “They’re expecting you, so no need to knock.”

Taking another breath to steady herself, Koharu crossed the room and opened the door to the Principal’s office.  Inside, the strange mouse-bear-dog that was Nezu sat behind a massive mahogany desk, with All Might on one side of his chair and Water Spout on the other, all of them pouring over papers strewn out across the desk and a paused video of some kind of an angled computer monitor.

“Ah, Miss Kocho, welcome!” Nezu said, gesturing towards a chair in front of the desk.  “Please, have a seat.  May I offer you some tea?”

The hyper-intelligent animal was spritely, despite the small but thick glasses that rested on his nose and the grey around his muzzle.  Koharu didn’t know how old he was, but he’d been the principal for well over twenty-five years, even before Heroes like Deku and Ground Zero graced the halls. He had to be well past the life expectancy of… whatever it was he was, exactly.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been in the presence of All Might, of course, having received her medal (and a hug!) from him at the Sports Festival.  But here, away from the cameras, he seemed just a little more serious, a little more subdued.  Water Spout was a new one, though.  

“I, ah, yes, thank you,” she said, as she took a seat.

“Very good,” Nezu said, nodding slightly.  “If you wouldn’t mind, Water Spout?”

“Of course, Principal,” the dark-haired Hero said, moving to the corner of the office where Nezu kept a tea service.  “It’ll be just a few minutes.”

“I must congratulate you on your win again, Miss Kocho,” Nezu said.  “You nearly set a new record for the General Studies department.  Of course, there are those who do not count Akamine’s first place victory of a few years ago, since all he did was endure the attacks of others based on his invulnerability.”

Koharu shook her head, slowly, so as not to overly agitate her antennae.  “I wouldn’t.  He used his Quirk and his head and won fair and square.”

Nezu nodded. “Mmm-hmm, my assessment as well. His path may have lead him elsewhere, but in that moment, it was surely his victory.”

“Young Kocho,” All Might began, his deep voice kind and encouraging, “how would you describe your performance at the Sports Festival?”

Koharu closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a breath.   She accepted the tea that Water Spout handed her.  “Sugar?  Honey? Milk?” he asked.

“Honey, please,” she said, then, when that had been added, extended her proboscis into the tea and took a long sip.  It was warm and sweet, perfect to her taste.  If any of the three adults seemed disturbed by her drinking method, it didn’t show on their faces.  She appreciated that.  Wings and antennae were one thing, and while they brought her plenty of attention, they didn’t bring her much bigotry.  But when she started to drink, that’s when the looks of disgust usually came out.

The long drink gave her a moment to formulate her answer.  “I did alright during the Obstacle Course.  Middle of the pack.  My Quirk was pretty good at bringing down the drones and I was able to fly around a lot of them.   Quirkball… I survived.  Barely.  My Scales and my String-Shot were good at taking people down so they could be hit, but it was a lot to keep track of.  I didn’t always do that good a job, didn’t always realize just how big a target I was.”

All Might and Nezu nodded.   “Good,” All Might said.  “Please, go on.”

Koharu drank some more of her tea before she continued.  She’d come this far.  They deserved nothing less than her total honesty.  Besides, she was fairly certain this was some kind of test in and of itself. She’d heard rumors about the Principal and all the wheels within wheels he spun.

“I got lucky in the Tournament.,” she said.  “My first match was Monoma.”  Once I got out of the range of that Binding Cloth of his, there wasn’t much he could do to me.  It was just a matter of time before I got him with my String-Shot or my Scales.”

“Nothing wrong with having a Quirk your opponent can’t match,” Water Spout said.  “That’s why I get called in to fight fire and flame villains, even though I’m a Rescue Hero.  Not much most of them can do against a few dozen gallons of water. But it still takes strategy.”

Not a bad point, now that she thought about it.  

“You should know Monoma speaks rather highly of you,” Nezu added.  “He’s sent no less than a dozen e-mails to myself, the three Hero Class Homeroom teachers, and several of the other teachers insisting that you be added to the Hero Class.”

He looked down at a printout in his hand. “Ah, yes, and “preferably in Class 1-B.’”

“Against Ojiro, though, she was faster on the move than he was.  She got up close instead of trying to go from the distance.  Plus, you know, the whole invisibility thing.  So I had to use my antennae to find her, but once I did, I could take her out with my String-Shot.   I took a lot more of a beating in that one though.  Much more of a physical fight.  Not totally used to using my wings like that.”

“And you still emerged victorious,” All Might said.  “Young Ojiro is an extremely skilled fighter.  You did quite well to overcome here.”

“If you would talk about your last fight, Miss Kocho?” Nexu prompted.

“Against Mineta?” she said. “Yeah, okay.  I wasn’t prepared for it.  Not really.  I watched her other fights and she’s pretty hard to get a read on.  One minute, she’s fighting or brawling, the next she’s trying to get in somebody’s head.  Add in her ability to fire off those balls, she was pretty dangerous.  I figured I had the best chance if I got airborne and just took her out with a Sleep Powder or a Paralysis Powder, but she was just all over me, shooting those balls everywhere.”

She looked down at an empty teacup.  Nezu, All Might, and Water Spout gave her the moment to gather her thoughts.  “They got all over my wings.  Pinned them to the ground.  Maybe I could have kept fighting.  Even if I was pinned, I still had my String-Shot.  But I was afraid to tearing my wings.  I don’t know… I don’t know if I could heal from that.  So I gave up.  Not very heroic, really.”

“You understood your limits,” All Might said, gently, coming around the desk.  He got down on one knee next to her chair and put a hand on her shoulder.  “There is nothing wrong with being afraid.  Even the mightiest of us have felt fear.  But if you’re to join the Hero Course, you’re going to have to learn to surpass that fear and find new limits.”

“I… what?”  Nothing in that last sentence made any sense to her right now.

“We’ve been viewing your Sports Festival footage, as well as your performance during the Entrance Exam,” Nezu said.  “We’ve also spoken to your physical education teacher, and several of your other teachers. What happened to you during the Entrance Exam was a rather tragic accident.  Based upon your initial performance and your performance during the Sports Festival, I was able to extrapolate a probable score for you if you hadn’t been knocked out.”

Nezu pushed his chair back and hopped down, slowly walking around the desk with the aid of his cane. “You should have passed with flying colors.”

“I… what?” Koharu repeated.

Nezu offered her a hand. “Miss Kocho, if you are willing to put in a, frankly, considerable amount of work to get caught up, we are pleased to offer you a place in the Hero Course for the second semester.”

***

Isamu wasn’t surprised that all of his classmates had names ready to go.  And he probably shouldn’t have been surprised that Aizawa had opted to hide himself in his sleeping bag in the corner while Vice Principal Midnight ran the show.  He had a habit, from what Isamu had seen, of doing that to avoid anything he didn’t want to be bothered by.  

He was, however, definitely surprised by the outright hungry look Vice Principal Midnight was giving much of the class.  Wasn’t she in her fifties?  And in a committed relationship with Present Mic (the tabloids were always speculating on whether or not they’d get married or if she was cheating on him behind his back)?  Of course, given the first time he’d met her, he’d nearly run head first into her cleavage and she’d just laughed it off, he really shouldn’t have been surprised.  Currently, she was perched on Aizawa’s desk, her short skirt giving everyone a good view of her legs.

Honestly, half of being in this school was learning not to be surprised by things.

Midoriya had volunteered to go first, which wasn’t surprising.  He was pretty much always leading the way or taking charge.  “Okay,” he said, “so maybe this is a little simple, but I really wanted to honor Grandpa Might, so I’m going with The Gravity Hero: Gravi-Might!”

“You are such a dork, Toshi,” Kirishima-Bakugo groaned.

“A bit direct,” Midnight said, “but appropriate in your case.  I’ll allow it.”

Kirishima-Bakugo took the stage next, wearing one of those grins that usually preceded her punching something.  “So, how about Queen Explosion Murder?”

Midnight pinched the bridge of her nose.  “…No, kid. Just no.”

The explosive girl laughed at that, a harsh, barking sound.  “Aw, don’t be so serious.  I’m just yanking your chain.  Call me… The Explosion Hero: Bombshell!”

“…I’m going to approve that just so you sit down,” Midnight said.  She looked across the room.  “Question, Mineta?  Or do you want to volunteer?”

“Oh, it’s a question. I just want to know how Kirishima-Bakugo thinks she can be a bombshell with boobs that sma…”

A glare from Kirishina-Bakugo quickly silenced that.  Mineta and Kaminari both scooted their desks closer to his when Kirishima-Bakguo took her seat.

Izumi took to the lectern next.  “Shoto gave me a bit of help with this, but I rather like it.  The Ice and Fire Hero: Thermo-Dynamic!”

“Oh yeah!” Shinso cheered. “You used my idea!”

Midnight let out of a laugh. “Well, at least you picked one,” she said.  “But it’s got passion!  I love it!”

It was a good name, Isamu had to admit.  Maybe a little bolder than he expected of Izumi, but she’d shown herself to be pretty bold at the Sports Festival too.

Tokoyami took to the front of the room next.  As she opened her beak to speak, Frog-Shadow appeared.

“The Froggy Hero: Super Frog-Shadow!”

“We are not calling ourselves that!”

“I get a say in this!  That’s my vote!”

“You don’t get any say!”

Frog-Shadow crossed her arms, looking like she was pouting.  “Fine,” she said.  “You’re no fun!” She disappeared back inside Tokoyami with a slight popping sound.

Tokoyami just shook her head, staring at the floor.  “I must apologize for her.  But I have chosen the name Bright Side Hero: Amaterasu!”

“You just made that up!” Sero said.  “No one said we could just make up words!”

The bird-headed girl shook her head.  “Perhaps it is presumptuous.  Amaterasu is the sun goddess, counterpart to my father’s moon god, Tsukuyomi.  But it seemed fitting.”

Frog-Shadow appeared again. “Can I change my vote to that?  I like being a goddess!”

“Make it three votes,” Midnight said.  “You’ve got confidence, Tokoyami.  I love it!”

The Twins went next.  “While we are certain Father would one day like for one of us to carry on the Ingenium name,” Sora Iida said, “now is not the time for that!”

“He still has an illustrious career ahead of him,” Tensei Iida added.  “So therefore, we have come up with names of our own!”

Sora posed, flexing a bicep. She wasn’t as muscular as Kirishima-Bakugo, but she was certainly in good shape.  Midoriya was a lucky guy.  Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t be thinking that about a friend’s girlfriend.  But he was only human.  “Therefore, I shall be The Speedy Flying Hero: Jet-Red!”

“And I,” Tensei said, arms weaving a chopping motion through the air, “am The Flying Speedy Hero: Jet-Blue!”

“Really,” Kirishima-Bakugo groaned again.  “Twin-themed names.  You’re really doing that?”

“It is a show of familial solidarity!” Sora snapped.

“We are united as siblings in science and in heroism!” Tensei added.  

“A bit flat,” Midnight said. She placed a hand to her face, tapping on her cheek with one long finger.  “Still… it will do, I suppose.”

Sero sauntered up to the front next.  “Just call me The Acid Tape Hero: Stick ‘Em Up!”

Midnight sighed.  “Seriously, Sero?”

He gave her a grin.  “I focus tested it with all my ViewTube followers. Eighty-five percent positive approval.”

“No changing your mind?”

“Nope.”

She waved a hand in the direction of the desks.  “Fiiiine.”

Ojiro was up next.  “So, um,” she began, “I’ve been talking with Doc Clock and she’s really suggested I could be a great Medical Hero someday, so… this isn’t the name I thought I’d use, but I came up with it a few weeks back.  I’m going to be the Paramedic Hero: X-Ray!”

Sato and Sero let out a cheer.  “You got this, Kimiko!”

“You go, girl!”

Huh.  Isamu knew Ojiro was a martial artist and a gossip fiend, but this was new.  She’d probably be good at it, now that he thought about it.

“How uplifting!” Midnight squealed.

Then Sato’s turn.   “Ah…  So, I was thinking the Hungry Hero: Chomp!”

“Now that’s a name with bite!” Sero shouted.

“Puns, really, Pinky?” Kirishima-Bakugo groaned.  She gave a quick look to the front.  “Still… not bad, Lips.”

Midnight seemed to approve as well.  “Short, to the point, perfectly encapsulates your Quirk!”

And then Shiso.  As usual, he was practically vibrating with excitement.  “Before I go, I just wanna say thanks to Kirishima-Bakugo!  She’s really the one who came up with this!”

“…I did what now?”

“I’m gonna be… The Octave Hero: Loud Kid!”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Well, you always call me that, and it’s such a good name, so I really hope you don’t mind if I use it…”

“Knock yourself out, Loud Kid.”

At that, Midnight nodded slightly.  Even she seemed inclined to tiptoe around Shinso.  “What youthful vigor!”

Then it was Aoyama’s turn. “Please, please, silence all conversations and give me your attention.”  He posed theatrically, as though whipping around the cape he wore with his Hero costume.  “And now, set your eyes on The Dazzling Hero: Radiance!”  He let loose a small flash of light at the same time, forcing Isamu to look away, blinking furiously.

“You do bring a certain sparkle to things, Aoyama,” Midnight said.  “But next time, lay off the special effects.”

Koda followed him.  “My own choices are not quite so spectacular or outlandish as some of yours, but I hope that they will suffice.   You may call me the Gardening Hero: Nurture.”

“Well said, young lady,” Midnight added.  “Simple… but I think it fits.  And if you ever need any help on “nurturing” the boys…”

Isamu could have sworn he was Koda’s rocky face blush slightly.  “I am quite all right, Miss Midnight, thank you.”

Then it was Shoji.  “Nothing fancy,” he said.  “the Well-Armed Hero: Octo-Punch.”

“Not bad at all,” Midnight said.  “I wouldn’t have expected anything fancier from you, Shoji.”

“Hey!” Mineta piped up. “You said you were going to go with my idea!  The Hentai-Hero: Tentacles!”

Shoji gave her a flat look. “I lied.”

After that, Kaminari took her own turn.  “Been thinking about this one for a while, but figured I’d go with something that combines my Quirk, which is electricity with my Cords, with something about me, music. So from now on, I’m going to be the Plug-In Hero: Shock Jock!”

“How electrifying!”

Mineta followed after that. Before she could even speak, Midnight interjected.  “Now, I love a good double and triple or more entendre as much as anyway.  And I’d love it just as much as you to see some of these boys and girls squeal and squirm.  But I must insist that your Hero name be at least somewhat family friendly.   The Hero Commission is really cracking down on R-Rated Heroes and Heroines these days.”

Mineta looked somewhat deflated by that, but she pushed on.  “Okay, fiiiiine.  I used to think you were cool.”

Midnight looked offended by that.  “Oh, child, I am still “cool.’”

“Anyway,” Mineta went on, “I’m going to be the Cavalry Hero: Purple Rein!”

“That’s… surprisingly subdued for you,” Midnight said.  “Are you feeling all right?”

“Right as Rein,” Mineta said.  “Nothing? Anyone?  …Well, it’s a lot funnier in English.”

Finally, Isamu went to the front.   He tried not to wither under the gaze of his classmates.  Midoriya, Tokoyami, Shinso, and Izumi: encouraging.   Mineta: Looking like she was sizing him up to eat him.  Kirishima-Bakugo: Glaring at him like usual.   Midnight: Also sizing him up in a way that was probably really not appropriate for a women in her fifties.

“So…I’ve been thinking about this one a lot,” he said.  “And I want something that tells the world who I am.  I’ve got a simple Quirk, but I learned a lot about how to use it and make it work for me.  So I’m going to be the Three-Point Hero: Slyde!”

“Spoken like a true champion!”

***

So much paperwork to prepare for the transfer.  Private lessons after school and during her gym periods, lots of coursework to study, it was all happening so fast, Koharu thought her head was spinning.  She’d have to design a costume, get that fitted and made…   And if she did well enough preparing, she’d even get to attend the Summer Training Camp. They were still apparently discussing which Heroics Class she’d get into, but it was a real, tangible thing now.

“One more thing for today, Miss Kocho,” Principal Nezu said.  “Since I know you’ve had aspirations for the Hero Course for some time… Have you considered a Hero name?”

She nodded at that. She had for a long time, ever since she’d decided she was going to try out for the Hero Course.  “I have,” she said.  “the Lepidopteran Hero: Yamamai.”

“A, ah, bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Water Spout asked.

She shrugged.  “People with animal Quirks like mine get looked down on a lot.  And called a lot of names.  I’m not hiding from who I am.  I’m embracing it.”

“Well said, Young Kocho, well said,” All Might said.  “The perfect beginning to your hero academia!”

[rcsordinaryworld]

Daisy Outfit Compilation

Daisy from @bittersweetcandybowl usually dons her simple pearl necklace by itself, but occasionally she gets all dolled up and I think that’s really cute. I think of the cast, she’s the most interesting clothing-wise. She doesn’t wear it consistently, but she wears it more often than pretty much any of the not-always-clothed characters, if that makes sense. So I decided that, instead of doing my day job, I was going to make a compilation of all of Daisy’s outfits.

This probably won’t be an analysis, more of a dump with images and chapters listed. I like to draw her wearing clothing a lot and I like basing her outfits on things I think she would actually wear. I think her taste has remained pretty consistent through the years, so let’s see if that’s true! And also, sorry if I missed any, and please feel free to reply with any that I do miss.

The very first outfit we see Daisy wear is her cheerleader outfit (right). This one is her middle school one, which is a little different from high school, but I couldn’t find a color version. I also included a shot from when Augustus recalls seeing her in this in a later chapter, though it looks like she’s wearing her pearls on that one. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to wear accessories in uniform, Daisy?!

Not sure if it counts (since it was for a gag) but she did dress up as a lobster with the rest of the gang for Mike’s birthday. I love the little smile on her hat.

Next, the gang surprises her with a Daisy dress, of the Mario variety. Unfortunately, she doesn’t appreciate it very much. A shame, considering how much that thing must have cost! 

This shows up in a flashback scene with Paulo, but I can’t really tell what it is. A coat I think? It’s not something she wore all the time though, since we’ve seen her as a child and she’s not been in it.

The first Christmas outfit, at Tess’s first party. All of the crew’s outfits are Santa inspired this year, but Daisy’s is particularly adorable thanks to a big bell she wears around her neck.

As it warms up, their PE class involves swim lessons, where Daisy’s donning a black T-shirt. I didn’t even think she would own one, considering how much she loved pastels, but she really is quite self conscious. I can’t tell if she’s wearing any bottoms, since it is a long shirt. I imagine she probably has those boyshort type bottoms, probably also in black.

Hush, no, you’re perfect.

At least she seem comfortable in her cheer outfit! Chapter 38 features the first appearance of her high school cheer outfit, which is different from her middle school one, most notably, that she seems allowed to wear jewelry. (she’s not the only one, as Katie is wearing a necklace.) Also, her new outfit shows off her middriff and has a different pattern on the front chest panel. This one shows up in a few different chapters (list not comprehensive) as well as in the Candybooru. Also interesting, is that it looks like their school colors are sky blue and black. Go Roseville High!

AYOO meme time

But seriously what a weird but cute outfit! It’s so unique!! She was really laying it on thick to impress Mike, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she made it herself. It has a bit of a modified-from-thrift-store-finds feel doesn’t it? I have no idea if Daisy can sew but I am choosing to believe she does. Sadly, the night goes horribly wrong, but hey, at least she looked cute right? 

It’s kinda messed up that Tess was pushing so hard for Mike and Lucy to go to Acapulco, but totally doesn’t seem to care if Daisy and Abbey skipped out. Daisy helped you pass your classes, Tess! I mean, I guess Abbey did need the support, and we did get to see Daisy wear a cute dress to see them off. There’s lots of shots with it being all flowy and girly, I love it so much. That sash is great.

Speaking of cute dresses, she wore a simple but pretty one on her first date with Abbey. They went to a therapy session slash picnic which is a... non traditional choice, but a very sweet one. You can tell she’s really into Abbey by how she’s dressing up for him, and that Taeshi had a lot of fun drawing the flowiness of it.

Bonus silly cute images featuring glasses Daisy. She also sports glasses in the student gov chapter, and whenever she’s shown in the future, she also has them. Adorable.

Halloween costumes are always fun, and Daisy’s costume for freshman year was a traditional one-- a witch. I love the off-the-shoulders look of it. It’s a shame she wasn’t really important that chapter. I’m interested to see what the current Halloween chapter will have her wearing, if she’s in it. 

Pillow Talk is still one of my favorite chapters, because who doesn’t love gossip? What’s interesting is all of them wear pjs, even if they don’t normally wear clothing. Daisy showed up just wearing her pearls, and then put on a sleep dress (gown?) at the actual party. I included a shot of her room from this chapter too, since how she decorates her space is just as interesting as how she decorates her body, right?

Parties are definitely where Daisy likes to show off her fashion sense the most. Tess also hosts the Christmas party the next year, and it’s very cute. She’s got like... a poncho style thing, which actually became a trend way after this I think, since this chapter came out in about 2012, but a sort of Mexican inspired flowy top seems like something that definitely became super common in 2018. She’s ahead of her time! I think I love the flower ornament by her ear too. I couldn’t find a good shot of the length of the dress though.

But enough happy times. The day after the party, she wore this bright navy blue trench coat when she and Abbey went to visit Charlotte’s grave. Usually her fur is enough to keep her warm, so wherever Charlotte is, must be freezing. I wonder if she’s got anything under it, or if that’s not a prerequisite for coats in the BCB universe?

Looks like the trip to the cemetery got her too bummed out to plan an outfit for the New Year’s party. She’s just wearing her standard pearls for that one. Tess has a cute dress though.

She’s in a much better mood by Rachel’s party. I love that her shoes match perfectly. Off-the-shoulders is a great look for her, just like with her witch costume. This one is also reminiscent of the Mexican style blouses I mentioned earlier. I don’t think the waist-cinching has the effect she was probably going for though, at least not without a belt. She really seems to like baby blue huh?

WAIT A MINUTE THAT’S JUST MIKE COLORED.

AWKWARD.

But moving on! Remember how we found out she’s a huge weeb? That was great.The lanyard and backpack are such a great touch of realism. Con badges are the worst part about cosplaying at cons, since if you’re caught off guard you’ll have it in the shot, ruining all of your hard work. She obviously did put some effort into it too-- her costume is really well sewn and intricate and poofy. Notice all those panels on the chest and skirt. My theory that Daisy can sew intensifies. Also those bows are just too cute! I wish she wore them more often.

The same night she’s wearing some pjs again, this time a blue slip. Nothing fancy.

While not an outfit, Love Again opens with the first canon appearance of Daisy’s hip curls, inspired by Kit’s lovely fanart. I’m pretty sure they have a tumblr but I don’t know it, sorry!! I’ll edit it if I find out.

An intermission comic featuring all of their days starts Daisy off in pjs. These look like the one from Lucy’s birthday sleepover, judging by the collar frills. Looks like it might be getting more snug on her as she grows up.

Speaking of growing up, here’s Daisy all dressed up for her birthday, sporting a very cute bow. Her actual dress is made of a really strange material that’s presumably extremely thin, and sewn with plenty of elastic, judging by the wrinkles. I think it’s an interesting experimental outfit, but it’s so detailed it doesn’t really look the best in small scale. I’m not a huge fan of the wrinkled look in general, but the colors are very flattering on her, and the overskirt thing is pretty nice.

Daisy makes a brief appearance in Escape Route, a chapter mostly about Augustus and Lucy. Normally she wears dresses, but this time she’s rocking a cupcake liner. Okay, so it’s not really her, but I can’t not include this cute cupcake!

Last but not least, here’s her outfit for Mady’s birthday party. I adore this outfit so much! It’s amusingly similar to one of Lucy’s mother’s outfits, though her mother pairs it with pants.  That being said, I think this is my absolute favorite outfit of hers. The cardigan pairs great with her necklace, and the belted dress is just so flattering and and adds just enough detail. I think it’s simple, classy, flirty, and just so cute. Most of her looks have been blue, and this is actually one of the few pink outfits she owns, but we know she does like it based on her room. Pink pairs with her apricot/cream fur for a fun, girly look that’s just right for her.

And with that, we’ve finished compiling all of her outfits from the comic, though I didn’t gather any outfits that are Booru-exclusives, like her prom(?) dress. I thought about including those, but there’s so many to go through, and their canonity was so iffy that I decided against it for this post.

It seems safe to say Daisy has very simple tastes, with a rather timeless but definitely girly feel to them. Flowy, mid thigh dresses and skirts are her favorites, and seems to prefer sleeveless or off-the-shoulder looks. She also has a tendency to dress up to impress boys, but she does genuinely seem to enjoy making outfits, and she’s quite fashionable! 

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed making it. Daisy deserves all the love in the world.

[hailqiqi]

The Stars Aren’t the Same for You and I

A dance that was a bad idea, a kiss that should never have happened, and too many questions with answers nobody wants to hear.

Too happy for a Sunday night? Have some angst! Guaranteed to get you properly depressed for the impending work-week ahead.

Shout out to @sp4c3-0ddity and @fromageinterrupted for the beta-reading, with special thanks to @fromageinterrupted for the title because anybody who knows me knows I’m shit at them.

Words: 2,910

Read it on AO3 here.

Keith still wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, but even his mom had insisted that they needed a break. So here he was, standing around outside the base as the sun began to go down, waiting on the last few members of their party to arrive.

Shiro, Hunk, Lance and himself all wore some version of a button-down shirt and slacks. Allura was already ready — she seemed to have been born ready for fancy occasions — and was wearing her blue dress, her arm linked through Lance’s, while Coran was also wearing his normal uniform. They were heading to a makeshift bar on the edge of the city on Marco’s recommendation, to let loose and have some fun ‘for once’ (in Shiro’s words).

Shay had declined the invitation, saying that large crowds weren’t really her thing. They weren’t really Keith’s thing either, but the others seemed to be excited about it so joining was the right thing to do, right? Plus, Pidge had flat-out told him she’d need the support.

And speaking of Pidge…

“There you guys are! What took you so long?” Hunk waved over his shoulder, and Keith turned to see Romelle and Pidge jogging up to them.

“I’m sorry, but do you know how difficult Pidge’s hair is to style?” Romelle made a face, and Shiro laughed.

“It doesn’t look like you ended up doing much with it,”  he said. “Both of you look nice though.”

Pidge flashed him a smile, touching a hand to the bun at the back of her head. “Honestly, we gave up and just went with something simple and a headband.”

“No, you look really good!” Lance exclaimed. “I kinda wasn’t expecting you to go all out.”

“Yeah, well,” Pidge shrugged, embarrassed, then did a quick twirl. “We’re going to a salsa place, right? Gotta wear a dress and heels for that.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes bright. “You’re gonna dance with me later, right?”

Keith frowned, but before he could say anything Pidge had latched onto his arm, her tongue stuck out at Lance and a finger pointing at Allura. “You have a girlfriend who has never salsaed, and I promised Keith earlier that I’d teach him how to dance. So probably not.”  

She finished with a laugh, but there was something tense in the line of her shoulders as she tugged him towards the cars, despite the banal chatter starting up behind them.

Yep. Keith definitely had a bad feeling about this.

 —————

 The club was less of a club and more of a tent, but hey, it had been years since Lance had last been at a place like this so he was determined to enjoy himself.

Unfortunately, it turned out his girlfriend didn’t really get human dancing so he was resigned to mostly drinking, which — honestly? Wasn’t really his thing. Lance was the life of the party and he lived on the dancefloor. Drinks were just a bonus, and he could count the number of times he’d gotten tipsy at a party on one hand (‘tipsy’ had been left in the dirt a while back tonight, though).

When they’d first arrived he’d tried to show Allura how to move, but she’d been more-than-a-little freaked out at the idea of his hands on her waist (and even more scandalised at the idea that human women danced like that with men they didn’t even know). Lance didn’t get it — so he could kiss the girl but not hold her? — but stuck it on his list of ‘weird things about having an alien girlfriend’ and chivalrously held her hands while they danced for a while, which was totally fun and all but not really how he wanted to dance with his girlfriend at a salsa place.

Right now, Allura was dancing with Romelle, taking turns leading like a couple of kids at a wedding, both of them laughing raucously the whole time.  His lips curved up in a smile — it was nice to see Allura let loose a little, she was always so proper — but a shard of envy stabbed at his heart. He wanted to be out there, dammit, not sitting on the sidelines like a loser.

Even Keith was dancing.

Sighing, he scanned the crowd for Pidge. Allura wouldn’t mind if he danced with Pidge — she’d said so herself — but Pidge was hot tonight and apparently had no time for him. He’d tried to ignore the way jealousy had curled in his gut every time he’d seen her dancing with a new partner, reasoning it was just because he’d hardly seen her lately. Maybe he could ask her about that when he finally got a chance to ask her to dance.

If.

 —————

 “You’re popular tonight,” a voice drawled from beside her.

“Apparently,” she replied, rolling her eyes as she turned to face Lance. “Having fun?”

“Honestly? Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back against the bar and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Pidge dragged her gaze away from the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders and focused back on her drink, faking a sympathetic noise as he continued, “My girlfriend doesn’t wanna dance with me, and apparently the only girl I’m allowed to actually dance with has got a line of guys a mile long waiting for their turn.”

Pidge snorted. “It’s it not my responsibility to dance with you just because your girlfriend doesn’t like salsa.” Besides, one of those guys might end up being worth keeping around for a while, and then I can get over you. She hadn’t found anyone she clicked with yet, but the night was still young, and either way she’d been having fun until Lance came to ruin it with his moping.

“Fine. One dance, though?” He was looking at her hopefully, his hand held out for her to take, and Pidge hesitated. “C’mon, we haven’t danced since before we lost the castle, and you always said you’d dance with me once we got to Earth.”

Yeah, but that was before you started dating Allura. The words were on the tip of her tongue but she bit them back, instead placing her hand in his with a sigh. “Fine. One.”

Lance’s face lit up, and Pidge died a little more inside.

 —————

 Dancing with Pidge was fun.

They’d danced together a lot before, back before they’d had to shove the castle in a black hole to save the universe. It was always a late night thing; he’d spent more sleepless nights than he could count in Green’s hangar or on the observation deck with Pidge, talking about Earth and what they missed, and more often than not they’d end up digging through his phone or her laptop for music and laughing their way through a couple of songs in pyjamas and slippers. Pidge had been a dancer before the Garrison too, so dancing together was a nice mix of messing around and professional challenge.

Tonight was different, though. Maybe it was the tequila running through his veins making him dizzy, or the heat of the dancefloor, or just finally getting a chance to hang with one of his best friends after months of barely seeing them. Maybe it was because the music was so loud he could actually feel the rhythm pounding in his soul, vibrating through his body from the subwoofers.

Whatever it was, it was electrifying.

Sweat dripped down his collar as they moved through the crowd, laughing when he accidentally spun her into a couple dancing nearby. He pulled her close again to steady her, grinning when she placed her hands back on his shoulders and leaned up to half-shout in his ear: “This is a lot harder when we’re drunk!”

They pulled back a little, Lance brushing a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear as he leaned in to answer, “Are you sure it’s not the heels?”

“No!” she answered, smacking his shoulder for good measure. “I was fine before!”

“Ah, then it must be my dashing looks distracting you!”

She smelled like alcohol and the rainforest after a downpour, and he immediately missed it when she laughed and pulled away to place her hand back in his. “You wish. Again?”

He nodded, hand firmly around her waist (she was so tiny! And warm!) and together they counted the beats before stepping off again. They made it through the next song without crashing into anyone else, and then the next, stepping around each other, moving back and drawing close as they moved with the beat.

A stumble, and suddenly she was warm against his chest, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and laughter in her eyes.

Lance couldn’t look away.

 —————

 Pidge wasn’t sure how it had happened.

One moment she was laughing up at Lance, leaning against his chest from where she’d tripped on a return and he’d caught her.

The next moment he was kissing her.

Pidge inhaled sharply, caught off guard, but the exhilaration rushing through her veins was intoxicating and she found herself melting. The arm around her waist was strong yet the warm palm on her cheek was oh-so-tender, and as she wound her own arms around his neck she briefly thought that tequila tasted sweeter on his lips.

Her head was swimming. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. Why hadn’t they done this before?

The answer cut through the haze of her mind like a bucket of cold water, and suddenly she was wide awake.

His brow furrowed when she pulled away, placing her hands on his chest to firmly push him back as his eyes fluttered open. Steeling herself, she forced her gaze up to his before saying, “Lance.”

He offered her a boyish, lopsided smile that made her heart flip. “Yeah?”

“Lance,” she repeated, swallowing. “Lance, you have a girlfriend.”

It was almost comical, really, the way she could pinpoint the exact moment it dawned on him, and in any other situation she would have been in hysterics. Right now, though, all she could do was watch the colour drain from his features and try not to cry.

“I…” He stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish, and she couldn’t stay there any longer.

“I need some air,” she said firmly, gaze on the floor as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Pidge turned her back on him and began to weave her way through the crowd. She didn’t look back.

 —————

 Despite her young age, Allura understood all too well how everything could change in an instant.

Altea had been peaceful and happy, until it wasn’t. Lotor had been a good man, a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak reality, until he wasn’t. She had been enjoying watching Lance — a man she felt she could come to truly love despite his odd habits and their frequent culture clashes — dance with one of her best friends...until she wasn’t.

She watched Pidge push him away, her face distraught as she spoke words Allura couldn’t hear, and all she felt was a wave of numbness washing over her as she thought: Not again.

Pidge disappeared from view, lost in the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Lance stood alone listlessly, his expression lost as he ran his fingers through his hair — his stupid, soft hair that she’d been running her fingers through earlier. Then he turned his head and looked right at her.

Their gazes met across the room, and Allura suddenly realised that she had no interest whatsoever in hearing whatever he had to say. Not now, at least. She stepped back, raising her hands to ward him off before he could consider approaching her, and turned away, dismissing Romelle’s concern with a plea for air.

Later, she would need to make a decision. Possibly more than one. However, right now her thoughts were a tempest of tumultuous proportions, tumbling over each other as nausea roiled in her stomach, and she knew there was a high chance that she would do or say something that she would later regret.

So, instead, she left.

Her feet carried her outside, where the back of the gathering opened up onto an overgrown building site. Large blocks of some synthetic stone littered the ground, poking out through the weeds like small islands, and groups of revellers were crowded around the closer ones, lounging on them or using them as tables. The music and light spilling from the bar faded with each step she took, allowing the cool breeze of an Earth night to calm her thoughts; and she soon found herself thinking back to happier times spent slipping through the gardens at night as a teenager.

The stars here were wrong, though; as alien to her as anywhere else, now, and while the Milky Way splashed across the sky was certainly beautiful it wasn’t anything like a Sky Ring. The blue light of the Balmera, at least, was familiar, and she could take some comfort in that.

However, that comfort was short-lived when she spotted a familiar silhouette perched on a block.

Pidge.

Allura froze, hesitating while she weighed her options. Pidge was facing away from her; it would be simple to just turn and go before she became aware of her presence. Although she knew she would need to talk to her eventually, Pidge was not someone she particularly wanted to talk to right now. The red-and-white stripes of Pidge’s dress only brought to mind the way Lance had been looking at her as they danced, his eyes alight with an exuberant joy she’d never seen when he looked at her, and stirred the beginnings of a bitter anger in her stomach.

Before she could turn to leave, though, the line of Pidge’s shoulders shook, and she realised with a start that the younger girl was crying.

The anger vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with a quiet sympathy. Pidge hadn’t asked for any of this, either.

She walked forward.

“Pidge? Are you all right?”

Pidge whipped around, startled, her eyes widening when she saw Allura approaching. “Allura! Allura, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right,” she assured her, coming to a stop next to Pidge’s perch. “I’m not angry with you.”

“No, Allura,” Pidge shook her head, looking up at her earnestly, black tear marks on her face. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Pidge,” Allura said firmly, “You did not ask for Lance to kiss you. I have no reason to be angry with you.”

“Allura, I kissed him back.”

A breeze blew through the field, making the tall grasses around them sway.

Allura looked at Pidge, uncomprehending. “What?”

“I kissed him back, Allura,” Pidge repeated, her head hung low as she curled in on herself. “It wasn’t… I didn’t not want him to.”

“Why?” The question hung between them, but Pidge simply looked away.

The peaceful chirping of Earth’s nocturnal insects suddenly felt like an inappropriate soundtrack as countless memories and half-dismissed discussions seemed to all make sense at once. The green ear-covers Lance always had in the morning, which clearly weren’t his. Coran’s subdued concern over their friendship when Allura had announced her courtship to him. How Lance had alternately pouted and moped for the last month when Pidge wasn’t answering his communications as quickly as she apparently had before, putting him in a bad mood that not even Allura was able to lift.

Her voice was quiet as she asked: “You like him, don’t you?”

A heartbeat. Then—

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“How long?”

“Longer than you.”

Pidge’s tone was uncharacteristically bitter, and when Allura snapped her gaze to her she was already hunched over, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Allura. That was uncalled for.”

She ignored her. “How long?”

“Um…” Pidge breathed deeply and looked away, her fingers fiddling with the fabric of her dress. “From before we met you. About four years.”

Allura felt her eyes widen as she processed Pidge’s reply. “Four years?!”

Pidge nodded miserably. Allura stared at her, an unpleasant thought taking hold in her brain.

“Is that why you dressed so nicely tonight? Because you like Lance?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Pidge admitted, and the smouldering anger caught fire and rose to her throat. “I was hoping if I dressed nice I might meet someone new, and then it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

For the second time that night, the flames were doused immediately. “What?”

“That’s how it works, right?” Pidge gestured at her, her lips curved into a cruel parody of a smile. “You get pretty and then some guy comes and sweeps you off your feet.”

“Oh.” A few more dots connected, and Allura inhaled sharply. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

“Lance? Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“He’s been very upset about it.”

Pidge let out a watery laugh. “Good. Screw him.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that phrase means.”

Pidge laughed again, but the sound soon turned to sobs as the tears began to flow. “Allura, I’m so sorry. I…” She rubbed at her cheeks furiously, half-choking on the words. “I never wanted to like him.”

Me neither.

“I know.”

“I just wanted you two to be happy together.”

Allura looked up at the stars — the same stars Lance had grown up looking at, the same stars that had inspired him to become an explorer and set him on the path to meeting her — and all she felt was empty.

“I believe you.”