#like. hi man. you know those conversations we’ve had about my mental state recently? what if i told you the current thing keeping me afloat

[butnotbubblegum]

keep accidentally writing poems about things i should actually have conversations with people about.

[neptunesnxpple]

Undercover Lover 1/2? - Benimaru x m!reader

Summary: Benimaru infiltrates a singles night to find an undercover Evangelist member intent on taking down Asakusa. Will he find something else instead?

Wordcount: 2138

Tags: misunderstandings, beginnings, m!reader, singles night

A/N: 18+ only. Do not read or interact if you are a minor. Thank you.

“I don’t see why I have to be dressed up for this,” Benimaru complained. The twins adjusted the sleeves of his black kimono, patting at his black and white striped hakama.

 “It’s an undercover mission,” Hinata started,

 “Yeah you’re going to kill it on the dance floor, and then kill the infiltrator,” Hikage added.

 “An undercover mission at some get together hardly suits me. Konro is much more fitted for this.” He mused. Ever since the Asakusa fight he’d started the heavy battle of accepting his role. Even harder was coming to terms with the amount of trust the community put on him. Now he’d have to hide who he was for that community. He walked out of the captain’s quarters into the main area, team 7 and 8 were on standby, hovering by computers with headsets dispersed among the higher-ranking members. Konro passed Benimaru an earpiece while Iris fit a small camera on one of his chest pieces.

 “Remember, we’re counting on you.” Konro clasped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. He doubted he could hold up to it.

 —

 The venue was lined with hydrangeas, blue and purple, situated on the water’s edge and decorated with warm, glowing lights. By all accounts it was beautiful. People were trickling in, dressed in semi formal attire, mostly around a similar age range. Benimaru kept a watchful eye, making a mental note of anyone that stood out. Unfortunately, he recognized most of them as locals. At least he could rule those out and focus on the out of towners.

 ‘You have to go in at some point’ his earpiece buzzed,

 “Relax I’m just gathering intel,” he muttered. Reluctantly he made his way to the door. The inside was just as carefully decorated. Hanging paper sculptures, soft lighting, and many small tables set up. He wasn’t sure the specifics of this event, but he didn’t think it’d matter. He tried to fade into the wall when an event organizer cornered him, smiling with a name tag and clip board in hand.

 “All guests are required to sign in and wear a name tag,” they chirped, “if I could just get your name and email address,” Benimaru groaned. This was already more trouble than it was worth as far as he was concerned.

 “Benimaru,” he stated, taking the clipboard, and scribbling that down as well as a fake email address. He took the name tag and slapped it on blindly. It didn’t matter where it went. The event staffer took back the clipboard.

 “Alright take a seat and we’ll start in 10.”

 Benimaru picked a seat on the far side, watching as the other guests filled in.

 “First we’d like to welcome you all to singles night. We’ve prepared refreshments and a light dinner spread. Check the letter on the back of your card, we’ll start with group A staying where they are and if you’re in group B you’ll be moving in a clockwise fashion. Then there will be a brief intermission while-”

 Benimaru couldn’t listen anymore. A singles night was the perfect cover for an evangelist looking to recruit a younger population. He’d have to be on his guard. He checked the back of his card. Group A. So, he’d be in wait and the potential enemies would be coming to him. This gave him the advantage. He sat back, hand twitching at the ready under the table. Time ticked slowly. The locals didn’t mind too much, he wasn’t much for frivolous conversation when he had a goal in mind and maintained the appropriate level of conversation. Those that came from out of town he was less forgiving to.

 “You decided to come to Asakusa for this?” He accused, causing the current victim to recoil at the animosity in his voice, “This seems like something you could have done back in your town. What’s the real reason for you visit?” Not long after the timer beeped and the insulted date would leave him, the next one going along just as well. None of these singles looked too suspicious, although they were irritable by the time they left.

 “Benimaru? Nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself, smiling warmly. He was an interesting looking fellow, the mismatched eyes were something you hadn’t seen before. He raised an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his chest.

 “And what brings you here?” His fingertips warmed. You laughed nervously. It was a cliché opening, but the way he looked you was enough for you to overlook it. Intense.

 “Well I’m new to the area, I just moved in a couple of weeks ago, and thought it would be a great opportunity to meet some of the other people around my age,” you explained, “plus if I could meet someone special that’s a bonus. Why’d you decide to come here tonight?” Careful eyes scanned you from top to bottom, and you were glad you put the extra effort in your clothing choices. Benimaru struggled to come up with a reason besides blatantly saying what he was looking for, when a voice in his ear spoke up,

 ‘Say you’re trying to find the right one’. He could hear the exasperation on the other side. This whole time they’d been coaching him, and he’d been having some less than desirable results. This was close enough to the truth that he could allow it.

 “I’m trying to find that special someone.” Yes, special. And the guy in front of him was hitting all the boxes. Out of towner, recently moved here. Laughing at his initial investigative question. This guy was good. He took a cool sip from the glass in front of him, “what made you move all this way?”

 “I got a new job and thought it would be a fun change of pace. I like the unique energy. Are you from Asakusa?”

 “Born and raised. Now this job you were talking about-”

 “Yes, I’m a bit of a bug specialist, an educator,” you answered quickly, feeling flustered as you watched his eyes narrow. The heat pooling in your chest began to work its way up your neck. You were starting to feel a bit intimidated, not in a bad way though, and kicked yourself for answering so eagerly. This felt like an interview almost. You scrambled to turn this back into a conversation, “What do you do? Um, for fun or as a job.” Nailed it. You gave yourself a mental thumbs up.

 “I’m a busy guy, I don’t have much time for trivial matters. I suppose you could say I’m a bit of a community leader.” He watched as you fidgeted, not with the same amount of distaste as the others had. Something was different here.

 “Oh, I guess I’m lucky then-” before you finished the timer set off. As you stood up and turned to leave, a hand grabbed your wrist.

 “Welcome to Asakusa.”

 --

 When the break came you made a beeline for the entrance, walking around the side of the building and welcoming the cold air. For the most part everyone had seemed friendly. Things were a lot different from where you were from, and while it was exciting you were constantly aware that you’d sometimes say the wrong thing or share too much too fast. Still, being a gay guy in Asakusa you didn’t expect so many options. It made you wonder how many others there were that didn’t come. You rested against the wall, closing your eyes, and taking a deep beath. You listened to the quiet movement of the river nearby. You didn’t notice the person rounding the corner until two hands slammed into the wall surrounding your head, a large body blocking your view of the river. It was dark on this side. You struggled to make out anything until you looked up. Glowing pink eyes loomed down at you, stripping you away of any nerve that you could scrape off the pavement, an unsmiling face greeting you. It was Benimaru.

 ‘Benimaru what are you doing- it’s dark!’ A high-pitched voice shouted.

 “I know it’s you,” Benimaru sneered, voice rough and gravelly, “I know what you’re really here for.” You swallowed dryly, unable to look away and frozen in place. You were entirely at his mercy here. At least you were reading his interests correctly. You licked your lips.

 ‘Benimaru wait that’s not-’

 “I’m going to make you pay,” You felt the warmth radiating from his hands, intoxicatingly so. He must be a third gen user if he was this warm. He reached back and you grabbed the fronts of his jacket, taking a step forward and kissing him. You felt him stiffen to your touch and you immediately removed your mouth from his, eyes wide and the only thought crossing your mind being ‘oh shit’- had you misinterpreted his advances earlier? You opened your mouth to apologize, but instead got the wind knocked out of you as he lifted you off the ground and slammed you back into the wall harder than you’d have liked. His hand began to glow bright orange as it bubbled with flame, preparing to strike.

 “Benimaru! Hold it!” A deep voice shouted. Quicker than you could process- something, or someone, slid by you, fire on their heels, and knocked into Benimaru. You fell to the ground, stunned.

 “Benimaru! There was no mission, this was just a date night!” A younger voice shouted. The moonlight reflected off of the brightly striped fire equipment, only furthering your confusion. Why were fire soldiers here? And how did they know where you were?

 “Back off, I know he’s the infiltrator. I’ll end this right now,” Benimarus’ flame returned to his hand, this time larger than before and brighter. It illuminated enough for you to see a cast of other fire soldiers running up on the scene. What the hell?

 “It’s true, we just thought you could use the night off, and maybe meet someone outside of work!” A woman yelled. As if things could make any less sense, two young girls came bounding in at full speed, slapping at Benimarus’ legs.

 “Yeah dummy! What are you doing? You’re going to ruin all the work that Hina and I put in for this!”

 “Stupid! You’re never going to get a man if you keep blowing holes in them!”

 This was all just too much to take in. You stared vacantly at the pavement, trying to trace the steps of how you got here. Benimaru lowered his hand, flames withering.

 “It was all just… a fake mission?” He repeated, sounding lost. He looked at you, crumpled on the ground and thoroughly ruffled from the way he manhandled you. Guilt sucked out all of the rage he was feeling. Here he was attacking the newest citizen of Asakusa, just for being new. He rewound through the night. He had just interrogated at least 20 innocent people. The flame melted away completely. With the twins still yelling at him and giving him a much-deserved waist high beating, he made his way over to you. At this point Maki from squad 8 had been tending to you, checking you for injuries. When he approached you gazed up at him wildly, like some innocent animal caught in the crosshair of a hunter. Maki gave him a skeptical look.

 “You should be fine, just a little bruised if anything. Call this number if there’s anything else we can do for you,” she handed you a card and tentatively made her exit.

 “Sorry, I thought you were flirting but I guess you were just looking for um, someone undercover? An evangelist infiltrator? Anyway, I’m sorry for kissing you.”

 “You have nothing to apologize for,” he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, and exposing the lesser seen eye further, “it was my fault. I jumped to conclusions. You were just new, and I assumed that you had bad intentions.” You nodded, unsure of what else could be added. After some uncomfortable silence, you heard another sigh. Benimaru dropped his hand, looking away from you, “because you’re new and because of the situation, I would like to offer you a personal tour of Asakusa. I know this town better than anyone and would like the chance to make it up to you.” You gave him a scrutinizing look, pleased when you watched him squirm under your gaze. Good, he should be on his toes. A satisfactory amount of time later, you gave him a timid smile,

 “Sure.”

 “Waka, we’re heading back to the station,” Konro shouted. Benimaru gave a slight wave and returned his gaze to you.

 “Do you need me to walk you back inside, or…” he trailed off.

 “I don’t think I’ll be going back,” you started. A displeased expression filled his face, “but, you can walk me home.”

--

Like what you read? Comments and reblogs fuel me to write more!

Also, my birthday is coming up on March 13th so if you’re willing, donate to my K*-fi so I can get a cake

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s R&S - Since that rainy night (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (之自雨夜来) was part of the Dream Heart Lake event which will unlikely come to EN🍒

More Lucien R&S from this event:

> regarding what books don’t say

> my love rival older brother

> the missing victim

> since that rainy night ♡

[ Chapter One ]

“Boss, why hasn't Professor Lucien been around lately?”

“It just means you haven’t been coming at the right time.”

For some reason, ever since Lucien appeared on “Miracle Finder”, the shop has become a place where his female enthusiasts check in.

The more introverted ones would order a glass of juice and wait in a corner, their eyes flitting between their phone screens and the entrance of the bar. The more straightforward ones would be like the one before me - the moment they arrive, they go straight to the question, asking about “Professor Lucien” this, and “Professor Lucien” that.

In consideration of the privacy of my customers, I wouldn’t give them a clear answer.

Moreover, even though we’ve known each other for close to two years, my understanding of him still remains at “young and promising neuroscientist”, “Guest Professor at Loveland University”, and other superficial levels.

His entire being is akin to a dense fog, drawing people near, yet never letting one see it clearly. The ladies who have developed an interest in him all say that he’s scholarly, refined, and gentle - a man who is family-oriented, considerate and protective. But to me, that may not be his genuine self. 

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The first time he visited was a rainy working day. At the dead of night, the shop only had a few customers who had been trapped in by the rain.

Everyone had long since lost the passion they had at midnight, laying on the tables listlessly and waiting for the rain to stop. I’d long since changed the background music to jazz, which was more appropriate for a rainy day. The melodious saxophone further elongated the dark night.

That was when Lucien came in, his entire body drenched. For a moment, I even thought the droplets pelting onto his white coloured lapel would dye his shirt the inky colour of night.

“‘A Foggy Day’ - what a suitable song for a rainy day.” I originally thought he was simply here to avoid the rain. But he appeared to be a music enthusiast who came here after being led by the music. “May I know if it’s still business hours?”

“We’re open for business till 5am in the morning.”

He lifted his hand and glanced at his watch. His eyes seemed to hold scattered moonlight. “Thank you. In that case, I still have 17 minutes to listen to his album.”

Not in the least reserved, he took off his jacket in front of me, removed his tie, his drenched shirt sticking to his young body. He looked sturdier than before, slightly different from the impression I got from people who wore white coats.

This contrast was basically my ideal type. Unfortunately, from a glance, it was clear that he wasn’t from around here. I could only settle my emotions, controlling my restless heart.

Because the bartender had already knocked off, I could only provide him with a glass of warm lemon water and a dry towel. “Give yourself a wipe first. You can stay here till the rain stops.”

“Thank you.” He looked so alert that he didn’t seem at all like an unlucky person who just got off work and was caught in the rain. He even chatted with me until the sky gradually turned bright. 

During the idle conversation we shared over these few hours, I talked about things related to myself from time to time, while he would take small sips from that glass of lemon water and listen quietly. Occasionally, he would give me a few replies which didn’t come off as merely being polite.

Without doubt, he was a very good listener. To me, the feeling of being listened to was a little novel.

Usually, people who visit the shop are those with worries weighing on their minds, and I would be their “tree hole”, responsible for absorbing all sorts of emotions from them. Very few people cared about my opinions and what sort of a person I was. And the mysterious man who arrived on this rainy day spent a large part of the night listening to me talking.

By the time the rain finally stopped, I was on the verge of dozing off. But he was still radiating with vigour, and so alert that it was as though he could continue with work right after getting a change of clothes.

“Thank you. This has been a wonderful rainy night.”

When he left through the door that day, I never thought that this man, akin to a hallucination, would ever visit again.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

He didn’t come at regular intervals.

Sometimes, he’d visit consecutively over two or three nights. Sometimes, he’d appear once after a week or half a month.

But no matter when he visited, he’d always sit at the most inconspicuous corner of the bar, order a non-alcoholic cup of mojito and sit quietly.

He was gentle to everyone, and could maintain a somewhat nonchalant distance with anyone. But this didn’t mean that he wouldn’t take the initiative. In contrast, he often left his “designated seat”, and with some unknown conditions, selected and walked towards a “lucky individual”.

They could be lawyers experiencing disappointment at work, or they could be small celebrities who thought highly of themselves. They could be cross-dressing hobbyists whose genders were difficult to distinguish, or they could be a normal youth who was perplexed about the future...

The troubles these people held in their hearts and only dared to meld into music and glasses of beer were completely revealed to Lucien.

Countless times, I’d seen him learning a person’s entire story in the span of a glass of beer. As for things pertaining to himself, he had never revealed much.

The more mysterious this person was, the more it hooked certain people’s desire to conquer. There were always a few ill-intentioned customers who would try using alcohol to numb his consciousness, or attempt to remove that unassailable outer shell of his. But each time, they would stop.

He was naturally not self-indulgent. Even if it was with someone he’d accompanied for two drinks, he wouldn’t overdo it. The moment he entered a slightly drunken state, he would use all sorts of ingenious ways to extricate himself. With a drink in hand, he would calmly return to his seat.

During these moments, his tender features would seem to be covered with a thin layer of ice, revealing a hint of coldness.

Those eyes, which held boundless constellations, would also dim. In them, there would be unreadable emotions. It gave off the sense of a well-made robot suddenly having its electricity cut off, stopping it from interacting with the outside world entirely.

I’d tried making conversation with him during such moments, but he seemed to be even quieter when drunk. As such, he didn’t respond much.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Watching him get along well with everyone, I teased him. “Professor Lucien, could there be a scientific method to making friends? Why does it seem as though you can integrate yourself with anyone?” 

“As long as you have a mentality of ‘making friends’, you can easily integrate with everyone.” He maintained a gentle smile, saying somewhat cruel words.

Probably because the confusion was too obvious on my face, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “From your expression, I’m afraid you might have misunderstood what I meant.” Even before I could express my doubts, he had already guessed it.

He’s always been this way, easily understanding the inner hearts of others. 

“Everyone is too used to ‘friendship’. But actually, no matter what relationships are shared between people, they’re formed with fetters. As such, if I were to use a ‘passer-by’ method of idle talk, the other party wouldn’t feel an overly heavy responsibility from me. This would create a more unrestrained atmosphere where he can open his heart freely.”

This left me speechless for a while, but I didn’t dare to agree blindly. The only thing I could say was that his way of thinking was indeed different from normal people. As such, one couldn’t use use a normal standard to gauge whether he was right or wrong.

“In that case, have you never considered being friends with anyone?”

“It depends on what the other person thinks.” He met my eyes for several seconds, with a gaze which left one unable to turn him down, once again ambiguously evading the core of the question.

Past experiences have sounded an alarm bell for me:

The more watertight a person seems, the more undisclosed secrets he has.

If they say that a woman’s heart is elusive, then that man’s heart was likely a balloon.

Expanding at will, and contracting at will.

Ever since the ladies in the bar kept talking about “Professor Lucien” this and “Professor Lucien” that, the male customers who came here to flirt with girls were enraged beyond compare. They started playing student-like tricks on Lucien.

I had always closed an eye to such small-scale antics which didn’t affect the business. One, I could treat it as a tiny interlude to hype up the place. Two, I trusted that in the end, Lucien would skilfully and easily resolve such clumsy and cheap tricks.

After one or two occurrences, Lucien didn’t lose his fans. He even relied on these “simpletons” to serve as a foil, adding another wave of favourable opinions. Finally sensing the differences between them, those guys could only leave angrily while stomping their feet in the dark, and eventually stopped showing their faces in the shop.

With a dip in such entertainment, the shop returned to its original peace and tranquility.

“Sigh. It’s so boring since no one has dared to bully you recently.”

“If someone comes next time... I’ll try my best not to scare them away.”

The way he said this dead seriously amused me. Back then, I hadn’t realised that hiding beneath that peacefulness, darkness had already started stirring.

The person who had entered first that night returned alone to the bar. We were even secretly anticipating what kind of childish game he’d be bringing this time. Unexpectedly, he was calm. Even till late at night, he was alone, drinking beer at a corner by himself.

After the alcohol went to his head, that person stumbled over red-faced, muttering to himself, “Scoun... scoundrel Lucien... get rid of your condescending look. Today, I’m going to...!”

-

[ Chapter Five ]

He wore a long-sleeved shirt, completely inappropriate for the day’s weather. It was only when he lunged towards Lucien that I saw a silver light flashing from his sleeve.

“Lucien! He has a knife!”

In a moment, the crowd dispersed in alarm. Lucien, who originally had his back towards the man, turned around, a hand clutching his wrist, and another hand knocking the fruit knife out of his hand.

With an unusual air of calm, he bent down to pick up the knife, handing its handle to me. “I’ll have to trouble the boss to keep the knife properly.”

The person who had the knife taken from him looked at his empty hand in a daze. Customers who had returned to their senses burst into applause at Lucien’s ability to be adaptive in handling such a situation.

The person who attempted to stir trouble fled with his tail between his legs. He even tripped when leaving through the door.

“Looks like you’ve completely scared him away this time.”

It’s as though Lucien had just settled an issue no different from the small pranks from earlier. From start to end, his face didn’t reveal any surprise. 

Everyone seemed to accept that Professor Lucien was just well versed in both the pen and the sword. But I didn’t think a normal person should have such skills.

Being able to react with lightning speed in such a dim place made me deeply think that this enigmatic man had an additional colour that one couldn’t make out. 

To tell you the truth, the ladies who were chasing Lucien in the dark or outwardly had grown to such a large number that I could barely count them. But he hadn’t expressed anything about it clearly.

By the request from a customer, I was appointed to take an indirect approach in delving into his love life. Beating around the bush wasn’t my style, so all I could do was send a straight ball to him amidst the ladies present. “Professor Lucien, there are so many ladies who like you in the shop, but you aren’t going to consider them at all?”

The moment the question was asked, I felt the ladies straightening up their ears to listen, holding their breaths and waiting for his response. 

“I just want to ask, on behalf of the numerous ladies here, whether there’s a type you like?”

“This question has stumped me.” He pretended to look serious while considering this for a moment. In the end, he tossed out an answer which had little reference value. “’Like’ should be an emotion generated by a special individual, not characterised into a general type.”

We originally thought that was just a tactful way of saying he was devoting his entire life to science. But we didn’t expect the “special individual” to appear in just a few days.

A woman I had never seen before followed Lucien gingerly into the bar. At a glance, it was obvious that she wasn’t the type who’d usually appear in such places, so she stuck out exceptionally amongst the crowd.

I initially thought she was just another one of Lucien’s female enthusiasts, and announced his presence jokingly. He remained unmoved, continuing to chat with the person next to him who had struck a conversation with him. Yet, when the woman left the bar, he made an excuse to follow her out too.

That night, he didn’t return. Even the money for the drinks was transferred later via phone.

After that, the man named Lucien, along with that forthright lady, left from our view.

[superman86to99]

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says:  “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

I should start off my section with a big caveat:  I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them.  My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time.  Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it.  It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.  

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual.  I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both.  But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film).  It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent.  Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background.  This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way.   Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era.  Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me.  Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children.  So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character.   Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails.  The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead.  Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either.  It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman.  Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story.  Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Alexander Wolfe, the man behind Pedestrian Magazine

Pedestrian is a magazine about the humble art of walking. In this interview, I talked with the man with the plan, Alexander Wolfe, about his love for this much maligned form of transport, his recent expedition from New York to Philadelphia, and the art of conversation.

First off, you recently walked from New York City to Philadelphia over nine days. What made you want to do that?

The initial desire to walk to Philadelphia came out living in New York City during the pandemic. I was bound to my apartment for a few months with little to do but walk around my neighborhood. I've always had a habit of walking around the city, but the pandemic only made these walks longer and longer, which eventually led to a 23 mile journey from my apartment in Brooklyn, to the Bronx, and back.

Around that time I was reading The Roads to Sata by Alan Booth and started contemplating longer, multi-day walks. I needed a change of scenery and found the idea of traveling by foot and living out of a bag very appealing. I felt like I'd developed a process here in the city (go on a walk, take photos, write a newsletter about the walk, repeat) and needed to give myself a challenge.  I wanted to lean further into this practice that I've been developing for the last three years.

I'd never considered my walks to be hikes, so it made sense that I'd keep it in an urban setting. Walking to Philadelphia seemed like a no-brainer. What most people don't initially realize is that most of my time was spent walking through New Jersey. I liked the idea of walking in a place that is commonly misrepresented as the "armpit of America" and typically deemed unwalkable. New Jersey is actually a very underrated state. It might be the densest state population-wise, but it's called the Garden State for a reason. Oh yeah, I'd never been to Philadelphia and just really wanted to visit.

How did the walk go? Quite often trips or excursions can be a fair bit different to how you first imagine them… how did the reality of the walk differ from how you thought it was going to be?

I was presented with a new challenge every day. Don't get me wrong, the walk turned out better than I could have ever imagined, but you can never anticipate everything in advance. This was the first time I'd ever walked with a 25 pound bag on my back, let alone the first time I'd walked 9 days in a row. Originally I set out to average 17.75 miles per day, but thanks to my own curiosity, ended up waking 20 miles a day on average. I mapped the entire route a month or two before leaving, but would always deviate from the path in favor of exploring some neighborhood, road, or park that looked appealing. The first day alone ballooned into 27 miles because I got cocky and thought I didn't need to use my map while walking in Manhattan. I learned my lesson and kept my eyes on the map for the rest of the trip.

Another thing I didn't expect was the sensitivity one develops after walking 6-8 hours for days in a row. The smell of exhaust and gasoline becomes more potent. You realize how violently we've shaped the land to build huge highways and abysmal business parks. So much of our infrastructure is built in favor of the car, which makes being a pedestrian incredibly difficult at times. If the built environment didn't present a challenge, it was always the weather, the gnarly blisters on my feet, or my gear malfunctioning. I quickly learned to accept these challenges. It was just another component of the walk.

A lot of times people go for ‘a walk’, they’re seeking out beauty spots or nice scenery—maybe in nature reserves or the countryside, but your walk was cutting through some fairly overlooked places… industrial estates and small towns. Do people miss out by not seeing the whole picture of somewhere? Is just driving through these places to get to the destination sort of cheating?

I wouldn't consider driving to be cheating – it's just another way we alienate ourselves from the world around us. When we drive, we experience the world at a speed that makes it nearly impossible to pay attention to the fine details. Our relationship to place is abstracted, especially thanks to the rise of GPS. We no longer have to have a physical relationship to these towns. We don't even have to remember how to get to them. Driving around in a car reduces these places to nothing more than a label on a map or a convenient place to stop for gas.

It's important to have relationships with the places surrounding you. The walk has given me an intimate experience with the space between New York City and Philadelphia. I know what it looks like, I know how it feels to be there. I can tell you where residents stop hanging New York Yankees flags in favor of Philadelphia Phillies flags. If I'm watching the Soprano's and Tony references Metuchen, NJ then I know exactly what he's talking about. I think to understand a place, such as New York City, it's just as important to understand the places around it. There are generations of people who once called the Big Apple home, but decided to plant their roots in Jersey for one reason or another.

I suppose you could have read about some of these places on Wikipedia, but being there is a completely different thing. Is experiencing stuff first hand important?

It's very important if you actually want to understand a place. It's too easy to create our own narratives without ever visiting a place. I still tried to do my share of research before heading out. I have friends from North Jersey or the Philadelphia Metro and tried to take their opinions with a grain of salt. I spent some time reading about certain towns along the way on Wikipedia or scanned Reddit to get a vibe. I even previewed chunks of the walk on Google Street View to mentally prepare and know if it was actually safe to walk near some of these roads. I could have spent months preparing, but it never would actually replace walking in these small towns and cities. It's so much different when you're on the ground.

I suppose the main reason we’re talking is that you make a magazine based around the idea of walking. How long have you been making Pedestrian? What started it off?

I released the first issue of Pedestrian back in March of 2018. I was living in Ridgewood, Queens at the time and made friends with a guy named Curtis Merkel (I actually met him while out on a walk). He ran a moving business for a few decades and retired. At 84 years old he opened up a tiny little bookshop to keep himself busy. I'd visit him every weekend to check out his books and eventually we'd just get to talking. He'd lived in Ridgewood his entire life and loved to talk about the neighborhood's history. Moving to NYC also introduced me to a thriving community of zine makers. I wanted to share these conversations I'd had with Curtis in print form, so I decided to start a magazine. I invited a few friends to contribute and the rest was history.

Since then, the identity of Pedestrian has become quite fluid. While it started as a magazine, I would now describe Pedestrian as my own practice. It's a platform that allows me to collaborate with others, produce magazines, write newsletters, go on these long multi-day walks, and produce t-shirts. I have found this configuration gives me the most creative freedom.

A lot of your magazine is about meeting people and striking up conversations. Is this a lost art these days?

I don't know if it's a lost art per se, but there's less incentive to reach out and talk with strangers these days. Thanks to the rise of social media it's just getting easier and easier to stay within our own "bubbles." Starting Pedestrian, in a way, was an excuse for me to speak with those I typically wouldn't reach. It's amazing how having a publication kind of takes the fear out of speaking with strangers. You can do anything when you have intention.

Although walking is something most people do, is it overlooked as an activity? It seems it’s mostly seen as an inconvenience, rather than a hobby in itself.

It depends where you live. In New York City, for example, walking is a part of the culture. The city is built in such a way that makes walking a viable means of transportation. And if you can't walk to your destination, you're likely walking to a subway or a bus. Where I'm from in Iowa, walking is very inconvenient. Everything is spaced out, which makes walking anywhere very difficult. It’s not that people don’t want to walk, it’s just the way we’ve built certain communities has made it very hard to enjoy. It makes people think walking is very inconvenient.

I’m here in Iowa until August and it’s been interesting to walk a place that is so reliant on cars. The other day I did a 13.5 walk around the city. There’s nothing here stopping you from walking (unless the heat gets you. Technically we’re in the middle of a drought. It’s been incredibly hot as of late), and there’s plenty of sidewalk. I think it’s mostly just a mindset people have to develop. It doesn’t matter how many miles you walk, it’s just about getting out there. Your mental health will thank you and you might even learn something new about your surroundings along the way.

Walking is maybe the antithesis to the internet, but Pedestrian also has a decent presence on the World Wide Web, and you regularly send newsletters and... er... partake in the digital world. How do you balance the real world with the matrix?

It’s a relationship I’m constantly reevaluating. I’m not a master of balancing the two yet, but I’m slowly building habits that will protect my time. I often daydream of abandoning social media altogether and picking up a flip phone. I obviously haven’t done that yet, so in the meantime, I’m investing a lot of time in my newsletter. Sending out a newsletter is a much more thoughtful, intimate, and slow experience...kind of like the way I approach my walks out in the world. I understand that the web is a tool and I’m not sure the Philly walk would have gotten the same amount of attention had I not had an Instagram account. It’s cliche, but everything in moderation, right? I try not to take it so seriously.

What next for Pedestrian?

The Philly walk was such a great success and I’d like to keep that momentum going. Later in September I have another big, big walk planned, but I have yet to announce the route. Look for an announcement sometime next month. This one will be a bit longer and involve 3 different cities. I can’t wait.

Once winter hits I’m going to buckle down and produce a proper book for the Philly walk that will include all my writing and photos I took along the journey. I’m already excited to share the finished product with the world. Stay tuned.

Final question, what are your walking shoes of choice? And what's your soundtrack? Are earphones advised for long walks, or do you prefer the ambient sounds of the streets?

I’m a big fan of Hoka Clifton’s. I wore them throughout the entire Philly walk and have two pairs in my closet. At this point, Hoka should probably pay me for how much business I send their way. I’m always recommending them.

I prefer not to wear headphones and just listen to the ambient sounds of the street. More often than not, I find wearing headphones to be a bit distracting and it takes me out of the present moment. Although, I’ll admit I have been trying to introduce music into my walking once again, but few tracks make the cut. Lately Andrew Wasylyk’s Last Sunbeams of Childhood has been on repeat. There’s something about that track...

Find out more about Pedestrian here. Pedestrian is available in the UK courtesy of Central Library.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Beautiful War

-dragonswithjetpacks

Chapter Six: Appealing to Val Reous

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Read here on Ao3

The sun was just setting behind the city of Val Royeaux when they caught its glory at the top of a small hill. Agreeing that approaching the gate at dawn would be a better idea, the group made a small camp while enjoying the view. Orlais was particularly green this time of year. The ladies in the city would be wearing pastels and flowers. Not to mention, showing as much of their breasts as they possibly could get away with. It made Claira smile. She was never found of fashion. But the springtime cakes they made were always so delightful. Though their smell was more satisfying than the taste.

"You've been quiet," Varric implied as they rest.

"I'm always quiet," Claira disagreed.

"It's been an unsettling type of quiet."

"I didn't realize there were different types of quiet," she shaved off a piece of meat roasting over their fire.

"You keep looking at the city. And heaving that big sigh of yours."

"I'm finding it odd that you watch me enough to notice I have a particular sigh," she chuckled to herself before she took a bite of her meal.

"People who are easy to read are always fun to watch."

"I'm not that fun to watch," she said between bites.

"Normally you aren't," he propped his elbow atop his knee. "But you got this particular look growing on your face the closer we get to the city."

"Because I never thought I'd be going back to Orlais," she shrugged. "Let alone Val Royeaux."

"You've been to Val Royeaux before?" Cassandra was suddenly interested.

"My mother is Orlesian, so we visited on a few occasions. But I've lived in Val Royeaux. Twice in what I might consider my adulthood."

"Ah, yes, Lady Helena was from a smaller lesser known nobility," the Seeker recalled.

Claira had not spoken of her mother in so long that it was almost off-putting to hear her name. They had not made contact in some time. And the most recent letter she received was about Jordan's missing persons. There were never any pleasantries with Helena; it was always demanding and berating. The woman needed complete control.

"She hates coming here," Claira added. "I'd like to think it is because it reminds her of how fake she truly is."

"Then it must bring you bad memories," Cassandra empathized.

"Quite the opposite," Claira smiled, looking out longingly to the city. "Orlais was the beginning of my freedom."

"Do go on," Solas joined the fire at last. "I'm sure we've all been waiting for a glimpse of your youth."

"You've been locked up pretty tight, Herald," Varric agreed. "I think it's your turn for storytime."

Claira turned back to her party, all of them watching and waiting with bright eyes. It was the first time she was able to share any sort of personal information regarding herself. On the other hand, she had gotten to know them quite well, even considered them friends. Indeed, being back in Orlais brought up memories, both good and bad. As a child, she never had a chance to speak without being shut down. And as an adult, she realized that she had shut herself down as a defense. But here, in a place that had sparked her new beginning with the people she had learned to trust, she felt safe.

"I was sent to a girl's school when I was young. Around the age of fifteen."

"That late?" Cassandra seemed surprised. "And so far away?"

"I was not a compliant child," Claira laughed. "I had many house mistresses that found me unreasonable. Eventually, I was sent to Starkhaven. But the headmistress stated she couldn't help, either. Even as my wild side was gradually tamed, I was still clumsy, homely, and awkward. It didn't matter how polite or intelligent I was... I was considered a lost cause."

"How absurd," Solas appeared disgusted.

"I was sent to Orlais in hopes I would return a lady. But because of my age, the teachers were harder on me. It was almost torture. Most of them were cruel. But they allowed me to study in peace if it meant not having to deal with me. And the books in Orlais were incredible. I could have been a scholar with all the time I spent in that library."

"Why didn't they just transfer you?" Cassandra inquired.

"My mother was spending a good amount of my father's fortune making sure I didn't come back home until I was guaranteed a husband. I think eventually their goal was to find a nobleman not necessarily suitable for me, but willing to settle. I was never interested in marriage, though. I was set on becoming a warrior at a young age. So I left the school."

"By left, you mean snuck out?" Varric questioned.

"Snuck out would be putting it lightly," Claira laughed. "I planned for weeks to get out of that place. And when I did, I ran until I couldn't see the city anymore. I found a place to lay low. And that's when I met my mentor."

The party was quiet, listening to the campfire crack as she paused.

"Most have just assumed I was a typical Trevelyan Free Marcher. But I was never part of that life or the Chantry. I was never even given the option to become a Sister. Looking back, that's probably what I should have done when I left the school. Instead, I left with a strange man who told me I could achieve my dreams of becoming a warrior. It was stupid of me to trust him. But I'm glad I did. I trained under him for many years while traveling. He brought me back to Val Royeaux to the Academie in hopes I could be knighted, allowing me to live a life I had truly wanted."

"I should have known," Cassandra shook her head. "I imagined with the reputation of the Trevelyans that you were just a natural fighter. But there's no mistaking your stance is Orlesian. I always meant to ask."

"So that means all those nobles from Orlais that come by speaking their language and talking with that snooty tone... you can understand them?" Varric asked.

"Oui," Claira smirked. "Chaque mot. Every single word."

Varric let out a loud burst of laughter.

"This would have been useful information," Cassandra was still in shock.

"I didn't want to ruin the surprise," she shook her head. "Besides, if Josephine knew, she'd have me speak to the nobles more often."

"Isn't she giving you lessons?" Cassandra pressed.

Again, Varric rolled over in a fit of laughter as Claira half shrugged, half nodded. Solas remained silent, although very much enjoying the conversation in itself. And no one stopped Claria from speaking about her adventures in Orlais from that point. They only interrupted her to ask questions, much to her liking. It was the first time she had spoken about it to anyone, not that it was a secret. The more she told of her rebellious childhood and the harsh ways of her mother, the more she realized how much mental abuse she had been through. She couldn't imagine being that cruel to anyone.

************************************************

The gates into Val Royeaux were surprisingly empty. Claira remembered merchants and travelers flooded the archway into the city. Peddlers and pickpockets loved the area, as many people stopped to linger there to admire the stone masonry. Now, only a few people were scattered through the walkway. Claira was not the only one who noticed the lack of others.

"The city still mourns," Cassandra observed.

A couple who had been speaking quietly amongst each other passed by them innocently. However, once they caught sight of Claira, their jaws dropped and their eyes widened behind their mask. They took off in a slight run toward the open gate without daring to glance back.

"Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are," Varric jested.

"Your skills of observation never fail to impress me Varric," she retorted.

"My Lady Herald!" a scout greeted them from the city.

"You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?" Cassandra questioned without hesitation.

"The Chantry mothers await you, but… so do a great many templars."

"There are templars here?"

Claira felt her chest grow tight. The intention was to meet with the Chantry, not the templars. They would have eventually attempted an audience with them, but this was too soon. She was unprepared. They continued walking through the entrance as they were informed of the current situation.

"People seem to think the templars will protect them from…" he faltered."...from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you," the scout continued.

"They wish to protect the people? From us?" the Seeker was still confused.

"We expected this," Claira stated.

"From the Chantry, yes. But I didn't expect the templars to make an appearance."

"The people may just be assuming what the tempalrs will do. I've heard of no concrete plans," the scout confirmed.

"Do you think the Order’s returned to the fold, maybe? To deal with us upstarts?" Varric added his sense to things.

"I know Lord Seeker Lucius," Cassandra explained. "I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that’s occurred."

"We’re doing all this to get help with the breach. Maybe this is our chance to get the templars on our side," Claira attempted to remain optimistic.

"Perhaps..." Cassandra wasn't convinced. "Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed."

"As you say, my lady," he placed a fist over his chest and trotted off to exit the gates.

As they progressed through the walkway, a group of guards began to observe them. They were not quiet about their conversation and there were hints of the Inquisition harboring murderers. It appeared the city was relying on the templars to protect them from their heresy the Chantry was spreading any misinformation they could. It was horrible timing, she had to admit. And it was going to be difficult to proposition both sides while they were standing next to each other. It wouldn't be as simple as uniting under one cause. This was going to be a political battle.

"Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!"

Mother Hevara, one of the Chantry members who was supposed to be greeting the Inquisition shouted on a stage in the center of the market as they approached. Standing next to her were two other sisters. And in front, a wall of templar guards. Many of the citizens had gathered before her. Claira recognized a trap when she saw one. Even if it had no teeth.

"Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed," the sister preached.

The crowd of people parted as they passed. The plan was to antagonize The Herald to the point of attack. With as many people surrounded her to witness the savagery, the trial would be quick. But Claira was smarter than that. It was almost insulting how stupid they assumed she would be. If they wanted to cause a scene, she would most certainly give them one. Claira was aware of how Orlais truly operated.

"We came to you in peace, only to talk," she spoke loudly, but calmly. "But this is what you choose instead? I implore you: Let us sit down together, to deal with the real threat!"

She turned to the common people who were too intimidated to move, looking many of them in the eyes. They gazed upon her as if she were a mythical being of wonder. It was a mixture of both awe and fear. Claira seized that moment and bolstered her voice.

"Do you know everything the Maker commands? Look up in the sky! I alone survived the Breach ... and I can end it!"

"And this is how you gain favor with Orlesians... with who can put on a bigger show..." Varric muttered under his breath.

"It appears to be working," Solas whispered back.

"It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!" the Seeker added, looking to the templars for a reaction.

"It is already too late!" Mother Hevara pointed to the templars who were now taking the stage. "The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more!"

Claira was not prepared for her next act. However, the scene was ended abruptly when a templar approached Mother Hevara. It appeared as though he was going to escort her off stage. Though, she was quite wrong. Instead, he struck the Chantry Mother across the face, sending her to the hard stage floor. She cried out, but no one moved to help her. A templar hesitated, only to be held back as Lord Seeker Lucius entered the stage.

"Still yourself. She is beneath us."

The templar looked unsure but still did nothing. Claira moved forward, but Cassandra quickly grabbed her by the arm. Something seemed very wrong, but there was not enough time to act upon it. There was not enough information to pick a side.

"What's the meaning of this?" she questioned instead.

"Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own," he looked down on her.

"So you're here to deal with the Inquisition?"

"As if there were any reason to."

His ambiguity made Claira's skin boil. Cassandra tightened her grip.

"Lord Seeker Lucius, it's imperative that we speak with-"

"You will not address me," he interrupted his fellow Seeker.

He motioned to the templars and they began to shift as he walked away. Cassandra was taken aback. Her grip loosened on Claira's arm. They exchanged glances at one another, both suddenly very concerned. It was a far reach, but Claira began to hope this was some sort of play they stumbled into.

"Lord Seeker?" Cassandra was still confused.

Lucius stopped, clearly agitated. Looking into his dull eyes made his presence even more heavy and dark. This was not the man her cousins had described, nor the reasonable person Cassandra claimed him to be. Months ago, when Claira was traveling to the Temple with her cousins, she remembered hearing them discuss the discontinuing of the Nevarran Accords. Lucius inherited the role and ideas of his predecessor, but it was commonly accepted that he was more than willing to compromise.

"Creating a heretical movement, raising a puppet as Andraste’s prophet," he finally confronted them. "You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine."

The words were far more dangerous than any threat he could have given. Lucius was now a tyrannical man with a lust for power. He wanted recognition, for whatever reason. Which was fine on its own. However, he wanted to destroy his adversaries so that he may rise from their downfall. The Chantry, the mages, the Inquisition; they were all beneath him.

"If you’re not here to help the Chantry, then you just came to make speeches?" Claira retaliated.

"I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh," his voice lowered, making it all the more unsettling.

"You openly refuse the Herald?"

"You have nothing. No influence, no power, and certainly no holy purpose."

His assumptions burned at her like a hot iron. It left marks that made her clench her fists in rage. There was nothing she could do. She could say no more. She could not lash out. She could not even move without risking her good nature. This was not how she intended their meeting to be. She felt like a child once again being beaten by her mother. She felt helpless.

"But Lord Seeker…" the hesitant templar spoke ."What if she was truly sent by the Maker? What if—?"

A higher-ranked office stepped between the templar and the Lord Seeker. "You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!"

"I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void," Lucius drew attention from the crowd. "We deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing."

The Lord Seeker made a point to look fiercely at Claira as if it would weaken her soul. Something was reaching for her behind that stare. But it was not enough to break her. It only added more fuel to her flame. She prayed there would be a time they would cross paths again without any spectators.

"Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!"

The market was still, all but the sound of clanking armor as the templars left Val Royeaux. It wasn't just the Inquisition left stunned, it was quite literally everyone who had witnessed the horrifying affair. As the sound of their marching fainted, whispers began to rise from the people.

"Charming fellow, isn’t he," Varric was the first to break their silence.

"Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?" Cassandra almost shouted in frustration.

"I thought you knew the Lord Seeker?" Claira turned to her, almost angry at the information she had been fed.

"He took over the Seekers of Truth nearly a year ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to grandstanding. This is very bizarre."

"It doesn't look like he can be reasoned with."

"There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become."

"We can investigate once we return to Haven," Claira assured. "We still have the matter of the Chantry."

Mother Hevara was nearly forgotten. After the templars openly denounced the Chantry in front of everyone, no one bothered to help her off the stage. They only stared, whispering to one another and spreading the rumors even further. But now that Claira was able to get to her without being barred, she was at her side. The Sisters stepped back, still feeling threatened by the Inquisition. Despite the vile glare the Mother gave her, Claira assisted her onto her feet with gentle hands.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Hardly," the Mother replied roughly. "This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra."

"We came here seeking only to speak with The Mothers. This is not our doing, but yours," Cassandra replied.

"And you had no part in forcing our hand? Do not delude yourself," the Mother's fight had returned. "Now, we have been shown up by our own templars in front of everyone. And my fellow clerics have scattered into the wind, along with their convictions."

"I understand the hardships the Chantry has faced," Claira spoke. "But you'll find no pity here."

"Just..." the Mother sighed. "Tell me one thing: Do you truly believe you are the Maker's Chosen?"

"Whether by the Maker himself or by fate, yes, I believe I was chosen."

"I suppose it is out of our hands, now. We shall see what the Maker plans in the days to come."

"Take care, Mother Hevara," Claira gave a slight nod.

The Mother nodded back, only out of common courtesy. Claira could feel her death stare watching her back as she left the stage. She made her way through the market, Cassandra and others following close behind.

"Well, at least we've been able to calm one side of the three-headed beast," Claira sighed.

"For now," Cassandra replied. "The other clerics are another matter. Either way, we should return to Haven and inform the others."

Claira opened her mouth in response, but the familiar sound of a blade cutting through the air caught her attention. he held her hand out just in time as a whistling sound brushed by her ear. An arrow from a balcony above shot straight into a small spot where the dirt was showing through the stone. There was a letter tied to it with a single red ribbon. It looked like one of the ribbons used for the Inquisition's missives. The party looked upward but saw no one.

"Not just yet," Claira grinned. "It looks like there are others to appeal to in Val Reouyx."

[qqueenofhades]

Could you expand a bit on the "death of expertise"? It's something I think about A LOT as an artist, because there are so many problems with people who think it isn't a real job, and the severe undercutting of prices that happens because people think hobbyists and professionals are the same. At the same time, I also really want people to feel free to be able to make art if they want, with no gatekeeping or elitism, and I usually spin myself in circles mentally thinking about it. So.

I have been secretly hoping someone would ask this question, nonny. Bless you. I have a lot (a LOT) of thoughts on this topic, which I will try to keep somewhat concise and presented in a semi-organized fashion, but yes.

I can mostly speak about this in regard to academia, especially the bad, bad, BAD takes in my field (history) that have dominated the news in recent weeks and which constitute most of the recent posts on my blog. (I know, I know, Old Man Yells At Cloud when attempting to educate the internet on actual history, but I gotta do SOMETHING.) But this isn’t a new phenemenon, and is linked to the avalanche of “fake news” that we’ve all heard about and experienced in the last few years, especially in the run-up and then after the election of You Know Who, who has made fake news his personal brand (if not in the way he thinks). It also has to do with the way Americans persistently misunderstand the concept of free speech as “I should be able to say whatever I want and nobody can correct or criticize me,” which ties into the poisonous extreme-libertarian ethos of “I can do what I want with no regard for others and nobody can correct me,” which has seeped its way into the American mainstream and is basically the center of the modern Republican party. (Basically: all for me, all the time, and caring about others is a weak liberal pussy thing to do.)

This, however, is not just an issue of partisan politics, because the left is just as guilty, even if its efforts take a different shape. One of the reason I got so utterly exasperated with strident online leftists, especially around primary season and the hardcore breed of Bernie Bros, is just that they don’t do anything except shout loud and incorrect information on the internet (and then transmogrify that into a twisted ideology of moral purity which makes a sin out of actually voting for a flawed candidate, even if the alternative is Donald Goddamn Trump). I can’t count how many people from both sides of the right/left divide get their political information from like-minded people on social media, and never bother to experience or verify or venture outside their comforting bubbles that will only provide them with “facts” that they already know. Social media has done a lot of good things, sure, but it’s also made it unprecedently easy to just say whatever insane bullshit you want, have it go viral, and then have you treated as an authority on the topic or someone whose voice “has to be included” out of some absurd principle of both-siderism. This is also a tenet of the mainstream corporate media: “both sides” have to be included, to create the illusion of “objectivity,” and to keep the largest number of paying subscribers happy. (Yes, of course this has deep, deep roots in the collapse of late-stage capitalism.) Even if one side is absolutely batshit crazy, the rules of this distorted social contract stipulate that their proposals and their flaws have to be treated as equal with the others, and if you point out that they are batshit crazy, you have to qualify with some criticism of the other side.

This is where you get white people posting “Neo-Nazis and Black Lives Matter are the same!!!1” on facebook. They are a) often racist, let’s be real, and b) have been force-fed a constant narrative where Both Sides Are Equally Bad. Even if one is a historical system of violent oppression that has made a good go at total racial and ethnic genocide and rests on hatred, and the other is the response to not just that but the centuries of systemic and small-scale racism that has been built up every day, the white people of the world insist on treating them as morally equivalent (related to a superior notion that Violence is Always Bad, which.... uh... have you even seen constant and overwhelming state-sponsored violence the West dishes out? But it’s only bad when the other side does it. Especially if those people can be at all labeled “fanatics.”)

I have complained many, many times, and will probably complain many times more, about how hard it is to deconstruct people’s absolutely ingrained ideas of history and the past. History is a very fragile thing; it’s really only equivalent to the length of a human lifespan, and sometimes not even that. It’s what people want to remember and what is convenient for them to remember, which is why we still have some living Holocaust survivors and yet a growing movement of Holocaust denial, among other extremist conspiracy theories (9/11, Sandy Hook, chemtrails, flat-earthing, etc etc). There is likewise no organized effort to teach honest history in Western public schools, not least since the West likes its self-appointed role as guardians of freedom and liberty and democracy in the world and doesn’t really want anyone digging into all that messy slavery and genocide and imperialism and colonialism business. As a result, you have deliberately under- or un-educated citizens, who have had a couple of courses on American/British/etc history in grade school focusing on the greatest-hit reel, and all from an overwhelmingly triumphalist white perspective. You have to like history, from what you get out of it in public school, to want to go on to study it as a career, while knowing that there are few jobs available, universities are cutting or shuttering humanities departments, and you’ll never make much money. There is... not a whole lot of outside incentive there.

I’ve written before about how the humanities are always the first targeted, and the first defunded, and the first to be labeled as “worthless degrees,” because a) they are less valuable to late-stage capitalism and its emphasis on Material Production, and b) they often focus on teaching students the critical thinking skills that critique and challenge that dominant system. There’s a reason that there is a stereotype of artists as social revolutionaries: they have often taken a look around, gone, “Hey, what the hell is this?” and tried to do something about it, because the creative and free-thinking impulse helps to cultivate the tools necessary to question what has become received and dominant wisdom. Of course, that can then be taken too far into the “I’ll create my own reality and reject absolutely everything that doesn’t fit that narrative,” and we end up at something like the current death of expertise.

This year is particularly fertile for these kinds of misinformation efforts: a plague without a vaccine or a known cure, an election year in a turbulently polarized country, race unrest in a deeply racist country spreading to other racist countries around the world and the challenging of a particularly important system (white supremacy), etc etc. People are scared and defensive and reactive, and in that case, they’re especially less motivated to challenge or want to encounter information that scares them. They need their pre-set beliefs to comfort them or provide steadiness in a rocky and uncertain world, and (thanks once again to social media) it’s easy to launch blistering ad hominem attacks on people who disagree with you, who are categorized as a faceless evil mass and who you will never have to meet or negotiate with in real life. This is the environment in which all the world’s distinguished scientists, who have spent decades studying infectious diseases, have to fight for airtime and authority (and often lose) over random conspiracy theorists who make a YouTube video. The public has been trained to see them as “both the same” and then accept which side they like the best, regardless of actual factual or real-world qualifications. They just assume the maniac on YouTube is just as trustworthy as the scientists with PhDs from real universities.

Obviously, academia is racist, elitist, classist, sexist, on and on. Most human institutions are. But training people to see all academics as the enemy is not the answer. You’ve seen the Online Left (tm) also do this constantly, where they attack “the establishment” for never talking about anything, or academics for supposedly erasing and covering up all of non-white history, while apparently never bothering to open a book or familiarize themselves with a single piece of research that actual historians are working on. You may have noticed that historians have been leading the charge against the “don’t erase history!!!1″ defenders of racist monuments, and explaining in stinging detail exactly why this is neither preserving history or being truthful about it. Tumblr likes to confuse the mechanism that has created the history and the people who are studying and analyzing that history, and lump them together as one mass of Evil And Lying To You. Academics are here because we want to critically examine the world and tell you things about it that our nonsense system has required years and years of effort, thousands of dollars in tuition, and other gatekeeping barriers to learn. You can just ask one of us. We’re here, we usually love to talk, and we’re a lot cheaper. I think that’s pretty cool.

As a historian, I have been trained in a certain skill set: finding, reading, analyzing, using, and criticizing primary sources, ditto for secondary sources, academic form and style, technical skills like languages, paleography, presentation, familiarity with the professional mechanisms for reviewing and sharing work (journals, conferences, peer review, etc), and how to assemble this all into an extended piece of work and to use it in conversation with other historians. That means my expertise in history outweighs some rando who rolls up with an unsourced or misleading Twitter thread. If a professor has been handed a carefully crafted essay and then a piece of paper scribbled with crayon, she is not obliged to treat them as essentially the same or having the same critical weight, even if the essay has flaws. One has made an effort to follow the rules of the game, and the other is... well, I did read a few like that when teaching undergraduates. They did not get the same grade.

This also means that my expertise is not universal. I might know something about adjacent subjects that I’ve also studied, like political science or English or whatever, but someone who is a career academic with a degree directly in that field will know more than me. I should listen to them, even if I should retain my independent ability and critical thinking skillset. And I definitely should not be listened to over people whose field of expertise is in a completely different realm. Take the recent rocket launch, for example. I’m guessing that nobody thought some bum who walked in off the street to Kennedy Space Center should be listened to in preference of the actual scientists with degrees and experience at NASA and knowledge of math and orbital mechanics and whatever else you need to get a rocket into orbit. I definitely can’t speak on that and I wouldn’t do it anyway, so it’s frustrating to see it happen with history. Everybody “knows” things about history that inevitably turn out to be wildly wrong, and seem to assume that they can do the same kind of job or state their conclusions with just as much authority. (Nobody seems to listen to the scientists on global warming or coronavirus either, because their information is actively inconvenient for our entrenched way of life and people don’t want to change.) Once again, my point here is not to be a snobbish elitist looking down at The Little People, but to remark that if there’s someone in a field who has, you know, actually studied that subject and is speaking from that place of authority, maybe we can do better than “well, I saw a YouTube video and liked it better, so there.” (Americans hate authority and don’t trust smart people, which  is a related problem and goes back far beyond Trump, but there you are.)

As for art: it’s funny how people devalue it constantly until they need it to survive. Ask anyone how they spent their time in lockdown. Did they listen to music? Did they watch movies or TV? Did they read a book? Did they look at photography or pictures? Did they try to learn a skill, like drawing or writing or painting, and realize it was hard? Did they have a preference for the art that was better, more professionally produced, had more awareness of the rules of its craft, and therefore was more enjoyable to consume? If anyone wants to tell anyone that art is worthless, I invite you to challenge them on the spot to go without all of the above items during the (inevitable, at this rate) second coronavirus lockdown. No music. No films. No books. Not even a video or a meme or anything else that has been made for fun, for creativity, or anything outside the basic demands of Compensated Economic Production. It’s then that you’ll discover that, just as with the underpaid essential workers who suffered the most, we know these jobs need to get done. We just still don’t want to pay anyone fairly for doing them, due to our twisted late-capitalist idea of “value.”

Anyway, since this has gotten long enough and I should probably wrap up: as you say, the difference between “professional” and “hobbyist” has been almost completely erased, so that people think the opinion of one is as good as the other, or in your case, that the hobbyist should present their work for free or refuse to be seen as a professional entitled to fair compensation for their skill. That has larger and more insidious effects in a global marketplace of ideas that has been almost entirely reduced to who can say their opinion the loudest to the largest group of people. I don’t know how to solve this problem, but at least I can try to point it out and to avoid being part of it, and to recognize where I need to speak and where I need to shut up. My job, and that of every single white person in America right now, is to shut up and let black people (and Native people, and Latinx people, and Muslim people, and etc...) tell me what it’s really like to live here with that identity. I have obviously done a ton of research on the subject and consider myself reasonably educated, but here’s the thing: my expertise still doesn’t outweigh theirs, no matter what degrees they have or don’t have. I then am required to boost their ideas, views, experiences, and needs, rather than writing them over or erasing them, and to try to explain to people how the roots of these ideas interlock and interact where I can. That is -- hopefully -- putting my history expertise to use in a good way to support what they’re saying, rather than silence it. I try, at any rate, and I am constantly conscious of learning to do better.

I hope that was helpful for you. Thanks for letting me talk about it.

[askrighthandrecollections]

Prologue: Revelations of the Heart

The drone of the airship engines was a familiar thing to the Right Hand Man as he lay awake in bed, his wide-brimmed top hat hanging off the bedpost. The lateness of the hour did nothing to ease the man into the land of dreams, indeed, he was still far too alert, his thoughts too noisy for sleep to claim him. For once, it wasn’t his years of training as a Toppat Enforcer that kept him awake.

He was plagued with worry.

It gnawed at him, strengthened by memories of things that had yet to come to pass. Of things that could still happen, death in multiple ways and on repeat. His own death never phased him, he knew he would die as he lived, protecting the clan until his last breath. It was the death of one man in particular that ate away at him. Numerous deaths he knew had happened, even after Right himself had met his end.

He knew and he hated it.

He heaved himself upright with a sigh, half expecting to see the gleam of metal in the corner of his eyes and reminding himself that he was hale, hearty, and whole. No cybernetics.

Yet.

Reaching out towards the wall, he fumbled for the light switch, and momentarily blinded himself as the overhead light blinked to life.

He groaned as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Clearing the spots from his vision, he got up and padded over to the small desk in the corner of the room.

His quarters were simple. A bed to sleep in, a wardrobe to store his clothes, a desk so he could work in peace, and a bookshelf he used to store the small amount of knickknacks and treasures he’d accumulated during his time in the clan.

Sliding into the rickety old desk chair, he grabbed the notebook sitting near the top corner of the desk and a pen from the “Big Banana�� coffee mug he used as a pen holder. Opening the book to the most recent page, he checked over his notes.

I forgot how much of a bastard Terrence is. Just seeing his ugly mug makes me want to punch his lights out, but I can’t risk Reg not becoming the leader. It is tempting though.

Got “upgraded” again, that’s the fifth time I’ve gone through this.

Dunno if Henry’s an idiot or genius, half the time he kills himself and the other half he kills everyone else.

Really starting to hate those CCC blokes. Bit too trigger happy.

I do not get paid enough to deal with this crap. But I put up with it, for the Toppats, for Reg. Seriously, who just goes and steals an entire rocket?

One good thing about being in prison is that I get to sit back and watch the show, Reg and I even share a cell.

He added a new entry.

Having Henry be a competent leader would’ve been nice. Might’ve even respected him a bit, you know, if he hadn’t killed me, my boss, and the rest of the clan multiple times in a dozen different ways.

Right set the pen down, staring at the page. It seemed that this cycle of repetition was endless. Wake up with Terrence as Chief and the clan being run into the ground, die several years down the line, or live just long to see the clan off in safe hands.

And it all revolved Henry.

The thought made his blood boil and he exhaled sharply as he pushed the indignation and fury aside in an effort to focus. Here he was, years, lifetimes of experiences under his belt but he couldn’t act on it. Not when he had a duty to the clan.

He’d sooner jump off the airship than leave Reginald by himself. Right steadfastly ignored the other feelings wrapped up in that thought, it wasn’t his place. Reginald was destined to become Chief, to lead the clan into a new golden age. It was his duty as an Enforcer to protect the high-ranking members of the clan, and he had been made Reginald’s Right Hand minutes after denouncing Terrence.

He ran a hand through his hair, idly wondering if he should grow it out this time or keep it cut short. Staring at his notes didn’t provide any further insight to his situation, nor magically offer a solution.

Be a hell of a lot simpler if I could talk to Reg about it. He thought and blinked.

What was stopping him? What was stopping him from doing anything? Even if Reg didn’t believe him, he’d certainly play along and humour Right. Even passing off the situation as a side affect of his Sands of Time was believable enough since Right had no idea what was causing this in the first place.

For all he knew, it could be his Spirit reacting to something, he wouldn’t know. Hadn’t used the thing in years because no one else had one and it would be dishonourable to use it otherwise.

He glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall by the door and grimaced at the early hour it displayed. It would be some time before anyone was awake, let alone an early bird like Reginald.

With another sigh, Right put his pen and book back where he found them and stood up to head back to bed.

The door to his quarters opened with a hiss and he turned around, wide-eyed as a bleary-eyed Reginald walked in, still in his sleepwear.

“Uh, somethin’ wrong Reg?” Right asked.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Reginald replied, groggy. “It’s 3am, what are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep.” He replied honestly with a shrug.

Reginald peered at him for a moment.

“If something’s bothering you, you can always tell me.”

“I know Reg, not now though, go back to bed,” Right waved him off. “I’ll tell you in the morning over breakfast.”

“Hm… I’ll hold you to that.” Reginald looked at him sceptically before leaving the room to return to his own quarters.

Right stumbled back and sat on his bed, sagging as he rested his head in his hands.

What was he going to tell him? How was he going to tell him? He spared a glance over at the notebook.

“Screw it.” He muttered.

Reginald had unknowingly forced his hand and backed him into a corner. He almost preferred this, having the decision to share his concerns be out of his hands was like ripping off a band-aid, quick and to the point.

He spent the rest of the early hours of the morning both dreading and anticipating the conversation.

Right felt far more alert than he should be as he shambled into the airship kitchen several hours later. He’d chucked on his usual dress shirt, pants, and boots before heading out the door, dropping his hat on his head on the way out. He felt perfectly fine and like absolute garbage at the same time but that was more due to the lack of sleep if anything.

He saw Reginald in the middle of cooking some scrambled eggs on the oven grill.

“Mornin’” he grunted, attempting to walk past him to fix up his own food only for Reginald to hold out an arm to stop him.

Right raised a brow at him.

“You go take seat, I’m making breakfast for you today,” Reginald stated firmly, pointing the spatula he held at Right threateningly. “You look exhausted Right.”

Reginald was in one of those moods. The kind where he got into a snit over Right not taking of himself (like he could talk, Reginald’s workaholic tendencies frankly scared Right some days) and fussed over him until he was satisfied Right wasn’t going to keel over. Right preferred to do things himself, at least when it came to the little things, but he understood where Reginald was coming from.

He’d done the exact same thing for him after all.

He sighed and smiled slightly. “Alright, thanks Reg.”

He didn’t have to wait long, Reginald brought him a plate of scrambled eggs on toast and sat beside him at an empty table at the back of the cafeteria moments later.

“So, what had you up so late last night?” Reginald asked as he nursed a cup of coffee, picking at his own plate of toast. “Did you even get any sleep?”

“It’s complicated…” Right began. “And no, didn’t get a wink of sleep, not that it matters. I’ve worked under worse conditions.”

“How complicated? Is it something to do with the clan?”

Here goes. Right thought, mentally preparing himself for the worst. “It’s complicated ‘cause been I’ve been stuck reliving the past decade or so over an’ over. I’ve died an’ woke up back when Terrence was still chief with the memories of what happened as well as what happened after I croaked.”

Reginald was staring at him, expression unreadable yet Right could practically see the gears turning in his head. He took it as a good sign and pressed forward.

“You’ve died, the clan’s gone up in smoke, or we’ve had our stuff stolen and rarely do things ever go our way,” Right stated. “Seems like the universe likes taking the mick out of us. We’re usually brought down by one bloke.”

“I’m sorry? A single person destroys the Toppat Clan?” Reginald asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, guy by the name of Henry Stickmin…” Right growled, glaring at his breakfast. “Can’t tip Terrence off when I get sent back, but after that…. I’m your Right Hand Reg, that’s my job. Not this time travelling bullcrap…”

“I’m sick an’ tired of it.” Right admitted, sighing.

Reginald made a noise in sympathy. Silence fell between them as Right ate his breakfast and Reginald was staring into his morning coffee, thinking.

“You know…” Reginald said after a while and Right looked over at him, fork sticking out of his mouth. “why not make it your job?”

Right set his utensils down on his plate, looking curious. “How so?”

“If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t give a damn about remaining consistent, I’d do whatever it takes to change the future for the benefit of the clan.”

“Even if it meant you’d never become chief?” Right asked.

Reginald nodded sagely. “Even then, you know how important the clan is to me. And truth be told, I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for you, to bear the burden on not only your own demise but those of your allies as well. If it were me in your situation… I don’t believe I’d be nearly as calm…”

“You bein’ here helps with that,” Right said. “Knowing that you’re alive here an’ now, that it all wasn’t for nothin’… That keeps me going even in the worst of it.”

“In that case, we need to devise a way for you to inform me about this repeating life of yours every time you’re sent back,” Reginald decided. “It would certainly set my mind at ease knowing you won’t be dealing with this alone.”

“I have a book I keep notes in, more like a journal of sorts,” Right said. “Found it on my desk the first time I got sent back.”

“Anything else?”

“No, just the book. No idea where it came from.”

“Do you mind if I borrowed it?” Reginald asked.

Right shrugged as he shoved another mouthful of eggs and toast into his maw. “Go ‘head.”

The government attack on the airship happened like clockwork. Henry came crashing through the windshield in a big plastic ball. This time, they were prepared with the clan on alert and weapons at the ready. Reginald had cleared the bridge ahead of time and holed himself up in his quarters. Right refused to back down and had waited to see where Henry would appear. He smirked and stood tall.

“Why don’ you ditch your little hamster ball an’ face me yourself?” He drawled, weapon at the ready.

Across from him, Henry Stickmin pressed a button on the controller he held, and Right blinked as a large tube appeared on the front of the ball and dived out of the way of the green laser that fired from it.

He glanced over to see Henry was gone and sighed in exasperation.

“Bloody idiot…” he grumbled and grabbed the communicator clipped to his pants. “The Intruder’s been dealt with Reg. The bridge has sustained heavy damage though.”

Reginald replied moments later. “Round up a repair crew and I’ll see to getting the ship to one of our hangars.”

“Got it.” Right replied and left the bridge in search of Slice, knowing he would have the right people and resources ready to begin the repairs as soon as they landed.

It was as if his talk with Reginald had opened his eyes to the possibilities he now had. In the timelines that followed, Reginald had read his notes and the letter the chief had left for himself and worked with Right to use the information to the clan’s advantage. The schemes the man would concoct were a highlight of Right’s week.

Some things couldn’t be completely altered, as evident by Right’s cybernetic enhancements once more being the only thing that kept him alive after he’d tried to track Henry down and lost in the ensuing fight (again, he was really starting to hate the absurd amount of luck Stickmin had), and Reginald missing a hat.

Right remembered the events that followed all too well and upon hearing Reginald give the order to mobilise in preparation for an attack on The Wall, Right unplugged himself from the charging station installed by his bed and got up to retrieve a long, dark red coat from his wardrobe. It was something he’d started wearing whenever he got “upgraded”, the coat was from his old days before he’d even been assigned to the airship division, before he known as Right Hand Man.

He donned it now because his cybernetics were still new and fresh, still somewhat sensitive to the chill in the night air permeating the airship and his new internal heating systems hadn’t quite adjusted yet. The coat also came in handy as place to store all the little tools and gadgets he or Reginald often needed when out on the mission. He checked the pockets on the inside of the coat and felt a sliver of nervousness and a hint of confidence at the two small boxes tucked away within the confines of his coat.

If things were going to go the way he thought, he wanted something good to come of this. Even if that good was only temporary. He huffed as the left side of his vision was consumed by a blinking notification that he hadn’t finished charging and dismissed it with a roll of his eyes.

He could worry about that later, for now he had to stop Reginald from making a poor decision and dooming them all.

So Right headed towards the bridge.

The bridge was empty save for Reginald at the ship’s controls, everyone else having left to follow orders. Reginald turned around in the pilot’s seat as he heard him approach. “You should be resting Right. I can handle this little rescue operation.”

“I just need to know what you’re planning,” Right said, coming up to stand beside Reginald and resting a hand on the back of the chair. “You read the notes, I don’t want a repeat of that incident.”

“We can just take more precautions, with the information we have, taking out Henry won’t be an issue-”

Right was struck by a bolt of fear at the idea. It was rare that he was genuinely afraid, even rarer since his life had been put on repeat for several decades now, but there were some things that stuck with him. Things like the sight of Reginald pinned to the wall of the bridge, dead in the wreckage of his life’s work. Right had died that time somehow just knowing it was the end of the Toppats and embracing death with the knowledge he’d be sent back.

The knowledge of what happened after he perished had haunted him for days afterwards. It compounded on his bruised ego, the sensation that he was nothing more than a joke, a punching bag for the universe's twisted sense of humour, and he bought Reginald and the rest of the Toppats down with him.

Never again.

“Please Reg, don’t, don’t make me go through that again…” Right cut in. He kept his voice firm and looked away, pulling his hat down to hide his face further. “…I know you don’t like him, but I’m not havin’ that happen twice! ‘Specially since you know it’ll happen if you throw him overboard.”

He heard the squeak of leather as Reginald got up, the quiet sound of his shoes on the carpet as he walked around the chair to face the enforcer. A gloved hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder.

Right stared at the floor. It was cowardly of him yes, but it was better for to him hide when his mask of professionalism was so close to breaking. As good as his poker face was, Reginald would see through it.

Reginald would always be the chief to him, Right was his Enforcer, his Right Hand Man, and that was the be all, end all of it.

“Right,” Reginald said, the former leader’s concern making Right sigh in exasperation and embarrassment. “I assure you I won’t let anything like that happen.”

“Then don’ let your bitterness towards Henry influence your decisions.” Right grumbled. “If I can manage that, then so can you.”

Reginald stepped back. “Yes, I… I suppose I’ve been a bit single minded as of late haven’t I?”

Right sighed and finally looked up to see Reginald was worried, wringing his hands together, and seeing just how much of a toll this had on Right.

He sighed and removed his hat, holding it to his chest with one hand while the other reached into his coat to pull out one of the two boxes. “Look, I may not be the best at getting’ the point across, but I worry about you a lot Reg, I care about you. More than I rightly should given our respective jobs…” he hastily shoved the box into Reginald’s hands. “Ah to hell with it. Here, open it. You’ll see what I mean…”

Reginald quirked an eyebrow in curiosity as he opened the box. The former leader blinked in stunned silence at the light pink felt rose that lay inside.

“I know you like all those traditions the clan had throughout history, so I uh… made this for you… ‘cause I like you,” Right explained as Reginald gingerly picked up the fake rose and turned it over, revealing it was glued to a little gold pin. “It was tradition, back in the renaissance era or somethin’, to give someone in the clan a rose they could pin to their hat if you were interested in ‘em, romantically I mean. Pink ones were for confessin’ that you were interested.”

Right continued, looking off to the side, rambling. “S’lright if you don’t feel the same, don’t even know if you like blokes, it’s jus’ that when I heard the announcement that we were headin’ to The Wall, I knew I had to talk you down from chuckin’ Henry off the ship…” he rubbed the back of his neck as he put his hat back on. “An’ failin’ that, thought I might try my luck with… somethin’ else.”

“Right.” Reginald commanded and Right turned his head to look at him. Reginald’s featured softened into something gentle, and Right was taken aback when the taller man pulled him into a hug.

“You never have to worry about professionalism or where we stand in the clan. Do you hear me?” Reginald’s voice was thick with barely restrained emotion. “I adore you, you absolute fool…”

“Oh…” was all Right could say and timidly reached his arms around to hug Reginald back. This was new, and exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

Eventually, Reginald pulled away and Right was left a quiet, elated mess of a man as Reginald cleared his throat to get his attention.

“Do you have one of these for yourself?” he quietly asked, holding up the rose and Right sheepishly pulled out the other box from his coat pocket.

“The one I gave you was the second attempt of makin’ one, kinda botched up the first one.” he admitted, opening the box to reveal a felt rose that had several crooked or off-centre petals.

Reginald cracked a smile, almost giggling as he swiped the crooked rose and pinned it to his hat.

“Oi!”

Reginald only laughed. “Hold still and let me pin the other one on you.”

Right huffed but let him pin the decent looking rose to the side of his hat. Reginald admired his handiwork with a satisfied grin.

“Hm yes, quite dashing if I do say so,” he said as he reached up to adjust his own pin with a fond smile. “…I never thought you were interested. I was certain I was giving off the right signals…”

“I’m a bit dense when it comes to this sort of stuff Reg.” the cyborg muttered and straightened up. “We can talk about this later, we got an idiot to rescue…”

“Ah yes, The Wall,” Reginald remembered and headed back to the airship controls. “I promise I won’t throw Henry overboard, go rest, please?”

Right cracked a warm smile, emotions practically bubbling to the surface. “Alright I’m goin’.”

Right Hand Man walked back to his room feeling lighter than he had in years, a giddy veil mixed with relief and belonging had settled around him and he welcomed it.

[trippydwarf]

Revised, edited. and added only a little.

NSFW

Waking up in the passenger seat of a car, I bring my free, right hand to my face in a sluggish way. I squeeze the warm hand that swallows my petite southpaw. It squeezes back with reassurance and affection. Turning my face from the window to my driver, I smile sleepily while laying my head back on the seat. I gaze at him while the sun is nearly set on his opposite side. There is a blend of oranges and pinks covering the ceilings of the outside. Puffs of purple clouds dotted the skies. The sun was hardly peaking out, but just enough to slightly irritate my fresh, awakened eyes; but it highlighted him in every way. As his eyes stayed on the road, I could see the sun shining dark shades of amber and carmel into them. He peeks at the corner of his eyes my way, grinning back at me with a smile that lights up any room he enters. “Mmm, you’re awake finally,” he stated with the slightest excitement in his voice as if he couldn’t get enough of my attention.

“Where are we now?” I asked looking around for signs. Not one single sign. Not even in the near distance of what I can see from the light darkening with the time passing by. I look out the window on the side of me and see boulders and dirt, no not dirt, sand. Arizona, a beautiful state from all directions. There’s beauty in the nature of it, how the deserts dehydrate everything with it’s blazing sun rays. Only having limited sources to test the survival of what lives among its dunes.

“About three hours away from our destination,” he answered as he pretended I knew his plan. He has been so unpredictable these past couple weeks. Never telling me what we’re doing or where we’re, yet I follow his lead trusting him without even thinking twice. Having just left Las Vegas, I look at the positioning of the sun to attempt to reveal what direction we’re heading to. I reminisce in past conversations of ours conversing about the places I’ve never been to. The list is slightly shorter now, but it still has length.

“Grand Canyon,” I blurted out as if I was in a tangent. There was a silence that filled the air as he just smiled, not admitting if I was right or not.

“Am I starting to get predictable?” he questioned.

“Is it always such a bad thing?” I answered with a question of my own.

“I like to keep you on your toes,” finally ending the question game with a real answer.

I smile while looking in his direction. I glance down at our hands intertwined as they always are when we drive together. Being apart for so long will do that to a couple of soulmates. “It’s okay, I’m excited!” feeling pumped about the fact that I’m going to experience another beautiful, rare piece of scenery that nature gas provided for the world to be in awe of.

“That’s good, Baby,” he sounded as there was relief in his voice, “I love it when you’re happy.”

I give his hand a tighter hold. I can’t believe mine is in his, finally. We’ve waited and suffered for such a long time without each other. Two people can only be without one another for so long until they can struggle no more to fight the gravitational pull that brings them together. It is forced with emotion and mentality. Finally, being able to feel and release that passion we both have desired so greatly is an unbelievable sensation. I never want to let this go. I never want to let him go. If he could hold me forever, it would mean I was in Heaven.

For a long while, we were with other people, or more like monsters of manipulation and control. Unhappy and withering away we were, not being able to express our true selves. It was as if we were living lives that we thought were fate doomed by our bloodlines and karma. I went through the cycle not once, but twice. I had lost myself nearly completely the second time around. I let normality take over and it dragged onto me until I was completely miserable with what I set myself up with. I didn’t let normality win for the sake of attempting to save myself from the disapproval of society. I did it because, at one time, someone else depended on me. That poor unfortunate boy was cursed to have a mother who’s not nearly worthy to experience his upbringing and growth. Alas, I believe he is much better without me. They all are.

For nearly five years, I stayed imprisoned along with my depression and suicidal thoughts that I was too much of a pussy to go through with. Along with emotional abandonment and mental abuse knocking at the door of my deteriorating mental health, my hate for living grew so much that I walked around as a stoned zombie for months. It was just to quiet the thoughts that could be so loud sometimes that it was as if I couldn’t hear anything else happening around me. Now, I want to hear every thought that pops into my brain. Recently, I have only endured into the sweet essence of THC for pure enjoyment, instead of a numbing mechanism since I abandoned my old life.

After these past couple weeks, I don’t think I would ever want to imagine being without him again. It was such a loveless and traumatic experience to do so. I had believed that the world would always be cold, and that I would be forever frozen in it; he wasn’t going to let that happen. I’m sure he didn’t even hesitate to decide that I was going to be his to save. I’m convinced it was his plan from the first “hello” we shared. Before we physically met, we grew a connection that may be unbreakable. Not even the strongest forces going against it can ruin what we’ve manifested. Day and night, we’d stay in contact in some sort of way. His voice would replace the music coming from my car radio as I would lug myself to work and back to hell. Those days I couldn’t have the pleasure to listen to his sweet words coming from his lips were sometimes the worst. My mind can be at rest knowing that I won’t have to live that way anymore.

It’s like time goes by at hyper-speed when we are together. Having eternity with each other now, yet that just isn’t enough for me. So much time was wasted procrastinating out of fear and guilt. I remember so vividly what our first face-to-face encounter was like as it really wasn’t that long ago. My problems were mine no more once his arms swallowed my body and our lips pursed together naturally and passionately. That feeling when everything horrible that has happened to me ceased to exist. As if I really only started living at that moment, the rest of the time was just merely surviving what agony I’d dealt with.

The sun set and we are still on the road. Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon are only about four hours apart. We are now about twenty minutes away from the destination of our next adventure before going back to Florida. We had been through half the country in such a short time. Missing his only child, we plan to head home after seeing the stars in Arizona over the canyon. A part of me wants to travel forever with this man, but I’m too excited to meet his little one. A person to give my motherly love to, but not having him be forced to only depend on me for that bond a child naturally desires. I already ran away from that once and he already has a mother for that.

The sky slowly popped with stars as the background faded to dark colors. We come to a stop. He puts the car in park, resting his head on the seat, and inhaling real deep. As he was exhaling, he sounded relaxed. He turns his head towards me and shines that sweet smile at me. I love that smile, oh Lord. “Are you ready, Love?” he gently asked me with a calmness in his voice.

“Yes, Dear,” replying with the same calmness in my voice, returning a grin. It’s odd because I always assumed love was like it was supposed to be in the movies. I thought love were hands that tremble and knees that are weak. It was supposed to put butterflies in your stomach. That’s not how I feel at this moment with him. When he looks at me, I feel at peace. It’s like we’re the only ones, like we’ve always been the only ones, on Earth for each other. He’d never hurt me, at least never in a way I wouldn’t take liking to.

We both exit out the vehicle in unison. Meeting at the trunk, we start unpacking the sleeping bags to lay on. I carry one as he carries another to a spot not too far from the car. I look back as the headlights shine on us. It was almost blinding. My eyes had to adjust afterward. He holds my hand the whole way there, I’m guessing in case I lose my footing. He unrolls, unzips, and spreads out the sleeping bag he was carrying. Then, he takes the one I’m holding and does the same on top of the first one. He suddenly turns towards me with an “I forgot something” expression on his face, “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I even-,” I decided not to finish my sentence because he couldn’t hear me anyway. I look at the car, the direction he was walking in. He gets into the trunk and it looks like he grabbed the beer cooler. He comes back and sets the cooler at the edge of the sleeping bag. He sits down close to where I’m standing, on the side of me. I was still not seated with him because I was just in awe at how beautiful the world really can be. I was soaking up all of its glory. It set me into a daze.

All of a sudden, I was pulled to the ground while my head was in the stars. I find myself in his muscular arms once again. He is always so warm, as it is quite chilly in Arizona at night. I feel his body underneath mine as he just holds me with a random playlist in the background from his phone. It’s always those moments that are true bliss. It’s that “let me hold you forever” type moment. I raise my head off his brawny chest and look deep into his eyes with a relaxed smile. “Hi.”

He smiles back at me, “Hey there, how are you?”

“I’m fine now,” I smile far wider than before. It’s true. I’m fine as long as I never have to remember that lifeagain. I will be okay as long as I have him. He makes it all better.

He’s still smiling at me, starstruck by love. “This time I believe you,” he admits to me as I remember a texting conversation we had once. I had told him that I was fine one day, and he asked me to never lie to him. He knew, then, that I would never be all right if we weren’t together and neither would he.

Right now, I feel so safe. Burrowing into his muscular chest, I will never want anyone else. How could I? He’s utter perfection. This massive gentleman stands nearly a foot over me. I’ve always liked my men tall. He is built like a machine with his muscles tightening the sleeves of his shirt. Veins that run down and disappear as they run down his wrists. His clothing tightens at his shoulders and upper back, fitting him snugly. His neck is strong and is partly hiding behind the scruffiness of his dark facial hair. It conceals half of his face with a short beard with a smile in the middle of it. His cheeks are round with a button nose, yet still masculine. Eyes, that are a deep brown, look into my soul through his black framed glasses. Head shaved like a badass, although I’m sure he looks great with hair too.

We admired our surroundings for a considerable amount of time. All of a sudden, we switch positions swiftly. I’m not difficult for him to maneuver by any means. I find this fact to be an advantage for what he is capable of doing to me. Nibbling at my neck to my lips, he kisses me passionately while one hand supports his body and the other is holding me by the hip. Pulling me closer to him, as he is clearly indicating that he wants to become one within me. I sense his excitement teasingly rubbing against me. I then grab his hip and pull him, aggressively, even closer to me. My hand wanders from his hip to his groin while the other is on his back pulling his shirt closer over his head. My hand grazes over scratches I had left on his skin from times before when he has convinced me with his talent to completely lose control. We are both aggressive lovers. Almost like we fight for dominance. Every now and then he lets me win, but not very often. I prefer my man to be stronger than me in all aspects. I wish, now, to taunt the monster within him to be unleashed onto me as I reach for his member from inside his boxers that had yet been removed. I need to let him satisfy my every sexual desire at this very second.

My top was already half missing, as I like to strut in crop tops often, making it easy for anyone to see my midriff and only for him to reach inside to feel my precious bosoms that his hands cup perfectly around. I enjoy the sensation of his fingertips gently caressing my ribs as if he is counting each one over and over. We slowed down to not miss this memory we are creating here under the stars in Arizona by. I gracefully lift my shirt from over my head as I am underneath his kneeling body. He works diligently at unbuttoning my shorts, removing them briskly to get to what will fill his hunger.

His lips lead from my sternum, down my navel with sweet kisses of appreciation. This way he lets me know that he treasures what is truly, and has always really has been, his. I feel his facial hair tickling my waistline as he hesitates for a moment. Then, he moves his sweet, tender kisses to both sides where my hips and my upper thighs lay. Covered in scars from my own destruction, he sees the beauty in every single cut that used to be there. It’s like he removes every horrific thought that led to me taking my lack of controllability out on my body.

He knows that the temptation for me to mutilate my body still exists to some extent. I can’t always be in control and I can’t accept it. Part of this trip was to educate me into having someone else take the lead. This is why I am so oblivious to where we’re going the majority of the time. It wasn’t easy for me at first, but I accepted this challenge to defeat the way I like to inflict pain onto myself. My anxiety has yet to take over yet. My comfortability with him is strange. I’ve never been so easy to take over and put a spell under, but he does me that way and I like it.

I’m completely exposed, not an inch of clothing on my body. With my entire body, naked, for him to explore. He goes right for the gold with his face, nibbling and licking the inside of my lower lips and clitoris. His tongue grazes in between the lips in an upward position towards the most sensitive area. The pleasure surges through my body, making it so hard to stay composed. I push his head into my pelvis and reposition my hips in hoping to get a more intense sensation. Having his hand around my ass to press me into his mouth, and the other hand is working down below. I feel everything ten times more than I ever did as he’s really going at it in so many directions. Finally, deciding to let out a moan out of pure ecstasy. “Mmm, Henry!” Calling out his name as I root for him to go further than what we already have.

He moves his half-way taken off shorts down to his ankles, getting them lost among the bottom of the sleeping bag. Henry, then, matches our pelvic areas to be insync with one another. Taking his left hand to my right thigh, he feels me down and then lifts my leg on to his shoulder. This puts my knee near my head. He is raised up to where we can make eye contact. Usually being uncomfortable with that, but with him I don’t mind. He comes face-to-face, almost close enough to kiss, but not quite. Knowing that he is teasing me by hesitating and ceasing all action except for angling his appendenge just right for me to barely feel it, he waits to see how long I can resist him.

As I can not anticipate waiting anymore, I pull him by his shoulders closer to me. I kiss him hard, and end it with an antagonistic bite of his lip. Then pushing him away and lowering my leg off his shoulder gently while looking at him playfully, he lets me take over. We switch positions once again as if we are dancing. I am now on top of Henry, with only the other sleeping bag covering us. With both of his in mine, I pin them over his head and lean down to kiss him once more. I let go of his hands and slowly felt him all the way down while I descended down to his penis to wrap my mouth around it. I play with the tip with my tongue, shove as much as I can in my mouth, and then back out as a tease. I cup his balls with my hand and deep throat him. I hear him indulging into this moment. He has a handful of my hair clinched in his hands. I put my hand on top of his on my head, pushing it down at a slow pace. my jaws widening to take in all of his masculinity. Struggling to keep hold of it long, I regurgitate it back out.

It is at this time, I come back up to face-to-face with my lover. I have one leg on each side of him with my lady bits resting on his junk. I kiss up his neck while his hand is in mine. Then, I pin up his hand above his head, so I support my weight to reach underneath me. I take a hold of his shaft and strike myself into the portal in between my legs. I gasp in response to the overwhelming sensation of being in one with my soul mate once again. He thrusts upward into me and it makes me arch my back and let out a soft moan. At the same time, I am steadily rocking on his dick. He grabs my petite waist and pushes hard up against me once again and again. We have a synchronized rhythm going. The beat to our song gets faster and I am almost to climax. I can feel the sweat drip down my spine in the crisp cold, desert air. It’s coming from all the work and pleasure I’ve put into this rendezvous. The blood feels hot in my body as my heart is beating like a hummingbird’s. I am so close to orgasming, I beg for him not to stop. “Take me,” I moan out, “have me, please!”

At my request, Henry sits up and gets from underneath me. Before I could look to see what he’s doing, I felt his warm body behind mine as we were both facing the same direction and on our knees. Now, the blanket is completely removed and I only have him for warmth. I feel his breath on my neck and ear. Our skin sticks due to us sweating in such a climate. One of his hands was holding me up to him and the other was reaching inside of me. He nibbles and tugs on my ear with his teeth. Chills go down my spine, and my heartbeat is so loud; as I am so turned on by the fact that he is about to take total control. He whispers an order in my ear seductively, “lay down.”

As he wishes, I do as he says like the good girl that I am. As I make the motion to turn towards him; he grabs my hip and stops me. “No, stay right there,” he says as I remain on my stomach by his command. He positions himself in between my legs. Moving his large cock to where it needs to be, he has one hand working it in as the other is softly gripping my neck. I felt pressure come within me and I groaned as I took him in. Henry lays on top of me, but supports himself enough not to hurt me. I can feel his breath on my ear again. He bites my neck with slight aggression, enough to make me loud.

Removing his hand from my neck to grabbing my hair and somewhat tilting my head back, he thrusts hard into me again and again. The more he goes on, the more I am enjoying every inch. My hands are clinching the sleeping bag in hopes of not losing it just yet. I am nearly to the point of releasing what sexual tension he has built up. I sound as I am gasping for air, enjoying him too much. I feel him lay closer to me and he turns my face towards him and kisses me from my lips onto my neck. “Why are you so perfect for me?” He asks in my ear as he is slowly pumping into me in an affectionate way.

The burly man lifts up off of me, “I want you to turn around, please,” almost as if he was asking instead of demanding. This was nearly as much of a turn on because it was like he had gotten romantic, all of a sudden, instead of being the crazed sex monster that had just preformed. I turned around as he asked. He slips both of my legs upon his shoulders to sense a different angle to get off on. He focuses on putting his tip at the beginning of my hole. Then, unhurriedly sunk each inch into me. Leaning closer to me, he is trying to test my limits. How flexible am I? How far can he get in at this angle? Will it be too deep for me?

I grow quiet in response to the amount of dopamine that my body is releasing into my system. I am almost in shock of how good he makes me feel. He enjoys it as much as I do, I’m sure. “Are you okay?” He is always so reassuring, making sure that everything is within my consent. Someone who is a true gentleman is hard to comeby.

“mmhhmm, just keep going,” I said in a soft voice as I’m not sure why I was still holding everything in. Maybe it’s because I’m testing his limits as well. I want to see how far he’ll go to get a rise out of me, or if he’ll let go before I do. Does he dare let me think he can’t keep up with me? I highly doubt it. He may be quite a few years my elder, but he is far more healthier than I am; even after all the damage his body has been through in his lifetime.

He stopped sliding in and our faces were towards one another. Foreheads and noses touching, I could almost kiss him. We just gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment as there is absolutely nothing in between us anymore. He pulls out and pushes back in repeatedly. His rhythm is growing rapidly, but soft enough that it is intensifying every nerve. I hold on to his thighs to feel more of him, but the sensation is so breathtaking that I almost go numb from feeling so good. Out of my control, I feel my fingernails dig into his thighs and I hear him grunt softly from it; Only making him keep on going.

Henry leans up, leaving my legs on his shoulders, and with him still inside. He reaches for my throat again, leaving him in charge of me completely. His other hand is supporting his weight, while holding my hand. Still giving it to me in the best way, he squeezes a little tighter around my throat and fucks me longer and harder. I love being tested. It isn’t just to test my limits, but to test my trust for him. Only he can turn me on in this way, for he is the only one I truly trust. My free hand is digging my nails into his shoulder once more. His poor back has been torn up since we’ve been together, but I just can’t help myself. We are both breathing so heavy, that I almost can’t hear the music. He is as sweaty as I am, and I don’t mind at all.

In an instance, I feel a sudden gush of release from two different angles. At this moment, I nearly scream in climax, “Oh! mmm, Henry!” and both of us stopped and our bodies went limp from exhaustion. My legs were shaking from all that they’ve endured. We are both out of breath, and we rest while we try to catch it. There is quite a mess in between us, a constant result that happens when we do such things together.

After a few moments of rest, we are still so tired from loving each other so hard. The man’s thick arm reached over my head to grab his shirt. He, then, gives it to me. “Ladies first,” he offered.

I take his shirt and wipe myself off as best as I could. I give it back for him to do the same. Henry sits up and collects some sort of clothing items on the side of him. “Here Vee, I knew you wouldn’t want to go searching for those,” he said as he was handing me a clean t-shirt from his clothes. I take it out of his hand and give him a kiss as a thank you.

We both get half-way decent just so we can snuggle up to one another. I face towards him, so I can see his eyes twinkle along with the sky. He stares back at me and I feel at home. He doesn’t have any ulterior motives. He just wants to love me and to have me. Henry really strives to just see me happy, but what is happiness if I’m not with him? I smile sweetly at him, feeling at ease in his arms right now. “You are so fucking beautiful,” Henry pointed out, “I love you.” He kisses my forehead with tenderness.

“And I, you, Dear,” I smile and nuzzle into his fitted chest once again tonight. The music is still playing in the background. After being satisfied at such great measures, I am growing tiresome. My eyes drift closed due to being so heavy. I hardly hear the radio as I am actually listening to his heart beat for me. It has become my nightly ritual to make it my lullaby. It’s the best song I have ever heard and it’s like it was only written for me. He is only for me as I am only for him. There’s nobody else anymore. I can fall asleep with him tonight being at peace with that.

I don’t feel the sort of stickiness I’m used to from sleeping outside. Arizona is a dry climate. Humidity doesn’t exist in a place like this. When I open my eyes, I immediately realize that I’m not next to my other half. Where did he go? I think to myself as I rub my eyes and situate his shirt correctly onto my body. I stand up and notice my feet were bare. It hardly bothers me anymore. I’m growing more comfortable with every inch of my body as I spend more time inder Henry’s influence. I feel the rock solid ground underneath me. It’s warming up from the rays in the sky, not yet burning my feet. It must be quite early in the morning here in the Grand Canyon. I walk carefully to the vehicle, avoiding any stubbing of the toes. Creeping to the trunk, I stop feeling panicked looking for him as I’ve spotted him trying to make himself decent to gather our belongings and hit the road. He never wastes any time.

“Good morning, Gorgeous!” he roars out of excitement. I am not a morning person. He is my polar opposite when it comes to that. I adore that about him. It makes mornings a lot easier to deal with. The fact that I, now, have the desire to really and truly live makes it easier.

“Mm, good morning to you,” I reply sleepily as I walk up behind him. I rest my head into his back as I wrap my arms around him, with my hands on his chest. No matter how hot it is, we’re never close enough.

He closes the trunk and turns towards me. Looking down my direction with his dough brown eyes, “are you —.”

“PANCAKES!” I perked up, all energized, answering his question before it could escape his lips.

“—hungry...” he smiled as he finished his sentence involuntarily. Henry kisses my forehead and gazes back down at me, “let’s go get pancakes.”

“Yum!” I say excitedly, yet quietly. We both head down to our canyon love pallet to pack it away. Working as a team, we have it all put away in a hurry. Then, I get dressed in a My Chemical Romance black tee with white cut-off shorts. I always strut my black Vans with the translucent rainbow checkers and classic white line. My shoelaces are straight laced. I have little-to-no fear if someone sees my body as I trade outfits. There’s only me and him.

We are all ready and set to go to get pancakes from the nearest town, wherever that is. I pull out my new phone, because why would I need my old number or old phone? “Hey, Siri!” I demand an answer from the AI on my phone. I look at Henry until I get an answer. That’s a thing I do. I just like to look at him. Take in every detail at any moment. Sometimes Siri is stuck on buffering mode anyway.

[thedeaditeslayer]

In Conversation with Bruce Campbell.

Below is a short interview with Bruce Campbell that mostly covers The Evil Dead.

The film tells the story of five friends who take a vacation to an isolated cabin in the woods, and find themselves besieged by demonic forces after playing a tape recording of incantations. One by one they are possessed, and Ash (Campbell) as the last man standing, must survive the gruesome mayhem that upset British conservatism and saw the film labelled as a notorious ‘video nasty.’

Campbell spoke about the slow burn success of the movie, the moral ambiguity of the American audience, and how horror shouldn’t be something you’d hear on the six o’clock news

FRIGHTFEST: What were your expectations for EVIL DEAD in the beginning, and could you have anticipated its eventual success?

BRUCE CAMPBELL: Let’s not forget the time frame – its success was a very slow evolution. It took longer to raise the money than we had intended. We went to a different state to film it thinking it was going to be warmer, when in fact Tennessee had one of its coldest winters, and the state we fled, Michigan, had one of its mildest. So right from the start it was all very troubled.

It took about three years to complete the movie and we could not even find a US distributor. We finally got a UK company to look at it, Palace Pictures, and they finally distributed it. We were not even successful in our own country first, which was a big shock to us. It had to happen in another country first and then New Line Cinema came on board after seeing the success in Europe.

The whole thing was very strange, long and drawn out. I think the rights from EVIL DEAD 2, which was seven years later was when we finally got the investors to break even. So it took a long time for EVIL DEAD to be successful - it was a slow-motion success.

FF: From the responses to the film in the UK and Europe compared to America, is there a difference between these audiences?

BC: Well cynically, one would say in the UK they were more at the centre of the fall of civilisation, so they would appreciate chaos and nightmarish imagery. So that would be one theory for it. I think European audiences are more forgiving, whereas American audiences are a little more morally ambiguous. European girls don’t have the moral ambiguousness about sleeping with some dude – like it’s not thought of as being slutty. If you want to sleep with a guy you sleep with him. In the States, it’s this whole dance of should I, or shouldn’t I? Is it right, is it wrong? It’s the same thing in the States of, “Well that woman’s being violated by a vine in the woods, should I leave, should I stay?” Whereas in the UK it was just an outrageous scene and they probably laughed their asses off. So it’s weird, and it’s different civilisations is really what it is.

FF: When you think about THE EVIL DEAD, do you remember moments from the film or do you recall the experiences behind the scenes?

BC: …All my memories are of the experience of filming it, and then the experience of seeing the finished film in a theatre for the first time. You asked a few questions ago what did you hope to get out of it? We just wanted to make a finished movie, and when the film was completed, it was booked into my childhood theatre where I went to see basically every movie from the 70s.

I saw it on a Saturday matinee and there were only about 30 people in the audience, but I thought, ‘Okay, this is it. We did it. We’re playing our movie on our hometown screen.’ The funny thing is everything was gravy afterwards. The goal was could we figure out a way to get our movie into this professional theatre with Hollywood movies, and that was the fun part. So our definition of success might be different than other people’s, and where a big box office would be definition for some movies, for us it was just the fact we pulled it off.

FF: After sitting there in your local theatre, there was then the moment of thinking about what’s next?

BC: Obviously the first EVIL DEAD allowed us to make another movie, and that was the key thing too. We were very concerned about failing with our first movie, and it was one of the reasons why we made a genre movie in the first place. Most of our amateur movies in high school were not horror movies. Most were action or comedy, occasionally a drama, but mostly they were just silly movies, and so we were concerned about our investors getting their money back. We thought, ‘Well let’s pick a genre, let’s pick horror because it’s cheap, you don’t need any name actors and they can be very successful.’

One of the reasons why it was a horror film in the first place, was not because any of us were great horror aficionados. I was a Three Stooges fan, Sam was a big fan of the Marx Brothers, and I don’t think Rob Tapert was into horror of any kind. It was an economic choice

FF: I recall Quentin Tarantino saying that if you want to write books, read books, and if you want to make films, watch films. But could we argue that there are benefits to being less schooled, that allows for a different approach?

BC: …Very often a filmmaker’s first movie is their best because it’s all hands on deck. They go for broke, they don’t know where the limit is and when they should say, “no.” As a result it can sometimes be very excessive and masturbatory, but I thought Sam did an amazing job with his very first movie.

There’s a sequence in there where Ash is going crazy, and Sam stayed up all night doing storyboards for this sequence where the camera was tilted at a 45 degree dutch angle for every shot. I remember at the time we had discussions about whether that was going to be visually acceptable – could the audience even watch what was happening because it was such an extreme way to film. Sam was saying, “Ash is going crazy, the audience should be going crazy too.” It’s actually one of the best sequences of the movie, and it’s one of the most contemporary sequences because it was ahead of its time.

FF: Ideally, you want the film to endure and to engage with a future audience, and to not be limited to the period in which it’s made. Would you agree with this sentiment?

BC: I think nobody knows until the film is out. In my experience a film that is easy to make, is usually hard to watch. And usually films that are very hard to make, are much easier to watch. There’s just something about it when you know that the filmmakers and the actors have really sweated for a project - generally it tends to be better. If you have enough time to sit around telling movie stories between shots, I don’t think you’re working hard enough.

FF: In recent years we’ve seen torture porn and the celebration of violence to disgust rather than to provoke fear. How do you think THE EVIL DEAD fits into a person’s concept of horror who is watching it for the first time in 2020, compared to the context of horror for the 80s audience?

BC: Horror always changes and maybe it’s generational. It used to be the slasher movie, which was some crazy guy released from an institution and with an axe type concept. Then torture porn came in for a while and I’m very happy to see that go, only because it doesn’t celebrate the skill of filmmaking. You put a guy’s dick in a vice and poke it with a stick for half an hour, that’s not really horror. It’s just something you might hear on the six o’clock news.

The real success of a horror movie is getting someone to feel the atmosphere, to feel dread and to actually jump out of their seat. To build to a climatic scare is something that takes an incredible amount of skill between the filmmakers and the actors, and everyone involved. I’m just a big fan of if you’re going to do a horror movie, then it should be scary, but there’s a lot of different ways that something can be scary.

THE SIXTH SENSE I feel is a very disturbing movie, but there’s very little blood and violence in the whole thing. The movie THE TENENT, which is one of my favourite horror movies by [Roman] Polanski, it’s all mental. It’s actually making you think you’re going crazy, and that’s a skill. I’m a big fan of any horror that takes skill.

FF: I always admired that beyond the blood and the violence, it feels like you’re trapped, and you’re slowing succumbing to the oppressive claustrophobia, the gruelling psychological and emotional experience.

BC: The situation was real enough that it permeated into all of us. It was a real abandoned cabin down about a half a mile of road in the middle of nowhere. There was no electricity and no running water. It actually had some creepy history - a woman had fled there during a lightning storm, when someone was murdered at the cabin. So it all helped us to feel the reality.

We were only supposed to film for six weeks and we filmed for twelve. As the film dragged on, people were injured, they left, equipment broke, and it all added up and started to feel real after a while [laughs].

It permeated the movie because back in those days, if Ash hears a sound and swings his shotgun and blows out a window, that’s what you did. You used a real shotgun and you just blew out the window. We just did stuff viscerally back then, but with ASH VS EVIL DEAD, it’s all digital at that point. There’s no real shotgun show, no smoke, that’s digital too, there’s no flash, that’s added later. So I’m glad we made at least one of these movies completely analogue, and just about as real as you’re going to get.

[bramblepeltao3]

Oh hey part 2 of ? of this AU of an AU of an AU because I’m an adult and there is no one to stop me.

---

“The chronic fatigue isn’t going anywhere any time soon, but that’s okay. There are plenty of accommodations that can be made for him. I’m putting in a requisition to make the palace grounds wheelchair accessible, and if it doesn’t go through immediately I’ll just be an annoying bitch until it does. They’re getting rather sick of me up there.” Del tapped her pen on the desk, swiping on the tablet through her most recent notes. She didn’t need them, but they made her look more important and organized. “Otherwise, his physique is finally catching up to that of an average, healthy teenage boy. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d lighten up a bit on the strength training, it’s taking energy from his academics.”

Aranea stared at her from the other side of the desk, looking far off into space.

“Aaaand, you didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Del huffed.

“I did. I was just thinking….sorry about how I’ve been acting.” She crossed her arms, looking Del in the eye. “I didn’t trust you, kinda still don’t, but it’s nice to see Prompto happy again. He’s always been like a little brother to me, so, guess I got a little overprotective.”

Del felt a stab in her chest, and forced a quick smile to hide it. “I mean, isn’t ‘overprotective’ in your job description?”

“True.” Aranea relaxed into her seat. “I still don’t get your motives, but you seem like your concern is genuine. So, at least we both have that.”

“My motivations are to treat my patient until he doesn’t need me anymore.” And who knows where she’d go after that? Maybe a long vacation feet first into a volcano. “Call me idealistic, but I’m a doctor. I want to cure the sick and heal the wounded. It’s not much more complicated than that.” It was way, way more complicated than that.

And the shield could tell.

She stood up, leaned over the desk until her face was inches away from Del’s.

“Trust me, Doc, I wanna believe you.” Aranea smirked, noticing the deep red rushing over Del’s cheeks. “But I’ve been around the block here too many times. And this time, I’m not letting anyone get the jump on me.” She stood back up with a knowing glare before turning and leaving.

“Wait-” Del shot up, knocking her own chair back. 

“Oh, and the strength training was Shortcake’s idea. He insisted, actually. You want him to study ancient Altissian history instead, take it up with him and his tutor.” And she was gone, the door closing right behind her.

Del leaned a little more heavily against her desk. Maybe...maybe Aranea should know. Maybe she could help, really it couldn’t hurt could it? 

But what if she told Prompto, or what if it changed how she looked at him? What if Verstael found out? She remembered the first and only time she crossed her father so blatantly. 

No. No one needed to know. She’d just take the suspicion and blame in stride and continue her work. She already had one confidant, stressful as he was, and that would just have to be enough.

---

“A treaty?” Cor asked, looking at the young and panicked delegate’s assistant. “You can’t be serious.”

He nodded. “Marshal, Sir, the ambassador was very direct. Niflheim wishes to broker peace with Lucis.”

Bullshit.

“He wasn’t clear on the terms yet, he only said he wished for His Majesty to speak to their Emperor. And they’d like to send their prince to Insomnia as part of a goodwill tour.”

Cor felt his stomach drop. “They want to send their sixteen year old recluse over here?”

“Sir.” Monica spoke up. “I was listening on the call. It would seem they want to forge diplomatic relations between our future monarchs. I couldn’t say if it’s genuine but…”

It made sense. Noctis and Prompto were both sixteen, both royalty, and both set to inherit a generations’ old war. It was in both country's interests for the two to meet and start some sort of friendship now, if they were ever going to see peace within the next century. But inviting Imperials right into their own homes, just waltzing right through the wall like it wasn’t made specifically to keep them out. 

The risk and reward were both intense.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to inform His Majesty of this development.”

The prince of Niflheim walking through the doors of the city; Mors was surely rolling in his grave at the thought. But then, the latest intel on the boy stated he was still having health troubles despite obvious improvements. So it stood to reason that any delegation that came with the prince would have to include…

“And discuss negotiation tactics.”

---

“No way. No fucking way.” Del yelled before colliding her fist into the punching bag. She didn’t often engage in physical training, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed to be at her best both mentally and physically if she was going to see her work through. She couldn’t keep relying on the chancellor to protect her forever.

“You’re not being asked, you’re being ordered.” The man who couldn’t be more than an intern on the chain of importance said, unflinching as she continued to pummel the bag swinging from the ceiling.

“He’s not fit to travel that far. I’m not signing off on those orders, it would be a breach of ethics. And you can take that back to your Emperor. I don’t give a shit.” 

“Refusing to sign will be noted as an admission of failure in your duty to tend to the prince’s health.” He stated flatly.

She gave one last hard punch before turning to face the man.

“Excuse me?” Del seethed. “Letting him travel for days on end on a train, a boat, over a desert and into a city full of people who want him dead would be a failure of my duty.” 

“I don’t pretend to know what it is you do, Doctor, I am merely stating a fact. So once again, please sign this release form.” The man was unnervingly lacking in emotion.

“You can shove that form right up yo-”

“How dare you speak to a lady of the nobility with such impunity!” A voice from behind cut her off. A voice she knew. 

Oh Gods. Not this guy.

“Do you have even the slightest idea in your thick skull who this woman is? Because if you did, you would surely show more respect.” The kid, dressed in his dorky high school gym clothes with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, intruded into the adult conversation.

“I am speaking to the prince’s personal physician, Doctor Besithia, and she is refusing to comply with the Emperor’s orders.” The man replied as if this was a completely normal thing to happen. 

“Loqi, I swear to the fucking Gods, what are you doing?” Del rubbed her hands between her eyes. It was only a matter of time before she’d run into this guy again but she really hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.

“There is no need for the doctor to sign a release, she’s going with the prince to Insomnia.”

“Ha! Okay, wow, this is certainly not the correct venue for either of you to be making these decisions for me.” She said, standing there in her gym shorts and sports bra, sweaty and red. 

“His Imperial Highness put me in charge of the delegation, I’ve already made arrangements for you to be part of it.” Loqi said with unearned confidence. “You have nothing to fear from the Lucians, my lady, Highwind and I will be there to protect you.”

“I’ll have to draft a new form then.” The man muttered before leaving.

“Yeah, whatever, okay, what delegation? What the fuck is even going on and why out of everyone possible were you put in charge of it?” What she really wanted to scream was why was this guy put in charge of anything involving her?

“The Emperor wishes to broker a peace treaty with the Lucians, and plans to send his highness prince Prompto to act as ambassador.” Loqi said, making a show of averting his eyes from her.

“Oh, okay. So the prince who has no experience with foreign relations or, well, being around more than three people at a time is going to go into the heart of the country we’ve been at war with for decades, and you’re in charge of the whole thing?” Del asked.

“That is correct, my lady.”

Del sighed. “So it’s a death trap.”

“My lady I can assure you no Lucian will even so much as touch you during this tour. Not even their Immortal. And I welcome him to try.”

“Oh Gods you’re still on about that, fucking shit, dude.”

Ten years ago Delphia made the biggest mistake of her life. She’d been sent away to a strict private academy after her father discovered the second biggest mistake of her life. And there, she met Loqi Tummelt. A boy one year below her who was creepily obsessed with Cor Leonis. And one day, in an attempt to make him shut the fuck up for just one gods damned minute, she’d made the mistake of telling the kid she’d met The Immortal.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot and not that impressive like at all, so can you please cool it with this weird obsession?” She remembered telling him.

She’d been extra mean on purpose, as she did with everyone she met during that time, to make sure he’d never want to speak to her ever again.

But this kid, this freaking kid, all he heard was ‘I’ve met your weird rival hero’. And that was it. He refused to leave her alone since.

Medical school was nice specifically because he wasn’t there.

But now he was here.

Great.

He made a show of looking around, seemingly to make sure they were alone.

“I know your secret, my lady, and though I cannot begin to understand I will protect it with my life.”

Her what?

“I didn’t mean to overhear, but whatever reason you must hide the truth of your birth, it doesn’t change who you are.”

Her WHAT?

“I’ll show you, Princess Delphia.” He whispered. “Soon, I’ll prove to you and everyone else once and for all my true strength. And then, I’ll finally be worthy of taking your hand.”

HER

WHAT

Del instinctively pulled both hands up to the sides of her face. “Okay, first off all it's Doctor. I am Doctor Besithia to you. I did not bust my ass in school to not be called Doctor. And whatever it is you think you overheard, you didn’t. I’m not a-”

...Loqi was the one who eavesdropped on them all those months ago. He heard her call Prompto her brother. And that was his takeaway. 

Fuck.

FUCK!

“You little shit, you were eavesdropping on me.” 

“Your secret is safe, I swear it. Now. Please be packed and prepared to depart for Lucis by this coming Sunday. The journey will be long, and we’ll require your expertise to ensure the prince’s safety.” He bowed. 

And he left.

And after a moment, finally alone in the quiet walls of the gym, Delphia screamed.

---

Prompto could scream. A whole week spent preparing himself mentally for this trip wasn’t enough. He just could not account for the absolute rush of emotion he would feel stepping onto a train for the first time.

It hadn’t even begun to move yet. 

But it’s what the train represented that mattered. His second chance. His more certain future. His tiny little taste of freedom. It was all here, packed and loaded on to this train. This was something he knew he could never, ever forget.

But just to be on the safe side…

“Hey Nea, say cheese!” He chirped before taking a perfectly terribly timed selfie.

Aranea blinked before frowning at him. “Alright, whose bright idea was it to give Shortcake a camera?”

“Uncle Ardyn!” Prompto said, full of joy. He rarely got to see the chancellor but when he did the man was always bringing him the best gifts.

Doctor Del looked at him with surprise from across the train car.

“Ooh, Del, gotta get one with you too!” He slid over next to her, lifting his camera. “Smile!” Prompto said before clicking the shutter.

“You’re in high spirits today.” Aranea looked at him with a smile.

He shot back up, standing between the two of them. “Yeah, I’m just...I’m really optimistic. I know this trip is gonna be great.” The destination, well...that was left to be seen. He felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him, like everyone in the train car was staring at him. Probably because they were. 

“I’m glad you’re well enough to enjoy this, Prompto.” Del said, also smiling.

Okay, now he was super embarrassed.”Couldn’t of done it without you girls!” He said, pointing at his doctor and his shield.

...the much older than him doctor and shield who were full grown women he just called girls.

“I-I mean…”

“Sit down, Shortcake, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

He did so, and took some time to look out the window as the sound of steam releasing hissed and the train began to move with a jolt. The scenery began to move past him, faster and faster, until he thought they couldn’t possibly go any faster.

And then somehow they did.

It wasn’t long before the motion began to sit wrong in his stomach, and he thought perhaps he should spend some time going through the enormous notebook of intel that was handed to him just this morning.

He opened it and looked at the first page. A dossier on Lucis’ prince. Noctis Lucis Caelum. He was only a couple of months older than Prompto, which was a relief. If he was way older or younger this would’ve been a weird visit. He turned the page and suddenly, he was face to face with him. A photograph of prince Noctis: dark hair, mysterious eyes, an obvious build of muscle and good health.

Prompto felt himself begin to sweat even on this air conditioned train. Who was he fooling? While he’d spent the last eight years bed ridden and alone, this prince was surely doing what princes are supposed to do. Training, studying, a perfect skincare routine, maybe he was even good at art and dancing! Noctis just looked like the perfect model of nobility.

And here was Prompto. Pale skin, droopy hair, red dots all over his face, weak, talentless, and far behind in anything academic a prince should be skilled in by sixteen. He frowned at his reflection in the window. This was a mistake. Surely, it had to be. He couldn’t even compare to Noctis. The Insomnian court would take one look at him, laugh, and send the delegation back. Then they’d just wait for him to take the throne one day so they could easily overthrow him.

That’s exactly what was going to happen.

His downward thought spiral was interrupted by the sound of the train car door slamming open. The leader of this mission, General Loqi Tummelt, stepped in. He was still dressed in his military finery even though they weren’t due in Lucis for a long while yet. He seemed like that kinda guy though, the sort who took a lot of pride in his heritage and rank. No wonder his father trusted him with such a precarious mission!

“Your Imperial highness, ladies, or journey has-”

“Doctor.”

Prompto looked over at Del, who had interrupted the man with little regard for his status.

“We’ve been over this. Address me as doctor before my gender, please and thank you.” She frowned.

“Yeah, actually. You’ll address me as Commodore, Tummelt. Unlike Lemon Tart over there, I’m not even a noblewoman. So get your shit together before you open your mouth again.”

Prompto felt like he might just shrink from the awkwardness taking place around him.

“Just Prompto is fine!” He blurted out before realizing how stupid that was.

Loqi took a long breath before continuing. “Doctor. Commodore. Just Prompto. Our journey has begun. In due time we will be upon our enemy’s doorstep. And then a true battle of wits will begin. Be sure you’re prepared for anything.”

“Oh, is that all?” Aranea asked.

“Wow dude, very helpful.” Del sneered.

“Like we didn’t already know that.”

“Fucking useless, this guy.”

“I cannot believe you addressed the prince like that.”

“Get it together, Loqi.”

“Yeah get your shit together Loqi.”

The two women shot insult after insult at the general with no regard whatsoever for his rank of station. It was...terrifying.

Loqi cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the first cabin should you require my assistance.” He said before leaving back from where he came from.

A tense silence settled in the air that threatened to choke him out. Prompto felt that familiar tingle of anxiety creeping up his spine, about to reach out and burst through in tears until he heard Aranea begin to laugh.

And then Del started laughing.

And then both of them were laughing harder.

“Can you believe that guy?” Del asked, rubbing at her eye.

“Gods, he is such a pain in the ass.” Aranea smirked.

“You’re telling me, I went to high school with him. Cannot believe he somehow made it this far.”

“Oh you’ve never heard of failing up? Pretty common around here.”

These women were brutal. They were mean, and sharp, and cut right through whoever was in their path without remorse. 

“Hey, Prom, you doing alright?” Aranea asked. “You’re looking a little pale there.”

“Oh!” Del jumped from her seat and sat next to him, putting a hand on his forehead. “Are you nauseous? Motion sickness is common on trains. I packed some dramamine in my bag, let me just-”

These women took no one’s shit and demanded respect where it was due. They were ruthless.

And they were both like older sisters fussing over him with care and…

Huh.

“I’m okay, really.” Prompto said. And he was.

---

Cor steeled his nerves one last time. The delegation was on their doorstep. They were either about to usher in a new era of peace, or make the biggest mistake in Lucis’ entire history.

But also the little kid who was really mean and shitty was all grown up and part of it. 

Cor had to figure she wasn’t that much different from her younger self. From what little intel they could scrape, she’d pissed off her father at one point. In retaliation she’d been banished away to private school in Gralea, got her act together, and got into medical school easily as a legacy applicant (Though her grades were part of the intel. She didn’t need that family name to get into whatever school she wanted.)

The most surprising thing in that whole file, however, was that she’d applied to the Insomnian Medical Institute. There were only so many foreign students accepted every year, and she was most likely disqualified because of her name. The irony was immense.

“Everything’s in order here. Status, Drautos?” Cor asked through the mic on his ear piece. The glaive had their orders, the crownsguard theres. The need for hospitality was great, and security even greater.

Everyone was playing their part. And that included Insomnia’s own civilians. It appeared the population was split in half in their opinions: one side embracing the idea of peace, one calling it a hoax and threatening violence upon the visitors.

Regis had made it quite clear they intended to greet the prince of Niflheim as a guest. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Free and clear, standing by.” Cor’s colleague reported into his ear. 

He crossed his arms behind his back, standing by his king’s side. On the other, the prince was reluctantly in his own royal regalia which did not quite fit him as well as his father had hoped.

Scientia had done his best.

Their intel on the prince was lacking, of course. Hard to get much information on someone who rarely left his heavily guarded room. But Cor knew enough. He knew where that kid came from. And he knew the woman who had been photographed again and again at his side.There was hope. Just a little.

There was always the chance Prompto was nothing more than a puppet, an unwilling actor in a show meant to destroy everything Cor held dear.

So vigilant he stayed, with a small layer of hope on top.

He hoped that little kid was still the rebellious little shithead who denounced everything her parents stood for and was ready to burn everything down.

That would work out quite well.

[mywonuderful]

Not So Cold-Hearted Pt.7

Summary: Y/N, a member of a popular newly debut girl group and Wonwoo has what some may call a relationship with emotional ambivalent. Will their relationship remain cold-blooded or will they finally come to an agreement and become something more?

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x Reader

masterlist

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Why’d you take out her wallet?” Wonwoo asked as they headed back to their down. You were in the middle of a conversation with some of the members when Minghao quietly tippy-toed over your bag and took out your wallet to place it under a cushion. He then excused himself to head back to his room when you saw Wonwoo give him a weird look but brushed it aside since your conversation was more interesting. As you were about to leave, Minghao was about to come down when he heard your conversation with Wonwoo as he ran back into his room to grab his jacket before hopping down the stairs to escort you out.  “Guess you found out.” Minghao hummed, making Wonwoo even more confused. “So what’s the reason?” the curious man asked again, waiting for an explanation as Minghao looked up towards the night sky and let out a sigh as he breath condensed into a cloud. “All the members and I know well enough that you didn’t mean to say those things to Y/N. We know you care about her.” Minghao glanced over his shoulder to see that Wonwoo’s expression soften as he started kicking around rocks as they walked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s how I normally act.” Wonwoo stated when Minghao placed a hand on his shoulder. “Both of you are really dear to me and both of you have a lot of similarities but it’s sad to see that either of you realize or acknowledge it. If this keeps up, one of you guys is going to end up exploding.” 

“What do you mean by expl-” “C’mon, its getting cold.” Minghao cuts Wonwoo off by grabbing his arm, pulling him into their dorm. As everyone headed towards the rooms to rest, Wonwoo was sitting on his bed, back resting against his headboard as he read through his novel when Minghao’s words started circulating his mind making him read the same paragraph for the past couple of minutes. 

“Wo, did Y/N forget her wallet?” Seungcheol picks up your wallet under the cushion. Wonwoo who was watching someone on the TV turns to glance at the wallet before shrugging his shoulder before returning his attention back to the screen. “They just left so you still run out to give it to her.” Seungcheol hands Wonwoo the wallet as he stares at it blankly. “What am I suppose to do with this?” Wonwoo places your wallet on the table, not caring when the rest of the members started gathering around the living room.

“Her and I have similarities? Similarities my ass.” Wonwoo scoff as he mumbled. He lets out a long sigh before placing his book on his nightstand and taking off his glasses.

****

You woke up the next morning, feeling more energetic than usual when your phone started vibrating frantically. You reached over to our nightstand to grab your phone. You turned it on when you saw that you received 10 miss calls from your manager. Shooting up, you quickly called him back. 

“Hello?” “I was about to head up to the dorm to check up on you.” “I just woke up. Is there something wrong?” “Not really... You don’t have any solo activities, right?” “Sadly.” “Hurry and get ready. Meet me at the location I sent you.” You were about to ask your manager what’s with the rush when he ended the call. You pondered about what your manager has in mind for you as you jumped off your bed and excitedly got ready. After cleaning up your face and applying some simple and natural makeup, you hummed as you dancing around in front of your closet, deciding what to wear. You decided to go for something simple yet suitable for the weather so you went for a light washed cropped mom jeans, a loose white blouse and a long brown jacket. You placed on your contacts and slipped on some flat as you headed out the door. As you walked down the stairs of your dorm, you dug inside your bag to find a mask but couldn’t find any. You quickly walked back up the stairs when you got a text message from your manager to hurry up. You inputted the address on the maps and it said that it’ll take around 15 minutes to walk there. Letting out a sigh, you prayed that no one will notice you. 

Fortunately, you got there without too many people recognizing you. Feeling a little disappointed, the scent of coffee beans pushed away your disappointment as you walked down the small street of various cafes. Memories started playing as you remembered your favorite coffee store at the end of the street when you see your manager standing in front of the store. Jogging to your manager with a wide smile on your face, he glances up to your and gives you a double take. “I’ve never seen you smile this widely and naturally in a long time.” He teased as you let out a chuckle and give him a playful punch. You and your members are really close your manager because of our close age, making him quite young compared to other managers. When your group first met him, everyone thought they were mistaken because of how young and good looking he was. Next thing you know, your group started getting attention, but it was for your manager. This brought the connection closer to your manager and the members as you guys would tease him about the past about how everyone mistaken him as an idol. “So what’s the reason we’re here today?” you asked with anticipation. “So I’ve heard the this is your favorite cafe spot.” “Or so you know is what you meant. Remember all those times I told you to help me buy coffee and pastries from here?” You state, admiring the endless trays of pastries displayed alongside the windows. “Yeah, I still can’t believe I’m taking orders from someone younger than me. Plus all those times when I got yelled at for sneaking you pastries when you were dieting.” He teased, making you pout. “Anyways, they’re expecting you so let’s head on in.” He opened to door for you as you entered. The familiar scent of coffee fills your nose as you took a deep breath, closing your eyes from how much memories this brings back.

“Well well if it isn’t Y/N from Eunoia! We’ve been eagerly expecting you!” The cafe manager greets us along with his wife. You smiled and bowed. “Expecting me...?” You mumbled as you scanned around as everything remained the same. “The cafe here was recently hiring new employees and Y/N here so happens to love your cafe so much” my manager places a hand on my shoulder “Ah yes, we’ve heard! Your manager used to buy a bunch of pastries back in the day. You must be the person who he told him to come.” The wife gives our manager a ‘secretive’ wink, when you turned around, giving him a glare before turning back to the couple, chuckling as you felt your cheeks heat up.  “Anyways, we reached out to your manager, to see if their was anyone interested in working here and to our surprise, we’re greeted with the infamous, Y/N! We absolutely love your group.” the husband blushes and smiles are you shook your head, waving your hands as your face started turning more red and red. “No no, that’s too much. I’d love to work here. It’s an honor to be able to work for such a passionate couple who but in so much work.” You smiled widely as the couple bowed as a thank you. “Well then, when can you start working?” The wife’s voice was filled with excitement  “I can start today.” The couple happily nodded as they went to the back to get you a uniform and prepare things.  “I better be getting free pastries and coffee in return.” Your manager bent down and whispers as you turned around to smack his shoulder. He pretended to be hurt before smirking. You bowed to thank him once more before he left to pick up your members from their activities. The wife called you inside to the staff room. Heading on over, you couldn’t wait to tell Minghao about how you finally had something to do.

“This is the only extra uniform we have. I’m sorry if this doesn’t fit you.” the wife hands you a oversized apron. “Is there any dress code I have to follow?” You asked as you tied a knot behind your back. “Hmm... I’ve never been asked that before... I guess whatever you find comfortable and flexible?” The wife laughs as you mentally took note and nodded. She brought you to the locker area where the staff placed their belongings, but it only consist of two lockers. “This will be your locker, dear.” You placed in your purse and closed the locker as you looked at the other locker beside yours. “Oh, that’s just another employee. We don’t normally hire employees so we don’t find the need to have that many lockers.” The wife caught your eyes as she explains. You let out a soft ‘oh’ and nodded along as you brought you to the front. The husband was cleaning the coffee machine as he turned back to see you.

“That apron seems a little too big on you.” He laughs as you smiled in return. “I’ll alter it for you when you finish your shift today.” he started explaining the simple tasks you have to do like restocking pastries, serving methods, wiping down the counters and tables and so forth. “Right, I forgot to ask, do you have any barista or baking experiences?” The wife asks. “I’ve taken a few barista classes in the past. But I’m more confident in my baking.” you explained as the wife pouted and the husband cheered, leaving you confused. “Well, that’ll mean that I can spend more time with her if you think about it because I can teach her.” The wife thinks out loud as her husband shakes his head, making you more confused. “Oh, sorry to confuse you Y/N. I’m a baker and she’s a barista.” The husband explains. “That’s amazing.” you sweetly smiled at their interactions. Seeing them interact so sweetly made you want to live your life with someone like that. As the husband headed back in to start baking pastries for the day, the wife taught you how to make some simple drinks. “Miss, is this correct?” you pointed at the button to click to start the coffee machine. “You can just call me Mrs. Bosa” She patted you on the shoulder. She carried on with her quick teachings until she glanced at the clock, clasping her hands. “Guess, it’s time to open up!” She cheered as she opened the doors and carried out a sign as you started to restock the trays, sniffing the buttery and sweet aroma along the way. “Mrs. Bosa, when does the other staff work?” You asked as you carried the trays back to the kitchen. “The other staff? Hmm I think he should be here anything soon.” She took a look at her watch. “Hopefully the both of you can get along. He’s been working by himself for this whole time so we thought that hiring another staff will allow him to talk more.” She offered you a drink as you told her what you’d like. “That’s nice.” You hummed as you watched her make the drink when the door suddenly chimed, as footsteps were heard. You had your back facing the entrance since you were cleaning up the coffee machine

"Ah, there he is!” The wife exclaimed. Turning around, you bowed to greet the person. “Hello, welcome to Espresso Love Caf-” “Y/N...?” you heard a low husky voice as you looked up and meet a pair of eyes who belonged to no other than Wonwoo “Wonwoo...?” Your eyes widen once you registered who it really was as he had somewhat a surprised expression as well.

<< prev // next >>

[captain-s-rogers]

Have A Little Faith In Me

(gif credit to the creator)

Part One

Master List Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC // Clint Barton x OFC Word Count: 1,900 Warnings: none? A/N: Debuting for OC Day 2020! Here’s the first part of the rewrite of my first ever Marvel series! If you want to be added to my tag list please let me know! Feedback is cool :)

Rockefeller PR firm. Though not connected to the famed family by any means, legend had it the J.D. Rockefeller himself had hired the founding members to handle his public relations in the very early success of the family. As a show of gratitude, in addition to a substantial cash and client flow, Mr. Rockefeller had allowed the firm to use the family’s prosperous name.

Anyone who was anyone in New York City knew of and often employed Rockefeller PR. The firm put on benefit events like they were going out of style, constantly hosting galas and banquets for one charity or another. Of course, with the guest lists for the events most often restricted to Manhattan’s elite, the donations poured in left and right. The firm had reached their renowned status as the most profitable and most charitable over the years. 

In more recent years, Sophia Hawkins and Lucy Cleveland had made names for themselves as the firm’s most successful representatives. That success had given the clout they needed to swing an event entirely different from anything the firm had done in a long time -- possibly ever. 

For starters, this event wasn’t being held to raise funds for an art gallery or secure investors for a corporation. This event was being held to raise funds to donate to several different organizations that supported the US troops and veterans. Not to mention, the event was made open to the public -- another component which had never been a part of a Rockefeller PR event. The thing was 1940s USO; everyone who showed up to attend the event was required to dress accordingly and make a donation at the door, in addition to their purchased ticket, of course

Both Sophia’s and Lucy’s grandfathers had fought in World War II, which had been Sophia’s inspiration for the idea. The firm’s executives hadn’t been keen on the idea when the two women first presented it, but between the excellent publicity that would come from supporting the troops and veterans, and the girls’ track record of successful events, convincing them to endorse the event hadn’t taken but a few minutes.  

The night of the benefit arrived, with a line forming out the door a couple of hours before the designated start time. Sophia and Lucy were dressed to the nines, double checking that everything -- from the menu to the music -- was in order. The servers were dressing in period-appropriate waiter and waitress uniforms, and the trio of women singing were emulating a 1940s singing group to a T. While the musical act ran through their era-specific setlist, Sophia and Lucy shined up the finishing touches on the decor. 

“Soph!” Lucy called out across the banquet hall, “do we need to alter the table settings? Caitlyn still has place cards for high-profile clients set out.” 

“We can just toss the cards, since there’s no guest list and we’re closing the doors as max capacity,” Sophia replied, already plucking name cards from a nearby table. 

“Do we have enough food?” Lucy continued. 

“We’ve got the chefs cooking for one-hundred-fifty and there’s one-hundred seats. I think we’re okay,” Sophia smiled. “Calm down, Luce. Everything is going according to plan. Nobody can plan like we can.”

Finally, Lucy was able to calm down. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” 

The women smiled at each other; everything was going to be perfect. Despite Lucy’s worries, they were well aware that this had been one of the smoothest events they had ever planned. Not having to please a bunch of snobby clients made the process a breeze. 

With only a few minutes to go, Sophia and Lucy decided they were happy with the state of things. After a short breather, they told the doorman to begin letting guests in the hall. 

Manhattan’s elite mingled with some lesser known citizens, filling the room and milling about the dance floor with freshly served drinks. The two event planners flitted about, adjusting table placements as necessary, making sure the food and drinks stayed well-stocked. The turnout was set to be huge, and within ten minutes of the doors opening, the hall was filled to capacity. 

Once everyone had found their seat, Sophia made a brief yet spectacular speech welcoming everyone and thanking them for their donations -- with the total amount to be named later in the evening -- the musical act took to the stage. Drinks continued to flow, the appetizers were served, and the nostalgia of the songs pulled a few couples to the dance floor. Sophia and Lucy stood at the back of the room, admiring their handiwork. 

“Ya know, Soph, I think we did a good job with this one,” Lucy mused, accepting a martini from the bartender.

“I think you’re right,” Sophia agreed. She sipped wine from the glass in her hand and took another cursory glance over the room, ever vigilant for any little thing that might go wrong. 

“Everyone seems to be having a good time,” Lucy added. “And, speaking of a good time, I do believe that gentleman in the corner is eyeing you. He has been all night.”

Sophia choked her drink. “You’re kidding, right? Lucy, tonight is not the night for your games, friend.”

“I’m not playing games,” Lucy laughed. “See, over by the band? Tall, blond. Might have to call the doctor, since he’s been nursing that beer for over an hour. But, yes, friend, he keeps glancing over at you.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Sophia mumbled, though she looked somewhat hopeful as she threw a casual glance in the direction Lucy had indicated. She locked eyes with the man Lucy had nodded toward. 

“Still think I’m full of shit?”  

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head before she downed the rest of her wine and set the glass on the bar. Yes, she had been hopeful seconds ago, but this man was beyond handsome -- and she was on the clock, to boot. 

“Go, talk to him!” Lucy urged.

“Not a chance, Luce. We’re working, remember?” 

Before Lucy could come up with a suitable response to change her friend’s mind, the man in question started towards the two women. When he was close enough for them to see he was, for certain, headed in their direction, Lucy whispered a quick ‘good luck’ in Sophia’s ear, then made herself busy checking on the status of supper.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man began, “but are you Sophia Hawkins?”

Sophia nodded. “I am. Can I help you with something?

“I’m Steve Rogers,” he introduced, extending a hand. When Sophia slipped her hand into his for a confident but cautious handshake, he continued.  “I wanted to thank you for coordinating this event. It’s a great cause, and I’m very impressed with the level of authenticity.”

Sophia faltered for a moment, running through her mental files so could explain the familiarity of his name. She recovered quickly, pasting a polite, professional smile on her face. 

“We did our best to make it as authentic as possible. My grandfather and great uncle were in World War II, and my co-planner, Lucy’s grandfather was in the war, as well. We were able to find a lot of photographic evidence to go off of.”

Steve hesitated, casting an uneasy glance at the ground before meeting her eyes again. “Yeah, my grandfather was in the war, too. I think he would appreciate how well you pulled it all off.”

“Why, thank you,” she smiled. They stood in silence for a moment, and Sophia noticed the authentic detail of the Army uniform Steve was wearing -- even with the best costume designers, nothing they had provided for the waitstaff or singers was this authentic. The longer she looked, the more familiar the uniform seemed. 

Steve met her eyes. “Everything all right?”

Sophia nodded and quickly dismissed the strange familiarity as something she had seen in her own family’s photos. “Is the uniform your grandfather’s?”

Again, Steve hesitated, almost as though he was looking for the right words to answer an otherwise easy question. “It was. Found it in my mother’s attic before the event. Since time-period attire was required, seemed like the uniform was the way to go.”

“It suits you,” Sophia smiled. She turned away for a moment to ask the bartender for another glass of wine. 

Steve quickly took a sip of his beer while he waited for her to return to their conversation. He looked around the room, catching sight of the dance floor; a warm blush creeped over his cheeks and down his neck. The tempo had changed from upbeat and quick to slow and steady. A surge of confidence swelled in his chest, pushing him to act on impulse. Steve finished off his beer and set the bottle on the counter, then extended his hand to Sophia again. 

“Forgive me if I’m out of line, but would you like to dance, Ms. Hawkins?” Steve asked.

Sophia’s blush matched his as she turned to set the wine glass on the bar. She accepted Steve’s hand. “Call me Sophia, and I’d love to dance.”

The couple eased into a simple waltz as the music began to build from the first verse into the bridge of the song. They danced in silence through the chorus, concentrating on the steps before changing focus to each other. 

“You told me about your family, but what made you decide to do an event open to the public? I’ve been told your firm generally caters Manhattan’s high-status citizens.”

“We do, you’re right,” Sophia confirmed. “Lucy and I have done so many of those, we wanted to do something different. We were looking through old family photos together one night, just for fun, and the idea to do a benefit for the military came to us. The USO theme followed.”

“I don’t want to sound like a broken record,” Steve smiled, “but you did a really fantastic job.”

Sophia showed her appreciation for his compliment with a modest smile. When the song ended, though she was reluctant to do so, she thanked Steve for the dance and turned to return to the bar.

“Sophia?” he called, gently grabbing her wrist to keep her from getting too far..

She turned to face him, brows raised in question. “Mm?”

“Would you want to get dinner some time? Maybe get to know each other better. Sometime when you’re not working.” 

Sophia didn’t bother to stop the ear-to-ear grin that spread over her face. “I would love that.” 

A pen was handy in the pocket of her dress, since she was, in fact, working. She took Steve’s hand again and jotted her number across his palm. She clicked the pen before putting it back in her pocket. 

“I’ll call you in a few days,” Steve promised. “We’ll work out the details.”

“Sounds good.” Sophia nodded and winked at him. She turned to walk away, this time looking over her shoulder to add, “Thanks for the dance, Captain.”

He froze for a moment, fearing that Sophia was aware of his full identity. Her eyes glanced to the patches on his jacket before she turned away from him; that had been what tipped her off to the rank. When she was back at the bar and conversing with her friend, Steve looked down at the phone number written across his palm. With a suppressed but victorious smile, he worked his way back into the crowd.

@arrowsandmixtapes​ @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​ @growningupgeek​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @kitkatd7​ @patzammit​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @what-is-your-plan-today​

[catsafarithewriter]

“Aww, I always knew you could be a romantic! How are you hide this from me!” I imagine Louise saying this to baron when setting up a date with Haru for the first time or Louise saying this to Persephone on their first date. Either one basically. Also love your The Bureau Series so amazing!!!!😍😍😍👍👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👍👍👍

A/N: Thank you! This went through several variations and AUs, before I settled on just a generic ficlet, inspired by the date scene out of Thor: The Dark World. 

(Human Baron is - as usual - based on @letterstoathens‘ design, because I love floofy Baron! His fashion choices come from the manga, although the polka dot tie turns up in both the manga and WotH.) 

x

There was a strange human standing in the Bureau, and Louise could already tell this flying visit was going to evolve into chaos. 

She could usually handle chaos. Chaos was the natural state of the universe, after all, especially after she had dropped by, but, even so… Her brother carried a certain kind of chaos that was usually compounded by his own tendencies to overthink and then overreact. If he was lucky, in that order. 

As the Bureau doors swung shut behind Louise, the man looked up and she saw bright green - familiar - eyes. 

“Humbert?”

He fumbled with the hideous bow tie he was knotting, and jumped like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Louise?”

Maybe she should have visited before now. 

She marched over to the desk he was standing before, and pointedly looked her brother up and down with a raised eyebrow. “What is this?” she asked. “What is going on?Why are you…” she gestured to him in general, “human?”

Humbert hesitated. “Would you believe me if I said this was a mid-life crisis?”

“We’re immortal, Humbert. We don’t have a mid-life to have a crisis over.” She gave him another sweeping look. “At least, you were immortal…”

 “It’s a temporary shape-shifting spell, Louise. Just enough for a couple of hours, nothing more dramatic than that.”

“Sure, but why do you even need to be human, unless…” She trailed off, and for the first time, looked beyond his immediate humanness. He wasn’t wearing his usual grey suit, instead opting for a sleeker, more understated black suit, offset by a yellow waistcoat and that awful polka dot bow tie. He had forgone fighting with it, and was now attempting to rein in the new challenge of hair - curly, ginger hair that didn’t behave anything like fur, much to his dismay. His movement was precise and curt, but Louise had known her brother long enough to recognise the undercurrent ebb of nerves. “Are you going on a date?” she demanded. 

His hair slipped loose from his grip, and he scowled at her. “How did you even–”

“You are! Oh, this is adorable!”

“Louise–” He cut off as Louise abruptly squeezed his face between her hands. 

“You’re in love?With a human? Tell me all about them!Where did you meet them?What are they like? Do they know you’re a Creation?Why didn’t you tell me about this before–?”

Humbert swiped her away, and consciously tucked back the hair that had fallen over his eyes. “I don’t have time for this–”

“What you don’t have time for is for me to not fix up your appearance. I mean, really, when was the last time you went out socially into the Human World? Never mind, that top hat says it all. You want my advice–”

“No.”

“–lose the top hat. And the cane. It’s not 1885 anymore, so unless you’re meeting this human at a renaissance fair, you need to look like you’ve at least heard of the 21st Century.” 

Humbert watched, visibly nonplussed, as Louise vanished into the back room and started rootling through his wardrobe. 

“So,” she called, “are you going to tell me about this person or not?” She poked her head back out when he didn’t immediately respond. “Oh, don’t sulk. This is exciting! The last time you dated someone, it was called courting and it required a chaperone.” 

Humbert glowered, but relented. “Her name is Haru, and we met on a case.”

Louise’s head appeared at the door again. “A client? You’re dating a client?”

“Ex-client,” Humbert stressed. “And, technically, we’re not dating.”

“But you want to.”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Sorry.”

Humbert took a steadying breath, and Louise mentally upped the nervous level she had originally pegged her brother at. “It was… years ago. At least a decade. She rescued a cat who turned out to be the prince of the Cat Kingdom, and had to come to us for help when the Cat Kingdom took it upon themselves to thank her.”

“It doesn’t sound that bad.”

“They kidnapped her and tried to marry her off to the royal family.”

“Oh.”

“Needless to say, we managed to bring those plans to a halt, and only broke one tower in the process–”

“Wait. Wait, Haru? Haru Yoshioka? The human who saved King Lune and Queen Yuki?”

Humbert blinked. “You’re familiar with her?”

“I…” and Louise did her best not to give a telling blush, “may have had some dealings with the Cat Kingdom in my travels. News of King Claudius abdicating in favour of his son was kind of a big thing.”

Humbert considered this. And then, to Louise’s relief, nodded at the sense she was making. “Regardless, we brought her home safe, and we thought that was that…”

“Until?”

“Until recently when we met her again during a case.” His eyes softened at the memory, and it took all of Louise’s self-control not to coo. “I had almost forgotten her, certainly didn’t recognise her until she dropped her name, and even then I couldn’t recall her case immediately.”

Louise snorted. “That bodes well.”

“It was years ago,” Humbert retorted, heat rising to his face. “We’ve had many cases since then, and I had expected her to forget me in kind. Most humans do when they return back to their normal lives. I certainly had not expected to find her exorcising a haunted office!”

“Okay, it’s official; she’s way too cool for you.”

“Yes, well,” Baron continued, not entirely denying her claim, “it seemed the natural course of action to work together - it turns out that after her brush with the supernatural, she can’t unsee it, and so she’s been working as a… I believe the term she used was ‘monster-hunter’ in the years since - and–”

“And you fell in love with her.”

“I wish to get to know her better,” Humbert hotly amended. “I do not know her well enough to claim my feelings to be anywhere in the realm of love, but–”

“Yes, yes, yes, but that doesn’t explain all this,” and Louise motioned to his human form once again. “If she knows you’re a Creation, why not just invite her to another world and have tea there? Why go to all this…” and she gestured to his hair, “trouble?”

“She doesn’t know I’m a Creation.”

“But you said–”

“The case required a human form, and so I took on this disguise.” He had the decency to look very sheepish. “When I met Haru, I didn’t recognise her and so I gave her my cover story.”

“And now you have a date with her and you’re too embarrassed to tell her the truth.”

“I will tell her the truth,” Humbert retorted. “It’s just…” And he mumbled something.

“What was that?” Louise asked.

“It’s just, she still remembers our first encounter.” 

“And?”

He mumbled again. 

“Humbert, really, speak up. You were created eloquently, don’t pretend otherwise. What happened on your first meeting?”

“She confessed she had… feelings for me. A schoolgirl’s crush.”

“So you turned her down.”

“Obviously.” 

“And now she’s a monster-hunter, ass-kicking badass, and completely out of your league–”

“Thanks, Louise.”

“–you’ve ironically developed a crush on her.”

“I told you that I merely wish to get to know her better…” He hesitated and then, after a dubious pause, added, “The issue lies in that I do not wish to… worry her with reminding her of our last conversation.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I imagine she has long since outgrown that schoolgirl crush, so there’s no need to remind her of it.” 

“Hm,” Louise responded noncommittally. “Yeah, okay, but before you head off to sweep this Haru off her feet, you’re going to need to swap that bow tie.”

“What’s wrong with my tie–”

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

“It’s fine–”

“It has polka dots,” Louise retorted. She threw a plain blue tie at him. “Wear that instead.”

“Louise–”

“I mean, if we had the time, I’d suggest maybe something a little less formal for a first date, but I’ll settle with the removal of that abomination. Where are you meeting anyway? A restaurant? Movie? Wait, I’ve got it - are you going on a joint case together? You know, they say situations of dire peril are meant to bring people closer.” She cooed, “Aww, I always knew you could be a romantic! How dare you hide this from me!”

Humbert raised an eyebrow, but did exchange bow ties. “We’re just meeting at a cafe.” And then, when he saw Louise’s gleeful expression dissolve into disappointment, added, “Ordinary, human date, remember?” He finished tying his bow tie with a flourish. “Tonight, it’s just two humans having a perfectly ordinary afternoon.”

x

Louise had got a point, Baron couldn’t help but think as he watched Haru absorb herself in the menu. He hadn’t really spent that much time out in the Human World, and he certainly couldn’t consider himself an expert in the realm of modern dating. Not even a little bit. 

Still. He was fairly certain that it didn’t take this long to choose a cake. 

He should say something. Start a conversation. Get to know her, as he had told Louise. But the manners that his artisan had built into him rebelled against the idea of interrupting someone when they were deep in thought - and Haru was deep in thought, regardless of whether the menu was the cause or not - and so he found his tongue tied. 

He wrote ‘hello’ on a napkin and slid it onto Haru’s side of the table. 

He felt her gaze guiltily move from the menu and onto him. 

“Hello,” he greeted cheerfully. He offered a reassuring smile across the cafe table.

Haru sheepishly returned it. “Hi.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, he jumped in. “So what’s the story with you?” 

“Story?” She laughed and shrugged quickly. “Why does there have to be a story? There’s no story.” 

“You’ve spent the first ten minutes of our date hiding behind a menu that has three cake choices,”  he told her gently. “It’s either brownie, lemon drizzle cake, or carrot cake.” He grinned. “And you’re a self-described monster-hunter. Now, I think there’s a story, and given how you are suddenly indecisive over cake, when you were perfectly capable of facing down an oni two days back, I think this has less to do with the food choices, and more to do with the date situation.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, and he abruptly wondered whether he had already messed this date up. Then she laughed and batted a hand before her face to hide the already-rising blush. “Okay, you got me. Darn it, and I thought I was being so subtle.”

“So there is a story?”

“There’s a guy,” she said. “Past tense,” she was quick to add. “A guy that I knew… years ago, who I had the biggest crush on.” She reddened. “He, uh, made it quite clear that it was a one-way thing though, and we lost touch with one another after that. But, um…” and here, she deliberately avoided Baron’s gaze, “you… kind of remind me of him?”

She waited for him to say something, evidently mortified by her own admission. 

Baron had to resist the urge to laugh. 

“I remind you of an old crush?” he asked instead.

“Just a… just a little bit. You know,” and she motioned weakly to his face, “the eyes, your accent, the outfit…”

“Was he also English?”

She scrunched up her nose. “I mean… I guess? The accent was, anyway.”

“Then that explains it. In England, you’re only allowed to wear such dapper suits if you have the accent to match.”

She laughed then. The anxiety drained from her, and the blush adorning her cheeks went from embarrassment to amusement. She leant in with a conspiring glint. “What if you’re caught faking the accent?”

“That’s what the Tower of London is for.” 

She laughed again, and Baron found himself beginning to relax. This really wasn’t so difficult. Maybe he needn’t have worried after all. Yes. This was all under control. He could do this. 

A shadow appeared over them, and his brain kicked onto automatic. “Sorry, we haven’t made a choice yet, but if you could bring over a jug of water, that would be grand.” 

“Water? On a date? How exciting.” 

Baron looked up and saw that the shadow was not that of a waiter, but of a young woman, short, with her brown hair cut into a neat bob. Definitely not staff. 

Haru sighed. “Sorry, this is Hiromi, my future ex-friend. Hiromi, this is my date, who I told you about.” Haru shot a meaningful look at the newcomer, who completely sidestepped it. 

“Sweet. He’s cute.”

“Hiromi.”

“Anyway, I’m just dropping by,” Hiromi continued. She grabbed a nearby chair and hauled it over. “Are you going to eat those biscuits? No? Cool.”

“Hiromi, what are you doing here?”

Haru’s friend set to picking out the on-the-house biscuits, snapping them in half and nibbling along the edges. “Okay, so, I drop by your house, fully expecting you to be cleaning off the goo off whatever monster-of-the-week you stopped this time, but you’re not. You’re wearing lady clothes and jewellery, and you’ve actually showered with proper scented shower gel, not that nasty goo-be-gone gel that gets out bloodstains–” 

“Is there a point to all this,” Haru asked desperately, “because there really needs to be a point to all this.”

“Right, okay.” Hiromi finished her biscuit and brushed the crumbs off the table. “Well, then I remembered that you said you were meeting up with that dude you met when stopping the office oni–”

Baron had to resist the urge to remind her that he was right there.

“–which is just as well, because you remember that programme you made to alert you if there were any sudden blips of that weird strong toy magic?” Hiromi thrust a phone across at Haru. “Well, you might want to take a look.” 

“It’s not toy magic,” Haru could be heard to mumble, but her fingers twitched as she read the screen’s data. She looked sharply - hopefully - up at Hiromi, and then her gaze slid guiltily back to Baron. The shrug she gave aimed for nonchalance and missed. “I’m sure it’s just… a blip. Make a note of the location, and I’ll check it out later. It’s probably nothing.” 

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Hiromi said. “It kinda looks like the readings you went cuckoo over last winter. You know, with the talking tin soldier?”

Baron suddenly recalled hearing about a fellow Creation - a toy soldier - in the next town over, and suspicions began to crawl into his bones over the exact nature of Haru’s search. He flexed his human hands and wondered whether the transformation magic might have triggered the blip. 

“Oh yeah,” Hiromi said to Baron, “Haru told me that you know all about the magic and monsters and everything. All supernatural creatures give off a distinct type of magic signature, and Haru has this interest in these living toys–”

“They’re Creations,” Haru amended, “and he’s really not interested–”

“I’m interested,” Baron said. 

“–and I’m not interested,” Haru continued. “Time for you to go now.” 

Hiromi paused, and glanced between the two of them. She raised an eyebrow and rose back to her feet. “O-kay. Well, enjoy the date!”

There was a long, dubious pause in the silence that followed. 

“She seems… nice,” Baron eventually ventured. 

“She needs manners,” Haru said. “I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t be. Actually, she reminds me a lot of my sister. All energy and good intentions wrapped up in a chaotic bundle.” 

Haru snorted and flipped open the menu again. “That’s Hiromi, all right.”

Baron smiled and followed suit. He glanced over the options, as if he hadn’t chosen a good fifteen minutes ago.When an acceptable minute had passed, he said, “I think I’m going to go with the carrot cake.”

“Carrot cake,” Haru echoed. “Yeah, carrot cake sounds good.” Baron watched her as her eyes glazed over the page. “Carrot cake. Carrot cake, carrot cake, carrot cake…” The words continued to trip over her tongue, barely conscious of the shape of them. “Carrot cake…”

Baron smiled and folded his menu. “Haru?”

“Hm?”

“Maybe you should stop saying ‘carrot cake’ and go after your friend.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t just leave–”

“It’s fine. I can just stay here and say carrot cake alone.”  He offered her a good-natured smile. “Go on. It’s obviously important to you.”

Haru’s guilty expression sank into relief. “Thank you.” She had already half-risen to her feet before she visibly remembered her manners. She spun back to him. “This has been… so much fun, we should… definitely do this again.” She grinned apologetically and ran off after Hiromi. 

Baron waited until they were out of sight before jumping to his feet and shooting in the opposite direction. He tripped over a trash bag obscuring the alleyway, his gaze so intent on the skies. “Toto? Toto!”

Toto landed on a bin skip, appraising Baron’s ruffled appearance with a critical eye. “That date was short.”

“Haru is… Haru is… she’s…” He motioned for Toto to wait for him to regain his breath and senses. He broke out into a grin. “She’s looking for me.”

“Looking for you?”

“She’s following spikes of Creation magic, and she’s picked up the shape-shifting spell I used to become human, and...” He trailed off as his train of logic hit a brick wall. 

Toto, as usual, filled in the dots as quickly - or if not quicker - than Baron. “The spell which you used halfway across the city,” he said, “while you are here. Human.” 

“Yes.”

Toto sighed. “I’ll find her and stall her until you can get back.” Toto gave an amused grin. “Hopefully the human disguise will have worn off before then, otherwise you’re going to have a lot of questions to answer before you even start.”

Baron grinned back. “I’ll improvise.”

“Oh good.”

[undertalethingies]

Self Indulgent Self Insert Fic, Part 2

Part one here

--

“Why’d you shoot fire at him?” I ask, partially to fuck with her and partially out of genuine curiosity. He hadn’t been attacking me, after all, so it was odd that she’d intervene. What did he do to get her to set him on fire just for being near a human?

Toriel purses her lips, and I note that her hands are clenched tightly. Must’ve been bad, then.

“He hides a wicked nature behind a congenial facade. Please, my child, keep your trust out of his reach,”

Oh, she’s just as formal in person! That’s honestly kinda cool. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one I know who’s ever used ‘congenial’ in a sentence, but for her it just seems natural.

“I definitely have more questions about that, but first, can you not call me your child, please? We literally just met,” Seriously, it’s weird. I know she’s grieving, but spontaneously adopting every child that falls without their approval or consent is kinda messed up. 

If I manage to free the monsters, the first thing I’m doing on the surface is sticking them all in therapy. Seriously, these guys are worse than me, and I really don’t say that lightly.

Toriel’s face falls slightly, though she makes a valiant effort to hide it. (Seriously, what were you expecting me to say?)

“A-Ah, I suppose that is reasonable. May I ask your name, then?” Ok, people who are definitely reading this because I am 100% egotistical enough to assume y’all want to hear about my life. Listen up, because I’m going to say this as many times as the author wants me to. I know this is normally the part where I’d say ‘y/n’ but I want to make it clear that y/n is for reader inserts.

I am a self insert, which I know because no reader insert would ever have this much personality, those boring fucks. As a self insert, I am free to call myself Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and dye my hair black with purple streaks if I so desire.

(I don’t, I really don’t, My Immortal is a fun read if you want something to laugh at but no way in hell am I emulating that MC in any respect other than our shared enjoyment of MCR.)

ANYWAY, back to my conversation with goat mom! I’m not saying my real name because I’ve resolved that if I ever end up getting isekai’d I’ll go by my middle name, due to its general awesomeness. (My first name is also awesome, but it has a different vibe and aesthetics are everything in fantasy worlds)

“My name is Solena,” I say, responding after a reasonable pause in actual time and a weirdly long one in mental time. Now, my name looks like it would be pronounced ‘sol-een-a’ but it’s actually ‘sol-ain-uh’ which I’m stating because again, I’m fully confident that these thoughts are being written down somewhere by some enterprising author who is also very likely me from another timeline because no one else in existence is fully capable of conveying the Wonder that is Me.

“Thank you for telling me, Solena. My name is Toriel, and I will be your caretaker while you are in these ruins,” Toriel says, conveniently leaving out the fact that she’d prefer to keep me in these ruins forever, probably because I’ve already demonstrated some leeriness towards her.

Now, I could bring up Flowey again, seeing as her explanation for fireballing him was more than a little lackluster and I’m still pretending not to know this world inside and out, but I already know stuff about Flowey and there are things I’m significantly more curious about.

“Cool! Toriel, got it. Hey, if you live in a cave underground, how did you get such a nice dress? Do you have farms down here? Livestock? Do you harvest fibers from animal monsters?” 

Haha, you thought I’d ask more about the magic? Hell no! I’m way more curious about how society functions down here!

Toriel does a double take, her expression implying that she’s revising all of her expectations towards me. (Again)

“There are small plant farms in some areas of the underground. We have no livestock down here, as we were delivered to this cave system in a bit of a rush, but we do harvest some fibers from willing monsters, yes. How did you guess it?”

Let me tell you, the high I’m getting right now from those theories being correct? Very similar to what happened recently in the BNHA comic with Dabi’s true identity. I am living for this, just absolutely vibing with this new knowledge.

“Well, I don’t see how else you’d do it. How do you get the dyes?” Because I don’t see them having access to chemical dye, and it’s not like humans trash a lot of the stuff unless this is one of those illegal dumping spots, so what gives?

“Excellent question, Solena! There are professional tailors who transfer dye from clothes that fall from the surface! Many also simply wear clothes acquired from the trash, though mine are hand-crafted as befits-” She cuts herself off before she can let slip her (former?) royal status. I let it slide because I really don’t see a need to step on trauma landmines here.

“As befits someone who’s! Affluent! Anyway, we’ve entered the Ruins proper! There are many dangerous puzzles here, an old monster tradition, so I’ll need to focus more on guiding you!” Damn it, we’re at the first puzzle already? I completely missed the staircase room, which sucks because not only did I miss out on seeing one of my favorite rooms, I didn’t notice whether there was a save point!

Fuck!

I walk to the sign by the door. “Brave ones, foolish ones, both walk not the middle road. What’s that mean? I obviously get it in the proverbial sense, but it’s near this puzzle, so is it supposed to be a clue?” 

It straight up took me until my second playthrough to understand that sign, man. 

Toriel’s face just lights up. She looks absolutely delighted, and I remember that she’s always wanted to be a teacher.

“It is a misdirection! The sign tricks the reader into thinking about it metaphorically, when the answer is actually quite literal!” She demonstrates by stepping on all the buttons but the center two, before turning to smile at me.

“Oh, that’s genius! Because you’re supposed to ignore the tiles in the middle! It works as a puzzle while also having an easily remembered solution if you’re in a hurry!” It’s honestly my favorite puzzle in the game for that, even if you’re never given the opportunity to solve it yourself.

“That is exactly what I was thinking when I created it! It is wonderful to hear that the message came across to someone, even if my- my, ah, my friends had consistent difficulty with it!”

We continue chatting about puzzles as we walk into the next room.

Toriel explains the spike puzzle here and how you’re supposed to memorize the layout of the first room to safely traverse the spikes. She also explains that she locked the ‘incorrect’ spikes permanently in the ‘up’ position so that no one would get hurt, stating that puzzles should be fun, not dangerous.

Honestly, she’s giving way more exposition than she ever did in the game, probably because I’m a slut for knowledge. I only really half hear her explanation, though, because what comes next is going to be very important to knowing the kind of experience I’m going to have down here.

See, we haven’t gone down the hallway to the spike room yet, and I know full well there’s a Froggit waiting there to ambush me.

I have a few questions that this pseudo fight will hopefully answer.

One, are there options like there are in the game? Because if the battle system is the same, it could severely limit my choices when it comes to conflict resolution, especially if I have the same options as Frisk.

Two, do I have a narrator and is that narrator Chara? TwoA, do they have control over me in fights, as in some fics, or am I fully autonomous? TwoB, if they are here, are they evil or are they a person, because that’s also something the fandom intensely and frequently disagrees about. TwoC, can they hear my thoughts? I’m going with ‘probably not’ because I’ve made zero effort to exclude spoilers, but there's still a possibility and I need it confirmed. TwoD, can they hear thoughts deliberately directed at them? I hope so, it would be a huge pain to only be able to talk to them when no one’s around.

Three, are Froggits secretly cats because there’s a meme comic about that and I need it in my life.

With these thoughts in mind, Toriel and I turn down the hall, and the world goes black and white.

[bnhainsert]

Sound Out

Chapter 8: Aria Di Sorbetto

Hado woke up to a text from Jiro. She was asking if Hado wanted to see a new movie that had come out recently.

Jiro: Yeah there’s this new comedy movie we’ve been wanting to see

Hado: We?

Jiro: Ochako, Asui, Midoriya, and Shoji

Hado: Who’s Shoji?

Jiro: You know pro hero tentacole?

Hado: THAT’S HIM?! HELL YEAH I’D LOVE TO MEET ANOTHER PRO HERO

Jiro: Alright lay off the caps please. I’ll meet you at the movie around 4pm

           Hado put away her phone and decided to train a bit before she would have to get ready to leave. She managed to get some quirk training in as well as strength training. She took a shower to clean up a bit. She dug through her duffle bag looking for something cute to wear out to the movies. She unfortunately didn’t pack any of her cute casual clothes when she left home 3 weeks ago. She opened up her wallet and did some mental math. Because the cottage she had been living in was stocked, she hadn’t spent any money recently. She made the bold decision to go out and buy a new outfit to treat herself. She had been working so hard recently that she told herself she deserved it. The movie theater she would be meeting them at was in the shopping district anyway.

           Hado arrived in the shopping district looking for a nice shop to get a new outfit from. She settled on a AC Quarter’s because the clothes were moderately priced and wouldn’t break the bank. She double checked the time to make sure she had enough time to try the clothes on and leave. She had about an hour and a half before the set meeting time with Jiro.

           Browsing through the clothes she decided she would buy herself a dress. She didn’t have very many so, what the hell, why not? She sorted through a lot of different styles, almost always turning down something with a floral pattern on it. Hado had nothing against flowers, they were just too busy of a design on the cloth. “Too short…. too long….too formal….too….risqué” She thought sorting through all of the dresses. She stopped at a cute blue dress that was a little bit past knee-length. It had a cinched waist, a squared off neckline, and cute little buttons going down the middle. The best part of it was that it had thin wavy lines on it that reminded her of her hero costume. She found the dress in her size and went to check out. She looked down at her feet on the way to the counter and realized she was wearing the same sneakers she had worn for almost 5 years now. They looked very beaten up. “maybe I should get a new pair of shoes too…”

           Hado refused to wear heals. They sucked to walk in and they sucked to sing in. She looked at the variety of flats they had instead. She really liked the way the Tod’s shoes looked. Tod brand shoes were normally a little too pricey for her but she had the money to spare and purchase a pair of black ones.

On her way up to the counter she spotted a cute black choker and grabbed it boldly. Yeah, sure, chokers hadn’t been in style in a while, but she liked them and thought it would look cute with her dress. The cashier rang her up and gave her her total. “Is it like date night or something?” The woman behind the counter asked. “Oh no. I’m going to a movie with some friends. I just want to look cute for me and me along” Hado confidently responded. “Wish I had that same boldness” The lady replied. “Oh but you could! I bet you would look great in purple! Find a nice purple blouse, throw on some casual jeans and maybe some heels and you’ve got it made!” Hado threw out. She wasn’t sure where this advice was coming from, but the lady at the counter seemed to take it to heart. She smiled at Hado and thanked her. Hado waved back to the cashier as she walked out of the store. Hey, being a hero didn’t always mean catching villains or rescuing people.

           Hado changed in a nearby bathroom and put her old clothes in the shopping bag she was given. She made her way to the movie theater. She had managed to arrive 5 minutes early surprisingly. She sat down on a bench right outside waiting for her friends. “You’re here too?” She heard a familiar voice from behind. She turned around to see Bakugo in casual clothing. “Oh yeah um Jiro invited me out to this movie. I think it’s going to be real stupid so I’m looking forward to it” Hado said. “Yeah, whatever” Bakugo responded.

           About 2 minutes later, the others began to arrive. Jiro walked up with Ochako, Tsu, Midoriya, and the person Hado assumed was Shoji. He looked even cooler in person! Behind them she saw Ashido, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Sero. Ashido casually greeted Jiro. “Oh what a coincidence! We’re all here at the same time! Are you guys going to see the same movie too?” She asked innocently. Jiro mentioned the movie they were seeing, and it matched up. The whole group of pro heroes entered the theater.

           “Well this is fucking weird”  Hado thought to herself. She was very suspicious of Ashido who she had learned had a penchant for causing a stir. It wasn’t ever harmful trouble; it was just a little exhausting. The groups of pro heroes chatted with each other as they looked for seats in the theater. Before they could pick Bakugo marched his way up all the way to the top. He glared at everyone, almost daring them to sit near him. They were used to this by now so they followed him up, but instead of sitting on his row, they sat in the row in front of him. They managed to all get there before Hado had a chance to make it up the stairs. She looked and noticed that most of the seats were already taken. She sighed and made her way all the way up to the top and sat by Bakugo. Bakugo looked over at her, noticing her exhausted look.

“Hey if you don’t want to sit next to me, there’s plenty of other chairs here” he snarled.

Hado laughed in response which made a few of the pro heroes turn their heads, surprised. “Please I think I can handle sitting by you. Besides, who else am I going to annoy all move with my color commentary” Hado teased. Bakugo shot back a smirk. The few that had looked back were so shocked they didn’t realize they were staring. The only one who didn’t bother looking back was Midoriya.

“Hey mind your own business you damn extras” Bakugo snapped and they all immediately turned their head back to the screen and continued their conversations. Hado snickered in response. “Will that ever get old?” She asked aloud. “I hope not” Bakugo replied.

           Everything was going according to plan. Midoriya relaxed in his chair, a feeling of relief filling his body. He hoped this wasn’t too obvious of a set-up, but he knew his best friend would never have taken the initiative to ask Hado out. Midoriya remembered worrying about his friend and how he would even manage to make this happen. Luckily, he knew some of the smoothest people in town. Calling Mina, Denki, and Eijirou was a great idea. They had all brainstormed some ways of making this happen, throwing out the ideas that Bakugo would never go for, which was most of them. They all agreed that they had to trick him into a date because he was too much of an idiot to really act on those feelings. Hell the only person he really fully opened up to was Midoriya and he still didn’t mention how he felt about Hado to him. Midoriya knew though. Midoriya at least knew what a crush felt like.

           The lights went down, and the previews started. “Oh shit I forgot to buy the popcorn!” Kaminari said loudly and jumped out of his seat. “Get a big one for us to share” Mina shouted to him as he left the theater. He gave a nod of understanding before disappearing out of view. “Idiot” Bakugo said under his breath. He looked over at Hado suppressing a laugh. “He just wants to make the movie experience a little more fun. It just feels a little more complete with popcorn you know?” She explained. “If you wanted some goddamn popcorn all you had to do was ask” Bakugo shot back and stood up to leave his seat. Hado looked shocked at Bakugo as he stomped out of the theater. He was still surprising her even after all the time they had been spending together. A warm smile found its place onto her face.

           “Ooooo how are the love birds doing?” Ashido teased, looking back at Hado. Hado was thankful the lights had gone out so Ashido couldn’t see how red her face got. “Shut up. It’s not like that. This is just how Bakugo is” Hado replied. “I can’t remember the last time Bakugo got me popcorn at a movie” Kirishima stated. “Oh, you mean that time that never happened?” Sero added. The pro heroes started giggling. A few other people who were in the theater turned around and shushed them. “Oh come on it’s just the previews, don’t be so uptight” Hado replied. One of the people who had turned around started glaring at her. “Ugh I promise you won’t hear them again okay?” Hado said in an attempt to make peace. The person turned back around with a huff. “Not sure how you’re going to do that. We happen to be a very noisy bunch” Ashido said loudly. Luckily Hado was expecting it and stopped the soundwaves from reaching the people in front of them. Midoriya was the one to laugh this time. “She’s a sound hero Ashido. And she’s very good at what she does. That’s probably why Bakugo has taken a liking to her” Midoriya said turning around to smile at Hado. Her face turned beet red again. “There’s no way he’s interested in me as more than just like…. a training partner, or like a pro hero to work with. Yeah I’m just basically a coworker to him” Hado rambled in her head, making sense of everything the others were implying. Kaminari came back with a big bucket of popcorn and took his place. “What’d I miss?” He whispered to Jiro. “Just us picking on Hado” She responded. “Aww man I miss out on all the fun” he said upset but pushed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

           Bakugo came back with a relatively normal sized bag of popcorn, stomping the whole way back up to his seat. “I better not have missed anything good loser” He said without taking his eyes off of the screen. “I thought you weren’t interested in a movie like this” Hado threw right back at him. “I’m not. I’m just here to tear down this shitty movie. I don’t want to miss a good chance to fucking annihilate whoever this dumb director is” Bakugo answered. Hado shrugged and faced the screen while every once in a while, grabbing some popcorn. “Thank you” she whispered to Bakugo as the movie started

           Hado didn’t get to fully enjoy the movie because she was so busy trying to keep her friends’ soundwaves from reaching the other people in the theater. That was incredibly hard to do considering other soundwaves were bouncing around. She did manage to keep Bakugo’s voice and her voice away from everyone in the theater. They shredded that movie, taking cracks at all of the cheesy lines and terribly designed sets.

           The credits began to roll and most everyone started to get up and leave. “Hey I’ve got some paperwork I forgot to finish up” Midoriya spoke up shooting out of his seat. “Let me know if we can do this again sometime” he said and shot out of the room before anyone could even blink. “Yeah I have some work still left for me at my agency. Ochako, would you mind helping out?” Tsu said as the two left the theater. Slowly each of the other heroes managed to find something they had to go do and left Hado and Bakugo alone in the theater. “Don’t tell me you have something else you have to do too” Hado sighed, sounding upset. “I already finished up all of my hero work unlike those losers” Bakugo replied. Hado smiled. “Hey what do you like to do for fun that doesn’t deal with hero work?” She asked curious. She had only ever seen Bakugo do hero work and everything that’s related to hero work.

“I’ll show you. Keep up nerd”

The two of them ended up at batting cages near the outskirts of the shopping district. They were nice batting cages too. Each booth was given a ton of room both to move and for the ball to fly through. “These batting cages were made specifically with quirks in mind” Bakugo explained slipping on a pair of gloves to help with the grip on the bat. “This is where I go on days when it’s raining and the training ground gets soaked” He continued. Hado looked at him very intensely, watching his every move. She watched him get ready for the machine to throw the pitches. He had set the frequency at which the machine shoots the ball higher than normal. Balls started flying out about every second and Bakugo was able to cool hit every single one of them. He wasn’t just strong, he was quick and strong, able to pull back fast enough again to put even more power in each new swing. How could someone make baseball look so goddamn cool.

“I know I’m awesome, but you can pick your jaw up off the floor you nerd” Bakugo’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. Hado shook her head. He started to put up the gloves and bat. “Are you done already?” Hado asked. He had only spent about 5 minutes hitting the baseballs back across the way. “No, I’m not done dumbass. A bat has its limitations” Bakugo replies. Hado put two and two together. “You’re going to use your quirk to propel it” Hado stated. Bakugo didn’t even reply. He just rolled his shoulders and focused. The balls came flying out at an even higher rate but each one was met by a very precisely placed explosion. It was incredible to watch. Not only did he hit every single ball, but he also sent them flying so fast and so far away.

Hado noticed sweat starting to glisten on Bakugo’s forehead. She couldn’t speak because she was so impressed by the display of prowess. These are skills she knew he had but it was different seeing those skills being used on something else. When they sparred, she never really had time to think about how much accuracy he had in his movements. She was always kept on her toes making sure she didn’t get hit. “If you don’t stop staring, I’ll start to think you have a crush on me” Bakugo said uncharacteristically. She turned away and blushed a light shade of pink. Something about it made her feel uneasy. “Is he making fun of me? I know I’m not up to his standards, but does he really have to tease me about that” Hado grappled with her inner monologue.

Bakugo must have notice something was wrong because he looked at Hado confused. “You look like you’re gonna’ vomit. You need to go home?” He asked. Hado didn’t like the feelings she was grappling with, but she also still wanted to spend more time with Bakugo. It was selfish of her, but when was the last time she got to enjoy herself so much? Hado shook off the awful feeling of nausea in her stomach. “No no I’m fine!” She told Bakugo. “Hey since you used your quirk on the ball, can I give it a try?” She changed the subject. “Yeah go ahead but you’re not going to break my record or anything” He teased.

Hado lowered the timing of how often the balls were thrown. She had to concentrate really hard. She had to figure out how strong to make the soundwaves to at least make the ball have backwards motion, then she had to figure out how powerful she could make the soundwaves to see how far and fast she could repel the balls. The first ball shot out. She calculated where it was headed and amplified a test soundwave. She made the ball stop in midair and drop to the ground. “Alright now I know the minimum output I need to send the ball backwards”. The next ball came flying out and this time her soundwave pushed the ball backwards, but it didn’t fly very far or very fast. The 3rd ball flew farther, faster. Each time the ball went a little bit farther and a little bit faster. By the last one, she had been shooting them back as far and as fast as Bakugo had with the bat. She felt slightly accomplished because Bakugo’s hits with the bat were still way over what a normal human could do.

“Not bad. You’ve still got some got some work to do but you’ve shown a lot of improvement over a short amount of time” Bakugo praised. It made Hado feel warm and happy. The compliment made her want to work even harder just to hear Bakugo say something nice about her again. Then she had a thought. There was something she could do that he most likely couldn’t.

“Hey if we’re done here, I have another place I’d like to go. You got to show off here so it’s my turn to show you what I can really do”

“Oh?” Bakugo said, raising one eyebrow. He had no idea where they were going to go, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t a least a little bit excited to see what Hado meant.

The two of them ended up at a bar that did Karaoke every night of the week. He sighed heavily. Of course, it was singing. She’s a goddamn sound hero. Singing wasn’t quite his speed, but he would go along with it because…. well because it was Hado. She seemed so excited too. Seeing her smile made him feel like nothing else mattered in the world, as long as he could see that smile. They took a seat at the bar and Hado immediately asked for a shot of whiskey. “Eh? What are you doing dumbass?” Bakugo asked. “Taking one shot gives me just a little more courage to sing sincerely” She said giving him a wink. That was surprising. She normally isn’t this bold. Was she flirting with him? Bakugo was kind of confused. “Did you want anything? I’m paying” She offered. “I’m not much of a drinker” Bakugo replied and asked for a glass of water. She shrugged and walked off to check out the songs on the Karaoke machine. She seemed to find a song she liked and grabbed the microphone ready to sing on the stage.

Things were pretty slow in the bar so it almost felt like a little private performance for him. He threw that thought out into the garbage. He didn’t deserve things like that. He stared intently at Hado as she started to sing. She surprisingly picked an alternative rock song. Bakugo took her for more a pop girl.

“Please don’t mind what I’m trying to say ‘cause I,

I’m being honest when I tell you that you,

You’re part of the reasons I’m set on the rest of my life

Being a part of you

And tell me what you think about

Being open

About being honest with yourself

‘Cause things will never be the sa-aame”

Her voice rang out beautifully. Her eyes were lighting up. She was looking straight at Bakugo with those bright happy eyes. It was so…. Enchanting. Bakugo wondered if maybe she had two quirks considering she had told him that her mother sang like an angel. Hado looked like she was having so much fun even though there were maybe a total of 3 people watching her. It felt like she was only singing for Bakugo. He felt his face heat up ever so slightly, thinking about the words of the song. Surely, they didn’t mean anything. It might have just been one of her favorite songs.

She finished the song but asked the owner if she could keep going considering how slow business was. The owner smiled happily and encouraged her to keep going. He’s probably heard all types of voices, most of them being drunk and not well tuned. Bakugo bet that Hado’s voice was like a breath of fresh air for this guy. And he would have to agree.

She picked a slow song this time with a slightly country twang. Bakugo wasn’t the biggest fan of country but he would give it a try because…. Well, again it was Hado singing it.

“Dear God the only thing I ask of you is

To hold her when I'm not around

When I'm much too far away

We all need that person who can be true to you

But I left her when I found her

And now I wish I'd stayed

'Cause I'm lonely and I'm tired

I'm missing you again oh no

Once again”

The slight tinge of sadness struck a chord in Bakugo. She honestly looked like she was going to cry. He felt the emotions of the song through her voice and her expression. Then something even more amazing happened. Another voice layered on top of hers to create a harmony. She was using her quirk to create her own harmonies. Knowing what Bakugo knew about her quirk, that would take a lot of concentration and control to do something like that. She had already thrown back 3 shots so some of her concentration had to be off.

As Bakugo was stuck in his thoughts, people started to trickle in from outside. They seemed to hear Hado singing and were drawn in. Hado finished up her song and looked around nervously. The owner encouraged her to sing one more song because no one else had signed up yet. Bakugo figured they would probably want to throw back a few drinks before getting up there to sing. It was called liquid courage for a reason.

Hado picked one more song to sing for the now growing crowd. As she began her song Bakugo overheard the conversation between two guys near him. “Oh man her voice is awesome. And she’s pretty cute too. Think she’s taken?”. Something inside of Bakugo threatened to snap. The conversation made his blood boil. “Fucking jerks” he said under his breath. Hado finished up her song and was about to walk off the stage to give someone else a chance. The two men Bakugo heard earlier were talking again. “Oh, dude there she goes. I’m going to see if I can get her number” one guy said and gave his drink to his buddy.

Hado quickly made her way to Bakugo who was grinding his teeth to keep himself from physically hurting the man who spoke earlier. Before she could make it all the way back to her seat, the man who wanted her number tapped her on the shoulder. Bakugo felt like he was going to explode. “Hey, you have an incredible singing voice” The guy complimented her. “Oh thanks… I get it from my mom” She shyly replied. Bakugo could tell she was uncomfortable. He arms were folded in front of her and her eyes were focused on the floor. “Well your mom has one hell of a daughter. Would you mind if I-” the man stopped mid-sentence seeing Bakugo walk up behind Hado and put his arm around her waist. “Mind if you what” Bakugo growled. “Oh uh… um… nothing nevermind. Just wanted to say you were great… um have a good night” he said nervously as he quickly shuffled his way back over to his friend. Hado sighed, relieved. She looked up to Bakugo. She then looked down at his hand still around her waist. Bakugo noticed her staring at his hand and he suddenly let go feeling….self-concious?

“Hey, thank you for that. I have trouble politely telling people to fuck off. Not sure why” Hado admitted. Bakugo had a small thought form in the back of his mind. “What if she’s just hanging out with me because she doesn’t know how to tell me to fuck off?”.

“Hey earth to Bakugo. Let’s get out of here. There’s too many people” Hado said. Bakugo snapped back to reality and walked out of the bar with her, giving those men one last hard glare.

“Was there anything else you wanted to do tonight?” Hado asked sweetly. Bakugo just shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it’s time for us to just head home” He suggested bitterly. He looked back at Hado and she looked so upset. A pang of guilt hit him right in the chest. Did she still really want to spend more time with someone like him?

“I…. I was really enjoying out time together. We’ve never hung out outside of hero work or training. I haven’t had this much fun with anyone else ever” She bravely admitted. Any doubt he had before quickly left his mind after her confession. “Well…. It’s still getting late. If you want…. I could let you crash at my place” he quietly offered. Hado’s face lit up. There was that smile again, and it felt like all was right with the world again.

The two made it back to Bakugo’s place. He unlocked the door and let her in. It’s a pretty normal looking place. He did have a wall where he hung up articles of him being praised as a pro hero. They sat down on the couch in the front room and talked for hours. They talked to each other about villain busts, and old high school stories. They talked about each other’s goals and dreams. They learned about their favorite colors and music and weather. Bakugo looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We should probably rest up. You can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch” Bakugo offered. Thinking about Hado sleeping in his bed made him embarrassed but he wasn’t sure why.

“Oh no I can sleep on the couch. I think I’d feel just a little weird sleeping in your bed. No offense to you! Your wonderful and I like being around you and stuff. I just think I’d be more comfortable on the couch” Hado admitted. A small part of Bakugo felt rejected, but he pushed that feeling aside and shrugged. He stood up and started to walk off to his bedroom. “Just let me know if you need anything” he said not looking back. “Oh, hey just one thing!” Hado called. He turned around and she planted a kiss directly on his cheek. His face got hot and his heart thumped hard in his chest. He wasn’t moving, just standing completely still in the middle of the room.

“Oh god did I break you? I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have-” Hado was cut off mid-sentence. Bakugo had quickly grabbed her to pull her close and put his lips on hers. His heart thumped even more loudly in his chest. Every ounce of passion he had been feeling was poured into that kiss. He broke the kiss first and looked at Hado’s blushing face. He smirked realizing that he had caused her to blush like this. She wasn’t moving. “Hey earth to sound girl” Bakugo mocked. She let out a small giggle.

“There’s more where that came from, so you better be careful” Bakugo managed to both tease and threaten. He walked back off to his bedroom. Hado couldn’t believe what just happened, but it was incredible, and she felt like she was on cloud nine. She tucked herself in for the night on the couch. She wondered about what tomorrow would hold.

Chapter 7   Chapter 9