#sometimes he delivers such a one hit KO

[intermundia]

"i know" 😭

[linkemon]

Home (Zuko x Reader)

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"ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]. ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ꜱᴏ ꜰᴀʀ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱʜᴀᴘᴇꜱ, ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴍᴇʟʟꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ʙʏ ʜᴇʀ. ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀ, ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ ꜰʟᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ."

— I'd like a refill of jasmine tea. — Iroh was happily lounging on the couch.

Zuko sighed. His uncle looked almost healthy. He could make the brew himself. However, he willingly took advantage of the privileges of a sick person. The boy was forced to jump around him and serve him. He adjusted the pillows, listened to the nagging and also prepared drinks. The latter took the most time. Iroh was an expert and as a result, he was not satisfied with the first drink he came across. Usually [Reader] saved the situation. As a healer, she knew these things. In addition, she quickly became the favourite of the Dragon of the West.

The prince headed towards the kitchen. He hoped he would find the tray soon. The little temple was truly beautiful but there was a happy mess everywhere. Some rooms were used for drying herbs, others were converted into granaries and others into sick rooms. During the war, this must have been of particular importance. Currently, the only people who visited here were those from the villages below the hill. And now he and his injured uncle too.

[Reader] found them unconscious in the nearby forest. A chance encounter with a unit of Earth Kingdom soldiers ended in disaster. The boy's cuts and bruises healed quickly but he had strained his fire magic. The first day he woke up, he felt a strange emptiness. He couldn't do anything. There was no question of searching for the Avatar in this state. Only three days ago he managed to create a flame large enough to burn the wood in the fireplace. The healer, like Iroh, claimed that the condition of his tired soul was responsible for his illness. So, to heal it, he did all sorts of things. Starting with weeding the garden, sorting medicines and ending with cleaning up after Aiiro. The big, blue peacock gave him the most problems. The extremely proud animal did not like to move. He had to push it as hard as he could to get it to move. Sometimes it even snapped its beak but it never hurt him. After feeding, he felt like hitting it with a broom but he always remembered that it was that thing that had brought him to the temple, so he refrained.

Zuko took the tea leaves, the kettle and the clay cups. He put it all on the tray and headed back towards the living room. However, a familiar voice caught his attention:

— I'll say it one last time. They are my guests. You have no right to demand that I hand them over! — [Reader] was standing at the entrance to the temple.

— Consider this, even if we leave them alone according to the law, they can still convict you of treason. I say this as a friend.

The prince looked at the man behind the door. Slightly worn, green clothes and a straw hat marked the farmer. He must have come from Hefei. There were no other settlements nearby large enough to farm.

— Is this a threat? — The girl clenched her fist. — My family has been serving people for generations. We don't ask who they are, we just treat them. My grandmother delivered your mother, my mother delivered you and I delivered your children...

— That's different! They murdered innocent people! Our entire nation suffers because of them! — Hate burned in the man's eyes.

Zuko knew that look well. Almost everyone looked at him that way. The Earth Nation, the Water Nation, the Fire Nation after they were banished, the Avatar, his sister and most of all, his father. Everyone wanted him gone. He missed his mother. He had the feeling that apart from his uncle, she was the only one who truly loved him. And now he met [Reader] and for the first time in a long time he felt that someone had truly dismissed his mistakes. She looked at him, believing that he had changed, even though she knew how much evil he had done in the past. It was like a warm ray of sunshine after a long winter. That's why he froze with his tray, listening for the answer. He was scared. However, it was not that if he was extradited, he should run away. He was afraid of rejection. A girl standing a few steps away gave him hope. He didn't want to lose her.

— Go away! — The healer pointed to the stairs.

— Pack your bags!

— Are they coming for us? What a pity. I didn't have time to finish my tea. - The general put down his cup sadly.

Zuko was used to his uncle's calmness but [Reader's] composure told him something was wrong.

— Why aren't you packing? — he asked, leading Aiiro out.

— Because I'm not going anywhere. — The girl calmly handed him the saddle.

The prince froze as he reached for the item.

— You're not serious, are you?

— My family has lived here for generations. It is my house. We even survived the Fire Nation War. I will stay here like everyone before me.

The healer passed the boy and began to saddle the peacock. The bird sensed anxiety. He began to pace impatiently in place.

— It's stupid!

— Do you think years of tradition are stupid?

— Yes! If there's a chance you'll die from it, then yes!

Zuko grabbed the strap of his bag. He squeezed it as tight as he could.

— You can heal people anywhere — he added. — I think your ancestors would have wanted you to do this, even if not in this temple.

— I won't be able to help. There are all the plants and books here and…— Her voice broke. — Here's everything I know, Zuko. I grew up here. How do I leave it? — Tears welled up in her eyes.

— I know what it's like to leave home — he took a deep breath — but it will get better with time.

The moment of exile flashed before his eyes. When his father declared him a traitor, he lost his home. Since then, he has been desperately trying to get it back. Every step in recent years was supposed to bring him closer to his goal. His search for the Avatar brought him to this place. So did he have the right to ask her to leave? If he could turn back time, would he oppose the general? Would he agree to Agni Kai with his father? He wasn't sure. Yet he tried to force someone to voluntarily abandon their home.

He looked over the white marble columns. Over a dozen or so days, he managed to like the atmosphere of this place. The scents of lemon trees and flowers surrounded him. There were many little creatures living in the garden. He saw frogs, butterflies and birds. Even snails, although they destroyed crops. [Reader] didn't have the heart to kill them. Fat koi fish swam lazily in the pond. He felt at peace as he crossed the bridge over them. He felt like the last time he felt this feeling was when he and his mother were feeding the ducks. He was a little boy then. The times when they formed a family together with Azula and their father seemed very distant.

And now he had the impression that he was on vacation on the Amber Island again and like a child he didn't have to worry about anything. The curtains on the temple terrace fluttered slightly. He sat in the shade on soft pillows. A healer was sitting opposite him in the sun. Iroh poured tea for everyone while explaining the rules of pai sho. He set up the board, chattering happily. Zuko paid no attention to the ongoing conversation. He smelled fresh laundry. It was hanging on a string a little further away. His nose also told him that another batch of herbs was drying nearby. He took a sip of the warm drink. It had a mild, chamomile aftertaste. He bit into the cereal cookie, enjoying the crunch of the dried fruit. He glanced at [Reader] and saw Ursa for a moment. However, the impression quickly dissipated. He laughed at his uncle's weak joke as he moved his pawn. He knew he was losing because he wasn't focusing on the rules. He should be annoyed. After all, he was wasting his time and Aang was still enjoying his freedom. Still, this moment seemed too beautiful to care. The undisturbed idyll was stuck in his head. For some reason, he remembered this ordinary afternoon the best. He felt that it would come back to him again.

It was difficult for him to leave this place. It was hard for him to admit it to himself. Waking up at dawn on a cold morning, breakfasts with freshly brewed tea, hand-dug vegetables for dinner, afternoon walks in the shade of trees, afternoon teas with games, dinners by the warm fireplace and nightly reading of books — all this would now become just a memory. He knew he would leave this place one day, so why did it hurt inside like he was thirteen again?

— Zuko, get in, we don't have time! — The general grabbed Aiiro's reins.

Is it really about the place? This question occupied his mind.

He looked at [Reader]. He realized that he had been wrong so far. This house was not created by shapes, colours and smells but by her. Without her, none of the images flashing through his head would exist.

The boy threw all his supplies out of the bag and handed it to the girl.

— What are you...

— Take all the seeds and books you can fit in here. We will hold them until your return! — The flame flared up above the prince's fingertips.

— Better late than never! — Iroh, pleased, pointed to his nephew's fire.

Was this the balance they talked about so much? Now had his soul finally found a good reason to release the embers?

He created a wall of fire. It burned as brightly as when he fought Azula. He felt strangely calm. There was no nervous, battle fever about it. It was replaced by composure mixed with the belief that what he was doing was right.

Zuko looked up. That night, the starry sky was decorated with hundreds of constellations. The moon lit the way and the dense summer beneath them. Aiiro flapped his powerful wings, creating strong gusts of air. Uncle's loud snoring could be heard from the saddle.

— Zuko. — The girl's quiet voice woke him from his thoughts.

— You're not sleeping yet? — he sighed.

— I could not fall asleep. — She moved closer.

Up there it was hard to hear what others were saying. The wind effectively drowned out the words.

— Me neither — he admitted.

He knew it would be a long time before he forgot about the hill temple. The envious inhabitants of Hefei used his fire in anger. They burned everything that could be destroyed. From the peacock's back he saw first a burning glow and then thick, gray smoke. Ash danced in the cool air along with shreds of pages from ancient books.

— Thank you. — [Reader] wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

— What for? For burning down your house? — There was regret in his voice.

— You know very well that you didn't burn it.

The prince knew that what she was saying was true. And yet he didn't realize how much he needed to hear it from her.

— If I had stayed there, who knows…— She looked behind her. — Maybe I wouldn't be here anymore.

— I couldn't leave you there because…— The unspoken words hung between them.

He was afraid of another loss. That was the truth. He managed to trust someone and didn't want to face the pain again.

The healer spread her arms. He tentatively snuggled into her. She still smelled of flowers and herbs. Her hair tickled his face. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to cry. He didn't know why he was crying anymore. Was it from longing for a temple or a palace? Was it for family and a future that could never exist or for [Reader] who could be dead? Was he crying for himself or for others? It didn't matter. He sobbed like a little child, who deep inside he still was. In the cool air, hundreds of meters above the ground, the firebender found warmth.

[tobiasdrake]

Have you read the Dragon Ball Super manga? You've stated in the past that you're more of a fan of the original manga than the anime adaptation, so I was curious what your thoughts are on the current continuation of Toriyama's original manga, seeing as how the manga had some Toriyama supervision and was based on his notes.

While I do prefer the manga to the anime, I will say that both versions of Dragon Ball Super are hit-or-miss. There are basically three creatives at work with DBS.

Toriyama, up until his passing, would write story notes and some individual plot points down and pass them off to Toei and to Toyotaro. Lotta To- names floating around Dragon Ball.

...he said with no sense of self-awareness at all.

But this is Toriyama twenty or thirty years later, so he's not exactly the same creator that wrote the original manga. His memory of his own work has drifted; For instance, while writing Battle of Gods, he forgot that Super Saiyan 2 even existed and thought SSJ3 was SSJ2.

It had been a long time for him. He only got back into Dragon Ball because Dragon Ball: Evolution pissed him off. Explaining in the 30th Anniversary Super History Book:

"Dragon Ball once became a thing of the past to me, but after that, I got angry about the live action movie, re-wrote an entire movie script, and now I'm complaining about the quality of the new TV anime, so it seems that DB has grown on me much that I can't leave it alone."

The movie script he rewrote was, of course, Battle of Gods.

Famously, after seeing Evolution, Toriyama basically marched into Toei to see what they were making, ripped up the script for Battle of Gods, and rewrote the whole thing. He was just. So. Incensed. By Hollywood's butchering of his work.

So, in a twisted way, we have Dragon Ball: Evolution to thank for the resurrection of the Dragon Ball brand. I know, it's so weird.

This was Toriyama's formal return to the world of Dragon Ball after decades of just writing little story bits here and there or designing a character or two. Though just writing story bits here or there is more or less what he settled back into with Super. Toriyama would write notes about what he wanted to happen and deliver them to Toei and to Toyotaro, and the two would separately interpret those notes into their own vision.

You can tell what's from Toriyama versus what's from Toei or Toyotaro based on what plot points end up being hit by both versions versus what's unique to one interpretation or the other.

So, this:

Gohan facing down the fused Kefla and sacrificing himself in a double KO to take her off the field? That's Toyotaro.

Super Saiyan Blue Kaio-ken? That's Toei.

Goku has never kissed Chi-Chi in 20+ years of marriage because he's aroace and they're basically playing house for keeps? That's Toriyama.

Android 17 being the key factor in winning the Tournament of Power because his Android energy can't be sensed the way ki can, that's something that came down from Toriyama. 17 pretends to self-destruct using the bomb he doesn't have anymore; The one Krillin once used Shenron to remove from him.

But Toei has 17 emerge for the fight with Jiren, so he can briefly join Goku and Frieza in fending Jiren off - before they tell him to fuck off because he's not supposed to be in this scene.

While Toyotaro has him remain hidden under his cloak of ki-sensing invisibility for a last-second surprise.

But like I said before: Writing Dragon Ball again after twenty years away out of spite towards a bad American production, Toriyama isn't the same creative he was when this was all fresh and new and exciting. He was just as prone to characterization slip-ups and questionable decision-making as Toei and Toyotaro are.

I mean. That was even happening in the original manga. Remember that time when any part of the Android arc honestly? Good times. Nobody's perfect.

So, like I said, with Super, it's really hit or miss on both sides. Sometimes Toriyama's collaborations with Toei give us the heartwarming and beautiful friendship relationship between Broly and his new pals Cheelai and Leemo.

Or this. Especially this.

Nothing in Dragon Ball has ever, EVER been as funny as when Goku and Vegeta made Frieza hold the line against Broly, a nemesis Frieza brought to Earth to kill Goku and Vegeta. Taking advantage of his berserker rage in the most comical and beautifully karmic way possible to buy them time to work out the Fusion Dance.

And sometimes they give us yet another version of the Gotenks failed fusion joke they need to flog like a dead horse every single time a Fusion takes place in any piece of media they have ever produced.

DO YOU REMEMBER THAT TIME DO YOU REMEMBER DO YOU FUCKING REMEMBER THAT TIME IT WAS SO FUNNY DO YOU REMEMBER IT

That is Fusion Reborn, Yo Son Goku and Friends Return, DBS: Broly, and DBS: Super Hero in order.

And for his part, sometimes Toriyama's collaborations with Toyotaro gives us Goku lighting the fuck up like Spirit Korra.

And sometimes it gives us Vegeta learning how to teleport from the Yardratians but then immediately swearing off ever using it again because... I guess the move has Goku's cooties on it or something.

"Vegeta, you can teleport!"

"No, I cannot! I demand divergent character evolution from this manga so I will forever forego ever learning the cool and useful techniques that you use, Kakarot. What do you mean my dialogue sounds like a fourth-wall breaking author screed?"

This is honestly one of my "favorite" things that ever happens in Super. Vegeta refuses to learn Ultra Instinct, the ultimate martial art of the gods taught by Whis, and demands another path to the same kind of power that does not exist.

Then Beerus, a character who has long been established as vastly inferior to Whis, is like "Wanna learn this other thing that's just as good as Whis's thing I swear?" and helps Vegeta learn a new art where he... *checks notes* ...lets his opponent punch him in the face without defending himself until he dies.

This is where you end up when your mission statement is to not do the things that actually work for the intelligent martial artist and instead do the opposite out of spite. You end up with a fighting style that's built around losing fights on purpose.

Toyotaro somehow manages to shill the hell out of Vegeta and downplay Goku while also making Vegeta look like the most useless idiot ever. Ultra Ego is the worst transformation in the history of Dragon Ball and I'm convinced that Beerus helped Vegeta develop this as a prank.

He's up there right now laughing his ass off.

So. Yeah. There's a lot to like but also a lot to not like about both versions of Super. It's very different from what the original manga is, and it has very different pluses and minuses between the two versions. But there are some gems to be found here.

And the biggest gem is this guy.

[talenlee]

OP OPs

Sometimes an anime has an opening that’s so good the anime in question can’t live up to it. Sometimes an anime that’s absolute turds gets an OP that’s an absolute banger because the people making the opener still want a career in the industry and nobody maligns their work because of the anime association. After all, Bleach made a bunch of number 1 hits.

And bear in mind, I’m pre-emptively cutting things where the opening of the anime is so good that even a good anime can’t match up to it. Otherwise we’d have things like Gunsmith Cats and Paranoia Agent in this list because even though those are great shows their openings are preposterous. I might even put season 1 of Oshi No Ko in that list, where a good show I enjoyed had to grapple with an opening so good that the rest of the series can go sit on a shelf. Asterisk is the opening to an anime that went absolutely down the toilet but I don’t think it’s a fair example of what this is.

Nope, this is about real duds of an anime that had an inexplicably good opening. These are anime that are going to crest the high water mark of ‘mid.’ I’m also avoiding anime that I just don’t like that I think still appeal to their core audience. This is stuff that I feel like it wants me to like it, specifically, and it did a bad job at delivering on that because of plotting, pacing, storytelling, getting distracted and trailing off mid sandwiches or wanting to be about something that maybe was racist or creepy. Also, just assume all the good openings for My Hero Academia are here in honorary slots, because that show is pants.

Ready go go go go

Photon

Photon: The Idiot Adventures (Intro) [HD]

Watch this video on YouTube

This opening has nipples in it, so you’ll have to click through to see it.

Photon: The Idiot Adventures is a particular type of anime that wants to use a stupid character as its excuse for its stupid story. It’s a fanservice adventure anime tied in with the Tenchi Muyoverse which means it has every bit of depth and meaningful relationship to long term storytelling that that Star Wars EU wanted to be. It’s built around a main character, named Photon, who is superhumanly strong and incredibly stupid, and gets caught up in the adventure of other characters who are you know, doing stuff and accidentally lays claim to a gorgeous supermodel who shows off her boobs a lot because he drew an insult on her forehead, which, you know, that’s a normal and not-contrived reason for a character who can’t talk to suddenly get foisted with a harem. He’s also the stupidest person in the world, so stupidity-powered magic doesn’t work on him.

Photon is six episodes long and I have told you everything interesting in it in that one paragraph.

The opening however? Beautiful! I’ve had it on the playlists for twenty years, with its lovely mix of restful pipes and then sudden, soaring guitar. Great theme! Love it to bits! The show sucks!

Outlaw Star

Outlaw Star opening HD

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This may infringe on the memories of Americans who were teenagers during the Toonami days, but Outlaw Star kind of gets to sneak along in the shadow of Cowboy Bebop, a show that is also about cowboys in space but crucially avoids a lot of nasty, sexist stuff around Space Catgirls that unfortunately, serves as the foundation of Outlaw Star. Also, they broadcast it dubbed, which, y’know, everyone involved was trying their best, I am sure. I might just be a bit bitter because of the entire idea of ‘cool fighty catgirl who is actually just the same archetype as all the other protagonist-seeking wastes of space’ and she looks like a stick most of the time.

Outlaw Star’s opening oozes style. It’s slick and it’s got a bright, aggressive feeling to it that it compliments by bringing down each phrase in the opening in this sequential sort of verbal stomp. And they don’t just do it once, they use that to punctuate the start and wrap of the song.

Orphen Op 1

Majutsushi Orphen Opening 1 - Ai Just on my Love

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You will never encounter such an enduring truth that anime is not a meritocracy that Sorcerous Stabber Orphen is still being made.

Orphen is a very rudimentary anime series based on what I think is a playstation era JRPG or whatever, which tells the story of a very good magic boy who is good at magic but he is sad about his magic because his mentor was better at magic and then she messed up and turned into a dragon so now he’s on a quest to follow that dragon and turn her back into a pretty lady who he wants to kiss. This is not a hollow concept in and of itself, it’s not a bad place to start, and quite frankly ‘here is an adventure idiot, good at magic’ was the heart of Slayers, one of the routine winners of Best In Category anime that exist.

What set Orphen apart is the way that the first series back in the 90s was agonisingly slow in the way it wanted to cover every detail of every mid-quest on every step, but the way it padded that slowness with multiple iterations on conversations with the characters bouncing back and forth to the two reaction characters, a Girl who is there to be a problem and a boy who is there to talk about how great Orphen is in every scene.

See all that cool action in the opening?

Yeah, that’s not in the show.

Shame, I love this jazzy opening.

The Masterful Cat is Depressed Again Today

デキる猫は今日も憂鬱 [The Masterful Cat is Depressed Again Today] - Title Song

Watch this video on YouTube

See! I’m not just making fun of 90s anime we had to suffer through because someone bought all the VHS to club and there was only so much anime we could even watch! We were going to get our money’s worth out of it, after all, right? No, I’m also going to make fun of new anime, like the recent show The Masterful Cat Is Depressed Again!

I didn’t like this show for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which being that it’s boring, but also the character of the cat is ruined by letting him speak. When he’s just a big cool cat that does something weird, it’s interesting and confusing and asks questions. When we get his inner dialogue he’s a fat-shaming asshole who makes fun of his owner for being overburdened under capitalism and not caring about appearances the way he, a cat does.

The opening paints a fun story about a slice of life story that’s about a sort of lifting, hopeful tone, something that speaks to the story of a commuter, a liver of life in the city, a main character who spends her time moving from project to project, making friends at the office, and then coming home to her ‘roommate’ who is a full time carer. It’s a really good, breezy opening for what it’s doing, and a lovely song with some acrobatics to match with the way the animation wants to follow the movement of a cat running around excitedly!

Metallic Rouge

Metallic Rouge - Opening | Rouge

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Make whatever excuses you want, complain about a truncated schedule, whatever you want, this is ultimately a science fiction story about ‘well, what if slavery isn’t so bad?’ Which is a shame because the music is stylish and bouncy, plays with the feeling of transformation and has a wonderful break into the feeling of impact in the later part of the song. I really like the way Metallic Rouge sounds and it stands out how the anime is as a show absolutely not going to live up to this standard.

They even do it twice: Crimson Lightning is a great ‘time for an ass kicking’ song that this anime absolutely does not deserve.

Peacemaker Kurogane’s ED

PeaceMaker Kurogane END (Hey! Jimmy)

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This is something of a cheat because it’s an ending, not an opening. On the other hand, this song is just such a legitimately fun, crunchy rock track that sings the song of a cool guy named Jimmy who needs to be encouraged to stand up for himself, even to the point the chorus chants it out —

YOU GOT TO FIGHT FOR YO MONEY

— that it stuck in my memory for decades.

Know what I can’t tell you? I can’t tell you anything else about Peacemaker Kurogane except the main character really wants to be one of the secret police who stalk people in Tokyo during the lockdowns on poor people.

DNA^2

opening dna 2

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The 90s were a different time, which is a shame, because if it was right now, we’d have the opportunity to prevent 9/11 and kill Shinzo Abe earlier. But particularly of note is this little spur of a song by industry titans L’arc En Ciel. You probably recognise their sound from Ready Steady Go, an opening for Fullmetal Alchemist, or the ending of Rurouni Kenshin, where, hilariously, the single was dropped from the show because the drummer of the band was caught with drugs.

boy how that feels different now.

Anyway, Blurry Eyes is a great pop song, I love it a lot. I wish it wasn’t attached to this awful anime that follows in the footprints if not blueprints of the author’s previous work, Video Girl Ai. But where Ai was about the idea of ‘what if a computer could love you back,’ DNA^2 is about ‘what if an incel was secretly so sigma he would breed humanity into extinction if he ever decided to have sex.’ It has time travel, it has Super Saiyan modes, it has ridiculous powers, and it has just way too much unsettling and unpleasant relationships to sex and sexuality that treats men as incapable of being responsible with things like ‘who they fuck’ because birth control doesn’t exist in the world.

I didn’t mean to bring up Shinzo Abe without a good reason, but uh…

Love Hina

"Sakura Saku" - Love Hina Opening 1080p

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This show was an international success for so many reasons, many of which were ‘nobody thought the two children in the harem were a problem, and that’s a pretty weird thing to be okay with,’ but also the opening was great. For a manic, high-speed anime that wanted to present a feeling of being out of control, Sakura Saku had a great vibe to fit with the animation, but it even transcended the indescribable midness of being (Love Hina).

I don’t have a lot to say here, though because this was one of many anime with a Megumi Hayashibara single as the opening, in the period of her life when she was probably at the height of her sheer star-making power. This anime literally lowered everyone’s standards, but I watched the opening every episode.

(Weirdly? The manga’s markedly better.)

Bakuretsu Tenshi

Burst Angel - opening - loosey

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Sometimes there are people who will ruminate on how the lost of the OVA as a format meant we as a community lost something important, something deep in our culture as a way for animation studios to get started or to explore new and novel ideas that didn’t necessarily have a whole series to go for them. To that I would point out that online streaming media still has those spaces, and also, that system gave us Burst Angel, an anime that promises so much with its interesting ideas and runs out of steam in five episodes without much idea of what it’s doing after that point. It is an anime that has every chance to be good, and then they gave it to the guy who made MD Geist.

Heck, this was a studio Gonzo anime back when that wasn’t a punchline. Something to do with them pumping out huge amounts of anime very early in the studio’s life, almost like there was some kind of pervasive and abusive culture of overproduction.

Anyway.

Loosey is a real fun track! It’s got flute! It’s got chanting! It’s got a jazzy vibe in a time when anime could use more of those!

Wish the anime lived up to it, or even had, y’know, a second thing to remember it for.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[the-cult-of-russo]

Such a Softer Sin (Part 19)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: I’m not specifically tagging this one, if you’ve seen the show, nothing will shock you. Smut will happen eventually so minors DNI, thanks.

A/N: I hope this chapter soothes some of the wounds I’ve given you lmao

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You stared out of the window, curled in the chair beside it as you just sat there. It had been a few days and you’d hidden out the entire time in Billy’s room.  A vague part of you was aware you hadn’t really grieved, that you’d stuffed your grief in a box and buried it six feet deep but it was the only way you were getting by. You didn't feel like you could face anyone yet. You didn't want to have to see people and you remembered their screams of horror as you ripped Aurora’s heart right out of her chest. You were supposed to be Queen now, what kind of Queen were you to do such a thing in front of people? You didn’t regret the act itself but you knew you could have been better, done better, for the people you now served. You weren't sure if they thought you were a monster or not and you were scared to find out. You hadn’t seen Billy much during the days as he was still King and he had a lot to deal with. Things had finally come back to order now the culprit was dealt with, the fear of who would be next dissipating in the wind. Atticus’ face hit you and you closed your eyes with a deep inhale, forcing it to leave. You didn't want to think about it. While not seeing him in the day, Billy would have food sent up to you to make sure you were eating and as soon as he was done with his work, he came to the room you were now sharing with him. Sleeping next to him, wrapped in his arms, was the only comfort you found and you felt gratitude for how he'd been with you. He hadn’t judged you for what you did, hadn’t forced you to talk about it either. He’d just hold you as he told you he was there for you, that it would all be okay. Your memories of being mid shift were a little fuzzy around the edges but you still remembered most of it. You remembered how he’d cared for you and it made your chest ache at the thought. Before you ever met him, you’d thought he was cold and merciless and while he was when it called for it, he wasn’t with you, never had been. There were a lot of mixed feelings inside of you because you knew if you’d never come here, you’d still have Kos and Atti by your side and a large part of you mourned for that back so deeply that you had to ignore it or it would rip you apart limb from limb. But if you’d never have come here, you wouldn't have met Billy, never have met your mate and you had no idea why you deserved a mate so perfect or wonderful. You’d never have met Frank, Karen, Curtis, Micro or Azalea, all of which you’d come to learn in the days hiding out in here cared about you. They’d all come to see you at some point, make sure you were okay. Frank was the one hand delivering food to you everyday and you knew he didn’t need to. He was Beta here, such things were beneath him but he’d come with food and sit with you while you ate as he spoke about things that couldn't connect to what you’d been through and you appreciated it. You were both bitter and grateful for being here, bitter and grateful for the hand you’d been dealt and it was a very confusing mixture of feelings to process. You kept telling yourself that Kos wouldn't want you to mope, that he wouldn't want you to dwell on this and if he was here, he’d be telling you to push through it. That you had to do it for him. So you pushed your grief down because you knew eventually you’d have to leave this room and you’d have your duty as Queen, you didn't have the luxury of hiding away forever. 

You heard the door knock and looked over to it, knowing it wasn’t time for Frank with food. It didn't mean he wouldn't just turn up sometimes though or that it wasn't one of the others.

“Come in,” you called out and you watched as the door opened, Azalea slipping inside. You hadn't seen her since everything happened and surprise took over your face. You were happy to see her. She opened her mouth but shut it promptly and you wondered if she was about to ask you if you were okay and then realized it was a ridiculous question. Instead, she moved over and perched herself on the edge of the bed to face you. You knew how by the book she was, knew she’d never dare sit on the King’s bed normally, but her face was the picture of concern as she gazed at you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N… for everything you’ve been through,” she murmured sadly and your eyes snapped back to the light blue sky outside, chest tightening uncomfortably. You didn’t say anything, couldn't find your voice but she pushed on.

“You're the strongest person I know. You’ve been through so much and yet you're still standing. I admire you so much… You are the perfect wolf to be Queen,” she murmured vehemently and your head whipped to her again with wide eyes. The words made a lump form in your throat. You didn't feel strong at all right now, you felt weaker than you’d ever done, yet she was looking at you with such clear eyes that you knew she genuinely believed her words.

“Thank you,” you whispered and she gave you a sad smile. 

“Everyone’s been asking after you, they want to make sure you’re okay. Everyone’s saying you’re a hero,” she informed, a wry smile tugging at her lips and you snorted mirthlessly. 

“I don't much feel like one,” you confessed and she looked at you sadly. You sighed, looking back out of the window and you could feel her eyes burning holes into you.

“They found the witches,” she said and you turned to look at her with breakneck speed, hope and curiosity etched onto your face.

“One of Karen’s spells worked and they located them. The King’s men went out and saved them, they’re on the castle grounds now under the King’s protection. The moon’s been fixed,” she added with a smile. Relief swept right through you at the news that as least one thing was over with, one thing had gone right. You wondered why Billy hadn’t told you but you had an idea as to why. You’d been numb the past few days, forced yourself to be as it was the only way of getting through the worst of the feelings and it had left you a little cold. You’d barely spoken at all as you’d allowed him to comfort you and even when Frank came and spoke to you, he was the one doing all of the talking as you sat there listening intently, throwing out one or two words occasionally. He was probably waiting until you were a little more receptive to conversation. 

“Your pack have been worried about you,” she uttered after you found yourself lost in thought for a while and you felt that itching pain in your chest again. You knew you should go and see them after everything that happened, you weren't the only one who would be mourning the loss. They’d lost their Alpha and their Gamma and their Beta was becoming Queen. It was a lot to deal with and especially after what you did to Atticus, you felt like you needed to see them. Part of you worried they might hate you for it, worried they thought you were a monster and you tried to ignore it. It would be far too easy for you to hide away forever and not address any of it, you certainly wanted to. But you couldn't, you couldn't be selfish like that. 

When Azalea left the room, you sat in the chair for a long while as nerves bloomed in your belly. 

“Sometimes in life, bad things just happen. There is no sense to why, it just is. If you allow yourself to let it bring you down, you’ll never beat it, never overcome it. You're strong, Y/N. You’ve already overcome so much, don’t let this be your downfall.” Kos’ voice rang out in your head, words he’d spoken to you before after a pack member had died in battle and you’d taken it personally. You knew Kos had too, yet he’d still made time to help you, to comfort you. You tried to let them soothe you, to give you some confidence. You forced yourself to stand before you sent a mindlink to your pack, telling them to meet you at the pack house and tried to not be nervous about how they might react. You sat there a moment longer, psyching yourself up to face the world before you stood, leaving the room. You were slow as you went, dread in each step and every worker you came across seemed pleasantly surprised to see you out and about again, giving you smiles as they bowed their heads to you. When you got outside, you took a deep breath of the crisp fresh air, letting it fill your lungs in a calming way. You’d missed being out here. You weren't one to be cooped up no matter how you were feeling. You made your way to the pack house and up the porch steps, pushing the door open to see them already there and waiting for you. Some of them were already crying and your chest seized up. Leanna was the first to approach you, running over as she wrapped her arms around you sobbing. You felt something crack inside of you as her arms came around you and held you tightly. You could feel their pain, their loss and it brought your own to the surface as tears fell down your face. When she moved away, every member came over, hugging you tightly and telling you they were sorry for your pain.

“We’re sorry you had to be the one to deal with Atticus. You made the right choice after what he did, what he did to Kos… but it shouldn't have fallen on your shoulders. He was your best friend,” Damon frowned at you, sympathy all over his face and you looked away quickly as you wiped your eyes, trying to ignore the stinging in your chest. You'd been worried they might think you a monster but they were supportive of your choice after what he had done.

“I’m glad it was me. It hurt more than I could ever put into words but I needed that closure. I needed that justice for Kos,” you admitted and he nodded, reaching out and squeezing your arm. You meant your words too. It had been a harrowing experience to have to murder your own best friend that way but you knew your wolf would never have been satisfied if it had happened by the hands of another. And you had a pretty big feeling that Billy would have been more than happy to do it for you after the betrayal and pain Atti had forced you to endure. For the fact you could have died out there to the vampires that night. 

“We’ll follow you no matter what, you’re our Queen,” Viron said firmly, his eyes meeting yours with determination and it felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest as you gave him a tearful smile. You knew this was a big change for them now on top of the grief they were feeling. They were essentially left without an Alpha but you knew with them being here and with them being your family, they’d now be part of Billy’s large pack, the Royal pack. He was their Alpha now, Frank their Beta.

You left the pack house feeling at least a little better and still ignoring the rest of the feelings. You stood on the porch for a moment and found yourself missing Billy. Now feeling the mate bond, the pull to him was strong and you could feel his frustration with whatever he was currently doing. You knew you should let him work, yet the deep need to see him, to be with him, clawed at you and your feet carried you to the castle and back up the steps. You found him in his office, his head whipping up to look at you as you walked in and he looked happy to see you out of the bedroom.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, a fond yet slightly worried smile on his face and his never ceasing care for you still astounded you. You gave him a tentative smile as you walked over and he watched with curious eyes. The mate bond made any hesitation around him leave, no longer unsure of yourself around him or what you could and couldn't do. He was your mate and he was yours. You moved to sit in his lap sideways and his eyes lit up, a delighted smile by your actions on his lips. You wrapped an arm around his shoulder and one of his arms wound around you, the other hand settling on your thigh and his touch grounded you. You cupped his cheek and leaned in, placing a soft kiss to his lips and he responded instantly. The kiss was slow and soft and when you pulled away, he was staring at you in wonder and you felt so much love that you thought you might burst. The smile on his face was more radiant and beautiful than the moon itself and you smiled back, your hand toying with the hair at the base of his skull.

“I missed you,” you confessed, word a mere murmur and his eyes softened as he nuzzled your cheek affectionately. 

“I missed you too,” he smiled, his arm tightening around you.

“I spoke to my pack,” you informed him and he looked surprised. 

“They were supportive about everything, I was worried what they might think,” you admitted and his hand smoothed up and down your thigh in a comforting gesture.

“Everybody loves and respects you here,” he said sincerely and it made you smile a little. You knew it would take some getting used to.

“I think we should do the ritual,” you murmured and his brows rose.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the war and I just… I think it’s best to get it done now before it’s too late,” you shrugged and a happy and relieved smile graced his face. You knew he’d been worried about it all and now he had one less thing to stress about.

“I’ll get it all ready for tonight,” he grinned and all you could do was look at him. He was absolutely breathtaking and you allowed yourself to take the comfort he gave you from the bond. It was so strange to feel it now, feeling something so powerful and so certain and it was unwavering. Your hand slid from the back of his neck and to his face, watching in wonderment as your fingers grazed his cheeks and it felt like tiny sparks were prickling at your fingertips. He sat there with a little smile on his face, eyes bright as he watched you take it all in, awe on your face.

“I love you,” he murmured, adoration all over his face so openly that you wanted to stay in this moment forever. A wide smile split your face despite everything you’d been through and you knew only he could bring you this comfort and peace.

“I love you too,” you replied easily, feeling it down to your bones. He pulled you down for another soft kiss and you just wanted to melt into him. When he pulled away, he rubbed his nose against yours before placing a sweet kiss to it that made you smile. You’d never have thought the Mighty King William to have a soft side.

“I’ll have Karen and Azalea come by to help you get ready later,” he said, stroking your cheek and you nodded.

“You’ll be wearin’ a dress,” he added, a sheepish smile on his face and you groaned, making him chuckle. 

“Fine, I guess. It’s a special occasion and everything,” you huffed, slightly playful as despite your dislike of dresses, you knew you’d wear them everyday if he wanted you too. After sharing one last kiss, you left him to his work and went back to the room as you thought about tonight.

There were a few reasons why being immortal was an easy choice for you and the biggest one was Billy. You knew how he worried for you and now you felt the bond at full force, you didn't ever want to part from him so it was a no brainer. There was also the added bonus of making you even more lethal in war if you couldn't die and the prospect had your wolf growling in anticipation for it. They wouldn't know what hit them. As you sat on the bed, you tried to think more positively about everything. You’d lost a lot but things were changing. Kos had told you that he knew you’d be a good Queen and that’s exactly what you planned to do. You couldn't let this keep you down, you had to fight because that was what you did, what you always did. It could be easy for you to slip into a hole of turmoil over the betrayal you’d felt and for everything you’d lost but you wouldn't allow it to happen. You’d lost and you’d gained and change was always an uncomfortable process, but you’d push on and push through because the only other option was to roll over and die and like hell you’d do that. You didn’t come this far just to give up. You wouldn't allow Atti and Aurora to win even in death. They’d paid for their crimes and you had to move on from it now, nothing else could be done. The idea of moving on from Kos was a bitter pill for you to swallow and left a harsh pain in your chest. You found the urge to speak to Selene clawing at you, to ask her about Kos. You had no idea what the afterlife held, you didn't know what you believed but you needed to know if Kos was okay, wherever he was. You’d heard about what happened to his mate the day before after some workers had been talking about it as they walked past the room and it had wounded you deeply. Although now you had Billy, you knew you would have done the same thing. Your life would be meaningless if you lost him too, you knew you couldn't handle it. Were they together in the afterlife? You hoped so. 

That night, you were nervous as the girls fussed over you, getting you ready. The dress they’d put you in was the purest white you’d ever seen, the hem reaching the floor with some lace accents. It reminded you almost of a nightgown. An incredibly beautiful and fancy nightgown, but still. The gown was the only thing you'd be wearing and you’d been shocked by the lack of underwear but Karen told you that the dress was sacred and it was the only thing that could be on you. They’d gushed over you, telling you how pretty you looked, how you looked like a Queen and you’d felt bashful under their compliments as they fussed over you doing your hair and rubbing cream on you that smelt an awful lot like ylang-ylang. They were both excited, you plain nervous and Karen had been zipping around the room like she’d been snorting sage.

“I’m so happy Billy found his mate,” she mused with a smile as she ran a brush through your hair. Her eyes locked with yours through the mirror and you felt warmth bloom in your chest.

“He’d been looking for you for so long and now he’s so happy. I’ve never seen him like this,” she admitted.

“I’m happy too,” you confessed with a smile and the girls sounded a chorus of ‘aw’s that made your cheeks heat up.

“Just wait until they have babies,” Azalea sang playfully and Karen’s face lit up as she turned to look at Azalea.

“Can you imagine it? Their little tiny Russo pup running around?” she snorted and you blinked at the vanity in front of you, startled by their words. You hadn't really thought about any of that and as you sat there listening to the girls talk among themselves about if the baby was a boy, he’d take the crown when he was of age, you found your head spinning. Karen mentioned how Billy couldn't wait to be able to take the back seat when the time came and you realized then that he’d not only been longing for his mate, but for a son too. You couldn't seem to get over the revelation that you were supposed to have kids with him even if you knew it was stupid, of course you were supposed to. As you sat there thinking about it though, something tugged at you. The wolf inside of you wanted to bear him a child, needed to. Something so deep and primal that you knew it was your duty as his mate and Queen. Your mind supplied you with images of him with a baby and it made you smile to yourself. He had so much love to give and you knew he’d be a great father. You didn't have too much time to dwell on the bombshell that had been dropped on you as Karen informed you it was time. You felt anxious as you stood, smoothing out your dress.

“You look perfect,” Azalea smiled warmly and Karen hummed in agreement. You smiled shyly, taking a deep breath.

“Okay, I’m ready,” you murmured and they both smiled at you before leading you out. They took you down to the door of the temple room and you stared at the door anxiously for a moment. No one else seemed to be around which was unusual given the fact there were always people milling around in the castle, especially the workers but you were glad as you stood there in your flowing gown and bare feet. 

“Good luck,” Karen smiled at you, moving to give you a hug before Azalea did the same. They left then and you blew out a breath before opening the door and walking down the steps. 

The white marble room was glowing with the light of many candles scattered around and as you walked inside, Billy was standing there in all his glory, only in his pants. He looked every bit a Demigod in that moment as the orange glow of candlelight danced across his skin and he turned to you with a bright and loving smile. He held his hand out to you and you stepped in, knowing he could probably feel your nerves. You clasped his hand and he pulled you towards him, looking down at you softly. 

“The ritual for you will be a little different to the others. You’re my Queen and you won’t just be immortal,” he explained and your brows rose in surprise. 

“What will I be then?” you asked curiously and he smiled, moving to stroke your cheek.

“You’ll be stronger and faster, a little Lycan in you as the Queen,” he supplied, a wry grin pulling at his lips that made you smile. You hadn't expected it but you liked the idea, like the thought of being even stronger, more unbeatable. You knew it would help with the war and you fully planned on using it to your advantage. 

“Are you ready?” he asked carefully, both of his hands now cupping your cheeks as you blinked up at his beautiful face. 

“I’m ready,” you affirmed and he smiled before he leaned down. His lips connected with yours and despite being slow like the earlier kisses, this was more sensual than soft and it set a fire inside of you as his tongue caressed your own. His hands slid down your face and you felt him start to push your dress down. It caught you off guard but you went with it, allowing him to let the dress pool the floor. His eyes devoured you hungrily and it sent a thrill right through you as your breathing picked up. His eyes flashed silver for the briefest of moments and you weren't even sure he was aware of it. They were back to almost black in a split second and then he kissed you again, more insistently this time. You gasped into the kiss, your hands splayed on his warm firm chest and you didn't realize he was backing you up until you felt the altar pressed against your back. He broke the kiss, picking you up with ease and placing you onto the altar. It was cold but you ignored it as you watched with rapt attention as he moved back and started to rid himself of his pants. Your brain had been too fuzzy the last time you’d seen him naked to really appreciate it but now you drank in every little detail of him. He was exquisite. Once fully naked and in all his glory he snatched the dagger that had been attached to his pants and you raised a brow at him, making him give you an amused smile. He hopped up onto the altar gracefully, moving you to lay down. He parted your thighs, moving to kneel between them and you felt heat sweep through your entire being at being bared to him like this, so open and vulnerable. You knew he was your mate though, told yourself you had no need to feel such things. One hand held the dagger, his other trailing up your thigh, your hip and then dipping into the curve of your waist before he brought it all the way back. You enjoyed his touch, enjoyed the electricity that tickled your skin at his touch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Repeat after me, alright?” he asked you and you nodded, laying there staring at him. 

“Sanguis meus est sanguis tuus,” he said as he made a cut on his hand. He didn't even flinch and your stomach tightened in anticipation as he brought the knife to yours. 

“Sanguis meus est sanguis tuus,” you repeated softly and he dragged the blade across your skin, making you hiss slightly. It wasn't deep by any means but it still stung and guilt shone behind his eyes for a moment. 

“Cor meum est cor tuum,” he murmured, bringing the blade to his chest and making another cut, once again unflinchingly. The guilt was back as he brought his blade to your chest between your breasts but you looked up at him with no fear.

“Cor meum est cor tuum,” you recited, wincing only a little as he cut your chest. He set the dagger down, tossing it to his pants before he took your hand and set it over the cut on his chest before he lay his over yours, hovering over you.

“Anima mea est anima tua,” he whispered fervently, his face leaning down as he brushed his lips with yours. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, heart hammering away behind your ribcage. 

“Anima mea est anima tua,” you repeated quietly and then he kissed you deeply. He moved his hand from your chest, settling more between your legs as he propped himself up with one arm, the other hand on your jaw as his tongue plundered your mouth. You could feel him hard against you, could feel how much he wanted you and it made your head spin. He broke away, the pair of you breathless and you could feel the air around you shift, something otherworldly buzzing in the air. He stared down at you with a burning gaze, his hand moving between you as he gripped himself, lining himself up with you but not going any further. 

“Sumus ut unum,” he said, voice strained and hoarse.

“Sumus ut unum,” you repeated, your words trailing off into a loud moan as he sheathed himself inside of you and filled you up in the best way. 

He gasped, mouth hanging open and eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he just stayed there for a moment. His eyes fluttered open, looking at you with such reverence that it set you on fire. His hand slid up your body, gripping your jaw as his lips crashed to yours. You fisted his hair, making him moan against your lips as you kissed him back deeply. He started moving, his thrusts slow but incredibly deep and you hadn't thought it was possible to feel this good before. His grip on your jaw was tight and demanding, his body commanding your attention as he moved in and out of you. He broke the kiss, teeth biting your lower lip and tugging on it a little and it made you whine needily before he moved away. He knelt up, large hands grabbing your hips as he got faster and harder. You were moaning unabashed now, breast bouncing with the force of his movements and your hands moved to grip the edge of the altar above your head to find purchase, worried he might fuck you right off the thing. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. He was ethereal in the throes of pleasure like this, so feral and beautiful that you could barely stand it. You arched back at him, meeting his thrusts and he let out a sinful groan as his face contorted in pleasure, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips so hard that you knew he’d leave bruises. You weren’t sure if it was the ritual, the mate bond or just Billy, but everything felt heightened, every small touch amplified and you felt the pleasure building up at a rapid rate like an avalanche tumbling down a mountain. 

“Billy,” you gasped after a particularly harsh thrust and he growled before he was hovering over you once more, one hand beside your head as the other snaked behind you on your lower back and he pressed you against him more. You were both moaning, the noises echoing in the small temple and he leaned down, licking a long strip up your neck and over the mark he’d left you the last time. It made you squirm under him and he moaned against your neck, nipping his way back up to your mouth. You hooked your leg around him, pushing him in deeper and changing the angle and you gasped into the kiss, tugging at his hair as he rut into you insistently. You were dangling close to the edge with each thrust pushing you closer and closer as you tried to suck in greedy breaths between each sharp and loud moan. He rested his forehead on yours, his warm breath fanning your face as he groaned and his hand once again came to your face as he stared at you. His eyes flickered silver again, only this time they didn't change back right away and you marveled at how beautiful they were. Your lips parted in a keening moan as you felt your pleasure reach its crescendo and the grip on your face tightened. 

“Look at me,” he demanded in a growl and your eyes snapped open. His eyes were wide, so many things etched onto his face you could barely read them with your mind riddled with the feelings he was giving you but you knew your eyes were gold because you could see so much clearer. You noticed now how the candles around the room were flickering almost violently, their shadows dancing along the walls. He kept going at you just as hard and it pushed you over the edge, your back bowing as a cascade of delighted moans fell from your lips. It felt like the pleasure exploded and reverberated to every inch of your body as it hit you and Billy let out a guttural moan as he came inside of you, thrusting a few more times before he stilled and rested his forehead on yours again. You both lay there and caught your breath and you felt like you were floating. You felt like nothing else you’d ever felt and you didn't even know how to describe it. 

He looked at you adoringly, his thumb stroking your cheek before he leaned down and gave you a tender kiss. You melted into it fully, feeling calm and sated and you enjoyed the softness of the moment. There was something else lurking inside of you, a shift barely noticeable but there, like a fire burning away. When he moved away, he gave you a smile you couldn't help but mirror.

“How do you feel?” he asked you, his eyes now dark hues of obsidian again. 

“Weird,” you answered honestly and his lips twisted into an amused smile. 

“I love you,” he murmured, placing a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose and you grinned, stroking his hair. 

“I love you too,” you replied and his eyes lit up as if you were telling it to him for the first time all over again. He pulled out of you before climbing off the altar and helping you sit up. You felt slightly lightheaded, your body spent and exhausted. He put his pants back on before he scooped up the dress you’d been wearing and he came back over to you, putting it over your head and carefully maneuvering your arms though the thin straps. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he smiled, helping you down from the altar. You’d almost forgotten about the blood with everything else that had been going on. He helped you up the stairs and you were once again thankful to see no one in sight, you were sure you looked a mess right now. When you got back to your room, he led you to the shower, turning it on and letting it run warm for a moment. You slipped the dress off once more, watching him with a soft smile as he rid himself of his pants. 

“What?” he asked amused after he caught you staring and you shot him an impish grin.

“You’re just beautiful, am I not allowed to look?” you asked cheekily and he snorted, walking over as he caught your lips in a kiss. 

“You can look all you want,” he smiled when he moved away. You could feel his happiness and you didn't think you’d ever get used to feeling someone else’s emotions this intensely, it was hard to tell what was you and what was him. He took your hand, pulling you along with him into the shower and you sighed softly as the warm water hit you, making you relax more. He took the time to wash you gently, getting rid of all the blood. You watched him as he did it, this soft and caring look on his face as he took great care with you and you found yourself feeling lucky to have him as your mate. You didn't wind up with someone cruel or cold, you wound up with someone who had so much love in his heart that it felt almost impossible.

“I’m glad we’re mates,” you murmured quietly as he was washing one of your arms. His dark eyes snapped up to you then at your admission, a happy smile tugging at his lips that made your heart stutter.

“I’m glad too, you were well worth the wait,” he smirked wryly and you snorted, looking away bashfully as he took the other arm and repeated his motions. 

“I know there’s a lot goin’ on right now and we just did the ritual but… I was wonderin’ when you wanted to have your coronation?” he asked softly, eyes flitting to you before going back to his task. You raked your teeth over your lower lip, looking at him warily.

“Honestly… I’d rather not have one,” you admitted and his hand stilled, eyes going back to you.

“I just… There’s a war coming and after everything that just happened… it doesn't feel right for a celebration. Besides, everyone here already knows I’m Queen,” you reasoned with a shrug, hoping it wouldn't be a big deal. If he really wanted you to have one or if there was some rule stating it had to happen, then you would. You just didn't think it was necessary and if you were honest, you didn't want all of the attention. 

“Alright, whatever makes you happy,” he smiled and you felt relief hit you like a tonne of bricks that he’d agreed with you. You shot him a thankful smile, and he pressed a brief kiss to your lips.

“I’ll put out an official announcement tomorrow so all the other packs will know you're Queen. You don’t haveta do anythin’ you don’t want,” he added and you wrapped your arms around his middle. His arms came around you, one cradling your head and you sunk into him and his soothing scent. You loved him so much that it made your head spin and you didn’t love him because he was King or because he was a Lycan Demigod. You loved him because he was Billy. Billy who was fiercely loyal and cared immensely about every one of his people, even those he hadn’t met. Billy who made it his personal mission to save those of a different species he had no need to save, just because one of his closest friends needed him to. Billy who was so wounded by the death of his best friend’s family that the grief still loomed over him like a dark cloud. Billy who refused to shift because he was scared of hurting someone. You loved him because no matter the tales you’d once heard of the cold and merciless King, he was anything but. He was the most caring person you’d ever met and somehow, he was yours.

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@on-ya

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

@noortsshift

@rainbowgoblinfan

@mysweetlittledesire

@promnightbinbaby

@intothesoul

[chronicallyhaughty]

Love Letters

“My rose,” Lor’themar’s silken, molten-chocolate voice rumbles from the aether to fill the room entire, and Rommath’s back stiffens, eyes wide with a deep flush blossoming swiftly across his cheeks and ears, which press back close to his head. He has miscalculated. Badly.

[Rommath/Lor'themar Theron, NSFW, AO3, Ko-fi]

When that midnight fugue hits and you write a whole fic on a whim on your phone and then have to face your deeds and actions the next day but hey, actually it's not that bad? Yeah.

——————————

The message appears on Rommath’s desk sometime around noon, while he is doing his due diligence stretching his legs briefly before returning to his office and his paperwork. A tray carrying a light luncheon has been placed on the small table beside his massive mahogany desk – a piece inherited from his predecessor, Belo’vir, that has room for a truly despair-inducing amount of papers – and tucked between the bowl of cut up fruits and the glass of white wine rests a scroll carrying the seal of the Regent Lord’s office.

Rommath pops half a grape in his mouth with an eye roll. It can’t be urgent if he hasn’t been summoned back to the Spire, and it hasn’t arrived through the normal, official means: that is, dragonhawk courier to Sun’s Reach by the docks, delivered by someone ready to take a reply back. An official correspondence between the Grand Magister’s office in the rebuilt Magister’s Terrace on Quel’danas and that of the Regent Lord in Sunfury Spire, back in Silvermoon.

This scroll almost certainly is little more than Lor’themar attempting to alleviate his boredom while Thalyssra is in Suramar, and Liadrin and Halduron both are gone on their own different assignments, thus leaving him all on his lonesome. Child of a man that he can be, he seems to have decided to bother Rommath instead of working.

Rommath plucks it from the tray, revealing his utensils, and sets it aside to eat his meal. Outside, he hears the chatter of apprentices and arcanists leaving the building and crossing the grounds of the Terrace to seek their own midday repast, laughing and jostling each other as youths are wont to do. He’d never do so in public, but up here, in the privacy of his office, he allows himself a small smile of... contentment. The isle is serving its purpose once more, training the next generation of magi and carrying on their forebears’ legacy and customs. He can allow himself some measure of pride in the hand he’s had in making that happen.

He polishes off his meal and with a flick of the hand, sends the tray back whence it came. The sealed scroll seems to stare at him near imploringly from its place, precariously close to the edge of the desk, where it might fall onto the floor and roll beneath a shelf to lie forgotten for days. Rommath stares back at it, almost tempted to nudge it along that path himself.

Instead he grabs his quill with a sigh, dipping it in his ink bottle to prepare to send a scathing reply of some sort, and casts another spell, this one to have the message read itself aloud in its composer’s voice.

“My rose,” Lor’themar’s silken, molten-chocolate voice rumbles from the aether to fill the room entire, and Rommath’s back stiffens, eyes wide with a deep flush blossoming swiftly across his cheeks and ears, which press back close to his head.

He has miscalculated. Badly.

“Pray hold your acerbic tongue and quill for but a moment. I know I am likely interrupting your work,” he absolutely is, damn him, and yet Rommath can do nothing but stare into the middle distance, hanging onto every word, “and yet, I cannot help but share with you my thoughts like this. You see, all day now my mind and heart both have been consumed by memories of you.

“This morning you awoke before me, and yet, your leaving my arms drew me from sleep as surely as any bell or horn might; your body’s absence from mine, unbearable. I watched you dress with such grace of movement as you have in everything you do, and my heart felt full to bursting with adoration. I told you as much, as you tied your hair, and you rolled your eyes at me, called me a simpering fool. Every insult is like a caress from your sweet lips, my love, and well you know it.”

His ink is dripping onto the wood, Rommath realizes with a start, and he shoots up out of his chair with a curse, face aflame as he tries to salvage the furniture with anything he can find. All while Lor’themar’s voice continues to croon such, such nonsense! He is much too preoccupied to interrupt the spell, however. One must prioritize. He feels all over goosebumps, listening to Lor’themar’s voice carry on to say...

[Ko-fi]

[omegawhiskers]

RAW 30/10/23

A Build To Crown Jewel.

This was the last Raw before Crown Jewel, and it was a decent episode. The Judgement Day’s, Rhea Ripley, Dominik Mysterio and JD McDonagh open the show as Rhea recaps a few things before Sami Zayn hits the ring and vows he will put a stop to the stable. Of course the numbers are against Zayn and he gets backup from Ricochet. The funny because Sami doesn’t stick around to even the odds as Ricochet has his match with Dom. The matches itself was good. Dom picked up the win thanks to a distraction. Dirty Dom used the ropes to his advantage for the pin, but the announcers never picked up on it.

The Alpha Academy had a pretty great match with The Creed Brothers. This is my first time seeing this tag team and I was impressed with the fast and technical style. The Creed Brothers got the upset victory with the Brutus Ball.

I’m generally not interested in The Miz. I haven’t seen him evolve over the past few years, and his character never gripped me. But the segment with Gunther showed a vulnerable side to The Miz that I believe is needed. Next week, Miz will have a number one contender’s match with Bronson Reed, Ricochet and Ivar. I think Miz needs to lose or lose against Gunther, causing Miz to go down a down spiral where he has to overcome his doubts. To me, that's a story I can get behind.

Sometimes angles don’t work, and this seems to be the case here as Candice LeRae lost to Xia Li via KO. LeRae received a kick to the head. The angle was awkward because I wasn’t sure if this was a work or shoot. It turns out it was a work, but I wasn’t that into it. Li would show back up to tease a match with Becky Lynch.

Things picked up with a video package from Drew McIntyre. This package really emphasized Drew’s story, his motivation and what the World Heavyweight Championship means to him. I would like to see a heel Drew as champion. The Scottish Warrior has yet to resign with WWE, so we don’t even know if McIntyre will be around this time next year. Seth Rollins gave a good reason why he doesn’t sympathise with Drew. Seth said we all suffered due to the pandemic, some more than others. The conviction between both men is there. Rollins would follow put with a decent TV match against JD.

As far as costumes go, I think Chelsea Green and Piper Niven win with their Bret Hart and Jim Neidhart costumes. The Trick or Street Fight was what it was. I’m just not a fan of this level of silliness, but the costumes were worth it.

The main event also wasn't worth much. Sami and Priest didn't go on for long, and before you know it everybody was getting involved. This led to a DQ. The highlight was Cody Rhodes delivering a cross rhodes on JD onto the announce table.

I liked the stories that were told, but the matches as whole were just average as a total.

[lesbian-deadpool]

Santa Jr.

Part Three of Three: Merry Christmas

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 4,791

Warnings: Nothing?

Request: Nope.

Summary: The end of the road. Or the roof. Ho Ho Ho.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not My GIF)

---

"Do you really have to go today?"

You sighed into the phones receiver, "I'm afraid so."

"But it's Christmas Eve," Natasha whined, which surprised you, causing your eyebrows to rise at her openness, "I wanted to see you tomorrow. Are you sure you have to go? Can't you push it back a few days?"

"I'm sorry, but I do. My father wants me back. We have work to do."

"Ah yes, your father. Ol' St. Nick. You delivering presents with him tonight."

She didn't know that she just hit it dead on the nose.

"That would be correct."

"Oh, come on, Y/N!" Natasha yelled, and you had the distinct impression that she had stomped her foot upon the ground, "You made me feel festive now you have to be here with me on Christmas! It's only fair."

"I wish I could, Nat-"

"What job do you have to do on Christmas Eve?"

"You said it yourself, 'delivering presents'." You smiled.

"Oh, ha, ha." She was silent for a few seconds afterwards until she asked you, voice sounding smaller than before, "Will I ever see you again? Will you be back?"

"Oh, Natasha. I'll be back before you know it. And I'll come straight to you."

"I'm gonna miss you."

"I'm not gonna be long," you chuckled.

"But it's worse because you're missing a special occasion."

"I know. I'm gonna miss you too. Trust me."

"You know, I was going to ask you to spend Christmas with the team. We would have been happy to have you... that doesn't change your mind, does it?" she asked. You could practically hear the playful yet hopeful half-smile upon her face.

"I'm sorry, Nat." You shook your head solemnly. "If I could, I would. That honestly sounds amazing. But I promised my dad before I even got here."

You heard Natasha's audible sigh, "I get that. I really do prior commitments and all that."

"Yeah, I bet with being an Avenger, you see -and deal with- a lot of that."

She scoffed with another sigh. You could practically feel the shake of her head and eye roll.

"You don't know the half of it. I love my job. I really do. It's the best thing in the world... to save people." A deep breath, then a huff afterwards. "But it is just so exhausting sometimes."

"You need a break."

"I don't have time for a break. You never know when the world needs saving."

"Well, I'm sure you can quickly make it back from a beach somewhere. I mean, Tony has those quinjet, things."

Natasha hummed, knowing that you were right, once again. But, was still too anxious about the world going to shit and her not being able to help immediately.

Just then, a knock came at your door, knowing exactly who it was.

"Nat. Listen, I have to go. I'll talk to you soon, okay? I really need to go."

"Oh, okay," she spoke, surprised at your abrupt end to the call, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah. See you. Bye, Nat." And with that, you hung up the call.

"Jesus Christ," you whispered to yourself as you made your way to answer the door.

"Come on, Y/N. We're gonna be late!" Tim yelled through the door.

"Alright. I'm coming."

You swung the door open, revealing one of your oldest friends.

"About time." Tim strutted inside, taking note of your half-packed duffel bag, turning to you in surprise, "You're not ready yet?!" He then checked his watch, "We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago. Our ride's waiting."

"I know, I know." You threw your arms up. "But Nat called me and-"

"Nat, huh?" Tim smirked, receiving a glare from you over your shoulder. "You two seem to be getting pretty close."

"Shut up."

Tim laughed.

"Oh, hurry up, would you?"

You grumbled under your breath, picking up the last of your clothes and shoving them into the bag. Zipping it up and throwing it over your shoulder.

"Okay, I'm ready," you spoke to the man sarcastically. Making your way past him and to the door.

"About time," he commented under his breath, "You do that just like your dad."

"Well, it runs in the family. Kinda have to be good at carrying things over my shoulder."

You were about to start making your way downstairs when Tim called out behind you.

"Upstairs."

"What?"

"Upstairs," he stated, "Our rides on the roof."

"The roof?"

---

"Dasher?!" you exclaimed as soon as you walked through the door and into the cold evening air. The animal groaning a noise to you, which you took as a greeting, "Our ride home is Dasher?!"

"Yeah." Tim shrugged, making his way up to the reindeer. "It's faster. And we can't really use the sleigh. Plus, that's busy getting prepped for tonight."

"And I had to take a train and two aeroplanes to get here?!"

Tim smiled satisfactorily as he placed a stool and pulled himself onto the back of the reindeer, a small chuckle coming from the man.

"Well, that was my idea."

"I fucking knew it!"

"Just get on Dasher, Y/N."

"I hate you so much, right now."

But still.

You did as the man said. Sliding onto the animal behind him. Knowing that you were on a time crunch right now.

"People could see us, you know?"

"No, they won't." He shook his head assuredly. "She's already been coated in the dust. It'll wear off in a couple hours. We'll be fine."

"Whatever you say," you mumbled under your breath.

Suddenly, with an ordering shout from Tim, Dasher rose into the air, and off you went.

On your way home.

But if that was the case.

Why did it feel like you were leaving your home behind?

---

"Finally, you made it!" your father called joyfully from within his sleigh.

"Yeah, blame, Tim! He held up back!"

The aforesaid man yelling out in outraged offence, turning to face you, with his mouth agape, acting like you had just slapped him.

"Yeah, I'm sure that was the case," he said, coming closer to you.

"Hey!"

Your father wrapped you in a hug, reaching up to press a bearded kiss to your temple.

"I missed you," he spoke softly.

"I missed you, too," you replied honestly.

No matter how much he got on your nerves about this whole 'destiny' thing. You really did miss the man who raised you alongside your mother.

"Hey, where's my hug?"

'Speak -or think, rather- of the devil, and they shall come.'

"I missed you, too." You smiled, pulling her into a hug of her own.

"Likewise, dear."

A cough sounded from behind you, making you all turn to spot Tim with a tablet in his hand, scrolling through it.

"I'm sorry to interrupt this lovely family reunion, but if you don't leave now, we're gonna be behind schedule."

"Yes!" Your father clapped his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road!"

"Oh, I'm gonna be exhausted after this, I just know it," you spoke, making your way to the sleigh to slide in next to your father.

"I'm sure you will, dear." your mother smiled.

"Bet you would like yo be exhausted because of something else," came out as a mumble.

"Timothy!"

Your father laughed, getting geared up to get in the sky, the reindeer's kicking their hoves against the ground. Dasher, having just been strapped into the reigns, still raring to get into the sky.

Dasher always had been the one with the most energy.

"Oh, there's something in the back for you."

"What?" you looked behind you, into the back row of seats spotting the outfit that lay upon the red leather seats. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

There, on the seat, lay a long red suede, fur-lined coat, the fur travelling up around the collar.

"What?" he asked unknowingly.

"I'm not wearing that."

"It's cold out here at night. You're only in a sweater and jeans. Come on, It's the same one I used to wrap you up in when I brought you out as a kid."

At that, you sighed. Unable to let the man and his memories down.

By the time you had pulled the coat from the back of the sleigh and shrugged it onto your shoulder's, you were already flying through the air, heading to your first stop.

You looked down at yourself, taking in every inch of the long coat you could see.

"Hey, it suits you," your father cheered happily, "I bet you're warmer now."

"I can't believe it fits," you whispered.

"I told you, you'd grow into it."

And he did.

Many years ago.

When you were only five, bundled up in his coat, all snuggled and warm. While your father wore nothing but his undershirt and long waistcoat and belt. Excited for the day that you would finally fit into it.

He had to have a new coat made for the next year.

That one was yours now.

And he wouldn't dare take it from you.

"So..." he started slowly, a knowing look on his face. Small smile ticking at the corner of his lips, nose and cheeks already beginning to tint red, thanks to the cold. Yours undoubtedly the same, "Tell me. How was Natasha?"

"Stubborn," you informed, raising your eyebrows for a moment, "But I managed to worm my way in."

"I know." He nodded. "You did well. I am so proud of you."

You considered him for a few seconds.

"Thanks, dad. I kinda feel bad, though."

"Why?"

"Because... because I really like her, y'know? I care about her a lot. And the fact that I started this with ulterior motives... I feel like I'm betraying her, and she has no idea."

"Then... then you tell her the truth."

"Ha!" You laughed loudly and sarcastically. "Yeah, what am I supposed to say? "Hi, I'm the child of Santa Claus. I was sent to give you Christmas Joy. You were nothing but a job to me. But, I like you now, please forgive me!" 'A', like she'd believe that. And 'B', If she did, like she'd forgive me."

"It's worth a shot." He shrugged. "They are superheroes, Y/N. If you showed her proof, I'm sure she'd believe you."

You sighed, leaning back into your seat, throwing your head back.

"Yeah, you're right... I've gotta tell her."

---

Soon enough, you had arrived at the very first house.

"Right." Your father slapped his thighs, turning to you.

You watched him watch you for about ten seconds.

"What?"

"Go on then." He pointed in the direction of the chimney. You, looking over to it, before turning back to him.

"'Go on then', what?"

He looked at you pointedly.

"Oh, no. No." You shook your head. "Not gonna happen."

"Come on, Y/N. It's about time you tackled your first delivery."

You sighed, looking back to the chimney, already knowing that you were gonna do it. Groaning lightly at the square brick tube.

"Fine..."

"Yes!" he cheered.

"Wait." You turned to face him, from where you were looking at the sacks in the very back of the sleigh. "Is this how this is gonna go today? You're gonna be sitting here while I do all the hard work?"

"Yep. Now get going. We have other houses to get to."

You grabbed the presents from the back, making your way over to the chimney.

"This is child labour, or something."

"You're legally an adult."

"I'm your child," you called over, halfway in the chimney, before sliding further down.

"Remember the techniques!"

"I know!" then whispering to yourself, "Keep yelling, and Natasha won't b the only one finding out about us."

"And bring me up some cookies!"

"Absolutely not!"

---

You had been at it for hours.

You, taking half of the homes, and your father, taking the other half.

Assuming it was mainly because he was drastically missing the sweet treats that were left out for him.

"Here you go, girls."

Currently, you were helping feed the reindeer the snacks that were left out for them. Before you had to hit the road again.

"So, where are we heading next?" you asked, hopping back into the sleigh.

"New York. And you'll be taking The Avengers Tower."

"I thought so." You smiled.

"Oh. And I've got the thing you asked Tim to get."

"Oh?" your voice was curious as you turned to peer at him.

"Yeah. But it's back home. We're gonna come out again with it. It won't take too long."

"Okay." You nodded, understanding.

You could hardly wait for Natasha to see what awaited her on Christmas Day.

---

"Here we are!"

"This isn't The Avengers Tower," you pointed out to your father.

You were in Queens, on top of some random apartment complex, miles away from the city.

"Here's the gift." Your father ignored you, handing you a red wrapped box, with a gold ribbon tieing it all together. "And another one." He placed a smaller, blue box on top of that one. "You take Peter Parker and his aunt. Thought I'd throw something nice in for her. She deserves it. And I'll take the rest."

"Peter Parker? The kid?"

"The same one." He nodded. "Don't wake them the kids just gone to sleep. Tim told me," he finished, tapping on the screen attached to the front of the sleigh.

"You do know that's very creepy, right?"

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'P'.

"As long as your self-aware, I guess," you said, sliding from the sleigh for the hundredth time.

There not being a chimney was both easier and harder.

Harder, because you didn't have a direct way into a home.

And easier because you didn't have to squeeze yourself down a fucking chimney.

But having a skeleton key for the world was useful, in this case.

And so fucking wrong at any other time. Even what you were currently doing was dubious, at best.

And yet, you slid through the Parker's door and headed straight for the tree.

However, not before you tripped over the rug and stumbled.

"Motherfucker," you hissed under your breath. Waiting in the silence of the room, not daring to move a single muscle. Just to see if you had woken anyone up.

Lucky for you, the silence dragged on, and no one came out.

Huffing out a relieved breath, tension pouring from your shoulders. You continued making your way to the tree.

"Goddamn rug." Hastily, you placed the gifts under the decorated tree, albeit carefully. Taking great care to position the presents just right for people sleeping not too far away.

Remembering to avoid the rug on your way out.

It was cold outside in the sleigh, which made you glad that you had actually put the long-lined coat on.

Luckily, you hadn't wait long.

Your father, making his way towards you, gesturing a small cloth-wrapped package of sweet goodies towards you.

"Oh, thanks, dad."

"You not have any?" he asked, almost betrayed, eyebrows furrowed at you.

"The kid's seventeen," you pointed out, "They don't really leave out cookies and stuff when they get older."

He grumbled at that.

"The one thing I hate about people growing up."

You laughed at his words, shaking your head.

"C'mon, let's get going, yeah? We have to actually be finished by this morning."

"Right. Right. You're right."

---

"Jesus Christ," your attention was pulled towards your father, "It's lit up like a Christmas Tree. Have fun with that one."

"Yeah, they lave The Avengers Logo light in and stuff during the night. Pluss people work late. Also, Natasha told me that a lot of them don't sleep well at night- Wait." You turned to face him again. "Are you telling me that I'm doing the whole tower by myself?"

"Yep! Have fun!"

"You're an ass."

"Well, Tim said that you would be the best one to do this," he replied, a knowing smile pulling at his face.

"Of course he did."

And so, you got to work, with the tiny satisfaction that your father would have to be sat out in the cold whilst you did all of the work.

Luckily, you only had one room to do.

Which so happened to be the common room.

Which also happened to be one of the more likely rooms to be populated by the awoken Avengers.

Also, you had a giant sack thrown over your shoulder.

So, all in all. Difficult.

However, it could have been even more difficult if your father had come with you.

That way, there would have been twice as many chances of being caught.

Which is almost what happened to you during the middle of your delivery.

You had been listing off names in your head with every gift you placed down.

'Tony.'

'Clint.'

'Steve.'

'Sam.'

'Wanda.'

'Thor.'

'Bruce.'

"I mean, you should have seen her she was totally bummed out."

Your eyes widened when you heard voices behind you, travelling your way.

Quickly scooping up the less than half-full sack and slid to hide behind the tree.

Just as the owners of the voices entered the room.

"Really? How come?" Wanda asked the Captain- Danvers, not Rogers.

"Well, when Y/N said that they couldn't spend Christmas with us- Or with Natasha, rather. It really got her down."

"Wow," the witch almost breathed, while mild guilt soaked through you, "Have you ever seen her like that?"

"Who, Nat?" Clint asked, sceptically," She hadn't liked someone enough, in that way, to actually care about spending time with them. And she has never cared enough about the holidays to care about any aspect of them."

'Wait. What?'

"Nat really likes them, huh?"

"I've never seen her this way." Clint shook his head.

'Huh?'

"She's known the person for less than two weeks, and she's already starting to fall for them," Carol joked, and Clint hummed.

The relief that spread throughout you at the knowledge that your feelings were supposedly reciprocated.

"Why couldn't Y/N spend Christmas here?"

Carol shrugged. "Something about them having a job to do with their father."

"On Christmas Eve?" Wanda questioned, tone shocked.

"Ha! Maybe they are Santa Claus." You smirked, ticking your eyebrow up at the statement, "Quick, check the tree."

'Don't check the tree!'

They all laughed, before heading on their own way, once again leaving you alone in the common room.

Breathing a sigh of relief before getting back to your task at hand.

'Pietro.'

'Rhodey.'

'Carol.'

'Bucky.'

And finally, 'Natasha.'

Then you high-tailed it the fuck outta there.

Being mindful not to trip on anything as you did.

---

Finally, you had arrived back home.

You were exhausted.

Then it dawned on you. You had to go back out to deliver the last part of Natasha's gift.

But not before you were dragged back towards your home by your father.

"Dad!" you complained behind him, "Stop, I have to go back out, remember?"

"That can wait a second. Your mother and I want to talk to you."

"Oh no," you ground.

"This isn't about that," he told you, "This is something different."

"Well, what-?"

Your voice got caught in your throat as soon as you walked through the door, seeing the large banner that read "GOODBYE". Tim, standing on a chair, raising up on his tiptoes, just under the sign, holding up a scribbled piece of paper, adding, "FUCKER" onto the end of the banner.

"You're a jackass," you smiled to the man before turning back to your parents, who now stood side by side, "What's all this about? You kicking me out."

"No, of course not, dear." Your mother shook her head.

"We know," your father spoke up, "You loved it in New York. And it's time you sprung the nest. We know you'll be back, but until you're ready to stay. You need to live your own life."

You could feel the tears burning against the back of your eyes, fighting their way out.

Quickly catching the set of key's Tim threw your way. "They're for the apartment. It's yours now."

"Your Christmas gift," your father said.

"Fuck sake," you whispered, "You really have to make me cry, don't you?"

"Just promise you'll come visit us?" your mother asked, tears of her own falling down her face as she pulled you into a hug.

"Of course I will."

Your father joined the hug then.

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. Both of you."

"I won't," Tim commented them, clearly lying through his teeth.

You pulled away from your parents and gave the man a hug of his own. Him groaning and acting like he hated it the entire time.

"Everything's ready for you to go," your father told you, "The rest of your stuff will be sent to your place. But you should get going before everyone wakes up."

"Right. You're right."

You wiped under your nose, giving your parents one last hug.

"Do me a favour? Treat that girl right."

"I-" You pulled away, evaluating your father before a smile pulled at your face. "You really played matchmaker, didn't you?"

"There you go!" Tim called, falling on deaf ears, "They finally got it."

"You know I like to hit two birds with one stone."

"You have a great Christmas with her." Your mother smiled at you softly.

"Actually, I have a proposition for you about that."

---

Dawn started to break, just as you spotted the Tower in the distance.

You were alone this time, riding a single reindeer, a few objects, including your bag strapped behind you. Natasha's surprise, nestled in your coat.

You really needed a nap after this.

All of the Avengers were already in the common room when you arrived, heading straight to Natasha's private floor. Peter having just got to the Tower himself.

As soon as you placed "the thing" by the tree, you hurried from the room, hearing her elevator approaching behind you. Knowing exactly who was heading up.

---

Five minutes prior.

The team was gathered around, torn paper littering pretty much every surface of the room, mugs of warm drinks all around. Festive hats and jumpers clad upon the team.

"This gift says "From "Santa"". Who did this?" Tony asked with a humorous smile.

Everyone voiced their amused curiosity for the gift, announcing that it was not them that caused this festive trick.

"Seriously? No ones gonna admit to this?"

"Who's it for?" Steve asked.

Tony checked the label once again.

"Natasha."

"Hmm?" She looked over.

"You got a gift from "Santa"," he replied, using air-quoted as he did, "I'm not kidding. The tag even has 'Santa' in quotes."

Hopping up, the red-head moved over to take the gift from the billionaire.

"So, who's it really from?" Tony asked curiously. As Natasha opened the box. Smiling at the contents within.

"It's from "Santa"." She smiled knowingly, a few others realising the same thing she had.

As she walked away, all that could be heard was Toiny's shouts for answers while the team looked on curiously.

---

Natasha had arrived on her floor just as the note within the box asked her to.

Finding the second part of her "present" lay curled up under the Christmas Tree.

She couldn't keep the smile off her face as she walked over to the sleeping golden retriever puppy.

Crouching down and leaving the box with the collar inside upon the floor. Natasha scooped the dog into her arms, pulling it against her chest.

"Merry Christmas."

Natasha was shocked, to say the least.

Spinning around, she spotted tie one person she wanted to spend the day with.

You.

There you stood, a proud smile on your face. Looking like you had matured and were at peace with something now. That everything was going to be alright.

"How did you get in here? And what are you wearing?" Natasha finished off with a light laugh, as to not wake the puppy in her arms.

You looked down, noticing that you were still wearing the long red coat over your sweater and jeans.

Looking back up to the red-head, with your arms spread, and said, "A. Ho, Ho, Ho."

She giggled.

"You really are a Santa Claus, aren't you?"

"Yeah, about that. I have to tell you something."

Natasha cocked her head as you took a deep breath, getting ready to tell her the truth.

That is, until a clopping sound started to echo through the halls.

Looking to your left, your eyes widened at what was making the noise.

And in walked Rudolph.

"No," you ordered, pointing to the reindeer. All the while, Natasha watched on, in total shock, "No. Back. Back!"

You continued to shoo the animal, her "yelling" back at you every time. Nose flickering red as she did, then dimming back to its normal colour.

"Rudolph, no!" A groan and her nose flicker's back. "Out! I told you to stay on the roof. Why don't you ever listen to me?" Another groan and nose flicker, the reindeer still backing up slowly.

Deciding to try something different, you clapped your hands, hoping that would make her move faster.

Instead, you gained an answer you had asked almost two weeks ago.

Rudolph's nose flickered on. And stayed on. Shining a bright red.

Natasha was stunned.

She just stood there watching.

Unable to say a word.

You were also stunned. But because you had been shown a revelation.

You clapped your hands again.

Her nose turned off.

Two more claps.

Nose turned on.

Claps.

Off.

Claps.

On.

"Oh my, God. You really do have a clap on, clap off, nose."

"Hey Nat, we really wanna know what was in your gift. I mean, it's too thin to be a vibrat- Oh my fucking, God!" Tony yelled, walking from the elevator. Wanda and Peter following behind him.

You looked over your shoulder at them.

The three of them watching you and the reindeer, with its nose still on, mouths agape and eye's wide.

"Their nose is glowing!" Tony yelled, pointing at the animal.

Looking back to Rudolph, then back to the three Avengers, you clapped your hands for the last time, and her nose switched off.

"What the fuck?!"

"Is that Rudolph?!" Peter yelled.

Natasha and Wanda still unable to speak.

"Y'know how my last name is 'Claus'?" You smiled bashfully.

"You've got to be kidding me," Natasha finally spoke.

"I wanted to tell you this in a better way."

"Are you Santa Claus?" Wanda asked, albeit still sceptical at the words coming out of her mouth.

"No." you span to face Wanda. "I'm his kid."

"You're joking," Natasha said.

"Do you need more proof than a reindeer with a glowing nose?"

Said reindeer now, nudging against your leg, running your hand through the fur of her head.

"This is insane."

"I know." You nodded. "I know."

"Can I touch him?" Peter asked, edging towards the reindeer.

"Her," you corrected, "Males lose their antlers during the winter."

"Oh, cool."

As soon as he was close enough, you grabbed his hand and placed it upon her back. Rudolph, practically purring at the attention she was receiving.

Then turning back to Natasha.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner-"

"That's why you had to leave yesterday."

You nodded.

"My dad wanted me to go out with him last night. It had been years since we had done it."

Natasha walked towards you.

Mild anxiety coursing through you, not being able to read her expression.

As soon as the red-head stood in front of you. She reached up to grasp the back of your neck, the other hand still holding the puppy to her chest and pulling you down into a love-filled kiss.

And you knew.

Even if Natasha would be mad at you when you told her the real reason you were in the city.

Everything would be fine.

You could feel it in your bones.

This wouldn't be the last kiss the two of you would share.

And this wouldn't be the last Christmas the two of you would share together, either.

"So," Tony's voice startled you out of the kiss, Wanda smacking him on the arm at disturbing the both of you. A smirk pulled at his face, "You staying for Christmas then?"

"Well, actually..." you started, Natasha looking at you, eyes filled with slight worry. She really wanted you to stay, "You've all been invited to spend Christmas with my family."

"In the North Pole?!" Peter asked excitedly.

"In the North Pole." You nodded at the over-joyed boy.

"We'd love to," Natasha answered for the team, unable to pull her eyes off of you.

You smiled. Knowing that this was going to be one of the best Christmases you have ever had.---

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[myelocin]

Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai​ ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

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commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.”  To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.  

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.  

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.  

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.  

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.  

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.  

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.  

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.  

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.  

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

-

The rest of the night flows easy.  

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.  

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.  

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.  

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.  

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.  

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.  

Then he moved.  

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.  

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.  

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.  

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.  

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.  

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.  

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.  

Because after that, friends turned into something more.  

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.  

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.  

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.  

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.  

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.  

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.  

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.  

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.  

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.  

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.  

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.  

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”  

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.  

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.  

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.  

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.  

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.  

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”  

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.  

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.  

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

-

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

-

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.  

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.  

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.  

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.  

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.  

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.  

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.  

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.  

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.  

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.  

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.  

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.  

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.  

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.  

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.  

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.  

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

-

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.  

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.  

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.  

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.  

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.  

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.  

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.  

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.  

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.  

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.  

It’s been there, so here it still is.  

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”  

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.  

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”  

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.  

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.  

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

-

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.  

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.  

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.  

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.  

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.  

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.  

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.  

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.  

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.  

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.  

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.  

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.  

It hits you that it’s been a long day.  

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

-

He doesn’t sleep that night.  

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.  

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.  

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.  

Then again, you had always been one for truth.  

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.  

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.  

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.  

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.  

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.  

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.  

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.  

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.  

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.  

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.  

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.  

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.  

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.  

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.  

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.  

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

-

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.  

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.  

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.  

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.  

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”  

His grandfather wastes no second in countering.  “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”  

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau.  “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.  

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

-

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.  

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.  

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.  

I love you, it reads.  

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.  

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

-

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.  

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.  

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.  

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.  

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.  

-

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.  

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.  

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.  

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.  

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.  

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.  

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.  

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.  

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.  

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.  

What stays is what’s rooted.  

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.  

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.  

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.  

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.  

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.  

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.  

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.  

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.  

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.  

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.  

Steady, present, and timeless.  

-

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.  

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.  

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.  

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.  

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.  

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.  

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

-

Tokyo

-

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.  

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.  

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.  

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.  

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.  

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.  

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.  

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.  

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.  

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.  

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.  

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.  

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.  

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.  

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

-

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.  

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.  

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.  

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.  

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments.  Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

[shoichee]

Hii can I request Murasakibara crush hitting on him ?

i am here to offer you cute headcanons mwehehehe

Murasakibara x Reader

[Headcanons]

“Muro-chin… Am I too tall?” it was quite an unusual question considering it was coming from Murasakibara

“Well, you are the tallest here. Why do you ask?”

“Tch, never mind.”

while Murasakibara never really thinks about anything other than having a steady supply of snacks and how bothersome basketball can be, sometimes he gets agitated at the fact that Himuro is quite a popular looker himself because 1.) it’s way too noisy with people around and 2.) it does remind him that Murasakibara is universally feared by everyone and by all walks of life

he really is tired of the strange/fearful looks he gets from everyone: the little kids, his own peers, the elderly, and even some strays, but it’s something he’s mostly grown accustomed to

but recently, he’s been thinking about his physique ever since he fell a little too hard for you

since meeting you, you never gave any indication that you particularly cared about his height or limb length, but he still wonders if there is ever a chance in a million where you would actually like him romantically… like he’d admit that

it’s no surprise that he and Himuro are the default two peas in a pod everywhere they go, so every time someone would approach them, Muraskaibara immediately zones out or hobbles away to look for something interesting to do, assuming that they’re always here for Himuro

which is what he exactly thought when you approached them one day with a quite determined face (he wouldn’t zone out on you though, you’re the only exception where he’d stay to hear the conversation)

but your face immediately brightens up seeing Murasakibara, which lowkey gets his mind racing in confusion… did his heart thump a little faster? nOOoooOO what are you talking about??? that’s not happening right now, totally not…

“Murasakibara-kun!” you call out to him. “I wanted to tell you how cool you were in the Winter Cup! I actually always think you’re really captivating to watch when it comes to your basketball! If you don’t mind, if you still have upcoming practices, do you mind if I tag along? I already asked the coach and she was totally okay with it as long as I’m not disruptive, and I’ve already introduced myself to the other Yōsen teammates.”

Murasakibara blinks very slowly to process what you just said to him

“I don’t do anything but stand to defend.” You adamantly shake your head in such a cute way that he almost blushes at the sight… almost

“No way! You practically zoomed across the other side of the court so easily! Your dunks are so jaw-dropping too…!”

see, he’s not used to such positive attention that he can’t help but start mumbling, insisting that he’s tired of the sport and might quit soon, so therefore, you were “wasting your time with him”

Himuro was meanwhile standing there observing, his smile growing wider the more he sees that his suspicions were correct

he couldn’t believe it: all your compliments completely flew over Murasakibara’s head

for the next few practices you sat yourself on the bench, watching Murasakibara practice with stars in your eyes, and if someone looked really closely at you, your cheeks were tinted pink too

with his crush constantly at practice now, Murasakibara actually has an incentive to actually try and put effort into practice for you, albeit not too hard because he didn’t want to accidentally scare you if you suddenly changed your mind about his strength/looks

these actions definitely didn’t go unnoticed by his teammates; while it’s a relief that they don’t have to spend their time shoving the giant to practice, it’s a bit… weird

you’re always showering him with compliments, giving him snacks and bento boxes (not even with an excuse, just like LITERALLY straight up “I got this for you”), and always cheering him on when he does something you thought was cool in practice… you always even flock to him to give him water in case he needs it

the teammates, even the COACH herself, get a kick out of you laying it really thick on this giant and he’s here assuming you’re like Himuro and just a nice person

sometimes, you really try to send the signal by giving featherlight touches, whether it’d be a gentle brush, an encouraging pat on the back, things of that nature, but he’d just asked, “What are you doing, Chibi-chin?”

yeah, he grew comfortable enough to talk to you and give you a nickname (he’s very happy on the inside about this milestone)

pickup lines don’t work on him, he won’t get them; the best way for Murasakibara, you knew, was to give direct (but genuine! he can sense the fakes from a mile away) compliments, even if he doesn’t interpret them with romantic intentions/undertones

persistence is key when flirting with him… he’ll eventually get it, like a lightbulb would go off eventually

but he’d probably second-guess himself because he thinks that no one would really see him as desirable in a romantic sense; he’s someone to keep it to himself unless his crush makes a move

luckily for you, you’ve been someone who’s always been making the first moves since day 1

lo and behold, you ask him to a date at whatever place he wanted to go, and at first, he just thinks it’s another trip like the ones he would take with Himuro

you insist that it’s an actual date and he’s like, confused

“You’re not scared of me?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because I can take down a backboard easily, Chibi-chin.”

“You’re very gentle outside of basketball though. Besides, if I was scared, would I really go through all this effort just for it to go to waste?”

“... Why do you try for me?” He’s rubbing his neck and looking away. “Don’t you know that people who try the hardest but aren’t skilled at all annoy me the most?”

“If I annoyed you, you would’ve easily shooed me away. But you didn’t~” You definitely hit the nail on the head with this one. “So do you wanna come? It’ll be my treat, I’m serious!”

“A… date…” Murasakibara silently mouths the word, the syllables sounding completely foreign on his tongue, but you noticed what he was doing

“Oh my! That’s so cute!”

“Wh-Wha? C-Cute?! Tch, that’s… not what you call someone who towers over you and can easily crush you…”

“Still cute, though! But you’re also very handsome to me! And attractive!”

super effective against Murasakibara!

he’s unbelievably red and quite speechless, but even still, he wanted to ask the question that’s been nagging at him for a while and get it over with… how can you be so shameless and honest? that’s a mystery Murasakibara would have to solve sometime later

“Even if… I’m too tall?” (this came out way too quiet of a whisper but you heard it loud and clear, nonetheless)

“Well, I think you’re the perfect size to me! Does height really matter about whether I want to go out with you or not?” You cutely tilt your head to the side with an intentional pout while you delivered your response (you DEFINITELY know what you’re doing, you sly one)

1-HIT KO against Murasakibara!

Bonus: when Murasakibara is sitting/bent down, sometimes you draw near his face as if you’re about to kiss him, but when he expects it as such, you merely blow cold air against his temples, forehead, nose, lips… anything is fair game to you; he doesn’t know whether to tackle you to demand those kisses or stomp away like a child who didn’t get his candy

you never stop with the compliments and affection even after you both started dating; your flirtations and antics give him daily doses of serotonin

[popwasabi]

“Who are you?” The scene that defines Chadwick Boseman’s legacy

Yesterday, the world lost a bright and promising, burgeoning talent in Chadwick Boseman.

I had wondered privately for a while if something was wrong with him, as others had as well online, as he appeared increasingly sicker with each interview he gave over the last two years. I thought maybe I had been looking too much into it, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who he was but now gravely we all know why.

The much too young star of films such as “42,” “Marshall,” and of course, “Black Panther” had been fighting a largely private battle with colon cancer for four years.

It was devastating hearing this news yesterday, the man who undeniably left behind a legacy of playing prominent black heroes, both historical and fictional, passed away just as he was starting to truly hit it big. When you begin to realize the man was dealing with cancer as he performed physically demanding roles in the MCU you begin to see the character and determination of a man unwilling to quit in the face of true adversity.

But he clearly wasn’t just doing it for himself when he continued making and promoting NINE more movies despite his diagnosis, afterall no one would’ve blamed the guy for taking it easy these past four years. He’s had many scenes that define his legacy over his all too short career but I feel it can really be summed up in one particular moment from by far his most famous film; “Black Panther.”

Those who know me or have read my work know that I have a fairly cynical relationship with the Marvel Cinematic Universe. While I would not say most of them are “bad” per se, I would say a ton of them are largely interchangeable action comedies with pretty straightforward messages about good vs evil for general audiences. They are largely popcorn escapism and though there is nothing technically wrong with that, I was starved for an MCU film that was sincere about its story finally and had something real to say.

Enter “Black Panther” in early 2018.

“Black Panther” was everything I had long been waiting for in the MCU; a film with a real sense of vision and theme, a killer soundtrack, great supporting characters, a complicated and nuanced villain, and a story that didn’t feel the need to add a joke after every single scene like more typical MCU movies. The tip of that spear of course was Chadwick, who had already proved to be a great Black Panther in one of the few other sincere Marvel flicks “Civil War.” His natural charisma, physicality, and dramatic presence in this role made him a huge standout in frankly the best ensemble cast of any superhero movie ever.

The scene that truly sums up not just the mark “Black Panther” left on Hollywood but Chadwick’s own legacy comes at the very end though (the first of three, of course. It’s an MCU movie, afterall).

T’Challa has defeated his usurper cousin Erik Killmonger, his rule restored in Wakanda but clearly a changed man from the story’s beginning as he reckons with the complicated legacy of his father. He travels to Oakland, the birthplace of Killmonger, with his sister Shuri who he explains the crime committed by their father in this place and how it set off the events of the story. He turns to Shuri, tells her that he has decided to help this afflicted community by creating a Wakandan outreach center for the youth to give them a new hope in life. As he says this he decloaks their ship nearby, surprising the youth already in the area who are immediately in awe of it. One of the kids turns to T’Challa, smiling, a sense of inspiration and intrigue brewing inside, and asks “Who are you?” to which the young King simply smiles, then the credits roll.

It’s a simple scene but it truly speaks to the impact left behind by Chadwick and the importance of representation. 

“Black Panther” is hardly the first starring vehicle for a black man, it’s not even the first black super hero movie but what it made it different is it was the first blockbuster to truly lean unapologetically into its African identity to focus on the inspiration of a story centered around that culture. It showed Hollywood that an action blockbuster not just centered on a black star but centered on African culture had vast widespread appeal.

White kids will never have a shortage of white superheroes to grow up with on the big screen; a diverse palette of Supermans, Spider-mans, Captain Americas, and shit we’re even getting our sixth new Batman actor since 1989 soon. But Chadwick gave black kids their first real Superman of their own. 

In the years since this came out, I have seen the influence, at times, firsthand among the youth. I work part-time as a kids martial arts instructor and each Halloween party we’ve held I’ve seen a few more T’Challas among the costumes represented. When I ask kids, black, white, or Asian, what their favorite superhero is, it always warms my heart to see a kid light up when they say “BLACK PANTHER!”

(Seriously, cute AF)

This goes beyond just my anecdotal observations of course; the film grossed a billion dollars, and there are countless videos online of kids yelling “Wakanda forever!” at the top of their lungs while rocking a Black Panther suit or reciting one of the movie’s memorable lines. It’s beautiful because it speaks to that last scene’s key message; inspiration.

Growing up myself, as a half Asian American, there weren’t a ton of role models who looked like me to take inspiration from. I didn’t really understand how much this could affect me until I finally did start seeing people like myself occupy positions of influence. I didn’t start caring for baseball until I saw a slugger named Hideki Matsui smash a couple dingers in a Yankees’ uniform in the early 2000s. I didn’t care much for martial arts, outside my very early youth, until I witnessed a half Japanese Brazilian named Lyoto Machida KO Thiago Silva at UFC 94 in 2009. I didn’t care much for soccer until a striker named Keisuke Honda played out of his mind in the early rounds of the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Sometimes you gotta see something happen in order to believe and be inspired by it and it’s easier to visualize it when you see someone who looks like you do it. That’s what representation means and why it’s important.

It’s easy for white America to dismiss the need for representation in media when theirs is so saturated in the culture everyday. Cries of “wHaT aBoUt wHiTe HiStORy mOnTH?!” delivered unironically while their history is proudly given front seat consideration in all forms of media, film, and influence every day. This is why it drives me so crazy when a white person tells me “representation isn’t important” because apparently, they “don’t need it.”

Well motherfucker, of course you don’t need it. You fucking got yours already!

(What every non-white person wants to say when confronted with this tired, out of touch argument...)

“Black Panther” delivered a superhero that not only black children could be proud of and love but someone they could draw inspiration from. Kids are going to want to become film directors cause of this movie, actors, stuntmen, martial artists, scientists, engineers, and so many other different things that the world of Wakanda proudly showcases and it’s all thanks to Chadwick’s leading man performance that made it possible.

Some jokes I’ve heard frequently on the internet is that Chadwick was on somewhat of a quest to play every major black role in story-telling history, what with performances as Jackie Robinson, Thurgood Marshall, James Brown, and of course Black Panther. But I think his 2018 speech at his Alma Mater of Howard really explains why he kept looking to play these major positive black roles.

(I encourage you to listen to the whole thing but the part that’s important here begins at 21:55)

Hollywood likes to pigeon hole certain demographics of people (aka non-white) to play stereotypical roles forever until they are proven to be lucrative in different ways (Qualified Immunity of film-making if you will…). Black people largely could mostly play thugs and drug dealers, Latinx can only be gang bosses and poor servants and gardeners, Asians are either kung fu masters or some other offensive perpetual foreigner. And in worst cases no role at all, instead whitewashed for general audiences (aka white folk). 

Chadwick took a stand that the color of his skin did not define who Hollywood narrowly believed he could perform as and set out to play characters and people who could inspire a new generation of African Americans and show the rest of the country that they were more than a stereotype.

When that young kid in that final scene asks, “Who are you?” and T’Challa smiles its because he knows he’s already changing hearts and minds for the future, just as Chadwick did playing this truly inspirational role.

“Black Panther” is not a perfect movie. I could discuss the ways it could’ve been better and even, less problematic in parts on a different day, but the legacy it leaves behind is one that’s undeniably positive and Chadwick was able to make that a reality. Perhaps he understood that if the world knew his diagnosis it would blunt the impact of “Black Panther’s” release, that if little kids and African Americans alike knew their superhero was already dying it would mar the film’s positivity and influence. I can’t speak for the dead obviously, and in no way am I saying one should just push through a cancer diagnosis and keep it secret, but I can see Chadwick understanding what it would mean for the audience if they just believed for as long as possible that they would have their king of Wakanda forever.

As Robert Downey Jr. said on social media last night “He leveled the playing field while fighting for his life.”

Though I will never know him personally, by most measures Chadwick seemed to be exactly the kind of hero he showed up to be on the big screen and his legacy will ultimately be that of one who looked to inspire others, particularly the next generation until his final breath. If that doesn’t make him a hero, I don’t know what does.

Rest in power, King. Wakanda Forever…

(Via BossLogic)

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

You’re safe here

(I apologize if this feels like one-shot spamming, but here is another one, inspired by you lovely Ko-Fi supporters! That and Caco’s art kicked my brain into overdrive. This is when Paz and Raga first met Din.)

-

Talking to three of his friends, hands in his pockets and utterly relaxed, Paz hears the rapid taptaptaptap of small shoes in a fierce sprint down the hallway. He then feels the impact of a skinny frame jumping on his back, which doesn't jostle him at all. Paz merely shrugs one shoulder a few seconds later to help her as Raga climbs up his back and soon settles on his shoulders, her thin legs dangling down his chest.

He sees his friends shake their heads a little, still confused as to why he would hang out with that wild creature, but he watches them with a firm look; daring them to challenge him or simply make a comment. Paz hasn't handed out a good beating in days. He'd be glad to.

Raga folds her arms on top of his head and leans her chin on them. He doesn't need to see her to know she's grinning, hoping they'll make the mistake of opening their mouths.

To Paz and Raga's disappointment, they keep quiet.

A sharp whistle catches their attention and the children look over to where Davarax is standing.

“Paz. Over here.” Davarax orders.

Paz hesitates.

If it is possible to roll with his eyes with a helmet, that is what Davarax does. “Yes. Fine. Bring her too.”

Paz shuffles over to where his teacher is standing and follows him inside a room, hands still in his pockets and Raga on his shoulders.

Davarax turns and stands next to a small boy with dark hair and even darker eyes. “This is Din. He's going to stay with us.”

“This is the way.” Paz replies and Raga echoes it.

Din watches them warily. He has the stare many other Foundlings has had before him. Paz recognizes it. This is someone who has seen war and watched loved ones die.

“I want you to show him around. Introduce him. You know the drill.” Davarax says. “He will be joining your group, Paz.”

Paz nods. He gestures for Din to follow him. “Let's go, kid.”

Raga jumps down from his shoulders, takes Din's hand and drags him out the door.

Paz moves to follow, but Davarax' hand grabs his neck and holds him back to deliver some final words.

“Listen, that kid just lost his parents and his entire village. Go easy on him. No fighting. And keep that girl of yours from attacking him too. He's not ready for it yet. Understand?”

Paz nods again and Davarax lets go. Out in the hallway, Din and Raga are waiting for him.

A quick scan tells Paz that Din is some years younger than him, a skinny little thing, but there is steel in his eyes. “I'm Paz. She's Raga. You'll be hanging with us from now on.”

“If anyone gives you any trouble, you just let us know!” Raga declares in a loud, proud voice.

Sighing, Paz kneels down and ties the undone laces on her left shoe. “Sure. What she said.”

In the days that follow, Din is quiet but that is no surprise. Most Foundlings are. He needs time. Paz doesn't push.

During their first training together, Paz and Din merely watch while Raga chases a frantic Barthor around in the training room as they wait for Davarax to arrive.

The third time Barthor runs by Paz to avoid his tormentor, Paz sticks his foot out and trips him.

Raga jumps her prey without hesitation and at least there is some entertainment until their teacher finally appears and puts an abrupt halt to it by lifting her up by the back of her shirt and hoisting her away. (Davarax had been wary about adding Raga to his group and only agreed because she behaved somewhat less feral around Paz and her former teacher was sick of her antics.)

Din is not trained in combat so it takes no effort for Paz to defeat him. But the more defeats Din tastes, the more determined the little Womp Rat becomes and Paz figures there might be hope for him in the future if he keeps up with his training.

Raga, however, is improving at a worrying pace, diving fearlessly into every challenge. Even Davarax seems uncomfortable about turning his back on her. Paz can't help a proud grin on his face.

She was, and still is, awesome.

Din has been there for almost a standard month when they spend their first night away from their own beds on a pretend mission. He hasn't really spoken much during these weeks, seems as distant and shut down as the first day he had arrived, but he's already growing stronger and he's smart, so Paz doesn't mind. Barthor talks enough for the four of them anyway. Din probably just needs more time. That's okay.

They are curled up in a big bed with a bad mattress and no sheets, a demonstration of the tough circumstances they will face as future warriors, when Paz wakes up due to a strange sound.

Blinking, Paz lies in the semi-dark and listens. His instincts tells him something is wrong.

Barthor is curled up in front of him and Raga is a warm, little backpack behind him, but Paz instantly knows Din is missing. Lifting his head, Paz looks around the room and sees Din sitting in the darkest corner; his knees are drawn up to his chest and he is crying.

Raga kicks Paz in the kidney, but he doesn't react. She does that sometimes. His focus is on Din.

Sniffling quietly, Din wipes at his eyes, but can't get the tears to stop. Nightmare, maybe? Dreaming about his parents? About what happened? Maybe he's scared it will happen again?

Paz sits up, knowing he won't be able to sleep as long as Din is crying. “Hey...”

Din starts, unaware of Paz waking up, and he quickly wipes the tears away.

Raga kicks Paz in the hip. Paz rubs a fist into his left eye and yawns. “Din. C'mere.” When Din doesn't reply, just stares at him with those dark eyes of his, Paz feels a flicker of annoyance that seeps into his voice. “I said; come here.”

Din gets up with a look of humiliation and defeat and shuffles towards the bed.

Paz resolutely shoves Barthor away and grabs Din by the wrist, yanking him down.

Din is too stunned to protest when Paz places his arm around him and pulls him close. The boy is really cold. He must have been sitting there for a while.

Raga sighs and burrows close to Paz' back again. Barthor lets out a soft snore.

There is a brief silence, then Paz speaks. “I'm sorry about your parents. That sucks. But you're one of us now, and I'll keep you safe, okay?” Paz is the biggest and strongest of them. He can even beat up kids much older than himself. Anything that comes after Din, he'll beat that up too.

“Even if there are androids?” Din asks in a thin voice.

“Definitely.” Paz confirms with easy confidence. “I'll protect you. I promise.”

There are no more nightmares that night.

12 years later

Davarax can't help smiling as he watches his former students. His kids, as he calls them. He'd warned them all about the Mandalorian wine, but youth made for more courage than brains.

Paz and Din had nurtured their eternal rivalry and tried to out-drink each other, ending up with both of them falling asleep, sitting side by side on the floor while leaning against the wall. After that, it didn't take long for Raga to stumble over to inch her way under Paz' obliging right arm and falling asleep there, or for Barthor to end up slumped over their legs like a pet and snoring loudly.

Twitching in his sleep, tormented by restless anger even in his slumber, Din sinks over and his helmet makes a metallic clink as it hits Paz' pauldron.

Paz grumbles, but doesn't wake up. Instead, he automatically lifts his arm, like he'd done for Raga, and Din shifts closer until he's comfortable and Paz then lowers his arm around him as well.

Davarax smiles. Even after all these years, they're still looking after each other.

Yeah, whatever life throws at them, his kids are going to do just fine.

[presidentrhodes]

How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“ 

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up." 

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city. 

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it." 

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero. 

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet. 

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—" 

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla."  The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker." 

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain." 

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof. 

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids. 

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids. 

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too. 

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath. 

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months. 

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying." 

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?" 

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles. 

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman." 

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.   

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.  

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human. 

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one." 

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J." 

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine. 

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks. 

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise. 

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—" 

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow. 

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he’s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…" 

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence. 

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?" 

"He really needs that psych eval." 

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body. 

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive. 

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband." 

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams. 

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage. 

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx. 

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late. 

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out. 

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign. 

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door. 

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?" 

Natasha kicks him under the table. 

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?" 

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date." 

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again. 

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team." 

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim." 

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures." 

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today." 

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?" 

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium. 

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity. 

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it. 

–FIN–

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

Sugar and Fluff (Volume 4)

Sit right up on your chairs, for this is a special one. Since I mentioned last week that we’re going back to the start of the timeline, here’s one for y’all. 

Finally, I get to use one of my favorite Johnny GIFs of all time since it’s related to the story. 

I mean, I literally gasped when I watched this for the first time. How dare he do this to us! My poor heart was about to pass out then. 

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

–––

Summary: This installment is a follow-up to How They Met, and how Johnny was to Essie before they became friends. I wrote these stories based on the teaser videos the group had for ‘Elevator (127F)’ and ‘Pandora’s Box’ hence using that dreamy GIF. 

POV: 3rd person 

Word count: 1,700 + words 

Warning: Italics are for thoughts.  

–––

Essie will never forget the time that Johnny pretended to be the pizza delivery boy so he could flirt with her.

It was weeks after they first met when they talked outside her apartment. She was carrying Chinese food takeout as they conversed, delaying her lunch with her best friend Nini.

For this instance, he did the same but in a way that she expected from him. She heard that he was quite a player, and she should try not to fall in love with him. But unfortunately, she did.

It was a cold day – as always in Korea – and despite Nini’s craving for noodles, Essie didn’t cave in to her request. She wanted a giant pizza that had warm and gooey cheese, pepperoni, and bell peppers, so she called Pizza Express to have her custom order.

“I have no complaints with what we’re having for lunch since you’re paying for it, right?” Nini said, flashing a Cheshire cat grin to her best friend.

“Ugh, isn’t that obvious?” Essie rolled her eyes, “I know I’ll be paying for it. So please, be a patient old lady and wait for our food, okay?”

The other girl gave her a thumbs-up before she resumed the video she was watching on YouTube.

///

A few minutes later, their doorbell rang. Essie rushed to the door and checked the peephole if it was indeed the delivery guy. She gulped when she saw someone she didn’t expect to appear at her front door again.

It’s Johnny motherclucking Suh. What the crap is he doing here?

She saw him dancing while holding the Pizza Express box with one hand. He wore a checkered shirt with a funky-patterned cardigan on top and a pair of khaki chinos. The booger also wore eyeglasses and had his light-colored hair curly! He emulated nerd chic, which he is a far cry from in real life.

“Essie, is that the pizza? Why aren’t you opening the door?” Nini asked, who looked at her friend curiously.

The curly-haired girl peered into the peephole again and saw that Johnny was still dancing with the pizza box on one hand. He was doing robotic moves with his other hand and made silly faces as well.

“Yeah, it is the pizza guy…” Essie started, tempted to look into the peephole for the third time, “but at the same time, it isn’t.”

“Huh, what do you mean by that?”

“It looks like Johnny Suh has our pizza, and he’s dancing like an idiot outside our apartment.”

Nini burst into laughter with her statement. “Wow, he must be so into you then. He had to sabotage the real pizza delivery guy so he could flirt his way into your heart,” she said.

“Niniiiii!” her best friend whined, who also stomped the floor at how flustered she was. “Just open the freaking door, and I’m hungry,” the older girl grumbled before going back to her phone.

After three deep breaths, Essie finally opened the door to let Johnny Suh deliver their order. “One custom giant pizza with three different cheese, pepperoni, and bell peppers,” he said in his best professional voice before handing the box to her.

“Yeah, that is correct,” she mumbled, absentmindedly grabbing the pizza with one hand while the other searched into her pockets. “How much was it again?”

“Oh, no need to pay for that, princess, I already took care of it.” Johnny winked at her and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Oh God, Johnny…” Essie wasn’t able to contain her annoyance with his antics and rolled her eyes. “What brings you here then, aside from sabotaging the real pizza delivery guy?”

“I want to see how you’re doing,” he replied suavely, running a hand through his curly mane. “I was just in the area, wanting to hang out with my hyungs, but it turns out they weren’t in their apartment. Then I saw the pizza guy and knew that he was coming here, so I wanted to surprise you.”

“Okay then, thank you,” she said monotonously before heading inside again. “You may leave now if you want.”

“I’ll take no for an answer there, ma’am,” he said, now catching up with her in the apartment. “We might as well hang out.”

“Then I return the same answer to you, sir. No, I don’t want to hang out with you. Today’s my day off, and I want to catch up on sleep,” Essie placed the pizza on the kitchen counter then went to the fridge to retrieve some hot sauce.

“Then I’ll watch you sleep,” Johnny was persistent to make the girl hang out with him. “Or yet, sleep beside you.”

“Johnnyyyyy!” She couldn’t take it anymore and threw a glare at him. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Because I want what I want to have right now, and that is to hang out with you!”

“Don’t you have any other friends than our neighbors? You can bother them instead!”

“But I don’t want to! I’m already here too, and I know you, so why the heck not?”

“Hold up, hold up! What is happening here?” Nini asked as she entered the kitchen. “It’s past noon, and your voices are too loud! What are you two arguing about?”

Essie rolled her eyes (for the nth time that day) and folded her arms over her chest. “He’s a stubborn piece of ass,” she grumbled. “And she’s an annoying baby princess,” he rebutted.

The older girl looked at them silently before bursting into laughter again. “Oh, you amuse me, Essie. Just give in to his request for now. He made the effort to deliver our pizza. And I bet you didn’t have to pay for it because he already did.”

“Fine, you all win!” The curly-haired girl glared at her best friend and the flirty guy. “But you better behave yourself, mister, because I am not having it.” She took out all the packets of hot sauce from the fridge and grabbed the pizza box again so she could take it to the living room.

“I promise I’ll be a good boy,” he purred in her ear when she has settled the food on the coffee table.

“Ugh, John! Please, stop doing this to me,” Essie groaned, gently pushing him away from her. “I’m thankful for treating us to pizza, but you don’t have to be so damn freaking flirty! We can be friends but not if you’re acting this way.”

Her words hit something in Johnny, who now flashed her a genuine smile. “You do? We can be friends?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah, sure. But just don’t do this again. I feel uncomfortable when someone’s too flirty.”

“But that’s part of my personality, babe. You’ll get used to it. But I’m glad we can be friends,” he said as he sat down beside her on the couch, opening the pizza box he held for approximately five minutes outside.

As the two started eating, Nini was watching them from the kitchen doorway. She never saw someone who acted like Johnny toward her best friend. He was quite direct with his actions, which most guys she saw Essie interact with don’t have the guts to do.

She smiled as Johnny dabbed the sides of Essie’s lips with a napkin. She saw how her best friend was embarrassed at the situation – her ears were glowing red. Nini held back her laughter this time and returned to the living room to get her share of pizza.

\\\

“I remember you were such a flirt when we first met, John,” Essie said one time when they were having breakfast.

Her boyfriend, who was in a white shirt that clung to his body nicely, almost spit out his food from the memory.

“Why do you have to remind me that, baby? I know we didn’t start on a good footing,” he said before eating a spoonful of rice and omelet.

“I know, but that was funny,” she giggled, gently pushing aside her utensils to grab the cup of coffee to her left. “Who knew I’d end up with you?”

He shrugged at her question and continued eating in silence. Essie observed him with a smile on her face as he ate. His hair, which was now light brown with some highlights, was tousled, and some strands almost covered his beautiful honey eyes. He had a ketchup stain near the collar of his shirt. The veins on his arms were more protruding.

“What are you looking at, babe?” He asked, slowly looking up at her.

“You,” she said softly before bringing the cup of coffee to her lips. “I am so lucky to have you, and sometimes I can’t still believe that we’re together, you know?”

“I could say the same too,” he responded with a grin on his face. “You know how the song goes: Everything I do, I do it for you,” he sang aloud the lyrics to the famous Bryan Adams song, making his girlfriend put down her cup of coffee and laugh.

“Damn, you’re cheesy!” She guffawed, slapping the table for effect. She thought of the moments that happened earlier – he was the one who woke her up by opening their sky blue curtains to let some sunlight shine through. “Good morning, baby, wake up,” he whispered before drawing them close when he saw her sit up from the bed.

Even if it took her ages to get up – it was the weekend away – Johnny returned to their shared bedroom and plopped beside her. He laid on the bed with his body face down, showing off his wide but sculpted back. He rested his face on one of their pillows and looked at her lovingly.

“Love, please,” she said breathlessly, captivated with his beauty. “Come on now, let’s have breakfast,” he cooed, pulling her wrist repeatedly from his comfortable position.

“What did you prepare for us?” Essie replied, now standing at the foot of the bed. “The usual, because that’s the best I can cook,” he chuckled before he stood up and carried her bridal-style to their dining room.

“Thank you,” she said once he helped her to her seat. She pecked him on the cheek, which he returned on the lips. “Anything for my darling Essie.”

–––

FIN

P.S. If you’ve noticed, I tend to end my stories with that line. It may or may not be intentional. 

[avengerscompound]

The Unicorn - Chapter 27

The Unicorn:  A Pepperony Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS  //

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Word Count:    1747

Pairing:  Tony Stark x F!Reader x Pepper Potts

Warnings:  birth stuff!

Synopsis:  Tony Stark finally gets his happy ending.

Chapter 27

It was a weird sensation bringing you home from the medbay and not the twins.  That’s the way these things went sometimes.  They were very small and needed extra care.  You, on the other hand, recovered from the surgery pretty quickly and could go home within the week.  You were struggling with it.  The babies not being there was an obvious missing piece.  You had been pregnant and now you weren’t but there were no babies in your arms or waking you at four in the morning for changing.

Thankfully they were close.  The medbay wasn’t the same as most parents who had to drive to the hospital and back.  It was a walk.  Not even a long one.  So the three of you would see them regularly.  You’d go down multiple times a day and attempt breastfeeding.  You’d all take turns holding them until the nurses told you the needed to go back in their incubators.

Tony was counting down to the day he got to bring them home.

Not that this was home.  The house was ready for the six of you to move into.  It just was not happening while the twins were in intensive care.  Even if he wanted to move in there without them, there was no way he could convince you or Pepper to leave.   Not that he wanted to.

So now the only question was, which would happen first?  The twins coming home, or Morgan being born.

The answer came at the twins two week birthday.  You had been told they could go home the following day.  Pepper’s first labor pains hit just before dinner.

“Is this it?”  He asked as he jumped up and began to rub her back.

She shook her head.  “Don’t know.  Probably Braxton hicks.   It’s still a little early.”

“Yeah.  I guess so.”  He said and kissed her stomach.  “You be patient, Morgan.”

“Yeah, like that’s what you really want.”  You teased.

He smirked up at you.  “I want him to be healthy.”

“I know you do.”  You said.  “And?”

“And here.”  He admitted.  “I want them all to come home.”

“We know you do.”  Pepper said and kissed the top of his head.  “But we’re gonna be patient.  The twins will be home tomorrow.”

“Yeah.  I guess they will.”

You punched his arm.  “That’s all the enthusiasm you can muster?”

By eleven it was clear Pepper was well and truly in labor.  The pains weren’t anywhere regular yet, but they were becoming more so each time and more painful.  She tried to sleep between them but by one in the morning, it was proving impossible.

You and Tony took turns either pacing the room with her or rubbing her back.  By two she had retreated to the shower where Tony held the shower head against her lower back and she just leaned on your stomach dozing between contractions.

She moved to the bath at three.

Even as exhausted and as much as he hated seeing Pepper in all this pain, he was excited.  It wouldn’t be much longer and Morgan would be in his arms.

By seven they had decided to take Pepper down to the delivery suites.

A medical team met with her, though Doctor Singh was not among them.  She wouldn’t arrive until closer to delivery and according to the nurses, that was still several hours away.

So she went back to pacing.  Sometimes Tony supporting her.  Sometimes you.  “You aren’t weak if you need drugs you know?”  You said gently.

“I don’t need drugs.”  Pepper snapped not breaking her stride.

“Okay, honey.  You’re the strongest person I know.”  Tony said rubbing her back.

“Damn right I am,”  Pepper said.

It was six more hours of labor.  You had had to go feed the twins 3 times in the total time Pepper was in labor.  By the time it reached the transition Pepper had stripped off naked, her clothes just dropped where she decided they were annoying her too much.

Doctor Singh came into the room as Pepper doubled over leaning on the side of the bed.  “I think he might be coming, Ms. Potts.”  She said.  “Did you want to get more comfortable.”

“No.  I am comfortable.”  Pepper snapped.

Doctor Singh chuckled and moved behind her crouching down as she did an examination on her.  “You’re sure this is how you want to deliver?”

“Yes.  Get him out of me!”  Pepper cried her hands digging into the mattress of the bed.

Doctor Sing sighed.  “Okay.  Well, you need to listen closely.  Only push when I say.”

Pepper nodded and gritted her teeth and you and Tony wiped her brow and rubbed her back.

“Push, Pepper.”  The doctor ordered and Pepper groaned and bared down.  The nurses cleaning up the mess of her strain as Morgan’s hair became visible.  Tony felt his heart stutter at first sight of the baby head.

“Oh my god, Pepper.  I can see him.”  He said.

“It’s so gross, Pepper.  Oh my god.”  You added.

“That’s not helpful.”  She groaned as she pushed again.

“It’s true though. So weird.  Like an alien.”  Tony said.

“Tony.  I will kill you right here.”  Pepper groaned.

Tony chuckled and Pepper grabbed his hand and squeezed as she pushed again.  It was four more bone breaking pushes before Morgan’s head was out and Tony stared at disbelief at the sight of it.

“Okay.  Hold on a second.”  Doctor Singh said and started moving Morgan around.  Pepper started panting through her teeth.  “Alright.  One last one.”

Pepper pushed, groaning hard and Morgan Stark entered the world.  The doctor lifted him up and Pepper crawled up onto the bed, collapsing on her back in exhaustion.  “Who’s gonna cut the cord?”

You and Tony looked at each other and he smiled.  “Together?”

You nodded and both of you took the scissors.  The doctor clamped the cord and you cut it as one.   Morgan had started crying.  That quiet and yet somehow powerful squall of a newborn.  He was placed naked on Pepper’s chest.  He was small and wrinkly but already Tony could see the fine tuft of red hair he’d inherited from his mother.  It was like they had gotten one of each.  Two boys and a girl to balance them out.

“Look at what you made, Pepper.”  You said, kissing her brow as the doctor and nurses went to work.

She gave a tired smile.  “We did it.  Tony.  We got our family.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her brow.  “Yeah, we did.  Now rest, honey.  We’re all here.”

It was only a few days that Pepper stayed in the med bay.  She recovered quickly from the birth and given that all three babies were now cleared to go home, it was home you went.  Your home.  The home of the family that Tony had built with you and Pepper. The one on the river, where it was just the three of you and not the Avengers.  Where the nursery was set up with three cribs and three bassinets sat ready to go in the master bedroom at the foot of the king sized bed, that looked out over the Hudson.

The three of you carried the babies in.  One baby each.  You held Ada in your arms, telling her every little thing about the house as you walked through it in relation to her future life.  Here are the stairs you’re going to slide down the banister on.  Here’s the couch you’ll fall asleep on when we let you stay up too late.  Here’s where you’ll most definitely bump your head.  Here’s where your daddy will teach you to tie your shoes.

Pepper held Edwin.  The little boy chewed on her knuckle as she chuckled and shook her head as you spoke.  Behind you both, Tony carried Morgan.  His pale red hair already had the curl of his own natural hair.

He felt a curious mix of peace and excitement.  He was in his fifties now and yet, his whole life felt like it was laid out and ready for him to live.   He was a dad now and he had so much to do.  So many things to teach them and show them.

It was weird.  He’d grown up believing no one really loved him.  That he would never know what that felt like.  That maybe it wasn’t even real in the first place.  Then he had met Pepper, and slowly, so very slowly he allowed himself to fall in love.

Yet even then, he couldn’t seem to stop.  He kept having to fight and fight and fight and he never had the chance to just feel like he deserved the love and chance to stop that Pepper had been offering him.

Then one day, Pepper had wanted to explore her sexuality and it was like everything had finally fallen into place.  They had gone unicorn hunting and brought home the one thing Tony thought he would never get.  A complete family.

“And here’s your parent’s bedroom.  Here’s where you’ll almost definitely walk in on us one day and everyone will be scarred forever.”  You said carrying Ada into the bedroom.

“You can’t say that.”  Pepper squawked, making Edwin startle and look around the room.

“You know the statistical likelihood that will happen is really high, Pepper.”  You said.

She shook her head.  “FRIDAY you're on ‘stop the kids walking in on us’ duty.”

“Yes, ma’am,”  FRIDAY replied.

You sat down on the bed and started to tickle Ada’s tummy.  “I could really go for a shower right now.”

Pepper hummed.  “Mmm me too.”

Tony looked from you to Pepper and back again.  “Give me the babies.  You can have a nice long one together.”

Pepper narrowed her eyes.  “Are you sure?  You can handle all three at once?”

“It’s what?  20 minutes?  And I am their dad.”

“Alright,”  Pepper said putting Edwin in his arms opposite Morgan.  “You asked for it.”

He sat down on the bed and you put Ada in next to Morgan.  You kissed his forehead and took Pepper’s hand.  “Have fun, daddy.”  You said leading her into the bathroom.

As soon as he heard the water go on Morgan started to cry.  He was quickly followed by Ada and then finally Edwin.  Tony bounced them smiling to himself.  “It’s okay, little ones.  Daddy’s got you.”  He said.  Even with them all crying it couldn’t dampen that contented feeling.  He’d been unicorn hunting all this time, but for him, his unicorn had been this.  Family.  Kids.  Love.  He was going to take the time to enjoy all of it.

~ END ~ 

[four-loose-screws]

FE4 Suzuki Novelization Translation (Gen II) - Chapter 7

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Chapter 7 - Earth Lance Gáe Bolg

T/W: Mention of likely one-sided romantic feelings between adopted siblings.

Travant ordered both Coruta's dragon knight unit and Princess Altena to deploy. With the empire's presence gone completely from the Thracian Peninsula, he considered this to be the perfect chance.

"Start by seizing Munster. Do not hold back against anyone who turns against you, even the citizens. Kill them all."

"Wait, Father!" Altena called out.

Altena wore the uniform of the Thracian Dragon Knights, and held her long brown hair back with a bandana. Her almond shaped eyes gave a bit of an intimidating impression, but when she put on her military uniform, it highlighted how brave and honorable she looked.

"I'll happily fight if the imperial army is our enemy, but there's no meaning in killing powerless civilians. Even if you say we'll fight with the empire, we should be happy to work with the liberation army. Why must we fight them?"

Prince Arion, General Hannibal, and a few other people held the same opinion as her, but she was the only one who was open about it with the king. 

However, no matter what she said, Travant would not be swayed. "Altena! Are you trying to lecture me!? Do as I say! I will not allow you to talk back to me!"

"But…"

"Altena, do as Father says." Prince Arion said. He felt that their father would only get angrier the more they opposed him.

"Brother… I will." Altena said and bit her lip. Her dissatisfaction with her Father's orders did not go away, but she always believed in her brother's decisions.

'Big brother said he thinks the same as I do. He must have a reason for saying that.'

Deep down, the reason why she believed him was because of her love for him (though she did not realize it). And it was not just the love of a brother and sister, but something much more. Her feelings were simply locked away in the subconscious of her heart, so she did not notice them.

Travant watched her begin to leave the reception hall, and said, "Altena, have you finally agreed to deploy? You're a very strong-willed girl. Your mother was just as tough. Don't fight your blood."

"Altena means well, Father. Please be lenient with her." Arion interjected.

"I know that. You would speak the same words as her if you had the opportunity. Unifying with Northern Thracia has been our deepest wish for many long years. Our lands are barren, so the men are all hired as mercenaries, while being looked down upon as hyenas… And the women remain here to dig into the mountains' slopes, and must till their meager fields. If we continue to live here alone, then we will always be forced to live in poverty. Altena grew up in the palace, so she does not know what the people wish for."

-

The dragon knight unit lined up in front of Munster Castle.

"The liberation army that killed Bloom is still on the other side of the river. But only the citizens who revolted are currently at Munster Castle. And I've received reports that they know of our movements and are gradually running away. We should begin our attack straight away." Courta explained to Altena.

"Wait, Coruta. There's no reason for us to attack an enemy like that. I'll go and suggest to them that they surrender. Wait here for a bit."

"I can't do that. I was given specific orders by the king. No matter what you say to me, I cannot go easy on them.”

"I am your commanding officer. Are you going to ignore my order?"

"This is my unit, and I received my orders from His Majesty directly. If you disagree with that, then stay here and watch. We will attack on our own." 

Coruta flew off and delivered his order to his soldiers. "All units, we will ambush the enemy! Those who resist will be killed! Now charge!"

The dragon knights all flew into the sky at once.

As she watched them fly towards Munster Castle, all Altena could think about was the tragedy that was about to unfold, and how infinitely powerless she felt.

'Maybe my views are wrong. ...No, they couldn't be. Brother agrees with me. Father and Coruta are the ones in the wrong. Even in the event that they win, killing civilians will make the people hate us, and do the exact opposite of unifying us.

But are Father and Coruta the only ones to blame? I couldn't do anything to stop either of them. Am I just as guilty as they are?’

The first dragon knights to try to fly over the castle wall were suddenly hit by the strongest gust of wind they'd ever experienced. Their dragons' wings twisted, and their bones, usually able to withstand anything during flight, snapped in an instant. Without the ability to stay in the air, they all began to drop like flies.

And it didn't end there, with another guest of wind assaulting the next group of dragons.

"Dodge! Just dodge it!" Coruta shouted, realizing this was no force of nature.

They cautiously made their way around the castle, until they found a single man standing atop the castle tower.

'Dammit, he's using wind magic!'

Faced with an enemy stronger than he thought there'd be, Coruta decided to change course and go after the citizens fleeing from the castle.

'If it's just that group, we can kill them all before they make it to the river.'

However, Seliph and the liberation army had just crossed the river. And to make matters even worse for Coruta's unit, the liberation army was much larger than they'd ever imagined, and had archers amongst their ranks, which dragon knights were weak against.

Coruta was only lost about what to do for a second.

'If your only other option is to run away, then choose to die a glorious death.'

That was the pride of the Thracian dragon knights, and a legend that had been passed down for generations.

'Even if our bodies should perish, our tales of bravery will live on.'

"Chaaaaaarge!" Coruta shouted, and led his unit in a dive bomb maneuver.

The enemy army grew larger and larger with each passing moment.

The moment he saw a bow, Coruta knew that an arrow had been shot at him. 

As Altena watched Coruta's unit fight spectacularly yet tragically from a nearby mountain ridge, her feelings were very complicated. The regret of losing her allies, the blame she placed on herself for what she hadn't the chance to tell the unit, and the justification that made her sure this was not the way to fight, all swam around in her mind.

After watching the last dragon knight fall, Altena lightly pushed her knees into her dragon, signaling her mount to flap her wings and fly into the air.

She flew high into the air so that she would not be attacked, and slowly circled around the battlefield.

The liberation army had once again started marching towards Munster Castle.

'We weren't the only brave ones here.' Altena thought. 'What is the liberation army going to do next? Since we attacked them, they must now think of Thracia as their enemy. If they intend to march to Grannvale, then they'll travel through Thracia to get there. So they'll most likely attack Mease Castle next.'

There were only a few soldiers, led by General Maikov, stationed there.

'Maikov is a brave general, but there's no way he can defend the castle against an army as large as this one.' She turned her dragon towards Thracia Castle.

-

Meanwhile, from amongst the liberation army, Finn said to Prince Leif, "Lord Leif, please take a good look at that dragon knight."

"That one? I've looked up at them a few times already. They appear to be a woman, but I don't think that's uncommon in Thracia. And she seems to be bathed in light. Perhaps she's flying in a ray of sunlight?"

"Yes, that light is what I'm referring to. It looks just like the light of Crusader Njörun, which would also envelop your late father whenever he wielded Gáe Bolg. If I am correct, then she is wielding that lance right now. It id the one passed down through the Leonsterian royal family."

"What? Why would a female Thracian knight have Father's Gáe Bolg?"

"I don't know. The only thing I can think of is that she is your elder sister, who went missing when the Thracian Army attacked. Lady Altena seemed to be unharmed, but had gone missing with Gáe Bolg."

"But why would my older sister be with the Thracian Army?"

"My guess is that she was kidnapped by Travant, and he raised her as his own."

"I've heard that Travant is a coldhearted man, but he might have a small human heart inside him after all."

"No, I don't think that's it. Crusader Njörun's blood was passed down from Lord Quan to Lady Altena, so Travant must have wanted Gáe Bolg's power. It seems like something he would do."

"So he's tricked her, hasn't he? How could Travant be so horrible…? Finn, let's help her. I want to tell her the truth and team up to free Father and Mother of their regrets."

"You are the only one who can do that, Lord Leif. If her younger brother tries to persuade her, then she is likely to open her heart and listen to you. Please save the princess!"

"Of course I will! You always stop me from doing so, but when we fight with the dragon knights, I'll go on the front line. I'll risk my life, but try my hardest to persuade Big Sister! And if she's alive, that means…"

'That means I'm not alone anymore.’ Leif thought.

As a boy raised without any memory of his birth parents' love, he was starved to meet someone from his blood family.

He knew full well that Finn loved him. But that love was an extension of his loyalty to Quan and Ethlyn. Finn was a great guardian and teacher, but wasn't someone that Leif felt he could fully open up to about his troubles and worries.

Finn had said to Leif on countless occasions in the boy's youth, "Lord Leif, you are the next in line to become king of Leonster. You mustn't say such things."

Or sometimes it was, "You mustn't do such things." Other times it was, "You mustn't cry over such things."

"I understand, Finn. I won't say that ever again.” Leif would answer. 

But deep down in his heart, he always muttered to himself, ‘Mother, why did you die and leave me here all alone? Why…?’

He also had that thought when he was living in hiding, and saw parents or siblings expressing love towards one another.

'Why am I the only one who's all alone?'

When he became so sad that he couldn't bear it anymore, he would find a place where no one else would find him, and cried.

'Mother, why did you die and leave me here all alone?'

So the news that his sister was alive (even if he couldn't confirm if it was true yet), made him happier than anything else in the world.

As he marched together with his unit, he imagined what his sister might look like. Then, he imagined successfully persuading her, and how they would hug each other, and be so happy...

'I'm not alone anymore!'

-

Seliph lowered the gate and entered Munster Castle, then met Ced inside.

"Hero Ced, many of the citizens' lives have been saved because of you. Thank you."

"I've waited so long for this moment to come… Lord Seliph, please save not only Thracia, but the entire world. The people are living in despair. Even in Munster, many children have been kidnapped and taken to Miletos Shrine. I couldn't save them. I am no hero, but a mere coward."

"No you're not! I couldn’t do anything by myself! I've made it this far because of everyone else's power. Hero Ced, I want you to join us."

"Understood, Lord Seliph. I will follow you to the ends of the earth." Ced took a step forward to shake Seliph's hand, but when he saw Lewyn standing behind Seliph, his hand froze. "Lord Seliph, who is that behind you?"

"Huh? Oh, this is my advisor. His name is Lewyn. He is Silesse's King Lewyn. Oh, that's right, I heard you're from Silesse, too!"

Ced did not answer Seliph, instead walking up to Lewyn. "Father… It's you, isn't it, Father?"

"Ced, it's been a long time since I saw you last. How have you been?"

"'How have I been?' I've been looking for you this entire time! Do you have any idea how many years have passed since you left!?"

"Now that you mention it, I do wonder how long it's been. How is Erinys?"

"How could you be so… Mother passed away! All she wanted was to see you one more time, and watch you pass Forseti on to me! That's why I went on my journey, to find you!"

"I see, so she's… How unfortunate."

"You're so cold, Father! You're finally heard that Mother died, yet you won’t shed even a single tear!"

"Ced, I don't have a wife, nor any children. That's what I have decided. I want you to think so from now on as well." 

Ced glared at him in response.

Seliph knew very well that Lewyn was not a cold person, so he questioned his flippant response towards finally reuniting with Ced.

-

That night, the army held a modest celebration, where Ced and Fee realized they were brother and sister. That reunion was a happy one.

"Fee and Lewyn joined us in Isaach, so they've been face-to-face since then. Yet why haven't they called each other father and daughter?'

Though Seliph's trust in Lewyn did not change, the suspicion within his heart slowly began to grow.