#they were the most sensible and safe thing in my confusing life

[mewwile]

What cat noise are you most likely to make?

1. Soothing purring…

2. Spiteful hiss!

3. Pitiful mewling~

Stare deeply into your soul for the answer. (It’s important!)

This ask is worded in a wild way that makes me a little wary but I have a chronic need to share information at literally all times so.

(prefacing with saying I am Autistic and a lot of this is from The Autism and growing up more alongside cats than with humans)

As a kid I used to growl and hiss at people to assert my boundaries, since I found that saying 'no' or 'no thank you' would often be penalized or ignored ("don't be rude, it's just a hug!" Was the usual vibe of the response when I said no to people who wanted to pat/hug me cuz I was a Cute Little Girl but I hated being touched) so I found that acting like a feral little cat would actually Get Results because a lot of people would be weirded out and my parents would be Embarrassed and if they pushed me, I'd be more Embarrassing by making more animal noises so they basically let the topic drop. It was very effective!

As an adult, I thankfully don't need to hiss and growl anymore (though when overstimulated or stressed, I will sometimes hiss at startling noises because using words takes Real Effort for me and my first 'language' is always nonverbal body language/cat body language since I did not have a lot of human socialization as a child and teen)

Living with my partner has also let me be more relaxed in communicating via more Unusual ways, and not needing to rev up the Make Words Happen engine. Nowadays I can communicate w sig (@sigelmonn my beloved uwuwuwu) with varying gestures and body languages, along with Sounds that could be categorized as meows (usually just mmmreh or mmr? Style ones that involve a Tone but not specific words since. Words hard) and we've started to incorporate some sign language which is very helpful for me! Id like to learn more sign since communicating without verbalizing is more natural to me and I am losing my hearing/already fairly hard of hearing.

It's kind of funny that it took a while for sig to parse my non verbal way of communicating (I'd only ever lived with family who were used to me being a weird feral little animal who hid under tables and behind chairs as a child) but now that he does and even encourages me to communicate however works best for me, life is a lot easier and I don't have to spend as much energy on the Words Engine!

I wish I could naturally purr, but I'd only like it if it was the same mechanism as cats and not a Weird Throat Sound, since that'd be a lot of effort and the point of purring is to display relaxation and safety. Unfortunately being human has placed certain limits on me irt my favorite cat sound, but when communicating with my cats I'm pretty sure they understand me even though I don't always have all the noises they have. And I can do the mama cat trill, so yay! I only use it on cats I don't know well because it takes focus, but they seem to like the noise and take a moment to examine me more or relax a little.

[fen-luciel]

The witches' covenant

Part.1 part.2

Here's the smut story I promised. It was supposed to be short, but of course, I dragged it out. I'm not yet sure if it will be divided into two or three parts, as the original draft is becoming darker than initially intended.

I hope you enjoy it.

WARNINGS!

Smut/Manipulation/coven/dubious consent

Witch reader X Sith Qimir

There are things you take for granted in life.

Breathing is a rhythmic movement of the body, automatic but fundamental. Maybe no one ever explained to you how or why, but you know it works that way. It's natural. Maybe you've never asked yourself because you take it for granted.

Growing up in a coven of witches led to asking a lot of questions to which you often didn't get an answer, at least not a sensible one. I still remember the first times I asked my mother about the thread, actually, I don't remember her answer, but I do remember being confused. I think she wanted me to find my own logic, and if needed, she would correct me. But I was ashamed, afraid of saying something stupid, and I felt embarrassed when the older members gave me that amused courteous smile after I had said something silly. I know they didn't mean to judge me, but the knot in my stomach that formed every single time was suffocating. So, I developed a bad habit.

I stopped asking. I would nod, at most I would ask to have the explanation repeated, but I never took the first step. "Do you understand?" I would nod. "Do you have any questions?" I would deny.

Yes, I had questions. I had a lot of them, many of which kept me up at night, like doubts about the thread, about our coven, about our planet, about what was outside the galaxy... but I didn't ask.

I tried to give myself answers. As the years went by, I realized that I wasn't the only one without answers. It was clear that many, like me, blindly followed my mother's will as the head of the coven.

Do you have a doubt? Talk to Aniseya.

Don't know what to do? Aniseya.

Are you suffering? Talk to Mother Aniseya.

Everyone sought answers from my mother, and I could understand why, she was... ethereal.

Always calm, with a warm smile, a gentle hand... she made you feel safe.

When I was younger, one of the things that terrified me the most was the fear that something bad would come to harm us one day. I was too young to give a real shape to the evil, it was more an unpleasant sensation that I imagined, and my mother could perceive it without me saying anything.

So, sometimes, in the evening, when everyone else was asleep, we would go out into the woods alone, with a small light to guide us, and we would reach the golden tree.

I loved that place even though it was another one of those things I couldn't explain since it seemed to be the only tree of its kind. I would rest my head on my mother's lap, and as she gently stroked my hair, she would tell me a lot of different stories, fairy tales, adventures, legends. She seemed to know an infinite number of them. I would have liked to ask her where she had heard them, but even in that case, I didn't ask. And so, every time, the next morning, I would wake up in my room, comfortably lying under the covers, the nightmares completely forgotten... at least for a while.

Growing up, many of those childhood fears disappeared, or I managed to answer them on my own thanks to years of study. However, other doubts occupied my mind.

For example, why were we so isolated from the rest of the world?

Why could we use the power of the thread?

Where did our traditions come from?

How ancient were they?

And how were other witches born?

I had seen pregnant women in the village, I had heard the cries of childbirth, the first cries of the babies, the birth of new life in the world was fascinating even though I had never seen the act in person, being too young or unable to help. But it was what happened before that confused me.

Every five years, a meeting was held, after which ten women would leave the walls of the fortress, and after a few months, they would return expecting.

I didn't know what happened, what they did. I believed there was some sort of ritual I wasn't yet admitted to. I imagined that one day it would happen to me too. As the daughter of the matriarch, I had more responsibilities than the others, I would take my mother's place one day. I imagined I was obliged to participate in any ritual presented to me in the coming years. As I was the future of the coven, one day I would have to create the new generation.

When I was about twelve years old, I realized something was off in my mother's stories and finally decided to ask her a question.

"What is a man?"

The embarrassment was still there, under my skin, but she smiled at me gently. Her answer was cryptic as always, but it made me feel better to hear it. "Everything in the galaxy has its opposite. Light and dark, peace and chaos, ice and fire. Woman and man. And between these opposites, many shades that draw closer until they merge. We are opposites and the same thing at the same time"

I nodded, but as usual, more because I felt stupid asking further.

"So... are men evil?" I tried one last time.

She shook her head.

"Do you think you are pure? Gender is only a physical limit, not a mental one. Don't combine the two, it would be a grave mistake" I was ashamed of that question, but I felt better. I felt like I understood.

Years passed, I began to mature, to train more vigorously, to study even more. I was increasingly involved in meetings, though some were still off-limits to me. And the more I became aware of the thread, the more... something called to me.

At first, it was like an unwanted gaze. I would wake up in the middle of the night believing there was someone with me, but upon waking, the room was intact. I even took extra precautions, but none of the alarms went off. I thought I was just stressed.

But the sensation worsened. I felt chills on my skin when I was in the waking world ready to fall asleep, a light touch that grazed my bare skin. At first, I thought it was the wind. Then, the fabric sliding over me at night. Maybe a chill or pajamas tickling me unintentionally, but that wasn't possible.

It seemed like a physical touch, hands, perhaps a feather, I don't know. But it warmed my skin. I would wake up in the middle of the night, uncomfortable, with a damp sensation between my legs that I had never experienced before. Sometimes, I mistook it for other types of discharge only to check and realize it wasn't what I imagined. I blushed, seeing how wet my underwear had become, leaving a sticky, damp spot in the center, the same liquid trickling between my legs or down the cheeks of my butt.

One evening, whether by luck or misfortune, as I headed to the laundry to leave my panties, I ran into Mother Koril.

"What are you doing awake at this hour? And wandering the corridors, Moreover." her tone always harsh and imperious.

It took an enormous amount of courage to explain to her what was happening, but despite my worst fears, she simply nodded. "It's normal for a girl your age. You shouldn't resist it" She ordered me to hurry and go back to bed, then disappeared down the corridor.

But I didn't understand. Resist it? Resist what? It was just another doubt I couldn't answer.

But now the seed of doubt had been planted. I wanted to understand what she was talking about, to see if I could fix this problem that kept recurring every night.

So, one evening I lay down in bed, making sure I was securely locked in, and against all logical reason, I decided to wear only a light tank top, leaving my lower half uncovered.

The only protection was the bedcovers, but I didn't think it would be a problem.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

To this day, I didn’t know exactly what happened that first night. I have scattered and confused memories. I was aware of my body lying on the mattress, but it was completely dark around me, and I couldn't tell if it was because I had my eyes closed or if it was so dark that I couldn't see a hand in front of my face.

All I knew is that the tingling sensation returned, that shiver that ran through my body from my forehead slowly downwards, my nipples hardening as if a gust of cold air made me shiver and even lower on my stomach, finally settling between my legs.

It was a light touch, a slow, long movement that grazed my center externally. I could feel the wetness beginning to seep from my core. Normally, that would have been the moment when I forced myself to wake up, but I repeated Mother Koril's words in my head "let yourself go"

And so I did.

Instinctively, I spread my legs wider, bending my knees, that touch lingering on the bud between my legs that I had never dared to touch in my life, starting to tease me inexorably in a slow, circular motion. I could hear myself panting, my hips moving erratically. It didn't matter if I was trying to escape or seek out that sensation, that touch didn't stop. I didn't understand what was happening, but I could concentrated my internal muscle in one of those natural movements like when I breathed, I did it automatically.

My body knew what I needed, even if I hadn't yet processed it mentally.

It was only a moment later when that caress moved further down where a pool of juices wet my behind that I became clear-headed again.

A pressure pushing into my wet center made me react suddenly, frightened. I woke up, sitting up in bed in one swift motion, as if walking from a nightmare. Moving the covers, I immediately saw the stain spreading and soaking through the sheets' fabric.

I was so ashamed of it that I decided not to tell anyone, tried to dab the stain hoping that it would not be visible the next day, had to dry between my legs with numerous tissues and hissed when I indirectly brushed my still sensitive clit.

I went to sleep with a sense of dissatisfaction that I did not understand.

For two days I pretended that nothing was happening, when I lay down and started to feel that tingling sensation I immediately opened my eyes again, unfortunately in this way the hours of sleep were broken and I rested with more difficulty being slow in everything I did.

On the third day, my mother realised my discomfort and after a particularly bad training session, she took me aside.

"Koril informed me of your conversation the other night" she began.

I could do nothing but tighten my lips in discomfort.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is changing as you grow. This is the connection to the thread that shows you the way. You don't have to resist it"

I replied with only a nod of my head.

I didn't understand what she was talking about, what I was resisting but I didn't know who to ask more of, I didn't want to look stupid.

But I trusted my mother.

So that night I tried again.

One thing I realised was that that touch had become more insistent on those evenings that I had run away from it. As if it was chasing me before I woke up, I closed my eyes and could already feel it between my legs.

Again, one new evening I tried against all my primal instincts to let go. One thing I realised was that the sensation I felt on my skin was actually an imitation of a hand's touch, the mornings I showered before joining the others had become a time of personal exploration where I tried to imitate that touch and soon realised that I could actually register that as the caress of a hand on my body. But I did not have the courage to do more.

Instead that evening as I concentrated on breathing in the darkness of my consciousness those phantom fingers returned insistently, they did not lose a second in teasing me by pressing directly on my clit, it was gentle yes, but firm. My legs instinctively spread wide, my hips in the air hungry for touch as that circular motion returned to tease my flesh.

I could feel a steady trickle of juices sliding from me and wetting the mattress as I trembled and tensed.

I gasped open-mouthed, little noises escaped my mouth, I wanted more even though I didn't understand what exactly I was chasing, and then again, that pressure where I needed it most.

There was no doubt when that itch opened my folds pushing deep between my legs, it was like feeling long, thick fingers digging directly into my womb, I panicked as I tried to wake up, but something was blinding me. Someone was tied to me in the wire holding me still and open to whatever was being done to me.

I was stuck with my legs open as that force pressed my inner walls, stretching and teasing me in a slow movement.

I could only continue to whimper as those fingers opened me inexorably.

Everything slippery, the sound of juices coming out noisily from the pressure as yet another caress returned to tease my bud, my swollen, wet flesh trembling from the stimulation, a hint of tears forming at the corners of my eyes, I wanted to look at what or who was doing this to me but it was all dark, I could only feel the mattress beneath me, my arms locked along my sides, my only outlet was in clutching the blankets in my fist.

I felt my body tense up in a vice bordering on painful before that touch continued to force its way into my folds even more deeper than before, I felt like I was going crazy not fully understanding how many fingers were in me, I moaned out loud for the first time as the soft walls stretched to make room, I held my legs open in a desperate search for something more almost hoping it might come in, harder, wetter, a ringing in my ears made everything muffled blocking out the rest of my senses.

And finally almost in a cruel gesture the touch on my clit became faster joining the thrusts in my core, a fire burning my skin, vibrating with a pleasure I had never felt before, a tide flooding my senses rhythmically until I reached the limit I cried out with no voice in my body, the walls contracted around those fingers almost as if they wanted to suck them inside me and these, covered by my fluids, slid easily in and out of me without leaving me a moment to breathe, my clitoris pinched hard one last time making more tears fall from my eyes, my hips galloping the air as I reached the first orgasm of my life.

Maybe I was crazy, but I swore I heard a low voice whispering "Good girl".

When I opened my eyes it was morning, it was like waking up from a nightmare in reality, I had dry skin around my eyes from spilled tears and between my legs a dirty, wet feeling, underneath me the sheet still damp in a stain under my bottom.

I didn't know what was happening, none of it made sense, why was this only happening to me now? And who was on the other end of the line?

By now I was sure of it, someone was luring me during the night hours by drawing my consciousness through the link, but I was still not good enough to be in control of what was going on around me, I was becoming vulnerable in the hands of someone I didn't know, or at least it felt like I didn't know.

Over the next few days I concentrated on searching for that signature in the coven, I found it hard to believe that anyone would dare use the power of the thread on me, I was the matriarch's daughter, I was respected, we were united and yet no matter how hard I searched nothing seemed to resemble what I had felt that night, not to mention that bond itself was silent.

On the one hand I was glad that it was no longer coming to disturb my sleep, but on the other hand... I blushed at the idea of feeling those shivers again, I had even (not without a huge dose of embarrassment) tried to do it on my own, but clearly I was doing something wrong, I was too hard, too hasty and in the end I was left with a sense of incompleteness that irritated me all day long.

I felt used, it seemed like whoever had sought me out had taken what he wanted and then left, it had been so persistent in the beginning and now? I needed... more.

And I knew I wouldn't fight it.

I wasn't a bad student, my mothers were proud of the results I brought I was consistent and diligent, but I improved even more after that experience, I studied harder, more intensely... I would never explain to either of them why I had changed.

And what was I supposed to tell them anyway?

Someone touches me between my legs at night and I realised I want more...? No it was better to avoid.

The subject of private parts was not taboo in the coven, in fact there were specific rituals regarding the sensuality of the body, I didn't know much about them since I wasn't admitted to those yet, but the body is a temple of physical and mental wellbeing and as such should be cared for.

I was simply too embarrassed to ask for more, as usual, I knew more about the medical side of it, but I had never wanted more, I hadn't even thought about it and there weren't really any girls my age to vent to.

All I knew was that by now I had made up my mind.

I would be the one pulling the strings this time and I hoped that whoever was on the other end would respond.

[da-janela-lateral]

MP100 S2E01 under a writer's perspective

The Emi Fukami episode in Mob Psycho 100 was a beautiful display of Mob's character development in relation to his individuality and a earnest vision of emotional vulnerability, but I want to call attention to a single detail: Emi being a writer.

Out of all the secret truths that the cast masks during the narrative, Emi's must be one of the most mundane. She is writing a book. She doesn't want people to know about it, much less read it, as Emi was led to believe this hobby of hers was embarassing.

I find it very interesting that Emi, character whose focus episode revolves around vulnerability, has writing has her main passion. In a way, writing is one of the most revealing art forms that there is. Literary choices are a reflection of the author's context, beliefs, likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, even though many of these choices cannot be perceived in a sensible level. Even if I suddenly decided to write a tale about a random theme - you say, a blue-footed booby who becomes an architect while wearing ballet shoes - it would say something about me. It could be a preferred text type, my sense of humor or even my idea of what is "random". Word choices, rhythm, figures of speech, themes, narrative structures, spins on a literary genre's expectations - all of these and more consist of conscious or unconscious decisions made by the writer. Writing as an art form serves as a mirror to the artist's very mind.

As a result, a piece of text can be a very delicate thing. Many people would only reveal their works to a exemplarily trusted someone, or to no one at all. That's the origin and end of uncountable masterpieces. It is also associated to passion. Few are the writers who characterize themselves as such and don't feel a duty to write. Yes, duty. Not all pieces are a labor of love, but it's almost universal that they're one of resolve, as little as it might be. One can unlock a fundamental will to write something in spite of it being weary work. At this point, for many writers, it's not a simple hobby. It's a need. It's a compulsory manner of expression hardwired onto our brains; thus, it's an inseparable part of who we are.

So what does any of this have to do with Emi's arc?

S2E01 is all about being vulnerable. Even though Emi had only asked out Mob because of a bet and hanged out with him for a week, she felt safe enough to show him her book. Her own friend group didn't have an idea that she was working on one, and once they discovered this, they ridiculed Emi's effort and teared it to shreds. Emi tried to alleviate this rejection by affirming she didn't care for her work, while everything shown previously on the episode proved this was wrong. In turn, Mob uses his psychic powers to put back her text together - his first public demonstration of them since he was a child. Mob was honest about himself by revealing he was an esper. Emi was honest by wanting his opinion on her book.

Emi is a fourteen year old girl going through a confusing and ever changing phase of her life. After doubting on Mob's emotions, she tells him that she too doesn't know well who she is, and her actions around her friends prove how she was prone to peer pressure. Her mind and identity were on an uncertain state, and this would also reflect on her writing. Emi uses complicated words, perhaps to make her writing sound more serious. Based on a translation of her work "Adventure", she uses more of a stream of consciousness prose and ambiguous descriptions. She immediately decides to write something different after her experiences with Mob. Emi has a personal style! She has techniques and topics she enjoys and active choices about how she will employ them! Emi has a bit of her on her story and this was why she hid it so much: a mockery of it would be synonym of a mockery of herself.

This is what makes the plotline with her book so important to express the episode's themes. Emi felt insecure to reveal such an integral part of herself to the world until someone came and not only took it seriously, but appreciated it enough to make an effort to understand it better. It tells a lot how Mob's demonstration of caring made her leave the people who destroyed her work.

As a writer, this detail gave a whole another layer of significance for the episode. I've felt Emi's struggle in a very intense level on the past. Storytelling is something so dear to me I can't see myself without the adjective of "writer", but the acknowledgement of my work would be the same as exposing myself to the world. It can be scary at times, to divulge something so sincere to others. However, such is the writer's role: divulging. For reasons long unknown a magical excess of words was born to me, and this coincidence can't be supressed and abandoned on the dark. There is something I can offer copiously hand in hand and its words. Words. Words. Words... And the reflection of me resonates on others.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Its your tumblr man. talk about nova if you want!

I don’t have the time to explain the entirety of the shadow the hedgehog arc but it’s eating my brain like. he and shadow are both created beings who feel aimless and confused but nova knows why he was created while shadow doesn't. and bc nova is metal sonic he knows shadow's past so he kind of ends up becoming a mentor to him bc he relates (though he’s a manipulative amoral shit so he is not upfront about anything, except that shadow is not a robot bc that gives him an excuse to kick him as hard as possible and then gloat about how if he were truly a robot he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain and therefore he’s inferior). neither of them know what morality is and they stumble through most of the haphazard plot points in one way or another trying to figure it out. he flat out just ditches shadow when black doom shows up for last story bc he fundamentally cares more about defeating sonic than literally everything else and if sonic is eaten alive he can’t do that so he saves his life. he accidentally ends up in a qpr with him bc sonic (not entirely incorrectly) assumes that “i will keep you safe until you have reached your full potential and i have mine, then i will prove my superiority and kill you and relish in it, but until then i feel satisfied in existing around you and i will continue on your legacy after i kill you” is essentially the closest thing he can get to a confession and being both very aroace and an adrenaline junkie sees “close friendship until one of us kills the other” as way more fun than, like, anything anyone sensible would consider a qpr. he adopts a chao. when he realises trans people exist he immediately goes “okay. i will beat everyone at every gender” and starts using any/all pronouns bc they should rightly belong to him. she goes to therapy.

06 isnt entirely planned but i do know how it ends (mephiles killing sonic was the exact best way to piss off nova and bc he is metal sonic's sonic oc rp character and he has all the power he has in heroes and more solaris fucking dies painfully. also they absorb his power which would be terrifying if they were still trying to conquer the world but instead they’re using their irl amino rp to cope with their issues marginally better) and unleashed onwards is mostly just a collection of ideas. the main plots still happen bc like, nova does like larping as a organic normal hedgehog but he fundamentally views the world through the lens of his ultimate showdown with sonic and proving his superiority being the only thing that matters and he Wants sonic to go through adversity to grow stronger as he also grows stronger by. mostly just pirating the dna of various gods honestly. but she also will Not tolerate anyone killing sonic but herself (and in general will Not tolerate anyone killing sonics friends or her father bc she considers them + sonic the only tolerable organics even if she considers everyone but sonic as inferior to herself) so. forces is fun. and also there’s a reason for the metal sonic illusion to be a thing (bc metal left the nest and is pretty apathetic to the whole “taking over the world” thing outside of it letting it commit grievous bodily harm)

there’s originally a much starker divide between nova (as metal sonics own deviantart recolour) and neo metal sonic as himself but by the time sonic and friends know who he is and don’t immediately reject him for that or the inherent fact he's got a very different and oftentimes confusing mindset and way of thinking than them he's very casual at slipping between the two and uses both names interchangeably. he generally prefers his organic disguise, bc he can go outside with it, but uses his original voice (which is monotone sonic with electronic distortion) and usually turns off the systems he made so he automatically moves and emotes in a more natural manner bc he finds emulating stuff like breathing or crying uncomfortable and disgusting even if he’s able to tolerate looking organic.

[noisytenant]

kids are subjected to various unspoken and often unjust power structures which govern our daily lives. oftentimes "misbehavior" comes from trying to feel out the actual rules and limits of life--orienting oneself in the world.

it's interesting to observe how kids that are often caught "acting out" will also take it upon themselves to enforce rules and social norms with other kids. despite trying to break the rules themselves, they're concerned with fairness and equality and are really sensitive to double standards.

just as there are imposed and arbitrary hierarchies, there are also situations where authority is a sensible and necessary privilege; adults (ideally) have the knowledge and experience to keep kids safe and teach them the things they don't know.

in particular, it is important to assess consequences and to scale strictness of enforcement with the severity of effects. we should respond differently whether someone pulls the fire alarm, runs in the street, says a swear word, or walks out of a straight line.

because they are are dealing with the uncertainty of determining what the rules are, if they're fair, and what the consequences are, many kids strive for the security of being at the top of the pecking order.

they emulate authority, but only understand it as saying, "do this! don't do that!" without understanding why certain rules exist and when they might be broken. they also can't easily distinguish just rules (like remembering to share) from unjust rules (like performing certain gender roles).

now, i'm thinking about this phenomenon in the context of socializing as an adult.

i think a lot of us online feel tempted to enforce social consequences for the crime of being "annoying"--immature, clumsy, or misguided--in public.

after all, many of us learned that seemingly innocuous social blundering would be punished in disproportionate and humiliating ways. rules (stated or unstated) might be just or unjust, but the hammer comes down just as hard all the same.

when we catch someone who has been on the earth as many (or more!) years as we have who still hasn't had the messy and naive parts beaten out of them, there's an impulse to enforce the social rules we've learned. it's almost a kindness to teach them "how things work around here", before someone bigger and meaner steps in. and it wouldn't be fair if i got punished and bullied for doing something embarrassing while this other person didn't!

...i am not a saint of nonjudgment; i can't help but assess my own behavior and others' against my running understanding of "the rules". i'm strongly affected by secondhand embarrassment, even if i mostly keep it to myself.

but the extremity of this judgment is precisely why i try to avoid taking it out on the people causing the strongest reactions in me. it's easy--reflexive--to screenshot someone and make fun of them, to call them names, to parody and mock them for a general audience. these are the ways that we express what we think someone should or should not do. but are these rules always in everyone's best interests? is the severity of the swift enforcement proportional with the actual consequences?

as adults, we are no longer beholden only to someone else's rules; we get to write our own, and justify and enforce them for ourselves.

with all this said--i really don't want to use the authority i have been granted through my life experience to belittle and suppress others. that isn't earned authority, that's the posturing of a child who's scrambling for stability in a confusing world. it's not something we can learn from.

it's embarrassing when i see someone bumbling, not having learned the rules as i did, but i think it's more embarrassing to choose to live my adult life only pretending i grew up.

most of us were punished, sometimes quite harshly, for the crime of not knowing any better. sometimes we were told the rules over and over but couldn't internalize them. we can't give ourselves what we don't have for others, and vice versa; i think we all deserve a little more patience and understanding.

in essence, of all the rules we learn and unlearn, i think "don't be immature or wrong in public" is one of the most common--and least useful. it's not serving anyone in the long term.

and we don't have to completely ignore wrongheaded behavior, but we can exercise the just authority of experience to guide, rather than the unjust authority of punishment and shame.

now that we are old enough not just to know the rules but to write them ourselves, let's make it a little easier to make mistakes and be clumsy sometimes, okay? ☀️🌱

[blorbologist]

Kittens AU bc of course

and then two Wild Card AUs of Your Choice

Hmmm to find things I haven't shared with you:

A lot of the inspiration for the more benign aspects of this AU is going to come from my experience with two litters: the one that resulted in Jolie, my lil bastard runt, and Miss Thing + Pam, my Gorls my Criturs

However, a lot of the more dramatic beats are just... inspired by how hard life is for abandoned cats and kittens in general. Because as cute as kittens are, unwanted cats are a real problem and everyone loses when unplanned litters happen :c

I figure Percy actually named Curio - he noticed this pretty cat started hanging around the workshop a month or so before the events of the story. He built her some shelters to keep her warm in the worst of the chill - she was very curious but terrified of him, and he had never seen a stray cat with her colors: hence, Curio. (I asked @insyndiar for name ideas SO nkjgrtn <3)

My backstory for Curio is that she was someone's pet, a kitten taken home by a family who never had cats before. She didn't get spayed before her first heat and got out, and when her owners realized she was pregnant they just... dumped her because they couldn't afford to get her spayed, let alone feed and house a litter of kittens. She's very lost, scared and confused, and hardly more than a kitten herself. :C I figure if she got inside, with consistent meals and care, she'd be quite the sweetheart.

There are plenty of other options for housing the kittens: most sensibly, Percy can just take them on and bring them to his house (ok bourgeoisie boy) instead of practically moving in with Vex. It's just that his place is 40 minutes away, so they first bring the kittens to Vex's to warm them up, and from there it's just... too much of a bother to move them. (Also Vex knows Percy has little experience with animals so she'd rather be on standby in case he calls in a panic because one of them is dreaming and twitching in its sleep and Vex is this normal??)

And for some more AUs!

Let's start with some One for sorrow / Two for joy HCs I'm not sure I'll squeeze into the sequel fic or not:

Allura has PTSD now :D yay :D I'm not sure how much I can devote to it, but being Feebleminded for several days with little food and water, with a dragon and his army actively hunting you? Yeah that'll fuck a girl up. Still unsure if she'll keep her position on the Council or retire as a result.

OOC, the same mixup as canon happens when Grog has Kaylie draw a card from the Deck: Matt initially thinks it's the card for the random magic item, but later retcons it to be the curse. So Kaylie's cursed now! Make of that what you will. :)

I had thought up a scene were Percy and Cass visit some graveless gravestones placed in their parents' and siblings' names before the Thordak fight - however, given how long the chapter was getting + the fact neither Vex nor Vax would see it, I kept it to myself. It would have really made it obvious Percy had decided to leave VM once the world was safe. The remaining de Rolos really just ended up talking about what they remembered of their family, how their people would remember them, and what to do going forward. Cass absolutely made a comment about Vex being nobility as soon as she got the paperwork filed, so, y'know, perfectly suitable to court (they certainly have room in their little family for her), which made Percy Unusually Solemn instead of blushy.

As soon as VM left, Cass cornered Percy in his workshop and absolutely fucking chewed him out. He has friends, he has freedom, things she's absolutely dreamed of having these last five years, and he just - he just threw that all away? She eventually quiets when she realizes he's not responding, he's just so drained and focused on his project. They eventually settle for a hug and some quiet support.

Trinket is actually pretty happy with Cass! He misses Vex of course, but trusts Vax to protect her. Galdric? Verdict's out on Galdric - bears and wolves don't get along as a rule, but this one smells of power and ancient magics.

Oh god this is getting so long erfkneknger uhhh one more AU, let's sayyyy Bashter 2/3 Vampire AU:

Yasha was turned by Obann, which caused her whole Orphanmaker thing and is why she easily get swayed under his control under Bazzoxan despite, yknow, being a vampire in this AU.

I think Jester almost dies, for good, in the final fight against Lucien. Somehow Yasha turns her into a vampire to avoid this, which - severely miffs half the party. But Yasha was just forced to help kill this thing who still is, deep down, her best friend. She's not thinking straight and she can't lose anyone else.

Beau and Yasha help Jester adapt to the whole creature of the night thing. It's a weird irony, that adventurous Jester is forced to become more sedentary like her mom and dad as a result of the whole 'burning in the sunlight' thing. Yasha, being a nomad, has some helpful tips for handling it, but it's definitely a harsh learning curve.

I feel Bad about excluding Fjord from this after watching the M9 reunited, given he and Jester are so fucking cute together there. So? I guess it's Bashter + Fjester. Tusks and fangs look very cute together when they're smiling earnestly at eachother. Fjord was very conflicted about Jes being a vampire initially, given he's familiar with being beholden to terrible power, and keeps gently prodding her to be honest about her feelings about the less pleasant sides to it. So like Polynein with only half the Nein while Cad, Caleb, Veth, Essek and Kingsley all just watch this with varying levels of confusion.

Essek whips up a simple cousin to the light-blocking spell of Rosohna he enchants to the Bashter home, so they don't need to worry quite as much about carefully keeping the windows drawn. He makes a Very Specific Face when Jester makes jokes about him totally being a vampire too.

[autisticeducator]

are you a proshipper? i am confused about the last post.

I don’t get really involved with the whole shipping thing.

But I am an educator who will be the first to tell you that kids are going to get ahold of things that they perhaps shouldn’t. Teens will even get around web filters on school property because let’s be honest, teens are better with tech than most school IT departments.

I’m for explaining to kids (preferably beforehand) why certain things aren’t okay for them and why it needs to be avoided/restricted at this time (or in the case of pedophilia, always). This “it’s just bad, must shelter the children” mindset is incredibly toxic. Kids are incredibly curious and they’re going to explore things that they shouldn’t if they don’t have proper guidance on how to handle it.

I lived through the earlier part of the War on Drugs/DARE and the Zero Tolerance policies. We were told “Don’t do drugs” in 5th grade. My high school had a massive drug problem. Drugs were sold openly on campus. Our zero tolerance on violence didn’t work either.

Parents need to learn to guide their kids through life instead of completely sheltering them. I certainly don’t oppose parental controls on technology but they aren’t full proof (I was one of those kids that got around parental blocks quite easily). The adult currently responsible for the child is the one responsible to ensure that the internet is used in a safe and age appropriate manner.

As content creators, we don’t have a legal responsibility to shelter kids from any possible objectionable content outside doing what a reasonable person would do, which is tagging, appropriate titles, and having a warning text/splash screen warning. And the fact that children aren’t legally supposed to be on most social media websites and only get on via lying about their age/name/etc.

As for adults, you literally can’t expect everyone on the internet to cater to every possible problem you might have with content on the internet. I have PTSD. I check titles and tags (that is what they are there for) and if I find something triggering despite that, I click out. Unless it actually violates community guidelines for that specific website, I don’t report it (not like reporting abuse against autistics has actually worked most of the time).

I’m pro responsible and sensible use of the internet.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

love and revolution

Magnus was intently working on a bookshelf. It was made of a beautiful, dark mahogany and, upon the request of the customer, was going to have dozens of birds carved into the sides and edges. He began sanding the shelves with a fine grit sandpaper. For a while, the only sound in the Hammer and Tongs was the soft, repetitive noise of wood being worn down.

The calm monotony was broken when the front door creaked open. Magnus looked up and grinned at the entrant; Julia Waxman, loaded down with bags from various merchants in town, had returned, the last dregs of the late afternoon sun trailing in after her. The sharp bite in the air let everyone know winter was just around the corner.

Magnus quickly stood up to relieve Julia of her burden She smiled and handed him half the bags in her arms. As the pair got to work unloading the bags, Magnus frowned. Everything Julia had brought home was either small, poor quality, or about to turn.

“This is what everyone had. Season’s been tough for farming and everyone’s raising prices to keep up with Kalen’s tariffs,” Julia said before Magnus could comment. She inspected the hard loaf of bread she’d been able to grab.

Magnus shook his head. For nearly a year, Governor Kalen and his cronies had been enacting increasingly harsh laws, oppressive curfews, and predatory taxes; the citizens of Raven’s Roost all felt the firm pressure of Kalen’s fine leather boots on the neck of their economy and of their freedom.

“How is everyone doing?”

Julia shrugged. “They’re all doing as well as they can. The Silverstrings are worried because their wheat harvest was half as fruitful this year as it was last year and a good portion of what grew was seized by Kalen.”

“Lucatiel?”

“His wool has largely been commandeered by Kalen. He hopes to be able to shear another large batch before winter hits in earnest but he’s uncertain.”

“And Therala?”

“Her herd’s dwindling. Most of the calves from this past spring either died or –“

“Were taken by Kalen and his pals. Right. Jules, how does he keep getting away with this?”

Julia laughed sharply and started putting some of the dry goods in the storage closet in the back of the shop. “Magnus, that’s just how things have always been here. For a while, anyway.”

“But how’d he even get into power in the first place?” There was nothing but pure astonishment in his voice. In the five years he’d lived in Raven’s Roost, he’d never quite been able to comprehend how someone so ruthless could have gotten the trust of the town; his friends and neighbors were good, honest folks and good judges of character. It made no sense to Magnus.

She puffed out her cheeks and thought for a moment. “He helped form Raven’s Roost into a proper town. We used to be vulnerable to bandits and those who sought to cause pain. He was stern but that kept us in shape. He used to be better. Genuinely. Not good, not at all, but not like this. His policies were never quite this harsh. I suppose he’s gotten greedy.”

“It’s senseless for him to dig this deep this quickly. If it continues like this, I don’t know that the town is going to last much longer.”

Julia said nothing. She knew Magnus was right but what was to be done about it? The two continued to unpack and put away items in silence.

“Papa won’t talk to me about how business is going here. Said he doesn’t want me to worry about things. How are we doing?” Julia looked at Magnus seriously.

He hesitated. Steven had specifically asked him to not discuss the business with Julia but when he saw her in front of him, firm hands anxiously picking at a sliver on the table, he found it hard to deny her.

“We’ve done better. I’m sure you’re aware the craftsmen corridor has been hit pretty hard by all the tariffs. Not only can we hardly afford to replace the tools and materials we need but the rest of the town can’t exactly afford our wares. We get the occasional customers,” he gestured to the bookshelf he’d been working on. “But we’re not doing great.”

Julia nodded and looked down. “That’s not exactly reassuring. But thanks for telling me.”

“Of course. Just don’t tell your dad I said anything,” he said sheepishly.

“Deal,” she said, glancing back at him with a smile.

-

Magnus sat on a bench outside the Hammer and Tongs and stared up at the moons. His teeth were chattering quietly but he wasn’t quite ready to turn in for the night. Isaiah Erksine, Kalen’s right-hand man, had distributed yet another list of tariffs and regulations to all the shops in Raven’s Roost earlier in the day. They were unconscionable; taxes and levies on every single scrap of material you could think of. Harsher curfews that made it nearly impossible for those in the craftsmen corridor to do much else besides make goods that nobody could afford. It was like the very essence of life was slowly being choked out of the town. Or, at the very least, the spirit of its inhabitants.

Magnus’s ruminative spiral was broken when he felt a thick, scratchy blanket draped over his shoulders. He glanced up and smiled; Julia, dressed far more sensibly than Magnus, darted a hand back through the doorway. In a moment, Magnus’s hands were wrapped around a piping hot mug of mint tea. Admittedly, the drink was more water than tea, but he drank it appreciatively.

“You seem troubled,” Julia mused, sipping from her own chipped mug.

“I am, Julia.” He confirmed, scooting over to make room on the bench. Julia mulled it over for a minute before sitting down. Heat was radiating off her like a fire and it took everything in Magnus to not immediately wrap his arms around her and hold her close. Though he did scoot a little closer. You know, to keep warm.

“I’d like to think that we could go a single week without tax hikes but it’s seeming more and more like a pipe dream,” she said flatly. “I hate this. I’ve lived among these people for as long as I can remember. Raven’s Roost is my home. When I was a little girl, I always used to think dream about the day that I’d get to raise my own family here. It felt like such a safe and warm place. And now…” She glanced at Magnus before she looked to the sky. “Now most days I feel like things might be easier if I just go somewhere else. And I don’t want that. I want to stay. I want to want to stay. I just don’t know that there’s going to be anything to stay for if this keeps up.”

“I want there to be something here for you,” Magnus murmured quietly, looking at Julia’s profile in the moonlight.

“Magnus, believe me, I don’t want to leave my home. I don’t want to leave –“ She looked at Magnus from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to leave the people here. I just don’t think I can keep living under Kalen.”

“What if we don’t have to?” The words escaped Magnus’s mouth before he could even make sense of them himself.

Julia lurched and turned to look at Magnus, bewildered. “I’m sorry?”

Magnus had a choice. He could have easily retracted his statement. He could have laughed it off. But instead of thinking it over for any amount of time, he doubled down. “What if we don’t have to keep living under Kalen? What if we could still live here, in Raven’s Roost, but without that tyrant?”

Julia looked around before scooting closer to Magnus, their wind-chapped noses nearly touching. “Are you suggesting…” she took a breath, as though to steel herself. “Are you suggesting a revolt?”

Magnus could barely focus on the question with Julia this close to him. “I-I think I am,” his voice was near silent.

Julia nodded. “Okay. How’re we going to do this?”

-

Watery winter light did its best to penetrate the frost coated windows of the Hammer and Tongs. Magnus was idly whittling a piece of scrap wood. There weren’t any orders to work on and Candlenights was right around the corner; he figured he could fashion something homemade for both Julia and Steven.

His pocketknife nearly went flying out of his hand when the door of the shop burst open, startling him out of his focus. Standing in the doorway was a young earth genasi he recognized from town. He looked frantic and near tears. Magnus set his project down.

“Hey, Allura, what’s the matter?” Magnus asked, inviting the young man inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Magnus, it’s my dad,” Allura choked out. He looked gaunt and miserable; Magnus thought back to a few months ago when the entire Mountaindeep family came into the Hammer and Tongs, jovially talking about commissioning a crib, as a new baby was on the way. Allura, a kid all of fifteen, had chattered to him for ten minutes about how excited he was to become a big brother. He looked decidedly less excited in that moment.

“What happened?”

“W-we couldn’t pay the tariffs. My dad has been charging everyone half price. H-he said he couldn’t hike the prices up, it wasn’t right. And we couldn’t… Kalen took him away!” he cried, bordering on hysterical.

“Allura, buddy, you gotta breathe, okay? What do you mean Kalen took him?” Magnus led him to a chair.

“H-he hauled him off to the prison and I don’t know what’s gonna happen to him and my m-mom’s giving birth soon and I can’t help with that, I don’t know how,” He managed to get out, hiccupping between every few words, too distraught to calm down.

“Julia!” Magnus called up the staircase in the back of the shop. He had to get this kid to stop crying so he could get the full story and Julia tended to have a calming presence on, well, everyone.

In a moment, she appeared at the bottom of the stairs and sent Magnus a confused look. He nodded towards the crying teenager as explanation.

Julia rushed over, knelt down, and took Allura’s face in her thick hands. “Hey, hon, can you breathe with me?” she cooed gently. And for a few minutes, the shop was silent, save for Julia counting breaths for Allura.

“Can we hear the story again, bud?” Magnus asked quietly after a few moments.

Allura nodded and sniffled. “You guys know that Kalen raised the tariffs. Again. Um. My dad decided to slash his prices, not raise them to keep up. Said he couldn’t. He’s a big follower of Helm and he said it wasn’t right to keep medicines behind a steep price. He just wanted to help people. But Kalen came collecting today and he took my dad. And it’s not just him. He took Mr. Anvilrock and Sevara Mountainwillow and a few other people. And I don’t know what’s going to happen to them,” he said, his voice small and scared.

Magnus and Julia exchanged a look. She sent him a nod and turned back to Allura. “Okay. Thank you for telling us. Do you think that you can do us a favor?”

Allura furrowed his brow but nodded cautiously.

“Go around to the others in the craftsmen corridor and tell them to meet at the Hammer and Tongs tomorrow night? Just tell them it’s really important that everyone come. And if Kalen or his buddies ask you about it, be as vague as you can.” Magnus said seriously.

“If you’re asked about it, say that I’m teaching everyone how to patch their own clothes since Masden had to close down shop. ” Julia offered.

“But what about the curfew?” Allura asked, voice meek and eyes rimmed with red.

Magnus thought for a moment. “Tell everyone that we might have a way to keep us from having to worry about curfew ever again. I just need everyone to trust me.”

“I think I can do that.” Allura said, rising from the chair.

Julia patted him on the shoulder and slipped a gold piece into his hand. Before he could protest, she held her hand up and shooed him out the door.

Magnus rubbed his face for a moment. “Something’s gotta give, Jules.”

Julia reached a tentative hand out to squeeze Magnus’s hand quickly. “After tomorrow, I think something will. I hope.”

-

“Can either of you tell me why three separate people assured me that they’d do their best to make it to the shop tonight when I stopped in town a little bit ago?” Steven asked from the kitchen table.

Julia avoided her father’s gaze, busying herself with prepping tea instead.

Magnus focused intently on cracking eggs without getting any bits of shell in the bowl. He quickly whisked them together and held off on adding any salt or pepper to the mixture before setting them in the skillet. That was a little tip he picked up from—he thought for a moment—well, from his moms, he supposed. Apparently kept the egg from getting tough or something. He wasn’t really sure what that meant but followed the rule without fail. Made for good eggs, anyway.

“Am I just meant to be okay with the two of you encouraging our friends and neighbors to break the law to come over for a late-night chat?” A stern edge crept into Steven’s voice.

“Steven, we just wanted to have a meeting with the other craftsmen.”

“About what? What’s so important that it requires possibly getting some good people thrown in jail?”

“People are already getting thrown in jail!” Magnus protested. “Allura Mountaindeep came crying in here yesterday. His dad’s in prison, along with a handful of others who couldn’t pay. I just…Steven, you don’t have to agree with what we’re doing but you have to understand. I can’t keep sitting by and watch the town and people I love be beaten down by some big bully.”

Magnus returned his gaze to the eggs. The silence in the kitchen was broken by the teakettle’s shrill whistle.

“We have a plan. And hell, after tonight, it might not even be anything. But Papa, aren’t you tired of struggling? You can be as stoic as you like but I know the truth. This isn’t the life we should all be living. We should be able to have some shred of hope for a future that could matter. A future that isn’t just toiling until we die.” Julia stared at her father as she moved the kettle from the flame.

Steven stared back for a moment before glancing back at Magnus. He let out a sigh. “We can have the meeting but everyone is out before moonrise.”

Magnus and Julia smiled wide.

“Deal.” Magnus said, dividing the eggs between the three plates.

-

A hush fell over the group of craftmakers who all crammed into the Hammer and Tongs. It was a tight fit but it appeared that most of the corridor had managed to make the meeting. The sun had long since set, leaving only the meekest dregs of light hanging in the sky; moonrise was due in less than an hour. Magnus knew he had to make the meeting quick.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard of the few imprisonments that have come about as a result of Kalen’s new tariffs.” Magnus began, bouncing his gaze across those gathered in the shop.

A grumble of acknowledgement reverberated through the dense crowd.

“And I’m sure you all know that any of us could be subject to the same treatment just for being at this meeting.”

More noises of agreement bubbled up in the crowd.

“Then I’ll make it quick and worth your risk. I hate seeing Raven’s Roost like this. I know in my bones it could be better if things were different. I hate seeing everyone beaten down by these laws. I hate seeing Kalen’s friends allowed to do whatever they want, whenever they want, and never see any kind of repercussions for it. I’m sick of seeing people starving in the streets. Sick of seeing families torn apart because one of them had the audacity to be a kind person. I want Raven’s Roost to be a flourishing place.” He glanced over to Julia and pink stained his cheeks. “I want to be able to raise a family here. I want to want that. But as it stands, I don’t know that I can imagine a future for Raven’s Roost. I don’t know how many of us can last like this for much longer.”

“And what exactly are you proposing we do about it?” Hector Anvilrock, another metalworker in town, demanded.

“We’re proposing a revolution.” Magnus said simply.

The shop erupted in conversation. It began civil enough but quickly devolved into name calling and accusations of espionage and snitching. Magnus’s stomach dropped. He knew it wasn’t going to be an easy sell but if this was any indication, he feared for the future of any kind of revolution.

“Enough!” Julia said, climbing onto a chair. She was already taller than Magnus and nearly as broad so the added height made her the single most imposing figure in the room, though her warm brown eyes added an air of compassion. “I understand it’s a scary thought. But do we really think it’s a better idea to just roll over and get kicked? Sure, Kalen has numbers and power and resources. But we actually have something worth fighting for. We have the most skilled craftspeople on the continent. We have conviction. And we have a goal.” She sighed and rubbed her hand down her face. “I understand if any of you are scared or apprehensive. I won’t make demands. I won’t beg. I want you all to join us but I won’t look down on you for not getting involved. I just want to know that we can trust you.”

She glanced over at Magnus who was watching her, stars in his eyes. She raised her eyebrows at him and sent him a tiny nod.

“Well?” He asked, seeming to snap out of his daze. “Can we trust all of you?”

It felt like the entire show was holding its breath until Hector nodded. And then Allura. And then Therala. One by one, each person in attendance gave a silent pledge.

Magnus grinned, relief flooding his veins. This was only the first step, but they’d already hurdled over it with grace. He was certain they’d be able to make Raven’s Roost a safe place for all someday.

[barnesbabee]

𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓮 - 𝓽𝓮𝓷

|| ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ⇜ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - 10 - ɴᴇxᴛ⟿

⟿ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: No sensible person would turn down their boss if they looked good as good as Seonghwa. But maybe they would wish they had…

⟿ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ: CEO!Seonghwa x reader, bestfriend!Yunho x reader || Social Media!AU

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: (send me a DM or an ask to be added) @ateezappreciation @shinyddeonghwa @lilithpooped @cloudyyeonnie@yeosangmystar @wooyoung-a @sanisms @mingismoon @lovelyvitamin @anawwyd @annasbannas @im-just-trying-to-survive-man @uglychildd @oddlittlefandomist@pirateland @jin-neck-shaft @lovelyvitamin

"Seonghwa I was kidnapped."

"What the fuck."

--------------------

There was more silence in the line. Seonghwa didn't know what to say, and the half bottle of wine he had just had was starting to kick in.

"Are you serious!? Y/N are you okay!?"

"Y-yes yes I think so, I'm not harmed. I know it's a bit much to ask but, can you come get me?"

"Yes, of course, share your location and I'll be there in a minute. Are you in danger!? How many people should I bring!? Do we need guns?"

"Just you should be fine, it's just one asshole and his friend..."

"What?"

Seonghwa was visibly confused, and rightfully so.

"I'll explain everything once you're here... I'm sorry."

"No, no don't be, I'm in my garage already, I'll be there in a second."

Once you hung up you felt a little unsafe, so you walked a little further to get away from the house, and, in a blink of an eye, Seonghwa's red SUV pulled up right beside you.

He came out of the car and held your shoulders, examining your body for any bruises, scratches, or blood. Fortunately, you had nothing but a couple bruises on your knees and hips, that he couldn't see.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking into your eyes.

"I'm okay now."

You gave him a small smile, which he returned. He put his arm around your waist and helped you seat on the passenger seat of his car.

"So," he said, as he started the car once more "what the fuck happened?"

You sighed, there was a lot to unpack.

"I've kept some really close friends from high school, San, whom I'm sure you've heard of, Jongho, Mingi, and Yunho. We were always very close, and I was particularly close to Yunho. We grew a little apart after we graduated 'cause professionally we were looking for different things, but Yunho and I realized we couldn't be apart, so we started dating. Everything was going well but towards the end, we started having more fights, more arguments,... So I decided it would be better to break up while we could still be friends before it became more toxic and our group of friends would fall apart. But he started having some really shitty behavior... He would scare and push away anyone who tried to date me or to flirt with me, but I never mentioned anything and never made much of a fuss because I really cared about him still, after all, we had been such close friends for a long time, it was hard to let go. Once I applied to your company and learned about you I was a little... starstruck and amazed, by you."

You could see him blush slightly and smile (a smile he tried to hide) from the corner of your eye. But he kept quiet and listened.

"I talked about you to my friends, and Yunho hated it. But there was nothing he could do because unlike everybody else he didn't have direct contact with you, to try and scare you off. And once I announced I was hired, he hated it cause it meant I'd be closer to you. He straight-up called me a whore. A couple days after that he apologized in a very weird way, it was creepy, so San told me he'd pick me up after work 'cause it was dark and not very safe anyway, but today- yesterday" You reiterated, after noticing it was well past midnight "I told him not to pick me up because I'd be meeting you after work, so I'd just be riding an uber anyway. I don't know if Yunho found out about me going to your house, or if he just waited every day until San didn't pick me up, but a black van pulled up in front of me and someone pulled me inside. I had no idea what was going on, I passed out and when I woke up I was in a dark room alone. Yunho barged in some time after and came with the 'see, I'm here and Seonghwa isn't' type of conversation, and that's when I found out he had orchestrated the whole thing for me to notice how much better he supposedly is..."

Seonghwa sighed and rested his head on the car's seat.

"Shit... That's a lot to unpack."

You hummed in agreement.

"I'm sorry I know it's a lot to deal with, you can just... drop me off at home."

"No, no absolutely not. He knows where you live, doesn't he? If he's insane enough to fake kidnap you, he's crazy enough to pull up to your house and do God knows what. I'm taking you back to my house, you can take a shower and I'll lend you some clothes, I'm sure something of mine fits you."

You smiled at his kindness. You really didn't expect Seonghwa to be like that. Deep down you thought he would be the classic 'work above anything' type of CEO, one that really didn't care about others, but you were surprised.

"Seonghwa, I don't know what to say... We have known each other for no longer than a week."

"Well that's true but... How do I say this without seeming too forward, we seem like a nice match. Texting you is the most fun part of most of my days and I like the way you're able to separate personal life from professional life. I'm not going to lie after we exchanged some... texts, I was afraid you'd start sprawling on my desk naked and I really didn't want to have an awkward conversation with you about limits and boundaries."

It was hard to contain your laughter. Although he was a confident man, you could tell he was a little awkward when talking about certain issues just like that. You smiled and brushed his hair away from his eyes.

You got to his house quickly, but the engine going quiet didn't stop your conversation. He gently took a hold of your hand and guided you inside.

"I'm glad you think like that, after Yunho talked to me I was afraid you'd be using me just for sex."

Seonghwa chuckled.

"I guess that's the general idea..." He sighed before continuing his sentence "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, I have never told anyone, not even Wooyoung 'cause he would yell at me, but it's actually the other way around. Women come to me and I happily have sex with them, not gonna lie, and then they end up ghosting me or telling me to fuck off after I try to become closer to them. I guess it's my fault, I'm a little dense when it comes to understanding what women want."

You could tell he was a little embarrassed for admitting that. He was looking away as if the wall was the most interesting thing in the world, and his cheeks had a little pink tint to them. You grabbed his hands and looked into his eyes.

"It's okay, I'll make sure to send understandable messages."

You both smiled widely at the joke, but then everything was serious. You were staring deeply into each other's eyes and you were suddenly aware of the closeness of your bodies. You could tell Seonghwa was hesitant, and you wanted to follow through with your promise.

You got on your tiptoes and kissed the corner of his lips, signaling that you wanted the same he did.

He cupped your cheek, gently yet firmly, and brought your face closer to his. Seonghwa teased you for a second, not quite closing the gap between your lips. You groaned quietly, revealing your restlessness for him, and he finally connected your lips, in a soft, innocent, yet long kiss. It soon turned into something else, something rougher and full of meaning, His hands were stiff on your waist, gripping you tightly as if preventing themselves from roaming somewhere else.

"You know, you don't need to hold back, Sir..." You said when you broke apart.

He groaned at the little pet name you knew he loved.

"I know doll, but I promised no funny business, you need to rest, it's been a long day."

Seonghwa kissed your lips gently and rubbed his thumb on your waist. He then kissed your neck and approached his lips to your ear.

"Plus, I have plenty of time to test you out, don't I?"

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/ GN! Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch returns unexpectedly from being away and causes a tough time for Reader.

A/N: I got to write this little piece for our Discord server’s fic swap! I was lucky enough to have @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff as my person!

This fic is gender neutral and written in second person POV for an easier self-insert experience!

Content warnings: Cursing, bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lil kiss at the end

W.C: 3.5k

———————————

The moment he stepped in the room, the air escaped your lungs and everything froze.

“Seven months ago I made a decision…”

The rest of his words refused to register in your mind. All you could focus on was him.

He was back home, safe. His eyes were tired, his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, and he’d grown a beard. He’d never been one for facial hair. He had a subscription service that delivered sustainable razors and blades to his home like clockwork so he never ran out and never ran the risk of coming to work with stubble. He hated looking ‘unkempt’. Who was the man standing in the room, still speaking? How long had it been since he’d shaved?

You felt the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Months had passed. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shaved. He hadn’t emailed, or Skyped. Or shaved. He hadn’t shaved. And he hadn’t called.

The dramatic gasp from your beloved technical analyst stole the air from the room and pulled you from your thoughts.

“Oh! Sir! You’re back! With a beard? Welcome back!”

You blinked a few times to clear the tears in your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Your eyes flicked from Hotch, to the team, and back to Hotch before everything got blurry again. The next thing you saw was the ceiling before your eyes slid shut. At least in this darkness, nothing hurt.

“Make some room! Back up!” Hotch’s voice came through the fuzzy edges of your mind. The familiar feeling of Hotch’s warm, calloused hands on the side of your face. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

You shook your head ‘no’, willing the situation to be different when your eyes opened than when they’d shut.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. The sound of footsteps retreating filled, then emptied the room.

Slowly, your eyes dared open, taking in the sight of a very concerned and bearded Hotch hovering over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice slightly less urgent this time.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pushing his hands off of when they tried to help you to your feet.

He stood with you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. When you were finally upright, you crossed your arms and stared him down. His face softened as his gaze fell to his feet, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry-” he started softly.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “Nice beard.” If he tried saying anything else, it was to the empty room as you stormed out.

--

Glances from your peripheral confirmed what you already knew from the pounding in your chest. Pacing his office like a caged lion, Hotch was stealing looks from between the blinds covering his office windows. The last daring glance had your eyes locked, the intensity burning through the glass and across the bullpen area. You tore your head away and willed your eyes to focus on the file in front of you that had been untouched for the past few hours.

You took a deep breath and decided a cup of coffee might help matters. Without daring a look in his direction, you stormed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a mug from the crowded cupboard. As you turned to face the counter, perhaps the most trying sight of all bestowed your own two eyes.

An empty coffee pot.

A dramatic sigh fell from your lips as you set about putting on a fresh pot. Measuring the water, leveling the scoops of whole sale purchased, generic brand grounds with a shake of the wrist, and clicking the button who’s label had been rubbed clean off from years of use and thousands of cups of coffee made.

Luckily, you’d memorized the locations and functions of the buttons years ago and could make a pot with your eyes closed. The familiarity made you smile. You watched as the brownish liquid started to sputter into the glass below it, a slow drip forming and the smell of caffeine and a slight char filled the air.

The coffee itself wasn’t good, but you’d taken a liking to it over the past few months in particular. The long nights and early mornings spent playing catch up on paperwork between cases required caffeine. Then, the late night Skype calls that could only happen at random hours of the night did too, and that shit coffee became sweet nectar. You never risked missing a call.

Even though the coffee was shit, it was what you sipped on between hushed whispers and longing looks through the static filled webcam conversations. You were never quite sure if it was the coffee or the love that warmed your heart, but you’d never questioned it.

Until the calls stopped coming. And the coffee tasted bad again.

“The coffee overseas puts this stuff to shame,” a rough voice from behind you said, bringing you back from your trip down memory lane.

You chose not to move. Not to acknowledge the man behind you. Instead, you pulled the now full pot off the burner and filled your cup, leaving only a small amount of room for cream.

“Are you still using the vanilla creamer?” he tried again.

You pursed your lips and turned to face him. He immediately stood straighter, his eyes slightly widened and hopeful, awaiting your response. Your eyes narrowed as they searched his, no words willing to form in response.

After a moment, his eyes fell and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

His voice dropped before he spoke again. “I wanted to come check on you. See how you’re feeling,” he explained to the floor.

Your eyes still hadn’t left his face. Your heart started pounding, a million words suddenly bubbling behind your lips. The months of anger, confusion, hurt, love, and pain threatened to flood the small kitchen you occupied without a life jacket in sight. The burning in your nose spread to your eyes and made its way to form a vise grip on your throat.

“How I’m feeling?” you asked slowly, the venom dropping from your tongue.

He wouldn’t look at you.

The heaving of your chest and ringing in your ears was warning enough this was not the time or place to share your honest thoughts with the man across from you.

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The mug in your hand threatened to crack under the pressure in the small kitchenett-e. As his mouth opened the slightest bit, preparing to offer a response, it made the wise decision to close again.

You excused yourself curtly, skirting past him and out of the suddenly too-small room and back to the comfort of your desk, silently hoping the floor full of profilers would mind their own damn business for once.

——

“Hey, Hotch has some questions about the Wakeland case,” JJ said, approaching your desk.

“Yeah, sure he does.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a step back to catch your eye. “Hey,” she said softly.

You shot her an annoyed look. You wanted to be mad at her, too, but that was hard. She knew what it was to be shipped away overseas and have limited contact with her loved ones. Any attempt to complain to her would end up as sympathetic nods and constructive advice and a sensible perspective on the issue. Which was, frankly, not what you were in the mood for.

“Sorry,” you offered with a tight smile. “I just thought I was pretty thorough in my notes already.”

She gave a small smile in return, watching you stand and walk towards Hotch’s office.

You didn’t bother knocking before you entered, opting to set the tone of the conversation before it began.

Hotch’s eyes shot up at the intrusion, his hands still holding the case file. “I appreciate knocking,” he said sternly.

“Noted,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Silence hung in the air as you both waited for the other to speak. When the feeling of him staring caused the burning to reach your neck and cheeks, you cleared your throat.

“JJ said you had questions about the Wakeland case,” you prompted.

He stared a moment longer before he spoke again. “Yes, but those can wait.”

You arched a brow. He closed the folder in front of him, folding his hands and resting them on top.

“I understand that my being back has been stressful for you,” he began cooly. You scoffed and shifted your weight to the other foot. He paused for a moment, then continued. “However, your frustration with me appears to be interfering with your conduct in the office, and that I can’t have.”

You willed your lips to remain shut, the words on the other side of them guaranteeing a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

You took a slow, deep breath before you brought your eyes to his. Where you thought you’d find a stoic, cold gaze was a soft, longing look that penetrated your defense. Still, you spoke cooly and evenly.

“I apologize for my misconduct. I understand that personal feelings do not belong in a professional work environment, and concerning the two with one another would be a stupid, selfish move to make. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly, the vein in his forehead made visible by the grinding of his jaw. He still wouldn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours, slowly chipping away at the defense you’d scrambled to build. Now was not the time to break. Now was not the time to show him just how much you’d missed him, and how badly it hurt to have missed him for so long. And now was certainly not the time to let tears illuminate the bags under your eyes from the late nights standing guard by the phone in case it rang and he was on the other end.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, your voice barely audible to your own ears.

You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall, and the heaving of your chest to remain at bay until you were safely out of his office.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from your face. You hadn’t been this close to him in months and the proximity was intoxicating. He still smelled familiar, despite not having been home, or in this time zone, for so long. The warmth radiating off of his chest fanned the flame burning in your lungs.

“I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.” His hand reached out towards your arm, but froze when your eyes flew to it, stopping it in its path. He slowly withdrew it, bringing it back to a fist at his side. Your lip found its way between your teeth as you processed his words.

When he began again, his voice was low and rushed, like if he didn’t get the words out in time you might not hear them. Your eyes remained on the spot on your arm where he’d almost touched you. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, me being gone. I didn’t know it would be for so long, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” He stopped for a moment and the fist at his side fell open, his fingers flexed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew to his and narrowed. His brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly, unsure if it was best to continue or not. “Is there anything else?” You almost didn’t recognize the cold voice as your own.

He took a step back, and you knew instantly he was attempting to profile you and the situation at hand. The logical side of your brain was telling your feet to move- to get the hell out from under his gaze. The more time he spent analyzing the way your heart was pounding and your bottom lip was beginning to quiver, the worse the odds of you making it out of his office in one piece became.

But even still, the burning in your chest and aching in your fingertips to reach out to him refused to subside. The compromise left your feet glued in place, begging for him to make the next move and decide your fate for you. “It must have been hard. To be here alone. To have your thoughts with nothing but idle time to fuel their worries.”

Your eyes slid shut. If you were going to listen, seeing him too would be too much.

“I thought about you constantly. I wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you were-”

There was that damn question again. How are you doing?

If there had only been a way to find out. Had there only been some way to get in contact with someone to answer those questions. To quell the anxious thoughts.

You laughed once, the burning in your throat from the tears turning into fire instead, fueling your words. “You could have fucking called. You could have called. You should have called!”

Your sudden exclamation caught him off guard, his hands backing up defensively.

“You wanted to know how I was, Aaron?” you snapped, “Let me tell you.”

“I was sick to my fucking stomach each and every day not knowing if you were okay. I had no way of knowing if you were blown to bits or boarding the next plane home.” The tears had started to flow, but you couldn’t stop. “For months, I had to put a face on and lie to my own team about being okay. These people trusted me with their lives and I couldn’t even trust them with the truth about how I was doing.” Your words came between broken sobs, and tears blurred your vision. “It was exhausting! I would go home and lay in bed with my phone on the loudest volume, my laptop open, and pager under my pillow just in case you called! And you didn’t!”

It briefly crossed your mind that the glass in his office wasn’t sound proof, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally had the responsible party in front of you and there was no stopping the words from coming.

Your hands flew to cover your eyes, the pressure of your palms digging into the hollow sockets offering a strange sense of relief.

“No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” The words were more for yourself than him, but they worked all the same.

“Let me explain. Please,” he tried, speaking gently, like you were an unstable unsub wielding a knife. That only served to piss you off even more. His arm dared reach towards you again, seeking contact.

“No!” Your shoulder jerked away from his touch as your other hand came up to point an accusatory finger in his face. “You don’t get to talk me down. The time for talking was months ago. You fucked up, Aaron.”

The use of an expletive so close to his name was never something he was a fan of, and you knew that. His raised brow fell to its familiar stern position and his mouth set in a hard line.

“If I could have contacted you, I would have. When we moved bases, our access to phones and internet became nearly nonexistent.” Albeit logical, his reasoning only served to further enrage you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with his hands firmly gripping both shoulders, not tentatively seeking permission this time. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me. I understand that you might need time away-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off. “But I don’t, Aaron. I don’t need time away from you. I missed you. I needed you,” you whispered between sniffles.

His grip on your shoulders and the stern look on his face both softened. “I missed you too,” he said.

Your eyes fell as the harshness around your words fell away, revealing the pain they bore instead.

“I missed you, and I hated you, and the only person I wanted to talk to about it was worlds away,” you whispered.

His arms came around you and brought you to his chest, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rested a stubbly cheek atop your head. A fresh set of tears formed, spilling from your cheeks and staining the button up he wore open.

And you let him hold you for a while. For how long, you couldn’t be sure. It felt so right to finally be in his arms. To know that he was safe. To know that he wanted to be here with you as much as you wanted him to be.

When your breathing had evened out again, he pulled you away from his chest and held your face in his hands.

“I will never leave you again,” he said. He spoke it like a promise. One you knew better than to believe in this line of work, anyway.

You gave him a small half- smile and shrugged. “If you do, at least send me a smoke signal. Something, anything.”

He laughed, which was a rare occurrence, but a delightful one nonetheless. Each shoulder shake seemed to take a weight off of him, the worries fell away as he brought his eyes back to yours. A small giggle escaped your lips too, the emotional rollercoaster of the day deeming no other reaction worthy. Memories of nights spent awake, waiting by the phone seemed close to forgotten. The anxious pit that had permanently resided in your stomach disappeared, and your laughter became celebratory.

When your mutual fit of giggles finally subsided, his eyes landed on your lips. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Your hand came to rest on his wrist, rubbing quick circles across it as his hold on your jaw became more insistent. His hands began pulling you towards him, inching your faces closer together. In a split second of self-awareness, you pulled your face away.

“Aaron-” you started, motioning towards the door. The blinds were closed, but you were still at work.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hands finding their place again, turning your face back to his moments before your lips met. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his lips just barely brushing yours, “I missed you. And I love you, and I don’t care who knows it,” he finished.

The soft gasp that escaped your lips served as all the invitation he needed to seal your lips together, stealing the rest of the breath from your lungs.

His hands worked themselves from your face to your sides, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was soft and unrushed, his hands firm but strong. Your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, intertwining in the new length found there. He kissed you breathless, until all the cracks in your heart were filled, and the hurt and anger of the past few months was replaced with warmth.

When you finally broke away, he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his grip on you firm, still. “I love you,” he whispered. You nodded against him, not yet ready for that moment to pass. “I love you,” he said again. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “I knew before I left, but I didn’t tell you. I knew from the first time I asked you to dinner and you said no because your show was on. I knew the moment you insisted on only ever taking your coffee with that vanilla creamer. I knew from the first time I kissed you,” his eyes opened and bore into yours. “And being away from you, and not being able to talk to you or tell you was unbearable. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” His head shook as he spoke, like he was shaking away a bad memory.

You bit your lip to stop new tears from forming, and pulled your head away so you could look him in the eye. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered. The light in his eyes mirrored yours as the smile spread across your face. You ran your thumb across his cheek, admiring the feeling. “I could get used to this.” He hummed and smiled, pulling you back under his chin and wrapping his arms around you.

“So, did you actually have questions about the case? Or..” you asked, starting to pull away.

His body shook with a laugh as he closed the small gap you’d created, placing scratchy, bearded kisses on your face.

——

Let’s talk about it!

[chaoticvampirejedi]

Ghosts of 79's

Summary: You loved your job as a bartender at 79's, but times have changed. Now the clones, loyal to the Empire, stopped coming here, so the bar had to be sold. You decided to come there one last time and say goodbye to this place. There, you can't stop thinking about the clones, the nights you spent here, and your relationship with Rex.

Pairing: Rex X GN!reader

Word count: 1947 (it was supposed to be under 1000 words)

Warnings: light angst, drinking, alcohol use, mentions of war and characters death

Tags: @ladykatakuri @hellothere-generalangsty @twinkofthedink (if I confused something and you didn't want to be tagged please let me) know

It has never been so quiet in this place before. No music. No laughter. No sound of feet clumsily dancing on the floor. 79's looked like a miserable shadow of itself. Unnaturally silent and empty. There was this old saying on Coruscant that every bar has its heart that keeps it alive. If that was true, 79's had definitely lost its own. It was almost unbelievable how abruptly things have changed. 

And who could have expected it? you thought, looking at the blue illuminated bar counter where you used to make drinks every night; right now these nights felt like from another life.

You had no idea why you came here today; you didn't work here anymore. No one did. But you couldn't just leave this place without saying goodbye to it. Not after all these nights. Your gaze shifted at one of the tables and for a second you could have sworn that you heard familiar voices shouting "To the 501st!".

The 501st Legion. Your favorite clones in white and blue armors that always seemed to have the craziest ideas. You smiled thinking about them. Memories came back. Good memories. 

"Look who's here! The best bartender on Coruscant!," you used to hear often. It was usually Fives who greeted you this way. He and Tup loved to talk with you. Usually about their missions and battles; you loved those stories, their lives seemed so fascinating compared to yours. Surprisingly they had a different opinion on this.

"Ok, enough about us," Tup said once. "Y/N, and how about you? Tell us something interesting!"

"Me? Interesting?" you laughed. "Listen, my life is more boring than a broken droid. I have nothing interesting to tell you."

"Oh, come on!" Fives almost fell from his stool, he definitely had drunk too much that evening. "You work in the clone bar! I bet Tup's hair you have so many good stories! Just tell us something! Anything!"

And so, after a moment of thought, you told them; you told them about that one time you accidentally found one clone and your friend kissing in the bathroom. And then you told them about another fun day at your work. And another. And another. The three of you had such a great time that before you knew it your shift was over, but even then you stayed at the bar; you had too much fun to just go home. You smiled thinking about that day, the day you realized that maybe your life is not as boring as you thought. 

You never found out how exactly Fives and Tup died, for some reason, no 501st trooper wanted to talk about their deaths and you decided to respect it even though it wasn't easy for you. 

Now, looking at the empty stools you were wondering, if you will ever find such wonderful customers, again. Probably not. Fives and Tup were special.

You looked away and your gaze fell on the stairs that led to the upper floor of the bar now unlit and shrouded in the darkness. You chuckled, unable to suppress your smile as you remembered how you once slow danced on them with Kix. He had always seemed to be calm and sensible, and yet a few months ago he surprised you with this silly idea. 

"Come on! Just one dance and then you can go back to work!" his hand gently grabbed your wrist. "I have to prove to Jesse that I'm not boring! I'm a good dancer. I promise you won't fall!"

He was right. You didn't fall. You both did.

And even if this incident left you with a sprained ankle, you couldn't stay angry with the medic for long. Especially since it was he who introduced you to Rex.

Rex…

Suddenly your smile disappeared.

He almost never visited 79's, but the others used to talk about him so often that when he finally showed up at the bar you recognized him immediately.

"So you're the bartender my medic fell down the stairs with," the blond-haired clone said when he heard your name.

"Oh, so you've heard about me," you laughed, pushing a drink towards him.

"Well... Let's say this story has become very popular, right Kix?" Rex turned to look at his friend, but he wasn't there anymore. "Kix?"

"It looks like this place is dangerous for him." something about Rex made you feel relaxed and in a joking mood. "First the stairs, and now he has just disappeared. Maybe you should go after him because who knows what will happen next? Murderous bathroom door?"

Rex chuckled and you couldn't help but think how cute he is when he's amused.

"Kix can take care of himself," he said, slowly turning the glass in his fingers. "He'll be fine. Besides..." he looked at you and smiled. "I really want to hear your version of that story."

After that evening his visits at 79's became more frequent. He never drank too much and spent most of his time talking with you. Soon you realized that you were looking forward to these meetings. Rex was… different from any other clone you've met before. Neither in a bad way, nor in a good way. He was just different.

There was something special about him and you couldn't explain it, but every time you saw him you felt happy and every time he had to leave you felt sad. And of course, you had been flirting with him; both of you knew you liked each other. Actually, everyone knew it, you weren't very discreet with it.

Then why didn't you do something about it sooner? you've been torturing yourself with this question for a long time, still unable to find the right answer.

Were you too shy?

Or maybe too scared that for him it was just casual flirting?

Now all these doubts seemed ridiculous. Everything was lost anyway.

Once again you looked at the counter bar and took a deep breath. You slowly stood behind it with your hand running over its cold and unusually clean surface. That was it. Right now, you were standing in the same place you last spoke to him. You stared at the empty seat in front of you, wondering what you told him then that made him laugh so much. 

It was some joke about a droid and a Separatist, so stupid and childish that for one awkward second you thought Rex will be disgusted, but apparently he didn't mind. Instead, he just leaned toward you with a smile on his face.

"I have to tell you…" he was so close you could feel his breath on your cheek. "Thank you for this evening. I'm glad that I came here today. I really am."

"Wait," you almost knocked off a drink that you had just prepared for one of the customers. "Are you trying to tell me that you're leaving? Now?"

It was still quite early and you hoped that he would stay here for at least two more hours.

"Yeah. Tomorrow's a busy day". 

You knew what that meant; tomorrow he will leave Coruscant once again.

"I see…" you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. There was no point in asking him when he would be back. No one knew it. "Well… Good luck then."

"Thank you." a weak smile appeared on his face. There was an awkward silence between you as there was nothing more to do or say.

"So… Goodbye." 

"Goodbye." Rex was clearly embarrassed. "Please, take care."

"Yeah… You too."

"Always." he took the last sip of his drink and got up from the stool.

It was the moment when something broke inside you.

"Wait!" you grabbed his hand and looked frantically at his surprised face.

"Come with me. To my home. It's not that far from here. I- I'll say that I had an emergency and I have to leave earlier, so we can spend some time together... You know. Alone."

Your own words surprised you, but you didn't want to give up on this, so when you saw that Rex was hesitating you quickly added.

"My bed is very comfortable and I make the best breakfasts on this planet. You'll rest like never before."

"A nice bed and good breakfast you say?" Rex asked flirtatiously and tenderly brushed a stray of hair from your face. He clearly liked this idea. You had already smiled, convinced that he would agree, but then his facial expression changed. He wasn't the man who came to 79's to have fun and flirt with the bartender, anymore. He was a soldier. Loyal to the Republic and seriously taking the role assigned to him.

"No. Sorry. I can't." his hand slipped from yours. "Not today. Next time. I promise"

Next time.

But the next time has never come. You had been making drinks for so many clones, waiting for him but he never went through 79's doors again. Weeks and months passed and the 501st still didn't come back. You had been wondering how they were doing. Were they safe? Were they alive? Was he alive? Everyone had been talking that the war was coming to an end, so you let yourself believe that you would meet him again soon. 

And then one day ruined everything. The Republic had fallen. Jedi had become traitors and clones…

You still couldn't understand it. Suddenly all clones have become imperial soldiers. Why? How? You knew them. They were loyal to the Republic and Jedi. Not to the Empire. Nothing made sense anymore. 

That feral day also changed 79's forever. All clones stopped coming here and the rest of the Coruscant didn't want to spend any time in the "clone bar". Especially after recent events. The owner didn't hesitate for long; he sold the bar as soon as he realized that 79's couldn't be saved. 

A single tear dropped on the counter. You promised yourself you wouldn't cry, but you couldn't help it. This place meant a lot to you and what? You were supposed to leave it behind, just like that? You knew you wouldn't be working here forever, but this? This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to celebrate the end of the war with Rex, not standing here alone and thinking that he was…

He's dead. an uncomfortable thought crossed your mind. Kriff. He's dead.

You tried with all your mind not to think about it, but you knew it was true. Rex would never betray his Jedi. He would disobey the given order. And if he did… Well. You knew what was the fate of every traitor. He was dead and it was high time you admitted it.

"Hey, you! I'm kriffing talking to you! Are you done standing there like a drunk Jedi withou lightsaber?" a sharp female voice snapped you out of your thoughts. 

You looked around in surprise and saw a woman in the doorway. Her face showed impatience.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, arm crossed.

"Sorry," you muttered. "I-I'm just… I worked here and…"

"Oh, great. Another sentimental clone lover who came here to think about the past. I'm sorry time have changed or whatever. Now, get out of here!"

Any other day, you would have said something mean to her, but not today. Today you were too tired and melancholic to think of any snarky reply, so you just wiped away your tears and walked towards the door, stopping only at the exit. You took one last look around the bar, ignoring the murderous glare of the woman.

"Thank you, thank you for everything," you whispered, and with the sound of a closing door, you finally said goodbye to the 79's.

[gilly-bj]

Why the “Eremika kiss” doesn’t affect Rivamika at all

In the new chapter, we saw for the first time something that we didn’t expect to happen in the manga: a kiss, between Mikasa and (dead)Eren, probably not like we all imagined. This kiss hit everyone hard, also the Eremika shippers, who weren’t very happy with the fact that Eren was already dead when Mikasa kissed him. Eremikas unfortunately weren’t the only ones sad, also lots of Rivamikas had this feeling and, I was one of them.

When the chapter came out and I saw Mikasa kissing Eren, I literally crashed (windows.exe stopped working); my whole body stopped working and the only sensible thought I could elaborate was: “Wait, WTF!”. After I scraped together that quantity of calm that could make me, at least, sit down, I started to write posts that I’ve already eliminated, so don’t look for them because I made them disappear, because my opinions changed radically.

Quick note for you guys from your G: in these cases, don’t write immediately what you’re thinking in that exact moment. I was incredibly frustrated, so the posts I wrote were full of complaints. I didn’t analyzed the kiss from other prospectives, because for me it was only the “eremika kiss”. Remember to wait at least the traduction of the chapter, official or not; you’ll have enough time to reflect on it and elaborate opinions lucidly.

Anyway, in this post I’ll talk about three things:

Eremika’s conversation and Mikasa’s dream

The kiss and why it doesn’t affect Rivamika

Final considerations about RM

The subheadings are written in their own special colour, so if you’re not interested in one of them, it will be easier to find the other.

Let’s start!

• Eremika’s conversation and Mikasa’s dream.

Mikasa has an headache and she wake up in her ideal world, where she lives with Eren in a isolated cabin in the woods. This chapter is from Mikasa’s pov, and note that her perfect image of home is again showed, probably for the last time. I think that Mikasa’s feelings for Eren were kinda obvious, apart from the fact that I never liked or supported them, they are here and we can’t do anything against them.

But I’ve never imagined to see that kind of selfish dream from Mikasa; she is the girl who always cares for everyone, the one who is ready to sacrifice herself for the well-being of her friends, the one who loves them and support them independently from the situation. To be honest, it hurts to see that in her dream, Armin isn’t with them; if there wasn’t Levi, my shipper heart would have hurt but I’d understand, they aren’t so close yet, but Armin, they’ve grown together.

But I’m not mad at Mikasa, each of us has a selfish dream deep inside, where we’d rather sacrifice others to save our special person; it doesn’t mean that we don’t love them, it’s just, if we’d have to choose, we’d prefer to keep safe only him or her. Let me explain better my point with an example: imagine a man who lives in a country at war; he has the possibility to save just two people and he has to choose between his wife and daughter or his parents. He would probably save his wife and daughter, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love his parents. Choosing between the people we love is the most painful thing in the world, but sometimes we just have to do it, and in Mikasa’s case, she’d choose Eren.

Anyway, before talking about the conversation, I want to analyze a little detail: during her all dream, Mikasa and Eren are in their teen form, why? Well, my interpretation is that Mikasa is still in love with the old Eren and she can’t understand the new one, indeed, one she said: “I’ll bring the old Eren back”. Even if she doesn’t completely understand him, she still loves him, and that’s why I adore Mikasa.

Anyway, let’s analyze better their conversation:

Eren wakes Mika up and he states their situation in that moment, how they ran away leaving the others to their cruel destiny. Now, do we all agree how that doesn’t fit Eren’s character, at all. His most famous line is “Fight if you want to win”, which it shows how brave he is; if he’d run away with Mikasa, he would act like a coward, and he can’t accept cowardice.

And here, Mikasa’s biggest regret: the answer she gave to Eren; remeber when she said: “If only I gave him another answer”, and in her dream she probably did: thanks to Eren’s words, we can assume that Mikasa told him to run away with her, to leave everything, probably what she wanted to answer in the reality. I interpreted that scene from chapter 123 like a Mikasa who couldn’t answer because taken by surprise, and then came up with a thing she didn’t mean who is still harassing her.

Let’s say that the Eren in the previous panels was Mikasa’s idealized version, but then something changes. Look at Eren’s face:

The marks. And why did they appear casually? Because, this is the true Eren, the one they are going to kill, the one who wanted to give his probably last message to Mikasa, and in fact the most important part of the conversation: “Please...Mikasa, forget about me”. At this point, I really don’t understand what the Eremika shippers found romantic in this chapter, the fact that the last thing Eren said to Mikasa is “forget about me” made things clear enough. We can notice that Eren entered her dream by the falcon here, funny that Mikasa is actually flying on Falco right now.

I really started to appreciate Mikasa and Eren’s relationship thanks to this chapter; even if I wasn’t, and I am not, a big fan of the Eremika ship, thinking about their relationship made me a bit sad. Anyway, I love the fact that Eren wanted to tell this to Mikasa, I think he deeply want her to live a life without him, because he’s already understood that they have different life goals, different way of thinking, different natures.

Before skipping to the next point, I noticed that many Rivamika shippers’ve already talked about the similarity between Eren and Levi in some of the panels, I’m not going to dwell because I‘ll write a different post about it, but I wanted to say that it can’t be just a coincidence, Levi and Eren’s haircuts are very different and there’s no way to confuse them. I don’t know why Isayama did this; maybe it’s a foreshadowing, or maybe he just wanted to trol us (it’s always him), I’ll just wait patiently April to see if my assumptions are right 😌

• The kiss and why it doesn’t affect Rivamika at all

Ah this kiss, this damn kiss. Uff, let me sit down and let’s talk about it.

So, Mikasa decides to kill Eren and she enters his mouth thanks to Levi’s help. The first thing she sees is Eren’s head, and I think we should already stop and analyze better this moment.

Look at his expression: he seems kinda... happy and, maybe also proud. Why? Because Mikasa finally decided to do the right thing, she chose Humanity, she sacrificed him, the person she loves the most, for the others. That’s her development. Even if she’ll never forget him, she chose to be selfless over selfish, and I’m glad she decided to remember Eren; it’s awful to forget to ones we loved in the past, we shouldn’t forget them, after all, they made us feel beautiful things, thanks to them we gained fantastic memories, why should we completely remove them from our life? Feelings can change, they will change, and Mikasa will change her romantic feelings towards Eren, it’s simply natural, but asking her to forget him is cruel; Levi won’t forget his dead friends, Armin won’t forget his grandfather, Eren won’t forget his mum, and it’s beautiful this way.

Now, let’s get into the spicy of this post: the kiss. Let me the transform in a love specialist (I’m nobody XD). I really don’t see anything romantic in it. Really, is probably the most tragic and sad among Eremika’s interactions because it shows how Mikasa’s feelings have never been reciprocated; she already tried to kiss him, in season 2, and he “rejected” her (that wasn’t a explicit reject but, if I’m not wrong, he didn’t try the Coordinate before so he didn’t know if it worked, he preferred to risk his life instead of kissing her. Actually, that’s also Eren’s personality), and now, yeah she managed to kiss him, but he was dead, he couldn’t kiss her back, couldn’t say anything, couldn’t reject her. I think that at this point, Mikasa already knew Eren wasn’t in love with her, she isn’t stupid, and she saw that kiss as a way to set herself free completely, to close a chapter of her life.

Another thing: I really don’t understand how can EM shippers say that Eremika is canon just because they kissed, sorry, Mikasa kissed him?? A simple kiss doesn’t make a couple canon, you have to analyze the feelings behind it. Why many of them can’t simply analyze a bit the story? Just, a bit...

• Final considerations and Rivamika

When I saw many Rivamika shippers being so happy about this chapter I really couldn’t understand, like “why are they happy if Mikasa literally kissed Eren?”. Well, at first I was very confused, the posts I read made me feel relieved, but... I wasn’t 100% convinced yet, because I was listening only to what the others said, I didn’t have my own opinion. I could see only the kiss (as a negative thing), and not all the foreshadowings we got in this chapter.

I have a certain theory but I will write a separated post about it, here, let’s discuss why that kiss isn’t a problem for us RM shippers. So, my biggest fear was that Mikasa’d live her all life mourning Eren and wouldn’t open herself to someone new, not necessarily Levi lying. Anyway, like I said before, please don’t stress yourself with rushed considerations, it’s just useless. I think that the kiss acted like as a springboard for Rivamika; like I said before, I interpreted it as a way to set herself free completely, to not have regrets because obviously, it was a thing that Mika wanted to do. Levi’s extreme care for her in this chapter, his determination when he saw that she ready to do this such painful thing made me... fly. They fought together until the end showing for the last time their chemistry and fantastic dynamic. Their interactions in this chapter were really special and I hope that there’ll be more in the future, maybe not only as a team;)

In conclusion, I loved this chapter so much, I can consider it as my favorite because, it gave me chills, for real.

I’ll start to work on my theory so yeah, this post isn’t ended yet lol. Stay tuned because there, I’ll talk only about RM so it will be... maybe more interesting from a shipper’s view. Tell me what you think about this in the comments 💜!

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Damned to Live Forever (Vampire Yandere Aizawa x Reader)

Title: Damned to Live Forever (Vampire Yandere Aizawa x Reader)

Synopsis: You fall prey to the whims of a vampire with a penchant for lost, helpless souls. Inspired by a quote from The Hunger (1983): “We're damned to live forever - with no release, no end.”

Word Count: 1704

Notes: yandere, vampire, blood/slight gore

You hate walking alone at night. Not for sensible reasons, mind you--such as being worried about someone sticking a knife against your back and demanding your purse or your life; or even the fear of city rats, which had grown particularly plump and daring as of late.

No. You hate walking alone at night because of your childish fear of what might be lurking out there, in the dark, in the night: creepy crawlies and monsters and shadow-men and other childhood fears that have never quite lifted away. You still refused to walk by mirrors in the dark, you always crossed your finger when you walked by a cemetery, and you certainly wore your crucifix around your neck when you were walking alone at night.

You hadn’t been religious, not exactly, since childhood; blind faith had left you like other things, but in moments of fear, when you needed comfort, it was there. 

And a crucifix, in particular, was good at warding off vampires.

As you walk along the deserted city street, still damp from afternoon rain, you couldn't help but keep one hand on your purse and another on your necklace. Protect-me, protect-me, you think. Just in case. You're still repeating your mantra when you hear... something in the shadows, in the alley. You feel something, too. A rush--wind, but lighter. You hear the sound of rustling, a snapping sort of fabric sound, the sound you used to hear when your mom would snap laundry wrinkles.

And then--a cry, strangled, and soft, and desperate. "Help! Please!" It's coming from alley, just a few feet away.

You feel your legs turn cold. You want to run and every inch of your common sense screams at you: Run, run, run, run. But the sound of their cry replays in your head: help, please, help, please. Wouldn't you want someone to come to your rescue? Or at least try? Your desire to help pushes you to shove your hand into your purse and dig out your keys. You stick them in between your fingers like claws and press on ahead towards the plea for help.

Your work shoes click furiously against the pavement, mirroring your hammering heartbeat, as you rush into the unknown. You can just make out a figure, no, two figures: one, hunched over the other. The first figure, swathed in black, has their victim wrapped in some type of fabric. The other figure is sagging in the grip of the fabric, moaning softly in pain, breath hitching. Their eyes look enormous--white, bulging out of their face, terror-stricken.

The bulging, helpless gaze soon turns to you; they whimper, and in a moment the first figure straightens their back. They know you’re there.

You feel your bowels clench and the hand gripping your keys weakens; they drop to the ground, clattering so loud you could swear they echo. The dark figure slowly turns around, facing you, and your hand instinctively clutches your crucifix.

It’s… not human. Its eyes are black. Blood and bits of skin cling to their chin. Their mouth, partially open, reveals two sharp fangs.

A vampire.

All of your childish fears flood your mind in an instant; years of nightmares and novels and terrified tip-toeing into your parent’s bedrooms because you swear you heard something scratching at the window and-no-it-wasn’t-a-branch.

The creature releases the other figure. You notice dimly that their body drops on the ground, unceremoniously, ashen grey and lifeless. The fabric that had encircled them seems to slither back to the first figure on its own accord, wrapping around its neck.

You back up in horror, thinking foolishly, nonsensically, that if you can just make it back into the street you’ll be safe. You don’t take more than a step or two before your shirt is suddenly gripped, and you are slammed against the wall.

Your breath comes in terrible, ragged pants as you look up at the creature’s face. Up close, it was even more unearthly. The smell of dirt and stone filled your nostrils. It reminded you of fresh graves you used to smell on the way to school, walking past the cemetery with your fingers crossed so hard that they hurt. Its skin had a strange, pink clamminess to it; the black eyes seemed to dance with shadow. But it was the fangs, and the mouth, covered in drying blood and gore, that had your attention.

The creature, still gripping your shirt tightly in one hand, brings the other up to your face. Its hands are surprisingly clean, with fingernails filed into sharp points. You whimper when you feel a finger run along your cheek. It feels like a razor, and you swear you can feel blood already dribbling from a cut.

The creature leans in, and you groan in terror at the sight of the fangs and blood and its tongue darting out to lick your cheek. The fear overtakes your body, bringing back your almost primal childhood responses, and the hand holding your crucifix trembles as you begin whispering wildly, feverishly: Lord-protect-me-lord-please-please-please.

At your pleas, the creature stops; it seems to notice your hand tightly fisted around the crucifix. Its cold, clammy hand peels at your fingers, and you let go with a numb lack of resistance. At the sight of the crucifix, you see it smile. Not cruel, exactly. But… smiling in pity. In condescension.

You whimper as it tugs at the necklace and easily drops it on the ground, as if it was just another trinket.

“You’re so helpless,” the creature says, looking down at you with its mild, condescending gaze.

You simply stare back, frozen in fear and unsure of what to do, what will happen, if you will die and how horrible it will be. You find yourself staring at its eyes, eager to avoid the bloody mouth. Its black eyes seem to dance with shadows; from far away, they were simply pure black, but up close you can see things in them. Shapes. Figures.

Taking advantage of your state, the creature gently traces the outline of your jaw with the pad of its fingers, carefully avoiding slicing open your skin.

“And you know it… don’t you? That’s why you wear that necklace, that’s why you cross your fingers when you walk by a graveyard…” His voice is soft, almost soothing.

His words make your voice return, if only to express your terror-soaked confusion. “How--how did you know that I cross my fingers…” You don’t finish, swallowing thin amounts of saliva. You want water.

The creature tuts, and traces a finger softly down to your neck. Your entire body shudders. “I’ve known everything about you since the moment I saw you. An entire lifetime in a few seconds. Such a short life… you go from dust to dust in no time at all, don’t you?”

You try to stutter out a response, but you suddenly feel its sharp nail piercing your neck and the pain stops your thoughts. “No--” you say, thin and sad and mortal. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

It tilts up your chin with a bloody nail. Your eyes are drawn to its dark eyes, and the swirling shapes within, as it smiles. Its fangs are still bloody.

“You won’t die, dear. You’ll see… when I finish, you’ll see..”

You don’t have time to ask what he means before he lunges towards your neck, biting into the soft flesh with sharp, jagged fangs. You cry out, disbelieving, startled by the pain and the sudden feeling of cloth wrapped tightly around your limbs, keeping you stock-still as he tore into your throat. 

The smell of blood enveloped your nostrils and the sickening realization that it was your blood, your life force, being sucked down greedily strikes you as terribly cruel. The sensation of hot liquid dribbling down your neck does nothing to lessen the thought. 

The pain never lessens, but your energy seems to fade, bit by bit, as he feasts on you. Your mind feels fuzzy and you briefly begin to pray inside your head, over and over; something you used to say before bed as a child, giving you a frenzied sense of peace as your vision starts to blacken. But your prayers are interrupted by the creature’s low voice.

“No need for that, dearest. Drink.”

You can’t lift your head to ask him what he means. Drink? You want water. You open your mouth.

Instead he shoves his wrist, open and bleeding, onto your gasping face. You unwillingly swallow the thick red substance; instead of iron, you taste sweet, beautiful relief. But with it comes what the creature meant when he said “you’ll see.

Because you do see, then. You see the vampire’s life, hundreds of hundreds of years, rushing by like a moving picture. You see thousands of victims, dead and lifeless, dropping to the ground when he’s finished with them. 

You see dozens of others, men and women, petted and bitten and turned into creatures of the night. You see them kept and coddled, bound by blood and sometimes chains; you feel their bitterness and elation and even, sometimes, love for their maker. You feel his love for them, his pity and control and his frustration when they fight him.

But most of all you feel the weight of eternity, pressing upon you from all sides. There would be no death, from accident or old age, for you; no decaying body rotting inside a wooden coffin as cities are built on top of you; no crumbling into dust, no fading away. Only life eternal, surrounded by darkness and doomed to kill forever.

You feel your soul withering away as you black out; the last feeling being the sense of the creature--your maker, you realize, your maker--carrying you in his arms.

“We’re damned to live forever with no release, no end.”

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

[on-maars]

Home It Is, Then

Alright, I gifted this fic for @evanbucxley because that help my life (be worth your while) series was a rollercoaster of emotions and I absolutely loved it. I wanted to contribute to the Religious Guilt Eddie Diaz idea and here’s my work :)

It’s not that angsty, quite soft at times even, if you want to take your mind off things before that finale. 

Hope you’ll like it!

READ ON AO3

When he was a little kid, Eddie used to go to Church every Sunday.

Along the years, it became a ritual. A ritual Eddie didn’t really dare to cast doubt on. This was just it. It was just the way he was raised and so Eddie continued going without objecting, without asking questions. And boys did he have some.

At first, it was simple questions. Simple questions with easy answers. Answers Eddie was taking for granted.

What does God look like? Why did He create people? Why can’t we see Him? Did He have any friends? Does He ever get lonely up there? Were there dinosaurs in the Ark?

And for a while, Eddie was happy. He was satisfied with the answers. They made sense. They were logical, and if his parents and the different priests said so, then they also had to be true, right? But then Eddie grew older, and as he grew older, the questions became more complex, more intricate, filled with confusion, wonder and doubt.

How can I trust what the bible says is true? If there is a God, then why is there so much suffering? Isn’t the chaos of the world a sign of God’s absence?

His brain was filled with them. His brain was filled with questions and hesitations and Eddie didn’t know how to make sense of them. It didn’t help that the answers were not that easy anymore. They were vague and confusing and Eddie needed clearness, he needed stability and he needed control.

And Eddie’s not so prejudiced as to think that every Christian believer out there is deemed to be narrow-minded and intolerant but that was just another aspect he could have added to the list of things that used to make him uncomfortable about the religion, how some of the most faithful members of his Church used to act, used to judge other people for being the way they were.

It wasn’t rare for Eddie to hear some disturbing comments here and there. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t insistent. But it was there. It was weird allusions in sermons, hurtful insults in the school playground, remarks flowing in high-school hallways. Eddie couldn’t get them out of his head, and it just brought about a new series of question.

How can a loving God send anyone in Hell? How can someone be seen as ‘less than’ just because of the way they love?

Eddie didn’t like these questions. He didn’t like these questions and he liked the answers even less. And so he did the only thing that appeared to be the most sensible at that time. He started distancing himself from the religion, started skipping a few masses, a few Sundays, until his absence from his church became something more permanent, more constant.

Eddie left without looking back, practiced his faith privately, buried these questions somewhere far, far, in the back of his mind, and never really thought anything of it again.

That until he settled in Los Angeles. Until he met Buck.

And then the questions came back. They came back slowly, and then all at once.

1.

The first time it happens, it’s small. So small Eddie barely notices it.

They’re in the car. They both finished a 24 hours shift and Eddie is so tired it’s a chore just keeping his eyes open. His head rests gently on the window and his mouth slowly turns up at the edges when he realizes Buck’s been driving very gently and avoiding the holes on the road to make sure he can sleep on the way home.

He’s not sleeping though. He can’t. There are so many things he still needs to do, doing the laundry, helping Christopher with his homework, tidying the living-room that is slowly becoming a battlefield filled with Legos bricks, books about space (Christopher’s new obsession) and cars. He needs to take care of everything. He needs to take care of everything before his parents come and visit this week-end.

This was supposed to be a surprise visit – they said. We want to see our grandson . And Eddie understands. He understands his parents’ need to see his son. He understands their obsession in trying to help him. He knows it comes from a place of kindness and generosity but he can barely keep it together on a good day, he doesn’t even want to know how he would have reacted if his parents had decided to show up unannounced.

And that’s why he can’t sleep. That’s why he can’t sleep and needs to be sure that everything is taken care of before his parents show up. The last thing he wants is to give them more reasons to complain about his lifestyle and continue to think that Christopher will be better off without him.

Eddie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, glancing towards Buck. His eyes fall on his best-friend’s arms and that’s when it happens. Just like that. There’s no warning, no sign, and it hits him like a tons of bricks.

He wants to hold his hand.

He wants to hold Buck’s hand.

He wants to intertwine their fingers together and rest them on his thigh.

He wants to hold it so bad it makes his own hand itchy.

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Because that would be weird, right? That would be crossing a line. We’re just friends – he thinks. And just friends don’t do that. Sure, they hug each other, sometimes. They hug each other, they laugh together and they’re here when the other needs it but they don’t hold hands. They don’t hold hands.

“You doing okay, Eds?” Buck says and his voice is so soft Eddie almost hates him for it. Because his chest suddenly fills with warmth and Eddie doesn’t understand where it comes from. He doesn’t understand where it comes from and that scares him. And so he doesn’t mention it and pretends it never happened.

“Yeah.” He says, but his face betrays him. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just lots of stuff to think about. With-”

“With your parents.” Buck finishes with a knowing smile and Eddie can’t stop himself from smiling back at him. Because it’s his best-friend, right there. His best-friend who always knows what’s going on inside his head, his best-friend who sometimes even understands him better than he understands himself.

Eddie nods and suddenly Buck parks his car next to his house. He wants to move but his body feels like cement. Every single one of his muscles is as heavy as lead and he barely has time to register they’ve made it home that Buck is already opening the passenger’s door, unfastening his seat-belt and guiding him towards the house.

It’s quiet. Christopher is not home yet. He’s still at school and Carla is taking him home today. Eddie takes off his shoes and throws them away, sighing at the mess around him. He’s about to lean down to start picking toys but then he can feel Buck’s hand on his waist and his whole body freezes. And he doesn’t know if it’s something that Buck always does, he doesn’t know if it’s something that is completely normal in their relationship and that he’s only freaking out since his weird awakening in the car, but the thing is that he still freezes. His entire body tenses.

Not because he doesn’t like it. Quite the contrary. The only thing he really wants is to lean in on the touch and feel his best-friend’s strong arms around his back.

“Hey, none of that.” Buck says gently. “Go to bed. Take a nap. I’ll tidy everything, do the laundry and prepare something to eat for you guys.”

“Buck, you’re tired too, I can’t ask you to do that.” Eddie disagrees but his body is already swaying. Fortunately for him, Buck is here to catch him and one second later, Eddie’s chin is resting on his shoulder, unable to stop himself from breathing in the scent of what he guesses is smoke and Buck’s aftershave.

“You’re not asking.” Buck answers. “I offered. I’ll be gone when you wake up.”

“You can stay.” Eddie remarks. “Christopher’ll be thrilled.”

“Is he the only one who’ll be thrilled?” Buck asks, and Eddie can hear the hesitation in his voice. “If I stay, I mean.”

“I’m always happy when you stay.” Eddie admits, too tired to even register the words coming out of his mouth.

“Alright. Then I'll stay.”

2.

The second time it happens, Eddie’s in denial.

He’s sitting on the couch, Buck by his side. It’s been a long, hard shift and they’re all trying to make the best of the few restful minutes they have. The alarm hasn’t rung out again yet and Eddie is silently praying that it won’t until he can get home to Christopher.

Eddie tries to hold back a yawn as he sweeps the room with his eyes. Chimney is slumped on the sofa, his phone in his right hand and a small smile on his face. There’s only one person who can make him smile that way. Maddie.

Hen is also seated, but at the table. There is a book placed in front of her but from the way her eyes keep checking at her watch, Eddie knows he’s not the only one hoping for a calm, uneventful end of shift. Bobby is nowhere to be seen but the door to his office is ajar, meaning he’s most certainly inside and taking care of the boring, administrative part of the job.

And then, there’s Buck. Buck, strangely focused on a book about space Christopher recommended to him a week before. His arm is wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie would be lying if he said the way Buck’s fingers absentmindedly trace small patterns on his chest isn’t comforting. It is, and Eddie almost wishes he’d never stop.

I don’t want him to stop – he thinks. And here it is again. That feeling. That weird, gut-wrenching sensation. He doesn’t understand it. And he’s not sure he even wants to.

Because he knows, deep down. He knows that the reason why he always feels so safe and comfortable whenever Buck is around isn’t so far-fetched and out of reach. It’s a pretty obvious reason, really. It’s simple. Easy. But Eddie’s not quite sure he’s ready to face all the consequences and the intimate and personal soul-searching questions that come along with it.

And so he stays silent and says nothing, still hoping that if he denies it for a considerable amount of time then that feeling will just go away on its own.

But then, Buck slowly extricates himself from his embrace and Eddie straight-up whines at the loss of physical contact and suddenly there’s nothing more he wants but for the ground to swallow him whole.

But Buck doesn’t judge him, oh no. And that may be the worst part. The way his best-friend always seems to be gentle, cautious, soft when it comes to Eddie. This time isn’t any different. A small smile slowly creeps on his face and Buck turns his head around, presses a small kiss on his hair, his right hand on his chest.

“Be right back, Eds.” He says, and takes a few steps towards the stairs.

Eddie sighs and only realizes his eyes are closed when he hears the small snort coming from Chimney. He opens them again and finds his friend watching him with a knowing expression on his face.

“So have you told him, yet?” Chimney asks. His tone is teasing and Eddie frowns.

“Told him what?” Eddie inquiries, his voice fragile. He doesn’t want to go there. Not yet. Not here.

“You do know he’s only waiting for you to acknowledge what’s already there, right?” His co-worker asks and that’s all it takes for Eddie’s breathing to become ragged, erratic.

Suddenly, the room is smaller. The room is smaller and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s going to suffocate if he stays here any longer.

“Hey, wah Eddie I was- I was kidding. I just thought that with the way you were acting, maybe you’d-”

“Chim.” Hen warns him and takes a few careful steps towards Eddie.

“Eddie-”

“I can’t do this.” Eddie cuts in. “I can’t do this, right now. I’m sorry.” He says, and goes down the stairs as fast as he can.

Once outside, he starts crying.

3.

The third time it happens, it’s more earth-shattering for Eddie.

He’s in the locker-room. He just came out of the shower and he's slowly getting dressed, satisfied when the comforting fabric of his civilian clothes touch his skin. It’s always been therapeutic for him, slipping on his clothes after a long day at work. There’s nothing quite like it. It feels like coming back home. He can finally let go of all the things he’s seen during his shift and focus on the other parts of his life. His son. His friends. His hobbies.

He loves his job, wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. But god only knows how much he needs the breaks sometimes.

He’s putting on his jumper and is about to do the same with his shoes but that’s when he sees him. Buck. His friend seemingly only got out from the shower and he’s walking towards him with only a towel covering his waist.

And Eddie should be fine. He should be fine. He’s seen his friend naked a thousand times before and it’s no news to him that Buck is good-looking but this time is different. This time, Eddie’s all hot and bothered and finds himself daydreaming about pining his best-friend to the locker and kissing straight on the mouth.

“Enjoying the view?” Buck teases him, and Eddie wants to huff out a laugh. He wants to tease him back like he always does but he’s incapable of pronouncing the slightest words. How can he? How can he while the part of himself he’s been trying so hard to conceal all those years threaten to burst out of him and expose his heart to the rest of the world? He can’t.

“I need to go.” He says. Because right now, the easy way out is to flee. Again.

“Eds, I was only kid-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Buck.” He cuts in, rushing to put on his shoes and take his bag. He slams the door of his locker and locks himself in his car, driving until he’s back home, safe.

4.

The fourth time it happens, it’s during a conversation Eddie has with Hen.

It was supposed to be a simple conversation. They were both seated at Bobby and Athena’s table, exchanging small talks and jokes in-between.

The 118 all decided to gather together to celebrate Chimney’s birthday and everything was going great. Everything was going great. Hen was telling him all about Denny’s experience in eighth grade and how this one was thrilled at the idea of seeing Christopher again tonight. Everything was going great, that’s why Eddie doesn’t understand why he finds himself blurting out these next few words.

“When did you realize you were into girls?” Eddie asks, and instantly regrets saying them. But it’s too late, now. They’re out in the open and he can’t take them back. And from the way Hen looks at him with a soft expression, she’s just happy he’s finally brave enough to open up.

“I’ve never really had a grand awakening like you can see in movies or series.” Hen says. “I guess it was just – always there. In a way. When I grew up, I could see that while all my friends were talking about boys, my attention was just more focused on girls.” She adds, keeping her voice low. She knows how important and new that talk is to Eddie, and she wants to create a safe space, a safe place where Eddie is free to voice all his fears, all his worries.

And Eddie’s grateful. He’s just not so sure if he’s ready to move forward with that conversation, nor if Bobby and Athena’s house is the most suited place to do that.

“Why do you ask?” She eventually asks, giving him the choice to retract or to dig in a bit deeper.

“I just-” Eddie starts but the words get stuck in his throat once again. “I-” He tries again, and fails a second time. He bites his lower lip and closes his eyes fiercely for a few seconds, trying to muster enough courage. In vain.

In the end, he realizes he doesn’t need to say anything. His eyes do it for him. They fall on Buck who’s seated on the ground with Christopher and Denny, seemingly very engrossed in whatever game they’re playing. It’s sweet – Eddie decides. His best-friend has always been so good and comfortable around kids and Eddie still remembers him saying that he probably would have ended up being a teacher if it wasn’t for his vocation as a firefighter.

Buck seems to feel his gaze on him because the next second, this one looks up and offers him one of these smiles. One of these soft smiles that makes Eddie feel all warm and at peace. He wishes it could stop. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t and against his better judgment Eddie finds himself smiling when his best-friend mouths “ you okay? ” in his direction. He nods, and lowers his eyes down.

“Eddie.” Hen starts, her tone carefully controlled. “I’m pretty sure he’d be ready to wait a lifetime if you’d ask him to.”

And it’s supposed to be comforting words, Eddie knows that, but it only fills him with even more unease and anxiety.

How much time does he still need? How much time until he realizes there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way?

Having the possibility to ask him such a huge thing doesn’t mean he should.

5.

The fifth time it happens, it’s Eddie’s fault.

They’re in his kitchen. Christopher is away having a sleepover at one of his friend’s and they have the house to themselves.

Eddie is slowly stirring his Abuela’s chicken soup while Buck is seated on the counter, teasing him and guiding him through the recipe with that bossy tone of his.

And Eddie? Well Eddie is done for.

“Are you planning on helping me or not?” Eddie asks, rolling his eyes at his friend when Buck leans over to make sure Eddie is following the recipe to the letter.

“Nop.” He smiles. “I quite like seeing you all flustered.” He adds, and there’s an implicit meaning behind his words that makes Eddie’s heart flutter. And he doesn’t understand what pushes him to say what he answers next. Maybe it’s the way Buck looks at him. Maybe it’s the accumulated unresolved tension that seems to linger in the atmosphere whenever they’re together. Maybe it’s just another one of his boosts of confidence.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie dares saying after a few seconds, raising his eyebrows in a suggested manner. Buck seems surprised. He opens his eyes wide but then a soft smile stretches his lips and his face softens. Eddie knows what it all means. He’s been friends with him for three years and he has quickly become an expert when it comes to Buck’s silent communication.

It’s an invitation. An invitation to finally acknowledge the elephant in the room and to take their relationship to the next level. And Eddie’s not sure if he’s ready. He’s not sure if he’s ready but then Buck spreads his legs a bit more apart than they were a few seconds ago and Eddie’s common sense goes up in smoke. He surges forward and slips in-between Buck’s legs to crash their lips together.

It’s not gentle. It’s heated and it’s desperate and it’s filled with a sense of urgency. And Buck doesn’t waste any second to kiss him back with just as much vigor. He cups Eddie’s cheeks with his hands and brings him closer, biting his lower lip to demand access to his mouth, which the other man just accepts. Their tongues fight for dominance for a while, a battle that each of them are more than happy to participate in. Buck hums slightly against his mouth and Eddie is pretty sure it’s just another one of his very vivid dreams.

Except that it’s not. It’s very real and Eddie’s hands are everywhere. On Buck’s shoulders, on his neck, on his hair, on his waist. It’s everywhere and Eddie suddenly struggles to breathe. He’s breathless and panting and the next thing he knows, tears are rolling down his cheeks. They’re still kissing but it doesn’t take Buck more than a minute to realize he’s crying. He cradles his chin gently and breaks the kiss, wiping his tears with his thumbs.

“Hey.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie starts. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know.” Buck only answers, and it’s like his eyes are piercing through his very soul. “I know.” He repeats, sealing their lips in another kiss. This time, it’s gentler, softer, and if Eddie’s right hand slips underneath Buck’s shirt and wraps itself around his waist, well then nobody needs to know about it, only Buck. Only Buck, who smiles and just throws his shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor.

Buck is still seated on the kitchen counter and when their lips connect again, Eddie places his hands on Buck’s thighs, moaning against his lips when his friend runs his hands through his hair, pulling down at his locks.

And this would have been fine. This would have been fine if Buck hadn’t moved his arms from his hair to his waist, bringing them closer until their crotches touch. Because then Eddie is suddenly hit with the realization of what they’re currently doing. He’s kissing his best-friend. He’s making out with his best-friend and he’s obviously undeniably turned on. His body jumps with surprise and as if electrocuted by his touch, Buck’s hands suddenly disappear from his body, giving him space.

Eddie takes a step back as if struck by lightning, watching his best-friend with his mouth agape. Buck is staring at him, too. His hair disheveled, his cheeks red and his lips swollen. Eddie doubts he’s in a much better state and the panic is suddenly boiling in his chest. It’s not a light stressed feeling he often has when he’s on a call, oh no. It’s a full blown panic attack that makes his heart’s beat go faster until it’s the only thing he can feel, a deep and earth-shattering anxiety that makes him feel dizzy.

“I need to go.” He blurts out.

“Eddie, wait.” Buck says, catching his wrist with his hand. “You don’t need to go. We can talk about it. Whatever you need.”

“I-” Eddie starts but his eyes start watering again. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I need to go.” He repeats, rushing outside.

There, he walks. He walks, ignoring the way Buck is still calling out his name from the porch. He walks and walks and walks, and ignores how the rain pounds harsh against him, soaking him to the bones. He walks until his steps lead him to Bobby’s house. It’s quiet. The house is silent but there’s still a light on in the living-room and that’s what pushes Eddie to knock on the door a few times. His gestures are slow and weak and for a moment, Eddie wonders if someone heard him but then the door is being pushed open and Bobby’s there, watching him, his eyes filled with confusion, and worry.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” He asks. “Everything okay?”

+1

“I- I kissed Buck.” He blurts out.

A flash of understanding crosses his Captain’s eyes and he moves to the side to invite him in. Eddie takes a few steps inside and ignores the way Athena looks at him with compassion before disappearing in their bedroom. Because he doesn’t want compassion. He doesn’t want pity. He wants to understand. He wants to understand what’s going on inside his own head.

“Does he know you’re here?” Bobby asks. “Buck. Does he know you’re here?”

Eddie shakes his head, watching Bobby sighs as he takes his cellphone from his back pocket, most likely to send a quick text to Buck and puts an end to his endless anxious thoughts.

Athena comes back from the room with a fresh towel and a pair of sweatpants and an old jumper, probably belonging to Bobby. Eddie thanks her silently and locks himself in the bathroom, discarding his clothes in the laundry basket. He sighs and dries his body as much as he can before getting dressed with his captain’s clothes. He comes back in the living-room and rubs his wet hair with the towel.

“Sit down.” Bobby tells him, pointing at the chair. Eddie complies and looks down at his hands, his fingers twitching. He closes his eyes and bites his lower lip to hold back the sobs that threaten to rack his body any second.

“I kissed him, Cap.” He repeats, his voice weak, his eyes staring at Bobby, almost pleadingly. Pleading for what, he doesn’t know, but pleading all the same. “I kissed him, and then I- I freaked out. I freaked out and I left him there all alone and I just fled.”

“Why did you freak out?” Bobby asks, his eyes filled with understanding.

“I don’t know!” Eddie exclaims, huffing out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know, I-”

“Is it something he did that made you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Eddie instantly answers. “No, he was- it’s Buck, Bobby, he just- as soon as he saw I was starting to freak out, he just stopped. And I started it. I kissed him. Hell I wanted to kiss him.”

“Were you scared?” Athena intervenes. “Because it’s okay if you were, Eddie." She adds, and then speaks again, more carefully: "This is- This is new to you, right?”

“No. I mean yes.” He says, closing his eyes fiercely for a few seconds. “It was just… I’m not new to the kissing game obviously, even if it was only with… Only with girls. Why would a guy be any different, though?” He asks, mostly to himself. “I don’t understand why I’m so- Am I being homophobic?” He opens his eyes wide, panic clearly shown on his face. “Oh my god, I am, aren’t I? But I don’t-”

“Eddie.” Bobby cuts in. “You’re not being homophobic. Or maybe you are. But not in the sense you’re thinking of.”

“How many senses are there in being homophobic, Bobby? Either you are or you’re not, this is ridiculous.” Eddie snaps. Bobby marks a pause, looks at Athena for a few seconds and speaks again when she nods.

“Eddie, have you ever felt any different around Hen?” He asks, and Eddie shakes his head. “Did you ever view her any differently just because she’s attracted to girls or because she’s married to a woman?”

“No, of course not.” Eddie instantly answers.

“And what about you?” Athena asks.

“What about me?” Eddie repeats, confused.

“Have you ever viewed yourself differently because you’re attracted to Buck? Because you’re attracted to a man?” Athena adds, and Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.

For a few seconds, a deep silence settles in the room. “I- I guess.” He admits. “Yes.” He adds, more confidently. “I just- The way I was raised, it- it was very traditional. It’s always been that way and it- it doesn’t let you much of a choice.” He explains. “My parents, they- they weren’t homophobic. I mean, I don’t think they were. Not outwardly, at least. Not on purpose. But- there just never was any option for me. I was- I was just supposed to be straight. Everything else, it- it didn’t matter. It didn’t exist. Not really.”

“Eddie, you probably internalized a lot of homophobia throughout the years. Even without knowing.” Bobby says carefully. “It only makes sense that it’s so hard for you to accept the fact that you like another man. That you like Buck.”

“I don’t like him.” Eddie shakes his head. “I- I'm pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

Athena smiles. “This boy makes it hard not to fall in love with him.” She adds, and Eddie huffs out a laugh, wiping the tears with the sleeve of his jumper. Bobby’s jumper.

“Right?” Eddie nods knowingly. “He’s bloody annoying, though. And stubborn as hell. And god, sometimes he really can be a pain in the ass but it’s-”

“It’s Buck.” Bobby finishes for him, smiling.

“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “It’s Buck.” He adds. “God, I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Nah.” His Captain only says. “I think you’re okay. I mean from the…” He says, taking his cellphone in his hands. “15? No. 16 messages I just received from him, I’m pretty confident in saying that you’re already forgiven. He just worries about you.”

“Of course he does.” Eddie complains, lowering his eyes. “As I said. Bloody annoying.” He repeats, quieter, and this earns him a few laughter from Athena and Bobby.

“You want to be with him, right?” Athena asks, and Eddie’s pretty sure that’s the easiest question he’s been asked in his entire life.

“Yeah.” He answers. “Yeah, of course I want to be with him.” He admits. “I’m just scared. Anxious. Embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“I’m a grown man, Athena. I’m a grown ass man and I- I'm pretty sure I’ve always known, deep down, that I was- that I was gay. Or at least I think that I knew. I was just trying to convince myself that I wasn’t. And I- God I almost did it. I almost did it. And I- Besides that, I’m just bad at- I’m bad at this relationship thing, man. I’m not sure- I’m not sure it’s for me. Maybe it isn’t. And Buck, he- he just loves so freely, you know? So freely and so… So openly. How can I compete with that? He’s going to get sick of me. It’s just a matter of time.” Eddie goes on and whirls his head around when he hears Bobby snort.

“Eds, Buck’s like my kid and trust me when I say that he would never get sick of you even if you tried.” Bobby says. “Eddie, he loves you and Chris to the moon and back and nothing’s going to change that. You’re it for him.”

“The amount of times we had to sit through his rants about you guys.” Athena rolls her eyes. “It’s actually quite sickening. How much he holds the both of you dear to his heart.”

Eddie runs one of his hands through his hair. There’s only one thing left to do. He stands up and is about to reach for his cellphone when he realizes he’s left it on the kitchen table. He bites his lower lip and sighs at the idea of Buck pacing back and forth in his living-room, worried sick about him.

“I should probably go back there, right?” Eddie asks, and there’s a few knocks on the door at the same time.

“Pretty sure he beat you to it.” Bobby remarks and he doesn’t need to walk towards the front door that this one is already wide open and Buck comes rushing in the living-room, his eyes wide, until he catches Eddie’s gaze and only then his entire face softens.

His eyes shuttle back and forth as if performing an internal scan of Eddie’s face, making sure he’s not hurt, making sure he’s safe. Eddie smiles softly at him and he nods.

“I’m okay.” He says.

“Thank god.” Buck breathes, crossing the few feet separating them with a quick step to engulf him into a bone crushing hug. He lets his hand run through his hair a few times and Eddie closes his eyes, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Sorry I ran away from you like that, I- I freaked out.” He admits and only smiles when Buck presses his lips against his hair.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” He says, his teasing mode switched to standby mode. And that’s another thing Eddie loves about him. Buck always knows perfectly well how to act around him, when to push him, when to tease him and more importantly when to stop. This is one of those moments and Buck is aware of it. There’s not the slightest tease in his tone, not the slightest hint of amusement, only comfort.

Bobby and Athena are both gone and Eddie is grateful for the privacy they both decided to give them.

“So you’re good, yeah?” Buck asks.

“Yeah.” Eddie answers. “Yeah. All good.” He adds, smiling when Buck’s hands cup his cheeks once again, pecking him on the lips.

“What’s going on then? How can I help?” Buck instantly asks, his brows furrowed with concern.

“Well as stupid as it sounds, I just freaked out because- because of the ‘guy’ thing.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m your gay awakening?” Buck says, and his teasing mode is back on, which only makes Eddie laugh, rolling his eyes at him.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.” Eddie smiles.

“Well, it’s not stupid.” Buck adds softly. “Far from it.” He insists. “If you need time to figure it out, I’m more than happy to give it to you. Otherwise, we can just go as slow or as fast as you want. You pick the pace. I’ll be right next to you, either way. Okay?” Buck asks.

“Okay.” Eddie answers, tracing Buck’s birthmark with his thumb.

“What do you wanna do, right now?”

“Home.” Eddie instantly says. “I wanna go back home.”

“Alright, then.” Buck smiles. “Home it is, then."

Home it is, then.

[daveyjacobss]

something utterly divine

racetrack higgins x reader

summary: it’s safe to say that when y/n l/n volunteered to help the nuns she certainly wasn’t expecting this outcome. (or, in which racetrack higgins and y/n l/n find something utterly divine amongst the dirty, broken down streets of new york city)

a/n: uhhhh hi i know i haven’t posted any fics in like a year but please take this 11k word long fic as my heartfelt apology, i guess? i really hope you guys like it!! and, as always, please feel free to come tell me what you thought of it :)

masterlist

__________

New York city broke Y/N’s heart. Every day she would walk by kids out on the street, unnaturally thin with sunken in eyes that made them resemble a corpse more than a child — and the kind of dirty that would take at least three baths to wash away. The wealthy strut the streets with their noses upturned and their heads held high, refusing to look at the kids they considered vermin. Y/N never wanted any of them to think she was like that, but she could hardly bear to look at them half the time without tearing up or feeling a sudden rush of sickness.

Her family wasn’t wealthy enough to just be handing out money in order to help those in need, but she was desperate to help in any way she could. That was why she had approached the nuns in the first place, she knew that they aided in providing food — and sometimes even shelter — for the kids of New York and had wanted to offer her own services. She had been received kindly by the nuns and they praised her for her initiative, making her bashful. Though she was eager to help, she was remarkably shy around the nuns when she started out (partly because more than a few of them seemed to think that her helping them meant she had intentions to become a nun herself, which was far from the truth). Over time, though, the older women managed to bring her out of her shell and she grew more and more comfortable around them. She was only a messenger when she started out, really, passing notes between churches and reminders between nuns rather than doing any real hands on work (despite her insistence that she was perfectly capable). For some reason she could not for the life of her discern, the nuns never let her join them on their outings where they actually interacted with the people of the city. She grumbled about it often, and though they indulged her complaining their responses were only ever lines about keeping her out of harm's way and looks exchanged between each other that Y/N didn’t know how to decipher.

It was an early morning in March when she was asked to take a message to one of her favorite nuns, Mary, as quickly as possible at her post on one the wagons that they took out each day to distribute food to the children of the streets. Despite the fog that was hanging over the city, draining it of all its color, and the cold breeze that danced it’s way into her skirt, her heart could not be held down as it bounced around her chest in nervousness. She’d never been given the chance to truly see the nuns at work with any of the people they helped, and even though she wouldn’t be playing much of a role in that part, she would finally be at the scene. 

It didn’t take much time to find the location of the wagon, the crowd of kids that surrounded it making it easy to spot even from a few blocks away. When she was given the message to deliver she hadn’t been told who exactly Sister Mary was handing out food to that day, but as she drew nearer it was clear that the crowd was made up primarily of newsies. She felt the nerves buzzing around in her body amp up in volume as she made her way around the crowd. Yes, she wanted to help and yes, she was getting better at not flinching away from street kids because of how her heart clenched at the sight of them, but a large crowd made up of mostly boys (some around her age and some even older) would always intimidate her no matter who was in it.

Skirting around the edge of the crowd, she reached the wagon easily. Mary, luckily, was standing on the ground beside it handing some bread to a young boy whose face was smeared with dirt. Y/N smiled kindly at him as she approached and he nodded in her direction with a maturity that was far beyond his years.

“They’re finally letting you out into the world, are they?” Sister Mary asked, grinning widely as Y/N walked up. She laughed slightly, coming to stand next to the nun and look out over the crowd.

“Only to come give you a message.” Mary pouted sympathetically at her.

“One day they’ll let you actually join us out here, don’t you worry about that. You’ve got at least one of us on your side.” She winked and Y/N laughed again. Sister Mary had always been one of her favorites because she was remarkably more lighthearted than most of her sisters, always ready to crack a joke. That, and she had taken Y/N under her wing immediately after meeting her.

“You know I always appreciate you standing up for me.” She kept the light tone in her voice, but there was genuine gratefulness in her eyes and Mary reached over to squeeze her hand.

“Now, what was that message you had for me?” 

Y/N relayed the message that Sister Anna had given her, taking care to make sure she got each and every detail right. Mary nodded along in concentration as she listened, going to speak quickly with one of the other nuns present after Y/N had finished. Waiting for her to come back, Y/N took the time to gaze out into the crowd, letting her eyes glide over the faces of all the boys and girls who came for a quick bite that would most likely have to last them the whole day. 

Her gaze was instantly drawn to a few boys near the front, louder than those around them as they talked and joked around with each other. One of them was wearing glasses perched atop his nose, and he was poking fun at one of the others with him, a boy sporting dirtied red hair underneath his cap, about him smelling bad. He was making a show of it, using his fingers to pinch to his nose and his other hand to wave away the air in front of him. A few of the other kids with him laughed at the antics and Y/N found herself letting out a quiet chuckle under her breath. The redhead rolled his eyes and responded in kind with a quip about his friend’s snoring, and Y/N smiled at how comfortable and playful they all seemed to be with each other.

It wasn’t until another boy with them started talking that she felt the air leave her lungs. She didn’t even really register what he was saying, only moved her gaze to find the source of the voice and froze upon seeing him. He looked to be about her age with unruly blonde curls peeking out from under his hat and an unlit cigar hanging out of his mouth. He was saying something that made all of the boys around him roar with laughter, lips moving around his cigar, but she couldn’t hear him — not with her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her eyes followed his every movement. There was no other way to put it: he was breathtakingly beautiful. He was the kind of boy she imagined heroines in her mother’s romance novels she sometimes read fell in love with at first sight, the kind of beautiful that could turn a sensible girl with no prior interest in romance into a bumbling mess.

“Oh dear,” she heard Mary whisper from beside her, startling her out of the trance the beautiful blonde boy had put her in. Mary’s eyes were trained on her with an eyebrow raised and a small, knowing smile on her face. 

“Were you...” Y/N started, having to pause to take a breath. “Were you saying something?”

“No darling, only thinking something,” Mary reassured her, patting her arm gently. “If I’m not mistaken, I think you’ve fallen victim to one of the main reasons my sisters never wanted to bring you to one of these outings.” Y/N felt her face warm at Sister Mary’s words, hands grabbing at her skirt simply so she would have something to do with them.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” she said, but even as her voice came out she could hear how breathless and high pitched she sounded. Mary practically snorted, moving so that she was facing the newsies instead of Y/N.

“So, which one was it?” She asked. Y/N sighed, knowing that there was no point in denying it. As subtly as she could, she pointed toward the boy that had caught her attention.

“That one there, with the blonde hair.”

Mary gave a surprised huff of laughter, her eyes turning toward the heavens. Y/N swore she could see her lips moving slightly, uttering a silent prayer. 

“Oh my darling Y/N,” she said in a breathy, amused tone. “What on earth are we going to do with you?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion, furrowing her eyebrows at Sister Mary. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, her grip on her skirt tightening out of anxiety. “It’s only a silly bout of infatuation, nothing that needs to be prayed over.” By then, the crowd was beginning to disperse as the newsies headed out for a day of selling. The other two nuns that had been with Mary were packing up all of their things and prepping the wagon to return to the church. Mary took a look around, glancing specifically at her sisters, before she answered.

“The boy in questions is a bit of a flirt,” she explained with a teasing smile on her face. “And he’s certainly one of the more, shall we say, rowdy newsies. I’ve no problem with you fancying him a bit, of course, but the others would have a fit. Especially if you decided to pursue the infatuation.” Y/N felt heat rush to her face as her eyes widened.

“Oh! No, I wouldn’t pursue it, of course.” Her words came out quickly, all running into one another. The look on Mary’s face made it clear just how much faith she had in Y/N’s reassurance. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’d be much too shy to ever approach him.” She swatted Mary’s arm and the nun laughed again. She began to walk back toward the wagon, talking over her shoulder as she did.

“Of course you wouldn’t, dear. Just make sure you keep any fantasies and fascinations to yourself.” She winked one last time before her sisters helped her back into the wagon and they headed in the direction of the church. Y/N waved goodbye at them, all the while feeling the embarrassment at Sister Mary’s words curling up and knotting itself in her stomach.

On her way back home she stopped at the market to buy some food on her mother’s shopping list and, after second guessing herself, to buy a newspaper from a newsie situated near her house with a crutch under his arm and a warm smile on his face. The entire time she managed to keep her thoughts in check, and the blonde newsboy barely occurred to her for the rest of the day. It was only when she was lying in bed that night that she thought of him again, picturing the curve of his smile and wondering if she would ever get to see him up close so that she could find out the color of his eyes. She fantasized a storyline worthy of one of her mother’s books where they met in secret in the dead of night, and he came to her window like Romeo calling up to his Juliet. 

But when she woke in the morning the fantasies were but distant memories, and she had much too busy a day to spend time dwelling on a boy she didn’t know. The blonde newsie was gone from her head.

It was only a week later that Sister Mary informed her with a sly smile that she had finally convinced the other nuns to let Y/N accompany her and Sister Margaret on the wagon the next morning. Y/N was alight with excitement and anxiety for the entire day after hearing the news, buzzing with energy. She was finally getting to do what she had always intended when she first volunteered herself to help the nuns. 

She hadn’t thought about the blonde newsie for days, but as she struggled to sleep in the flurry of all of her jitters she wondered if she might catch a glimpse of him again.

__________

Racetrack Higgins was not particularly known for his manners. He was loud and boisterous and he preferred a good laugh to tame, pleasant conversation. It wasn’t like he ever had much of a choice in the matter, kids on the street had to toughen up and learn how to fend for themselves — and for those like Race that happened in the form of quick jokes and mindless flirting to keep things from getting too serious. He was always there to cheer up his friends, and always ready to throw out a compliment and a wink to the pretty girls that bought his papes. “Serious” was barely a word in his vocabulary, and everyone who knew him knew it.

That chilly March morning was no different from any other day. Race was weaving his way through the crowd of newsies as they all headed to the wagons, ripples of laughter following him as the boys realized why exactly he was running. Mush’s hat was clenched in his hand and Mush wasn’t too far behind him, shouting in annoyance at Race to give him his hat back. As he flew past Albert he heard his friend let out a hoot and a laugh, cheering him on. Race smiled. The feeling of the brisk morning air hitting his face as he ran, his brothers’ laughter surrounding him with every step, the promise of food and a good headline on the horizon — this was the feeling he lived for, the kind of thing that made the hungry days and the cold nights bearable. He never felt more free than when he was messing around with the other newsies, and he basked in his ability to elicit their laughter. If he had nothing else — no money, no food, no place to sleep — he would always have the newsies and their laughter. And that made it all worthwhile.

He slowed to a stop closer to the wagon, laughing around his cigar as he panted from the exhilaration. Mush caught up to him quickly once he stopped running, snatching his hat from Race’s hands and flicking him in the back of the head. The action only made Race laugh again, throwing an arm around Mush’s shoulders and leading them both toward the wagon where the nuns were already beginning to hand out food to the newsies who had made their way to the front of the crowd.

“Well,  ‘m definitely more awake now than I was ten minutes ago,” Mush grumbled. A huff of laughter came from behind them, and Race turned to see Jack and Crutchie walking up to them.

“Can’t help yourself, can ya Racer?” Jack asked with a broad grin. Race smiled back, raising his arms in a mock shrug.

“What can I say?  ‘S in my nature.” 

“Here I was thinkin’ we called you Racetrack because of all the bettin’,” Crutchie chimed in. “And this whole time it’s ‘cause you run faster than any of the horses.” Race and Mush both laughed loudly at that while Jack shook his head at them all with a quiet chuckle. As they kept walking to the wagon Albert and Specs caught up with them, debating about what the day’s headline would be. They were mere feet away when Race finally looked up at the nuns who were handing out the food that day.

The world seemed to slow down around him. Running through the crowd of newsies had been a rush, and it had felt as if the world had been spinning around him, but all at once it seemed to stop turning altogether. Whoever she was, she wasn’t a nun. She wasn’t dressed like them, and she looked closer to Race’s age than theirs. Mush was saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. Her hair was pinned to keep it out of her face, and her smile was kind as she handed Buttons his food.

Someone gave him a small push from behind, and as he stumbled the world returned to its normal state. The push seemed to have shocked him out of whatever spell she had put him under, but now that everything was moving at a normal speed he was achingly aware of how he was only seconds away from being right in front of her. Quickly, he scrambled to straighten his hat on his head and brush his curls out of his face, plucking his cigar from his mouth and tucking it into his pocket. He could feel the boys looking at him strangely but he ignored them in favor of roughly wiping at his face in hopes of getting rid of any dirt. He gulped as he took the last step between them, looking up at her where she was perched on the wagon.

She wasn’t looking at him, turned around to grab some of the food they had stashed in there. When she did finally turn to face him, bread in hand, he could feel it happening again — the world moving around him in slow motion. She seemed to startle at the sight of him but he couldn’t guess at why. She had been serving newsboys all morning, what made him worth startling over? (He had an answer in mind, but it felt all too conceited to consider it fact.) He could feel himself beginning to smile at her, his lips moved by a force beyond his will. She turned her face away from him in a quick, jerky motion as he did, and he could feel his heart start to fall in his chest, disappointment setting in. She held out the bread without looking at him, and when he reached up to take it his hand brushed against hers.

Once, when Race had gone to swat Albert’s hand away from his cigar, he had felt a small shock between them. Davey had said it was called static electricity, and though he had tried to explain it further Race hadn’t understood a word he’d said. His hand brushing against the girl’s felt like that small shock of static electricity a million times over. It sent a buzzing, tingling feeling through his veins, spreading from the point his skin had met hers. A part of him wanted to grab at her hand, to hold it in his and ask if she felt the sparks mingling between their fingertips. But the touch only lasted for a second before she was pulling her hand back and he was stepping away with bread in hand. The buzzing, however, lingered. He felt like what Crutchie had said was actually true, that if he was out there on the tracks he could outrun any horse. He wasn’t sure his heart rate had ever been faster.

The world, which had not only slowed but had evidently disappeared around him, gradually came back into focus. The boys were joining him where he stood off to the side, savoring the food they’d been given. Specs looked at him with an all too knowing smile.

“So, what was that about?” He asked, his head tilting back to gesture toward the wagon where the girl still stood, continuing to distribute food to the remaining newsies. The rest of his friends asked similar questions, prodding at him teasingly, but he still felt a little too much like he’d had the wind knocked out of him to even try to answer.

“Looks like Racer’s got a lil’ crush,” Jack laughed, playfully hitting Race’s arm.

“Too bad she didn’t seem all that interested,” Mush snorted, definitely taking too much joy in the girls lack of reciprocation (though Race supposed that was fair since he had stolen his hat only 15 or so minutes before). 

When Race could finally gather himself enough to speak, he said: “She’s just a pretty face, ‘s all. Nothing to get anybody’s panties in a twist about.” The boys laughed, like they always did. And they all went about their day, selling their papers and retiring to the lodge in the evening. 

But the buzzing feeling persisted. All day he felt as if his fingers where he had touched her were disconnected from his body. He kept quiet about it, continuing on with his jokes like the morning interaction had been nothing but a footnote in his day. But for the first time, he wished no one was laughing.

________

Y/N had felt like she couldn’t breathe for practically two days straight. All she saw when she closed her eyes was that blonde newsboy and his brilliant blue eyes (because she’d been close enough to see his eyes that time, and they were gorgeous) as he started to smile

up at her. And every time she thought she could put it behind her she remembered the soft brush of his fingertips against hers as she handed him his food. She’d been too embarrassed to look him in the eye, but in the split seconds that they had touched, her heart in her throat, her own hand had memorized the feeling of his fingers — and now it felt like his fingerprints were burned into her skin. She could have gone blind, but she would have known him by the touch of his fingertips against hers.

She dreamt of him two nights in a row, of his half smile and his bright blue eyes alight with laughter. She’d never felt anything like it before, any other infatuations she had endured had come and gone rather quickly and rarely found their way into her dreams. Swallowing down her pride and embarrassment, she figured that was reason enough to approach Mary and ask about the blonde newsboy that seemed to have sunken his fingers into her heart without any chance for her to stop him.

It was easy to tell when she arrived at the monastery the next day that Sister Margaret,  who had been with her and Sister Mary that day, had spread the word of her small encounter with the newsboy. Mary must have pitched in with the storytelling, too, with the way some of the nuns were looking at Y/N. Her face began to feel warm and she sped up her pace, ducking her head to avoid any of their gazes. Some of them were disapproving, others teasing, and she didn’t know which was worse. One look, which she received from Sister Anna when she was just steps away from Mary’s quarters, was pitying, and it puzzled her.

When she finally entered Mary’s room she looked at Y/N like she knew exactly why she was there, and it made Y/N sigh in exasperation before plopping herself down on the nun’s bed with a frown.

“Will you just tell me his name?” She finally spoke after a bout of weighted silence, her voice soft even in the quiet between them. Mary chuckled, Y/N’s frown deepened.

“They call him Racetrack,” she began to explain. “Or just Race, and one time I heard someone call him Racer.”

“Is he a runner?” Y/N asked, turning her head to look at Mary with confusion in her features.

“Not to my knowledge, no. They call him that because of how much time he spends down by the racetracks, spending his money on the horses.” Y/N absorbed the new information, allowing it to settle in.

“So he’s a gambler.” Mary nodded in confirmation. “Is he a good one?” Mary laughed again.

“Now that one I don’t know the answer to, but...” She trailed off and from the way her tone switched Y/N could tell before she even began to speak again that she wasn’t going to like what came out of her mouth. “My sisters want to make sure that you know that this boy of yours,” — Y/N wanted to protest that he wasn’t hers, but she kept quiet — “he’s a bit of a wildcard, and definitely a flirt. He wouldn’t be the kind of gentleman you’re used to.”

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath. To be truthful, she’d already been expecting that. This boy would have led a very different life than her, and it wasn’t hard to tell from looking at him that he was very different from the boys she had encountered throughout her life. The gambling aspect was certainly new, but the more she considered it the less it seemed like that big of a deal. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and that, just maybe, him coming from such a different walk of life was part of the appeal — part of the thrill.

She ended up staying for dinner with the nuns, enduring countless comments on her supposed “relationship” with the newsboy. From the way some of them spoke about it she couldn’t tell whether they thought she was actually already seeing him or if they were aware she’d only encountered him twice and had never spoken a word to him. Sister Anna was unusually quiet until after dinner, when she pulled Y/N aside to give her an incredibly vague warning about not falling for any tricks the boy might try to pull on her. Though her heart protested, she listened carefully to Anna and made sure to repeat her words back to herself as she walked home. No matter how much her heart fluttered when she thought of him, she still didn’t know the newsboy at all and she certainly wasn’t planning to let him pull a fast one on her if she ever did see him again.

__________

One week later Mary asked Y/N to accompany her on an errand. She was delivering a message to a shop owner down near Brooklyn  and wanted company on her walk, Y/N being her apparent first choice. By then it was April and it was raining often, they had even had to delay the errand for a day in order to avoid a downpour that had lasted from sunrise to sunset. Y/N couldn’t help but think of the newsies whenever she saw that it was raining, finding herself hoping they were somewhere dry and warm and that the rain didn’t steal too many of their sales. She hadn’t gone with the nuns to help hand out food since that first time, so she hadn’t seen the blonde newsboy since then, but he remained in her mind.

The sun was shining for the first time in days as Mary and Y/N began their walk, laughing about a dreadful joke Sister June had tried to tell the day before with little luck. A little voice in the back of her mind wondered why Mary had brought Y/N with her rather than one of her sisters, but she wrote it off as Mary preferring company that wasn’t as stiff as many of the nuns tended to be. It was only while Mary was speaking with the shopkeeper they’d come to see that Y/N realized exactly why she’d been brought along.

Standing just a bit away from the store, which Y/N was waiting in front of, was the blonde newsboy. He was holding up his newspapers and calling out ridiculous headlines that Y/N was sure weren’t true, but people kept approaching him to buy them anyway. The change she had brought with her felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket and she glanced warily back at the shop, looking through the window to see Mary still speaking with the man behind the counter. Taking a deep breath, she forced her feet to move in the direction of the newsie.

He was facing away from her, so even when she got closer he didn’t see her. Nervously, she cleared her throat before speaking up. “Excuse me?” She called out. He turned to find where her voice had come from and she felt the world go quiet as his eyes met hers. The downpour could have come back then and there and she was certain she wouldn’t have noticed, too enraptured by his eyes and the way his mouth hung slightly open, his cigar looking as though it might fall to the ground. He seemed to quickly regain his previous stature, his hand reaching up to straighten his hat, she presumed, until he pulled it clean off his head and held it to his chest as he bowed slightly before her.

“Afternoon, darlin’” He spoke, and her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, her face warming at the pet name. He situated his hat back on his head before he continued to talk. “What can I do for ya?” There was a moment of silence where she tried to gather herself enough to get out a coherent sentence, entirely disarmed by the fact that the boy she’d been dreamily fantasizing about was standing right in front of her.

“What’s the headline today?” She finally asked, her voice a little bit shaky. She stayed rooted in place (unsure if she could get her feet to move even if she wanted to), but after hearing her speak again he took a small step toward her. She could hear warning alarms going off in her head as she did, but she hadn’t the faintest idea what they were warning of because not a single intelligible thought made its way to the front of her head other than the fact that he was smiling at her like an old friend of hers used to smile at girls before he flirted with them. The warning alarms got louder and oh, maybe they weren’t warning alarms, maybe that was just the sound of her blood rushing and her heart pounding in her chest faster than it ever had before.

“The headline?” He asked in confirmation, smile widening as he ducked his head slightly, sending his boyish attractiveness off the charts. “Why, that’d be: prettiest goil in new york makes newsie’s day.” He winked at her and she could have fainted. “Any interest in purchasing?” He held up a newspaper, shaking it a little in a joking way. She was sure he could see the way she was gulping down air, and when she reached into her pocket to pull out her money she fumbled with it. The pennies slipped from her fingers, hitting the dirty city sidewalk with quiet pings. Her face got impossibly warmer as she went to bend down to pick them up, only for the newsboy to beat her to it. He rushed over to grab them off the ground, and when he stood up straighter again he was far closer than he’d been before. “Here ya go, miss,” he said as he held out his hand with her change resting in his palm. She reached out but instead of taking the money, she closed his fingers around it. She watched as his eyes followed the movement of hands before slowly returning to her face, wide with some emotion she couldn’t read.

“Keep it,” she said. Her voice was so soft she wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her, so she cleared her a throat a little before speaking again. “I’ll take that newspaper, if you don’t mind.” A beat passed before he seemed to register what she had said, scrambling to hold out the paper to her. She took it gently from his hands, feeling a small smile make its way onto her face.

“The pape’s only two pennies,” she heard him say. “You gave me too much.” Her smile grew.

“Keep it,” she repeated. “On account of such an interesting headline.” Her heart was going crazy in her chest, she felt like it was bouncing around in her rib cage trying to bust its way out. He gave her an incredulous look before his own grin returned. She watched as he bent his legs until he was bowing before her again, looking up with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Meant of every word of it.” A clap of thunder sounded in the distance and she jumped slightly, her head turning to look up at the sky where storm clouds were beginning to gather.  When she looked back to him he was no longer bowing, but his eyes stayed trained on her. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“Y/N,” she breathed, her voice being carried away on the soft wind that suddenly blew between them.

“Nice to meet ya, Y/N.” His smile never dropped, but he finally chanced a look up at the darkening sky. “Looks like we both should be findin’ somewhere dry soon, but if ya ever want ta find me again....” He trailed off as their eyes met again. She could have drowned herself in his eyes and been happy, she could have stood in the incoming rain for days just looking into his eyes and been happy. “The name’s Race,” he finished. “I’ll see ya around, darlin’.”

Just at that moment Sister Mary walked out of the shop behind them. Y/N looked back at the sound of the door opening, quickly taking a step back from Race and brushing her (now sweaty) hands on her skirt. She looked back at him quickly with a small smile and a nod before walking briskly over to join her friend. 

“Ready to go?” Mary asked. “I reckon we better hurry if we don’t want to get caught in another storm.” Y/N nodded, linking arms with the nun as they began to walk back in the direction that had come from. She waited until they were far enough away to speak up again.

“You did that on purpose,” she hissed, glaring at Mary.

“I haven’t a clue what you mean,” Mary teased, a sly smile on her face. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it. From what I saw through the window, he looked rather happy to see you.” Y/N felt the heat rush to her face again and knew if she tried to speak her voice would betray her, so she settled for lightly hitting Mary’s arm and grumbling at her to shut up, which made the nun laugh.

They only just barely made it back to the monastery before the rain began to fall. As she looked out at people rushing to shelter, she couldn’t help but think of Race, hoping he was somewhere safe and warm waiting out the storm.

__________

Race had been practically floating ever since he had seen the girl from the wagon again while he was selling. He would whisper her name to himself as he walked back from selling each day, basking in the way it felt on his tongue. Y/N — it echoed around his head like a prayer. At night he would lay in bed and look at his hand in the dark, remembering how she had reached out to close his fingers around her coins, the memory of her skin burned into his own. The boys had been pestering him about what had been making him so giddy, but he never gave them much of an answer. Their small interaction, the moments between them, felt like something private and divine, something not meant to be shared but instead to be savored and worshipped. He doubted he’d be able to get the words out to tell them anyway, not before they started teasing him with the expectation of him making his usual jokes. He loved making them laugh, and he had always been fine offering himself up to be laughed at, but just this once he wanted this one small thing to be separate from all the jokes. Y/N wasn’t something to laugh about, and he was reluctant to offer up the chance for the others to turn his already forming feelings for her into a joke.

It was ridiculous how much he liked her. He’d only seen her twice and spoken with her once, but he found his thoughts straying to her practically every minute. The way that she had looked at him, the way that she hadn’t turned away from his flirtatious comments.... everything about her made him want to know more. He found himself looking for her every time he went out selling, hoping to catch a glimpse of her smile.

Five days passed before, finally, his eyes latched onto her as she walked up to him with her eyes turned shyly downward. His grin couldn’t be stopped if he tried, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

“Well hello there, angel!” He called out when she was steps away from him. She looked up at him with a surprised face, but he watched as it melted into a fond smile and felt his heart practically burst. “Wanna know the headline today?”

“Depends, you gonna give me the real one?” Her smile morphed into something far more cheeky as she poked fun at him. 

“‘Course not,” he answered. He looked at her bright eyes and her beautiful face, thinking that angel had been the right name to use because the only word he could think to describe her was angelic. He figured he was beginning to understand why she seemed to always be hanging around with the nuns, it made sense that they would want to keep a real life angel on earth close to them, safe from the rest of the world “No headline could compare to you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them, but before he could regret it her face turned bashful and he felt his breath leave him at how adorable the shyness looked on her.

“Well,” she started, after a moment of silence between them, “what have you got for me, then?” She bit her lip as she looked up at him and he went a little weak in the knees.

“Extra, extra — real life angel on earth blesses lowlife street rat with her presence.” His voice was much softer than when he would call out headlines to the public, his words uttered like a secret between them. Her nose scrunched up as he finished speaking and he was filled with an unbelievable urge to kiss her on the tip of that nose.

“You’re not a lowlife street rat.” He almost laughed out loud at her response, leaning back to let out an amused huff.

“That’s what ya got outta that, huh?” He asked teasingly. “Not the part about a literal heavenly angel on earth?” She smiled brightly.

“Well, it was the street rat I was interested in hearing about, not some dumb angel.” His heart skipped a beat. He had to reach up to grab his cigar from his mouth in fear of it falling to the ground as his jaw went slack. She was still smiling at him, and he had an overwhelming need to just....hold her. To wrap his arms around her and just feel her heartbeat against his.

“Don’t get my hopes up, angel,” he spoke after a long pause. “You goin’ ‘round sayin’ things like that you might give a street rat the idea that you like havin’ ‘im around.”

“Maybe I do,” she all but whispered. He hadn’t realized until then that they’d slowly been moving closer as they talked. They were a mere step away from each other then, her face close enough that he could see his own reflection clearly in her eyes. The sound of someone across the street yelling startled them both and they jumped apart. She cleared her throat before handing him her money. He took it without really looking and handed her a newspaper, gaze still firmly fixed on her face. It was only the fact that he felt one coin in his hand rather than two that made him look down to see the dime she had given him.

“This is too much—“ he started to protest, but she shook her head as a means of quieting him.

“I haven’t got anything else, so it’ll have to do.” He could tell she was lying, but he didn’t say it. He only nodded in thanks, tucking the coin away in his pocket. She smiled one last time at him before she walked away, disappearing into the New York crowd. 

When he made it back to the lodge that night he was humming, so giddy he could hardly contain himself. Tommy Boy looked at him weirdly as he passed, but Race couldn’t be bothered by it. Even if she hadn’t meant it exactly the way he wanted her to, Y/N had clearly said that she was interested in him. Nothing could have brought him down from that cloud nine.

__________

Y/N tried to wait longer before she made the trek to see Race again, she really did, but she kept dreaming about him. Against her better judgement he seemed to have already firmly planted roots in her heart, so it was only three days after the last time she had seen him that she was looking for him around his usual selling spot. She squinted in the afternoon sun, furrowing her eyebrows as she didn’t spot him anywhere around where she had met him the two times prior. 

“Lookin’ for someone?” She whipped around to see him standing behind her with a wide, shamelessly teasing smile. She let out a small sigh of relief, not realizing until then that she’d been holding her breath to keep the looming disappointment at bay. But there he was in all his glory, drumming his fingers along the strap of his bag while he grinned at her. “For a certain street rat, maybe?” She laughed at that, brushing a stray hair out her face.

“What headline have you got for me today, hm?” His grin widened, and she felt excitement unfurling in her veins at the giddiness on his face.

“This just in: real life angel on earth turns local street rat into a real boy.” He held out a newspaper to her and she giggled as she took it, dropping a nickel in his empty hand. He opened his mouth to tell her again, presumably, that she had paid him too much but she spoke before he had the chance.

“You don’t say? An angel performing miracles out in the open?”

“Oh yeah, ya should’a seen it. The angel was almost too pretty ta handle.”

“Too pretty, huh?”

“Definitely.”

“And the street rat?”

“Dirty and ugly, but blessed by her presence all the same.” She scrunched up her face at him. 

“How about when he turned into a real boy? What was he like then?”

“Still dirty, lil’ less ugly.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” His smile turned more unsure, almost shy.

“And what.... What would you say?”

“I’d say he’s rather beautiful.” She watched as he let out a breath and looked at her with awe. “The angel must have known what she was doing.”

“Yeah, I’m starting ta think she really does.” He held her gaze with a small grin and she returned it in kind, her fingers tightening around the newspaper to keep herself from reaching out to brush away a loose curl that had fallen against his forehead.

They talked for a little while more while he continued to sell his papers and eventually he pushed the curl out of his face himself. The sun was beginning to set by the time she was walking back home, unable to get rid of the bright smile on her face. If the nuns could have seen her they would have had words, and she knew she would probably have endure several lectures the next day when she met them at the church since it was clear she had gone to see Race again (she found that she walked lighter after seeing him, and all of the nuns noticed) but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She could practically hear Mary’s teasing and Sister Anna’s motherly warnings as she brushed her hair before retiring to bed.

She dreamt of Race again and she woke up smiling.

_________

“You know, the nuns warned me about you,” Y/N said as Race handed her paper, a teasing flint dancing in her eyes.

“Did they now?” Race smirked, twirling his cigar in his hand as he pocketed the money she’d given him. She hummed, taking a step closer to him. He’d noticed that the more they saw each other the more comfortable she got, and that meant the distance between them was always shrinking and her flirting (he could call it flirting, couldn’t he? If it was something else he didn’t know the word for it) got bolder.

“They said you were nothing but a reckless flirt and I should be wary of you.” He felt a sudden sense of pride knowing that she’d been told to stay away and had continued to come anyway — practically on a daily basis by then.

“I can assure you, angel, I ain’t in this just for the fun of it.” He watched her smile falter before it widened and turned cheeky, looking just a little bit forced.

“And how do I know you’re not in it for the money?” He raised an eyebrow before taking another small step toward her, taking her hand in his.

“Stop paying so much and maybe you’ll find out.” He placed a kiss on the back of her hand, letting his lips linger there for just a second. When he looked back up at her it looked like she was holding her breath. The May sun that he’d been sweating in all day was shining behind her, but because of where she was standing its light was like a frame around her silhouette. She looked like something truly heavenly and divine, like a real angel — halo and all.

Someone cleared their throat to his right and they seemed to snap back into reality (he hadn’t even realized that they’d done it again, entered that little pocket of the world they sometimes found where only they existed). She pulled her hand back at lightning speed and he stood up straight as quick as he could, turning to glare at whoever had interrupted them. 

Jojo was standing there, looking between the two of them before his gaze landed on Race and he smiled like he’d hit the jackpot. Race paled. He tried hard to think so loud that Jojo could hear him, to scream don’t laugh. Don’t make this one of our jokes, don’t make her think this is just a laugh for me. Don’t do it.

“Hey, Race.” Jojo’s smile slid into a lazier expression, his hands slipping into his pockets. Race couldn’t tell if he’d gotten the message, but he hoped to God he had. “Been lookin’ for you everywhere.” He chanced a glance over at Y/N, seeing that she looked unsure of whether or not she should leave and stick around. He didn’t even know what option would’ve been better at that point, just desperately clinging to the hope that Jojo wouldn’t go about this the wrong way. “Ya gonna introduce me to your friend?” Race sucked in a sharp breath.

“Uh, yeah... yeah. This is Y/N. Y/N this is Jojo,” he gestured between them. Y/N smiled kindly at the other newsie, nodding in his direction.

“Hello,” she spoke, tone as warm as always. 

“Nice ta meet you, Miss,” Jojo smiled, tipping his hat slightly. Race let out a sigh of relief at his friendly and specifically non-teasing manner.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Y/N gave a little curtsy and the action was so cute that it made Race’s heart stutter. “I should be going.” She turned to look at Race only, then. “Thank you for the paper.” He could see in her eyes that that wasn’t all she wanted to say, that maybe she was thanking him for something else, too. Before he could truly decipher it, she was already turning around with a small wave to them both. Race and Jojo watched her walk away for a moment before Jojo spoke up again.

“And what exactly was that I was interrupting, hm?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Race scoffed, shoving him amicably.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, putting his cigar back

in mouth.

“C’mon,” Jojo laughed, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “The boys are all at Jacobi’s, and I’m sure they’ll all want to hear this story.” Race groaned but let Jojo drag him along anyway.

He was right, the boys were eager to hear the tale of Jojo finding Race with his lips pressed to some girl’s knuckles. And once that story had been told at least three times they all pestered him to tell them more about her, which led to him revealing that it was the very same girl who had been on the wagons with the nuns that day. They dragged every single detail out of him and though there were plenty of jokes made, he found comfort in the fact that no one seemed to make Y/N the target of their laughter and content in the fact that no one was teasing him too much about the lovestruck look he knew was on his face.

__________

Y/N was running incredibly late to go visit Race. She went practically every day around the same time and if she knew she couldn’t make it she’d let him know the day before. But the day had gotten away from her and she’d been caught up helping her mother with things at home. By the time she was out the door, just short of running with her skirt hiked up in her hands, the sun was already about to set.

She rushed through the New York streets, doubtful that Race would even still be there — it was late, after all, and she couldn’t possibly expect him to be waiting around for her to show up. Her heart clutched onto that hope, though, thinking about what it would mean if she arrived and he was there, waiting. Her heartbeat sped up to match her hurried footsteps and she couldn’t tell if it was because of how fast she was going or because the thought of Race always made her heart do strange things. Her only solace was that, with the sun leaving the sky, the unbearable June heat was softening. 

She skidded to a stop just twenty feet away from where they usually met. Race was standing there in the pink light of the sunset, looking around the streets and fiddling with his cigar. Her heart stopped with her feet, and for a second she swore it wasn’t going to start again before it’s rhythmic beat came back in full force.  He had waited for her. He was standing there, waiting for her.

She was breathing heavily as she approached him, trying her best to straighten herself out so she didn’t look as if she had run the whole way there. She caught the moment when he finally saw her and his eyes widened, a bright grin spreading on his face.

“I was startin’ to get worried, angel,” he said, walking to meet her halfway. “Thought maybe you’d forgotten ‘bout lil’ old me.”

“Never,” she smiled. “You’d be impossible to forget. And besides, I was only caught up with some errands my mother had me running.”

“Impossible to forget, yeah?” His smile turned teasing and she rolled her eyes affectionately. 

“Don’t make me regret saying it,” she laughed.

“Never,” he quoted her, breathing the word so quiet she had to lean in to hear it. He was so close to her, so close that if she just grabbed him by vest and pulled him toward her they’d be chest to chest and the distance between their lips would be almost imperceivable. She wanted to do it, every bone in her body ached for her to be as close to him as possible. She had to scrunch her hands up in skirt in order to keep herself from doing something stupid with the way he was looking at her, like she’d hung the stars in the sky. “I saved a pape for you,” he spoke up again, offering up the only newspaper he had left with him. She stared down at it.

Her head was a mess of thoughts and affections. He had waited for her. He could probably have been finished selling long before she arrived, but he had saved her his last newspaper and waited until she came for it. Was it ridiculous to think he’d done it just to have the excuse to talk to her? Was it too soon to let her heart hope and flutter as she took the newspaper from him and handed him her change? Was it too much to think that just maybe if she had let herself pull him to her, he would have kissed her back?

“Thank you,” she finally whispered. His smile wasn’t as wide then, but it was softer around the edges and it felt like she might burst with all the love she felt for him in that moment.

“It’s getting dark,” he pointed out. She looked at the sun to see the sun had sunken almost entirely behind the horizon. “Can I walk you home?” She looked at him in surprise to see him holding his arm for her to take. She thought about what her parents might say if they saw her through the window being walked home by some boy. She thought of what the nuns might say if one of them caught sight of her letting the boy they’d warned her about walk her home. She took his arm anyway. 

They talked as they strode down the street together, their voices quiet in the hush of nightfall. He made her laugh more times than she could count and every single time he smiled proudly at her. 

“You’re something else, angel,” he said to her as they neared her house.

“I’m starting to think you call me ‘angel’ because you forgot my actual name.” She gave him a pointed look but its weight was lightened by the corners of her mouth fighting to turn upwards, her amusement shining through. They stopped walking in front of her house.

“How could I ever forget your name, Y/N?” He asked, his voice coming out as a whisper. He reached a hand up to brush a hair out of her face before letting it rest on her cheek, caressing her face. “It’s the closest thing I know to prayer.”

She stopped breathing.

He was so, so close to her. He called her angel and said her name like a prayer and made up headlines to make her laugh and never once tried to get one over on her and waited for her even when she was ridiculously late and saved his last newspaper to have a reason to see her and he was so close. She should have kissed him, then. But she didn’t.

A light turned on in her house and Race took a step backward from her. 

“Goodnight, angel,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” she breathed. He walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night. When she finally made her way to bed and laid down for some much needed sleep all she could think of was his face close to hers and the way her heart had wanted to fly out of her body.

__________

There was a storm coming. Crutchie had said so that morning, and Race could practically smell it in the air. Y/N was telling him about how she liked summer storms because they offered a break from the heat, but her mother hated them because of the humidity. He watched her face, admiring the way her eyes shone as she spoke. He wasn’t an artist, like Jack, but he swore he knew every detail of her face so well by then that if he got his hands on some of Jack’s charcoal he could recreate it perfectly. The clouds looming ahead that served as a constant reminder of the impending storm were blocking out the sun, but she radiated her own light that kept the day from seeming too gloomy. Eventually, their conversation came to a halt as Y/N looked up at the sky with a sigh.

“I suppose I should be heading back to the monastery so I don’t get caught out in the rain.” She looked reluctant to leave and it made him smile.

“We wouldn’t want that,” He quipped. “Can’t have my angel catching a cold.” She laughed and hit his arm lightly.

“Oh it’s your angel now, is it?” He drew in a breath.

“It could be.” 

She looked at him and, for once, he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking.

“Could be,” she repeated, barely mumbling the words. Her lips turned upward at the corners before she leaned in, kissing him softly on the cheek. “Goodbye, Race.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes before pulling away and turning to leave.

“Bye!” He croaked out, voice shaky and too loud — not that it mattered, she was already too far away to hear him by the time he had managed to get the word out.

The entire walk back to the lodge it was as if his feet didn’t touch the ground once. Days spent selling in July usually left him sweaty and exhausted, ready to collapse into bed, but there was too much adrenaline running through his veins for him to know what to with. The ghosts of her lips lingered on her cheeks and he half wondered if he looked in a mirror whether he would see a mark made in the shape of her kiss, burned into his skin like her fingers had all those months ago. 

The newsies noticed something was up as soon as he walked in.

“Hey Racer, ya okay over there?” Jack called out, looking like he was ready to leap into action if he had to stop Race from falling over. The boy in question nodded dumbly, stumbling over to his bed before plopping down. A few of the boys followed him over and everyone’s eyes stayed trained on him.

“This ‘bout that goil of yours?” Mush piped up. “Y/N?” 

“Yeah,” Race whispered, swallowing when he realized how dry his throat felt. “Yeah, she’s really something.” A smile spread across his face and he was sure he looked like a fool, sitting on his bed and smiling at nothing. The others exchanged looks.

“She’s got ya real bad, huh?” Albert asked, sounding like he was enjoying Race’s state of disarray much more than was necessary.

“She’s just - I mean, she’s....” He tugged his hat off his head and let his upper half fall back onto the bed. “Wow.” He heard a few of the boys snicker at him, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Race is in loooove!” He heard Les yell from somewhere, drawing out the word teasingly in a way that made the kid fall into a fit of laughter. Race raised his hand and sat up to protest but stopped before he could. His face went slack as his eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” Jojo whispered. “He actually is.”

Again, Race wanted to say that he was wrong. But that was precisely the problem: he wasn’t wrong, not in the slightest. Race had definitely, fully, fallen in love with Y/N — and he hadn’t even realized it.

“I have to tell her,” he mumbled. The boys started to murmur around him.

“What?

“What did he say?”

“I have to go tell her,” he repeated, louder. “I have to tell her.” He stood up, buzzing with energy, his hat and cigar abandoned on his bed. 

“Right now?” Davey asked. “Race, it’s pouring out.” As soon as he said it Race’s ears tuned in to the sound of rain falling outside. He didn’t care.

“Love doesn’t wait for rain!” Romeo called out enthusiastically. “Go get ‘er, Racetrack!” A few of the other newsies yelled with similar sentiments and Race smiled at them.

“See ya on the other side, boys.” With that, he was out the door, running through the empty streets in the rain on his way to the monastery.

Vaguely he registered Davey asking Jack if they should follow him, but he was out of earshot before he heard the answer. There was only one thing on his brain: he was in love with Y/N, and he was desperately hoping that she loved him, too.

________

Y/N was standing under one the stone awnings of the monastery, looking out as the rain fell. She liked to listen to it and she liked even more to see the streets empty of their usual bustling crowds, it made her feel peaceful — and she was in desperate need of calming down. Her face still felt warm from hearing Race call her his angel, and her stomach was still all knotted up from kissing him on the cheek. She hadn’t even known she was going to do it before she was leaning in, but when she saw his face afterward she was glad she had. The nuns had all given her looks when she returned, Sister Mary in particular smiling brightly at her. It had taken time, but over the months that she’d been visiting Race most of the nuns had come around. They were much more likely then to tease her about him rather than lecture her.

She gave a huff of laughter just thinking of the ridiculousness of the situation. Closing her eyes, she let the sound of the rain wash over her and calm her frantic heart. 

Her peace was interrupted by the sound of fast footsteps, growing increasingly louder. She opened her eyes with furrowed brows, looking out into the streets to see who could be running around in the storm. The world stopped when she saw him.

He was absolutely soaked from the downpour, his hair matted to his face and his hat missing. He slowed to a stop when he saw her, standing twenty feet away from her in the rain.

“Hi!” He called out and raised his hand in greeting, and she laughed in disbelief at his casualness while in such a state.

“You’re gonna get sick!” She yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth so her voice would carry better over the rain. “What on earth are you doing?!” 

“I had to come see you!” He called as she waved him in under the awning with her. He jogged to her, grabbing both of her hands in his and holding them up between their bodies. “I had to come see you,” he repeated, softer. He brought her hands up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles one by one, her breath hitching as he did. He looked at her like she really was an angel and it stole all of the air out of her lungs.

“What — what are you doing?” She managed to force the words out past the lump forming in her throat, her voice weak.

“I know I can’t offer ya much,” he said in lieu of an actual answer, and her heart stopped. “I know that if we were together it might be frowned ‘pon, and I know the nuns might not approve of me.” She was going to collapse, she was going to well and truly fall to the ground right then and there. “But I haven’t had a single second of peace since the first day I saw you. Y/N, you’re all I think about. I could spend the rest of my life with you and never grow tired of seeing your face or hearing your laugh. I could be happy with you for the rest of forever.”

“Race,” she breathed. “Are you asking me to marry you?” He laughed.

“No, not yet. Maybe someday, but for now...” He trailed off, looking at her with a tenderness in his eyes that made her want to pull him into a never-ending hug. “For now I’m saying that I am absolutely in love with you, Y/N L/N, and I’m asking you to be with me. I’m asking for you to hope with me that someday I’ll have enough saved up to buy you a ring and we can do this all over again.” He kissed her hand again before bringing it up to touch his face and holding it against his cheek. “I’m asking you to tell me you want me to stay.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Everything that she was had been reduced to her heart beating out of control and the feeling of his skin against her hands. He loved her. He talked with her and he made her laugh and he waited for her and he walked her home when it got dark and he called her his angel and he loved her. And she loved him, unquestionably so.

“Racetrack Higgins, I have dreamt of you from the minute I met you. You are something utterly divine, and I have so much love for you I barely know what to do with it.” She watched as his hopeful smile grew at her words. “Of course I want you to stay. I want you to stay and never, ever leave me.” 

He pulled her against him and she couldn’t even be bothered by the fact that he was still dripping with rain water. His arms wrapped around her bodice and she clasped her hands around his neck, holding his face to hers. He kissed her and she swore she heard angels singing among the rainfall. He kissed her and he kissed her and he kissed her and she was bursting with happiness and love from it. When they finally pulled away, panting, she saw him open his mouth to say something before closing it, squinting as his gaze moved from to the streets. She turned with confusion to see what he was looking at only to find a small bunch of newsies who seemed to have taken cover from the rain under an awning across the street. It looked like they were cheering, but she couldn’t hear them over the rain as it picked up even harder than before.

“Jesus Christ,” Race mumbled as he looked at them, making her laugh. He turned back to her and brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Sorry about them,” he said sheepishly. “They’re probably gonna wanna meet you.” She smiled, nothing could have brought her down from the high she was on — and being able to meet Race’s friends only sent her floating closer to the heavens.

“Fine by me,” she laughed. He smiled fondly at her in return. “We probably shouldn’t keep them waiting in the rain, though.”

“Well,” he grinned cheekily. “We can make them wait just a minute longer.” He leaned down to kiss her again, and she smiled into it.

One day, she would have to thank Sister Mary for bringing her on that errand way back in April. For the moment being, she was content to keep kissing Race as the rain fell around them.

__________

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