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samthestrangerthingsfan · 7 months

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Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: frienemies-to-lovers, kinda mean!Eddie? shy!reader, swearing, a lil smoochin', mentions of lack of confidence and poor self image, cute nicknames

a/n: hi bb, will you be my valentine? I don't love writing mean!eddie but its okay because we can always fix him :)

Valentine’s Day.

A day which the Hawkins High elite are positively buzzing over the plethora of cheap red and pink decorations.

Cheerleaders swoon over poorly constructed cards from their popular boyfriends, while dozens of obnoxious mylar balloons take up way too much space in the already crowded hallways.

Beyond the 14th of February, the reason for all the excitement was the annual Hawkins High Valentine’s Day dance—of which you were head of the committee.

Was it because you were the only Senior to volunteer their time to coordinating it instead of attending it? Maybe, but at least it gave you a reason to show up to the dance without a date.

...and avoid looking like the pitiful wallflower you are.

You also knew you’d have no time to rush home and get ready after your last class, so here you are. Standing outside of the AV Club door, decked out in your new crushed-velvet dress. It's ruby red and dangerously short.

This was definitely out of your comfort zone. You typically preferred to be invisible. It’s easier that way; no one can hurt what they can’t see. Right?

But when this dress caught your eye in the mall shop window, it was the first time you could ever remember wanting to be seen. Wanting to try to look like the pretty girls who walk the halls everyday vying for the attention of others.

The dance gave you the perfect excuse. Sure, it’s not like you had a date or anyone asking you to go, but you felt so beautiful. The way the dress hugged your body made all the staring and whispering as you walked down the hallway so, so worth it.

“Hey—whoa…” Dustin’s voice dropped when he walked around the corner, arms full of equipment. “Y-you look fantastic!” He said proudly.

Dustin was your favorite Freshmen, always kind and happy to see you.

“Aw, thanks Dusty! You don’t think it’s too much?” You lifted your boot, inspecting it falsely.

Dustin smiled, “It’s too much for 6th period Spanish, but not for Valentine’s Day that’s for sure.”

He unlocked the door, and held it for you.

Dusting grabbed a pen and paper to write down what you’d need the AV Club’s help with after school.

With hands on your hips, you looked around the room. “Okay, so I definitely need the projector, and if you could set it up before—“

An annoying, loud, cocky voice cut you off. “Henderson! What the hell is takin’ you so long?”

Eddie fucking Munson.

You watched as he sauntered into the room, DIO jacket and all. He clapped Dustin on the shoulders before turning his gaze to you.

“Holy shit. That you, Mouse?”

Mouse. A nickname you loathed.

You’d made the mistake of sitting at the Hellfire table your Freshman year, and he’s never let let you live it down. Once Eddie saw just how shy you were, he made it his mission to get under your skin.

He'd plopped down into the seat next to you, assuming you were there to cause him and the guys trouble. “New girl’s trying to get in good with the freaks, hm?”

You jumped and began to frantically pack your belongings, “I-I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I’ll just go—"

When he realized you were nervous, he changed his tone. No longer was he on edge, but rather trying to make you laugh. Show you it's okay to give him a taste of his own medicine. “No no, little mouse. You’re not scurrying away that easily.”

Four years later, you’re both still here and Eddie’s been a thorn in your side ever since. You thought you'd be rid of him once he graduated, but he flunked--twice. Condemning you to another year full of his nonsense.

His obnoxious, overly-confident, doe-eyed nonsense.

“Munson.” You couldn’t help the eye roll. “Dustin and I are working on something so,” you flicked your hand toward the door. “Skedaddle.”

“Oof,” he teased. “You kiss your mother with that potty mouth?”

Eddie walked past Dustin, hands on his hips as he took you in. “Why, may I ask, are you dressed so fancy, princess? Hot date with a frog?”

Okay, guess we’re playing this game.

“The only frog I know is you, Munson.”

His hand flew to his heart. “You hear this, Henderson? Who knew Mouse could be such a brat?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” you attempt to sidestep him, but he blocks your path. Big brown eyes watching your every move. “Don’t you have anything better to do than push my buttons?” It’s a pitiful gripe. You know he enjoys this far too much.

“C’mon, sweetheart. If I didn’t talk to you, who the hell would?”

Ouch.

Something no doubt said in jest, but it hurt to realize just how right he was. You had tons of acquaintances, and you got along great with the teachers. As for friends, the well's a bit dry in that department.

You cleared away the tightness in you throat. “Yeah, I don’t have time for this. I’m actually contributing to society. How about you?” Your face was twisted into a sarcastic smile, attempting to hide the hurt.

Eddie on the other hand thought the two of you were simply playing your favorite game. Seeing just how flustered he could make you before you gave him a taste of his own medicine.

“Yeah, you’re a real Nancy Reagan.” He laughed, gesturing to your dress.

Your eyes honed in on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” he reached out, sweeping a piece of hair off of your cheek. “If you wanted a little attention, you didn’t have to do all this.”

This.

Said as if the word tasted rotten. Disgusted by what you’d considered to be you at your most beautiful.

I must look like a fucking fool.

The stinging in your eyes got stronger every second you stood in his presence. Your gaze locked onto the floor, following your feet as you left. “Bye, Dustin. I’ll see you later.”

Dustin protested, calling you back before turning his disappointed glare to Eddie.

“Dude…” he chided.

Eddie scoffed, “What? Henderson I was joking—she knows that, okay? That’s our whole thing.”

"Eddie, she was crying!"

Were you? No, no way. This is what the two of you do.

"No, she wasn't." He said unconvincingly. "You don't know her like I do, little buddy. She's a good girl, loves the cat-and-mouse of it all." Eddie wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Dustin.

Eddie had a fuck of a time in O'Donnell's class, and now on top of all of that, he's late to set up Hellfire.

He moved a bit quicker down the hall, easy enough since most of the school left to get ready for the Desperate Dance. He intentionally always schedules DND on nights like this, that way he'd never have to be caught dead--

Eddie's stopped in his tracks at the sight of the trashcan at the end of the hall. He spots a familiar piece of red fabric hanging out of the bin.

He pulled it like a magician, revealing more and more of the velvet clothing until its fully removed,

A dress.

Your dress.

Why the fuck did you throw it in the trash? You we're the most confident Eddie had ever seen you while you wore this thing.

...and you looked drop dead gorgeous, but that's beside the point.

He heard your voice coming from the gym, and abandoned all thoughts of DND.

Eddie burst through the double doors, ignoring the frilly pink and red decorations for the dance. He weaved between the underclassmen carefully setting up the tables and backdrops to make his way over to you.

You, who now instead of being in your beautiful fucking dress, are in you school-supplied gym uniform. Your hair was pulled back, no longer falling in the perfectly natural way you had it earlier. Your makeup was gone--Eddie didn't mind that, he didn't think you needed it anyway.

But you'd never looked so small to him.

He called your name more gently than you've ever heard him speak. When you turned and saw your dress in his grip, you wanted to disappear.

Had he come to gloat?

"Why the hell was this in the trash?" he's not smirking, or sarcastic when he says it.

"Didn't like it." It's all the pain in your throat will let you get out.

You walk away from him, hurrying to find something else to do beside stand there and be made fun of by Eddie Munson.

"Bullshit," he calls after you, quick on your heels. "You don't wear a dress like this and look the way you look in it and just decide you don't like it."

You could feel the tears returning as soon as you stopped walking. "I don't know what you wanna hear," your back was to Eddie, but you felt his gaze regardless. "I just didn't like it...anymore, okay?"

The fake organization of the ribbons in front of you didn't deter him, he remained behind you in silence until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Did...did I say something? Earlier, in the AV Club." He spoke so softly, and with such sincerity, you'd never know it was Eddie talking to you.

You sniffled, angry at yourself for letting him hear how upset you were. "I don't know what you mean."

"Henderson," He's quick on your heels. "Henderson said you were crying when you left."

You don't--can't say anything. Trying desperately to will the tightness in your throat to go away and the tears to dry before they fall from your eyes. A small, shaking breath passes your lips.

"Please look at me, Mouse." His voice is hushed when he calls out to you.

You turn to him begrudgingly. Hoping if he saw the mess he made he'd leave well enough alone.

But when he sees your face, with red eyes and damp tear-stained cheeks, his heart falls into his stomach.

"Oh, oh sweetheart--"

You beat him to it. "I'm fine, Munson. Just...just give me the stupid thing, okay? I'm better off invisible, anyway."

"You've never been invisible to me." Eddie hands you the dress, and watches as you wring it between your hands. "I'm sorry, Mouse."

You scoff, "You didn't--"

"Yes I did," He says firmly. Eddie steps into you, closer than he's been before. "I made an asinine comment thinking we were playing our little game, but it's not a game if someone gets hurt, especially you."

Eddie swipes away the tear on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You looked beautiful. You're always beautiful, but that dress? Honey, I couldn't think straight. I'm a dumbass half the time, but I turned into a god damned Neanderthal when I saw you in that."

Your brain couldn't process what was happening. It almost sounded like Eddie...liked you?

"I thought," You looked down, embarrassed to even say it out loud. "I finally felt pretty, pretty enough to be seen and not just in the background."

Eddie's brow softens at your words, "Mouse, I see you. You're one of the only things I look for throughout the day. Always lookin' out for the pretty shy girl with the smile that makes me go weak in the knees."

You laugh at that. "I guess I always look for the obnoxious metal head that's way too good at getting under my skin."

Eddie chest rumbles with a laugh, too. "You're too good at calling me on my crap, what do you expect me to do?"

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, and it has Eddie clearing his throat. "Can--can I give you a hug? Hate that I made my favorite girl cry."

The smile on your face speaks volumes, but you nod anyway.

When you're wrapped in Eddie's arms, his warmth seeps through your bones, relieving any tension or nerves. His scent invades your senses, warming your belly and heart. You melt into him completely.

Eddie can't believe how well you fit in his arms, like a damn puzzle piece if you asked him. He smells you shampoo, and memorizes the fragrance, filing it away in his mind as his new favorite smell.

When you pull back, he leans his forehead on yours. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I really am."

You nod, moving his head a bit as it rests on yours. "I know."

Eddie steps away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ya know, uh, if you're not busy, I'm running a DND campaign tonight. I'd love it if you sat in and maybe after...I don't know, maybe I could take you to Benny's?"

You smirked, eyes narrowing at him. "You asking me out, Munson?"

His eyes widened in sheer panic, "Oh--oh my God, I read this all wrong, huh? Please just forget--"

You're quick to ease his worry. "I'd love too."

Putting the dress on the table, you offer Eddie your hand. "Show me the way, Dungeon Master."

He takes it eagerly, but doesn't walk anywhere yet.

"Eddie?" You giggle.

"One second, princess. Damn knees turned to jelly again."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson

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yaksha-lover · 11 months

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The ringing of metal cutlery clashing against glass plates is the only sound that fills the great hall. It echoes, far beyond where it should. The high ceilings and wide walls make sure of it.

Malleus has never felt at a loss of words before. It’s strange for him, let alone with his grandmother. The questions - they’re stuck in his throat. Like his own body is protecting him from the answers.

His grandmother is quiet too. The two of them have never been garrulous fae, but it’s never been awkward before. He’s never felt afraid to speak his mind.

She usually indulges him. She always has: chatter of gargoyles and grotesques when he first found the encyclopedia in the castle library. All the nonsense he’d spouted off about when he had no one else to talk to. She’d smile and listen, much better than most.

The table is too long. He’ll have to speak up, so she’ll hear. At her age, her hearing is only about as a good as the average human’s. If he mumbles or trips over his words, it’ll all be lost in the distance between them.

The table is meant for many, but the chairs have all been cleared away. The two of them sit at the heads of the table; the only place for the current and future rulers.

A servant comes to take away their finished plates, leaving the table empty, except for the black and silver cloth that stretches the length of the hardwood. The Draconia sigil is embroidered in gold at each corner.

“Do you have much on your mind, grandmother?”

She smiles gently. “Not at all. I’m just tired from the diplomacy. I’m sure you’ve realized by now how exhausting it all can be. Enjoy this time, before your responsibilities chain you,” she laughs.

Malleus frowns. “What did you think of Yuu?”

She responds casually, but a moment too late for there not to be awkwardness: “They were very nice.”

“And?”

“And what, dear?” she replies, pausing for a moment to sip the last bit of red liquid swirling in her wine glass.

“Are you not…upset? I know you have plans for me, that you intend to wed me to some high-born, but grandmother-”

“Not for another two hundred years,” she interrupts. “You’ll be older, there will be time for you to settle into governance.”

He’s stunned into silence for a few seconds. “Why does it…”

“Have your fun, my dear. I understand young love. I was once coming into adulthood too.”

“Yuu isn’t ’fun,’” Malleus stares down at the gold sigil. “Grandmother, I love them.”

“I know, Malleus.”

“Then why? Why are you fine with our relationship?”

“Because I know it will resolve itself before you’ll have to attend to your duties.”

“Resolve? We will not break up over some simple lover’s quarrel, I assure you.”

“Oh, Malleus. I’m sorry, but Yuu is human. They’ll be with you but a tiny fraction of your life. I have no doubt in your love, but this is reality. Things will come to their natural conclusion.”

“Then I want to marry them. As soon as possible.”

His grandmother stands from the table. “Let’s not be rash. I understand how you feel, but a royal wedding is too big an event for it to happen in another hundred years once your beloved has passed.”

“It won’t happen again. I will never be in love, unless it should be with Yuu. I will never marry again or have a family with anyone else. The Draconias will end with me.”

She sighs. “Malleus…I know in time you’ll see, I only have your best interests at heart.”

“Yuu does not have time. You promised, once I graduated I could have anything I wish as a gift. I want Yuu. Let me wed them.”

“Is it the crown you want, or them?”

“I’ve made it clear what choice I will make, if it comes to it.”

He feels a tinge of grief in his heart when his grandmother’s face saddens.

“I see. Malleus…sometimes when I look at you, it’s as though I’m seeing your mother again. I do not wish to lose you. Not as I have her,” she pauses. “Please, bring Yuu to the castle tomorrow. I wish for us all to talk.”

“Of course, grandmother. Thank you.”

She smiles at him weakly.

Quick note: This is just an idea I had (that I don’t really believe would be Malleus’ grandmother’s canon attitude) but I thought would be fun and angsty to explore. Malleus introducing his beloved to the last family member he has left, and his grandmother being apathetic, not out of malevolence but because she knows where this is going.

She’s seen humans die in practically the blink of an eye, so it would be hard for her to encourage Malleus to become seriously devoted to this relationship, knowing how he’ll get hurt. This isn’t really about any kind of political marriage that she wishes to make for him, more about feeling sadness for his loss to come, and knowing that he won’t get a happy ending with Yuu how he wishes. I imagine in this drabble that she may have had her own ‘young love’ experience with a human (or maybe just friendships) that have made her more apathetic to the lives and deaths of humans, as a sort of coping mechanism to deal with the grief and pain of losing and living without someone for the hundreds of years she’s lived.

#twst x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleyuu #malleus x yuu #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland #k.concepts

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sabertoothwalrus · 8 months

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Hi!! I hope it's okay to ask, which university are you/were you attending? I want to study animation in university but i have no idea which one to choose, so can you please tell me about yours?👉👈

I go to CSUF! It’s definitely one of the cheapest places to get a degree in animation in California, if not the US.

Only a handful of the California State schools offer animation, and most of the ones that do are 3D only, and I wanted to learn 2D.

SJSU has a good 2D anim program, and they’re the only state school in the bay area that does, BUT last I checked you need something like a 3.9 GPA to get in?????? like HELLO these are animation students. who are you fooling

the other schools I considered were CSULB and CSUN.

CSULB has a strong animation program! They have the guy that literally created the worldwide 24 Hour Animation Challenge. However, they required ONE extra art history class that none of the other CSUs needed, and I didn’t have it, and I wasn’t about to prolong transferring a whole other semester just to take it. (It was prehistoric art history, I think, which I admit sounds cool as fuck)

The reason I chose CSUF, beyond liking their curriculum better than CSUN, was because I heard about the Pencil Mileage Club. It’s the largest student-run animation club in Southern California. I’d argue that networking is almost more important than your actual skill. I’ll admit, the faculty is probably not doing as much for the students as other schools, but PMC more than makes up for it. I’ve made all my friends (and girlfriend teehee) through this club. I was president of my Art Club at my community college, so it was important to me to be part of PMC’s council. I’m now an event coordinator and so I help organize and run events and studio tours and guest speakers! :)) Clubs and extracurriculars look fantastic on resumes, so wherever you go, look into what’s available.

Things I should note: when you start at CSUF, whether as a freshman or through transferring, you will not be an animation major yet. You have to do the portfolio review first, and you can’t have any of the prerequisite classes in-progress when you apply. The portfolio requirement is only a few years old, too, and therefore it’s not nearly as competitive as, say… calarts or sheridan. I often say, students make the program better, not the other way around. the higher the level of students that apply, the higher the overall education quality will need to be to match that. Though this does mean that the higher quality a program is, the more people will be excluded, unfortunately.

CSUF’s aniamtion program itself is…. a little silly. You take storyboarding and character design after doing your short film ? for some reason? The new department head started at the school the same semester I did, and she’s definitely trying to make it better. She held a screening of the production classes’ finished films, and she told me she plans to have the curriculum restructured by 2025 (after I graduate, lol).

I’ll also mention that the art buildings are in the process of getting demolished and rebuilt. The first wave of new buildings won’t be done until the end of this year, and once that’s finished, they’ll tear down the remaining two buildings and start remodeling those. For now, we do a lot of our classes in the modular buildings jdhshfjs 🫡

We also have a mated pair of gay ducks that come every spring. Their names are Pebble and Rock. They are beloved by the art students.

And really, you don’t NEED a degree in animation to get into the industry. There are SO many online resources out there, a lot that are free, that can give you just as good of an education (in fact, several of my professors’ lectures have just been playing youtube videos and pulling up articles). BUT your classmates WILL be your future coworkers. If you’re not establishing relationships with people in some way on your own, you definitely need to make that bigger priority. After all, you won’t be working by yourself when you’re in the industry.

edit: oh I forgot to say that all the california state schools are striking the first week of the semester. so uh. there’s that

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lightlycareless · 6 months

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call this the unofficial ending of my highschool series a.k.a what would happen on the last day of their studies lol it doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing about this au, I just wanted to set this down :>

warnings: fluff. naoya is emotional. he's matured I guess.

happy reading!

You knew this day was coming; every student knew so, strived for it since enrolling. Continuously prickling at the back of their minds as schooldays went by, attending class after class, preparing for exam after exam, to one day leave all this behind.

But just because everyone expected it, didn’t mean you’d share the same sentiment.

At least not when… Naoya was the first one to do so.

Naturally, Naoya being a year older meant that he got to experience lots of things before you academically speaking, such as the famed exchange events, school trips to various cursed energy infected areas, his very own first mission as a sorcerer! And of course…

Graduation.

In just a matter of weeks, Naoya will be leaving jujutsu high, go back to his home city in Kyoto and start his new life as a sorcerer.

In other words, you’ll stop seeing him.

At least as frequently as you did; you still hoped to keep in contact with your boyfriend even after he graduated.

But the lapse between his departure and the moment you’ll be able to see him again was difficult fathom, giving you so much pain… it almost felt like he was leaving you for good.

You tried to act like it didn’t affect you, remember that you knew this was bound to happen (with you as well, in due time) and be greatly supportive of his future endeavors—but it was far too emotionally demanding for you, and it wouldn’t take long before your usually cheerful, silly attitude began to dim, quieting down to the point everyone could no longer ignore it.

Especially, your boyfriend.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Y/N.” Naoya would finally confront; he thought that by treating you to your favorite café, followed by a fun evening at the arcade, would distract you. It sure helped him to do so, nothing but overworked and stressed for preparing everything for his graduation and following responsibilities as a new sorcerer, both for the community and his clan.

But what’s the purpose in him being happy, if you’re being absolutely miserable?

“Oh, I’m just—I was just thinking about something, that’s all.” You lie, and Naoya notices such immediately.

“I thought we were past lying.” He frowns, you sigh.

“…I wasn’t… not entirely.” You admit.

“What’s wrong?” Naoya asks, eyes softening. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Why do you always assume it has something to do with you?” You chuckle. “I mean, it has but… not like that.”

“What is it, then?”

Upon taking a deep breath, you suddenly realize the tears pooling around your eyes, evidence of how much this emotional turmoil was really hurting you; but even then, you do your best to hold them back, appear confident, before continuing speaking.

“It’s—It’s your graduation.” You quavered. “How it’s just a few days away.”

Naoya doesn’t need to hear much beyond that to know exactly what you’re referring to.

“I’m not excited about it either.” Your boyfriend confesses. “But it’s not like I’m not going to talk to you anymore after I leave.”

“…How do you know that?” an unspoken insecurity reveals itself.

“Are you serious, Y/N?” he retorts, offended—hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

Naoya sighs.

“I’m going to miss you, a lot.” He continues. “You were the only one that made my days bearable, I can’t imagine you not in my life anymore.”

“…What’s going to happen after you leave?” you dared ask.

“I’m going to return to Kyoto, start my work there. Probably take on more responsibilities as the heir now that I’m officially a sorcerer…”

“It sounds like you’re going to be busy.” And thus, unavailable. Just one of the worst-case scenarios you imagined…

“Nothing a few visits to Tokyo can’t fix.” He attempts to reassure you by wrapping his arms around you and hugging you, you sigh.

“When are you even going to have the time for that?” You fret.

“I’ll manage. I always do, don’t I?” Naoya smirks, and you let out a breathy chuckle; there’s no doubt in your mind of his capabilities. “Let’s not think about that, my love. Instead, why don’t we make the best of these last moments we have together? I wouldn’t want the last days with my princess to be all gloomy.”

But of course, that was always easier said than done, for whenever the two were together, partaking in the usual activities they liked to do between classes or the weekends, you couldn’t help but somberly note…

“This is probably the last time we’re going to do this.”

From watching the cherry blossoms, sneaking to his dorm (or vice versa) to watch a movie, eat lunch together, or slipping a kiss here and there, careful enough to not be seen by a fellow (irritating) classmate, yet desperate enough to let the other know how much they wanted to be together…

All of those things will be gone in a matter of days, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

No amount of reassurance, promises, or reminders that your relationship with him wasn’t over, just his constant presence around you… could ease the sorrow in your heart.

Unless there was one last thing to be considered, Naoya’s conclusion to the whole matter, at first an effort to leave everything in order, comfort your emotions before departing, eventually becoming his biggest desire one realizing the depths of this new, necessary step for this relationship.

It would happen on the day of his graduation, after the ceremony where all students would be celebrated for their academic efforts, wishes for a flourishing career, amongst other peculiarities, whether for good or for worse—depending on who they referred to.

You’d watch the whole ordeal, as expected, cheering for Naoya the moment he stepped into the podium to receive his diploma; and while you were still sad that he won’t be around as often, that didn’t stop you from feeling happy, proud to see him recognized as the accomplishing sorcerer you knew he was always meant to be, eager to see where the future takes him.

Even if it meant being on the other side of the country.

“So… how does it feel?” you murmur, meeting up with Naoya in one of your usual spots, just behind the administrative building, after the ceremony was over. “You know, officially being a sorcerer and all that…”

“It kind of feels the same.” Naoya pouts, cheeks slightly flustered. He always liked the recognition you gave him. “If anything, it’s a bit more liberating. Feels like I can do anything now.”

You chuckle, glad that he’s feeling confident.

“But I guess it also comes with more responsibilities.” He groans. “Like I didn’t have enough already.”

“Well, it’s just a step closer to becoming heir.” You attempt to encourage him, and it works for a bit, given the way he smiles, softly taking your hands and squeezing them.

After a few moments of silence, you speak again.

“When… when are you leaving?”

“Today, later in the afternoon.” Naoya sadly admits. “After I pick up all my things—I’ve already got the plane ticket as well.”

“Oh.” You looked away, disappointed, as if hoping he’d magically postponed his departure for another day. Or never. “I guess… I won’t see you tomorrow anymore.”

“I should be at the estate by then.”

“I see…”

Naoya frowns at the same time his heart tightens.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Naoya.” You say, wrapping your arms around him and leaning into his chest. “Be sure to call me whenever you can!”

Telling him this is the right moment.

“I will, but before I do that… I wanted to give you something to remember me by.”

Your eyes widen, glistening at the prospect behind his words.

“Are you going to give me your button?” you chirped. “…I hope so. You better not be giving it to anyone else!”

“Like who?” He chuckles. “You know there’s no one else for me but you.”

You blush.

“Either way” Naoya flusters, looking away. “…that’s not what I wanted to give you. I mean—something else besides that.”

“Oh” you blink. “Something… more?”

Naoya nods as he swallows, face turning hotter as he swiftly shoves his hand onto his left pocket and takes out a small black box. Your eyes widen, agitated as the assumptions of what could be inside the container begun to flash across your mind—heart skipping a beat when settling on that one.

Coincidentally, the right one.

“Naoya—” you breathe when he finally opens the box, revealing a thin gold band, incrusted with small diamonds—the epitome of luxury, yet dedication, a sight that almost made you faint, barely remaining conscious through sheer curiosity, or more like expectancy.

“Y/N” he says, gently grabbing your left hand and sliding the ring onto your finger. And while the sensation of the metal sliding against your skin couldn’t be anything less than simple, mundane even, its significance was what allowed your mind to imprint the feeling on your senses, to remain in your heart for the rest of your life.

Just like your feelings for him.

“I enrolled at this school because I wanted to try something different; stray away from the boring traditions of my family, or maybe because I wanted to prove myself capable of being more than what the clan thought of me.” Naoya begins. “However, it wouldn’t take long before I grew disillusioned by it, tired of the stupidities of my classmates and teachers alike. And yet… no matter how much I wanted to walk away, there was always something telling me to stay. To hold on a little longer.

The answer eluded me for the longest, until I finally figured it out.

Fate was telling me to wait, because I was meant to meet you.

These past few years are easily the best ones I’ve had in my life. And while I’m still young, I can easily say that you’ve taught me so much, far more than I might ever amount.

I never thought myself capable of feeling such happiness, love, or even deserving of it, until you came along.

And now, I can’t imagine a life without you. I don’t want to. I need you.

It’s because of that, I’ve decided to do this.

With this ring, Y/N, I promise to always be by your side, regardless of what happens in the future. If I’m on the other side of the country, if we hadn’t seen each other for days, weeks even, or… you’re no longer here.

My heart solely belongs to you, and there’s nothing that would make me happier than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Naoya—are you—are you asking me to—” you breathe; is this truly happening?!

“No.” he says, before looking away and stammering. “I mean—I—I would like that further down the road…but, when you’re ready too. For now, I’d like you to have this ring, as a reminder of my love and commitment to you. And when the time is right… something—something more.”

“This is—This is much better than that silly button.” You sniffle, tears sliding down your cheeks as you smile.

“You can have that too.” Naoya smiles. “I just wanted you to also have this; thought it’d be nicer.”

“It is.” You giggle, caressing the thin band on your finger and admiring the way it sparkled against the light; Naoya never spared luxuries when it came to you, to the point it almost made you feel undeserving…

But at this moment, you couldn’t dwell on those feelings. Not when you could instead relish in Naoya’s love for you, your love for him.

How it all started with a simple allure, intrigue to know more of the mysterious, a bit aloof heir of the Zen’in.

The kid that always appeared to have a problem with the world, yet something in your heart told you there was more than what met the eye. That he was not the troublesome young man everyone painted him to be, asked you to be away from.

Had you known then that you’d end up being in a relationship with him, you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe even believed it impossible…

But looking at how you felt towards him back then… it made sense. Perhaps you already knew, always did, deep inside you, on a very subconscious level, that he was meant to be your soulmate.

It’s what allowed you to see beyond the surface, understand him, made you fall in love with him…

And what once represented something so painful, the seeming absence and perhaps rift in your relationship, now gave you hope for something greater, far more beautiful: the promise that the two will always be together, long past the time the two were at school, and into what both hoped a home, a family.

Reaffirmed with a simple phrase.

“I love you, Naoya.”

Naoya smiles, taking your lips with a soft kiss.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

If we got the valentine's day naoya, he would've 100% asked you to marry him lol but since this is a bit more mature naoya, the one that got to mature with you... he's a bit more sensitive :>

Also, because he wants to buy a house for the two to live in. He's wholly committed to fulfill his responsibilities as your husband, meaning: everything you need to live comfortably, like a house with as many rooms (he wants kids so at least an extra two), gardens, pools, idk, that you want, a car, money, and of course, the freedom of not having to work. Unless you want it, but he'll feel a thousand times happier (and calm) that you aren't. We'll iron out the details later.

Anyways, 🥺 I don't know what else to say, Naoya at that point has fallen in love and wants to live the rest of his life with you. asjklasgkljasgklagslkagsgas the ultimate ending for all slice of life needs between our favorite couple.

Well, off I go to do other things.... mainly finishing more requests haha.

Thank you for reading, take care!! and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️❤️

#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months

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All the books I reviewed in 2023 (Novels)

Next Tuesday (December 5), I'm at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, NC, with my new solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which 350.org's Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel: perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

It's that time of year again, when I round up all the books I reviewed for my newsletter in the previous year. I posted 21 reviews last year, covering 31 books (there are two series in there!). I also published three books of my own last year (two novels and one nonfiction). A busy year in books!

Every year, these roundups remind me that I did actually manager to get a lot of reading done, even if the list of extremely good books that I didn't read is much longer than the list of books I did read. I read many of these books while doing physiotherapy for my chronic pain, specifically as audiobooks I listened to on my underwater MP3 player while doing my daily laps at the public pool across the street from my house.

After many years of using generic Chinese waterproof MP3s players – whose quality steadily declined over a decade – I gave up and bought a brand-name player, a Shokz Openswim. So far, I have no complaints. Thanks to reader Abbas Halai for recommending this!

https://shokz.com/products/openswim

I load up this gadget with audiobook MP3s bought from Libro.fm, a fantastic, DRM-free alternative to Audible, which is both a monopolist and a prolific wage-thief with a documented history of stealing from writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

All right, enough with the process notes, on to the reviews!

NOVELS

I. Temeraire by Naomi Novik

One of the finest pleasures in life is to discover a complete series of novels as an adult, to devour them right through to the end, and to arrive at that ending to discover that, while you'd have happily inhabited the author's world for many more volumes, you are eminently satisfied with the series' conclusion.

I just had this experience and I am still basking in the warm glow of having had such a thoroughly fulfilling imaginary demi-life for half a year. I'm speaking of the nine volumes in Naomi Novik's Temeraire series, which reimagines the Napoleonic Wars in a world that humans share with enormous, powerful, intelligent dragons.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/08/temeraire/#but-i-am-napoleon

II. Destroyer of Worlds by Matt Ruff

The Destroyer of Worlds is a spectacular followup to Lovecraft Country that revisits the characters, setting, and supernatural dread of the original. Country was structured as a series of linked novellas, each one picking up where the previous left off, with a different focal characters. Destroyer is a much more traditional braided novel, moving swiftly amongst the characters and periodically jumping back in time to the era of American slavery, retelling the story of the settlement of the Great Dismal swamp by escaped slaves.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/21/the-horror-of-white-magic/#anti-lovecraftian

III. Scholomance by Naomi Novik

The wizards of the world live in constant peril from maleficaria – the magic monsters that prey on those born with magic, especially the children. In a state of nature, only one in ten wizard kids reaches adulthood. So the wizarding world built the Scholomance, a fully automated magical secondary school that exists in the void – a dimension beyond our world. The Scholomance is also an extremely dangerous place – three quarters of the wizard children who attend will die before graduation – but it is much safer than life on the outside.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/29/hobbeswarts/#the-chosen-one

IV. Tsalmoth by Steven Brust

Longrunning Brust hero Vlad Taltos has been convinced to recount the story of how he and Cawti came to fall in love, and how they planned their marriage. This is quite an adventure – it plays out against the backdrop of a gang-war within the Jhereg organization, with Vlad in severe mortal peril that he can only avoid by uncovering an intricate criminal caper of crosses, double-crosses, smuggling and sorcery. But while Vlad is dodging throwing knives and lethal spells (or not!), what's really going on is that he and Cawti are falling deeply, profoundly, irrevocably in love. The romance that plays out among the blades and magic is more magical still, a grand passion that expresses itself through Nick-and-Nora wordplay and Three Musketeers swordplay.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/27/mannerpunk/#ask-anyone

V. Hopeland by Ian McDonald

Seriously what the fuck is this amazing, uncategorizable, unsummarizable, weird, sprawling, hairball of a novel? How the hell do you research – much less write – a novel this ambitious and wide-ranging? Why did I find myself weeping uncontrollably on a train yesterday as I finished it, literally squeezing my chest over my heart as it broke and sang at the same moment? The stars of Hopeland are members of two ancient, secret societies. There's Raisa Hopeland, who belongs to a globe-spanning, mystical "family," that's one part mutual aid, one part dance music subculture, and one part sorcerer (some Hopelanders are electromancers, making strange, powerful magic with Tesla coils). Amon is a composer and DJ who specializes in making music for very small groups of people – preferably just one person – that is so perfect for them that they are transformed by hearing it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/30/electromancy/#the-grace

VI. The World Wasn't Ready For You by Justin Key

These are horror stories, though some of them are science fiction too, and more to the point, they're Black horror stories. In his afterword, Key writes about his early fascination with horror, the catharsis he felt in watching nightmares unspool on screen or off the page. And then, he writes, came the dawning recognition that the Black characters in these stories were always there as cannon-fodder, often nameless, usually picked off early. "Black horror" isn't merely parables about racism. In the deft hands of these writers – and now, Key – the stories are horror in which Blackness is a fact, sometimes a central one, and that fact is ever a complication, limiting how the characters move through space, interact with authority, and relate to one another.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/19/justin-c-key/#clarion-west-2015

VII. The Future by Naomi Alderman

A cracking, multi-point-of-view adventure novel about billionaires prepping for the end of the world. Three billionaires, the lords of thinly veiled analogs to Facebook, Google and Amazon, each getting ready in their own way. Stumbling into their midst comes Lai Zhen, a prepper influencer vlogger with millions of followers.

When Zhen becomes romantically entangled with Martha Einkorn, the top aide and chief-of-prepping for one of these billionaires, she finds herself in possession of an AI chatbot that is devoted to protecting a very small number of people from incipient danger. This chatbot determines that Zhen is being stalked by an assassin at a mall in Singapore, and guides her to safety.

The chatbot is a closely held secret among the tech billionaire cabal. It is designed to monitor world events and predict when The Event is imminent, be it disease, war, or other cataclysmic disaster. With the chatbot's predictive powers and its superhuman guidance, the billionaires, their families, and their closest confidantes will be able to slip away before the shit hits the fan, fly by different private jets to one or another luxury bunker, and wait out the apocalypse. Once the fires raging without have died down to embers, the chatbot's billionaire charges will emerge to assume their places as wise and all-powerful leaders of the next human civilization.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/07/preppers-of-the-red-death/#the-event

VIII. Liberty's Daughter by Naomi Kritzer

There's so much sf about "competent men" running their families with entrepreneurial zeal, clarity of vision and a firm confident hand. But there's precious little fiction about how much being raised by a Heinlein dad would *suuuck*. But it would, and in *Liberty's Daughter*, we get a peek inside the nightmare.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/21/podkaynes-dad-was-a-dick/#age-of-consent

Like I said, this has been a good year in books for me, and it included three books of my own:

I. Red Team Blues (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

Martin Hench is 67 years old, single, and successful in a career stretching back to the beginnings of Silicon Valley. He lives and roams California in a very comfortable fully-furnished touring bus, The Unsalted Hash, that he bought years ago from a fading rock star. He knows his way around good food and fine drink. He likes intelligent women, and they like him back often enough. Martin is a—contain your excitement—self-employed forensic accountant, a veteran of the long guerilla war between people who want to hide money, and people who want to find it. He knows computer hardware and software alike, including the ins and outs of high-end databases and the kinds of spreadsheets that are designed to conceal rather than reveal. He’s as comfortable with social media as people a quarter his age, and he’s a world-level expert on the kind of international money-laundering and shell-company chicanery used by Fortune 500 companies, mid-divorce billionaires, and international drug gangs alike. He also knows the Valley like the back of his hand, all the secret histories of charismatic company founders and Sand Hill Road VCs. Because he was there at all the beginnings. Now he’s been roped into a job that’s more dangerous than anything he’s ever agreed to before—and it will take every ounce of his skill to get out alive.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

II. The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (nonfiction, Verso)

We can – we must – dismantle the tech platforms. We must to seize the means of computation by forcing Silicon Valley to do the thing it fears most: interoperate. Interoperability will tear down the walls between technologies, allowing users to leave platforms, remix their media, and reconfigure their devices without corporate permission. Interoperability is the only route to the rapid and enduring annihilation of the platforms. The Internet Con is the disassembly manual we need to take back our internet.

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

III. The Lost Cause (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

For young Americans a generation from now, climate change isn't controversial. It's just an overwhelming fact of life. And so are the great efforts to contain and mitigate it. Entire cities are being moved inland from the rising seas. Vast clean-energy projects are springing up everywhere. Disaster relief, the mitigation of floods and superstorms, has become a skill for which tens of millions of people are trained every year. The effort is global. It employs everyone who wants to work. Even when national politics oscillates back to right-wing leaders, the momentum is too great; these vast programs cannot be stopped in their tracks.

But there are still those Americans, mostly elderly, who cling to their red baseball caps, their grievances, their huge vehicles, their anger. To their "alternative" news sources that reassure them that their resentment is right and pure and that "climate change" is just a giant scam. And they're your grandfather, your uncle, your great-aunt. And they're not going anywhere. And they’re armed to the teeth. The Lost Cause asks: What do we do about people who cling to the belief that their own children are the enemy? When, in fact, they're often the elders that we love?

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

I wrote nine books during lockdown, and there's plenty more to come. The next one is The Bezzle, a followup to Red Team Blues, which comes out in February:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

While you're waiting for that one, I hope the reviews above will help you connect with some excellent books. If you want more of my reviews, here's my annual roundup from 2022:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/01/bookishness/#2022-in-review

Here's my book reviews from 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/08/required-ish-reading/#bibliography

And here's my book reviews from 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/08/required-reading/#recommended-reading

It's EFF's Power Up Your Donation Week: this week, donations to the Electronic Frontier Foundation are matched 1:1, meaning your money goes twice as far. I've worked with EFF for 22 years now and I have always been - and remain - a major donor, because I've seen firsthand how effective, responsible and brilliant this organization is. Please join me in helping EFF continue its work!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/01/bookmaker/#2023-in-review

#pluralistic #books #reviews #science fiction #gift guide #graphic novels #2023 in review #novels

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joannaofarkham · 10 months

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So, I was looking at my very old and unfinished wips and found this little gem. This is the very first idea I had for an aot x star trek au, and it's much lighter than the one posted in AO3.

Now I'm thinking if I should complete this as a stand alone and a completely other aot x star trek au 🤔

800 hrs., 6 Hours Before Graduation

"Cadet Ackerman, you may start."

The raven-haired cadet nods cooly at the panel of officers in front of her. She glances at the lieutenant, a Betazoid, just like her, who has placed a recorder and a lie detector on top of the table, but the young cadet knows that the lieutenant won't need the latter.

As a Betazoid, and a full-blooded one, they have telepathic abilities. They can tell right away if a person is lying, not just by their thoughts, but also by their emotional state. Cadet Mikasa Ackerman has almost the same abilities, being a part Betazoid. While she can't exactly read someone's mind, she can determine how someone is emotionally, including if they are guilty or not.

So, there's no point in lying in front of a Betazoid, much more in front of a Starfleet officer who's monitoring her statement on the incident that happened last night. Mikasa just hopes that by telling the truth, she won't jeopardize their graduation.

And they said this isn't a court-martial but it sure feels like one.

Mikasa inhales, then exhales to relax her nerves. Then she starts giving her statement about the brawl among the upperclassmen cadets which include her, her friends, and a shuttlecraft used in one of their classes that was almost torn to pieces, starting from the very beginning.

2000 hrs., 18 Hours Before Graduation

The chattering of young upperclassmen cadets fills the halls of the academy's grand mess hall. The excitement from these cadets is intoxicating, talks of what's next evident in each group huddling together at their own tables as they share their last meal as outgoing cadets of Starfleet Academy. Finally free from exams and projects, the cadets are making more memories as they can for one more night, for tomorrow their goodbyes and see-yous will be the ones reverberating in the academy halls.

Tomorrow, they will be standing before their loved ones, the Federation, and the rest of the Starfleet officers, ready to explore strange new worlds, ready to seek out new civilizations.

Ready to boldly go like the officers before them.

Tomorrow, Starfleet Academy Class of 2377 finally graduates and joins the continuing mission of Starfleet as fully-fledged ensigns of their first starship.

Mikasa and her friends aren't any different from these hopeful graduates who are excited to go to their first missions, may it be within the Alpha Quadrant or beyond the deeper space.

Still in their uniform, Mikasa and Sasha queue up in one of the replicators. Their friends have already secured a table for them, waiting until everyone got their dinner.

"Do you think any of us will be assigned to Captain Smith's ship?" Sasha asks Mikasa as they move closer to the replicator.

Mikasa just shrugs and said, "I'm not sure. When I got a transmission from Levi earlier, he said his shore leave to attend our graduation just only got approved after finishing one of their first contact missions, and that he was on his way to the nearest Starbase to get an en route here. The transmission was recorded, I guess two, three days ago. Seems like their ship is too far to get back in time for the roster."

"That's too bad. I always wanted to serve under Captain Smith. They always get the best missions." Sasha sighs softly. Once they reach the rows of replicators, she recites the dinner she wants and the machine obliged. A tray with a plate of steak, mashed potatoes, greens, and a glass of synthehol appears on the replicator's receiving tray. The academy has lifted the synthehol ban for tonight for the upperclassmen, so everyone is getting rounds of it, even if they know they won't really get the buzz like the real ones give.

It's Mikasa's turn to get her dinner from the replicator. Like Sasha, she recites the dinner she wants, just a bowl of donburi and soup, plus a glass of synthehol then gets her tray once it appears. Mikasa then responds to Sasha.

"Honestly, I wouldn't want to be assigned to that ship on my first assignment. They always get the dangerous missions."

"You don't want to be in dangerous missions?" Sasha gawks at Mikasa. "You? Honey, you aced every hand-to-hand and phaser combat class we have. You're the fastest to dismantle and assemble a phaser rifle, I think dangerous missions should be scared of you."

"Just because I can do those stuff better and quicker doesn't mean I want to be part of those dangerous missions. I don't want to die yet, Sasha."

They reach the table where their friends are sitting. Almost everyone is there already and busy with either their food, discussion of plans they have for tonight, or sending in some last-minute projects to make up with their grades.

On the left side of the long table, at the very far side, is Armin Arlert, who is still checking his PADD as if he hasn't sent in all his extra projects, not that he needs the extra grades. He is already top of their class, and will definitely get a high appreciation award tomorrow with his understanding of Engineering and Advanced Warp Core Theory but he's too humble and shy to admit his brilliance and too nervous to fail a single coursework hence, he would grab the other extra projects thrown to them.

Beside Armin, a tiny blonde Bajoran woman who's busy with her own PADD and then nudges him, as if he has sent her something offensive, is Annie Leonhart. Though one of the shortest in their class, her hand-to-hand and close-range combat skills are as impeccable as Mikasa. She is probably the next best cadet in those classes since she and Mikasa would always and unintentionally compete for the top spot. But they have mutual respect for each other for being good fighters and for being what Armin considered the important people in his life.

Across the two blondes are Ymir Freckles and Historia Reiss, who are busy feeding each other the food they have got from the replicator– a variety of desserts ranging from cakes to chocolate candy bars. The tall brunette who did have freckles on her face had been dating the other tiny blonde woman beside her way before their Starfleet Academy days.

Their story was they hopped on a ship going to Earth from their homeworld, which is one of the Federation's colony planets near the Cardassia-Bajor border to elope, and never turned back with what they left. Who would've thought that in this day and age, some families would still prohibit a budding romance just because they were of different status? Their friends were shocked when they told this story to them during their first year in the academy but they never missed showering these women with adoration and love. They'd hoped for them not to get separated after getting their ship assignment tomorrow after graduation but that would be a futile wish.

Looming over his tray of protein beside Historia is Reiner Braun. A beast when playing Parisses Square, a sporting event that could potentially injure players critically when played without abiding by the rules, but his friends will say he is the most sincere person in their circle.

Lost his parents at a young age during the last stretch of the Cardassian occupation in Bajor, Reiner lived with his remaining relatives who were freedom fighters at that time. The danger in his life wasn't done yet even if the war with their oppressors was over. There was unrest among the Bajorans since the planet was left without a leader. Civil wars were inevitable then, and Reiner was tasked to take the young ones to safety.

Together with Annie and Bertholt Hoover, who is sitting across from him, they evacuated Bajor with the other kids, for good. Starfleet officers who were assigned for a diplomatic mission discovered their freighter floating dangerously near the Cardassian border but they were successfully rescued. The captain of the starship Reiner boarded saw the three's dedication and potential, so they were recommended by the captain for Starfleet Academy admissions. It was an opportunity he could never miss, especially because he knew that being a Starfleet officer could give him the chance to support the younger Bajoran orphans like him to live a better life. And, maybe, to go back to Bajor and help rebuild their nation.

Beside Reiner, the fair-haired young man who was smiling and beckoning Sasha to sit beside him, is Connie Springer. He is not the brightest of the cadets, he almost failed some tests during his early years in the academy and had to stay behind after classes for extra work, but his determination has pushed him to do better bit by bit.

But when it comes to having fun, Connie is definitely the man for it, along with Sasha. They are like PB & J these two, one would mistake them for dating but really, they stuck as buddies throughout their academy days for the only cadets who repeated Exochemistry in their class batch. And the guy has a delectable food palate, always knowing which dish goes well with what drink. If he weren't able to pass the academy, he would have pursued a profession related to food.

Connie is also very good with programming holodeck stories, something his friends really like about him. The best holodeck simulation he did is based on an ancient Japanese graphic novel, a manga as they would call it, about giant people called Titans that attacked a lone island and ate its occupants. It’s a fun holodeck simulation where he and his friends play roles but it will take a while for them to finish it with the upcoming graduation.

Sasha beams back at Connie and sits beside him, while Mikasa sits next to Sasha. She then circles back to their topic.

"I'm just saying, Mika. Regardless of how sensitive the mission is, with your skills, I think you'll do well with Captain Smith's missions."

Mikasa scrunches her nose and sips from her cup of synthehol. "Eh, they're still dangerous, and besides, it would be weird for Levi and me to be on one ship."

Connie is now the one to speak up. "Why would it be weird? Wouldn't it be easier since he's your cousin? Oh, and also, won't their ship be on the roster?"

Everyone at the table stops whatever they have been doing to listen to Mikasa. Like Sasha, they are also looking forward to being commissioned to USS Sina. Mikasa looks at everyone at the table and shrugs nonchalantly, just like before in the replicator queue. "Levi will come here aboard another starship. No luck, guys."

And just like Sasha, the young cadets at the table state their desire to have their first assignment in Sina, their excitement and eagerness bubbling.

A small smile creeps on Mikasa's lips. She will definitely miss this bunch. Sure, there will be a chance for some of them to get assigned on the same ship as her, but a career in Starfleet means years before meeting your friends again. It won’t be surprising if some of them get promoted to lieutenant junior grade or even a higher rank the next time they see each other.

Her eyes scan the faces on the table, realizing that they aren’t complete yet. Three people are still missing from their circle so she asks, "Hey, has anyone heard from Eren, Jean, and Marco?"

It’s Armin who answers her, closing his PADD and putting it aside. "Oh, Eren said they’ll be coming late. They're still doing some last-minute routine checks on the trainer crafts they're using for tomorrow's exhibition."

Mikasa nods then sighs softly. She loves all her friends, really, but she can’t help feeling incomplete whenever Eren was away.

#attack on titan #aot fanfiction #forgotten wip #aottrek

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forest-hashira · 6 months

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stopping by to ask for a bedtime story. pls tell me how you met the boys and and and i must know how the first date went <3

hi em!!! i'm so sorry this wasn't a bedtime story for you yesterday i was too intoxicated last night to be able to say this coherently...

ok so. i have an age gap going on with stsg, but i didn't know them beyond reputation for a long time (i attended kyoto jujutsu high, so they weren't my teachers dw). i didn't actually meet them until after i graduated. the higher ups, unsurprisingly, sent me on a mission i was not cut out for, so they stepped in and saved my ass. i was embarrassed as hell and kind of on my guard (hearing utahime-sensei bitch about gojo for years will do that), but they were both really nice. suguru made sure i wasn't too badly hurt after they'd taken care of the curses, but i did wind up kind of snapping at gojo for pushing me out of the fight completely (i said something along the lines of never being able to learn to defend myself if i never got to fight), and he just kinda... stared at me bc he didn't expect me to talk back to him. suguru apologized on his behalf, asked again if i was ok, and offered to escort me back to where i was staying (i didn't take him up on it).

cut to a couple weeks later. stsg were in kyoto for some meeting between the staff of both high schools, i was back on campus between missions (i just kinda..... never really moved out of my dorm after graduation, whoops) and ran into them again. before i could say literally anything to them (didn't get out any sort of greeting at all), satoru was blurting out a very awkward apology for how our first meeting had gone. i forgave him, and we exchanged small talk for a bit (i hated every second of it, small talk makes me Insane), and then they had to leave for another meeting, but before they walked away, satoru handed me a little piece of paper with their numbers on it, telling me if i ever needed anything just to reach out to them.

i put their numbers in my phone but didn't contact them for a few more weeks, until i was given another mission i had a feeling was more than i could handle. they agreed to come as backup, and promised not to interfere unless i really needed help. everything went fine in the end, but i appreciated them being there and keeping their word about not cutting me out of my own mission.

we texted back and forth occasionally after that, until one day they invited me out to a little cafe when i was in tokyo for a couple days. i didn't know until afterwards that they intended for it to be a date, i just assumed i was third wheeling, since their relationship was no secret to... pretty much anyone in the jujutsu world, and because i'm oblivious as hell so i didn't even know they were interested in me.

after that (failed) date, they decided to split up and each take me on a solo date. sugu went first, which toru wasn't happy about, but he spent a fair amount of the date talking toru up to me, which i thought was really sweet, but i was absolutely blown away when he told me that satoru had been pining after me basically from that first meeting.

anyways. my first date with suguru was to a secondhand bookstore, and then afterwards we had lunch in the park. it was fairly quiet, very low key, very nice; very him. my first date with satoru was to a roller rink. i have terrible balance so i spent the whole time clinging to him and wobbling around like a newborn baby deer, and he ate it up. when he finally had mercy on me we left the roller rink, he took me out for ice cream. it was a little chaotic, very high energy, very bubbly; very him. they both walked me home after our respective dates, and asked permission before kissing my cheek. it didn't take long after that for me to fall for them, hard.

wow ok that was..... a lot longer than i expected i'm sorry for talking your ear off em 😭

#asks answered #enchanting em #fallon's friends #self ship tag #sorry i started typing and apparently i had a lot to say kjshkdghdkjghsjk #but i haven't thought much abt our origin story so this was fun!!!

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chibinightmares · 1 year

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サッカリンの記憶 «🌸» Saccharine Memories

It's been a long four years you've spent with people who've become closer friends than you'd ever imagine.. enduring days that would eventually turn to half-forgotten moments you'd only recall in brief sparks.. then again, that's how your memory worked, wasn't it?

From the first day that started your freshman year to your very last senior year, you had stayed by their side and they did the same in return. From relieving past trauma and expressing emotions you didn't know you were capable of feeling anymore, you spent each of those hours within the confined bell schedule of that new school without worrying about feeling lonely.. but even that wasn't enough.

Having to be left behind to finish off your second-senior year while all those who you had come to care about graduated and moved on with their lives was.. beyond heartbreaking. It.. hell, some days you didn't feel like you even had a will to live what with your very future lasting on the 'what if' you could even pass all seven classes.. a feat that seemed very much impossible until the last two weeks of school. Of course, some of your friends knew you were apathetic about your own life but it felt like the weight of the world was crushing down on your chest when you turned in that assignment to the one class that had yet to be passing.. only to feel tears of joy form when you saw that high [F] standing at around 59% change to a very low [D] with 60%.

But none of those friends would mock you for having to stay a fifth year, instead, they encouraged and stayed by your side-- cheering for you on the sidelines when moments went south. From meeting up randomly during the halls, to spending days with one-another, hell, even managing to attend your final choir concert when your parent couldn't make it.. they were there the entire way through.

×══»•»☽♡☾»•»══×

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝓎𝑒, 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒜𝒽, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈!

×══«•«☽♡☾«•«══×

It only hurts to have broken memories to remember them by as your freshman year did more than damage your already nonexistent self-confidence.. as you were forced to live with six-to-seven other strangers along with your parent. Enduring hardships that often made you want to suffocate when you were forced to keep silent almost all hours of the day.. having no privacy to yourself and constantly being reminded that.. "this wasn't how things were supposed to go".

It wasn't until the first week of your sophomore year did a light shine through the end of the tunnel in the form of a fire.. a fire that took out the swamp cooler on the roof. It wasn't even the end of the week when it happened but it was a blessing, no-- it was the best thing that could've happened to you during your time out in the desert.. granted you now lived in a motel with your parent and their fiance but at least it.. felt like 'home'. It was a home.

When your junior year passed around, it was a blur.. nothing really of note happened until your senior year.. but that was even more clouded.

Your second senior year is when everything came together.. although you were alone, you found temporary friends in underclassmen and others of the same graduating class-- and you even managed to get out of the motel and into a shared apartment! Things were finally looking up as you enlisted into the navy and soon enough had friends and family congratulating you.. it.. felt weird, to look forward to the future for the first time in a long while.

Graduation is in a few days and I.. don't know how to feel.. but I knew I had to write something when I found Seishun Photograph in my recommended videos again, having listened to the song a long time ago back in my.. sophomore year, is when I think I found it.. don't entirely remember. It's been a long five years but hey, I made it.

#blurb #graduation #class of 2023 #Seishun Photograph #saccharine series #Iwantedtocrysomuchthisweek

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notesfromthepalace · 2 years

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Let's Talk About It

I have always felt like I empathized with young women, especially young women of color, when it comes to their bodies being hyper sexualized - then to be vilified by the church. But it wasn't until recently where I truly felt the heat of being attacked simply for being an attractive young woman. To continue, I have also never been so disappointed in an older woman in my life. A continued prayer I have for myself for 20-30 years+ from now is stay in tune with my body and femininity, and to not be intimidated by younger women - at that point in life I just want to continue to be a bad gyal with my future husband and attend my future child's piano recitals and graduations.

I am well aware that I am a curvy girl (body looking good - waist small with the Coca-Cola bottle shape). So I know that there is a difference between someone who is skinny with no curves and me wearing a fitted dress - I look better, but it will compliment my shape more since I have one. But the idea that because I am curvy I NEED to wear larger clothing, like no - absolutely not.

I received a text message from a woman at my church saying she loves me and that everything she says comes from a place of love. Lies.

She said two things to me that really struck a nerve, but the last comment is graver than the first.

She said "you sit in the second row close to the ministers and preachers, and you should wear looser clothes". For context, I used to sit in the middle and she asked me to sit up there with her. It low-key feels like a set up.

But the second statement chilllllle, "I hope you learn what your worth is". So I'm going to list all of my thoughts of where I think these two statements came from:

I think she is intimidated by a young new women who is feminine, attractive and obviously well put together because she definitely told she me loves the fashions over here.

2. Last Sunday I took the time to look around, and I'm the only single and womanly looking woman around my age (that is a conversation for another day; But for the most part, the ladies in the church are in their thirties and beyond, and most likely married) while she's in her fifties and single - maybe looking for a man there but I'm not!

3. She's trying to make me dim my light so she can shine. I say this humbly, but no matter where I walk into, I'm a show stopper. It's how I walk, my allure, grace, confidence, my feminine energy -

that CAN'T be bought.

She's upset that I posses what she's been searching for her entire life

- confidence in ONE'S SELF. I believe I'm a goddess,

that's why I don't partake in certain activities or conversations, they're just way below the altitude I'm at right now

4. She's projecting. Again for context, she has said that she was a teen mom, has been married and divorced more than once, and was giving herself - mind, body and soul to men because she didn't know her self-worth, and I wonder if she does now.

I have met countless women like her before, projecting their own insecurities because they don't love themselves. Do the WORK! Read about self love and adoration, read about being more feminine for yourself and your partner (that's important too, again another story for another day), teach yourself how to love yourself! Treat yourself how you would like to be treated.

Final point: although this was about church hurt, this last point applies to any place you happen to step your feet in. If you are at church, work, someone's birthday party, etc, if someone comes out of their way to say something to you about your appearance, they weren't there for the event or the experience. To go further, humbly, you're out shining whoever thought they were the Queen of the Court, so go you sis!

Always with love and Grace,

Sarah Chanel <3

#black women #black women in femininity #black women in leisure #black women in luxury #black women fashion #pretty girl

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euripitaes · 5 months

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An Open Letter to College Graduates Who Oppose Student Loan Forgiveness

Dear graduate,

I am one of the 43 million Americans with federal student loan debt. I’m one of the 20 million Americans that would’ve had their debt completely erased by President Biden’s original loan forgiveness plan. Since the Supreme Court shut down this plan in 2023, the Biden administration has implemented several rounds of more targeted plans for borrowers across the country. None of these plans have applied to me.

I am a first-generation American. My parents did not go to college in the U.S. Back home, my parents make just enough to pay rent, bills and groceries. Given the chance to attend one of the finest journalism schools in the country, I took it with a little help from our friends at the U.S. Department of Education.

Now, I’m 8 months away from my graduation. My parents make the same amount they did in 2021 when I got accepted into school. Rent has gone up. According to the Department of Education, interest rates have nearly doubled[i]. Cost of attendance for my last year of college nears $100,000. I am about to step into one of the most difficult job markets in the past decade[ii]. And alongside surviving, I must worry about my student loan debt.

But you are so vocal about denying me this relief. Any government action is met with intense backlash. You say I should be responsible for my economic choices. That it will ruin the economy. That my college degree is setting me up for enough success to pay my loans back on my own. But most of all, you say it is unfair.

Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell once said loan forgiveness is “a slap in the face to every family who sacrificed to save for college, every graduate who paid their debt, and every American who chose a certain career path or volunteered to serve in our Armed Forces in order to avoid taking on debt.”[iii]

McConnell might not be your spokesperson, but his point is not lost on me.

In this economy, it’s survival of the fittest. If you’ve spent years of your life and thousands of your hard-earned money paying back loans, a benefit like this that doesn’t apply to you feels like an insult; a missed opportunity to relieve the burden you once had.

The human mind is practically programmed for fairness. The areas of our brain associated with reward and punishment are activated with negative emotional responses when we’re faced with unfair outcomes[iv]. These are emotional responses that arise quickly and automatically, not deliberately and rationally[v].

But beyond the psychology, I understand the anxieties of financial insecurity.

There’s nothing quite like financial fear, watching the tax rate and the price of everything inch higher and higher. If you’re already struggling to finance your own life, the idea of having to bear the consequences of something you played no part in sounds like an affront. Your frustrations are heard. But I urge you to consider the conditions of borrowers today.

The average size of debt has increased from just over $10,000 in the mid-90s, to about $30,000[vi]. Difficulty repaying this hefty sum is disproportionately felt by low-income, first generation and racial minority students[vii]. They have lower incomes post-graduation. And debt is barring young adults from significant life milestones like getting married, starting a family and buying a house or a car[viii]. Our lives are stuck in a limbo, with our debt standing as a dam to our personal success.

Even so, it is not only young college graduates faced with this burden. Loan forgiveness would impact millions of borrowers aged 50 or older[ix]. It is a multigenerational problem, impacting mostly low-income borrowers, not necessarily the affluent and successful that can repay their loans by themselves.

If you care little for the flow of our lives, consider this: Rising student debt is harming the economy we all participate in. Debt prohibits people from participating in our economy[x]. More disposable income could stimulate growth and boost the nation’s real GDP by $20 billion[xi].

A benefit that does not impact you triggers feelings of anger and frustration almost as instinctual as taking a breath of air. And with the financial fear that looms over us all, I cannot blame you for the pushback you’ve championed against Biden’s forgiveness plans.

That financial fear, however, leads me and other borrowers in the opposite direction. Understand me as I’ve tried to understand you. I am facing a much different economic landscape than even five years ago. I am scared for the day I leave the confines of my education and begin to live in a world that keeps on asking when I don’t have much to give.

Were you not once in my place? Do you remember the anxieties that sat in the pit of your stomach as graduation approached? What would loan forgiveness have meant for you?

For me, it could be a lifeline amidst a raging storm. And I shall wait to see if it’ll come my way.

Best,

L.C.

Sources:

[i] “Interest Rates and Fees for Federal Student Loans.” Federal Student Aid. Accessed April 19, 2024. https://studentaid.gov/understand-aid/types/loans/interest-rates.

[ii] Smith, Morgan. “Finding a Job Is Getting Harder Even in a Strong Labor Market: ‘It’s Just a Mess,’ Says Recruiting pro.” CNBC, February 16, 2024. https://www.cnbc.com/2024/02/16/finding-a-job-is-getting-harder-even-in-a-strong-labor-market-heres-why.html.

[iii] “McConnell: Student Loan Socialism a ‘Slap in the Face’ to Working Families: Republican Leader.” Republican Leader Mitch McConnell | Press Releases, August 24, 2022. https://www.republicanleader.senate.gov/newsroom/press-releases/mcconnell-student-loan-socialism-a-slap-in-the-face-to-working-families-.

[iv] Tabibnia, Golnaz. “Are Humans Hardwired for Fairness?” Association for Psychological Science - APS, April 15, 2008. https://www.psychologicalscience.org/news/releases/are-humans-hardwired-for-fairness.html.

[v] Tabibnia, Golnaz. “Are Humans Hardwired for Fairness?” Association for Psychological Science - APS, April 15, 2008. https://www.psychologicalscience.org/news/releases/are-humans-hardwired-for-fairness.html.

[vi] “Quick Facts about Student Debt.” The Institute for College and Success, April 2019. https://ticas.org/wp-content/uploads/legacy-files/legacy/files/pub/2003-04_quick_facts.pdf.

[vii] Walsh, Kate Padgett. “The Ethics of Canceling Student Debt Is More about Fairness than Broken Promises.” The Conversation, October 28, 2022. https://theconversation.com/the-ethics-of-canceling-student-debt-is-more-about-fairness-than-broken-promises-193288.

[viii] Walsh, Kate Padgett. “The Ethics of Canceling Student Debt Is More about Fairness than Broken Promises.” The Conversation, October 28, 2022. https://theconversation.com/the-ethics-of-canceling-student-debt-is-more-about-fairness-than-broken-promises-193288.

[ix] Banerjee, Asha. “Ten Reasons to Cancel Student Loan Debt.” The Center for Law and Social Policy, January 2021. https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED610484.pdf.

[x] “Is Rising Student Debt Harming the U.S. Economy?” Council on Foreign Relations, April 16, 2024. https://www.cfr.org/backgrounder/us-student-loan-debt-trends-economic-impact.

[xi] “Student Loan Debt Elimination - Pros & Cons.” ProCon.org, June 30, 2023. https://www.procon.org/headlines/should-student-loan-debt-be-easier-to-discharge-in-bankruptcy-top-3-pros-cons/.

#class project

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tonkiiphone · 2 years

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Rmn agency

#Rmn agency how to

We’d love to hear about any fond memories you have from when you were growing up?Īs a child, I grew up helping out my parents at their T-Shirt shop in Daytona Beach. This has built our reputation so that we are constantly rewarded by referrals – the biggest compliment from our candidates and clients. Always put our clients and candidates first. Along the way, and most importantly, we have maintained our most important principle. Hands down, we have the best people that are compassionate and care about their job. Year after year, we have expanded and beat our financial goals because of our amazing team. And so The RMN Agency was born in September 2010. After working for her and another agency for five years, I felt the entrepreneurial pull to start my own company. In return, she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse – to join her firm as a legal recruiter. I was ready to go sell T-Shirts with my parents in Daytona Beach – if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me. When we met, I confessed that I was done with the law. I contacted the legal recruiter who placed me at Rogers & Hardin, to make sure I didn’t owe her anything – because back then, I did not know how recruiting worked! She asked me for a meeting. I lateraled to Sutherland Asbill & Brennan (now Eversheds-Sutherland) and then Rogers & Hardin before coming to the painful realization that I wanted to have a career beyond practicing law. After having an amazing experience at KDW for almost three years, I decided to move back to Atlanta, having attended Emory University as an undergrad and falling in love with the city. What should we know about The RMN Agency?Īfter graduating from Syracuse Law in 2000, I started my legal career as a litigation associate for Kelley Drye & Warren in New York. COVID notwithstanding, Atlanta’s legal industry has emerged more robust than ever, particularly in the areas of corporate, real estate, and complex litigation!Īppreciate you sharing that. One of our greatest strengths is our ability to adapt quickly–especially recently with the challenges of the Pandemic. We’ve learned a lot, especially to be flexible to the ebbs and flows of the legal industry. The RMN Agency has been very fortunate to have been able to service our clients with top-notch candidates for over ten years. But over the years, as we matured, we have grown into a company where the fabric of our company is our talented team. I’m sure you wouldn’t say it’s been obstacle free, but so far would you say the journey has been a fairly smooth road?Īs a company, we started very small – it was just two of us in the beginning. We are privileged to have been recognized by The Daily Report (Atlanta’s Law.com affiliate) as Atlanta’s Best Legal Recruiter for the last FIVE YEARS IN A ROW, achieving Hall of Fame Status. Our recruiters have always put our clients and candidates first, which has paid off for us in the long run. Since RMN’s inception, we have grown and placed hundreds of lawyers both at firms and in-house, thanks to the fantastic teamwork we’ve cultivated. My years as an Associate gave me great insight into the career trajectory within big firms. However, my legal career started in BigLaw, both in New York and Atlanta. I founded The RMN Agency (“RMN”) over a decade ago in 2010, after earning my legal recruiting chops at two other agencies for five years. Hi Raj, so excited to have you with us today. Having learned that knowledge, I am eager to pass it on to young associates and attorneys who are finding themselves, and help them reach the next stage of their legal careers.Today we’d like to introduce you to Raj Nichani. Having practiced as an attorney for 20 years before switching to recruiting, I have learned a tremendous amount about the overview of the legal industry just in the past 2 years. Recruiters for cold and warm calling, so that both learn from each other and are energized and encouraged by the process.

#Rmn agency how to

There is a lot of feedback and discussion back and forth of how to approach recruiting, and setting goals to achieve. Mentorship from the Managing Director is also very encouraging and rewarding. That way, the candidates go into interviews extremely well prepared, and with confidence. Because of our connections and vast network, RMN has the ability to get the insider, granular information on the position, firm or corporate culture, and legal teams where candidates are interviewing. What I appreciate about our approach is that we truly customize and have a hands-on approach to cultivating our legal candidates. I've been part of the team that has won Best Legal Recruiting Firm the last 2 years from The Daily Report. Raj Nichani and The RMN Team are focused on crafting a smart and intelligent approach to legal career advancement.

#Rmn agency

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purelyfiction · 2 years

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Crossfire ---✈︎ 1

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x F!Reader | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Word Count: 7,205

Summary: When you hit a certain point in your career, you tend to crave a challenge. Well what if that challenge included near impossible feats, 12 of the best pilots in the Naval Airforce and the last person you wanted to ever see?

Content Warning: This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own decision.

Author Note: It’s hereeeeee - I have the entire story ready to roll and will be posting it in sections as to better navigate through. I’ve worked so incredibly hard on this so I hope that you enjoy it as much as I do! I would be remiss to not mention the countless beta reader’s who have helped me edit and prepare this story so a massive thank you goes out to them for all their help!!!

✈︎ ✈︎ ✈︎

You knew that joining the Navy would be a gamble. The ratio of women to men in this field was beyond staggering, as you and your other female counterparts made up the meek 12% of all Naval pilots, so there were inevitable barriers to overcome. First were the misplaced doubts and beliefs that you wouldn’t be able to do the job. Next were the taunts, teases and unwelcome eyes.

By the time you crept up to your 10th year of service, most of your coworkers knew better than to mess with you. You and your squadron had grown close in the last three years since being stationed in New Mexico, especially since it wasn’t that different from California, where you’d initially begun your training and subsequently attended Fighter Weapons School. You’d worked so hard to get where you were today and you loved what you did along with who you worked with.

So maybe that’s why you were shocked to be sent back to California. You weren’t sure what the assignment was for, but the change of pace was more than welcome. With hesitancy, you’d agreed to leave, and your squad bid their rare ‘Moonshine’ goodbye, then you were on your way to return to Miramar.

You remember the early days, back when you were just starting out. When men would prod and tease you about the stupidest things, where they would openly flirt with you, ask you out and consistently make you uncomfortable. ‘Sweetheart, do you even know the first thing about flying?’ Eventually, your mood towards them grew sour and you shot back at them. It’s because of this behavior; paired with your undeniable skill and strength in your field, that gave you the callsign you’d grown to love: “Moonshine.” It combined the strength and power you had, with a hint of sweetness and the clarity of wisdom. “Bitter at first but you’ll warm up to ’er.” It was the perfect name for you really.

There is always a sense of pride in you when you get to tell new acquaintances how you got your call sign and that was no different when you ended up at TOPGUN. You came in with your head held high and were ready to prove yourself. When you got there, you found pretty fierce competition within your class; out of the twenty of you, there were two women. You and Natalie ‘Spinner’ Evans or, Spins, as you affectionately came to call her. The both of you grew close over the nine months you spent together in California while at TOPGUN, as you were not far from one another in the dorms and you spent nights painting each other’s toenails and watching old school movies on Netflix. She was one of the few people you still spoke to out of your graduating class.

In the group of eighteen men you’d spent your class time with, there was one you absolutely couldn’t stand. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. That man had learned how to grind your gears within a week at Miramar. In every exercise the two of you were up against, you would be forced to wingman for one another and the other one would almost always abandon the other to get ahead in the instructor’s good graces. In the end, a few too many distractions (thanks to Rooster and his RIO) caused you to make some mistakes and some close calls near the hard deck, you lost points and ended up second overall in your class.

If he wasn’t giving you shit in the airfield he was giving you shit on base, in the recreation halls and at Hard Deck over billiards. Rooster would make a comment or two that would push you over the edge and you’d retreat before you did something that would get you kicked out of the program.

You’d been upset when your time at TOPGUN was over, but you were more than happy to get away from the arrogant son of a bitch. You’d had your bags packed the night before graduation, and were gone as soon as they’d let you leave. You didn’t want to leave the beautiful city, the gorgeous beach side sunsets, the few friends you had made in between competition - Carlos and Eddie still reached out now and then. You had even been stationed with Xavier for a five month long assignment and learned that he’d gotten married and had a little girl at home.

The memories of Fighter Weapons School were mainly fond, save for the unwelcome ones with Rooster in them, but you could deal with it to think on how far you’d come. You’d been invited back, for maybe a mission, maybe for an instructor position? You had no idea. Dropping your things in your assigned dorm, you made your way to the familiar bar from your early years.

Hard Deck always seemed to have this lingering smell of tanning oil, jet fuel, stale beer and body odor to it. You know that Penny had tried everything to get it to go away but the smell is nostalgic to you as you enter the lively bar on a Friday night. You can see countless faces and you don’t recognize many of them. Most were new recruits, older instructors keeping to themselves. Navy men and women doing what they do best, commiserating. You’re about to grab a seat when you hear your call sign, “Moonshine! What the hell?”

Turning you’re met with Hasan, one of the tower controllers you’d met while on a tour in the Gulf of Mexico shortly after Fighter Weapons completed. Cheering as you turn to him, you give him a hug. “Oh my god! How are you? What’s it been like four years?” The two of you stand in astonishment with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah I think so. I barely recognized you out of your flight gear.” He offers, making you look down at the more casual outfit, you’d changed the second you decided you were going off base. Too much khaki had a habit of wearing you down and right now, you were practically swimming in it; There were Naval officers, lieutenants, captains, blacktop attendants and air tower staff - the bar was packed with any and every position the Navy’s air force had.

“You know how it is, any chance to stand out.” You tease with a laugh. Hasan begins a conversation - until you see familiar faces, most of whom you’d never met before, but knew their faces from awards, their names paired with them. “Fitch...Trace...Floyd...Seresin..” You look at Hasan with a bit of confusion. “They all were top of their class at TOPGUN. Which means...they’re here for the same reason I’m here.” You look at the dark haired man next to you as he sips his drink.

“Don’t jump to conclusions..” You stand up, glancing around and starting towards the group, hearing your friend distantly as you walk toward the group. “And she’s jumped.”

You approach Phoenix and grin as she’s reciting your rank and full name. “Lieutenant.” You grin as she comes to the same conclusion you have, “We were just mentioning how strange it is that we’ve all ended back up at the same place.”

“Great minds think alike. I have no idea what this is about, but I’m curious to find out.” As you’re talking, Seresin approaches, sitting on the edge of the pool table to come to eye level with you.

“I don’t think we’ve met. Lt. Jake Seresin. Callsign Hangman, top of my class, first choice of mission once I was out.” He tilts his head to grin at you with impeccably white teeth. You don’t need to know him to know that he was the epitome of the standard know it all Naval pilot.

“Something tells me you won’t be letting me forget that one anytime soon.” You mutter under your breath as you take a sip from your glass, watching as he gets up in the direction of the jukebox.

“You’d be right. Care to dance?” He’s looking over his shoulder, aviators sat on his nose in the middle of a bar, finger pressing the track he’s selected. There is a dull attempt at a dance as he begins to approach you again, smirk plastered on his way too tanned face.

“Not particularly, Hangman.” You cross your arms over your chest as he moves about the table, taking a cue from one of the other players to take his turn. The group has gone back on to guessing what could have possibly brought you all to the same bar but moments before you can engage in the conversation, the jukebox dies out, making everyone in the bar look in its direction.

In front of the vintage piece, with another pair of aviators, Hawaiian shirt overtop a white ribbed vest and a mustache to boot - stood the very last person you ever wanted to see. You’re careful to duck out of his sights, watching as he settles into the spot at the old piano, jumping right into the chord progression of his go-to title only to gather an audience as he does so.

As people begin to surround him, you’re quick to make your escape. Though, when you do, you find someone hanging out just off the deck of the building, looking through the window. “He’s not that talented you know.” You comment, half-mindedly, watching as the older man looks back at you. “Who?” Your statement had come rather unprompted, so you’re quick to pull together an answer.

“The pilot at the piano. He intentionally pulled a fast one on me so he could make first in class during my time in Fighter Weapons. Not only that, but he blew so much smoke up their asses to catch up to the rest of us, he wasn’t even a Lieutenant until about two years ago. Somehow he managed to embarrass the shit out of me.” You sigh, seeing that the man outside is looking back through the glass again.

“Oh. He just... reminds me of someone, is all.” When he turns back again, you finally get a glimpse of his jacket and the name patch there. A laugh leaves you.

“Maverick. Of course. Well, I’ll be damned. The man, the myth and the legend.” You smile as he comes to stand in front of you. He extends a hand, which you take as you introduce yourself.

“It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant. I guess I’m still making impressions?”

“Who said they were good impressions?” You ask, seeing his face fill with laughter.

“Okay, okay, I get it, I get it.” Nodding, he pockets his hands. “At least you’ve got great examples of what not to do.” He snickers and you agree.

“I thought you were out doing every menial assignment they could give you, Captain.” You’d heard stories, knew they’d been trying to get Maverick out for years. He taught briefly at Fighter Weapons before getting into trouble elsewhere and every time he broke a rule, the Navy would look to get rid of him. Someone would end up vouching for him, usually Admiral Kazansky, which meant he’d stick around for just a little longer.

“I’ve been reassigned. Something to do with my ‘less than ideal’ piloting skills.” He hums, starting to walk with you down the beachside path. “And who am I to say no to orders?” The captain smirks as you two continue back around to the parking lot.

———————————————— ✈︎

The following morning, you were up way earlier than you initially anticipated being awake at, mainly because you’d not slept well. So you’d taken your time putting your hair into regulation, getting showered and dressed. You’d then decided to take a quick walk around the base as the sun rose.

As you were wrapping up your walk you see that you’re about 15 minutes from debrief, so you head to the hangar. You can feel the nerves in your stomach that had kept you up the whole night. You’d been here before, but it’s nearly twice as intimidating the second time around.

When you arrive, you find that there’s a lectern, an old school projector screen and twelve desks. It looked like a carbon-copy of one of your high school classrooms, with most of the desks being full, except one. It was in the front row, next to the blonde you’d had a ‘pleasure’ of meeting with the previous day. “Morning Moonshine. Oh that’s got such a ring to it, don’t it?” Hangman grins at you and you can’t stop the somersault that your eyes do. Sitting down, you’re looking behind you to see who’d ended up there. Phoenix was here, Fanboy and Payback, Bob - and of course:

“Rooster.” You nearly spit the call sign out. He isn’t initially looking at you, and once his head is raised, you can see the way his shoulders shift.

“Moonshine.” A snicker runs through him. “I thought it was the best of TOPGUN, not the runner-ups.”

“You should consider yourself to be so lucky to be included then.” Quickly, the retort leaves you as Phoenix kicks your boot, seeing two admirals entering the hangar. The twelve of you face rapidly forward and give them your attention as they begin.

They’ve been speaking for almost ten minutes before you hear footsteps echo in the hangar as they start the instructor’s introduction. Hangman daringly interrupts Admiral Bates’ lecture, cutting him off when he sees who had come into the room. “You’re joking. Man, you are hilarious.” Laughing as his hand comes to his chin, the older man reaches the lectern. Tugging off his aviators, a beaming smile, Maverick looks over you all.

“Good morning aviators, this is your captain speaking.” He’s looking over the group in front of him with a coy smirk before he’s jumping into explaining the timeline. A month. You had a month to train to do the impossible. Nervously, you’re looking around, seeing hesitancy in each other's faces as Maverick describes the parameters. Looking back to the front, you watch the screen move to the Fighters Weapons logo.

“Let’s fly.”

It would take some getting used to flying with a new RIO, but you would manage. Luckily for you, getting up in the air was familiar and second nature for you. Each time you came to a level cruising altitude, you had a moment, a reminder of how important your job was. How few individuals got to do this, and you got to do it every single day.

In the first exercise of the entire training period, you’d been put up against Phoenix and Bob. While on the tarmac, you’d heard Hangman’s daring bet, and knew you were all in for it. You were flying with Maverick as the bandit, which meant that this wasn’t going to be an easy day.

In less than ten minutes you were dead and grounded. Hangman went back up, leaving you with Rooster on the airfield as you did push-ups with Hondo over your shoulders. “Hangman really can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”

“Apparently, neither can you.” Rooster huffs and you scoff.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I the one who challenged a TOPGUN instructor with a wild streak to such a challenge? I don’t think so.” Before Rooster could get in another word, Hondo is instructing you two to focus and keep going.

Back up in the air. Dead. Back to the tarmac for push-ups. Back in the air. Dead. Again. By the time you’re done with your last set of push-ups, you’re standing with exhaustion. Payback is slapping your shoulder with a bit of pride, “Can’t say it’s been a boring day.” He snickers.

Carrying your helmet in your hand, you’re walking with him with amusement as you enter the base operations building. You enter an instruction hall where the other pilots are sat in little rows intently listening to the radio tower and all the radio comms of pilots currently dispatched. The room feels tense as you enter. “What’s going on?” You question softly, not wanting to break the tension. Quickly, you sit down as you’re pushing your helmet under your chair while Bob looks back at you with a whisper.

“Rooster and Maverick are in a downward corkscrew toward the hard deck.” He explains and your eyebrows furrow, looking up to the screen. He’s right. The two identified planes are currently spinning at high speed toward the ground, circling around themselves with no real sign of stopping. What the hell were they doing?

It’s a high stake game they’re playing. At the speed they’re going, they could not only run to ground, but they could end up disorienting and crashing into one another when they did get out of their positions but soon, Rooster breaks and pulls up. The tower grounds them both leaving the remaining crew to look at one another in sheer shock.

———————————————— ✈︎

With the sun setting, and the crew dispersed for the day, it leaves you to change and head to the gym. You were certain after a long day of push-ups, there couldn’t possibly be anyone to bother you there so you’re alone with your headphones clutching to your head as you’re pulling the barbell from its spot on the floor. You’re watching your form in the mirror, carefully calculating your breaths. Your music is so loud you think there’s someone speaking somewhere in the room. When you drop the weights, you’re looking back up in the mirror, realizing - someone had been speaking to you, but it’s not someone you’re willing to talk to. You turn to the male with displeasure written on your face. “I’m surprised they didn’t kick you off base.” You retort, pulling the headphones from your head as Rooster drops his workout bag on a nearby bench.

“I’m lucky they didn’t.” He plops himself on the bench, pulling his gym shoes from his bag. This is the first time you’re seeing him outside of his usual floral getup or his flight suit. A faded and relaxed black colored fabric sits on his shoulders, a darker silkier fabric on his hips. His shirt looks like he cut the sleeves off a while ago, the openings having been cut deep for ventilation. It showcases his tanned biceps and suddenly you’re physically shaking your head: they didn’t need to be ‘that’ deep, he was such a show off, ‘Peacock’ would’ve been a better fit for a callsign. Yet as you continue to judge the scene in front of you, you find that you’re unable to pull yourself away. Finally, you break away from the gaze, a shiver of disgust running through you. “Thought I was gonna be the only one here after what Hangman pulled earlier.” The reference of push-ups makes you snicker.

“I thought the same thing. Guess not.” With your water in your hand you tilt your head. “What happened up there?” You take a sip as Rooster stands fully upright. You forgot how tall this shit was. He’s moving from the bench area to the free weights, probably looking to warm up, as if the hundreds of push-ups you’d both just done weren’t enough.

“I’d rather not go into it.” He mutters, going over his options from the rack, leaving you to tilt your head.

“Sorry, what was that again?” You ask with a bit of contention towards him. “You pull a stunt mid-air and won’t bother to tell me why?” Your water bottle ends up on the bench as you come closer to him again. He groans and looks back at you.

“Frankly, it’s none of your damn business.” You huff and take a step forward.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rooster, but a team’s being made here. One way or another you’re gonna have to talk.” He drops the weights in his hands, turning to you - towering near you, intimidating and broad. There’s still sweat lingering from being outside all day - both of you are covered in it.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Moon, but I seriously doubt there’s going to be room for you on that team. At least not any team I’m on.” He nearly growls at you and all you can do is turn to grab your stuff.

“You wanted the work out room for yourself? You’ve got it.” You’re almost out the door when you hear him.

“That’s it? You’re just gonna run away again? Is that your solution to everything? ‘Rooster’s in the way, so I can’t possibly be here.’ You said it yourself. Team’s being built. You’re gonna have to deal with me at some point.” Standing still in the doorway, one hand on the door handle you look back at him, seeing a coy smirk on his features. It would be so easy to just go back to your dorm, run a bath and forget this entire interaction ever happened but part of you knows you’d be a hypocrite if you did so. After all, you’d been the one so adamant about team building. “You know I’m right.” He chimes in with another reminder. Finally, with a groan you come back to the floor, dropping your things again, but this time keeping your distance.

“For the sake of team building.”

You’ve given him the free weight floor, keeping to the treadmills and other machines. Avoiding his eyes, you’re climbing onto the machine, hearing the other again. “Running? I thought you swore off running after that challenge to run the ops building?” It was true. You’d had a bet with Rooster back in your class days, that the one with the least amount of targeted kills in a day had to run around the ops building, about two miles, twice. You’d lost that bet four times in a week. Your knee had been so bad because of it that when you went to the infirmary they gave you a pass for two weeks for no impact on your knee. It was still messed up even today, but it was better than that week.

“Someone’s never heard of what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” You throw back, starting the pace slow, your eyes locating him as he looks at you through the mirror. “Are you going to work out or are you just gonna stand there?” Rooster watches you with a slight smirk on his features, putting his headphones on and getting started.

You’re heading into a jog when you realize - you don’t have your headphones. Glancing behind you, you see them on the bench, next to Rooster’s stuff. The last thing you want to do is to break your pace, just for the sake of music, so you choose to go without this exercise. You’re only doing a mile and a half, so it should go by pretty fast. You stay focused on the window ahead of you all while you’re making a metaphorical laundry list of things you need to do when you get back to your room.

Steam flight suit

Finish unpacking

Organize drawers

Find my-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a very prominent sound. Looking from its direction, you see Rooster, suspended in the air on the power rack, lifting his legs up to form an ‘L’ shape with his body. When he pulls them up again, another grunt comes from him. There’s the rational part of you that says ‘stop staring’ but you can’t. Mainly because he’s taken his shirt off causing him to glisten in the fluorescent lights above you. Fully unaware of your gaze, he’s still moving, grunts and groans coming from him as he moves. You nearly trip on the tread you’re running on, catching yourself, yet still not turning away. Eventually, brown eyes shift towards you and you rapidly turn your head away from him. You increase your speed, giving yourself that to focus on instead of the sound coming from your coworker. He keeps going, and with each sound you can feel your face flush. Eventually though, you hear a thud. Glancing back, you see Rooster collapsed on the floor causing you to slightly panic. You’re quickly moving to shut off your treadmill, jumping to the padded floor and over to him.

“Rooster, hey, are you alright? Can you hear me?” A hand goes to his back, moving to push him upright. When he does sit up, he is laughing, hard. You’re quick to shove him, making him move to his other side, still laughing as you grab your things.

“Oh come on! It was a joke.” He laughs and you glare at him.

“That shit’s not funny.” You’re quickly tossing your things into your bag, sitting down and pulling off your gym shoes and then changing into a more casual pair. You avoid his gaze the entire time, but can hear him as he stands up.

“Lighten up, I’m fine. It was just a joke.” Once you’re on your feet, you pull your bag over your shoulders. When you finally turn to face him, you’re greeted with his chest mere centimeters from yours. He’s looking directly at you, giving you a gateway to look deeply into his eyes. There’s a brief glint to them, thanks to the low intensity of the lights in the gym, but they have flecks of a golden brown that make them so warm and inviting. Yet there’s specks of green that cool them ever so slightly, warning you. Telling you to keep your distance. Neither of you say a word.

You can still feel the anger flooding through you, but you can feel your stomach turn on a dime. You’d never thought he was intimidating, so what changed?

Shifting your gaze, your eyes instinctually move to look around his face. Somehow despite the work he’s put in for the day, his hair doesn’t seem to stray out of place, the rest of him well groomed to match. You can see the beads of sweat that catch in the light, the overpowering smell of Old Spice hitting your nose as it worked overtime to keep his body odor at bay. It’s a surprisingly welcome scent. That paired with the all too perfect swoosh to his hair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Wellness. How perfect. You could picture the issue now, ‘the charming faces of our US Navy’. All oiled up on the Commander’s beach.

Had it been any other person, the idea of such a photoshoot would have put your stomach in knots. Since it wasn’t? It leaves you physically shuddering at the mental image.

It then puts you back into the gym, reminding you how pissed you were at this stupidly and conventionally attractive man. Feet nearly fly off your body as you leave the gym, snapping yourself out of whatever stupid trance he’d put you into.

You absolutely despised this man. Furthermore, you hated that he seemingly couldn’t do any wrong, to absolutely anyone else. Between the begrudging truth that he was rather photogenic and was ever the lady’s man; he was the Navy’s shining star. TOPGUN’s prodigal son. But you saw what everyone else seemed to ignore or were simply blind to. He had a god complex and never failed to make you feel inferior, uncomfortable or a burning rage when he pushed your buttons and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of distracting you again. Not this time. He hated your guts and you hated his. End of the story.

You’d thought about the entire interaction in a loop while you’d showered. How close he’d been to you and how you felt some of your composure crack when you’d admitted that he’d actually looked pretty decent given the day you’d had.

Yet it angered you. You wanted the entire thing to disappear from your mind. From the curve of his biceps to the scent of his deodorant. None of it belonged on your mind. It took you a little while to push that moment away. You’d tried to write it down and burn the paper, flush the idea literally down the toilet (clogging it in the process. Day three back at Miramar and you’re already putting in help tickets) do anything you could to forget it.

But the memory flooded back when you saw him again for class days later. Typically you two kept to yourselves, out of ease of getting through the work day, but your eyes meet briefly as you spot him in the lecture hall. You told yourself you weren’t going to let it bother you, and you needed to remind yourself of that. And you do, seeing the details of the mission that were being laid out for you. Instead of the intensity you’d felt in your stomach at the gym, worry and anxiety sit.

The exercise that day was to practice the turn route. You knew this was going to be difficult, but getting up in the air was more nerve-wracking than you remembered. It used to be so instinctual but now you have to recite the manual in your mind. You hadn’t been nervous to fly in years, but the pairing of the speed and the terrain of this mission could be deadly, and that’s what made your stomach drop.

With the timer going, you’re starting the path, watching the simulation on the screen to help calculate your moves. As you focus on the task, you hear a set of system alarms go off. Part of you thinks it’s someone else’s system, until you see the flashing on your control panel. One of your engines is failing. Naturally, you level out the plane, as you begin flipping switches on the control board. You’re quickly notifying the tower, as well as Maverick, of your every move, keeping them updated as you try to get it going again, staying as calm as you can. A deep breath as your RIO reads off the status over the radio. You’re tuning everyone else that’s attempting to help you through the radio. Instead you’re zeroed in on restarting the engine before the one that was keeping you in the air gave out.

No sooner than it began, the siren tones stopped, the engine kicked back on, which sent you lurching forward against the brace of the seatbelt and on your way back to a solid path. With a breath of relief, you lean back in your seat, hearing them clear the warning from ground control. You’ve been commanded to land so the maintenance team can take a look at the plane, to ensure it wouldn’t have a repeat event for the next flight. When you’re back on the tarmac, you’re still stuck thousands of feet in the air, even though your feet are on the ground. Maybe it’s because your brain was still computing the event, putting all the pieces together when they had been so scrambled when they were introduced. There had been countless words said over the comm line, but you’d only paid attention to your captain’s and air control’s.

As you analyze the new information, you realize: Rooster had been speaking to you. Something along the lines of staying calm? The more you think about it, you’re not sure he ever said your name, or that it was even directed toward you. Had he been talking to himself? Breathe. It’s fine. They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine. She’s got this.

When you enter the operations building, you’re passing a room as you start towards the locker room. You were going to change and go home, try to take a shower and get some food in you. Your head was still reeling from the event after all but you stop when you see the flash of flight suit green out of the corner of your eye. Backing up, you find Rooster sitting in an empty room, walls filled with awards and photographs. Very carefully, you enter with heavily calculated steps. You keep your hands behind your back, looking at the photos until he’s ready to address you.

Rooster’s still zoned out when you finally look at him, slowly approaching. “Rooster? You good?” Still no reaction. Dazed and staring ahead. “Bradshaw.” A little firmer this time, which finally breaks him out of it. He looks at you, this time hazel eyes are highlighted by the sun peeking into the room from the window on the far wall. When you break his stare you look at the photo he’s fixated on as you speak again. “Everything okay?”

“‘M fine. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He answers, leaving you to examine the plaque tacked to the wall.

You’re glancing back at him while facing the wall. “I don’t know about that. The whole, ‘team’ thing, remember?” It doesn’t take long for him to stand up again. He comes to your side, looking toward the plaque in front of the two of you now.

“Yeah. Team.” His head drops, a sigh leaving him. You’re turning so your body is completely facing him.

“If the whole engine thing freaked you out-“

“It’s not that.” He looks at you deliberately. “I just.. I lost my dad in a training exercise accident. I guess the panic just kind of kicked in when your engine shat the bed.” He’s fidgeting with a flap on his suit, the metal clasp on it making a ringing noise with each time the fabric returns to its intended position. There’s deep somberness in the air from his confession. It takes a few seconds to realize his eyes are trained back to the photo from earlier, where you finally take in the details. Fighter Weapons Class of ‘86. There’s names listed, and beside one another sits Mitchell and Bradshaw.

“Maverick was your dad’s pilot?” You ask it so softly, you’re nearly scared to even ask.

“Yeah. It wasn’t his fault, the whole thing was an accident, like I said.” Rooster’s turned away from both you and the wall now. He’s sinking into his chair again, letting you follow slowly. You sit down next to him, looking out the window.

“Is that why you and Mav don’t get along?” Rooster sits up, crossing his arms.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just a reminder… no matter how great a pilot.. accidents happen.” He shrugs, as though there’s nothing else lingering.

“You two went spiraling towards the hard deck within hours of being around each other. I think that something has to cause that kind of animosity?” You suggest, which finally snaps the band that’s holding him together.

“Maverick pulled my papers. Happy?” You frown as he scoffs. “God, I don’t even know why you even -“ you cut him off before he can launch into a new argument.

“I care because it affects me too. Both of you being on edge puts me- and the whole team on edge. It makes our environment more hostile, makes everyone uneasy, which honestly, is the last thing we all need.”

Rooster lets out a sigh as he’s running a hand through his hair. Finally, he pushes his weight off of his knees, helping him stand, his wrist rolling over to look at the watch that sits there.

“I need a drink.” He says it so swiftly, as he moves to the door. He pauses at the doorway, looking back at you. “Are you coming?” Pointing a finger at yourself, you begin mockingly looking around the room, a scoff moving from his chest. “C’mon, Moonshine. In the spirit of team building?” It’s almost mockingly spoken, causing you to roll your eyes. You spot the smirk on his lips as you stand.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot at Hard Deck.” You snicker, quickly leaving the room and making your way back to your dorm.

———————————————— ✈︎

Your room is a mess. Not that you particularly care, but seeing that you hadn’t finished unpacking, you couldn’t find anything decent to wear. At least that’s what you told yourself as you put on the tenth outfit you decide against. It’s not as if it mattered what you were wearing. You’re not dressing up for anyone. With this reminder, you decide on an old tee and some shorts. Maybe you’d end up on the beach after drinks, as a walk in the sand sounded nice, it would give you some stress relief. Some respite to the adrenaline you keep pent up after each exercise at work.

You’re headed out the door when you spot Phoenix, also headed to the parking lot. She gives you a smile. “Hey stranger. You disappeared after that engine scare, everything okay?” Reassuringly, you give a nod.

“Oh yeah, I kind of went walking to clear my mind, you know?” She smiles.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m meeting Bob and Payback at Hard Deck, you coming?”

“Yeah! I was actually meeting Rooster there.” A shrug, until you see Phoenix's response to your words. Her eyebrows have risen in surprise, something of a smirk and a smile.

“Wait, he actually agreed to having a drink with you?” The two of you start to the parking lot after you’ve locked your door.

“Actually, he invited me, believe it or not.” You speak with a hint of laughter as Phoenix unlocks her car. She nods to the door on the other side, indicating she’s giving you a ride. Climbing into the Jeep, you continue. “He was kind of somber after our exercise today. I was headed out and he was kind of distant in the trophy room.” A shrug before you watch the gates open to let you out as you start the short drive to Penny’s workplace.

“Well, I mean when something like that happens, it’s easy to get lost in the reminder of how dangerous our job actually is. Especially when you consider what the end goal of all this training is meant to be.” It’s her turn for a solemn sigh. Both of you grow quiet.

It’s not until you pull into the parking lot that the chatter begins again. You’re easily and quickly spotting the male, leaning up against his truck, staring at something on his phone. Phoenix slams her car door shut, which catches his attention. “I heard we were drinking?” She suggests with a grin, Rooster matching hers as he tucks his phone away. You’ve climbed out of the car, catching his wave of his hand as Phoenix makes her way into the bar. The light brown haired male waits for you to meet him by his car before walking with you.

“Didn’t feel like driving?” He questions, making you shake your head as he opens the door.

“Nah, I just happened to run into her on the way out. Ended up riding together.” As you enter the bar, the familiar smell cascades over the two of you and you’re scanning the crowd to see where the others disappeared to. You spot them at the far side of the bar, and are quick to lead the way. Rooster falls closely behind you. He meets up with Fitch at the bartop, glancing towards you.

“Beer?” He’s holding up two fingers, implying he’s grabbing one for himself as well, only for you to correct him.

“Ugh, actually, coconut rum, mint and soda, if you will?” He gives you a curious eyebrow raise, but turns to Penny with your order. Soon you’re roped into a game of billiards, moving to team with Bob and Phoenix.

When it’s your turn, you’re taking the cue, ready and aiming at an orange striped ball, seeing Payback and Hangman sipping and watching. You’re about to take your shot when Hangman stops you. “Hold on, sweetheart, let me help.” He’s quick to take the stick out of your hand - and then takes your shot. He’s returning the stick to you, with a wink and a cigar between his teeth, leaving you with your jaw slacked. You’re about to say something when you hear a bell ringing. Turning around you see Rooster rattling the bell and Penny with a wide grin on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Lt. Seisen has just bought everyone a round!” Rooster’s voice booms over the crowd, followed by a subsequent cheer. Your astonished slack jaw shifts to one of amusement and glee. Hangman looks at the two conspirators by the bar as Rooster approaches with your drinks.

“What?? For why??” He cries out as you take your drink from Bradshaw. The mustached man points to the sign above the bar.

“Disrespect a lady, the Navy or put a phone on the bar. You sir, broke 2 outta three of those rules. A lady in the Navy.” He points out before taking a sip of his drink, your custom order. He then looks at you with a grin. “Damn, Moon knows her way around a drink!” The rest of the group are chuckling along with him and you shrug.

“It’s a Cojito, I learned about it when I was in New Mexico. It’s damn refreshing, I’ll tell you that much.” Soon enough, you’re returning to your previously interrupted game of pool with free drinks in hand.

Thanks to some alcohol and well timed jokes, the entire crew were in good spirits. Playing games and singing songs without a care in the world. You’re wrapping up a game of darts with Bob when you spot Rooster heading out to the back porch. Following him, you’re quick to reach his side, watching the waves roll in along the almost completely set sun. “Hey.” You speak with intention, grabbing his focus. When he’s looking at you, you spot something on his face you’d not noticed before. Reaching up you’re about to touch the spot on his chin - but stop yourself, letting your hand fall. “What did you do here?” You question, looking at the three hashed scars on his skin. A smile breaks out on his features at the question, a hand running over the spot.

“Oh that’s,” he laughs as his hand drops, “that’s an accident from when I was a kid. Biking on our driveway - all rocks - the tire popped below me and I went straight over the handlebars.” His hand moves to describe the actions as he says them. Your own hand has moved up again, glazing at his eyes to sense any uneasiness. When you don’t see any, you gently run your finger over the raised skin.

“And this one on your jaw?” You ask with a laugh, hand moving up to trace the one just below his cheek.

“You know… I actually don’t remember that one.” Smiling, you pull your hand away, looking at him. Both of you sit with alcohol warming your stomachs, and your smiles before you speak up again.

“I wanted to say thanks - for earlier. With the ball and Jake thing.” You finally get back to the entire reason why you’d pulled yourself away from the group.

“Don’t mention it. Got to keep each other in check, right?” He shrugs, before you hear his callsign from the bar.

“You’re being paged.” You hum, leaving him to nod, raising his - empty - glass at you as he heads back in. You’re following him shortly after

———————————————— ✈︎

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ukrfeminism · 2 years

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3 minute read

TW: domestic violence

The cost of living crisis is forcing victims of domestic abuse to remain with their abusers, charities have warned, while refuges are struggling to stay open amid spiralling energy bills.

Across England and Wales, more than two million people experience domestic abuse each year. Now a Women's Aid survey of victims found that, in two thirds of cases, abusers are using the cost of living crisis and concerns about financial hardship as a tool of coercive control, including to justify further restricting access to money.

One survivor said: “I feel like my only option to keep my kids is to go back to my marital home, where he nearly killed me.”

Lizzy Dobres, policy and practice manager for Women’s Aid, told the Telegraph that the cost of living crisis is having a “devastating impact on survivors of domestic abuse”.

“It’s heartbreaking,” she said. “If women can’t afford to heat their own homes, how can they leave with their children?”

Ms Dobres added that women’s refuges have not received the energy rebate, and many of these centres – which can be lifesaving for those fleeing violence – cannot afford spiralling energy bills.

“We’re getting emails from centres who can’t afford the energy bills,” she said. “One service said last week they had to provide a wellbeing table of food for the staff, it’s beyond belief.”

The research also found that 73 per cent of victims said they are scared to leave their abusive home because of fears over finance.

Ruth Davison, the chief executive officer at Refuge, the largest specialist domestic abuse organisation in the UK, said that the degree to which frontline staff are hearing women are balancing the danger of living with their perpetrator and the struggle of managing alone is “staggering”.

Deanna*, a survivor of domestic abuse that lasted three years, spoke to The Telegraph about the impact economic abuse had on her.

Deanna said she had a very privileged upbringing, with a close support network of family and friends. She attended good schools and studied at Manchester University. Shortly after graduating, she met her now ex-partner, who was working in London.

Her abuser tore at her close relationships, cutting her off from her family and making her delete all men – including her brother and father – from her phone. He then quit his job and forced Deanna to fully fund their lives.

“Because of money we had to move gradually further and further out of London [and away from her family], I was paying for both of our lives, bills, food. I sold all my belongings, gifts from my 18th birthday, and DVDs to sell food. We had no electricity, no hot water,” she said. “I didn’t see friends or family at all. It was a very lonely and solitary life.”

Deanna’s abuser demanded access to her cards and forced her to be a guarantor on his payday loans, putting her in thousands of pounds of debt.

“He made me be a guarantor [for payday loans], knowing he would never repay it,” she said. “There’s very little safeguarding women financially.”

Refuge said that 92 per cent of its frontline workers reported that the cost of living crisis is pushing survivors into debt or further into debt.

Deanna said she was not allowed to ask her abuser about his own financial situation, and that any manner of question could provoke a rage.

“I woke up every day terrified, and terrified not knowing what to expect that day, not knowing what version of him I was going to get,” she said.

“[The violence] started with a push, a shove, hands around my throat. He drew blood on my neck where had his nails in my throat. That first instance I locked myself in the bathroom and slept on the bathroom floor. It got worse and worse. The worst act of violence left me with permanent nerve damage.”

Deanna said that the economic abuse was the most debilitating part of their relationship.

“The physical violence was the least worst of everything. What he did to me psychologically and emotionally was crippling,” she said. “Money was the most debilitating thing in that whole situation.”

Expressing fears about how the cost of living crisis could impact other women in her position, Deanna said: “The cost of living crisis is utterly fatal.”

Women’s Aid is calling on the government for an emergency domestic abuse fund to help survivors pay for essential items and energy bills.

Refuge said it supports the call for an emergency fund to be put in place for survivors of domestic abuse, and for the £20 Universal Credit uplift to be reintroduced for all claimants.

Ms Dobres cautioned that the survey was conducted shortly before the recent increased energy cap – which could see the average household paying £3,549 annually. “We’re very worried about what this means going into winter,” she said.

*Deanna’s name has been changed for her safety

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amchara · 2 years

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Effortless Ch. 6: New York, Demons and Secrets Revealed

One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven (completed fic)

(Completed fic at Ao3, posting to tumblr with a few minor edits)

Summary: After moving to England to live with Tessa and Jem, Kit ends up attending a local sixth form college alongside his Shadowhunter training.

Featuring- a charming but slightly broken Kit, typical teen drama, mundane friendships, pop culture references, Carstairs-Gray family moments, a rotating cast of our favourite Shadowhunters as guest tutors and of course, some unacknowledged pining for one Ty Blackthorn.

Wordcount: 7,975 words for this chapter

Rating: Teen, cw this chapter: canon typical violence

CHAPTER SIX: NEW YORK, DEMONS AND SECRETS REVEALED

December 2014-January 2015

The reveal that Kit was a descendant of the First Heir didn’t go how he pictured it in his head.

“Oh- yeah, we know,” Jace said, from where he sat sprawled across a wide sofa. “We figured it out a while ago.”

“Had our suspicions,” Clary corrected, at the head of the sofa. “Magnus confirmed them. But we thought we should wait until you felt comfortable telling us about it.”

Kit looked between them, Magnus and Alec, and Izzy and Simon, all of them sitting or perching on the comfortable seating in Jace’s office. All of whom shrugged and nodded.

He felt relief but also a flash of fear; he threw a glance over to see Jem and Tessa also looking disquieted.

Alec caught it and he moved to dispel their worries. “I doubt it’s gone beyond anywhere in this room,” he said, holding his hands out in a reassuring gesture. “As Consul, I get a lot of intelligence passing through my hands and I haven’t seen any hint of it mentioned.”

His eyes scanned over Kit, assessing and Kit knew that as much as Alec was the same quiet, comforting presence he had been in the London Institute or at Cirenworth, he was also the Consul, which meant he also had to think strategically. And Kit, like it or not- was a potential weapon for the Nephilim. Or, could be- if he wasn’t broken and actually knew how to use his powers.

But that was a question for another time, as the discussion moved on to wider talk about recent news about the Seelie and Unseelie Courts and the latest updates on the breakaway Cohort Shadowhunters in Idris.

“Hey,” Jace said, as he led Kit back towards the training room. He stopped in front of the door and Kit paused. “I uh- I know what it’s like to be different from other Shadowhunters… if you ever need any advice,” Jace trailed off.

“Yeah…” Kit said. “But you also have an extra dose of angel blood. All I have is ‘dirty faerie blood’.”

He remembered the slurs Mark Blackthorn had faced from the Centurions and the Cohort. He wasn’t looking forward to it, even though it would happen eventually.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jace said fiercely. “And even when it does come out more widely, you know we’ll have your back, right? And those who matter won’t care about it," he said. "But I also understand wanting the space to figure it out,” he paused. “Also- it’s much more effective to wow your opponents when you come back to the fight, all trained and buff- make it look effortless when you beat their asses, okay?”

Kit nodded. “Yeah, exactly! Those were my thoughts too…” he said.

Jace’s gold eyes took in Kit and his grin had a wicked edge. “Right- shall we go in and show them what Herondales are made of?” He swung the door open to reveal the training room where Beatriz was putting a couple Academy graduates through their paces.

In the last days leading up to Christmas, Kit spent most of his time there, eager to see how he matched up against Shadowhunters his own age. To his surprise he fared fairly well, particularly in the hand-to-hand combat (he thanked Jem’s insistence that they always end their training sessions with a short bout of martial arts practice) and short-range weapons. Long range weapons on the other hand... Kit knew he had to improve there, as Isabelle Lightwood dodged an ill-fated throw and glared at him, the look in her eyes almost as sharp as his poorly thrown dagger. The other two teens - Darren Penhallow and Sarah Yardshead - for their part, were distantly friendly but often watched Kit with wariness, particularly when Jace infrequently appeared and Kit could hear their murmurs around ‘Herondales.’

When he wasn’t training, Kit shadowed Jace around, taking in the bustle of an actual working Institute and its routines. There was a lot more paperwork than he would have thought, Kit mused.

Then it was Christmas Eve and the Institute cleared out of all but the core group, and Kit managed to relax into the routines of the holiday season. He received some especially good presents on Christmas Day - a dark blue bomber jacket with a sheepskin-lined fleece from Jem and Tessa, a set of throwing knives from Jace and Clary, and a couple of books on Faerie lore from Magnus and Alec.

Still, after a few days of watching bad Christmas television and eating leftovers, Kit was intrigued when Jace appeared in gear and gestured mysteriously to him. He slipped a sleepy Mina out of his lap and over to Tessa. He followed Jace out of the warm room to find Clary and Simon in the corridor, also in gear and carrying weapons.

“We’re going on patrol,” Clary said, her green eyes assessing him. “Are you interested?”

“Hell yeah!” Kit said with enthusiasm, and he raced off to change.

They ran into a pack of Raum demons in the shadowy base of Brooklyn Bridge and Kit could feel his blood singing and adrenaline rushing through as he swung his seraph blade alongside the others, dispatching demon after demon.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jace moving with a swiftness that almost looked like dancing, his body a blur of movement and deadly grace.

Afterwards, he looked over at Kit, with a questioning look and Kit grinned at him. “That was fun- where are the rest?” he said. Simon stopped short as he walked up to them and heard Kit's reply. “Great- now we have not one but TWO Herondales to deal with,” he said, with a mock groan.

“You love us,” Jace said, with a wink at Kit.

Kit joined several more patrols before the end of the visit- sometimes with a small group, sometimes just him and Jace.

It was their last night before heading back to Devon, and he and Jace were perched on the parapet of a high rise building overlooking Central Park. Kit almost didn’t mind the height. Almost.

“What’s your plan after the spring?” Jace asked him casually.

“Hmm?” Kit was concentrating on not looking down but scanning the dark line of trees for movement.

“I know you’re planning to finish out your mundane school,” Jace said. “But after that- you’ll be eighteen, right?”

“Yeah,” Kit said. He had only a vague idea of what he was going to do… the deadline for UCAS was shortly after they returned but Kit knew instinctively he wasn’t going to be applying for any universities. But he hadn’t really made any other plans.

“A lot of Shadowhunters do travel years when they reach that age,” Jace replied. “Get experience in different institutes.”

“Oh, yeah I guess,” Kit said.

Jace cleared his throat, and Kit looked over. It almost looked like Jace was nervous. “I’ve been watching you- you’re really good, Kit. If you want, you could come to New York for some of your travel year. You can learn more on the ground- and we can help you figure this whole First Heir thing out,” he said. “I’d like that- I know Clary and the others would too.”

Kit stared at him. He’d miss Devon, and Tessa and Jem and Mina of course but... it hadn’t seemed real, Shadowhunter life. But Kit suddenly imagined what it could be like, living in New York, going on patrols, being more involved in what was his legacy.

“I’d like that- a lot,” he said slowly. “Yeah, let’s do it,” he said, more enthusiastically.

“Awesome,” Jace said, a relieved look crossing his face. He straightened up- “Oh- demon at your ten o’clock,” he said, and he stepped off the four story building without hesitation. Kit shook his head and prepared to follow.

–

Jace’s words echoed in Kit’s head and when they returned from New York Kit started stalking the local papers and local residents’ forums for any hint of unusual activity that might indicate demonic activity. Daily patrols would probably be better but given he was pretty sure he was the only active Shadowhunter in the Southwest of England, he had to be targeted in his approach. Plus, he still had papers to write for English Literature, and his final Film Studies project to work on…

But he couldn’t ignore it. He was a Shadowhunter, right? And practicing for demon hunting was probably more relevant to his future than a literary analysis of The Great Gatsby.

He debated bringing up his investigations to Jem and Tessa. “I noticed something odd,” Kit said, as they ate dinner one night in late January. Tessa looked up, and Jem paused in his daily wrestle with Mina to clean her face. Kit cleared his throat. “I think there’s some demonic activity near Torquay,” he said, and he quickly outlined his research.

Both Jem and Tessa were quiet after Kit finished and from the looks on their faces, he wasn’t sure they were convinced.

“When Magnus and I set up wards and checkpoints for unusual flares of magic across the county, it was for all kinds,” Tessa said. “Which would include demon attacks. I haven’t seen them flag anything in months.”

“Perhaps it’s still worth checking,” Jem said diplomatically. “We can visit the area on the weekend- if it is a demon it doesn’t sound like it’s moved yet to attack humans. You mentioned it was a mutilated cow carcass?”

Kit felt a sigh building internally. “Okay, fine,” he said.

“I know it must seem a bit dull after New York to come back to sleepy Devon,” Tessa said, her face full of sympathy. “But your time to patrol and save lives is coming, Kit.”

He agreed. But he had a nagging feeling there was something he had missed and the next evening, he slipped out with the excuse of working on his Film Studies project with Ellie. Kit slipped on his new bomber jacket - had to keep appearances. But in his backpack he had packed a change of gear, along with a selection of seraph blades, shuriken, and short throwing daggers. Along his arms, he inked fresh Equilibrium, Agility and Night Vision Marks.

It was probably nothing. But just in case, he could do some recon work ahead of him and Jem checking it out. He ignored the small internal voice warning about Faerie assassins - there hadn’t been anything to worry about since that time in November, plus he had the additional glamour protecting him now, he told himself.

The drive to Torquay was about half an hour from Cirenworth, and Kit put on some Bon Jovi for moral fortitude.

He parked his car outside the Kent Prehistoric Caverns, where he first had seen the clue on the local Devon Live website. The January air was cold and biting, particularly this close to the shore, and Kit kept his jacket on over his gear.

He carefully made his way through the caverns, sweeping his witchlight over the brown-red limestone walls and lightly made his way down the now-closed visitor trail, ducking under the rope separating the rest of the cave from the lit pathway. He wrapped his fist around the witchlight, dimming it as he headed in the dark, his skin still prickling with slight claustrophobia.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several ghostly fires and figures huddled around them- the ghosts of this cavern were ancient- from around 10,000 years ago, from what Kit remembered when he had visited it earlier in the summer with Jem and Mina. Ghosts that old were more like faint imprints than proper spectral projections, and they didn’t disturb him as he methodically searched for clues of recent demonic presence.

Soon enough, his search paid off, He found scratch marks and blood spatters on the walls near the end of the cavern’s reach. It wasn’t definitive proof but it was something. Kit threw finger guns at the sabretooth tiger statue guarding the cave’s entrance as he left. “I’ll be back,” he said.

The next night, this time dressed in gear, Kit found more proof in the darkest depths of the caves - a bundle of foul black rags that looked like they had been dipped in ink that had dried. It wasn’t the nest but he was increasingly excited that he knew what he was dealing with. Kit had never been the best student when it came to Shadowhunter lore and he much preferred the physical training over learning demonic languages that sounded like a garbage disposal trying to mate with a lawnmower. But after his patrols with Jace, he had reviewed the different classifications of demons; he was sure this was a Harpyia demon- a birdlike demon that had wings made from rags instead of feathers.

Kit held his breath as he placed the rags into the bag he had brought. As he made his way back to the carpark, he paused. He knew he should bring the evidence back and show Jem… but he’d also have to explain why he had been out patrolling without a partner. Maybe… if he could track down the Harpyia down to its recent hunting grounds that would be the easier way to direct Jem to the hunt.

Kit drew the intricate Tracking rune on his left hand, connecting it to his evidence bag. Despite its messiness he could start to see the rune take effect, feeling the tug towards the Harpyia. He ran back to the car, and quickly reversed away and back out to the country road, eager to get underway.

–

His breath hanging in the air like grey smoke, Kit quietly closed the car door and carefully hopped up onto the low stone wall overlooking a dark field just outside of Torquay town limits. He had dropped the bag with the bloody rags onto the passenger seat, and in his left hand he held an unlit seraph blade. In his right, he held the silver Herondale dagger. With his Night Vision, he could see a herd of cows standing peacefully in the field, unaware of the large figure circling vulture-like over them. Bingo.

Kit slipped down, making his way back to the car. He started to lay his weapons down on the seat beside him; the seraph blade slipped down between the handbrake and the gearstick and Kit overbalanced as he grabbed at it. The car horn blared out into the silent night air and he gritted his teeth. Picking up the blade, he quickly looked out the window- shit, the demon was no longer in his eyeline. Kit sat, breathing silently as he dared and his eyes darted around to see if he could spot where it had gone. He couldn’t.

Blood rushing in his ears, Kit grabbed his stele, pushing up his sleeve. With only slightly trembling hands, he quickly inked a couple new Marks on his left forearm, knowing he’d need any help he could get. He had just finished the Talent rune when the car was suddenly rocked by a heavy weight landing on the roof, and Kit was thrown sideways across the seat. He scrambled over the back seat, and opened one of the doors, half-falling out onto the hard road. Ahead of him, he could see the large bulk of the Harpyia perched over the hood of his car. It hadn’t yet spotted that he had escaped from the vehicle, its beak pecking viciously at the front windshield.

Slipping his stele into his coat pocket, Kit transferred the seraph blade to his right hand, and named it. “Eriel,” he said, and it lit up, its heavenly light blazing in the dark night. The Harpyia turned and for the first time, Kit could see its large poison-yellow eyes, and rows of white teeth in its beak. Knowing he’d have a better advantage if he attacked first, he pressed forward, leaping onto the back of the car with one lunge and then the roof in the second, sweeping his blade forward.

The Harpyia screeched as it leaped backwards, its wings like a force of nature as they slammed into Kit. He was knocked off the car and as he landed heavily on his feet, he could feel a crack in his ankle and corresponding pain blossoming from the spot. But he couldn’t think about that now, as the Harpyia was over him, stabbing at him with its beak.

Kit rolled and ducked under its wings, and he directed the seraph blade into the meat of the Harpyia’s chest, hoping to connect with its vital organs. Black ichor spilled out, burning his fingers but the demon’s shriek sounded weaker and Kit went again for the same spot, then whipped around, wincing as he spun on his injured ankle, and tried for a head blow. It worked, to Kit’s relief, and the Harpyia shriveled up and disappeared into dust, just as his seraph blade sputtered and went out suddenly, leaving Kit in the dark. He slumped against the car door, breathing heavily, as if he’d run a mile sprint.

–

Kit eased himself into the back of the car, putting his injured ankle up onto the seat. From the brightness of the car’s interior light, he thought it looked puffy. He reached in his pocket for his stele to draw an iratze but his fingers closed on air. Kit cursed as he realised it must have fallen out while he was fighting. He went back outside, hopping on the other foot as he swept both his phone light and witchlight around an attempt to spot where it had gone. It wasn’t easily in sight and Kit could hear the small murmurings from the ditch where he suspected there was a small brook - likely it had been swept away.

He turned back to the car - luckily there were only a few scratches and small dents from the attack so Kit was fairly sure he could drive it back to Cirenworth where he could grab his other stele to heal his foot. He’d explain the whole situation in the morning to Jem, he thought, although he was still not looking forward to the situation. But there was only one problem, he realised - it was a manual car with two pedals, and there was no way he was going to be able to drive back safely, given his ankle.

Kit sat there, imagining Jem’s disappointment when he pulled up and he made his choice. He pulled out his phone and texted Ade. u up, mate?

It was just before eleven, so Kit thought that it was likely. He would’ve considered Ellie but he suspected she’d asked too many questions. Also, he knew Ade had first aid training so he was probably better for the situation, given his ankle was now really hurting.

There was no reply. Kit sighed and decided he’d bite the bullet. He texted Ellie, expecting the near instantaneous response that he usually got. Nothing.

Kit frowned and dialled her number.

“Kit?” It was Ade replying. “Mate, you have bad timing-” Ah- Kit suddenly realised the situation. He could hear Ellie in the background asking who it was.

“Sorry- I wouldn’t normally but I’m in a bit of a situation,” he said. Ellie’s voice said something and Ade came back to him. “Not gonna pretend I understand this- but is it a pizza situation?”

Kit sighed. “Yeah, it is.”

Ade looked up from where he was crouching down by Kit’s side. “You’ve properly fucked this ankle.”

Kit winced. “I know.”

“You should probably get it seen in urgent care,” Ade said, closing his first aid kit. “I can wrap it and we can drop you off there.”

“No, just- can you drop me off at my place?” Kit knew he’d be fine if he could just get to his spare stele.

“Mmm, you should probably-” Ade looked at him doubtfully but then relented when he saw Kit’s expression. “Okay, sure.”

“Hold on, we’re not going anywhere until you explain what the hell you were doing out here, dressed like an extra from Mission Impossible-” Ellie said, her eyes taking in Kit’s gear. He had thrown all of his weapons into the trunk before they had arrived.

“Cow wrestling? Extreme Parkour? Night photography?” Kit threw out suggestions. Damn, he should have gone with that last one as it sounded almost plausible.

Ellie gave him a look, and beyond her he could see Ade also looking distinctly unimpressed.

Ade stood. “Well- whatever it is, I’m cold and need to be up early for college, so here’s the plan- Ellie will drive your car back and I’ll follow, okay?”

Kit could just imagine the grilling he would get from Ellie on the way back, but he knew there was no other way. He’d just have to think fast. “Sure.”

Kit glanced over at Ellie, watching as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove. He leaned forward to turn the radio on to cover the awkward silence. Her hand shot out and she stopped him, pushing up his sleeve in the process. Kit could see Ellie’s eyes dart briefly to his freshly drawn Marks and he felt his heart sink.

“What’re those?” she asked flatly. “They’re new.”

“They’re just- I’ve had them-” Kit knew he was floundering.

“No. Stop- stop fucking gaslighting me, Kit,” Ellie said. Her voice was tight with anger. “I thought we’re supposed to be friends. I know there’s something you’re not telling me- and you can’t keep expecting me to not notice.”

Kit took a deep breath but then he noticed a dark shape flying towards them in the sky, getting closer. His eyes widened and he shouted- but it was too late. The second Harpyia demon slammed into the windshield, and Kit felt his seatbelt constrict against his chest and his head slam back, as the car skidded off the road.

Fighting back after a few seconds of dazed confusion, Kit’s instincts kicked in and he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, kicking open the door as he looked over at Ellie. She was groaning and he could see a small cut on her face from the shattered glass of the windshield. But her eyes were fluttering open and Kit took that as a sign she wasn’t badly hurt.

He scrambled out and ran around to the trunk, yanking it open and frantically grabbed several seraph blades and shuriken, attaching them to his weapons belt while keeping an eye overhead for the demon. He could see it circling in for another pass.

“Kit!” Ade jogged up to him, and Kit could see that he had parked his car a few feet behind him. His face was confused and worried as he took in the car and Kit’s frantic actions. “What the hell is happening?”

“Get down- go check on Ellie,” Kit yelled, and pushed Ade towards the other side of the car. “I’ll deal with this.”

“What the fuck is this?” Ade said, his voice growing louder with anger, and Kit remembered that he probably couldn’t see the Harpyia.

Problems to deal with later as he could see it coming towards them, its massive claws outreached. “Michael,” Kit named the blade, and he could feel his muscles straining as he engaged with the demon. He was so focused on keeping it away and the heat of the battle, that he almost forgot he had hurt his ankle. Unfortunately, it had not gone away and stabs of pain distracted him as he hurried the Harpyia, trying to get a good angle. He threw several shuriken with his free hand but as it was his non-dominant hand they landed at the far edges of the creature’s wings, barely wounding it.

Talons swiped at his face, and Kit could feel them briefly connect with a stinging pass. He took a step back, jarring his ankle again as he stumbled on the uneven ground. The Harpyia screeched, rearing up for another strike at him.

Then suddenly it whipped around, and Kit could see a small figure standing just behind it. Ellie, holding one of Kit’s rapiers; she looked scared but furious. A few feet behind her, he could see Ade holding a large rock in his hand, his face set grimly. Kit’s heart was in his mouth and he struggled to his feet, propping himself up on a knee.

He needed to get to his friends. There was no way they could stand against it. Ellie was holding the sword in a classic stage-fighting pose as the Harpyia edged closer to her. It looked like it was about to strike. Kit hobbled forward, seraph blade outstretched.

But he was too late. It struck, lightning-fast, like a rattlesnake and Ellie screamed.

Kit’s training and adrenaline took over, and he slashed and parried, managing to drive the Harpyia back, squawking as it flew off. Kit knew it would be back but that was unimportant right now. He ran.

He and Ade reached Ellie’s crumpled form at the same time. Ade moved her gently onto her back, Kit helping him. His hands were suddenly slick with liquid, and he could see her torn shirt glistening in the moonlight with blood, and there were other areas that looked like torn up muscle… and other stuff. Kit wanted to throw up.

“Ellie, Ellie-” Kit said, helplessly- he held her hands. She looked up at him, confusion on her face and he could see her struggling to breathe, a frothy sound coming from her throat.

“You’ve gotta- Ellie, love- just breathe,” Ade’s voice was low and calm, beside Kit. He pulled off his jacket and balled it up, pressing it up against her stomach tightly. He looked over and Kit could see the fear in his eyes. “We need to get her to a hospital now.”

Kit could hear it in Ade’s voice: Ellie was going to die if they didn’t move. She still might. And there was a demon coming around for another pass at them. “Hold this-” Ade moved Kit’s hands down roughly to the balled up jacket on Ellie’s stomach, as he pulled out his phone.

Kit felt a sensation building in him, similar to the time he was on the battlefield in Idris. His Talent rune began to burn, almost like a brand on his arm. But this time, instead of cold fire, he could feel warm, golden heat building in his veins. It started pooling down towards his hands and he could see a golden glow begin to emanate from them. Suddenly, the feeling rocketed, and he could see the glow pulse and pass from his hand down through Ade’s jacket. Ade paused, his phone halfway out.

A large shriek echoed overhead, and Kit looked up, seeing the Harpyia almost upon them. With instinct, Kit threw one of his hands up, as if to ward it off, and there was a sudden burst of golden light shooting from his hand. The Harpyia exploded, a shower of stinking rags and black ichor suddenly raining down on them.

The scene in front of him started swimming in front of his eyes, and Kit held desperately onto consciousness. He fell onto his knees, beside Ellie, and he could feel Ade gripping his shoulders. “I’m fine…” Kit pushed him away.

“WHAT was that?!” He could hear Ellie’s voice in the background. He looked up to see her pushing away a hovering Ade. The jacket covering her fell away and he could see Ade frown, as he lifted up Ellie’s blood-stained shirt. The previously-torn skin was now a smooth, gleaming surface, like it had never been touched. Ade sat back, dumbfounded and he looked over at Kit.

“You!” Ellie’s eyes were shining, as she pointed at Kit. “You’re- a fucking wizard, Kit!” She looked triumphant. “I knew there was something strange about you. I KNEW it.”

–

They ended up taking Ade’s car back to Cirenworth, Kit’s Ford being completely totalled from the attack. Kit sat in the back, feeling utterly drained. He put off the inevitable questions by telling Ellie and Ade that he’d explain everything when they got back- Ellie looked prepared to argue until Ade pulled her aside and whispered something and she looked over at Kit and nodded.

His whole body ached- including the now-pulsating pain from his ankle. As they pulled into Cirenworth’s driveway, Kit could feel the anxiety ball in his stomach coalesce into a cold, pulling sensation and he swallowed hard, imagining Jem and Tessa’s reactions. He had texted them briefly, so they would be up. He knew he had absolutely fucked up tonight, and he knew they had all been very lucky to survive the encounter with the demon.

They were both waiting in the doorway, as Kit slowly limped up, his arm around Ade’s shoulder. Tessa and Jem took in his torn clothes and bloody arms, and Ellie’s blood-stained clothes, even though she was absolutely fine now from whatever Faerie healing magic Kit had done.

It was dark and Kit couldn’t read their expressions well. “Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on,” Tessa said, putting her arms around Ellie, as Jem came to help Ade with Kit.

Both Ade and Ellie watched with fascination as Jem carefully unwrapped Kit’s ankle and examined it, then drew an iratze just above, on his calf. “It’s broken in a couple places,” he told Kit. “The iratze can only heal so much. You’ll still need to keep weight off it for a couple days.” His face was as calm and tranquil as always but Kit thought he could see a flash of emotion passing through his eyes. He’s furious, Kit thought, miserably. He nodded at Jem, not trusting himself to speak. Jem moved to look at the ichor burns on his hands, cleaning out the cuts with a clean cloth, and taking out a salve to rub into the burns.

Ade looked like he wanted to ask Jem some questions, his eyes flicking down to the iratze but at that point Tessa came back into the parlour, with a tray filled with tea and biscuits. She set it down and took a seat in the armchair across, her sharp eyes quickly assessing the situation.

“Anyone else hurt, other than Kit?” Jem asked.

Both his friends shook their heads. “But Ellie was before Kit healed her,” Ade said. “It was absolutely mental- she had major blood loss and her stomach and chest were torn up. I think she had punctured a lung.”

Both Jem and Tessa swung their gaze to Kit. “Yeah- I uh-was able to heal her with my power,” Kit said.

“Plus, he made the creature attacking us explode,” Ellie interjected.

“It was very fortunate that Kit was able to summon the ability to do so,” Jem said gravely. “Otherwise, it could’ve been much worse.” Kit could feel Tessa’s gaze burning into him.

Kit quickly filled in the rest of the night’s events for Jem and Tessa, Ellie occasionally adding in a comment, while Ade stayed quiet.

When he finished, there was silence until Ellie spoke. “Okay, so… spill the tea,” she said. “What kind of wizards are you- you’re wizards, right? Or has J.K. Rowling led us wrong all these years?” Ade’s gaze kept darting back and forth between them all, and Kit couldn’t read his expression completely but thought he looked nervous.

Despite the serious situation, Tessa’s lips twitched with amusement while as always, Jem looked absolutely lost at the pop culture references. “Actually- I’m a warlock,” she said. “But I think we should let Kit explain- we’ll fill in when necessary.”

And so Kit gave a brief summary of Shadowhunting history, the Downworld, and a very heavily edited version of his own history, with Jem and Tessa chiming in occasionally. He didn’t mention the First Heir stuff but did mention that he was laying low from the Downworld, due to his family’s history.

There was silence after he finished. “Wow-” Ellie said. Ade again didn’t say anything, just continued to sip his drink, his dark brown eyes assessing the situation. His continued silence made Kit feel worse.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Tessa said. “I think it’s best that you both stay overnight here, get out of your bloodstained clothes and we can figure out what story to tell your parents in the morning.”

“Does this mean that you’re not going to erase our memories?” Ellie asked hopefully. “I totally thought that’s what you were going to do.”

“If that was the case, El, why would they have given us an explanation?” Ade said logically.

“Point-” Ellie said. She looked over at Kit. “We have so much to go over, Kit Herondale.”

Kit nodded. It seemed like they both were taking their near-death situation - alongside the knowledge that their friend was a hunter of demons - better than he had thought they would.

As Tessa led them out to the guest bedrooms, Kit started to hoist himself up but was stopped by Jem. “Let me get you a cane so you don’t put weight on your ankle,” he said.

By the time Jem returned, Kit had worked himself up into a state, imagining that Jem was about to yell at him. But that wasn’t Jem’s style, Kit reminded himself.

And it wasn’t - but it was much worse. Jem handed him the cane, and then sat across from him, face mostly unreadable. They sat there in silence, Kit staring at the floor. He was about to get up and go to bed when Jem spoke, his voice carefully neutral. “I’m disappointed in your judgment, Kit. I don’t know what you were thinking going out alone- and then calling your friends, instead of us. Harpyia always hunt in pairs.”

“I know, I know- I was so stupid, Jem- I’m sorry,” Kit said, the words tumbling out.

An emotion that Kit couldn’t read flashed over Jem’s face. He sighed, dropping his head briefly. “As Tessa said- best to pick this up in the morning.”

Kit nodded. He slowly made his way to his room. All the way up, and during the brief shower and then lying down on his bed, his heart thudded painfully in time with the words running in his head. Screw up, idiot, waste of space, they hate you, they won’t want you now

Early the next morning, he shuffled down to the kitchen and set the kettle boiling. He grabbed the biggest mug they had and spooned in a tablespoon of the instant coffee that Tessa always had to hand, and added in four teaspoons of sugar. The kitchen was quiet and peaceful, with no one else around. He pulled out his phone - six am. He sat at the table, and started to scroll mindlessly through social media, sipping at the sugar, caffeine-rich coffee. He had barely slept and his stomach was churning at the prospect of the conversations he was going to have to have later in the day - with Jem, with Tessa, with Ade, with Ellie....

There was a noise in the doorway, and Kit could see Jem standing there, a shadow in a green and blue striped bathrobe.

He came over to the table, and sat down with deliberation, his dark eyes watching Kit. He made an abortive move as if to speak but then thought better of it.

Kit braced himself. He knew Jem had a kind soul and was likely having trouble telling him the necessary plans that he and Tessa had made. “I’m sorry. Go ahead- let me know what I need to do or if, if- I uh, I need to leave. I know I betrayed yours and Tessa’s trust and I screwed up and nearly got my friends killed…” To Kit’s horror, he could feel his voice crack and the world in front of him blurred as tears started falling onto the table.

He could hear the kitchen chair creak as Jem leapt up and came to kneel by Kit’s chair. “Kit, Kit- look up, please,” he said. Kit brushed tears back and looked at Jem. “Listen to me- you’re not leaving- that never crossed my mind. Or Tessa’s. There’s absolutely nothing in the world you could do, that would stop me caring about you. That would stop me from loving you. You’re my-” Jem’s voice cracked with emotion. “You’re my son, and I love you, will love you, no matter what.”

He held Kit tightly as Kit’s tears continued to fall, hot and fast onto Jem’s shoulder, his body still shaking slightly as he tried to calm it down and focus on Jem’s words. Eventually, the shaking eased and he started to relax. “You were upset with me,” he whispered, barely able to believe Jem- but somehow he did.

“I was- because it was an incredibly ill-thought out plan but also... when you came in, covered in blood-” Jem told him, his voice muffled. “I was so scared. I can count on one hand the times that I had felt like that.” He leaned back from Kit, a wry smile crossing his face. “Tessa says it’s partly because I haven’t raised a teenager before.”

“I’m sorry,” Kit said again. “I know I keep saying it but I really am.”

“I know,” Jem replied. “I also want it to be known though, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will set Church as your twenty four hour bodyguard, and he will report to me and you’ll be responsible for cleaning out his litter basket for the rest of his natural life.”

Kit frowned. “Isn’t he functionally immortal?”

“Yes.” Jem was firm.

Kit took a deep, shuddering breath. “Totally fair. And it won’t happen again.”

There was a faint cry from Mina’s nursery and Jem started to turn. He paused but Kit nodded at him to go. “I’m okay.”

“We still have a lot to discuss-” Jem said. “Namely, the reappearance of your magic.” Kit nodded again.

–

Ade and Ellie came down shortly afterwards, Ellie wearing a borrowed dress of Tessa’s and Ade mostly in the same clothes, except for a borrowed hoodie of Kit’s. Ade shook his head at the offer of tea or food. “I’m gonna head back home- I think I could probably sneak back in without my parents noticing and it’ll cut down on the awkward questions.”

“Okay,” Kit said, trying to assess Ade’s reactions.

“Relax, mate-” Ade saw him looking. “We’re good. I’m not about to rat you out to the wizard cops or whatever,” he grinned. “Come around to the shed after classes though, yeah? I still have questions.” Kit quickly agreed, and Ade leaned over to Ellie and gave her a kiss before leaving.

“I’m not going anywhere yet,” she told Kit. “We have stuff to talk about.” Ellie sat down across from him. “You saved my life,” she said.

Kit winced. “Technically I also put your life in danger.”

She waved that away. “Semantics. I’m less upset about last night, although it was a rollercoaster of a night. I will probably have nightmares for a year,” she said, pausing dramatically. Ellie looked at him directly. “What I do have a problem with is you lying to me practically since we met.”

“You’re right, I did,” Kit said. “But also and this doesn’t make it right- not an excuse - but I kind of wasn’t supposed to mention any of this stuff to mundanes? But now you know, so no more lying, promise.” He crossed his heart and Ellie smiled.

“Okay, well... we can discuss what you can do to make it up to me,” she replied. She eyed the kettle. “After tea and breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kit scrambled up to re-boil the kettle. Over several pieces of toast, Ellie asked questions at such a rapid-fire pace that Kit started feeling overwhelmed himself.

“So how come I can always see your tattoos?” she eventually asked. “I asked Ade about it, and he barely notices them.”

“I think you have something called the Sight,” Kit told her. “It’s an ability that allows you to see through Shadowhunter and Downworld glamour magic. Among other things.”

She sat up in excitement, nearly spilling her mug of tea. “What?? I’m not a full muggle?”

“Mundane,” Kit corrected. “Mmm, no- probably not. Somewhere in your ancestry, you have some Shadowhunter or Faerie blood.”

“Cool…” Ellie breathed. She pointed at Kit’s Marks, which were on full display, twining up his arms. “So I could wear those?” She held out an arm. “Draw one on me!”

“Ahh, no,” Kit said with alarm. He pushed her hand back down. “If I drew a rune on you, there’s a good chance you’ll end up as a sort of zombie, or die horribly screaming from internal combustion.”

Ellie’s eyes went large. “Oooh, right.” She went silent for a minute. “How do you become one, a Shadowhunter?” she asked. “Is it a bit like the muggleborns at Hogwarts? You have to go to a special school?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Kit told her. “There’s an Academy. But afterwards there’s an extra step- you have to drink from this artifact called the Mortal Cup, and then you Ascend. Not everyone makes it though,” he added.

“What happens to them?”

Kit wasn’t entirely sure. “I don’t know. But they die. Probably from burning up. Raziel, that’s the Angel who gave the Shadowhunters their runes and magic, seems to be a ‘set things on holy fire’ type of guy.”

“Jeez, that’s grim,” Ellie said. “And they let teenagers choose to do that?”

“Yeah but they find it an acceptable loss,” Kit said. “I was only kind of lying when I said it was like a cult. It’s a- I didn’t grow up knowing I was a Shadowhunter. So a lot of things still shock me too.”

“Huh,” Ellie said. “I have more questions around that but let’s switch to a more interesting topic." She swirled her remaining tea, and drained it and gave Kit an intent look. “So… what hot Shadowhunter boy broke your heart in L.A.?”

Kit stiffened but he met her eyes with a challenge. “Who said-” and then he realised, actually maybe he did want to talk about Ty.

“Ty. Tiberius Blackthorn,” he said, in a low voice.

“Tiberius- wow, that’s a super YA fantasy novel name,” Ellie said, her eyes sparkling. She leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

“What’s very YA fantasy?” Tessa said, as she came into the kitchen with a yawn.

“Kit’s life,” Ellie said, with satisfaction. “It’s great.” She mouthed at him, later.

“Indeed, he does have adventures that would fit well within a YA novel,” Tessa said, ruffling Kit’s hair. Her voice was a mix of fondness and exasperation but after his conversation with Jem, Kit was no longer as scared as he had been. He leaned back, letting his mind wander as Tessa and Ellie started to debate the merits of a series called ‘A Court of Thorns and Roses’.

Luckily, Ade had fewer questions than Ellie. He looked up as Kit limped into the home gym and his easy smile also set Kit at ease.

“Hey, wizard boy,” he teased.

“Please, I am Mr Shadowhunter to you,” Kit said. “Sorry for almost killing you and Ellie by the way," he added quickly. "That hunt went south way too quickly but I should never have called you in the first place.”

Ade shook his head. “Mate, I was so sure when I woke up this morning that I had dreamed the whole thing.”

“Nope,” Kit said. “Sorry to burst that bubble. But Tessa did say that if you wanted… she can cast a memory spell so you’d forget or think you’d dreamed it.” He didn’t mention that she was still waiting outside for another five minutes in case he needed her.

“Nahh, I’m good, I’m good,” Ade said hastily.

“So… you said you had more questions?”

Ade nodded. Unlike Ellie, his questions were primarily about demons, how many there were, what kinds, did he have to worry about his family and friends with them? Kit was able to reassure him that demon attacks were rare and they generally happened in cities- but also, that Shadowhunters were usually patrolling in those cities. Ade nodded.

Then he asked: “Can I see them? Those tattoos that Ellie keeps talking about?”

Kit nodded, he had expected something like that, and he hadn’t bothered refreshing the glamours. He sat down on the nearest bench and pulled off his shirt. Ade came up and circled around him, taking in with a clinical eye Kit’s fresh, black runes, and the fading scars that even after only two years were already prominent on Kit’s torso.

He whistled. “You must do a lot more training than what we do here.”

“Yeah,” Kit admitted. “I train a lot with Jem. And sometimes others.”

“That’s a relief- I thought I was just crap at it,” Ade said, with a small smile. He gestured towards Kit’s Marks. “And these, they help you fight?”

Kit nodded, and started naming the different ones he had inked on his body and what they did.

Ade lingered on the iratzes, his gaze almost envious. “With those ones you must not have to go to the doctor very often.”

“I’ve never been,” Kit told him honestly. “Or not that I can remember.”

Ade was quiet for a minute. Kit assumed the questions were over and he pulled his shirt back on.

“Kit… you’re not going to uni, are you?” It was barely a question.

“No,” Kit said quietly. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll even get to finish my A-levels or stay at Cirenworth… things in the Downworld, in my life, are kinda in flux and I might have to leave suddenly.”

Ade nodded. “Yeah, I kind of thought that might be the case.” He looked over at Kit. “But look- even if you have to go off and be a big damn hero, don’t just disappear, okay? Keep in touch. I’d like to know we’re both out there, saving lives- me as a medic and you as a demon hunter.” He smiled but there was a sad cast to it.

Kit nudged him. “I’m not gone yet, mate.” He pointed to the set of weights. “You wanna do some sets?”

“God no,” Ade said. “After last night’s adventure, I could barely make it through classes today. Let’s go back inside and play some Ghost Recon.”

When Kit arrived back at Cirenworth, having been dropped off by Ade, his energy was flagging and he decided he would just head straight up to his room, feeling justified by the last day’s efforts.

But Tessa stopped him as he passed through the kitchen, and handed him something. “This came in the post today.”

Kit looked down and saw the heavy envelope with his name written in a spikey scrawl. His heart started pounding, as he realised what it was. A letter from Ty.

He stammered out a quick excuse to Tessa and raced up the stairs as quick as the cane and his ankle would allow. Once inside his room, he sat down on the bed, turning the letter over.

But suddenly, Kit was aware of another sensation - a warm feeling on his forearm, where his Talent rune was. He pushed his sleeve up and stared. The rune had turned a deep golden colour and he could see tendrils of the same colour running under his skin towards his hands, like his veins were filled with gold. From deep within his chest, Kit felt a peaceful, ancient power emanating out slowly and he could see the same golden colour gather in his palm, like a cold, unburning flame.

He yelled down. “TESSA, JEM.” They flew into the room, Jem holding a startled Mina.

And Kit just pointed at his hand. “Look!”

#tsc fanfiction #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #jace herondale #clary fray #tessa gray #jem carstairs #teenage angst #teenage rebellion #found family #slow burn #my fanfic #effortless #alicantenet #secrets of blackthorn hall

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